Meadow Rain.

New Blog, New Beginnings.

2010-06-14T10:36:00.004-04:00

I have been away for quite a long time. Remember the Trinidadian Sea God? Well, yes, he has been the sole owner of my thoughts and energy these days. A long distance relationship does that, especially one that is crippled with obstacles and half truths (who conveniently forgets to mention an on/off girl friend who is 6 months pregnant? A man, of course.) I went back to Trinidad in may, and I have fallen in love all over again; with him, with the island, with the mountains and the soothing sea. I left a part of me behind when I got on that flight back home. Four months since we first met, we settled on friendship. It is quite a story, and it is so wild, I had to pinch myself several times to see if I was still living in the real world, and not a bad tele novela. Amidst Baby mama drama, death threats, marriage talk, twins, and other eccentricities, I have decided to focus on different projects and start a new blog where I could write- not about my own life, shocker- but about issues that were dear to me, and were tied to HIV/Aids education and prevention. The topic is wide and encompasses sexuality, politics, foreign policy, relationships etc... and so there is always something new to discover. This little blog has been a source of solace so many nights, where I poured out my emotions into a new post. I thank all who have followed my raves and rantings, and hopefully, you will take a look at MY NEW BLOG.

Peace.

|Pause.

2010-03-10T20:31:00.002-05:00

I'm taking a break from Blogging, from Facebook, from the digital world...I need some time and space to figure out some things and start new endeavours. I'll miss this little spot, and reading comments but I'll be back in due time. Until then, you can contact me at: Blackvelveteen@live.ca, I'll still be reading all of your blogs ;-)
God Bless.

Talking Dirty.

2010-03-09T12:12:00.007-05:00

Maracas Beach, Trinidad and Tobago

It seems that one of the components of maintaining (or creating?) a long distance relationship is dirty talk. The gap between mental connection and physical closeness is made even more pronounced when you remember the times you were intimate with the other person. What is even more frustrating is that the distance, the 2508 miles or 4037 kilometers if you rather, did not put out the flame. Instead, the original sparks have progressed into a forest fire.
'Phone sex is the fun part!' assured a friend, who was previously in a long distance relationship 'you have to be very comfortable, you have to be able to laugh at each other.' Instantly, this piqued my curiosity and my creative juices began to flow; I decided to go on the Internet, and get some inspiration.
I found website after website that promised to have your 'man eating out the palm of your hand' for a fixed price. I was surprised that people would actually pay for something that can be found in any erotic book, or even on Sesame Street (lol).
But I digress.
Dirty talk, I reasoned, could not be much different than talking during sex, no?
Of course, you had to make it more lengthy and create a sort of plot, tell your partner how you wanted him, and what you would do to him if only you were in the same room.
When I was in my first serious relationship, I tried to make my ex boyfriend talk dirty in bed. The experiment was a total failure; He would say really elaborate romantic sentences. I told him that I knew he loved me, but in bed, I wanted him to be nasty and down right incorrigible.
I didn't want to hear about how 'our atoms entwined' or that he wants me to 'bear his seeds.'
His response; he thought that talking dirty was corny, and that it hindered his originality.
*Sigh*
Putting past (disappointing) experiences aside, I decided to start small; I sent him a text message on how I couldn't stop thinking about the time he did ***, and I did ***... When I got the hang of it, and had shed my initial discomfort, I got bolder with my text messages. While in class, I glanced innocently at my phone and saw his response to my previous text, I had to restrain myself from bursting into laughter.
"This boy is rude." (By the way, as I learned, in the Caribbeans, 'Rude' means sexual, and 'Rudeness' refers to the act of... )
Later on, he called me and said; 'You are so nasty!' We started to laugh, and I marveled at how 'talking dirty' is as sexual as it is silly. Some of our text messages bordered the ridicule; there were talks of the neighbors calling the cops, of body parts being broken... It was just silly.
We switched the subject to more mundane things; he told me about his day, asked about mine, we told each other how we couldn't wait until we saw each other again...
Then, he proceeded to tell me what he had in store for me.
Now...Dirty text messages are simple enough; you have the time and distance to think them through, before hitting the 'send' button.
Live Dirty talk is another ball game, one that I was not ready for. I proceeded to giggle, and laugh uncontrollably.
*Sigh*
This will demand some practice, on my part.

On the positive side; there are two girls in long distance relationships at work and we've talked about the limitations, the ways to keep close and the dead line which every budding relationship must acknowledge. This 'dead line' is the 'when' one of you will make the leap and move to a lover's country.
'If you have a plan, then you have a chance to make it. If it's a 'see you when I see you' then you can forget about it, it won't work.' I was advised.
We shall see.

Absence.

2010-03-01T19:32:00.003-05:00

Greetings from Tyrico Bay.

I came back from Trinidad and Tobago, yesterday. Of course, I have many anecdotes and photos to relate, I have loved every moment of my trip (even the debilitating sunburn that had my face and back peeling like if I was a snake changing skins, and the sunburn that had my lips covered in blisters). I re-connected with Malaika, whom I haven't seen in nearly five years, as well as her Mother and little brother, Marlon. I met some sweet people such as Kevin, a country bumpkin and life guard (He saved us from Jelly fish and baby crabs *Sigh*) who I have on my speed dial, because he is a Sea God, and I think I have found the father of my children.
I thought I should explain my absence. I will be back soon, I am not ready to come back into the blogging world.
My mind is still on; the skin hugging heat, the salt of the sea and Kevin's hand wrapped around my waist as we rode waves.

Message.

2010-02-06T16:32:00.006-05:00

This week's Sunday Sribblings prompt is 'Message.'

I was born in Warszawa, Poland's capital. My father was an engineering student from Congo-Kinshasa and my mother was a nurse. They met in Bydgoscz, on the beach; my father was 22 and my mother was 18. They dated, married and had three daughters.

When I was four years old, we moved to Pleszew, a small town of about 40 000 people. We moved in with my mother's parents, until four years later, the family relocated to Canada.

I went back three times since I've left my country; every time I come back to Montreal, I miss my Babcia (grand mother) and I wish I had more time with my Dziadek (grand father) before he passed away. Further more, I long for the food, the landscapes; the meadow behind our house, my Babcia's fruitful garden and my child hood friends who are still as warm and eager to see me, as they were ten years ago.

I talked to my Babcia today and she asked me why she hadn't heard from me in a little while. I told her that I might not call a lot, but she's always in my thoughts. Truth is; I don't feel as comfortable speaking in Polish, as I do in English and French, it makes me feel stupid when I can't carry a conversation with my usual ease and eloquence. I love my Babcia; in my eyes, she is the epitome of strength, poise and kindness. I promised I would come see her in the next 6 months, so I will be back home soon.

This time, I will be documenting my family's history. I will amass recipes, anecdotes and I will write about my Babcia's knowledge of agriculture and nature.

Also, I've been wanting to re-trace my great grand father's history; During the second world war, He was part of the Armja Krajowa (can be translated as the people's army) that was opposed to Communism. He was sent off to a work camp in Germany, leaving his wife to raise three children (three had already died; one drowned, one asphyxiated and another one had his neck broken by a careless nurse). When the war ended, Poland was under Soviet occupation. When my great grand father came back to Poland for my Babcia's communion, a friend tipped him off that he would be arrested and sent to Siberia (this is what they used to do to Poles who were thought to stir trouble by either being nationalist, against communism, or simply intellectuals.). He ran away in time, and promised to reunite the family in Germany.

My great grand father never came back to Poland, his wife was sent a letter in the 1970's, informing her of his death.

I want to know why he never came back, what happened during the 30 or so years he had spent in Germany? Somebody must know. I plan on going to Germany and getting some answers; City documents rarely lie, even if I have to make sense of his life through medical records or filed taxes, then I will.

I can't explain it, but I feel like I need to know about his life; My great grand father was forcefully separated from his family, made to work like a dog in a work camp, then exiled from his own country. I feel that he has sent me a message, from above, to find out and let his descendants know about his struggles, so we can take pride in his strength and perseverance. By shading light on his past, I feel like I will pave a better future for my family.

In true Polish spirit, My mother and I made Pierogis (some were filled with blueberries, others were filled with mushrooms and cabbage) today!

Thankful.

2010-02-01T23:32:00.009-05:00

Lazy Saturdays; photos taken by Acke ;-)

It is cold outside, but I am thankful for;

My trip to Trinidad and Tobago (in 18 days!)
Colette; my current 'short' story that has taken a life and length of its own.
Lazy Saturdays, or Mondays or Wednesdays, or any days I can lounge around my house without being preoccupied by homework, work shifts or other projects.
My new lovely camera. I have named it 'Acke', by the way. It is a very reliable, yet pricey, Canon Rebel. You get what you pay for, and Acke doesn't disappoint.
My fat orange cat, Felix, who, even after 12 years, never fails to make me laugh with his bad behavior.

This little jewel of a blog where I have purchased a beautiful phoenix printed set of cups, 70's Japanese mugs, gorgeous snake leather belts, Mexx goat gloves and my awesome Jet stream burgundy carry-all. Mary Jane sells vintage quality goods at ludicrously (in a good way) low prices.
Sade's 'Soldier of love' CD. Sigh.
Having a laptop, all to myself after months of borrowing my sister's computer. Yes, I have given it a name! My laptop is named 'Astrid', after the subliminal character in 'White Oleander', one of my favorite books.
My school; my teachers and my classmates are bright, passionate and it's never a displeasure to go to class!

Libraries and Bookstores!

My new volunteer position at the Aids Comunity Care Center :-)
Although Spring is around the corner, I truly appreciate Winter's realm.

What are you thankful for?

P.S There is a contest at the Colors magazine; they are chosing 12 best blog entries of the year, then one entry will be picked and a prize will be offered to the winning blogger. I am participating, if you want to join me, click here.

Skin.

2010-01-29T19:34:00.006-05:00

Musical genius.

Skin.
This is the first thing you miss; the abominable, sinking feeling gripes and you don’t even try to shake it off. His skin on your skin, for the first time in a long time or perhaps the first time ever, you notice the void; a stormy canyon, so deep you cannot see its bottom.
His skin on your skin. The mundanity of his palm caressing your widow’s peak, the natural progression of his hand down your spine; how volatile and familiar, did it seem then. Now, you would do anything to get it back.
Your skin, and his skin; one and the same, an interminable skin that encompassed all of your limbs, your dreams, and your thoughts.
Only, it is all gone.
Crushed, decimated, torn…
Il est mort, vous etes morts. No longer can you go back to the morning coffees, sitting on the brim of the chair so your knees can graze, no longer will he pass a hand in your hair with no motivation but to get closer to you, no longer will you press your head against his chest and inhale the subtle scent of musk and cinnamon. Did you ever think, before it occur ed, that you couldn't sleep for days after the abandon? That you would feel like a leafless tree, or a caterpillar without its cocoon. When he left, it was as if he took your skin too. Everything that held you together, unravelled, torn at the seams.

Ah, Winter has finally settled in. It was -31 C (not Fahrenheit) with the wind, yesterday. The sky is a clear blue, the sun is high on the horizon casting its rays on the dusty white snow, and making it shine like sand. The world is cold and all I want to do is curl up with a good cup of tea and a book. I have been writing a lot these past few days, 'Skin' is an excerpt from a short story I am working on.

If you didn't know yet, Sade's new album (after a 10 years absence) is dropping in early February.

We are not without flaws, and neither are our visions.

2010-01-20T22:51:00.004-05:00

If I could explain my emotions today, I would lack for words. Here is an attempt, an immature, inexperienced, overflowing with discovery and tears, attempt to tell you about the tremble in my bones, in my blood, and in my soul.
I have discovered there are no such things as 'bad' and 'good' days. There are simply, Mondays through Sundays, minutes that cede to hours, and hours which morph into days.
This Wednesday could be comparable to a cup; which has been filled to the brim, and which I've been emptying over and over, so it doesn't overflow. I wake up with the news of yet another aftershock, whose ripples were felt in Haiti.
Soon after, my mother tells me they have found a new born, under the rubble, still alive seven days after the initial earthquake.
Then, I learn my ex lover's father was injured today; something fell on his back and he can no longer move his legs.
I cannot help but feel this intense indignation, rising in my chest, an acute sadness, and I start crying because I know how much his father means to him. Also, I know that he has three little girls who look up to their daddy, that medical assistance is lacking, and I know, this must be eating up my ex. I know, if my father was hurt and I couldn't help him, I would be crippled by sorrow and anger.
But I cannot stop thinking about that 22 day old baby who survived, I cannot help but feel grateful and ecstatic, I am sure this must be a miracle. Yet...
What about all the children who did die? What about all the people, who clung to life days after the earthquake, praying to be rescued, only to succumb to their wounds? What about them? Where was God for them? Where was he? Where is God when we suffer, when we need him to keep us alive?Today, I felt like God took a vacation. I was outraged; I didn't blame you for the first earthquake, but how dare you, how dare you, do this again? Wasn't one more than enough? Aren't these people suffering enough? How can you? Why do we praise you, if you cannot even keep us safe?
Then, I met with a classmate, and we discussed life, the situation in Haiti, the spiritual beliefs that keep deepening and morphing, the compassion and connection we have towards others. Soon after, we attended a theater play (with our class) about a man, who was so tortured by guilt and the past, he ended up losing his mind and living in the streets. I cried some more; the story line was splendid, but the actors were even better. On our way back home, we discussed the underlying themes and I came to a conclusion;

God is balance. By giving us free will, He has also let go of the responsibility. Similarly, a father or a mother will grant their adult child autonomy; they will assist the child in the dire times, but they will let him forge his own path. God isn't evil nor good, he isn't perfect nor all powerful. Perhaps, once he was, but he is no longer. Free will was his ultimate sacrifice; he has given up his power so that we can have ours.

I am not mad, I am not sad, but I do feel less secure. There had always been a comfort in seeing things in categories such as 'bad' and 'good', 'wrong' and 'right'. But most things cannot fit in the boxes we invent. We are not without flaws, and neither are our visions.

Ou pa konnen ki jan la vie ou ka bel.

2010-01-15T01:04:00.010-05:00

Almost two years ago, I fell in love with a man who had a fierce adoration for his country.
He grew up on a little island in the Caribbeans, he told me his childhood was characterized by the richness of his culture, the eerie spiritual presence of his ancestors and the underlying instability of his nation. He told me how life was, in Haiti, over ten years ago; the streets were clean, although there was poverty, famine wasn't a commonality. Haiti was under dictatorship, first under Papa Doc's rule then under Bebe Doc's, his son.
My lover told me how, more often than not, the electricity went out; the power outage could last for hours and was as spontaneous as the weather.
He looked back fondly on these times, he said it brought the family closer. I could only imagine these dark nights; the laughter, the candle lit rooms with the shadows casted on the walls with the whole family gathered together.
I remember this; One night, I was by his apartment, I was lying on the sofa and he was stroking my hair. His mind strolled down memory lane as he told me, his eyes dreamy and his lips slightly curved in a smile, about Fete Ghede (the day of the dead) when millions took it to the streets, danced and fed spicy meat to the spirits.
My lover's father was a journalist, when the dictatorship was overthrown, his family lost most of what they owned. His brother and him were sent to live with relatives in New York.
His teenage years were spent there, this is where he picked up the New York swag; that same thing that made me fall for him. Then he migrated to Canada, we met in college. We lost track of each other over the years.
A couple days after I left a 2.5 year relationship, I got a message from him. We were both single, and we agreed to meet and have breakfast. What happened next was a torrid love affair that left me drained, hurt and half out of my mind. He is the reason I started blogging; this little spot was my way of getting my feelings down, creating a dialogue that would allow me to heal and grasp the purpose of love, relationships and life.
Loving a Haitian man put me in direct contact with his culture. He introduced me to his friends and family; many nights were spent at Haitian BBQ's, listening to Zouk and Kompa, For many months, not a day passed without being surrounded by Creole or some anecdote about life in Haiti or his dream; having a thriving business in his home land. Our song was Carimi's "Banm Pemisyon". Haiti was such a huge part of who he was, that when we broke up, I dissociated myself from most things Haitian. Never again, I told myself, would I love a Haitian man. In the wake of the current situation in Haiti, I regret all the negative thoughts and associations I have nurtured towards this island and its people. I feel such a longing to help, in any way that I can; today, I've sent out e-mails and texts about different ways to donate money, clothes and non-perishable food, also, I've researched organizations that may be searching for on-site volunteers. I asked my supervisor to send a mass e-mail to the company's employees for the dropping point of clothing/food donations, only to learn that my employer (a cellphone company) has already donated 250 000! They opened up a texting line that allows our customers to donate (in one day, 18 000$ was amassed). Also, some of the competing communication companies have joined the efforts to help out Haiti by offering free long distance to Haiti.
In two days, Canadians have already donated 3 million dollars out of their own pockets, and Barack Obama has set a relief fund for Haiti totalling 100 million dollars. It's beautiful, I am over joyed to see how entire nations are mobilizing to help rebuild and heal Haiti.
I have this absolute urge to put everything on hold, and go to Haiti and search through the rumbles, and offer my help in any way that I can. It frustrates me that I don't have a technical skill that would allow me to be fruitful; I'm not a nurse, an engineer nor a constructor.
I guess that by loving my ex, I have developed an intense affection for his country as well.
He used to tell me, 'Ou pa konnen ki jan la vi ou ka bel', it was a line from ''Banm Pemisyon". It means You don't know how life could be beautiful.
That line seems so appropriate today; I hope that Haiti is rebuilt from the ground up, better and stronger than before. Perhaps, the earthquake is really the start of something beautiful.

Detox, baby.

2010-01-10T22:04:00.006-05:00

I went to a fruit shop after work tonight; I had the bad luck of choosing a defective cart with a rusty wheel. As I strolled through the aisles, to the tune of a constant 'squeak squeak', I was amazed by the variety of odd and exotic fruits that lay amongst the Macintosh apples, the common apricots and the greening bananas.
I picked up the tiny lychees with their prickly exterior, squeezed the Kumquats which are part of the citrus family and finally settled with the halved passion fruit with its caviar-like dark seeds. By the time I got to the cash, I had three bags full of Chinese pears, Sweet potatoes, green grapes, beets and other goodies.
See. Lion-ess and I are starting a smoothie detox this Monday (tomorrow for me, but we are 6 hours apart so I reckon she has already started hers). We will be cleansing our bodies from all the extra junk we've garnered during the holidays. The cleanse will last 10 days, I guess we will both write about it, but (in my case) it will not be as extensive as my five days blogging about the fast Lion-ess and I undertook back in June (July?).
I must admit I pigged out this weekend, I went all out; Lasagna, vegan burritos with sweet potatoes and Quinoa salad, banana bread... All I did was eat! In fact, I have officially gained five pounds in two-three weeks.
I hit the gym after work today, then went on my fruit and veggie hunt. Also, I've found some yummy recipes for Smoothies; Ten days can be very long if you don't have variety.

A random thought; I've noticed some new faces in the 'followers' section, and I would like to ask everyone that reads this post (the newbies and the oldies) to take it to the comments and introduce themselves. Please indulge my curiosity this once ;-)

Magic.

2010-01-07T23:10:00.008-05:00

School started this week and already, the reading material is piling up. So far, my classes seem enjoyable; I have great teachers and amusing, enlightened classmates. I decided to be involved even more with the people I meet this year. I want to really listen to people, learn their stories and soar through their experiences. Idealistic, no? Perhaps. All I know is that, usually, winter is a tough season for me especially when February roars its ugly head. It seems like my thoughts are tarnished with tar, as if something in my core is eating at me from the inside. It doesn't take much to get me on edge.

So far, I've been doing good. What I love about getting older, is that I stop sweating the small stuff and I get more comfortable in my own skin. I stop putting pressure on myself about things out of my control like other people's reactions or their feelings towards me. Sure, I fret about a bad hair day or I worry about a lover's opinion but I am able to let go and let God.

It's been snowing a lot,but I find solace in snow, always.

Three winters ago, I had a surgery and I was bed ridden for a week. To pass time, I read Narnia’s seven tomes. The first book started with Lucy stumbling out of a closet into the enchanted world of Narnia. It is winter and she finds herself in the forest next to a lantern. The world around her is dormant; the trees are leafless, the snow is so abundant there is no pathway other than back to the closet from which she stumbled.
Then, she sees a faun; an odd creature whose upper body resembles that of a small man while his lower body is comprised of goat legs and cloven hooves. The faun, Mr. Tumnus, tells Lucy that Narnia once was a grandiose land where summer, spring and autumn were winter’s faithful companions. Long ago, the White Witch pronounced herself queen of Narnia; since then, the land has been covered with snow and ice.
Lucy and Mr.Tumnus's walk through the iced entrails of Narnia was hauntingly beautiful.
When dusk fell, I opened my window and let the cold air enter my bedroom. I bundled in sheets and read Narnia, dreaming about the ice covered hills, the crisp snow and the White Witch’s chariot.
A couple days into my house arrest, I started to get stronger. Getting up to go take a shower was no longer strenuous so I decided to take a walk outside. It was February and there was snowstorm after snowstorm; trees, streets and houses were covered in white, the snow was crisp and glistening, soft and fluffy.
My boyfriend at the time met me on my porch steps and we walked, hand in hand. I was amazed by the cars that looked like igloos because of the snow fall, I even rejoiced in the ice covered side walk and my frosted fingers and toes.
An insight into the mythical land of Narnia had given me a new appreciation for the world around me. I found beauty in the lifeless trees, stripped of their leafy manes, frozen sap awaiting spring. The sun set and the snow glittered under the street lamps’ lights.
I breathed in the fresh air and enjoyed every moment of my walk in the snow. I saw magic in my surroundings and for the first time in my life, I mourned the upcoming spring.
I went back home, my face red with cold and my nosy runny; my mother welcomed me with a cup of hot cocoa. I slipped between the covers of my sheets and resumed my lecture. Every once awhile, I peeked outside my window, comforted by the falling snow flakes, awaiting tomorrow’s walk in the snow.

