with janet and the jacksons,
my ABCs and 123s,
learning left the classroom onto
two dancing feet.
a rhythm nation compilation of issues
affecting the why and the how,
i saw, i see, i started to believe
in the change i still believe in now.
and through the darkest of days,
the coldest of hours,
you would not let me admit defeat.
resurrected with the tune,
(inspired by you)
i lived cradled in the comfort of the beat.
in retrospect you were
the greatest
my favorite
the reason i be,
revisiting,
remembering,
reloving
the 13-year old me.
*
dear music,
thanks for saving me.
Monday, September 07, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
mentuer.
I'm not quite sure 'angry' is the right word for this. It's stupid, really, and I don't know why I'm reacting this harshly, but I can't lie. This isn't the first time something like this has happened. The whole situation is reminiscent of one that occurred during my freshman year of college; one that turned my whole world upside down and left the most hollow feeling. It was a foreign feeling then, one I had never experienced before or since-- til now. And maybe that's why I'm feeling such an amalgamation of feelings: anger, frustration, confusion, rage, disappointment, betrayal, helplessness, hurt.. You'd think that getting royally screwed over & lied to once would be enough, but I guess not. Another year, another person, another lie. It's ok. (right?) After tonight, I won't mention this again. I won't let you see me this affected. I need to stop being so trusting; I need to stop expecting so much from people; I need to stop living so blindly; I need to stop caring about things and people far more than they care about me; I need to stop believing. I need to stop believing. I need to stop believing. I need to stop... Dammit. I can't think that way... I'm pretty sure that, despite my best efforts, I'll continue to believe-- in things, ideologies, feelings, places, people...
It's just...
Why does caring hurt so much sometimes?
It's just...
Why does caring hurt so much sometimes?
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
through a glass
It's a bit unsettling to know exactly what things are for, how to use them, set them up, what buttons to press, when, and why; unsettling to be so familiar with a hospital room. Having spent a lot of time in them while growing up, in a silence as sterile as the place itself, it's only natural I guess that I've come to know them like the back of my hand. Why did I say that last part? So cliche...anyway...
Hospitals are comforting to me; I feel like everyone there has a purpose whether they work there, are a patient there, or are just visiting. What was once a sterile and cold building has come to feel rather homey to me. Am I morbid, feeling this way? I don't know. Maybe. But it comes and goes, much like the people. I like hospitals. Much of my family hates them and would rather avoid them at all costs, but something about the extremes of a hospital intrigue me. While transporting my mom to the ICU, I passed by so many adorable elderly people who were on their morning strolls around the floor, telling stories of their children and their pasts which the staff have probably heard at least twice by now. It's funny how the older we get, the harder we try to hold on to everything. We try to keep things alive long past our own expiration dates. As I was leaving to come back home, I stepped to the edge of the curb and stood right next to a woman in a wheelchair. Thinking she, too, was sick, I looked at her sympathetically only to find a newborn baby boy in her arms. I gasped, literally, and she looked up to greet me with eyes so wide and overflowing with joy that I couldn't help but smile and half-scream, "OH!! Congratulations!" Such incredible extremes: people dying and people being born all in the same building, all at the same time. I reveled in the juxtaposition I had just witnessed and was ready to delve deep into the thought when it dawned on me that my mother is different (hopefully..); she is someone stuck in-between this breathing dichotomy. Or is she?
I've grappled with the fact that my parents aren't immortal; they, like everyone else, are human. I wrote a post a while back about their health, something like messy ramblings on my feelings and realizations and whatnot. I didn't publish it, but I think I will. It explains a lot about my relationship with them and how it (our relationship) has never been a steady or reliable one. I don't look back fondly on my childhood. I'll be hard-pressed to say I even had one. Regardless, at some point during my later high school and early college years, I took up looking after them. This isn't really me reciprocating anything. It's just me thinking that this is what a daughter should do, regardless of what they (as parents) did or did not do.
As I walked behind her bed being pushed down the hallway, I was 13 again. Bitter and angry; frustrated that she never took care of herself or went to get checked like I had told her to; pissed that she got herself into this situation. I was so 13. So stupid. So unaware.
I sat in the dark as she and I watched WALL-E on the outdated television screen.
"I don't like noise," she mumbled.
So I sat with her in silence, haunting in its emptiness but as familiar to me as it was 10 years ago. I looked at her then the same way I did when I was younger: from a distance and as if through a glass. I felt like I could never reach her; I still feel like can't. And, to be honest, I'm not sure I ever will.
