Monthly Archives: November 2009

12. Dearest You…You Are the Only Exception…

Can Time have length if we believe that Time is never going to let up, wait,  stop? Time is so steadfast, constant and determined; his job is to keep count and he is good at it.

To aspire to be like Time in terms of being as strong, as willful and as conscious of one’s job (and doing whichever work is before us well) in this world is merely something we can boast to have as a fleeting feeling or a momentary action that is hard to keep going and hard to focus upon and clench.

It was around 10pm, I sat down to eat dinner and remembered a day that was really special and a day I keep cherished in my heart. Remember those days when you were really little and you had something that was only yours, a gift or something you found…but, you loved that something so much that you kept it clean, kept it away from prying hands, kept it hidden and you were the only person that was allowed to ever see it, ever allowed to  take it out of the place you kept it.

This memory  is like that, so special to me; the day meant a world-full of happiness, luck, hope and glory. It’s not an ancient memory from my childhood, it’s quite recent.

So, it begins like this. It was a long drive to a place very different than where my feet had taken their final leap into the heavily packed SUV. It was humid  if you were outside the SUV, cold if you were looking through the windows to the ever changing painting. There were mountains that stood erect, their faces upturned to the heavens, flat, green pastures where animals grazed, flowers littered the highways trim and a constant mirage lead our path to this place I have lived now for almost three years.

San Diego to Davis. Davis. Davis. A long awaited destiny of mine. Fate had finally reared her attention to little ol’ me. I remember when I had finally arrived. I was flustered and panicked…we didn’t know where to park. As I unpacked my things, I remember looking down the hallway to see others down the hall shuffling and hurrying. I saw some parents and students, alike, running through the doors, heaving large boxes, faces in a focused kind of wonder, a hope gleaming and an excitement brimming. I, too, felt this sense of change, of good change, of good things to come.

It wasn’t until my heavy boxes were light as air, my clothing hung, my desk arranged, my books aligned, my pens turned down to let the ink flow that I realized my brother and sisters were waiting, looking at me through the the door in which they, themselves, were running through, heaving big boxes, seeing the change and feeling the excitement. I was absolutely stunned and horrified. Why and how could they leave me like that? How could they just up and leave when I was so excited to start this journey with them? The emotions I felt when I heard the words, “Alright, well I guess that’s the last box and you’re all ready to go!” from my brother was something like, panick, worry, sadness, betrayel and fear all in one second. I didn’t say anything to them when I turned and saw them looking at me through the door. I just stood there, like a mime and waited until they took a step back in and hugged me hard. I didn’t realize it but my eyes began to water, a thick, hard thing began to emerge in my throat, my stomach was hot and churning. I stood there dumbfounded at the fact that I was to be alone these next four years.

I walked them out to the parking lot and stood beside the car, they looked at me, my eyes kept shifting from face to face and then to the sky and then the ground. I could see others going through this demonic ritual a few parking spaces away. I was embarrassed still. I was so red, my eyes bulging and my tears running hot down my face. I was a freshmen and everyone knew it.

I hugged my two older sisters first, told them I loved them, told them to keep in touch, told them to hug Mom and Dad when they got home for me. They were crying and so was I. It was too weird to realize I wouldn’t be having breakfast at the dinner table with them the next morning; explaining my bizarre dream I had the night before.

I turned to my eldest brother, my strongest guide, my body guard, my friend and my heart. I hugged and held my brother so tight. He wasn’t crying, he was so strong, I remember he never even shook. I was shaking from the tight grip I had on his coat, I didn’t want to let go; what if I let go and I spiraled out of control and landed in a black place and wasn’t able to get out? He told me everything was going to be alright, that I only had to stay here a few days, “it’ll pass like just a few day…” he said. “If you want to come home, just let me know, I’ll come get you”. I remember the cologne he wore, it was strong but I didn’t care, he was there and so was his smell and that’s all that mattered. I remember days when I would walk in the guest bedroom and see him ironing his dress shirts and I would say, “Ease up on the perfume, buddy” and all he’d do is smile and spray starch.

My little sister, my best friend, my twin, my everything was the last person whom I hugged goodbye. She was waiting looking at the ground all coy to my left. I turned to her and pushed her left shoulder and smiled. She wasn’t smiling and looked up at me with big, wet eyes. I couldn’t take it, I left go of the farce smile and did what I could only do at the moment and held her close. I remember her sobbing on my shoulder, on my sweatshirt; she left a snot mark in which i taunted her with later. I remember whispering into her ear as she wept on me, “It’s okay, we have cell phones now,  I’ll call you all the time, okay?” She didn’t say anything but looked at me with a stare of approval. I took a step back and looked at them all. I took it in, the sun setting to the left of them, the chilly wind beginning to take rise and push their hair to the left, the car in to my right, waiting like a chariot to take them away from me, waiting to desert me there in the parking lot.

I walked back to my room, never saw them drive away because my brother said to go in and not watch. I guess it was a good idea. 🙂

This memory is not the happiest, but it’s definitely the one most filled with hope and love. I remembered this two years and a quarter later. Why today I was to remember this? I don’t know Time plays tricks upon our mind, making us forget and making us remember. Fate is his friend, they, together, play with our lives to create memories and for that, albeit, sad days or happy ones, I’m glad to have Fate and Time play with my emotions.