A couple nights ago, as I walked down the street to my apartment, I thought back on how the winter landscape had brought such comfort to me in the past. I looked around and saw the beauty in the listless trees, once more, three years later, I was reliving Winter's magic.

Without love, we are birds with broken wings.

2010-01-05T21:21:00.004-05:00

In Buddhism, there is the belief that each of us has a little bird, always perched on our shoulder. This little bird chirps "Is today the day? Am I ready? Have I been the person I was meant to be? Have I given enough love, have I allowed myself to receive love?Is today the day I die"
This little bird, I imagine mine to be a blue jay, is supposed to be our reminder to live life fully with compassion and meaning, so that any day of our week, our month and our year, could be a day we leave this earth and feel like we've left a positive mark behind.
The lesson isn't to be morbidly obsessed with death; learning to die can teach us how to live.
At least, this was Morrie's opinion.
At the age of 78, he was diagnosed with ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig's disease. It is a neurological disorder that slowly shuts off your entire body. It usually starts with your legs and spreads to your upper body, so you are made completely dependent on the people around you as you lose the ability to move. The cruel irony is that although you lose all sensation in your body, you can still feel pain.
Morrie's last months are immortalized in the best selling "Tuesdays with Morrie". I've been reading this memoir and I am being reinvigorated by Morrie's courageous journey into his death and the many insights he had on marriage, love, money and compassion.
My favorite quote; Without love, we are birds with broken wings.
In his last months, Morrie became totally dependent; he had to be assisted in all daily tasks such as washing, eating and going to the bathroom. His body withered away but his spirit remained strong and loving.
Every day, people streamed in and out of his house; Morrie was a teacher for over 30 years and his old students came to talk to him, his friends and family were there for him every step of the way. Strangers wrote to Morrie, pouring their hearts out to him and he wrote back, offering kind words. Even when he couldn't write anymore, he dictated to his friends what to write back.
He gave love until his last breath; whether it was through his words or a smile, he emphasized the importance to love and be compassionate.
“So many people walk around with a meaningless life. They seem half-asleep, even when they're busy doing things they think are important. This is because they're chasing the wrong things. The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning.”
Morrie said, while his own life slipped away from him.

The past two days, I've been mulling over this old teacher's journey.
It used to seem that my life was suspended in winter, I always needed a lover to feel alive.
These days, the beauty of the sun reflecting on the crisp snow, the freshness of the air and the strength of my dreams and goals fulfill me. The moments spent with my family and friends, and even those spent in isolation, seem...enough.
After all, I have my life ahead of me. I chose to listen to that little bird on my shoulder and live it to the fullest.

Solidarity.

2010-01-04T13:25:00.006-05:00

It snowed most of the day last night. I worked until 6pm, then my friend gave me a lift to the metro. The roads were coated with whte fluff, I said a little prayer, asked God to get us safe wherever we needed to go. While my friend drove, he was recounting an event that happened to him the night prior. His car skid on black ice and if it wasn't for him keeping his cool (his words, not mine), his car would have been sawed in two by an upcoming bus.

Unfortunately for us, He wasn't paying too much attention at the road as (with both hands off the wheel) he insisted on showing me how his car started sliding off the road. Well, his inattention caused us to crash into a snowbank.

We tried getting the car out, but to no avail.

We got lucky; our friends and co-workers happened to pass by, they got out their shovel and tried to help us. The car had one wheel off the ground and no matter how much we shoveled, our efforts weren't getting us anywhere. So, another car stopped by to help us, the guy jumped out with his shovel. Car number three stopped by and offered his help.My friend decided to call the CAA to tow us out of there, but we were greeted with a disheveling automatic message; Due to exceptional circumstances, we are closed today.

About a minute after we called the CAA, a city truck passed by and they got out a snow blower AND their shovels. Within 15 minutes, we heard a 'thump' and the car's wheel was back on the ground. We started clapping and thanking everybody profusely.
My toes and fingers were like ice picks, I was so relieved and happy to be back on the road, in the car's warmth. We didn't have enough shovels for everyone, so while we took turns, I took some photos.

I was amazed by everybody's eagerness to help. We were all strangers, yet nobody hesitated to get out of their car, out into the cold and the overwhelming snow, and dig and push and dig and push. Solidarity; that's what life is all about. God did answer my prayer, we got home safe and sound ;-)

On going Veg'

2010-01-02T14:06:00.008-05:00

I've tried it twice before, but I failed pitifully.
Perhaps I didn't have enough knowledge about what my body needed to sustain itself. I didn't outline my motivation, nor did I search for an inspirational figure who had chosen a similar path.
I should have prepared myself mentally, as well as physically for this immense life style change.
Instead.
From one day to the next, I decreased dramatically my meat intake. I ate a lot of pasta and flavoured rices,while mourning the delightful taste of a
grilled steak and the juiciness of a good burger. About two or three months later, I succumbed to a pork dish my friend brought to a potluck.

Here I am, a year later; initiating my third attempt at Vegetarianism.
I am reading about it for now, I have an excellent little cookbook Super natural cooking written by Heidi Swanson. The book's goal is to introduce the average Jane and Joe to whole and natural ingredients. In other words; it is a tutorial into greenifying your pantry with organic produce. Amazingly, all the yummy recipes are vegetarian.
Heidi has an amazing site, she is a freelance photographer and has traveled the world. In her archives, you may find a post about the countries she has visited (Japan, Sri Lanka, France, Italy...), simple recipes and food photography that is out of this world.
Recently, I tried out her Brownies with walnuts recipe . I used organic chocolate and Quinoa flour, I brought them to work and although they didn't look too pretty (it was my first attempt at Brownies) they were delicious.
So. Super natural cooking will be my food bible for the next few months or so.
As for my motivation;

I believe that human beings are meant to be omnivores, I don't feel like consuming animal flesh is evil. What I don't condone is the way farm animals are raised, treated and slaughtered. It is beyond cruelty. I chose to (try to) become a vegetarian because of the mind boggling harm the meat industry is causing to our environment.

Deforestation (for cattle pasture and to grow grain to feed farmed animals).
Water consumption (50% of the United States water is used to raise animals for food)
Waste of natural resources (One third of all the raw material and fossil fuels in the United States, are used to raise animals for food. This includes the fuel used for transportation, factory farms operation etc...)

And this is just the tip of the iceberg. I read an amazing book on the subject A new diet for America.The author explores the harmful effects of a meat consuming society, he delves into the health and environmental aspects as well as the spiritual. It is a must-read.

I respect every body's choice to live life according to their beliefs but we should consider the impact our personal decisions have on our environment. We must remember we are connected to everything and everyone around us.

I would love to read some feedback about the subject, or some advice from seasoned vegetarians and vegans. ;-)

Blame it on the 'Kokol.

2010-01-01T15:23:00.008-05:00

Every time I wake up from a night of hard drinking and partying, I tell myself; 'No more. You will never again drink that much in your life!' Of course, I never respect my temporary wisdom, as a few weeks later, I find myself tip toeing back to my apartment, lying my head on my pillow and hoping the room would stop spinning long enough for me to fall asleep.

Alcohol is ingrained in my culture; I'm Polish and we, right next to Russians, are known to be heavy drinkers. Since I've been a little girl there has always been an alcohol bottle lying around somewhere in the house and if somehow that bottle was empty, it was only because the fridge was empty as well.

Three years ago, I went to the Kaszuby, a Polish region situated next to the sea. I was accompanied by my family and some friends, the weather was awful; it was always raining, we never got the chance to swim in the sea. Of course, we made the best out of our stay; my mother and aunts decided to brave the rain and take a walk in the forest. They came back, drenched and instead of fixing themselves a hot cup of cocoa or tea, my aunt eagerly stated; "I'm heating up the beer, anybody wants some?"

My family and drinking partners; Aunts, sister and baby cousin.

When I was in Poland, I drank with my family every single night. I'm not a big fan of hard liquor, I enjoy wine and beer or softer drinks like Baileys and Amarula. There were always plenty at my aunt's house. I must note here that drinking with your parents, is like a 'coming of age' ritual. Before I go any farther; drinking regularly and alcoholism are two different things. My grand father was an alcoholic, he was a soldier, a quiet man with a quick temper, a man that internalized his emotions and never spoke about them. For over two decades, he abused his body and let alcohol rule his life. My grand mother stuck by him, until finally, he healed. When I was born, my grand father was already sober. I never saw him as anyone but a great man I will always love and respect. My grand mother, my Babcia, has an aversion to alcohol. She knows what it can do; if you bury your emotions in a bottle of vodka, it will eventually bury you. She doesn't like when we drink around her, her bright blue eyes crease with worry.

Moderately, alcohol 'Kokol' adds fun to an evening, or if you're an avid wine drinker, it can complement a meal and give it more flavor. Last night, as we celebrated the New Year at my friends' Sulli and Yannick's house, we witnessed many sides of alcohol.
An argument erupted, and because both parties were intoxicated, it took a bigger connotation than it would have if same words were spoken when sober. In fact, these words would have never been spoken if alcohol didn't lower every body's inhibitions.
Overall, alcohol added fun to our night; we had Wii tournaments (I got my butt kicked in boxing, but I won a tennis match. ha), we had chicha, good food, good music and most importantly good company. I shouldn't have mixed my drinks so much, I did get teary towards the end of the night when I decided to smooth things over with my ex-lover; we have friends in common and although we decided previously (for the sake of our future relationships) to no longer keep contact, we bump into each other sometimes. I wanted to start my year with a clean slate, and although I didn't get to the bottom of everything that happened between us, I am willing to accept that I will never get my answers. I don't think he has them, and I no longer feel they are important to me.

I can't believe it but I can (finally) say this; My heart and my mind are at ease. They aren't longing for a lost love or a past life...I am so excited about this New Year. Big things popping ;-)

I'm starting out my New Year Resolution. While on my way to work (Yes, I work today, until 9 pm) I realized that doing something creative, greener, compassionate once a day isn"t as easy as I first thought it would be. I mean, I brought my coffee thermos to work today, therefore, I will not use any paper cups, but does this really qualify as 'greening' my life? I don't think so.
I will start with a small step; today, I will write my post, edit my short story 'Wives and Lovers', and I will make my first Indian Chai tea, the 'proper' way with Cardamom pods and Ginger root.
Snall steps ;-)

Re-edit.

2009-12-18T02:04:00.005-05:00

The New Year is upon us and for the past few winters, I have felt above end of year resolutions. They have always felt inconceivable and forced; like dieting for a month and then binging on cakes and junk food. I believe, if you can't motivate yourself throughout the year to attain said goal, you will not be reinforced by a futuristic expectation. Furthermore, you will start abruptly and finish sooner than later, in defeat, telling yourself you will follow through next year. These resolutions have always seemed like a bad idea.
Although I still follow this ideology, I have decided to stop being a sour puss and make this New Year the landmark for my own twist on the 365 project, inspired by the very lovely Tangerine. I commit to doing a mix of one of the following things, on a daily basis;

1. Creating, whether writing a new short story, sewing an Ipod case, trying out a new recipe or rehearsing for a new play.
2. Being Green(er), whether by walking/riding a bike to
school/work, Organic grocery shopping, volunteering at the Frigo Vert, an organic co-op store, or being sustainable
(Annie, me; enjoying life.) through water/energy saving, recycling or planting a tree, growing a balcony garden.
3. Being Compassionate; now, this is my baby. I am applying to volunteer at the Aids Community Care Montreal. In past posts, I have written about how important it is to promote a dialogue about Hiv/Aids, this year, I will take a step further and become engaged in the community. I will offer support to people living with the disease, as well as educate the youth about Hiv/Aids. For a starter, I will post an entry (very soon), it will be a HIV 101, as well as new developments in science.
4. Exercising! Yes, I'm serious about ameliorating my cardio and sticking to my Yoga lessons! I want to take better care of my body, after all, it is a temple.
5. Learning; whether through books, travel, exhibitions... I want to be like a sponge thrown into the sea; I want knowledge to infiltrate all my senses. As well, I want to continue being a good student.
6. Devoting my time, love and energy to my family and friends.
7. Grammar Girl. I want to be on top of my writing game; beware suffixes, unconditional clauses and all grammatical jargon; I will get to know you, master your usage and make it my own. English is my third language (Polish is my mother tongue, then I learned French, I fell in love with English in high school) and I have always been self-conscious about my lack of -proper- grammar.

I will 'document' my 365, daily, through this blog. I hope this will help me get more disciplined about day to day writing, give more emphasis on spending time on personal projects and prompt dynamic change in my own life. It seems that I need a certain pressure to get things going, and what better way to light a match under my butt, then to give my word, on this very dear blog that will soon (or has?) celebrate its first anniversary?
My 365 is my own manifesto; I want to be the change I wish to see in the world, I want to give, even more than I receive, I want to encourage and support family, friends and strangers, I want to wake up and feel that I contribute to this beautiful world, I don't want to be solely a filler.

What are some of your projects for the New Year?

Before, I forget, I promised I would share my Truffles recipe. Well, this is the most informative and comprehensive recipe I have found. I reccomend placing the gamache near an open window (if it's winter in your side of the world) as it will cool much faster! As well, I have tried it with four different topings; Coconut flakes, organic oatmeal, cocoa and cappuccino powder.
Coconut topping is the best, by far. I suggest you get it very fresh, preferably organic. Trust me, you will taste the difference!

ALSO. My Big Sister has written an amazing short story. It is a must read, it touches on a topic very dear to my heart. Give it a read, you will not be disapointed.

I'm Re-editing my life. Again and again, until I find the core of me, the part of me that will never be subject to change.

This was then.

2009-12-05T22:53:00.005-05:00

I just came back from a dinner with my Raisin in the Sun castmates. Initially, the dinner was meant as an informal 'see you again, so lovely to have worked, sweated and breathed acting together', after four hours, endless cheerful chatter and an amazing meal (I had lamb, sweet potato mash and cheesecake, with lots of quality red wine), it was decided we would give our play a second run in March. This was partially due to the huge success of our collective performances (three sold out shows!) as well as the overwhelming responses that keep on pouring our way...

The cast is like family, now. We have spend so much time together over the past few months; if people think that acting is hiding behind a mask, or an interpretation of somebody else's experience, they are sorely mistaken. Acting is being naked, lying out your insecurities, your inadequacy and pushing yourself until you get better and better. It is hard, emotional work.

Most importantly, it is team work. There was a scene in the play that was so heart wrenching, I cried every time I performed it, even when rehearsing. When I looked at my fellow actors, I was amazed that we were all in that emotional state. It seemed that, for a little while, the stage disintegrated and we were so subdued by our characters, our true selves having melted away.

An encore is something to be happy about, yet I feel on the verge of tears today. It seems that the men I attract all have ill intentions. Guess what? I am more than legs to spread apart, a body to conquer. I might not show my vulnerability, but it does hurt when the minute I allow a man to have as little as a conversation or a dinner date, he hurls lies my way. I hate dishonesty; I don't understand why so many men cannot be content with the woman they have chosen as their partner, instead of building a relationship or leaving it, they chose polygamy.

I haven't actively searched for a relationship in awhile, I go about my business, then meet somebody that goes out of his way to grab my attention. I am so disgusted about love, men, relationships. I can't believe I ever held these things, so dear, so precious. This was then, now, I am tired and done. They can all go to Hell; I will be perpetually single.

OOn a more positive note; I made chocolate truffles for my castmates. I am posting some pictures (from my Iphone as my camera charger is currently missing in action), I'll add the recipe at a later time.... They were delicious, by the way :-)

Celestial body has lost its orbit.

2009-11-29T02:03:00.004-05:00

Randomness: I am performing this weekend; three shows, all SOLD OUT, 240 people will see our rendition of 'A Raisin in the Sun' :-)

I have always despised the other woman with a feminist passion. I regarded her as a lost soul, a celestial body that has lost its orbit. The man, the adulterer, who chose to sidestep his commitment to his girl friend/wife was even more despised.I knew that I could never willingly jump into bed with a man that was in a relationship; my own nature was too territorial, I was too proud to share a man.
Well. Never say never, right?
Right.
I met him at a supper club; we exchanged numbers and he came to see me the next day. I am not sure why I accepted to spend time with him but I strongly suspect it was because it was dreary outside; days were shorter, the air was colder. I was overwhelmed as I took on too many projects and found myself with little time to enjoy anything else. Furthermore, he was exotic; 14 years my senior, a businessman. He was educated, well traveled, there was so much to learn from him. He would come see me after work, my favorite raspberry crumble in tow, and we'd stay in his car and talk for hours.
A couple weeks later, I decided to stop seeing him before it went any further.

The 'last night', we got some take out from an African restaurant and took it back by his place. He lived on the 9th floor of a beautiful building that overlooked the entire city. I opened the curtains and closed the lights; darkness and thousands of lights scintillating. He opened a bottle of Porto and we talked and talked and talked.
Then, his girl friend called. He gestured for silence and went out of the room to speak to her. I got up, went to the window and looked down at the city. I called a friend and all the while, I thought 'What am I doing here? Why did I have dinner with him tonight? Why didn't I cut off all ties the minute I found out he had a girlfriend?' He came back, excused himself, mumbled something about his girlfriend taking a study break. I stayed on the phone, morose, pouting. He asked me to hang up, I ignored him.
Morning came, I jumped in the shower, I used her shampoo and her conditioner, and her lotion, and her face cream.
I didn't feel like I was hurting her; She knew, is this not how their own relationship had started? Did he not have a girlfriend before he shed her for this one? Did she not notice her displaced products, the gaps in his schedule, the very core of his wandering nature? Was she not aware that, when confronted to a faulty relationship, he searched for a new situation, broke off the old and started with the new?
Ah, the balms we use to ease our conscience...

The 'last night' came about a month later. I have been sleeping better ever since.

A dream.

2009-11-25T00:13:00.003-05:00

I am talking to my mother, I run my tongue on my front tooth and it breaks. I put my finger in my mouth and fish out the broken enamel; it is so delicate and fragile between my fingers, like the sea shells you find close to shore. It feels like my body has given up, pieces of me are falling off. I am so deep asleep, I am no longer aware that I am dreaming. My tongue wanders over the remaining root of my tooth and I wake up. I am close to tears, a fear cripples me; my stomach and lungs tighten like a muscle spasm.

November, I wish you would leave, already. Although we've been graced with beautiful weather, it's been an emotionally draining month. One more week to go. I cannot wait for you to be buried.

Candy for your ears, Soothing for your soul; the amazing Kem.

Orlando

2009-11-20T22:41:00.008-05:00

MONTREAL – Montreal police are investigating the city’s 28th homicide of the year after a man was found shot to death at about 8 p.m. Thursday outside an apartment building in the city’s Little Burgundy district.

The man, 21, was found laying dead on the ground, near the corner of Des Seigneurs and St. Jacques Sts., after neighbours called 911 to report gunshots.

Police say the victim was known to them.

His name is Orlando. He died last night, I was told he was shot three times in the head.

I didn't know him enough to tell you if he liked his eggs sunny side up or scrambled, or if he rather drink Pepsi or Coca Cola. I couldn't even tell you if he was a Scorpio or a Libra, if his favorite color was blue or black. I met him when I was sixteen, I was in love with his close friend S.; they looked like brothers, I joked with S. that they probably shared the same father. Both their daddies weren't around much, they were both spawns of the stereotypical inner city household; single mother, a stack of unpaid bills, half sisters and half brothers.

The next time I heard about Orlando was a couple years later. S. and I had broken up but we kept in touch, wavering in and out of each other's lives. S. told me Orlando was back in Juvie, he robbed the same corner store twice, didn't bother putting a mask and ran all the way home(down the street). The Police picked him up a little later. I remember laughing, telling the story to everyone who knew him. I remember thinking how stupid it was, sticking up the same place twice. When the story telling ended, I realized Orlando did it on purpose, he had been in and out of Juvie for some time, I had heard his house wasn't a home. I guess he felt like he belonged there; being locked out was better than being free.

It's funny how I started writing this post, thinking I'd run out of things to say quickly. I didn't know him, he was a stranger, yet I do have some anecdotes...

Orlando was good looking; he looked like a blend of Asian and Black, he had long hair, he was tall. He had a crush on Malaika; when she was going back to Trinidad he told her she could hide out in his closet. He must have been 17 back then, Malaika always said he was a sweet guy, just so damn confused. When I dated R., we bumped into Orlando and his friends at the metro station. R. greeted them, before we continued on our way, Orlando gave me a smile and told R. 'Hold on to her, she's a good girl.' It was genuine and it made R. proud.

Tonight, S. called me with news of Orlando's death. He couldn't believe it, he said he had spoken to Orlando a couple weeks ago. "Did he have any babies?" I asked, although I knew the answer. "Yeah, he's got a baby in the states, and another here. Orlando was good with women, he kept on trading one girl for the next. Who knows how many babies he had?" I paused, bit my lip and got angry for a second. The circle continues, some more fatherless children.
"A lot of people will talk about the bad experiences, but I'm going to remember the good times. Orlando just wanted attention, you know how he was, man, all he ever wanted was some attention..."

Orlando had a lot of faults, his reputation preceded him. But I chose to remember him as the15 year old boy I met, my then lover's body double. Back then, we didn't know who we would become; the future seemed endless. I hope that the After life offers Orlando what this Earth never could.

God of faithfulness, in Your wisdom You have called Your servant Orlando out of this world; release him from the bonds of sin, and welcome him into Your Presence, so the he may enjoy eternal light and peace and be raised up in glory with all Your saints. Amen.

St. Eulalia AND...Medicine for Melancholy.

2009-11-16T22:01:00.008-05:00

I went to see J.W Waterhouse exhibition, Jardin des sortileges, at the Fine Arts Museum. There were many beautiful paintings but this one haunts me.