We'll see how things go. She had one of the best surgeons, so I'm sure she'll be fine. Hopefully I can wrestle with my thoughts enough that some end thought or result will come to surface. Maybe it's the whole feeling of the place, how most everyone is a player in this waiting game, that allows me to think so much and with such clarity. I don't know. All I know is that I don't want to get too familiar with this one. It's too soon to be 13 again.
Hospitals are comforting to me; I feel like everyone there has a purpose whether they work there, are a patient there, or are just visiting. What was once a sterile and cold building has come to feel rather homey to me. Am I morbid, feeling this way? I don't know. Maybe. But it comes and goes, much like the people. I like hospitals. Much of my family hates them and would rather avoid them at all costs, but something about the extremes of a hospital intrigue me. While transporting my mom to the ICU, I passed by so many adorable elderly people who were on their morning strolls around the floor, telling stories of their children and their pasts which the staff have probably heard at least twice by now. It's funny how the older we get, the harder we try to hold on to everything. We try to keep things alive long past our own expiration dates. As I was leaving to come back home, I stepped to the edge of the curb and stood right next to a woman in a wheelchair. Thinking she, too, was sick, I looked at her sympathetically only to find a newborn baby boy in her arms. I gasped, literally, and she looked up to greet me with eyes so wide and overflowing with joy that I couldn't help but smile and half-scream, "OH!! Congratulations!" Such incredible extremes: people dying and people being born all in the same building, all at the same time. I reveled in the juxtaposition I had just witnessed and was ready to delve deep into the thought when it dawned on me that my mother is different (hopefully..); she is someone stuck in-between this breathing dichotomy. Or is she?
I've grappled with the fact that my parents aren't immortal; they, like everyone else, are human. I wrote a post a while back about their health, something like messy ramblings on my feelings and realizations and whatnot. I didn't publish it, but I think I will. It explains a lot about my relationship with them and how it (our relationship) has never been a steady or reliable one. I don't look back fondly on my childhood. I'll be hard-pressed to say I even had one. Regardless, at some point during my later high school and early college years, I took up looking after them. This isn't really me reciprocating anything. It's just me thinking that this is what a daughter should do, regardless of what they (as parents) did or did not do.
As I walked behind her bed being pushed down the hallway, I was 13 again. Bitter and angry; frustrated that she never took care of herself or went to get checked like I had told her to; pissed that she got herself into this situation. I was so 13. So stupid. So unaware.
I sat in the dark as she and I watched WALL-E on the outdated television screen.
"I don't like noise," she mumbled.
So I sat with her in silence, haunting in its emptiness but as familiar to me as it was 10 years ago. I looked at her then the same way I did when I was younger: from a distance and as if through a glass. I felt like I could never reach her; I still feel like can't. And, to be honest, I'm not sure I ever will.
We'll see how things go. She had one of the best surgeons, so I'm sure she'll be fine. Hopefully I can wrestle with my thoughts enough that some end thought or result will come to surface. Maybe it's the whole feeling of the place, how most everyone is a player in this waiting game, that allows me to think so much and with such clarity. I don't know. All I know is that I don't want to get too familiar with this one. It's too soon to be 13 again.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
the lines
i weep like my mother,
often and with much tremor.
but like my father, i grieve,
veiled in my pride,
in secret and solitude;
and like my brother,
my feelings lay wrapped
in the notes i sing,
packaged
in the spaces of words
i will never say.
we sing silence,
booming
booming
moving
and still--
like my family,
i am broken but together,
and soon, i, too,
will face
my
ends.
- -
"I'm a ticking time bomb," she whispered. I always knew, but the meaning was different this time. Through the line, I could hear her uncertainty and fear. She breathed heavy; she always does.
She gave too much of her heart away. Too young, too fast. She loved too hard, and all the wrong people. Or maybe just everyone but me, it felt. She gave too much of her heart away. And I knew, we always knew, that at some point it would have to give way. It's just knowing when and where that's the trickiest. I used to always say that I loved surprises. How terrible of me.
On my side of the line, I stared at the ceiling, shapes beginning to take form.
"But I miss you so much," I heard her say against the soundtrack of the Lakers' game.
"I've been home at least 5 times this quarter already," I insisted.
"OK ok. I love you, " she said, and I wondered: why does everyone say the right words too late?
I sighed.
"Yah, man, love you, too." At once, I can tell what she's going to say.
"Heeyyy, I am not "man," I am your mother!"
