August, 2017
the Self vs. The I
“I can’t” says The I
“I could” says the Self
“But I won’t” The I reinforces.
Like clockwork.
I don’t know what others see
but there is a constant battle tugging inside of me.
The I feels lesser than others, smaller...
Living in a reality constructed by the walls of uncertainty.
My brain slips into this routine
of
doubt
confusion
on top of
endless delusion.
We go around and around
in a constant cycle of
tick tock. tick tock.
The I can’t see past its own hand
stuck in the clock
chiming
tick tock. tick tock.
Beyond the clock
is a glimpse of white
and there sits the Self.
All laughter and smiles
sunrays and warmth
A dance
A hum.
the Self and The I are tangled together
rotating around in the same clock.
Which one will she choose to be?
September, 2017
a quiet explosion.
How are the stars at night? Do you look up and watch them lull you to sleep? Do you see the same ones I see? The ones that twinkle in and out of focus in the middle of the deep dark pit? The same ones that breathe life into the world? I like to search for the subtle stars; the hidden ones that refract light like a quiet explosion. I crave to hear the burst of silent light that rarely streaks across the sky above me.
I am but a small soul lying beneath a vast untouchable sky, insignificant to the world around me, yet searching for answers. Do you wonder if we are only fixations of an imagination? Or if the stars watch us too?
​
I hope you watch the stars as I do. They must be brighter, more vivid, where you live now. I hear whispers from the little balls of light that flood the vast sky, so far, you can barely see the darkness that lies underneath. I also hear that sometimes it is hard to fall asleep because as you close your eyes, your eyelids are imprinted with the faint smiles of the blurred light rather than the shadows of the night.
​
I heard a funny fact; the stars unveil what you wish to see, as long as you breathe to the beat of the night and smile at the acceptance of your fate. As each breath rounds out the belly and softens the chest, the tiny balls of light melt into five girls playing among the stars. You see us growing taller, putting on some weight. You smile as you see little Jax walking timidly into the eighth grade. You cheer when you see Jade running across the field, lacrosse stick in hand as she scores her first goal. You chuckle as Summer cracks her window at mid-night to sneak outside to meet her friends. You hear the echo of my laugh as it is carried by peaceful winds. And you see mom as she lays in her king size bed wondering where you are each time before she goes to sleep.
​
You see how it has been 3 years and yet we are all still affected. You can see the tears and the stress. The way I never talk about you. How I internalize my emotions as I let them sit and grow until one day I may explode. The way we tiptoe around your memory as if you were only on a business trip. You see the way the tears well up in my eyes when I think about you. The way my voice cracks when I seldom talk about you. The way my heart aches every time I am overcome by your presence. But then, in an instant, you see the image of us burst apart as I momentarily forget you.
I will myself to forget as sometimes the image of you hits me in flashes, so fast and persistent that my entire body succumbs to an unbearable pressure. The tainted memory’s hands delicately lunge, grasp, and tighten around my neck. I am attuned to the rough touch of calluses, the sharp indentations of bitten off nails, as the hands forcefully compress into my warm, tender skin. As I grasp for air, my gaze gives out as it becomes fixed on floating particles that morph into your frail, decaying body. The distant memory of you rips through me: the father who could not hear the sobs of his children as they held onto his limp decrepit hand, the husband who could not say ‘I love you’ as his breath went out, the man who could not even blink to watch fifty-seven years of life vanish. My brain is on overdrive; I claw and chase at the dust of memory but it is like I am watching a fan spin out of control. Finally, the senses dull until all I see is black.
​
And in that darkness, I see no stars. I look up and the sky is blank. The one constant thing in my life were the little beams of light that rested across the sky. I could always count on their existence to sooth my thoughts to sleep. So, I settle as I picture laying underneath a night full of stars. And as I do so, I let go. I am no longer the person I perceive myself to be but am rather a single breath, and then another breath. I am part of the air as I feel the slight touch of wind caress my face. All I am composed of are lungs filled with this organic being. And finally, I drift off into an untouchable peace. But I have so many questions for you that the stars cannot answer. Do you allow yourself to feel the air sweep across your lungs? Do you remember the smell of fresh cut grass as it filled your senses? Do you miss me?
October, 2017
you have one day left to live.
I don’t feel like writing; I don’t know what to talk about. I guess I can type all I want, search for some magic, some greater clarity (a technique that everyone else seems to have, but I don’t); I can search all I want, yet nothing but meaningless characters escape me. I feel like I stepped in gum and with every step I take, the wad grows until the weight of my body is forced to connect with the floor where I am stuck, stuck in time, stuck forever.
You imagine the house you grew up in is vacant, as if it became lifeless after you and your sisters picked up your dolls, packed your bedside tables, and moved across the country. The house has unkindly aged with time: there are cobwebs that block the entrance to the wooden door, stains from where the pipes may have burst, and a layer of silt that seems to stick along your old bedside window (you see the house in this way as you are too scared to realize it kicked you out and replaced you with younger clones who still like to dress Barbie dolls and sing karaoke in the basement).