St-Eulalia of Merida was a 12 year old girl; she refused to worship Roman Gods as she was a Christan. She was tortured; her sides and breasts were burned, she suffocated from the smoke that came from her melting flesh and burning hair. As Eulalia gave her last breath; a dove flew from her mouth and it begun snowing.

The entire exposition was based on the female form, the hair as a seduction tool and the tragic or triumphant women figures through folklore and mythology.

I was introduced to...

Medea; a scorned woman who murders her children, to take revenge for her husband's abandon and infidelity.
The Dainades; the 50 daughters of Danaus, who kill their husbands on their collective wedding night. As punishment, they are compelled to pour water into a vessel full of holes for eternity.
The Lady of Shallot; cursed, she must weave a web of magic and may not look at the outside world directly. Instead, she must view it through a mirror. One day, she sees Sir Lancelot in her mirror and feels compelled to look out the window for the first time. The curse, then, comes upon her. She leaves her isolated tower, finds a boat, writes her name and dies.

Jardin des sortileges is; a lullaby of rough edged lips, wide hips, hair that is coarse and wild. Women; among flowers, trees, shadows of vineyards, each easel stroke is like their blood and sweat.

AND. AND. AND.

I just stumbled on this, I NEED to watch it. I love Indies :-)

P.S I'm getting her haircut.

A perfect day.

2009-11-10T20:21:00.011-05:00

I would wake up at dawn and hear the rain, as it hit the cement, the windowsill, as it paved its way through canals and sewers, as it slid down orange and yellow leaves. The air would be crisp, I would bask in the warmth of my sheets; I would curl my body around his, and watch him sleep. Time would be irrelevant, less important than a fruit fly in butter; It would cease, stand still until I finished taking in; the smoothness of his skin, the ash pink of his lips and the peacefulness of his sunder.
Then, I would wake him. We would talk; he, in a sleepy tone, a hand around my waist, I, in love and joyful. We would listen to the rain fall, and smell its muskiness, the earth’s wetness and the grass, the whole world, opening, absorbing the gift of life.Then we would leave our bedroom; leave the comfort of our sheets; the blue and the dim and the dark cloths of night and light and the half-light. We would shower, get dressed, and walk down the street, hand in hand. The rain would have ceased, replaced by its sister, the Sun.It would be warm enough to get a tan, yet cool enough to enjoy a day outside.We would find a modest restaurant, that doesn’t lack in decor nor personality, we would sit on its terrace and the waiter would ask us, in a beautiful Parisian accent, ‘Quelque chose pour commencer?’ I would order a café au lait and he’d take his usual; café noir, une crème.

Paris? Everything tastes better there; baguette, croissant, coffee, even the air has a sweet, filling zest. We would eat crepes; topple them with strawberries and syrup, blueberries and whipped cream, cherry marmalade and butter. Our stomachs would have no limits; we would eat as much as we pleased. The breakfast would be, of course, on the house. In fact, for just that day, Paris would know no currency. I would have left my bag at home; no cell phone, no agenda, no wallet to remind me of my responsibilities and obligations.
I would wear a red dress, backless, light and breezy. I would walk, barefoot, because there would be no worries about shards, or pebbles; the streets would be covered in sand. Right after our breakfast; we would walk around the corner and find ourselves on the Morondava beach in Madagascar. We would dive into the sea; leave our clothes by some rocks near the water. We would swim, and dive, hold our breaths for hours. I would collect sea shells; but only the ones that look more precious than diamonds. I would find them at the bottom of the sea; swim amongst the dolphins, and even atop white sharks. We wouldn’t be afraid nor have reason to fear; He would be Adam, and I, Eve; the animals would be our friends, not the ingredients in our recipes.

Of course, we would swing by Congo Kinshasa, to visit our families. I would play with my sister, Ote’s five children. They would hold unto my waist and neck, call me tantine. Ote would tell me ‘it’s nice to finally meet you, little sister.’And I would explain, how expensive is a ticket to anywhere in Africa, and there never seems to be a right time to take a month or two off, just to visit, and eat, and enjoy Congo’s burning sun. ‘But I am here today, the perfect day, and it is with you I want to share it.’ She would meet him and agree, that I have made a good choice, that he is as kind, as beautiful, as intelligent a man that could ever be.
Then, I would visit South Africa, and dwell in the depths of Johannesburg. I would eat plantain and braiis, visit the land of the Zulus. Although, it is estimated that 20% of the population is HIV positive and there are millions of orphans, I will ease their pain, if only for a day. Because, on that perfect day, there will be no preoccupations for medication or lack of treatment. We will all be healthy, our bellies full, smiling faces and contented souls. I would take his hand and we would turn the corner, travel to Poland, to a little town named Pleszew, before dinner time. He would meet my Babcia, the strongest, most beautiful woman I have ever known. I would tell him I hope our children have her blue eyes, I would tell him I hope to, one day, possess her kindness and strength.

We would eat potatoes, sausages, pickles and Bigos. We would go into town and get fresh pastry from Fokta. After the meal, my Babcia would tell me to go out back and garner mint leaves for tea. I would show him the meadow, where my little sister fell on a brick and split her upper eye, wide open. I remember the blood, which seeped on my mother’s white sweater. I would visit my friends and their families, my cousins, aunts and uncles. I would ride at the back of Mateusz’ motorcycle, attend Paulina’s dance recital. I would stop by the Kaszuby and stare at the endless, bottomless sea. Then, we would go back to Paris, to our little studio in the Quartier Latin. I would heat up water and let the mint leaves infuse. I would turn off the lights and lit up a dozen candles, the windows wide open and again, the rain at the windowsill. We would talk until midnight, then go back into bed, hope that someday soon; we could do it all over again.

Waiting.

2009-11-04T12:01:00.011-05:00

Life; I never thought you this precious
Until I have ruined you
I took you for granted
Now, all I desire
Is to be buried in your
Mundane tide
Familiar gurgle
Monday to Sunday
9am to 5pm
Exams, midterms and essays.

Monday morning, I took a number,58, sat down and waited until they called me. Soon enough, the nurse put a needle in my vein, filled four vials with my blood.

"3-4 days, we send your file to your doctor. She will call you with the results."

I smiled, thanked her and left the clinic.

It was a beautiful day, I met up with a friend, we had breakfast.
I told her I was nervous, scared, my head was swarming with "what ifs"
"Relax, you are stressing yourself for nothing. I am sure you don't have anything."

"But what if I do?"

"You don't, drop it."

The night before, after work, I went to the Oratory.I must say, that the Oratory is a beautiful place of worship. It is situated on a mount, and when the sun rises, it rises behind it; It is quite a sight. There are trees surrounding this church, and you can see the whole city spread in front of you. When you walk in, you smell incense and Holy water. It always soothes my spirit, it always gives me hope.

It was All Saints day, also known as the Day of the Dead. I lit up a candle and prayed. I asked St Jude, a patron saint, to intercede in my favor and to heal me, if I am sick. I attended mass, with my mother, I prayed again and again, until I felt like God was getting annoyed at me. Every prayer, I started with 'Me, again." or "I know we just spoke, but.."

When I left, the air was crisp, the leaves in the trees rustled with a gentle breeze, the full moon shone bright in the sky and I thought 'No matter what happens, sick or healthy, I have a purpose and Life goes on."

The next morning, I woke up at 7:45, prayed, and went to get tested.

I'm scared to get the results, I am terrified that something is askew.

I have been careless in the past and although I've always been honest in my relationships with men I've dated, I realize today that they didn't benefit me. I didn't put my health, my pleasure, my values, first. Instead, I worried about their experience.

Sex, to me, was sex. You don't have to love someone to do it, it can be casual, and meaningless, for the sole purpose of pleasure. Just as long as you don't lie, just as long as you don't pretend to care about the person, or use them or hurt them. Sex is fun, it de-stresses you, it's amazing... Right?

Right.

Except, that Sex can also kill you, it can make you sick, it can shorten your life. When you don't protect yourself adequately, and even if you do, you can still contract a disease that will make you ill. Condoms break, in many instances, this happened to me. The horrifying thing is that all it takes is one person, one time, and your life changes its course.
Yesterday, I learned that Thembi Ngubane passed away from AIDS related meningitis. She was 24, she leaves behind a healthy 3 year old daughter. Thembi is South African, she was fighting HIV since she was 16 year old. She was an activist and you can find her diary here.
Also, Marvelyn Brown caught HIV when she was 19 years old. She was in love, in a monogamous relationship when, one day, she collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. She is 25 today, and has been promoting safe sex ever since. She has a website, you can visit it here.
Do I want to scare you? Yes, I do.
We think that it can't happen to us.
I was in a relationship for 2.5 years and I was on oral birth control, because he didn't like condoms. It was monogamous, we loved each other, it felt right. Marvelyn, Thembi and all the millions of women infected in the world, they could have been me, and they could have been you.
My mother told me of a story that hit the news in Poland; a girl went backpacking with some friends, she met a man in Spain, fell in love and decided to stay behind for the remaining months. Before she left, he gave her a gift in a box, asked her to only open it when she was home.
Excited, she unwrapped the gift; she found a dead bird, with a card. Welcome to the HIV community.
Stories like these are redundant. The leading cause of death (in the United States) for Black women ages 25-34 is HIV/AIDS.
Women are catching it from their lovers, their boyfriends, even their husbands.
Where I live, HIV isn't very widespread. But it's still here, hidden, lurking.
As for me. I don't believe I have it, I am most likely overreacting.
I won't know, for sure, until my test results come back. I got tested for everything under the sun; anemia, protein, glucose etc...
The only thing that scares me is HIV.
It is a monster, and it kills every time.
I haven't posted in a while, but I wanted to share this with a larger audience. Perhaps, it doesn't make me look good to talk about being scared of HIV,It's an ugly subject. Getting tested for HIV, itself, is a branding of a sort. Being scared of possibly having contracted it, THAT is another story. Of course, I must be promiscuous, a junkie, or a homosexual. Many people believe those are the only people who are at risk.
Well. I am neither; I am a 22 year old university student, who is well read, and knows that HIV doesn't discriminate. NOT being scared of HIV, is foolish.

Get tested, get educated and BE responsible. Don't put pleasure over health and don't be afraid to know your status.

Buying Milk (an excerpt)

2009-09-24T14:16:00.017-04:00

It's been awhile since I've last posted. What's new in my life; a demanding school curriculum (filled with amazing teachers and classmates) a lot of overtime hours at work, the soothing bliss of Autumn. I am so broke right now; tuition, books and usual bills are really putting a hurting on me but I should be back on track by mid October :-P

Anyways, I'm posting up an excerpt from a story I sent to Carte Blanche, hopefully they'll publish it :-) Let me know what you think...

Buying Milk (excerpt)

Eva.I was named after my grandmother.
Eva Garcia didn't know how to read, she never finished elementary school. She had her first child at 17; he died a blue little thing, the umbilical cord around his neck. Then came the twins, my uncle Cesar, my aunt Lorena and finally, my Mother.
One night, Eva put on her rollers, gave her prayers to Babalu Aye, went to bed and never woke up. She died in her sleep, she was 46 years old.
"My father killed her. She was healthy like a horse, she died of a broken heart" according to my mother and my aunts.
The Garcia women were cursed to be alone. You could call it a superstition, an old woman’s tale, whatever, but when you looked at our family tree, you noticed that all Garcia women had been single mothers.
It wasn’t that nobody married them; it seemed that men took a pleasure in putting a ring around their fingers, lending seed to some babies, and then disappearing.
Eva’s case, as well as her own mother’s, was a little bit different; their men disappeared sporadically. They visited other women’s beds but were always back, albeit, several months later.
It was death that ended their tumultuous relationship.
In medical terms, Eva suffered a heart attack but to the family, Eva died of a broken heart. She had spent 30 years with a man that couldn’t treat her right, nor plain leave her, and she, as Dominicana as one can get, would never leave him.
My grandfather was still alive; I had spend two summers with him in Santo Domingo when I was younger, he used to give me money and sent me off to buy him beer, he'd let me keep the change and I'd return with a box of Presidentes, for him, and mentas, for me.
“A man like that can ruin you, take away so much from you that you don't even have the strength to wake up in the morning.” my Mother and aunts, again.
To me, he was an old man with baby blue suspenders and white arm fuzz longer than the hair on his head. I didn’t know him enough to love him but I pretended I did because, after all, he was family. He had a nice face, you could tell he was handsome in his youth but no matter how hard I searched, I couldn’t find the murderer in the lines of his fore head or the brown of his eyes.

Like an Ostrich.

2009-09-07T15:04:00.004-04:00

I have to share a song that's been driving me crazy these past two days, I love love love it.

The last week has been eventful;

Last Saturday, there was a fire in my apartment building. Everyone was unharmed, and although we had to evacuate, our property wasn't damaged. My cat, Felix, was traumatized. He tried to run away twice (the first time, when I was trying to stuff him in a gym bag and the second, he started running away when we were outside. Of course, I had to run after him and make a fool of myself; blasted house cat.)

This was precedent to a very bad hair cut; the hairstylist nearly gave me a baldie.

Then, on Wednesday (or Tuesday?) my father was hospitalized as he had temporary vision loss in one eye. He though it might be a stroke and went to the emergency, where he was kept over night and put under examination. Well, my daddy didn't tell anyone where he was so by the time we actually found out he was ill, he was feeling good.
I was a bit hysterical, as I always imagine the worst. I took a shower, bawled my eyes out, and went to see him at the hospital.
He was fine; I bought him food, and spent some time there. Then, I was off to work and my sister stayed with him until he was dispatched a couple hours later. Turns out, he had a blood clot in his head and he was given blood thinning meds, he has to check back in a month.
I don't know how to handle things like these, I try to stay calm in front of my family but when I get a minute to myself, I cry and feel overwhelmed. My parents are getting older, and it's up to my sisters and me to take care of them now. I don't feel ready for this, but my father's health scare really opened up my my mind about my own health.
Some days I feel very weak, like a cloak has been thrown over my entire body, I try to fight it but it's clear that I need to get tested. Most of my symptoms point to Anemia but I've been having intense back pain. On Thursday, I had to take a cab home because I felt so dizzy, I could barely walk. It was a bit frightening, I was so relieved when I got home.
I'll get tested this week, I have to stop being like an ostrich, hiding my head in the sand when I'm scared and hoping that things go away. I need to find out why my body's acting up and get treatment, if necessary. I'm scared though, I hope it's nothing serious.

We had a gorgeous weekend but I was stuck at home, battling a bad flu. I'm much better today, I had to go to work and although I feel a bit high (off the medicine, ha) I'm on the road to recovery.

I'm back, albeit temporarily, I feel like I missed a lot of the blogging world, so I am off to say hello to you and to read what's been going on in your lives :-) I have 44 followers. Life is pretty sweet.

Baby Talk.

2009-08-26T13:25:00.005-04:00

I was debating whether to write about this or not. It's a very personal matter, and I know that many people are divided about the issue. I'd love to hear your opinions on the matter, positive and negative.

It started with a simple conversation; Sulli and I were discussing a possible career change (for her), she is currently an environmental micro biologist but was thinking about applying to a medical facility that deals with fertility problems.
She told me that it was a very stressful position, as it was very easy to make a mistake that held great consequences (i.e mixing the wrong sperm with the wrong egg, accidentally throwing away embryos etc...). Along the way, we started to talk about egg donors. I was fascinated with the subject and spent the following few days researching what it was, the process, then interviewing friends about how they felt about it. As well, I did some soul searching; Could I donate my eggs, how would I feel having a genetic offspring I knew nothing of? Then, I called a clinic and arranged an information session.

Before I continue, I know many of you live in the states where the regulations on egg donation are very different from those in Canada. In the U.S, egg donors are compensated an average of 5-10 000$. Many times, if they are 'exceptional' donors, such as of a rare ethnic background or with high IQ and athletic skills, they can be paid 15-25 000$. Most egg donors in the states are cash strapped university students, who see this as an opportunity to clear up their debts. For this reason, egg donation is criticized; there is a consumer 'shopping' mentality when it comes to selecting eggs. In many cases, there are agencies who match up donors and intended parents.

In Canada, a law passed in 2004, that banned any compensation for egg and sperm donation. It likened to donating organs , which should be done altruistically. SO, egg donation in Canada has dropped 70% since then. Women must wait from 2-5 years to have access to an egg donation; it is a harrowing experience as many of them are in their 30's, 40's and the longer they wait, the slimmer their chance to get pregnant.
As well, this has created a medical tourism wave; Canadians seek eggs in the U.S, pay the donor and go back home. As well, some couples have resorted to finding their own donors through ads and compensating them for their 'time', and not their egg.

Now let me tell you, egg donation isn't easy, it is a 1-2 months process where the donor (i.e me) must self inject fertility drugs in her stomach or thigh, for a period of a week or two. In a normal cycle, a healthy woman will produce one egg, the drugs induce egg creation, so you will produce 10-12 times that amount. Then, you come back to the clinic for follow ups, and finally, to retrieve the eggs. This is done through a minor surgery that lasts 15-20 minutes. The fertility drugs do have side effects; imagine being on your period for an entire month. You can be bloated, moody, sensitive. It is time consuming and physically demanding. Not many people would go through this for a stranger, if there wasn't a compensation for the time (trips to the clinic, the tests etc...)

It is a mind boggling experience but having had a miscarriage in the past and spending time with my ex' daughter, I know that NOT being able to conceive and start a family must be heartbreaking.

I am still thinking very hard about this, but my belief is simple; a woman becomes a mother when she is pregnant, a man becomes a father when he sees his child.
I believe that donating my eggs (to a nurturing, loving family) isn't like giving up your child for adoption. I don't feel the attachment to my ova, and I won't feel like I have a child that belongs to me. Currently, I am e-mailing with a woman (she's had multiple failed IVF's and a miscarriage), her fertility has been compromised by fibrosis. She's a career woman, she sounds like a very strong person. She's of mixed ethnicity, like myself, and she can't wait to start a family.

I don't know what will happen from here on; there's so many medical tests to take and I might have a predominant gene that makes it impossible for me to donate, or maybe I will wake up and feel like I can't go on through the process, it's just too much.

No matter what, I learned there are a lot of women out there that are hurting; they have their careers, they are in love, they are healthy but their bodies won't co-operate. We take pregnancy for granted, God knows that I have sighed out of relief when I finally got my period after being late. Many of my friends have had abortions, I don't judge them as I believe that abortion is many times a viable option.
So many of us take our capacity to bear babies, nonchalantly, whilst too many of women have to fight for their motherhood.

Drinking coffee elsewhere.

2009-08-19T23:21:00.006-04:00

I bumped into my ex, this prompted a curt telephone conversation and an invitation for coffee. I'm not proud to admit that it was my idea. He told me he didn't drink coffee anymore but he could get a hot chocolate.
This is really silly but I was floundered. For a good minute, my eyebrows furrowed, I muttered; he doesn't drink coffee anymore?!
See. My ex and I used to drink coffee in the morning together. It was a ritual, a sort of bonding routine, we were starting our day as one. I was never a big drinker until I started sharing my nights with him. Then, a good steaming cup of coffee came to signify a good start, the beginning to a good day. It was comforting. When we broke up, I continued our daily routine; a lover's truce.
So. My ex doesn't drink coffee anymore, I wonder what else has changed? I mean, I know that I've changed. The last 10 months have been eventful; I've felt, pondered, experienced things, people...
I used to dream of reconciliation; I hoped we could pick up where we left off, minus the pain, the struggling, the insecurity. I imagined that I could hold Babygirl's hands, as we strolled through streets, her father at my side. It's been time I drink my coffee elsewhere...

Fairy Tales.

When I was a little girl, I loved "Beauty and the beast", "Cinderella", "Snow White".
From a young age, my "Happily ever after" consisted of finding a man to love and to cherish. In fact, most of my girlfriends have been fed this bullshit. We fell in this trap; we've been searching for prince charming, whilst laying down with a whole lot of toads...

David introduced me to "FABLES" a graphic novel about all your favorite fairy tales characters, whom have been forced out of their lands and have taken refuge in New York City.

It's a beautiful, fresh satyr; Snow White, after killing the seven dwarfs (they used to sexually abuse her), divorced Prince Charming (after finding him on top of her sister, Rose Red), Cinderella was abandoned by her prince, Bigby (the big bad wolf) reformed and is currently a detective, Rose Red is dating Jack (the bean boy). You'll be happy to learn that Beauty and The Beast are still married, they go through their ups and downs, in fact they argue like an old couple (centuries of marital life might do that to you) but they are still in love.
OH. David and I broke up, by the way. We realized that we both had some issues to work out. Also, we had different expectations and perception of commitment etc... It was mutual, in fact; It was the cleanest break up I've ever had.

I'm re-evaluating my "Happily ever after". I want to be in love again, it will come, but I refuse this to dictate my happiness.

I'm wondering; Am I the only one that feels like happiness and love are one and the same?

Baby girl.

2009-08-10T21:47:00.007-04:00

I had a very quiet day today; I did laundry, cleaned up the house and re-organized my closet. I wore baggy jeans, no bra and a V-neck shirt, no jewelry, no make up...I was alone with myself and my thoughts.

I had a nightmare about Baby girl. It was horrible and I am still shaken up about it. I called my ex and we talked on his break; he's doing fine and so is she. I guess I needed reassurance that she is well, there had been no accident nor illness. I know I'm not in her life anymore, I haven't seen her since March but this hasn't dampened my love.
Sometimes, I look at baby clothes, I think about picking up something for her. When I'm at the library, I pass next to the children section, and my fingers itch, they just want to grab a gazillion baby books. I can't help but miss having Baby girl in my life...

When we broke up, my ex told me I could see her whenever I wanted to, she used to ask him 'where's Jen?', to which he'd reply 'I don't know.' At the time, I was still angry, hurt, sad and his answer to her question seemed like a slap in the face. You don't know? You don't know? It seemed to me it implied complete free will on my part, like if I chose to forget about her, to withdraw from our weekly routines. I left because he was taking too much, he was bleeding me dry. Of course, you can't say this to a 2 year old.