Of course. And suddenly, I missed her like I was 5 years old again.
often and with much tremor.
but like my father, i grieve,
veiled in my pride,
in secret and solitude;
and like my brother,
my feelings lay wrapped
in the notes i sing,
packaged
in the spaces of words
i will never say.
we sing silence,
booming
booming
moving
and still--
like my family,
i am broken but together,
and soon, i, too,
will face
my
ends.
- -
"I'm a ticking time bomb," she whispered. I always knew, but the meaning was different this time. Through the line, I could hear her uncertainty and fear. She breathed heavy; she always does.
She gave too much of her heart away. Too young, too fast. She loved too hard, and all the wrong people. Or maybe just everyone but me, it felt. She gave too much of her heart away. And I knew, we always knew, that at some point it would have to give way. It's just knowing when and where that's the trickiest. I used to always say that I loved surprises. How terrible of me.
On my side of the line, I stared at the ceiling, shapes beginning to take form.
"But I miss you so much," I heard her say against the soundtrack of the Lakers' game.
"I've been home at least 5 times this quarter already," I insisted.
"OK ok. I love you, " she said, and I wondered: why does everyone say the right words too late?
I sighed.
"Yah, man, love you, too." At once, I can tell what she's going to say.
"Heeyyy, I am not "man," I am your mother!"
Of course. And suddenly, I missed her like I was 5 years old again.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
baby steps, big changes
"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, concerned citizens can change the world. Indeed it is the only thing that ever has."
— margaret mead
CONGRATULATIONS, SPOP 2009 STAFF !
& anyone and everyone else that has been
given a solid opportunity to change lives
... and for those feeling downtrodden or in the dumps, remember:
if an opportunity isn't given to you, then create one for yourself
<3
& anyone and everyone else that has been
given a solid opportunity to change lives
... and for those feeling downtrodden or in the dumps, remember:
if an opportunity isn't given to you, then create one for yourself
<3
Monday, March 09, 2009
the base.
I would do anything and everything in my power to not fall in love-- at least not now, not yet.
I went on a Cha chat with my really good friend just a few minutes ago. She and I used to have these all the time. We're both pretty busy people and I think pretty different personalities but she and I somehow connect, are in some way bound through one of the most basic functions (or is it necessities) of friendship: companionship. I enjoy her company and conversation and I believe her to feel the same about me, and so every few weeks or months we get together in the wee hours of the night, go to Cha, grab some bev, and chitchat. Now, to the core of what I left with....
She and I talked-- moreso, she talked and I listened-- about her feelings towards her boyfriend and the uncertainty of their future. It was a most peculiar situation-- not because the situation itself is uncommon because I'm almost certain there are quite a few couples who have struggled and will struggle through this as well-- but it is peculiar in the way that for the first time after discussing love and relationships, the dialogue closed with me feeling rather disheartened. [I digress: I don't know why I've been writing these types of entries about love lately, but I'll posit for the time being that I'm doing so because I generally don't like to discuss these types of things with friends or acquaintances in real-life everyday conversations and tend to avoid instances in which such a subject might be brought up. I'll accept this reasoning for now and continue with my original train of thought.]
She and her boyfriend have overcome a lot to be together. They worked in the same place for a bit and they were friends for a while before they even discussed the idea of being together, as he was going through a hard breakup and she was getting over a breakup with her long-term boyfriend. They both, too, have rather distinct personalities but the one thing that is keeping them together is also one of the most base of all close human interactions: love. Extreme, unadulterated, (so far) unwavering love. They care for each other deeply but the thing is that they're both pretty rational, logical people. They're not dreamers or idealists. She is willing to take risks and while he may seem like he readily does so as well, he tends to stick with what is comfortable to him, what he knows. The problem is that although they both love and care for each other, their future is uncertain and not because of the typical natural dilemma that no one knows for sure what the future will bring but because a chunk of their future will be determined by other decisions that will not be their own; they will be his parents'. His parents and grandparents, upon hearing that he and my friend have gotten quite serious, have openly expressed numerous times and with much force that they do not approve of her ethnicity. She does not share his past or their culture and she cannot, perhaps will not share his future. He told her this, they have hinted at it; this relationship, in essence, is only a transient event in their lives. My friend is the kind of person who gives all that she can of herself to things that she is devoted to, people that she loves. She makes me feel like the world and I'm only a friend, what more if I were a lover? She is at odds because she knows that her boyfriend loves her and she does not doubt this, yet his words belie his actions. He can't stop telling her that a future for them is an unlikely one, that she should not get her hopes up, that he must follow family tradition, and will heed his parents' wish when the time comes for them to express it. She hates not giving 100% of herself to the one that she loves when there are other things that equally demand or require her time and efforts which have a definitive future in them. She's at odds with herself because she doesn't know whether she should allow herself to love someone so much when the hope of it being more than just temporary is slim to none. This whole dilemma was spotlighted because she met his parents for the first time this past weekend and although she half-expected them to be a bit stand-offish and stuffy, her efforts and company were rather well-received. She simply told her boyfriend that she was happy with how the meeting went. He said she shouldn't get her hopes up.