You know how when you were a kid at Sunday school (that your parents forced you to go to) where you ate pretzels and drank diluted lemonade? You are asked to describe what heaven looks like to you (the church teachers let you draw as they know you don’t want to be there either). Well, I drew a pool. A floating pool in the middle of the sky that consisted of a tiny little stick figure laying in it.
I have felt lost the past few weeks. I know it’s silly, but I just could not seem to find my headphones. This afternoon I was in a mood. One of those moods that you cannot shake, you feel soft in the belly, weak in the brain, you feel susceptible to any indifference, but will snap at disagreement or maybe even the wrong tone of a “hello.” So, I decided to lock myself in a bathroom stall. I sat on the tiled floor, dug through every crevice of my backpack, and (god-bless) found my sanity: my headphones.
On the car ride back from dinner, Summer plays one of my favorite songs (and guess what, it is a country song she likes. Um. What). “She is a heartache on the dancefloor” the sweet tune buzzes through the fog of emotions in the car as we catch up on random present-day events, reminisce on funny memories, and plan the next time we will see one another. “She nearly blew my mind” the twang of the country singer rings out as I think “I have rubbed off on my younger sister, finally.” Instant memories flood through me. I think back to the early morning drive to work with my cousin, Katie, when this favorite song of mine came on as we hit the dreaded traffic of the spaghetti bowl that flows into the central freeway of the Vegas Strip. (I confessed how I wish the boy who wrote this song wrote it about me). I then think of the van ride with Garret and our Wilderness to Wake participants, and how we circled down the windy road to our campsite in Ashville as I spastically bounced to the beat of the song (even though I wanted to make a good impression on him and all the freshmen). And now I am stuck with a new memory.
Summer breaks my train of thought when she tells me that she sometimes listens to country in her car (my old car, which she makes apparent). Then she immediately adds, “I only listen to that music when nothing better is on” (but I think she keeps the pre-set station because she misses me, maybe). I smile to myself in the car as I turn the volume up, let my thoughts drown out as I succumb to the purity of the song. “I’ve got to know her name, I’ve got to see her again, where she at, where she at, where she at…. tonight,” I drift off into a daze, tuning out the campus as we pass by.
I am not able to appreciate the changing leaves’ beauty. I already know what is to come: an isolated bareness that screams “I am cold and lonely.”
I stopped working out. I cannot remember when it happened. One day, I just started wearing normal people clothes (jeans, non-Nike shoes). I tend to run away from my problems. So, the actual act of running is a form to relieve my stress and anxiety (if you run fast enough, the thoughts can’t catch you). Today, I slipped on a pair of my Nikes that sat at the top of my closet waiting to be warn. I felt alive. Maybe it's at the possibility that wearing these shoes could push me to go for a run, maybe not. Maybe it's just the fact that I feel more athletic, even though I don't deserve the feeling because I haven't been to the gym in who knows how long (two months).
My feelings scare me. Actually, they terrify me. I try to attach labels to these sensations that seem to coax the other layers of emotions into submissiveness: anxiety, uneasiness, doubt. I practice this act as if attaching a label may make these feelings disappear so I can turn normal again. On the complete opposite end of the spectrum, I feel a palette of exotic emotions, like joy, but then I think about what makes me happy, and then I think that thought again, and again, and again, until I am met with an emotionless return. The happy feelings get overplayed until they soon turn from a pure source into a rotting substance. I am left empty. But you are not sad, you tell yourself. You are not sad, you whisper over and over again.
You scroll and keep scrolling, your finger does not move off the screen as the movement of light begins to play with your eyes and refract into your brain. Your pace begins to pick up, faster and faster, as your conscience catches up with the messages that appear on the phone:
“Is your family ok?”
“I’m praying for you.”
“So so sorry girl.”
You glance at the messages but are now only searching for missed calls from your mom, voicemails, even a text that explains what in the world is going on; you question why people are so concerned, but your heart begins to thump and your adrenaline has spiked. Before you know it, you have gone on auto-pilot.
“Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up” I plead with the monotone ring on the other side. The thump of my heart fills my ears as I desperately sit alone on my bed. “I NEED YOU TO PICK UP” I want to scream out.
She answers.
You learn there was a shooting. A mass murder down the street from your house. There was a slaughter at a local country concert.
You say you are fine. That life moves on, that you are no longer hurting. You convince yourself that you cannot be sad as you have no right to be, and that the event was just a memory, something you may have seen on reality TV. You don’t discuss how you wake up in the middle of the night crying, how you suffocate your face into your pillow so your roommate won’t wake to the sobs of your voice, or how you are slowly imploding at the thought that life can shatter in a single moment. You don’t say any of this. You say you are fine.
You say life moves on, but I know for you that it hasn’t. That you want to believe that it has, so you smile and laugh as you suppress the emotions further down your throat. You say you feel no pain, but I know you are scared to allow the feeling to tear all your innocent childhood memories apart. And I know you may have shed all your tears, but I can see the stains that still streak your every action.
I know every time you hear a country song, you cringe.
I know you would have been there if you were in town.
I know you are scared to go home.
December, 2017
A Playlist through the Semester
(Click into a playlist)
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