Honestly, if I could, I'd see her every weekend. But I am less of a fool today, than I was then, and I know I'd lose her at some point.
When my ex would start dating again, my presence would be problematic. If I got into a disagreement with him and his love for me would have ran dry, he could cut our ties with a simple word.
When Baby girl stopped asking for me, I was hurt but relieved; she had forgotten about me, she's too young to remember so far back.
As well, I can't imagine having her in my life and dating anyone but her father. It would be awkward, like if I was juggling two separate lives and it wouldn't be fair for anyone involved. My ex hasn't dated anyone since we split (as far as I know) and he still calls me 'baby'. He's focusing on his career, on his daughter, on being a better man. A lot has changed in 9 months.

I've let go, I am not mourning him, it's just Baby girl that sill haunts me.
I have someone new in my life; It's weird to say; 'my boyfriend and I' again.
Baby steps, Baby steps,Baby steps.

22.

2009-08-08T21:35:00.006-04:00

I turned 22 yesterday. I want to thank everyone for their birthday wishes!
I've been snapping pictures over the last three days; Thursday, I went out with Bou to a restaurant, Guido&Angelina, where I gorged on Cannellonis smothered with cheese. Then, we went dancing and drinking.
Friday, I had cake with my dad and my mom, then hung out with Bini. We went to Scores for some baby back ribs and then, we went Shisha.
Today, Sulli took me out; we lunched, then went to the nail salon and I got a Mani and a Pedi, then she took me for an impromptu shopping spree, a BBQ, some ice cream and we finished off the day at a coffee shop.
So far, I've been spoiled rotten!

Bou and I, at the resto.
Lunch with Sulli.

Make a wish! Spending time with my dad and my mom (she's taking the photo)

Beautiful Sulli, lunch.

Eating baby back ribs.

Bini, at Scores.

My birthday cake :-)

My nails, freshly done and new earrings, courtesy of Sulli.

The last few days have been beautiful and tomorrow, David and I are double dating with Bou and her new bf (also Italian, he's even from the same village as David's family). I'm really excited about presenting him to my friends, he's a breath of fresh air.

I'm a bit older now; I feel like I've added a new charm on a charm bracelet. Whenever my birthday comes around, I reflect on my life; the past, the future, the people I call friends, my lover.

Last year; it seemed that everything was set in stone; I was in love with my ex, I adored his little girl, I felt like we were a family and I couldn't wait to move in with him, graduate and have a baby of my own. Of course, this is still a dream but I no longer contemplate having a child in the near future. Instead, I've grown, I've gotten stronger and more focused.
I see things with new eyes, my beliefs have wavered, although my core values remain the same. I'm good with myself; I don't envy, I don't covet others' belongings, I don't beat myself for things that are out of my control. I work harder, I take time out to enjoy things, I think I've finally understood that happiness isn't a destination, it is a road travelled.

It's funny how we change, how things re-arrange.

Some of you have been curious about David. We've been seeing each other for a bit over a month; He's a graphic artist, he's a well of creativity and he's funny, he's not obnoxious or ignorant, he's open minded and most importantly, I'm happy talking to him and spending time with him. On our third date, he brought me a book and a graphic novel, I love reading and to me; books are worth more than a thousand roses. I'll post some pictures of us, very soon.

Honestly, I feel blessed and overwhelmed with joy to have so many loving, caring people in my life.

Summer, the Beautiful.

2009-08-04T11:58:00.009-04:00

We've had amazing weather all week! On Saturday, I went out with David, we spent the better part of the day lying on grass or feet in water, basking in the sun. My skin is a chestnut brown, I am finally tanned! This is a personal victory (yes, I am black, but I happen to be high yellow, more than sun kissed brown, ha). As most of you noticed, I've been an awful bloggie for the past few weeks. This is due in part because of work, my broken laptop (my sister cracked the screen) and a very mellow mood that didn't encourage frequent posting. Am I back? I don't think so, it's too sunny outside, I have too many books to read, too many spots I want to visit before summer is over.
In Good news, It's my birthday on Friday! I'll be a lovely 22. Life has just been so beautiful lately, I can't help but feeling like it's been a long road traveled since I started this blog, 8 months ago.
My heart has cauterized, my mind has been fruitful and has bared many short stories and creative projects in the last few months, my soul is like a humming bird...

I want to post a bunch of pictures and songs today (my head is full of things I want to share with you, so here it goes...)

I had to post David's art, because I think it's gorgeous. My boyfriend is so talented, I swear, when he sent me this, I had to post it ASAP. I didn't ask for his permission, which is a bit, a lot rude, but I'm excited about it, so hopefully, he won't mind!

I went out with Bini, last night, and went crazy with the camera. Bini and I have so much fun when we go out, he's one like a kindred spirit. We can talk about anything-serious, silly, straight up dumb, or personal- we understand each other, we don't judge.

We happened to have both watched Zack and Miri make a Porno the night prior (it's freaky; he borrowed the DVD from his sister and so have I, we didn't even talk that day, yet we watched the same movie) and we both thought this song was fun.

"Fett's Vette" by MC Chris

Then, we both agreed that this one was even better.

"My dick" by Mickey Avalon
They are such catchy, silly songs. You gotta love it.

Finally. I got a comment this week (about this blog) that really made my day! I had to share it with you.

Hey.. I just want you to know that I love your blog, the way you write, the way you choose your words and I've been reading it since I stumbled upon it a few months ago.You have gone through a lot in your life, and through writing you have been able to share your experiences with the world.I am a 16 years old guy from Singapore and I hope to write like you one day. God bless.

Thank you so much, Seivna, it was so lovely to hear from you. I am so amazed that I have readers all over the world! Your comment really made me feel like there's a point to my blog (other than my rant and raving).

That's it. Life is _____ (fill in the blanks) :-0)

Living for the city.

2009-07-26T16:47:00.005-04:00

Living for the city, Stevie Wonder

I am having one of those days when everything seems small, meaningless. I managed to find uncertainty and flaw in everything about my life and the day is yet to be over... Usually, when I feel like this, I crawl into bed and indulge in a good meal and a favorite movie/TV show/book, I also write about it just to get it off my chest. This time, I decided that I need a plan of action because if moods such as these are recurrent then I have to zip the problem in the bud.
I'm getting my affairs in check as I plan to study abroad come September 2010. Initially, I was aiming for a semester or two, somewhere in Europe.
I wanted to be close to the family and to some friends in Paris, dolce vita for a little while. But then, I thought about the shock of being away, alone and studying on a different continent and things got a bit scary. Of course, I'm the type to tackle a project just because it frightens me but this time, I wondered if I could afford studying in Europe?
There's a study abroad bursary program but it only offers 750$-1000$ a month. That's Canadian dollars, it translates to pennies in Euros. So, I figured I'd work my little butt off until then and get an apartment in New York.
Of course, I'd have to get 5 roommates and a flat in the ghetto, I'd have to wrestle down rats at night and share my meals with roaches, donate my blood to bed bugs. I'll work at school for minimum wage (I'm allowed 20 hours on a student visa), eat oatmeal and noodles all day, every day, and I will accept every date so I can get a free meal that includes protein.
In fact, I might find a boyfriend that works at KFC or better yet, a grocery store clerk that will swindle bags of goodies, or maybe, I will date the damn landlord so I can skip rent all together.
I'll pick up a hustle, sell peanuts or stripped mangoes on street corners or rolled up poems for a dollar. I'll beat on a pots and pans, sing some blues and thrust a battered hat at passerbies.
I'm only half joking, at this point. Maybe I should do the easy thing and get myself a sugar daddy? MAYBE I should listen to lililWayne, T.I or Luda... 'It ain't tricking if you got it.'
(By the way, what is the 'it' that you have to have, not to be a trick? I don't understand the premise of that phrase. It just sounds like a bad idea.)

In all seriousness, I'm going to study abroad. It's not a 'if', a 'maybe', not even a 'perhaps'.
It will be an amazing experience.

Writing about New York lifted my mood, a tiny bit. I'm going back at the end of August, some girlfriends and I got a really sweet deal on a hotel in Manhattan :-)

Riot.

2009-07-24T22:45:00.006-04:00

Silver Stallion by Cat Power (she is amazing...)

Riot.

unrestrained revelry.
an unbridled outbreak, as of emotions, passions, etc.
Archaic. loose, wanton living; profligacy.

Yesterday, I was at MUCS, a community spot situated on the first floor of an apartment building. Mama and Naya were performing at the open mic night and upon stumbling on the grassroots 'hole' in the wall, I was instantly charmed.
First off, they had a community dinner night going on and my sense buds exploded when I tasted Vanessa's chicken pea and cinnamon sauce. Everyone was very friendly, down to earth and laid back. We moved to the adjoining room and sat in a circle; this was open mic. There was no stage; just chairs, a sofa and three guitars.
After last night, I truly appreciate live acoustic performances. It was so beautiful, the energy was flowing, everyone was having a great time. We played 'invent the song' games with themes such as 'rain' and 'love/revenge'.
It started to rain but when everyone was ready to go, the air outside was sweet and musky, the cement was wet.
What I loved about last night; it feels good being around people that aren't just talking about shopping, relationships and trips down south. Sometimes, I forget that there is MUCH more to living than the constant race for a safety nest.
Success is great, whether you value the dollar sign or how many cartwheels you can do in an hour, but there are so many beautiful moments to be savoured, so many strangers that can teach you something more valuable than gold.

That community space, with its stapled zine, 'recycle me' signs and donation pickle jar, with its mismatched cups and plates, the tattered dining table; it felt like a forgotten utopia, a riot against a consumerist state of mind.
As I sat on the couch and listened to the guitar, the voices that sung 'For my lover' and 'Silver Stallion' and 'My morphine', I got in touch with the 'me' I cover up everyday. The 'me' that isn't what I own, what I do or the petty achievements I can hang around my neck and that look great on a CV but hold no pride nor' real value to me. I'm talking about the 'me' that is Jen,Jeanne, Janulka, Juanita, Nana or any other nickname I am known by, the 'me' that can only be seen after I strip down naked and share all the hurts, the disappointments, the shame, the love, the friendships, the hope that has shaped me into who I am today.

I am the little girl that used to run bare feet in her Babcia and Dziadek's garden, that used to hide in the closet and read book upon book, that used to swing and watch the sun set and never take it for granted.
No matter the responsibilities, the quest for greatness, I'm still that little girl.
No matter the men I've slept with, the times I fell hard on my butt, the hard patches I traveled, the 'grown up' ish I deal with on a daily basis, no matter the roles I play in other people's lives. Fuck all that. I'm still pony tails, some body's grand daughter, Bumble bee as my uncle used to call me; I still am as pure, as innocent as the day I was born.
I will make mistakes but they will not age me, they will only make me wiser. I will love when no love is due but that love will not be wasted because everything you put out there will come back to you someday, somehow. I will doubt myself but from doubt, I will build confidence and at times, I will desolate because you must know defeat to claim victory.

Every day, I learn to let go of the fear, the need for control, the bitterness and become the woman I am meant to be. I will Riot, and so should you.

Meet SunDevil.

2009-07-22T18:35:00.004-04:00

SunDevil, crushed petals.

I adopted him on Saturday and David named him 'SunDevil'. Yes, I 'adopted' him, because this sunflower is a living being, he isn't biologically mine and I (try to) take care of it. his first meal was a glass of water, sugar and a few drops of red wine. I put him out on the balcony, yesterday, so he can bask in the humidity and sunshine, but I forgot to tuck him in at night, and I found him this morning, lying flat on the balcony. His petals are a bit crushed now but I'll be a better mommy from now on and he will get back in shape, in no time.

He, yes it is a he, was the prettiest sunflower at the market. As soon as I saw him, I knew that he was the one, the two and the three. He's handsome and tall, he has two closed buds that will soon open and bear sunflower heads.

He is my favorite flower, his yellow canary petals and seedy middle are a testament to the sun. a sure to 'brighten up my day', he is original, he is the true king of flowers. He is modest, unlike its jealous counterpart, the Rose.

Sunflower, he is tough, he will survive a rough fall when his parent (i.e me) forgets him on the balcony and he will bear delicious seeds that I will garner and indulge in.

My grandmother has a couple of them in her garden, SunDevil is a little part of 'her', in my day.
Also, he reminds me of a beautiful evening and the amazing, cool person I spent it with :-0)

Trainspotting.

2009-07-13T18:58:00.003-04:00

I haven't posted in a week, I guess I only write in my blog when I have an urge, an obscene 'need to put it on paper and share my thoughts' rush that has me, in front of the screen, at wee hours of the night. These past few days, I've been writing the stories of other people; I've been pouring my own discomfort into the heartbroken Emma, bitter Mellie, Ricardo who's so out of touch with reality, he turns to drugs and runs away, and the around-the way Pancake.
These are the characters from my new 'short' story 'Single girl' or 'Blossoms', I'm not sure which yet. I've been enthralled with the movie 'Trainspotting', the brilliance of the plot and imagery has inspired me and I've been 'pushing' my writing, adding challenge to the plot, 'Push harder, what are you trying to say/show? Make them see, don't tell them!' says a voice in my head. I've been a mad scientist. If you get the chance, WATCH it, it's intelligent, sexy, funny, poignant... I mean, I think I am in love with Ewan Mcgregor and Johnny Lee Miller, because of this movie...

In other news, I've been dealing with family adjustments; I'm trying to find the balance between being a daughter and an adult, whilst still breaking old habits and draining co-dependencies. I'm the 'go to' girl, you need money? you need to talk? you need someone to fix it, when you can't? You know who has a 'future'? Wait, wait, maybe you need someone to carry your burden? Who do you call?
Me, apparently.
And I'll say it here, loud and clear: I'm sick of it. I want to be a daughter again, not a 'parent' to my parents, nor' to my siblings. I want to be able to borrow money when I'm broke, instead of being a bank to everybody. I want to be able to have a home to visit, with two supporting parents, without them tearing each other down verbally and if they want to stay divorced, then I'm good with that, but DAMN, I need a place to rest my head, be a kid sometimes; eat brownies, watch silly sitcoms and just laugh until my ribs hurt. I want to feel safe around my dad and my mom. Instead, I feel like I'm holding this family together; like I need to always re-apply glue between us, anticipate my family's moods and needs, always worry, work hard so that one day, the money will be there and somehow, I'll buy Unity.
My dad hasn't found a place yet, he's rooming with my uncle. I'm taking him out for breakfast tomorrow. I guess it kind of hurts me that he doesn't call, that I have to take initiative for us to see/talk.

I'm sorry I haven't been a good 'bloggie 'lately, I'm back, though. I miss all of you and I'll be dropping by your blogs tonight :-0) GOOD NEWS: I got free Ben & Jerry's coupon because of this blog entry!!!

Alone.

2009-07-05T12:54:00.004-04:00

'Morning Yearning', Ben Harper

Happy News: Ben Harper and the Relentless7 will be performing at the Jazz Festival, next week! To make matters even sweeter, the concert is free :-) This truly made my day. I was in a funk on Sunday, doing a 10 hour shift. When I found out Ben Harper would be playing, life was beautiful again.

I had a conversation with a friend a couple days ago. He's my ex's best friend but we've kept in touch. In fact, B. is great, he's an infinite well of wisdom. He listened to me on many occasions and I can trust him to keep whatever I tell him between us.
B. just went through a break up with his mother's child, also a friend of mine. He got a new place and has been getting some much needed 'alone' time. He told me that he's learnt so much and he wants to keep working on himself, he won't be able to give anyone a relationship any time soon.

'So, what about you? have you been getting your 'Jen' time?' He asked.
I smiled, told him I've been seeing someone, but he was giving me problems etc...
He shook his head. 'When's the last time you've been alone?'
I stammered, murmured something about 'January'.
We both laughed, but B. gave me one of his looks, you know, the 'you know you're better than that.' looks, and I've been thinking about our conversation a lot, these past days.

I've been thinking about my life and B.'s concept of 'Alone'. To me, I've been alone since my break up with my ex, 8 months ago. But, really...Have I?
I haven't been in a committed relationship but I've had my share of dates and sleepovers. Although, there was never an emotional underline (except for the last one) I still had masculine presence to which I could run to for temporary comfort. I've been 'playing' house, getting what I needed from men without settling down. In theory, I was 'alone' because I didn't have a boyfriend but in reality, I wasn't 'alone' because my life has still been cluttered with men.
My supposed 'alone' time has been fruitless because I've still been dealing with the petty dramas of shallow relationships.
I think I'm over due for some alone time and I refuse to go half-way about it. I need to focus on myself, and if that means no more friend with benefits, dates or speaking to my exes, then SO be it. Most of the time, I can't even stand them anyways.
It's a challenge. Remember my first post? Well, I've gotten much better since then. But I realize I am not completely cured. I have a sickening fear of being 'alone'.
A relationship has always been a partial definition for 'Happiness' and I am now learning how utterly wrong and harmful that assumption really was/is. I need to find out how to be alone and not lonely.

In other news, I've just learned that my first, L., is a father! He had a baby girl. L. and me dated in college, briefly, but I still remember how utterly lazy and unreliable he was. To prove my point, He's 24 with no job, no schooling, living at home with mom and dad. I mean, THAT is all right, I don't want to judge how people live their lives, BUT it's totally unacceptable when you've got a baby. Oh, and NO, he doesn't have a job because of the economy, it's because he's childish and lacks discipline. Back in the days, he would go clubbing, come home at 6am , sleep until 6pm and repeat this cycle. In my defense, I went out with him for something like 2-3 months when I was 17 and the novelty of college life turned my brain into Jelly.

Sunday Scribblings # 170: Human.

2009-07-04T10:21:00.005-04:00

This comes a little bit late as most of you have dedicated a post to Michael Jackson, the day following his untimely death. It took some time until it hit me, perhaps I didn't realize what his life and death meant until I read Vesper's post. This week's Sunday Scribbling is themed 'Human', I've chosen to write about Michael because he encompasses a human, heightened to the expectation of a semi-god, thrown in the spot light; a martyr to the music world.

I googled him last night and I read about his struggle with Vitilgo (it is said that his skin was rendered white because of the patches of white skin that kept appearing due to his disease) and how, the 'one glove' signature look was actually an attempt to camouflage the onset of Vitilgo on one of his hands.

I never believed this until I gave it more thought. I know that Michael struggled with being black; he had surgery on his nose to fit a standard of beauty that was enforced on him. When he 'became' white, married a white woman in order to have white children, it proved what everybody already knew; Michael had some serious issues with himself.

Today, I am more informed about Vitilgo. A boy in my high school had it and he was dark skinned. By Senior year,it got so bad that his face was partly white. The irony? Vitilgo spreads faster when you are stressed or feel self-conscious about your condition.

Michael was sensitive. I remember watching the movie The Jacksons: An American dream, he struggled with acne at some point, he was so torn up about looking 'ugly', he was frantic and believed himself to be disgusting. I haven't seen the movie in years but I still remember the despair the young actor portrayed. I can only imagine the fear one faces when your body turns against you and your pigment cells are being destroyed. Now, with Michael's sensitivity and self-consciousness, Vitilgo must have spread faster than lightning.

This is a transcript from Oprah's interview with Michael.

Michael: (..)I had pimples so badly it used to make me so shy. I used not to look at myself. I'd hide my face in the dark, I wouldn't want to look in the mirror and my father teased me and I just hated it and I cried everyday.

Oprah: Your father teased you about your pimples?

Michael: Yes and tell me I'm ugly.

It is a safe bet to say, that amongst many other issues, Michael suffered from body dysmorphic disorder. His perception of being ugly fueled the surgeries; he 'fixed' one thing, but then it wasn't enough, he need to be better and attain a personal image of 'perfection'.

Michael grew up in the public eyes under the scrutiny of millions of fans; Imagine the pressure, the constant expectations to uphold his success, to be a 'star'. To make matters worse, Michael dubbed himself a 'perfectionist', claiming he was never 'pleased with anything'.

He wasn't a star, he was a boy that never got to be silly, irresponsible and unfocused. Instead, he rehearsed, produced music, traveled; He was his daddy's circus animal. When he purchased Neverland, it was a way to get away from everything and create a world where he could relive a lost child hood.

Michael Jackson was human; he was kind and many took advantage of this. Notably, the 1993 and 2005 accusations of sexual abuse. He gave away a lot of money to charities, he opened his home to sick children. He had a child-like innocence, which, with the acquisition of Neverland earned him the surname 'Peter Pan'. He was a creative genius; he rocked the musical world. He was a hard worker and he achieved more than most people ever will. He was an icon, a man child that touched millions upon millions of people. He was abused, he was beaten, forced to be a cash cow for his money hungry 'father'.

We've all done it at some point: We've laughed at comedy sketches of his nose falling out, felt sorry for him and grieved the young man that brought us 'Thriller'. Michael was always battered with insults, jokes. We didn't want to understand him.

How easy was it to laugh at him, deem him 'eccentric' or 'crazy'? What drives a man to mutilate himself beyond any recognition? A lot of pain, confusion and self-hatred.

When I think of him and listen to his timeless tracks, I will remember the bright eyed, sexy Michael, moon walking and captivating crowds. I will remember watching The Jacksons: an American dream, over and over again, while eating pancakes. I will remember when my father told me he went to school with Michael and how he stole all his dance moves, I was a child and semi-believed him...

Funny thing is, we all have a 'Michael Jackson' memory. What is yours?

As well, what do you think about his mother having custody of his children? I mean, she is still with his father, Joseph, who was known to be so abusive that Michael vomited out of fear when he entered the room. The will stated Michael wanted her to take care of his kiddies, but if she didn't protect her kids from Joseph, I doubt she will at 79 years old. What's your opinion?