Gnight and Sweet Dreams…

In Thy name, Lord, I lay me down and
in Thy name will I rise up…
O God,
Thou art the first and before Thee there is nothing;
Thou art the last and after Thee there is nothing;
Thou art the outmost and above Thee there is nothing;
Thou art the inmost and below Thee there is nothing….
Waken me, O God, in the hour most pleasing to Thee
and use me in the works most pleasing to Thee,
that Thou mayest bring me ever nearer to Thyself . . .

 

 

11. Lord, I’m going to hold steady on to You and You’ve got to see me through. -Harriet Tubman

Today has been a day of repeated log ins and log outs of the Firefox internet engine on my desktop. I “x” out of it entirely only to reawaken it 20 mins later. I see the same ugly picture of Jennifer Lopez and her ex with the same annoying, blaring title, “J.Lo Threatens her Ex’s Movie”…I mean, really? Come on, people! It’s just another example of the world becoming more stupid. I wish we had more headlines about writers, great thinkers, philosophers, artists, people who, through their simple inventions changed the world…SOMETHING along those lines, but I think the drama between Kristen Stewart and Robert Dumbass Pattinson will continue to be a prolific and expansive story which will only come to an end when she gets pregnant with someone else’s baby or when she gains weight and turns out to be a lesbian…then again this may sound like interesting drama unfolding to many mindless people…even you.

Why so crucial this afternoon of the simple stupidities and frivolities that are eating up America, you ask? I really have no substantial philosophical conjecture to pronounce, but that I have this strange need to check up or update something and it turns out I’m mentally, physically and emotionally connected to my Facebook; I deactivated it a couple of days ago, just to see what would happen to me. I, too, have been consumed by the fad of what is electronic friendships; byte by byte it has consumed much of me.

Thank God I cut the cord at least. I have become wholly dependent upon it to “tweet” my thoughts, “tweet” my daily calamities, “tweet” my present situation, “tweet” my hunger, anything really. When I updated so frequently, I felt like people actually read it, just like this blog, which no one really does, but I pretend that someone does, anywhere in this wide, wide world.

At any rate, I am no longer connected or affiliated with Facebook…at the moment and we shall see how long it is before I break the deactivation mode. Part of me hopes it sustains until I gradute and by then, I’ll be too much of a grown up to bother to reactivate it.

In the mean time though I am still here blogging. (I blog therefore I am?) I guess part of the reason I blog is to keep my writing up, though poorly constructed and not at all coherent nor complete, but it’s writing and it is my own in any sense.

The last two weeks felt like I have been in a dungeon filled with assignments, a cage of immense problem solving, a stifling small closet of reading on terms, theories and ideas that are not my own, though I must render them in my head and heart as though they were. I feel like I lose part of my life as soon as the other parts function well and are growing. Like picking up too many little pieces only to go back and pick up the ones that fell in lieu of picking up the others, a continuous and vicious cycle.

I don’t know how this will ever be mended, but I fear it will follow me for many years to come; it’s a trail of people pieces, emotional pieces, physical pieces and thought pieces; oh the thought pieces, how they litter my floor!

Literary Update, Currently Reading :

*Emerson, Essential Works of,

*Wharton, Ethan Frome

Both are so enthralling and good, I plan my day and night around reading at least maybe one page before I settle in and fall asleep. I wish I could sit and have a cup of coffee with Ralph Waldo Emerson. His writings are just amazing. His observations are simple yet speak volumes about the fragility of human nature, about the ease and comfort of living solitude or living in the spotlight, but that the true ovbserver and one who gets the most of it, is the person that concedes to be in the scene, follow his/her own path and not be afraid to say or do what must be done whilst in the midst of banal commonality, strict social decorum or in the  ever changing socio-sexual conditions of today’s society. I never knew I would feel such sadness about someone’s death then I do Emerson’s. I cry for the loss of never being about to speak with him, never being about to ask him questions about his work, never being about to laugh alongside his cunning and deeply spiritual mind, never being in the same time as he, never breathing the air under the same clouds as he.

I feel like a loss of immense proportions have taken hold, for many writers that I think of now, who have shown me to look at the world with an intelligent, questioning, irrefutably open and welcoming eyes, I will never be able to sit and comment with them. I will never have my copy signed by their hands, never will our eyes meet. This is indeed a sad day.

So, forget all the riff-raff of the fast and hard Hollywood life. Forget Jennifer Aniston’s struggle to find love when it was under her nose all along, forget Rihanna’s lack of justice toward female rights when she didn’t press charges against the animal some people call, Chris Brown, forget the “accidentally leaked”  sex tapes of Paris and Kim, forget the sex vixen Megan Fox who shows more and more skin to hide that she has less and less of a mind, forget the momentary humanitarian dynamic duos of Jolie & Pitt, forget the fleeting political lobbyist Scarlett Johannsen…it’s all a fad that will die. It’s never going to last for them, it’ll fade and they, like fleas will just jump to the next big thing. They may get the air time, but who are we being taught about in school? Rihanna or Harriet Tubman? Paris or Amelia Earhart ?  Scarlett or Hillary? (Groundbreaking shouldn’t refer to the newest Transformers movie.)

I do not ever want to delve into the pitiful standards of life as a conventional 20 year old university student. To drink, be merry, lose sight of good good people and strong friendships to those who are fake, popular and fun in the moment may be suitable for some, but I crave more and I will endeavor to quench that thirst, if it means weeding certain aspects out, then so be it, for the loss is not a loss, but a change toward the Heavenly good.