What do you do when the one you love, the one you are in deep utter irrevocable love with tells you to not get your hopes up about your future? Often times couples meet this idea with the mind-set of 'cherish what you have now and if it's gone, don't regret. be glad that it happened' but what if the reason why it is gone and over isn't a direct result of your relationship with one another but of someone else's decision; some power that cracks the whip of tradition and demands that love bow in submission to preference and opinion? Is it really worth the while to love so hard when the decision has (almost) already been made? A grey sky perpetually looming in the backdrop of a seemingly sunny day, a foreboding presence of a third party that goes unseen.
It's a minute detail in her overstuffed and packed schedule and list of things-to-do, but for moments unguarded it consumes her being and drains the life in her. You want to love but you can't. We spend our days working hard so that we may change lives and build one for our self so that ultimately, there will be time and space and room for a love that will, if not complete, at the very least compliment us and our existence. At this stage of my life, there are chances for many like myself to begin a relationship and risk the possibility of it being restricted or robbed in that way. But I will do anything and everything in my power to not love that kind of love right now. I know the future is uncertain, but history tells a great deal of what is to be expected, and my record of relationships and luck in life have always taken a downturn far south of sour. I don't think I have enough of a foundation of myself yet or strength in me to endure. I don't want to get hurt again, esp. in that way. My heart could not take it. Maybe it's instinct, the way you pull your hand back when you touch something hot so as to not get burned. Call me a coward, call me irrational, call me stupid-- I don't care. I call it survival.
I went on a Cha chat with my really good friend just a few minutes ago. She and I used to have these all the time. We're both pretty busy people and I think pretty different personalities but she and I somehow connect, are in some way bound through one of the most basic functions (or is it necessities) of friendship: companionship. I enjoy her company and conversation and I believe her to feel the same about me, and so every few weeks or months we get together in the wee hours of the night, go to Cha, grab some bev, and chitchat. Now, to the core of what I left with....
She and I talked-- moreso, she talked and I listened-- about her feelings towards her boyfriend and the uncertainty of their future. It was a most peculiar situation-- not because the situation itself is uncommon because I'm almost certain there are quite a few couples who have struggled and will struggle through this as well-- but it is peculiar in the way that for the first time after discussing love and relationships, the dialogue closed with me feeling rather disheartened. [I digress: I don't know why I've been writing these types of entries about love lately, but I'll posit for the time being that I'm doing so because I generally don't like to discuss these types of things with friends or acquaintances in real-life everyday conversations and tend to avoid instances in which such a subject might be brought up. I'll accept this reasoning for now and continue with my original train of thought.]
She and her boyfriend have overcome a lot to be together. They worked in the same place for a bit and they were friends for a while before they even discussed the idea of being together, as he was going through a hard breakup and she was getting over a breakup with her long-term boyfriend. They both, too, have rather distinct personalities but the one thing that is keeping them together is also one of the most base of all close human interactions: love. Extreme, unadulterated, (so far) unwavering love. They care for each other deeply but the thing is that they're both pretty rational, logical people. They're not dreamers or idealists. She is willing to take risks and while he may seem like he readily does so as well, he tends to stick with what is comfortable to him, what he knows. The problem is that although they both love and care for each other, their future is uncertain and not because of the typical natural dilemma that no one knows for sure what the future will bring but because a chunk of their future will be determined by other decisions that will not be their own; they will be his parents'. His parents and grandparents, upon hearing that he and my friend have gotten quite serious, have openly expressed numerous times and with much force that they do not approve of her ethnicity. She does not share his past or their culture and she cannot, perhaps will not share his future. He told her this, they have hinted at it; this relationship, in essence, is only a transient event in their lives. My friend is the kind of person who gives all that she can of herself to things that she is devoted to, people that she loves. She makes me feel like the world and I'm only a friend, what more if I were a lover? She is at odds because she knows that her boyfriend loves her and she does not doubt this, yet his words belie his actions. He can't stop telling her that a future for them is an unlikely one, that she should not get her hopes up, that he must follow family tradition, and will heed his parents' wish when the time comes for them to express it. She hates not giving 100% of herself to the one that she loves when there are other things that equally demand or require her time and efforts which have a definitive future in them. She's at odds with herself because she doesn't know whether she should allow herself to love someone so much when the hope of it being more than just temporary is slim to none. This whole dilemma was spotlighted because she met his parents for the first time this past weekend and although she half-expected them to be a bit stand-offish and stuffy, her efforts and company were rather well-received. She simply told her boyfriend that she was happy with how the meeting went. He said she shouldn't get her hopes up.