Sunshine cleaning and 'Sweetness' part II

2009-07-02T23:47:00.006-04:00

Yesterday, we officially moved into our new apartment. I love it; it has a vintage feeling, with large windows and spindly stairs. We even have a laundry basket fixed on the wall, and the front door's peep hole is nearly as big as my fist and opens entirely so you can 'see' who's there. I love everything about it; the entry of the building faces east, and the previous tenant, who's a feng shui buff and organic vegetarian, told us that it's good feng shui. As well, the building is placed in such a way that the sun streams through ALL windows. He told us we can see the sunset. I can't remember the last time I've witnessed the sky burst in oranges, reds and purples. I was dead tired after the cleaning and organizing. The night prior to the moving, was spent with a friend (I've mentioned him before, he's the 'friend' I wanted to burn the house down and spray paint his hypothetical car) and although I came to him for comfort after a very intense and saddening situation, I'm kind of mad at myself for finding solace in HIS arms, after his, pardon my french, bitchassness.
That night, Stevie Wonder performed at the opening of the Jazz festival. It was a free concert that lasted nearly 3 hours! There was an homage to Micheal Jackson and I was told Stevie broke down in tears. I wasn't there, because of some family drama. In fact, I believe I'm the only one who took the situation so badly, as to roam the streets at 11pm, crying my eyes out, then jumping in bed with a 'has been'. Ah well, at least, It made me feel better.

It's ironic because, just before I got to his house, I saw an old lady walking, slumped over some heavy bags, her black dog faithfully behind her. I proposed to help her out, she had other bags around the corner so she got them too. It saved her a trip. We ended up talking and I spent some time at her house, she offered me a jacket that is a bit too big for me but I took it, anyways. She wanted to thank me for my 'kindness'.

I didn't think it was a big deal, I mean, you see an elder or anyone else, struggling, you help if you can. The lady is named Lydia. She told me she's been very depressed since her husband and brother's death, she said :' It's scary, how time flies by. One day, you'll go to bed, wondering if you'll wake up in the morning.' On my way to 'his' house, I left my number and asked Lydia to call me if she ever needed anything or wanted to grab a cup of coffee. I told her a bit about my family situation and she told me 'Life has its ups and downs, just hang in there and you'll get through.'

Meeting her, I realized how trivial my problems were, compared to hers. I was young, I had my life ahead of me, whilst she went to bed at night, obsessed with her mortality, knowing that death would soon knock at her door. To make matters worse, she's been grieving a dead lover for 10 years and her brother's death, a year and a half prior, deepened her depression.

A couple hours after our chance meeting, I was lying in Lover's arms, I was comforted by his skin on my skin, his fingers caressing my hair, our hushed conversation at 4am. Even if I knew that love wasn't our companion, that we'd soon walk away from each other.
How odd, only a month prior, I had the power in our relationship; I called the shots, but the tables have turned and I find myself; caring more than he cares, scrapping for his time, grieving his change of heart. In fact, I haven't yet digested how fast his feelings turned cold.

Here is the second part of 'Sweetness'. Enjoy and/or share your thoughts.

(In pt. I, Mickey meets Kool. He's an older boy, after feeling her up in her uncle Tiny's car, he leaves his pager's number and asks her to call him and 'he'll take care of her'. To read pt. I, click here.)

Sweetness pt.II

‘'So, you gon' call him?’’ said Bianca.
I was by Lorena’s house, in her room. The walls were a tattered pink with pictures of ‘Aventura’, her favorite band. Her friend Bianca was there; she was a loud mouth Boricua, with long nails and spaghetti eyebrows.
‘'No, why would I call him?’’ I responded.
‘‘Cause he said he gon' take care of you!’’ She rolled her eyes.
‘'So? What does that mean?’’
‘’That means, country dummy, that he gon' buy you things...nice things. I heard about this Kool guy; he hustles, he brings in the paper!'
Bianca made the dollar sign and burst out laughing. Lorena smiled. We were sitting on the bed, listening to Bachata music. Lorena was painting her toenails a soft pink, I lay on my back. I had just finished telling them what had happened with Kool.
'’So, you ain't never did it? For real?'' Lorena asked.
‘‘Nah, I didn't. Did you?'
Bianca interjected.
‘'My first time, I was 10. One of my cousins' friend told me he had something to show me, so you know, me like a dummy, I go. And he brings me behind the old buildings; you know where they had that Vinyl store, before some putos burned it down? Yeah. Well, right there. He tells me 'take off your skirt, take off your panties.' And I say 'No, why would I do that.' You know, I argue, He slaps me a couple times, so I take off my panties. I lay down, you know. He on top of me, it hurts, but then, the puto is a fast one. So when he's done, I'm free to go.’’
I looked at her, my mouth hung open. Lorena rolled her eyes.
‘‘Ok, Bianca, you don’t have to tell my baby cousin all that mess. She’s not from around here.’’
Bianca ignored her.
‘'Now, I jus' tell myself sometimes, if a puto wants it, then he gon' take it. I might as well get some money or a purse or whatever.'’
‘‘Yo, loca. No me entiende?’’ Lorena snapped.
‘‘Simple dijo…’’
‘‘Callate!’’’
Bianca rolled her eyes, re-adjusted her skimpy top. She had a star tattooed on her wrist. I told myself I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to get inked.
‘‘I like your tattoo.’’ I said.
‘‘Thanks, my cousin Francesco did it for me, he works downtown. If you want, I can hook you up…’’
‘‘Yo, Bianca. What the fuck? She’s 13; she can’t get no fuckin’ tat!’
I pursed my lips.
‘‘Just saying…Damn, Lola, don’t get your panties in a bunch…’’
Bianca sighed, gave me a sly smile.
Lorena’s friends called her Lola, or Lolita. She didn’t speak much, her eyes glazed over many times. When I tagged along with Lorena and her friends, she only spoke to reprimand them when they talked about boys and sex too vividly. She didn’t want me to know about the realities of the Bronx, because I was a good girl. I didn’t live in this concrete jungle; she didn’t want me tainted. When I imitated their slang, she snapped at me, ‘Talk proper, Mickey!’
‘‘So. This Kool guy, you like him?’’ My cousin said.
‘‘Nah, not really. He’s cute, I guess…’’
‘‘How old is this guy?’’
‘‘He hangs with Bobby’s crew, I seen him. He’s like 17.’’ Bianca said.
Lorena nodded, bit her lip. She wiggled her toes and closed the nail polish bottle.
‘‘Ok. So, let’s check out this dude.’’
Bianca gasped excitedly.
‘‘For real? I thought you were sayin’ she was too young…’’
‘‘Nah, I said, she’s too young to know the nasty shit you do, to get inked, but boys, the faster she learns, the smarter she gon’ be.’’
She turned to me, leaned in close.
‘‘Mickey, you goin’ on a date.’
I swallowed, excited but a bit apprehensive. I knew that there was no getting out of it; Lorena was intent I get educated.
*

I was sitting still, while Bianca and Lorena applied my make up. I was nervous, because Bianca was fond of the Chonga look; emaciated eyebrows, contoured lips and a severe face. I liked my cousin’s style better; fresh and effortless.
They started at my hair.
‘‘Damn, and she all black?’’ Bianca marveled, her hands played with my hair.
I didn’t have nappy strands; mine were lustrous curls that hung a bit past my collarbone.
‘‘You can’t tell, uh? She look like she Dominican.’’ Lorena said, proud.
‘‘She has Indian in her?’’ Bianca asked.
‘‘Nah, I don’t.’’ I replied.
‘‘Of course she do, most Island people got coolie in them.’’ Lorena said.
They discussed if they should put mascara on my lashes, or which blush they should apply on my cheeks.
I thought about my mother and father, wondered if they got along better in my absence; if their new found tranquility would vanish, upon my return. What if they decided there was a ‘them’ only if there was no ‘I’, would they let me linger in New York indefinitely? Would I become like Lola and Bianca; fast with my tongue, slow to trust, thirsty for designer jeans?
‘‘I’mma tell Tiny that we goin’ to the movies. He’s not gonna ask no questions, he don’t give a fuck ‘bout what you do. He’d probably fuck you if you weren’t his niece.’’ She said, with venom.
‘‘Eww.’’ I shuddered.
She always made negative comments about my uncle; it was the few times she had a fire in her belly, that her eyes lost their lustrous boredom. What angered her, I could only guess; was it the fact she was his only illegitimate child, that he treated her like a step daughter, and not his blood child. Or perhaps, she was hurt that she never had a real father; who assisted her with homework, tucked her into bed and protected her.
I wondered if she knew Tiny was still having sex with her mother. He’d park his car in front of their apartment, about twice a week. It was the only few times I wasn’t allowed into the house, I’d sit in the back of the Cadillac, reading a magazine. Tiny never took too long, maybe an hour at most. Then, we were off attending to ‘business.’
‘‘Well, Tiny is kinda sexy…’’ Bianca commented.
We both shot her disgusted looks.
‘‘Just saying, He’s still young, I’d totally… Ok, ok, I ain’t say nuttin, ok’’ She lowered her eyes, sighed again.
Tiny was young; He was in his mid 30’s, and he dressed nice. I wasn’t sure what my type was, but I knew that even if he wasn’t my uncle, I still wouldn’t want him as my man. I felt sorry for Bianca, that she was forced to be so nonchalant as to call a rape, her ‘first time.’
I knew it was easier to live with oneself that way. Maybe, if some crazy guy slapped me and forced me to lie down in the back of some buildings, I’d erase ‘rape’ from my vocabulary, act like it was mundane, the way of the world.
‘‘We almost done, Mickey. Call your man.’’ Said Lorena.
‘‘Huh, he’s not my man, I don’t even like him…’’
‘‘Just.do.it.’’ Lorena said. She handed me Bianca’s cell phone.
I sighed, paged Kool and we waited for him to call back.
*

Kool was going to pass by the Liquor store and pick us up in the late afternoon. Lorena did all the talking, to me, it sounded like orders.
‘‘Yeah, you wanna take out my little cousin, you takin’ out my girl and me, too. Bring your friends. Pick us up at the corner of…’’
Bianca snickered in the background.
‘‘We gon’ have fun.’’
She started humming a song, Lorena hung up, a strange look on her face.
‘‘What’s wrong, Lola?’ I asked.
I was relieved I didn’t have to be alone with Kool, although I did want him to kiss me again. I hoped he didn’t look at Lola, the same way, but I knew he would. Everyone always marveled at Lola.
‘‘Nothing much, Nina. Nothing you can help me with.’’
Bianca eyed Lorena from the mirror. She looked like she knew what was wrong with my cousin.
‘‘I’mma go get some air. Don’t corrupt my lil cuz with your bullshit while I’m out.’’
Bianca rolled her eyes.
‘’What’s wrong with her?’’ I asked.
Bianca shrugged.
‘‘People got problems; es la vida.’’
‘‘But she’s so beautiful.’’ I said.
Bianca smacked her lips.
‘‘Yeah, she too beautiful for her damn good. It’s a curse, if you ask me. She’s been fighting off her uncles since she like 9.’’
I nodded, pretended to understand. I still had questions, but I knew I wouldn’t get my answers from Bianca. I wondered at the irony; being so beautiful, it spoiled you. Like a fruit, when it was too sweet; the sap turned bad and rotted.
In St-Marten, the only men in my life were my father, uncles and cousins; only there to love, teach and protect. But there was Lorena, beautiful and young, fighting a pack of wolves who all wanted to spread, taste and conquer.
I wanted to take her back home with me so she can experience my secular life but, somehow, I knew that for girls like Lorena, even my little island could not offer rest.
*
Uncle Tiny called and let me know he was around the corner, on his way home. I shrugged my shoulders, started gathering my stuff when Lorena got on the phone and told him I was spending the night.
‘‘She’s safer here anyways, wouldn’t you agree?’; she said, her voice was what my mother called ‘saucy’ and I would have gotten slapped for talking like that to any adult, but for some reason, Lorena created her own rules and everyone adjusted to them. She had the fire in her belly, again. I wondered what she meant by me being safer here than by Aunt Teresa’s.
‘‘Whatever, Tiny.’’ She finally said, and hung up.
She didn’t call him daddy or father, just Tiny. She got that faraway look, bit her lips nervously.
‘‘He’s gon’ drop some of your stuff, then we’ll meet up with your man.’
I sighed.
‘‘Look, Kool’s not my man. I don’t even know his real name…’’
‘‘Yeah, Niña, but when do you ever really know anything about a man?’ ‘
‘‘I don’t get it.’’
‘‘I’m glad you don’t and I hope you never will.’’
We heard the door open. Lorena went up front to meet him. Tiny always let himself in, when we visited his girlfriends; he opened the fridge, searched through drawers, and left his cigarettes butts lying around. He acted like king of his castle, in every single house.
Bianca was still looking herself in the mirror.
‘‘What’s taking Lorena so dang long?’’ she asked.
‘‘I don’t know.’’
‘‘Well, go get her, we meeting the boys in 10 minutes and she ain’t even put on her make up.’’
I rolled my eyes but exited the room. I walked towards the front and saw them in the hallway. I paused; I was taken aback by their physical closeness. Lorena always bad mouthed her father, snapped at him whenever she was in his presence, but there she was, her body against the wall, Tiny urgently holding her wrist.
They didn’t see me and my surprise made me a mute.
They were whispering, I couldn’t hear what they were saying but Lola looked subdued and small. She dropped her head, Tiny picked up her chin. The attention he gave her, I would never forget.
He looked at her the same way, Kool looked at me the day prior; his eyes glazed with a silent yearning, a boiling need. Lola, Lolita, Lorena. She looked like a fly embedded in a spider’s web; she lacked the tools, knowledge and resources to get out. She had no way out. How long had this been going on?
I started sweating, a hoarse cry ready to burst out of my throat. It all added up; why Lorena was so aggressive with Tiny, but only when there was distance between them or people around. In the hall, she appeared like a sacrificial lamb.
All the times Tiny came by the apartment, leaving me in the house, he wasn’t seeing her mother. I remembered she worked two jobs; there was no way she was home at that time.
The walls were closing in, my Lola, how can I save you? Bianca was right; Lorena was too beautiful for her own good, it wasn’t just uncles she had to fight off; there was not an ounce of this world, where she could be safe. She was like a fruit, but a worm was intent on filling himself with her sweetness, until she was no good on the inside.
I understood why her eyes glazed over so many times, her silences, why she wanted to protect me but also teach me about men’s deceptions. Tiny came closer to her, his hand was on her nape. Her body caved in, her eyebrows furrowed.
‘‘Hey.’’ I croaked.
Tiny tensed, looked up at me and gave me his crooked smile.
‘‘Hey, Niña. What’s up?’’
He moved away from my cousin, his daughter. He handed her the bag, she took it, stoic.
‘‘Aight, Niñas, be good.’’
He came out the door; Lorena closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she reopened them, our gazes met. For only a split second, I saw a child in my cousin. She wasn’t the strong woman I’ve made her up to be, that was only what she projected. She was 15, only two years older than I, but I knew that if I was going through the same abuse, I would break from the pressure; the pain would consume me. I don’t know if she read the horror in my eyes or if she could feel my world tumble and crash. Her look was hollow like a valley flooded with pain. She took a breath, her face relaxed. She walked past me, nonchalantly handed me my bag.
‘‘Let’s go, Niña, you don’t wanna keep your man waiting too long.

***

Thank you to everyone who gave me some feedback on the first part, I love sharing my stories and greatly appreciate your comments :-0)

Story 'Sweetness'. Part I

2009-06-30T19:58:00.006-04:00

I finished this story, a couple months back. Initially, the story included an 8 year old getting molested in the back of her uncle's car. This happened to a good friend of mine, in her youth, so I drew inspiration from this. The story has moved in a totally different direction since then. Youths are experimenting with sex at an earlier age, then they did, even 20 years back. In fact, many girls lose their virginity or perform oral sex on the basis of 'dares' or other 'society' games.

When I was a young girl, spin the bottle was considered fun, sexy and 'risqué'. Talking to an ex-lover, he told me he's been living on his own since he was 16 years old. He remembers his teenage years as successions of loft parties, Andy Warhol like, where 'people would have sex, all in the same room, high or drunk'. The story wasn't written as an opinion piece, I respect people's views on sexuality and how they want to apply these in their lives. What I don't condone is when people harm others, or when youth is misled about sex by their surrounding environment. SO, I've separated the story in 2 parts, because it is quite long. I'd love to hear what you think of it.

Warning: This story can get graphic and deals with sexual content.

Sweetness.

Janet Jackson’s ‘Anytime, any place’ blared through the radio. My uncle, Armando who we nicknamed ‘Tiny’ because of his rail thin body, was driving me around in his brand new Cadillac.
His hair was gelled and huge sunglasses decorated his chiseled cheekbones. Tiny wasn’t a pretty boy but he had his way with women. My auntie Teresa was always fighting him, cussing about all the ‘high yella bitches’ he messed with.
She thought that by making Tiny baby sit me throughout the summer, he wouldn’t have the time to mess around on her. She was a fool to think a witness could ever stop my uncle. He would just bring me along; I would wait in the living room, while Tiny went into the bedroom. I watched TV, but mostly, I’d observe.
Relationships between men and women were captivating to me. Tiny was kind to me, his niece, but he was cold with the women he bedded. Sometimes, he was downright cruel. I didn’t understand how you could love some one who made you cry, who hit you. I didn’t understand why people stayed together if all they did was argue and render each other miserable.
That's why I was staying with my uncle; my parents were trying to work things out, patch up their crumbling marriage. Therefore, they sent me off to spend summer with my mother's half brother and his neurotic wife.

‘‘We gon’ go home right afta’ I take care of this one deal.’’ Tiny said and pulled the car into a drive way.

‘’Are we going to see one of your girlfriends again?’’ I asked.Tiny cut his eyes at me.

‘’They my lady friends, Niña, ok? Lady friends, not girlfriends, and don’t’chu mention none of this to your auntie.’’I rolled my eyes.

‘’I never tell her anything. I don’t even like her.’’

‘’That’s not a nice thing to say. Your aunt loves and cares for you.’’ Said Tiny, absently.
He honked twice before a tanned boy of about 18 strutted down the steps.

‘‘He, Tiny, my man!’’ He screamed and gave Tiny a bounce.

‘’Kool, you betta’ not waste more of my time, I got my niece with me.’’The boy named Kool laughed and opened the back seat

‘‘Why you sittin’ in the back for, you think I’m a fuckin cab driver?’’

‘‘I’m on probation, ain’t supposed to be out past 8, don’t want the cops seein’ me ridin’ up front in that nice ride of yours.’’

‘‘It’s a beauty, ain’t it.’ my uncle whistled proudly.

‘‘So, how’s business, what you got for me?’’

Shortly after I arrived to New York, my uncle let me know the rules; I don’t repeat anything I see to anyone, not even my aunt, no matter how hard she tried to pry it away from me. ‘You scratch my back, I scratch yours.’ Tiny had said. It was a good deal; Tiny gave me money every day, in exchange for my silence. What he did for a living, I could only guess.
They began talking in Spanish. I leaned my head on the car window, about to pass out of boredom. By the time they finished talking, it was close to 10 pm.

‘‘I’m hungry!’’ I complained.

‘‘You’re always hungry. We goin’ home, Teresa gon’ give me shit for bringing you back so late, ain’t no tellin’ what she might do if she know I fed you too.’’

‘‘C’mon, Uncle T, She won’t know.’’

‘‘No.’’

‘‘I’m so hungry, I might forget myself and let my tongue slip on everywhere we’ve been today…’’ I threatened. Kool laughed, Tiny gave me a menacing look in the rearview mirror.

‘‘You trained her well.’’
Uncle Tiny chuckled.

‘‘Yaw, she’s a smart one. When she loses all that weight, she’ll be a pretty one too.’’

I cut my eyes at Tiny, embarrassed that he referenced to my weight in front of Kool. I was pudgy, but so was my mother when she was my age. When I desolated about my round belly and thighs, she reassured me 'it's only baby fat, it will melt away in no time.'
But I wanted to be skinny, today, not one day; I wanted to wear Pum pum shorts like my cousin, Lorena; Tiny's love child, his first born.
She was beautiful; she had cream skin, and wide bambi eyes, framed by thick lashes. She was 15, but most men in the neighborhood wanted her. To the point, her mother wouldn't leave her alone in presence of our male cousins and uncles.
‘'Men are men, Niña; you have to protect yourself, what is blood to them? Those perros sucios only think with one thing, one thing!'’ Her mother, Consuela, would say.
She was a Cubana, very religious. But my auntie Teresa had a different opinion of what she was praising.
‘'That woman is shameless, shameless! She pretend to be a woman of God but she go and have a child by my Armando. She goes and have his first child, how do I compete with that, huh, Mickey? Well, I tell you how. And you listen; if you don't take care of your man, someone else will. So, I give him his first son. There. I cook, I don't pretend my head hurts at night, I keep my house clean, I keep myself smelling nice and looking good. All those putas can say what they want, think what they want, but to who is Armando coming back to every night, every night for the past 17 years? Huh!’’ My aunt told me.
I was helping her make dinner; Bacalaitos, chicharrones and platanos.
I rolled my eyes but kept my lips pursed. I thought about reminding her that Tiny has been sleeping out near damn half the week, at least since I've arrived.
‘’And Lorena, you know, she like my daughter, but if the mother's a whore, then, the child can't help but be spoiled. Mickey, pass me the knife over there, and how are you cutting the platanos? That's no way, here, Dio Mio, I have to do everything by myself...'’
My aunt Teresa vented. Gossiped and made comments I was sure my own mother wouldn’t have made in front of me; a child. But I was learning. I was like a sponge thrown in the sea, sucking in information at the speed of light.

I cut my eyes at Tiny. Kool laughed.

‘‘Come on, T, there’s a Diner next street.’’
He turned towards me and asked.

‘’You like hamburgers? It’s on me.’

Uncle Tiny had enough money to buy the entire Diner but he grew up dirt poor in Santo Domingo and could never turn down a freebie. My aunt called it ‘his condition’.
Even when they were giving out free fruit and veggie baskets at the center, He’d sent me to ‘get what you can’. I’ve never seen my uncle eat anything that came directly from the earth, or a tree. But the baskets were free, so he had to have them.
My mother was black; Tiny had some Spanish in his nigger. His mother, a Dominicana, got herself pregnant by my Grandfather, in the hopes of marriage. She didn’t have her papers and she figured a man would give her citizenship if it meant staying close to his child. Well, she didn’t know my Poppa. She got deported, her new born in tow.

‘‘Well, you might as well add in a cheeseburger and Coke for me.’’ Tiny replied.
I rolled my eyes, 'cheap bastard.' I muttered. Uncle T. drove to the dinner and parked the car.

‘‘Well, go on.’’ He gestured for Kool to get out the car. Kool stripped a twenty from a thick wad of cash and replied.

‘‘Probation.’’
Uncle Tiny sucked his teeth, took the money and got out of the car. He left the key in the ignition, Dr.Dre’s ‘Nuttin but a G thang’ playing.

‘’Don’t touch the radio.’’ He said and slammed the door.

‘‘I want a Chocolate milkshake!’ I screamed after him.Kool sat closer to me.

‘‘So, mami. I still don’t know your name.’’

‘‘Malaika, but every one calls me Mickey.’’ I said.

‘’That ain’t a Dominican name.’’

‘‘Nah. I ain’t none of that, I’m from St- Marten’’
Kool was skinny, but had a nice face with ivory teeth that were so white; he looked like he came out of a Colgate commercial.

‘’So. You have a bf, Mickey?’’I rolled my eyes.

‘’No. I’m too young to have a boyfriend.’’

‘’Too young? How old are ya?’’

‘’I’m 13.’’

Kool chuckled.

‘’So you’ve never kissed a boy before, or did…Anything?’’I looked out the window, anxious to get my food.

‘'Nah, why would I kiss someone, when I ain't never had a bf?’’He laughed.

‘‘You are real pretty’’ He whispered in my ear and kissed my neck.

I froze up, surprised. Kool ran his hands on my thighs and rubbed them slowly.He smelled nice -like a Cayman soap bar and grounded pepper. He pressed his dark lips on my own, inserted his tongue in my mouth and began fondling me under my shirt. I felt odd, his fingers accented on my nipples, I couldn’t help but shudder.

I knew what sex was, obviously. Sometimes, when Tiny was in the bedroom with Aunt Teresa or one of his girlfriends, I heard the moaning, the soft cries and the rushed arguments.
Somehow, whatever happened between those walls erased or made the women forget they were not Tiny’s one and only.
I was curious, but I was conditioned by years of reprieve from every member of my family; ‘‘you don't let no boy touch you, you understand? Next ting you know, you come back with your belly swollen, and no man will marry you.’ my mother had told me, countless times.
I didn't care at the time; home wasn't like New York, or at least the Bronx. Here, everyone always seemed hot and bothered, like life revolved around sex. Back home, I only thought about it, when it was inescapable; like when my cat gave birth, or when the preacher had a baby out of wedlock. But then again, it was an after thought; sex for conception, never for pleasure.
But here I was, in the backseat of Tiny's Cadillac; my eyes closed, a boy fondling my breasts and sticking his tongue down my throat. He took my hand, licked my fingers and placed them on his groin. His eyes were like marbles, dark and shiny with excitement.
I felt his soft skin and I opened my eyes a bit. His penis was huge and black, almost purple. It looked grotesque compared to his light brown complexion. I gasped and removed my hand.
He laughed and pulled me closer.

‘’You’ve never seen a dick before?’’

He kissed me again and fondled himself with my fingers. He paused and unbuttoned my pants. I tried to push him away but the thought of a fight only made him more aroused. He started to insert his fingers in my panties.

‘’What are you doing?’’ I screamed.

‘’Trust me. I’ll make you feel nice.’’

I shut my legs tightly, and moved away from him.

‘’Aww, come on.’’ Kool groaned.’’ You’re such a tease!’’
I sucked my teeth.

‘’Better a tease, than a hoe.’’
I had heard that line before from one of Lorena's friends. I tried to emulate the way they talked, dressed and carried themselves. They were goddesses to me; they wore skin tight jeans, with thong straps showing.
I saw this look in Kool's eyes; like he had to have me. And I understood, finally, what my cousin meant when she said some man wanted to 'git it from her.'
Kool chuckled, like everything I said was so funny. He buttoned his pants and leaned back against the seat.

‘’You’re not from around here.’’
It wasn’t a question.

‘’You’re still a virgin?’’ He asked. I sucked my teeth.

‘’Yeah, until marriage.’’He laughed.

‘’Who feeds you this bullshit?’’

I lowered my eyes, suddenly feeling young and stupid. America was so different from back home. Everyone was more aggressive, everything moved faster.

‘’Then, you’re a good girl.’’
He licked his lips, seemed to ponder this for a moment. He fingered his long hair, and looked outside the car.
‘’You know how to braid?’’

I nodded.

‘’Good. Whenever you can get away from Tiny…’’
He took out a pen from his pockets and scribbled a number.

‘’My pager. I’ll take care of you. ‘’
He smiled. I hesitated; then put the paper in my jeans’ pocket. The front door opened and my uncle eyed us suspiciously. He handed me my food and made no effort to give back the change to Kool.

‘’One of you messed with the radio?’’ He asked.I rolled my eyes. Kool gave him his Colgate smile.

‘’Nah, man. I never mess with anotha’ man’s radio, golden rule.’’

He smiled at me and winked. Tiny put on some Spanish rap and we rolled out of the parking lot. We drove in silence; I slurped on my milkshake and played with my cheeseburger.
We dropped off Kool and Tiny drove back to the house.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Free 'Ben & Jerry' ice cream :-0)

2009-06-29T23:04:00.011-04:00

“This post is a part of 20SB’s Looking Back Blog Carnival, and Ben & Jerry’s is awarding free ice cream to lucky bloggers and readers!”

To participate, you must re-post a previous blog entry. The purpose of this contest is to evaluate your growth and how your life has changed since you first joined the blogging community...

Here it goes.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

I believe I am the epitome of a woman who loses herself in the ones she loves. Sometimes I wonder what parts of me are authentic and which have been molded to please all the occupants of my heart. What is the core of my being? I guess, is my question.
It started with an innocent realization; when things got chaotic at home, I could always find refuge in another’s arms. With a man, I could be vulnerable to an extent I never felt possible with my girlfriends & my family. I always felt that I couldn’t show them I hurt or cried because I would be labeled weak. In consequence, they wouldn’t seek comfort in times of need; they would lose faith that I could be their backbone.
Throughout High school, home was synonym of an unfruitful marriage & financial stress. I was so emotionally drained from my family situation that I hid out at my best friend’s house every day after school.
I wanted someone who would care for me, be my nest outside my household. I was a lost girl who jumped into a relationship (out of comfort and not out of love). I shut off the voices and allowed myself to believe I loved him. I thought I could erase past hurts by creating a life with R.

1. We stayed together for 2.5 years.

If something guaranteed my happiness, he would provide. He really opened himself to me. Raw and uncut, every imperfection and thought was shared with me. I blended with him; I started watching wrestling, using organic products and avoiding prescription pills. I changed my views on sexuality and relationships. It felt so natural, like I was just maturing and evolving. In truth, I was being consumed by my boyfriend’s personality.
I would feel guilty when I doubted him. My feelings toward him were those of a sister towards her kin or a lost girl who searched for security in the arms of a man who offered friendship and love. I was blind for such a long time. How odd is it, that this man whom I thought my best friend and love is now a source of resentment and anger? With my ex, I never dared question the illusion. Even when writing out my thoughts and feelings, the evidence of my lack of love was flamboyant. Instead of being relieved and ending the relationship, I willowed in guilt. After all, did he not give me everything I should need? He used to tell me ‘You can lie to everyone, but never lie to yourself.’ It is an advice I have not followed.
When I suggested we part ways, he felt betrayed. Not only have I broken so many promises, he saw his future shatter in the lapse of a phrase. As much as I hurt him, I couldn’t stand being miserable any longer. I freed myself from the choke hold and the desperation that stemmed from being with someone I didn’t love. After the break up, I felt relieved but there was something missing. To occupy myself (i.e. pursue my addiction) I started hanging out with someone new...

Then, I fell in love; raw, profound, obsessive.

It happened so fast; I can’t pinpoint the ‘why’ or the ‘how’. One day, I was hanging out with him and the next; I was meeting the family, making future plans and spending every free moment together.

2- A month ago, I would have told you I had a Lover that was my sun and with whom I was utterly endeared, a Lover who had baggage as cumbersome as a moving truck and as dangerous as a loaded gun, for my heart at least.

Me and my ex, Summer 2008.

I would have said I agreed somehow between the Love making sessions, the long walks and his hands around my waist, to share his burdens.Some days, it felt like my spine was a twig about to snap in two. I was worried that we could only last if I silenced a part of me. I would say that we wore masks and had layers of doubt smeared on our hearts because we both have been hurt in the past.
It has been 8 months since we first made love and much has changed. We recently broke up. I still love him but I’ve made a decision with my head and I am (trying to) stick by it. I gave too much, too soon, to a man who has no idea where he is or where he is going. He is a good man, just confused and in lingo. His situation doesn’t allow me to have needs nor desires. I am expected to be a muted figurine in his life (while he gets his sh*t together) and then I will reap what I have sown.
After many fights, tears shed and unfruitful discussions, I had decided to call it quits. How much misguided disrespect should one take?

For the past few years, I have been searching for validation and comfort in the arms of men. Although I have been blessed with great parents, home was more of a battlefield than a sanctuary & men have been temporary shelters for me.

My ex and I remain on speaking terms. I doubt we will get back together. He has a lot of issues to deal with before he can be in a relationship (his words, not mine). Of course, we both knew this & the same is true about my current mindset.
We just hoped love and time would smooth out the bumps. We didn’t realize we weren’t dealing with the occasional disturbance but a daily collision.
He has the same addiction. He cannot recall a period of time when he didn’t have a woman. Likewise, his problem has roots in his upbringing but his story isn’t mine to tell. To solve a situation, you must first admit you have a problem. Then, you must change your behavior because you cannot modify your life unless you take initiative and break from the routine. You can’t do the same thing over and over again, and expect different outcomes.

It will take time, perhaps I will relapse. What I know is that I am no longer a little girl who needs rescue from an unbearable family life. I am the author of my life and I alone have the power to change

*****

A lot of things have changed since then. I still think about my ex, I yearn for the emotions I had for him, but I don't want to be with him. I miss his daughter, I miss the complicity, the mundane life that is made extraordinary by the breath of love.

But GOD, I do NOT miss the drama, tears, insecurity, uncertainty, abuse. I am happy; here, now, by myself.

French Movies, Oui Oui.

2009-06-28T16:37:00.008-04:00

Nana, played by Anna Karina

I have finished watching Jean Luc Godard's 'Vivre sa vie' (Live your life). It's a bittersweet movie; Nana, a 22 year old Parisian, dreams of becoming an actress. She dabbles in theater but life is hard, Nana cannot afford to pay rent and she never seems to make ends meet. She starts selling her body and meets Raoul, a local pimp. He takes her under his wing and explains to her the rules of the streets. Follows; financial abundance and a forced contentment.
Nana is a dreamer; she is sweet and kind, she dances wildly whilst laughing out loud, cries at movie screenings...
She is definitely not the streetwalker stereotype we usually see in motion pictures. Nana's daily get up is a cardigan sweater, a knee lentgh skirt, topped with a long black coat. 'Vivre sa vie' itself isn't a movie that casts judgment about les filles de rue, it simply presents a hopeful young woman who takes a detour in life that many women have taken before and after her.
Jean Luc Godard portrays Nana so beautifully, with scenes where a lover reads Edgar Poe, the camera steady on her bewildered expression. The actress is Anna Karina, Jean Luc Godard's wife (at the time). It's an oldie, shot in 1962, I believe.
I'm working until 6pm, then I am heading to Cinema du Parc for a screening of Soderbergh's 'The girl friend experience'. The actress is a 21 year old porn star, who's a fan of Jean Luc Godard. I'm very curious to see her performance as the reviews are favorable.
'Vivre sa vie' has left me in a state of uber-contentment. My creative juices are flowing, I had to pause the movie a couple times so I can work on a story (Single girl) I am currently writing.
La vie est très belle.

Patricia, played by Jean Seberg

Another muse; Jean Seberg. She was an American actress, her turbulent personal life almost out shadowed her filmography. I am yet to see a full performance but I am puzzled by her. She's such a classic beauty, perhaps it is the rebellious pixie cut. She is one of Jean Luc Godard's 'women', she played an American student/aspiring journalist in 'A bout de souffle' (Breathless). She had a very 'English' accent when speaking french, it threw me off. I don't like it, to be honest, I rather a smooth Parisian slang.

Sunday Scribblings # 169: Toys

2009-06-27T14:14:00.008-04:00

Baby girl and me, 2008. Before I cut my hair.

This week's prompt reminded me of someone who made my life richer and fuller. Because of this beautiful little person, I have discovered parts of me that wouldn't have been accessible for years and years to come.
Because of her, I found out that my love is infinite, unconsequential, non-discriminative. Although I display an impatient character at times, I am truly a well of patience when tested by events. I found out I can be tired as a dog yet find the energy to do the 'Baby Maniac' dance, romp on all fours for her amusement. I can console and nurture even when my own heart is breaking, I can discipline without being unkind, stand up for some one even though my own relationship (with her daddy) will suffer.
Baby girl didn't have a toy she would cling to like many toddlers cling to a blankie or a favorite doll. She liked to play with phones and dial numbers, then gibber in her baby language when she accidentally did call someone. She could sing 'No one' by Alicia Keys, she would wake up at dawn and wait for me to pick her up at the top of the stairs so she can sleep with 'daddy?!'.

She could be a bully, especially with smaller kids. She was perceptive, funny, smart and cunning. Even at a young age (2) she understood she was beautiful and if she pouted, she would get out of trouble, except with her immediate family who got used to her petty trick :-) She used to always ask for 'meelk' or 'juish', then 'cheeken'. Ah, the evolution.

Although, her daddy and me are no longer together, I think about baby girl on a daily basis, Sometimes, I wonder if she learned new songs or how long did her hair get, if she's happy and if she's getting enough veggies. She's surrounded by many loving people, so I rarely worry. I'm just hoping that she gets to see her daddy more often and that her parents have finally worked out their differences.

Hungry Girl: Day 5- J'ai fini!

2009-06-27T01:32:00.004-04:00

French for 'I am done'. I had my first meal a couple hours ago and I am recuperating. Eating feels weird, In fact, I felt guilty when savouring my fillet Mignon and rice.
I didn't get in touch with my spirituality over the past few days nor did I separate myself from the commercial influences of this capitalist world. I should have prayed and meditated,but I didn't. As this is my first time, I forgive myself. Will there be other episodes where I deprive my body from food? Yes, but I won't write about them in details because frankly, I am boring myself.
I will close this train of thought, with only one affirmation: Although I am an optimist and believe that anything can be achieved through hard work, dedication, faith (and a sprinkle of good luck), fasting has reinforced this belief. I feel like I can do anything...
Why? Because when you experience the power your mind has over your own body, and the way you can participate, actively, in physical changes (losing weight- you are literally a landscaper, trimming away, through your lack of consumption), then you can do the exact same out there, in the world surrounding you.
I realize that I may sound a bit off the rocker, but perhaps one must experience self inflicted hunger to get my point.

Anyways, Thank you all for the encouraging comments and the advice/concern. It wouldn't have been the same without your support.

Toodles. And here is the rest of it.

Hungry Girl: Day 3 and Day 4.

2009-06-25T12:15:00.008-04:00

Untitled, Albert Reyes

Today was humid, my clothes hung to my body like second skin. About 30 minutes ago, the sky turned a violent purple and streaks of light tore through the clouds. Rain begun pouring down. I love thunderstorms...
This post is a little bit late as I've already entered Day 4. The days are alike, so I will spare the repeating details; hunger, headaches, low energy.

But it's getting better. I'm getting used to not eating. I'm less cranky and my patience level is higher. In fact, I'm feeling very serene and careless right now. I take things as they go and don't let stress get to me. I must admit that I had a moment of vulnerability yesterday; I ate 2 mushrooms and peppers that were left on the table. They were really tiny, I forgave myself. I'm keeping with the fast.
I will cut it short to five days, instead of seven. I was really dizzy today, coming out of the shower. My thinking is very slow, I don't process conversations as fast as usual and my sight is a bit blurry sometimes. I believe it's not only the fast but also the humidity.
What bothers me is that my breasts are disappearing! I don't fill my bras, people! It's the first weight you lose... The little I had of a butt, is melting away, as well.

Today, I can really say that there are good things about the fast:

When you get used to not eating, it's amazing how your head clears. Although you process things slower, your thoughts are deeper and more rooted.

Your body (although weak) becomes only a mechanism, you feel your mind overtaking the physical.

You feel empty, all the time. Your body is light, sometimes, it feels like your mind is raw, without any barriers.

When you get passed the irritation and crankiness, you are very peaceful.

You start viewing food as a want, instead of a need. It challenges your beliefs, your daily routines.

I pushed myself hard for this one. If I can give up food, I can give up anything. I found a new artist: Albert Reyes.

Hungry Girl: Day 2.

2009-06-24T01:47:00.006-04:00

Plum Blossoms & the moon, by Katsushika Hokusi

It's 2am in the morning. I slept a disgusting 12 hours today; then, I woke up, rushed in the shower and got ready for work. The good thing about the fast is the amount of time I usually spend on eating/ making food is now time that can be allocated to other activities (i.e thinking about baby back ribs, butter chicken or planning the dinner I will have when all this is through...)
I've decided to cut the bread from my diet and replace it by two (tiny) bowls of oatmeal and milk. My reasons are simple; it will be more gentle to digest, eating bread when I am hungry feels like cheating. Oatmeal will give me somewhat of a nutritional intake, at least, keep me going for the five following days.
I've been having headaches; apparently, it's The hunger.
Today was such a gorgeous, sunny day; I was walking and had a craving for a smoothie, frozen yogurt or ice cappuccino. Instead, I sipped on my water.
Food makes life beautiful; it de-stresses, sends you good vibes. A good meal is better than sex, I am starting to believe. After work, I wished I could just go to an Indian restaurant; sip on Chai, order some Vandalu or butter chicken, gorge on Basmati rice and Naan bread. Five more days....
Honestly, you can't realize how much 'food' has a hold on you until you try to break away from it. How much of your day is spent thinking/planning to eat, cook etc... How much of life's pleasures begin with a filling breakfast or a savoury supper, how much a dessert can uplift your spirits.
Am I feeling calmer, more serene? Is my mind calmer, my thoughts deeper? Am I connecting with my creative side, orchestrating literary master pieces? Do I understand how it feels to wake up with an empty stomach, like billions of the world's population?

No. not yet.

I have little patience, I'm craving food (although this is getting slightly less oppressive), I am over thinking, I can't wait until I can eat something.
What's odd; I feel like I am invincible. Reality seems like a conceived notion, rather than the truth. I feel like I don't need to eat, like food and survival are only mythological twins. These past two days, I've been craving for it , yes, but mostly as a pleasure; to indulge in the chewing, smelling, swallowing, tasting. I feel like I can live without. I like that my body feels like I'm floating on a cloud, how sharp my collarbones look in the mirror, even the knowledge that I'm giving my digestive system a well deserved rest, is a small triumph.
The hunger makes you want to be busy and motivates you to push harder in other areas of your life. I've taken overtime at work (I decided this summer, I will get all my finances back in shape and pay off my debts, build a cash nest and go to Europe in September), decided on pursuing a Master after my B.A, I've been writing and I've been checking out some of Katsushika Hokusi's artwork (I decided I need to brush up on my art knowledge), Also, I've called the guy that's been creating insecurity & sadness in my life and asked to pick up some stuff I left at his apartment (I've decided that since I'm being ambitious and demanding in other aspects of my life, I should apply the same thinking in my love life; settle only for what's best)
Finally, money is also on spotlight. I care less for it, therefore, I spend less of it. On average, I can spend 100-150$ on food, weekly. I have coffee, tea, lattes a couple times a day, I go out to restaurants with friends quite often, I buy my lunch at work etc... It's outrageous how much goes towards satisfying my emotional relation with food.

So, I have entered day Three *Drum roll*

Hungry Girl: Day 1.

2009-06-22T20:09:00.008-04:00

Me, renting out a bike.

Naya & Felix, hanging out.

Felix, doing the 'face of death'

Me, doing the 'Little Tree'

Lion-ess said it and I shall repeat: I am tired of bread!

Today has been very low energy; I've been riddled with allergies, battered by a lack of sleep & irritated at work. Waking up, I was excited yet apprehensive about the first day of fasting. I've been easing myself into this for the past few weeks but eating small portions doesn't compare to eating ONLY dry bread.

I went into the kitchen an hour ago, I was heating up water for tea (no sugar, no honey, no milk, nothing) and I marveled at how yummy the chocolate chip cookies looked (I don't even like cookies) how I wish I could eat some yogurt or even snack on some olives.

Then a thought popped into my head; IF you cheat, nobody will know! Just chew on it, you can spit it out after.

I walked out of the kitchen, unfortunately my little sister chose to eat her hamburger; in the living room, in front of me. She was smiling with malice as I looked at her with envy.

The first few days, I read, are the hardest. I will be hungry, low on energy, irritated..

I feel like my bones are hollow and ready to snap. As if when I get up or bend over, my spine will crack like a tree branch. I had a headache already and my eyes are hurting me. It's a mix of things; lack of sleep, nutrition, rest.
Tomorrow will be a new day.

The good news; I feel proud that I'm sticking with this. My productivity has been high today; although I am dead tired, I listened to Sabrina Gilbert's 'Sticky' CD. I'm reviewing it for Burrowsink.com, so I rotated the 9 tracks a couple times. I started a new story & I love where it's going. So far, it is entitled 'Him'. Stay tuned.