What do you do when the one you love, the one you are in deep utter irrevocable love with tells you to not get your hopes up about your future? Often times couples meet this idea with the mind-set of 'cherish what you have now and if it's gone, don't regret. be glad that it happened' but what if the reason why it is gone and over isn't a direct result of your relationship with one another but of someone else's decision; some power that cracks the whip of tradition and demands that love bow in submission to preference and opinion? Is it really worth the while to love so hard when the decision has (almost) already been made? A grey sky perpetually looming in the backdrop of a seemingly sunny day, a foreboding presence of a third party that goes unseen.
It's a minute detail in her overstuffed and packed schedule and list of things-to-do, but for moments unguarded it consumes her being and drains the life in her. You want to love but you can't. We spend our days working hard so that we may change lives and build one for our self so that ultimately, there will be time and space and room for a love that will, if not complete, at the very least compliment us and our existence. At this stage of my life, there are chances for many like myself to begin a relationship and risk the possibility of it being restricted or robbed in that way. But I will do anything and everything in my power to not love that kind of love right now. I know the future is uncertain, but history tells a great deal of what is to be expected, and my record of relationships and luck in life have always taken a downturn far south of sour. I don't think I have enough of a foundation of myself yet or strength in me to endure. I don't want to get hurt again, esp. in that way. My heart could not take it. Maybe it's instinct, the way you pull your hand back when you touch something hot so as to not get burned. Call me a coward, call me irrational, call me stupid-- I don't care. I call it survival.
Monday, March 02, 2009
courage and choice
I have come to settle amidst much contemplation with the ideas brought up in my Philosophy classes, most notably my Existentialism one. Fear and Trembling, Either/Or, Sickness Unto Death-- all great reads, all which discuss experiences, thoughts, and contemplations I think many people (or at least quite a few acquaintances) have encountered.
I don't know why I choose to despair over this, but I will keep this short until I can figure out a more coherent way of articulating my thoughts. I, like many students before whose academic careers come to its end, am at odds with myself:
I have always floated along happily, existed so contently and perhaps smugly, within the idea of the possibility of me. ME, what and who I could possibly be. The possible "me's" that could exist always seemed far more appealing than the one that actually did exist. What we could be is more fantastical and hopeful than what we are. When an action is taken, when a limit is enforced, possibilities vanish and what was chosen, is.
It takes courage to accept who you are, and yet never actually be content with it. To willingly brave despair over wanting to be better and do better is hard, but it's something we must o. Often times people wish to be content, but that is only a limbo, being stuck in neutral. We have to maintain a yearning and a small sense of discontent. We have to keep moving forward. There is never anything for us which has passed. We may look back in retrospect, but we cannot choose or act in the past. Possibilities diminished cannot exist in the future. The young girl I was is fading away with the diminished possibility of who I can be; who I will be; who I am. I know this that may not make much sense, but again, I'm having a difficult time trying to say what I mean.
That said, I will only say this for now:
“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”
- ee cummings
I hope I can maintain that courage.
I don't know why I choose to despair over this, but I will keep this short until I can figure out a more coherent way of articulating my thoughts. I, like many students before whose academic careers come to its end, am at odds with myself:
I have always floated along happily, existed so contently and perhaps smugly, within the idea of the possibility of me. ME, what and who I could possibly be. The possible "me's" that could exist always seemed far more appealing than the one that actually did exist. What we could be is more fantastical and hopeful than what we are. When an action is taken, when a limit is enforced, possibilities vanish and what was chosen, is.
It takes courage to accept who you are, and yet never actually be content with it. To willingly brave despair over wanting to be better and do better is hard, but it's something we must o. Often times people wish to be content, but that is only a limbo, being stuck in neutral. We have to maintain a yearning and a small sense of discontent. We have to keep moving forward. There is never anything for us which has passed. We may look back in retrospect, but we cannot choose or act in the past. Possibilities diminished cannot exist in the future. The young girl I was is fading away with the diminished possibility of who I can be; who I will be; who I am. I know this that may not make much sense, but again, I'm having a difficult time trying to say what I mean.
That said, I will only say this for now:
“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”
- ee cummings
I hope I can maintain that courage.
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