I hope when I sleep, I dream of food; Baby back ribs with potatoes and mountains of butter...

Quickie.

2009-06-22T00:30:00.005-04:00

This week has been crazy but in a very beautiful way. I've had my last performance tonight and everything went great. I am saddened that things have come to an end; I'll miss the Saturday & Sunday rehearsals, even the nerve recking 10 minutes before the opening of the play shall be grieved. I can't wait to get paid, though :-) Jesse, the director, told us to 'stay tuned', as he felt this wasn't the end of the project, just yet. We'll see.
Until then, I can attend to the people I have been neglecting (they know who they are, I am SO sorry!) take on more hours at work as I am very broke right now & write. As well, I want to attend auditions for Indies shooting in Montreal. I have a hundred and one projects this summer, I'll be a very busy but very ambitious girl for the next few months.

I have a crazy week ahead; Lion-ess & me are starting our fast today (it's a little past midnight) and it will be water and bread for seven days. As well; no shopping, a lot of soul searching and definitely no boyfriend-ish drama. I am moving out and I need to complete packing, I'm working 40 hours, I have a spoken word CD review to complete for Burrowsink.com (hehe, there's a story behind this, it'll be in another post) and I pray to God he will give me enough energy not to faint because of lack of nutritional intake.
Stay tuned, I'll be updating the blog about my fasting experience. Challenging times ahead. :-)

Clutter.

2009-06-17T19:47:00.010-04:00

Hanging out with Claudio, aka Craig, a fellow actor.

Setting up the stage, with cast mates.

I've been thinking these past few days about the clutter in my life. I've been packing away the clothes and books I will be taking with me to the new apartment, giving away the 'unwanted' things that will ,perhaps, be somebody else's treasure.

My life for the past two weeks have been a swirl of unpredicted events/emotions, a lack of appetite, a couple tearful breakdowns and of course; theater, writing and partying. I've been attending restaurants, lounges, cafés and getting lost in the velvet background of the Ecohosting stage where we've had three performances, thus far.
I can't describe the rush I feel when the lights go up and down, when the audience laughs, the genuine accolades from strangers when they shake my hand at the end of a show and say 'That was great' or 'It was a privilege' or 'Amazing, really, good job'.

I went to see 'Reflections on giving birth to a Squid', I wanted to support other actors and also, get an idea of what everyone's bringing to the Fringe. I was BLOWN away by the talent. There were three actors, playing multiple roles. It was beautiful.

I've been focusing on Theater so much, I've given little attention to my love life because it is a hot mess just about now.

***
Lover came up with a 'I'm not sure about us' dialogue, that got me so upset because for the past three months, he has been harassing me into a relationship. So, we've been spending time together and I began waking up with him on my mind, talking about him, thinking about him. All of a sudden, He doesn't think we are compatible and bla bla bla... It's disgusting, I am wavering between ~~wanting to burn down his apartment,~~ not caring and bursting into tears because I would have never thought HE, out of all people, would just decide (out of the blue) that we are not 'working out'.

In the first place, 'US' wasn't my idea, it was his and he did everything in this world to make me want him (sending me flowers, sushi, cake, cooking for me, listening to my issues, having conversations that lasted hours, reading my stories...) and now, He doesn't think it's going to work! To make matters worse, he didn't tell me this up front, he just started disappearing, telling me he's confused etc... That's what irks me the most; Have the decency to let me know you want to stick to being friends. It's minimum respect.

~~I'm pissed off, if he had a car, the windows would've been broken, and the hood would have been spray painted.~~ Wait, wait... breathe...breathe...breathe.

In a way, I understand his uncertainty. We are polar opposites. Que sera, sera. What will be, will be.

***

I've been organizing my life, throwing away what is no longer needed, wanted. It got me seeing things clearer, encouraged me to consider my emotional baggage. SOME people just keep popping in and out of my life, like string puppets; there for a minute, gone the next.
There have been men in my life who, for the last five-six years, have entertained the notion that I am 'theirs' because once, briefly or a long time ago, they truly mattered to me.

I mean; S., my first 'real' boyfriend, still talks about how he messed up with me, that he's changed and that we can give it another shot. I was 16 back then. He was the moon, the stars and the sun. I ''credit'' him to be the first ~~idiot~~ to break my heart; he was seeing someone else and she was giving him something I wasn't. Hum, Hum. Today, he is a fond memory, an old friend. Nothing more.
Then, there's Gemini. Our daddies grew up together, we dated for a brief (very brief time) when I was 17. In every conversation I've had with him in the last 5 years, we have either argued about who was wrong/right or he brings up the improbability of the future and how we will probably end up together. Of course, there were moments of my life when I called him for comfort. One occasion was about six months ago when I called him, sobbing uncontrollably at 4am. He talked me through it. We ended because he was just really mean. Oh, and because he was a bit too close to my best friend. Sometimes, I feel we are 'stuck' with each other. We have a lot of history, I still remember him when he was 14, I was 12; He had this messed up hair cut and rabbit teeth. Good times.
T., a summer crush who lives in France. He goes through periods where he decides I am the one, the two and the three. He calls me, tries to coerce me into moving to Paris. He asks me if I still 'love' him. *sigh* I was 18, it wasn't love, it was lust. It was summer; sun, Parisian accent, his charm... T. is a cool guy, honestly. He is good looking, funny and he takes my humour (I make fun of him a lot) but he has lost all credibility in my eyes. He lies too much. We ended because he went back to Europe. T. sent me a beautiful pair of gold earrings, last month.

Judo player is moving back to Montreal, July 1st, in my neighborhood (coincidence?!). I reminded him he hated living here and he loved Cali. But he said 'Yeah, but there's you.' I went in my claustrophobic mode and gently explained there wasn't a future for us, not now, not ever. (When we were seeing each other, He hooked up with this girl, whilst I was in the kitchen, drinking coffee) Yeah. I know. Of course, he believes that we can get back to what we 'used to be'. I am not sure what that is, to be honest.

As odd as it seems, I can't NOT answer their phone calls. I can't just change my number and forget about the good, the bad, the ugly. Perhaps, I enjoy having skeletons in my closet. Honestly, I think of certain periods of my life in terms of men I dated. There's always been someone; an anecdote I brew over with a girl friend. The things that used to hurt are rendered funny with time. I was so silly sometimes, I just laugh about the stupid things they said, the lies I believed. Other times, it makes it hard to trust men because I remember what happened when I did let my head rest...
Emotional clutter; I do need to close the loose ends. I feel like there's too many old flames, floating around me; it gets claustrophobic...But where does the cleaning start? What's so ironic about this; I've always seen myself as someone who would settle down and start a family young. It's funny where life takes you.

Sunday Scribblings # 167: Absurd.

2009-06-14T15:56:00.006-04:00

Me, blue hat.

Sulli, undecided :0-)

Absurd.

ab·surd (ab sʉrd′, -zʉrd′; əb-)
adjective
so clearly untrue or unreasonable as to be laughable or ridiculous
Etymology: Fr absurde , absurdus, not to be heard of intens. + surdus, dull, deaf, insensible

i.e

Fighting, crying, not eating, stressing, missing, pouting, pretending you're all right when you're clearly not: All because the one you want to be with, has doubts if it will work out between you.
Eating a Banana with a fork.

Celebrities being the youth's role models. If you need to 'follow' some body, why not try Jesus, Mohamed, The Dalai Lama, Moses...
Clothes made out of latex (when you're not a stripper, if you are, then perhaps buying a box of condoms, a needle and a thread, will save you $$$?)
''O'' calories soft drinks. They are still loaded with aspartame, havoc on your health & they are STILL making you fat.

Diet Pills, male 'enlargement' pills, creams to make your breasts bigger...

Special treatment for athletes (in schools). I never understood what entitled them to a private computer lab...

Marriage.

2009-06-13T12:45:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, I got the shock of my life: D. is getting married? D.? The 'I got a new woman, every day of the week' D.?
Perhaps, I am exaggerating; He didn't switch women every day, but damn....D.?

I had a crush on him, since I was 14 years old, my infatuation ended 4 years later. I met him at a BBQ; he had little black curls, a smooth brown complexion & a charming smile. He introduced himself, I nearly choked on my BBQ chicken & promised myself, that someday we were going to be a couple. The obstacle (at the time & all the way throughout) was that he had a gf & I had a bf. As well, the 3 years between us bothered him. He deemed me too 'young'.

I started attending the same church. He would play drums during the gospel bit & I would always look forward to seeing him & speaking to him. When I turned 16, I started letting out my hair, wearing an Afro & donning the occasional dress. He noticed & so did most of the boys in the congregation. At the time, he was still with the same girl. There were always some other girls, hanging around him, batting their eyes & flirting.
I think it was his smile, the way he looked into your eyes when he spoke to you, undaunted, cool as ice. D. was charming & he was good looking...

Since I met him at 14, attended the same church, our parents were friends, he classified me in the 'little sister' file. Sometimes, he'd joke about us getting married one day & I would smile, roll my eyes, pretend I didn't want to, whilst my heart raced & fireworks exploded in my head.

When I was 19, he attended the University next to my house.

Some nights, he would park his car in the side street, call me & I would slide into the passenger seat & we would talk. I remember a time when he was immensely stressed; problems at home, with the girlfriend, financial burdens & a dumb mistake (he got a car for a friend, under his name) that was crippling his credit.

I sat listening, trying to comfort him. He rested his head back in the seat, closed his eyes. I was rubbing his forehead. When someone feels stress around me, I'm like a sponge. Their problem becomes mine & my thoughts are rushing as I try to figure out a resolution.

That night in his car, could have went in a different direction. After all, I wasn't a little girl anymore, the age gap slowly closes as you advance in life. I was finishing college, I was working, I've had my share of men by that time. Here was D. & me, in this small space, he was telling me his problems, getting comforted by my attempts at 'solving' the issues.

I wasn't 14 anymore & I had a realistic view of what being with D. could mean. Yes, he was gorgeous, funny, smart. He knew what to do, what to say. I was attracted to him & I knew this was reciprocated. But... I had somebody & so did he.

It was funny, I remember him (or me?) making a comment about that: 'When you're single, I'm taken, & when you're taken, I'm single.'

This time, we both had that 'special someone'.

I left the car, that night. We hung out on some occasions afterwards, But our lives haven't crossed much these past two years. I saw him in the metro, a couple months ago, I was sick as a dog. He was coming up the electric stairs, I was going down. Turned out that he moved into the neighborhood, we were 'neighbours'. A couple weeks ago, my father came home 'D. gave me a ride home, he told me to say hello to you.'

Just like that.

Yesterday, when I found out D. was getting married, after the shock, came the imminent realization; 'We're getting old, aren't we? Life is adult now, we have shed the cloaks of childhood.'
I called our friend, J-E. Our conversation went something like this:

ME: D. is getting married? Is this a joke? Come on, J.E, this isn't serious, right?

J-E: Yeah, he's getting married.

ME: How can he do this to me?! I was supposed to be the first one?! I cant believe it! How can he do this?

J-E: You wanted to marry him?

ME: (silence) NOOOOO!!! I just wanted to be the first one to get married!

J-E: Well, do you expect him to wait around, until you decide to marry? What if you get married at 25? Is he supposed to just, wait?

ME: What is a few years wait, if you have the rest of your life ahead of you? Is she pregnant?

J-E: Why is everyone asking the same questions?!

ME: It's D.! I thought he was going to the be the last one to get married, damn. Who is she?

J-E: She's mixed. You know, she looks just like you. She's your age too.

ME: She looks like me? Ok, whatever.

After I stopped scheming on how I can still be the first one to get married (the marriage is July 18th), I calmed down & realized that I didn't even want to get hitched at this time, & I won't anytime soon. Honestly, I am not sure if I ever will. In my opinion, my love towards someone doesn't require our signatures on a legally binding document.

What really bothered me was that D. would be officially out of the market. This is where our story ended & there would be no run-ins at parties, where we would flirt, his hand on the small of my back. The lingering 'possibility' would be erased & my teenage crush would only re-ignite in memory lane. Perhaps, at the back of my head, I always imagined that D. & me would marry; there's something so safe about falling in love with someone you've 'grown' up with.

D. is getting married. It is what it is...

And here is the rest of it.

Life is beautiful.

2009-06-12T14:33:00.012-04:00

Update: The opening night was great! It blew me off! I thought I was going to be nervous, but the months of practice have paid off!!! We got a standing ovation & a lot of laughs! As well, we aired on CBS & CKUT's Upstage (Radio). So, for a show (especially the first night) it was off the hook. We were all very proud :-)

I woke up today, so content. I lingered in bed, my thoughts on a 'special' someone, happy that I'm feeling emotions I thought would never return. I am excited about this summer; the people in my life, the direction of my studies/career, all the mornings that are yet to come, when I will wake up & his face will be the first thing on my mind.

Last night, some girlfriends & me went to a restaurant, drank Sangria & finished the night at our traditional Shisha joint (pictures above). Fun times.

Today, I am performing at Mission Santa Cruz. It is the first of 6 performances of the play 'Based on True feelings.' My character is Lola, a bipolar ADHD chick with a crazy boyfriend. Did I mention I'm also in a psychiatric ward for troubled teens/young adults? Yes the play promises to be entertaining!

We held rehearsal for 2 1/2 months; 12 rehearsals (ranging from 2-6 hours), many script & stage changings, cancelled work days...

Yesterday, at our last rehearsal before the big day, I was running Italians with two other cast mates & I was struck by this thought; we are so dependent on each other! If I mess up my lines, I must trust my fellow actor to help me out & play along. If I get a memory blank, it is HIS job to get me back out of my state, If I am late, the show doesn't go on without me!

Once I came 40 minutes late to rehearsal (the city had a 'tour de l'ile' & many bus routes were interrupted for hours, it was a hot mess getting from point A to B). I felt so bad to walk in & see 10 people, waiting for ME; 10 people who are donating their time, who are rehearsing instead of spending their Sundays with their loved ones, all waiting on ONE person. I felt, literally, sick to my stomach. Everyone was kind, there were no dirty looks. They knew I'm usually punctual, so they were forgiving.

I don't have stage fright (right now). I like to believe this is because I trust my fellow actors (to help me out if I mess up) or that I know my lines & my role like the back of my hand, but perhaps, it hasn't set in yet that there will be people paying to see us perform?

It feels like my head is everywhere at once; Theater, Writing, School, Work, ~~Love~~, my Friends, Moving out... It's so exciting, overwhelming. Life is beautiful,

Back in the day.

2009-06-09T18:55:00.005-04:00

I'm in my own little bubble, I had a situation yesterday that left me (in this order): mad, frustrated, sad, confused, sad & mad, again. Right now, I'm at work. It's very slow, so I can escape in writing. My co-workers are discussing past relationships; the deceit, the hurt, but also the good times. I'm tired of hearing about love & its expectations, or lack of. Especially after last night.

It is so close to the issues I had with my X, that I am really torn up right now. C'est la vie.

I'm a bit hurt but I'm going out with my gfs tonight & if the past few months taught me anything is this: Time heals all wounds. Either ways, I don't have time to be upset. The Fringe festival starts in 3 days & I will put all my energy into delivering a great performance.

I was rummaging through my Inbox & I stumbled on something I wrote nearly a year ago... It was about my X & his baby mother, her choking invisible presence in our relationship, some days, it really felt like I was having a relationship with her & not my X. This was written at a very turbulent time in our relationship.

Hehe. I love this illustration.

26/08/2008

He told me that it was done. That he hated her. That I was his backbone- the best thing that happened to him all year. He said, He said that he loved the fact that I supported him, that her dreams and expectations were too small to contain him. That we would have a family together, that I made him feel like the world was a beautiful place, and he hadn’t felt so good in a long, long time.. He said, he felt and that by its own, was something that had been absent for months.
He had left his dark room, with all the memories of them, he had traveled through the labyrinth of the years they had spent together, and had found his way, after the bloody and bruising turns, the ‘cul de sacs’, he thought that he was finally through...
I had made him whole. Me. I had strewn back the pieces. I had given him back his strength, his will, his throne... Me. Little miss Sunshine. All with my presence and words, my patience and coolness, my love and support. I believed him.
Unaware that when he dreamed, he dreamt of her. It was her voice, the chants of a siren, that still called and enchanted him. His seed, when he smiled happily at his daughter, he saw her mother as she stared back at him.
I’ve been so stupid. Unofficial? It was just another way to allow her to come back; give her time to miss him, give her time to realize what they had. It was never about me. It was never about ‘US’ it was about ‘them’. Their child.
My feelings have always been irrelevant. I am irrelevant to him. I am his crutch, but when you no longer need a crutch, you toss it away. Why have a crutch when you are whole? I feel so used. I feel so used. I feel so used.
He has painted the world with bright colors, with images so beautiful that I could barely believe my eyes...The deception.

I was too damn nice with this guy. I should have kicked his ass & cut him loose, so he can deal with his issues. It's funny to see how I was so melancholic about him. I hate when people start relationships when they aren't over their exes.

INCH by INCH art Tuesdays.

2009-06-09T01:02:00.005-04:00

I'm participating in the "INCH by INCH art" Tuesdays, hosted by the lovely Paris. The concept is very simple; create an art piece that is 3x3. This week's theme was 'Changing.'

All it takes is a kiss to CHANGE a toad into a handsome prince.

I am not an artist, in fact, as you can witness, even my handwriting is skewed. But this is a fun initiative & it gets me out of my comfort zone. I've always wanted to be able to draw... when I was younger, I would have 'practice' after school. I would sit at my little desk, open a library book & copy an image (usually an animal). I remember drawing a horse once & feeling so proud because I believed it was just like the real thing!

This adoration ceased shortly after I turned 12. I was spending a summer in Poland. My mom bought me notebooks & I used to draw in them. My little cousin, Paulinka, even asked me to teach her. My aunt commented I was good at drawing & my mom said 'No, She is a writer. Monika (my older sister) is the artist.'

It's so silly but I remember crying about it & turning away from my notebooks, dropping the 'practice' sessions altogether. I was the writer, not the artist.

Before I wanted to write, I wanted to dance Ballet. In fact, my first Halloween costume (we came to Canada when I was 8) was a princess dress; it was white with pink tissue. My mom bought me pink house slippers, that had round tips & were fitted to your foot. We couldn't afford Ballet classes, so I held other 'practice' sessions in my building's hallway. This consisted of swaying up & down the hall, trying to stand on my toes, like a real Ballerina..

Then, I got infatuated with reading & writing. It required no money for classes & I was good at telling stories, writing poems. I was the middle child & being a writer gave me a claim to fame, in my family. My parents supported & encouraged me, I remember the pleasure I felt when my father introduced me as 'l'ecrivaine' to his friends. I was only 9, but it gave me a solid identity. People reacted to me differently, like I was important. My elementary teachers favored me, I was the best student. I was creative; my dissertations were read in class, to serve as an example to the other children. I was hand picked to make a speech at the graduation ceremony. Life as a writer was very sweet. My 'practice' sessions consisted of working on my 'novel'. My first attempt, at 9 years old, was a crime novel; a bunch of kids, all older than me, were trying to solve a stabbing. I wish I had held on to my child hood work :-)

Since then, there's been many novels; some 20 000 words deep, abandoned, drifting in & out of the real world as I recycle, cut & re-write. There's been many finished short stories, too many bad poems (written when I was 16, talking about my 'king', lol)...Writing has been an important tool for my life journey.

The Artist has its easel & brush, I have my fingers, furtive on the cases of a laptop, or holding an eager pen on a sheet of paper. To this day, a blank sheet & dark ink, remains my image of freedom.

Sunday Scribblings # 166: Soul mates.

2009-06-07T19:30:00.006-04:00

Totally unrelated to the post :-) I went to visit my friend, Cindy, on Saturday; both of our schedules have been hectic & now that things are calming down, we had a dinner (she's an amazing cook) & the traditional Red wine. We hit the club afterwards. The beautiful little girl is Michou, Cindy's daughter. I had to try the wig... Just had too. :-)

When I was a child, I held the unwavering belief that when you loved someone, they automatically loved you. It didn't cross my mind that one person can be in love with another, for years or a lifetime, without the other reciprocating.
Obviously, I ended up learning the true complexities of human relationships when a crush didn't return my affection & instead, took a liking to my best friend. I was 10 at the time.
Of course, I was bummed, but Edgar was every body's crush (my 2 sisters liked him, as well) & after I got over my deception, I felt proud that he has chosen MY best friend, it made him mine, in a twisted, childish way...

Years & many, many men later, my views on love & relationships shifted, were tossed away, replaced by new 'truths'.
Perhaps, the only concept that has remained intact is my belief in Soul mates.

I believe that a soul mate is someone that understands & nourishes you. He makes you dream; when you wake up in the morning, no matter the weather or the hectic week ahead, his presence soothes you, his words inspire & strengthen, his mind captivates.
He is an infinite well of goodness, positivity & love. He thinks you are beautiful even when you have the flu; your nose is runny & red, you have bags under your eyes & your lips are dry.

When he looks at the scar on your stomach, from a Cesarean, he sees creation & not ruin. He is a good father to your children; he tells them bed time stories, rubs Vicks on their backs when they are sick, plays dungeon & dragons. He teaches them about life, he isn't a minimalist, he shares the task of disciplining & raising your kids. In the household, you share chores; He will cook, he will clean, just as much as you do.

After all, he reminds you 'We are a team, & 'We' is only as strong as 'you' & 'me'.'
When you make love, there is no boundaries, no limits; your limbs become water & you become a vast Ocean; Him & you, You & him. Where does it end, where does it begin.

Of course, you will fight. There will be times when doors will be slammed, plates will be broken, when you will take a pillow & a blanket, sleep on the couch. Sometimes, you will wake up & make coffee & breakfast, only for yourself. You will say things to each other that you don't really mean. Perhaps, you will never make up.
Because, too often, Soul mates do break up.
Maybe one day, he will leave or you will change the locks, perhaps it will be cordial or will include a horde of lawyers & assessments of what belongs/ who's entitled to what.

BUT. No one you will ever meet will measure up to Him. What you've felt, what you've lived will never be re-created with the same strength, the same passion.

UNLESS, the Heavens truly adore you, & you stumble upon another soul mate. I believe that there's more than one, out there, for everyone.

Sometimes, you will meet a soul mate & tarnish the love, because you haven't taken the time to work on yourself. You don't know who you are, what you like, where you want to be. If you don't know where you're going, how can you know what you want from your Lover?

I believe it is important to fall in love with yourself, before you let anyone in. Spend some alone time, meditate, get your life together. Who are you? What do you need, now, what do you want; there is a difference between desires & needs. Figure it out.

The dangerous thing about Soul mates; He can be yours, but you might not be his. C'est la vie.

Glutton.

2009-06-06T00:35:00.005-04:00

A night of gluttony; Baby back ribs, potatoes & beer. A girl was in Heaven.

It is a curious title for a post that is meant to introduce a period of lack of; gluttony. But it is relevant, bear with me.

Lion-ess & I will be fasting for a week, beginning June 22nd. Our diet will consist of bread & water. During this period, I will forfeit TV, Internet , Shopping & I will consecrate my time (when not at work) to meditation, writing & reading inspiring books (i.e Gandhi's biography, Deepak Chopra & Jonathan Meade's e-book, which his wife, Apricot was so sweet to send me). As well, I will wake up early mornings, enjoy life with family, friends & lover.

I've been wanting to fast for quite some time now, but I never had the discipline nor' the conviction. A couple weeks ago, whilst reading an article in GQ, I was captivated by a a short blurb entitled 'In defense of hunger'. Mark Adams wrote briefly about his experience when writing Bernarr McFadden's biography. McFadden was America's top health Guru during the Great Depression, he believed that when one allowed hunger in their life, the mind became clearer. To support this claim, Adams mentions a study that indicates when people slash their calorie intake by 30%, there is an increase in memory boost. Adams fasted on water for 5 days, the result; his chest infection disappeared & he had a surge in creativity, 'buried ideas' came back to him 'faster than he could write.'

I wasn't sold...yet.

In the same magazine, same issue, was an article with the infamous actor, Christan Bale, who starved himself for his role in 'the Machinist'. His diet consisted of a cup of coffee & an apple (or a can of tuna) for 4 months. He lost 62 pounds. Oddly, the experience wasn't one that he would want to forget, Bale said that :' the absence of energy was replaced with an ability to focus in a very slow and steady way for hours and hours. Physically, I was incredibly relaxed, but mentally very acute.' That period of his life was very calm & serene. He wanted to lose an extra 20lbs but the movie's director intervened, fearing for Bale's health.

I was intrigued.

Before these articles, I've mostly heard of fasting in a religious or activist mind set. Gandhi drank only water for 3 weeks when attempting to bridge differences between Hindus & Muslims, he also used fasting as self-purification. Muslims fast during the Ramadan, many Christians use fasting in their faith, as well.

I decided to do a google on this subject & found that every religion has periods of fasting; Judaism, Sikhs, Buddhists, Christians...

As well, 'fasting' or starvation has been used in political protests, for decades if not centuries.

I took the following quote from an article on Freedomyou.com:

''While fasting, thinking does slow down. Surprisingly, this serves to enhance deeper thought; as if taking the foot off the accelerator allows the little details to come into focus, like neglected inner issues deserving important attention.''

Interesting...

A curious fact, that startled me; there's been countless studies that indicate fasting slows down the aging process, increases health & clarity of the mind. Animals 'fast' when they are ill. This makes sense as the digestive system is an incremental factor in our overall health. If we overeat everyday, the food that we ingest doesn't get 'evacuated' fast enough and gets stuck in the intestinal walls, left to putrify. Especially, if one doesn't have a daily bowel movement, the food just accumulates & accumulates. The intestine expands & what do we see? A stomach bulge that just won't go away. Some foods are easier to digest, whilst other foods take longer; a steak dinner can take 2-3 days to be digested. Giving your digestive system a break, so it can 'catch up' seems like a good idea (to me, at least).

I remembered the times I've been most productive & wholesome, have been on an empty stomach. Usually in the morning, when having a cup of coffee & a small portion of oatmeal & hot milk.

Next step was to give myself the motivation to follow through; I meditated on the goal for my fast. I believe that I am fasting to experiment with that 'clarity of mind', to challenge myself, & to reconnect my mind-body connection. As well, I believe it will do wonders for my health, & perhaps, my allergies will disappear for some time. As well, I will break away from my infamous relationship with food & experience something that millions of people around the world feel EVERY day; Hunger. Mark Adams writes that hunger isn't the growling in our bellies, that is only the body used to being fed a certain amount of times a day, REAL, undiluted Hunger is felt at the back of our throats.

To wrap up this post, I invite everyone to ponder on the importance of food; its nutritional value VS pleasure & addiction. Do you feel control over your appetite? Is it your choice to reach for the cookies & the chips, or has your body/mind developed an addiction? Do you feel guilty after meals, or satisfied? Are you the Master or the Slave?

I'm not in love. It's just some thing I'm going through.

2009-06-04T03:21:00.005-04:00

P.S Post's title is an R&B song by Mary J. Blige.

Oddly enough, I haven't written about the dates I have been on, nor' the men that had passed through my life these past few months of 'singledom'. I believe this is because this blog & its readers evoke a 'meet the parents' moment.
You don't bring every man home & in similar fashion, I decided to abstain from this subject until I met someone that I would (gulp) catch feelings for. The past few months have been a playground; I met new men but I rarely felt anything but genuine friendship. This is OBVIOUSLY because I was enjoying being by myself, waking up free from any emotional obligations & still dealing with my feelings for my X.

During this time, I've met...

The Judo player, who introduced me to great red wine & taught me how to make 'real' Sicilian pasta sauce. I admired him because he had lived all over Africa & had the ability (that I lack) to drop everything on a whim & relocate to a new city (one that he's never visited) on the basis of hearsay. In similar manner, he recently moved to California. Why? Because he wanted to be near the sea.

The Jamaican graphic artist. I'm not one to scream when I argue, but this one brought the unreasonable/bitchy side of me, to which I NEVER want to return to.

The Cancer, as in his zodiac sign; sensitive, funny, my twin. We had many conversations that lasted hours on end. He is/was a great companion. Problem is/was his instability. it's weird, as both him & the Judo Player had deep mood swings, in which they'd cut themselves from the rest of the world for weeks, then come back literally...Manic; overjoyed with life, positive.

The Diplomat. I met him through a friend & only in the Internet realm. For about a month & a half, we e-mailed 1-2 a day. He is one of those amazing people that you keep in contact forever & ever. He is currently residing in Cairo (he is graduating this month) & pursuing his master in London in the Fall. We will (hopefully) meet in Paris, this summer.

So. The reason why I'm bringing this up right now is because I am possibly...well...I think...I like someone & He's a very genuine, amazing person. I'm not sure where it will go, but I think if he still wants me (as I possibly messed it up with my stupidity) I think I am ready to start fresh & take baby steps towards something like...a relationship? Pheww. I've said it. This word has been a bit taboo for me lately, mainly because of fear but also because being single has allowed me to focus on me, me, me. So. This is a 'To be continued.'

Oh, & I've recently had a polite, respectful & simple (thank God) conversation with the X. I didn't feel sparks, regret, nostalgia...

We broke up November 7th, it took nearly 7 months but the worst has passed.

It is what it is.

2009-06-01T22:45:00.004-04:00

The great thing about growing older is that I keep learning more & more about myself. In retrospect, I enjoy my own company & trust my instincts, tastes & feelings, far more than I did when I was a teenager.

The last year has been tremendous for me; most already know the emotional obstacles I struggled with (ha, I used to blog ONLY about missing my ex, his daughter, feeling cold as an ice pick), the miscarriage that still haunts me, some of the family issues (My parents are actually separating right now) etc...

It is actually the bad times I am grateful for, because without them, I wouldn't have become who I am today. I'm proud to look back at my emotional state only a couple months ago, & compare the strength/confidence I have nurtured since...

This year has been truly amazing. I really came out of my shell; I feel fulfilled with my studies, my job, my writing, my family & friends. When I look in the mirror, I like what I see.

I'm glad I chopped my hair off in November (Same day as the break up... New beginnings.)
I have finally figured out what make up/clothes look good on me, what I want VS what I need.
I hit the gym, stopped pigging out & I feel in control of my weight (I used to have issues with that all through high school, my eating habits were border line eating disorder. But I'm good now, it's such a RELIEF!)
I learned how to sew!
I survived Heartbreak! As corny as this sounds, when my X & me broke up, life was absolutely dull & cold for months that followed. I was afraid I'd never get back to who i was prior, but here I am; glued back together, better than ever :-)
I took acting classes & I'm currently in 2 plays (Based on True feelings & A Raisin in the sun)
I took a writing workshop, got my first short story (Tangerine) published, & I have been writing & writing & writing...
I got closer to my siblings & parents. I love it.
I've been working on my B.a in liberal arts.
I went to Poland, Paris, New Jersey & New york; Traveling does wonder for your personal growth.
I met new, amazing, positive people (in real life & in the blogosphere)
I started blogging!!!

Most importantly, I accept myself, even in my most embarrassing, flaw filled moments. I snack on cheese in the wee hours of the morning, shop in the men's dept, have an addiction to Caffeine, Have read all the books in the Twilight Saga (yeah, I want to date a vampire, so what?) & my favorite movie of all times is 'Dirty Dancing.' It is what it is, I am who I am; & This is what I look like in the morning.

Conversations with God.

2009-05-30T23:48:00.005-04:00

L'Oratoire St-Joseph, my favorite Prayer place.

I'm a lone wolf; I like to pray alone.
I like to talk to God, interpret his word in my own manner & live according to what I believe is ethical. I've had many moments where I felt like my back would break from stress,pain, aching, but I always prevailed.
I believe that God is within me, he has provided me with all the resources & tools to pull through, no matter the obstacle. When I doubt, when I belittle myself, when I feel guilty towards a particular situation; I remind myself that experiences, bad or good, are part of my journey...
A bad day is just that; one day. I'll have hundreds of them but i know that everything is temporary, whether it is happiness, sadness or pain. There can be no Joy, if there is no Pain, no Life if there is no Death. It is all God.
I don't believe that Death is the end; I believe we are reborn, that although our bodies are fragile & will decay, our spirits are timeless. I believe that God is sickness, just as much as he is healing, he is as revengeful as he is forgiving, as hateful as he is loving.
In my heart, I believe that God is NOT religion. Religion is something orchestrated by humans who strive to render everything more complex. God is simple; he is honest, he is flawed, he keeps learning, he is just, he is opinionated but not forceful.

When I feel my mind is cluttered, I go to the Oratory. I light candles, & pray. Then, I sit down on a bench & write on whatever piece of paper I can find. I put any thoughts, feelings or preoccupations down on paper. It always feels like my mind opens & my heart is lighter.

A personal relation with God is important to me. I used to go to church (Catholic & Protestant) & it didn't suit my faith. I don't need a pastor or a priest to tell me what is right or wrong. I don't like mingling with people who say one thing & do another or who act holier-than-thou...but only on Sunday. Obviously, the way I look at God/life isn't an Universal truth. I believe that 'Truth' is relative & so should be one's spiritual path. If going to Church, the Synagogue or the Mosque, renders you a better/happier person, If NOT believing, makes you kinder/stronger/fulfilled, keep with it.

I've been fascinated with fasting (for spiritual & health purposes) & I am finally ready. I'm researching it right now, but if anybody has fasted, or wants to fast, then perhaps we can start together?

New York, New York.

2009-05-27T00:08:00.001-04:00

Some pictures from my recent New York trip.

Sulli & me, at a club called 'Slate'.

Peruvian resto 'Pio Pio' with: Sulli, me & Bou.

Me. getting my morning coffee at Starbucks.

Me & Bou, still at 'Slate'

Me, Sulli & Bou.

We had an amazing time. When I got back home, it took me a good week to get back on track. Perhaps, it was the lack of sleep or the alcohol still flowing in my system, but I was exhausted.

Sulli & Bou are crazy! We shopped so much, ate so good, partied hard, hard,hard!

Reality, the ugly.

2009-05-24T00:21:00.011-04:00

Le Petit Prince.

What I miss most about my childhood days is the ability to create my own reality. Yes, I can still create realms, worlds with my writing. Yes, I can imprison emotions, characters & weave a story that then, becomes reality to a certain extent. But what I mean, in this case, is that I miss BELIEVING that Peter Pan will fly into my room (I used to leave the window wide open for him, then burst into tears in the morning when he didn't show), that if I play with my belly button, I will die (my grandma used to scare me with that one, go figure why), that vinegar will turn my blood into water...
When I played, I became the princess, the villain or the mythical creature. It wasn't 'pretend', it was life....

Today:

*If I act like I'm in love, will the love follow? Will the blood pulsate through me, like a tide over the sand, Will a spark light up in my eyes, like an on/off switch, Will my lips part in breathlessness, will air languorously leave my lungs when I see a lover..

*If I act like the world belongs to me, will hordes of people follow my footprints, as if I was a Messiah, or at least, marvel at my throne & admire the woman that wears the crown? Will rubies, gold & emeralds lace around my wrists, imprison my limbs & choke my appreciation for 'less is more'?

*If I act like today is the perfect day, Will the clouds free the sky, let the sun shine its glory? Will a soft but scented (tulips & hydrangeas) breeze sweep through the country, the day become a statutory holiday, so i can linger at home in my sweats & bare feet, yet still get a full day's pay?

No. Reality, the ugly, will tug, & poke, & snatch me back in its grasp, in no time.

*Sigh*

Sunday Scribblings # 164: Worry.

2009-05-22T18:24:00.004-04:00

I’m the girl that worries about everything & everyone. When I have a family, I'll probably have a Gsm chip installed in my children's wrists, put them in glass bubbles when they go on their bikes & rollers, send them off to school in knee & elbow pads... I'm a mother hen :-)

I’ve been worrying myself these days. I think it’s partly because my mom is visiting Poland & she’s away for a month. I feel like I’m responsible for my sisters & my dad, the household, the cat… I can’t wait for her to get back (4 more days!)
I worry that my loved ones aren’t happy. I’m always asking ‘are you OK?’,'Everything good?’ ‘How’s school/work etc…’
I worry that my cavity bursts before next week’s dentist appointment!
I worry that I won’t get to where I want to be in life.
My grandma passing, before she meets her great-grand children. She’s been such a positive & loving influence in my life, I can’t fathom my children not knowing their Babcia.
Global warming, zombie attacks (very sad, indeed), Blackouts…
I worry that I will freeze, choke, stall & ruin all the months of preparation for June's Fringe festival.

Tangerine, a story.

2009-05-18T18:59:00.002-04:00

My story, 'Tangerine' (some bits & pieces were posted on my blog) was published online, you can check it out HERE.
I am very excited, as this is my first publication (I submitted to 8 literary magazines, about a week ago, this is the first that reponded & published. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.)
I'd love to hear your feedback (positive & negative)

Life is beautiful, Just got back from New York, & I had the time of my life...
Amazing food, great shopping, time with my favorite people & world's finest eye candy...
A girl was in heaven.

New York; it's History, it's Poetry.

2009-05-14T11:28:00.005-04:00

Taken in August,2008. by Special K.

I am leaving for New York tonight, at 11:30pm. I will not give details about all the trouble that comes with booking a trip with more than one person. Originally, we were 4, possibly 5. We planned on getting a little room in the city, so we can be close to everything & not lose time travelling from New Jersey. Then, that number dwindled to 4, then 3, & now, only hours away from our departure, we are uncertain if number 3 is coming or not. This is the summary, without all the extra details.
I am very excited, as New York has the ability to erase all my cares & worries. New York is my breather, it's my 'get away from this mess', it's my 'stress, what stress?' or 'job, what job?'.
It's a well of creativity, scents and sights colliding at such speed, when I think of New York, I imagine; a flurry of lights red, blue, green, Drummadics performing on 125th station, The drummer beating on Paint buckets whilst his band mates rally around him in Saxophones & Djembe.
I imagine a city that never sleeps...

Brooklyn, we go hard; nail shop & Hair salon at every end of the street, where my ex spent 7 years of his life, where there's Caribbean food everywhere, where I gorged on 'Doubles' & 'Patties'.

Manhattan, ice queen; Statuesque high rises, stilettos that cost more than a year's rent, where I accompanied a model friend from agency to agency for audition day, feeling like a dwarf. Manhattan, the beautiful shops, the sweltering crowds, the yellow duck cabs.

Time Square; Broadway ads larger than life & Amsterdam hotel, where we paid 177$ a night for a room the size of a closet during dead season. & where I ate a Portobello sandwich at Friday's, that cost me 17$!

Harlem the renaissance; How I love thee, Harlem. Soul food at 'The Rouge', a quaint little resto with a bathroom that is pure art, food that is heaven to palettes, & a waiter that made us blush every time he looked at us. Yes. Harlem, where you find 7$ shoes, an old man sitting on a cartoon in the middle of the sidewalk with gangrene running from his toe nails to his knees, where you see homeless amputee after homeless amputee, Harlem where i learned the story of a 24yr old girl that's been struggling with HIV since she's been 19.

New York is a hustle, 24/7; men selling hand bags out of cars, immigrants with their peanut & halal carts, a woman in Harlem selling poetry for a 1$ a pop, self published writers marketing their books on street stalls, dope boys standing on their corners.
New York is a dream; everyone is trying to be rich.
somehow, in all this turmoil, I find solace.
New York is 8 million people, living on top of each other, their stories intertwine.
It's History, it's Poetry.

Letter to my Younger self.

2009-05-12T18:56:00.008-04:00

A much younger me.

Ev'yan at Apricot-tea.com is organizing a giveaway of 2 great gifts. She will pick 2 favorite answers (to the questions below) on Friday. Also, she is launching Askapricot.com, where she gives advice about love, fashion & Beauty. Check it out.

Here is my entry. Wish me luck!

If you could write a letter to your younger self, giving advice for troubles that will happen in the future, what would it look like? What would you say? Would the letter be funny, or would it be serious?

Life is both serious & funny, so the advice would be a mix of everyday dilemmas (hair, make up, clothes) & lessons I had to learn by falling hard on my butt.

Good grades are more important than boys. Stop sweating the small stuff, & concentrate more avidly on your writing, your inner growth, instead of giving too much to men that give too little. I would also say; Join Theater, start a high school paper, run for president! Do all the things you want to do, don’t limit yourself because you’re worried about failing.

Mom is the word. (I notice that every time my mother warned me about something, whether it was a man in my life, or that I should take a sweater with me because it will get colder, she was always right. Today, instead of fighting my mother, I appreciate her. She is the one person in my life that has never deceived me, nor broken a promise. She always breaks her back for my sisters and me. I am truly blessed to have a good mother (& a great daddy, of course!)

Be yourself. Dress how you like, do your hair in funky styles, paint your toes a scarlet red.

Don’t be afraid to show people the ‘real’ you. It’s better to be disliked fir who you are, then be liked for who you are not.

Be kinder to your sisters. Stop arguing about trivialities, your friends are not your flesh and blood, girlfriends come and go but your sisters will always be there.

Keep finances & love, separate, unless you are married or living together.

No glove, no love. Never put someone else’s pleasure over your health.

Leave Conditioner in your hair & stop abusing your curls! Stop brushing them, stop hiding them, stop wishing for hair you will never have. Don’t be afraid to experiment; cut it, color it, weave it. Just… seek a professional, OK?

A little bit of foundation and bronzer doesn't hurt. Especially in winter, when your face is pale & dull, a little bit of make up can do wonders.

You don't need a thousand skin products; a soap bar, a good cleanser and skin cream suffice.

Not every boyfriend is the man you will marry.

Don't follow trends & thank God that you didn't buy those silver pleather pants back in 2000.

Don't give a man (or anyone) more than you give yourself.

Love isn’t words strewn beautifully, it is actions. When a man claims he loves you, it is only by what he does, that you will know the depth of his emotions.

Living. Breathing. Eating Love.

2009-05-07T16:38:00.005-04:00

.Latika, in Yellow.

I finished watching Slumdog Millionaire not too long ago. If any of you haven’t seen it yet (Go see it!) I will summarize the main idea of the story; some live by money, others by Love.
Jamel is in love with Latika, you see them from a young age (about 6-7) finding their way after their parents were murdered. They get separated yet Jamel cannot forget the little girl in the yellow dress. He searches for her throughout the years; he finds her on numerous occasions but circumstances keep them apart.
Love prevails, & the last scene (shot beautifully); the gorgeous Latika, draped in a Sunflower colored chale, they are finally reunited. Jamel is a hopeless idealist, his brother and him were forced to make a living since they were yay-high & so has Latika.
When Jamel finds Latika in adulthood, he sees she is the girlfriend of a notorious gangster. She is kept as a slave, it is hinted she is abused as well. But, she is there for survival; she grew up as an orphan & this is her way for shelter & food. Jamel proposes to run away. Latika protests; ‘What will we live off of?’ she asks,
Jamel says; ‘Love.’ His face is honest, so innocent despite his hard life,
Love story like these, I believed most of my life. I always felt like there was a soulmate (or many) for everyone on earth, but it is only by finding yourself, that you will be ‘directed’ to your other half... Silly, right? So, in good nature and because that’s how I am, I was honest, & open, with people on my life.
When I strayed from these principles, I assumed them, and God knows they were honest mistakes. I mention this because, there has been some people that have been trying to come back in my life after they’ve deceived me. I can’t say they caused me great grief but the trust(or benefit of the doubt) is no longer there.
I believe I mentioned before that I’m a person who solely forgives. It is my greatest challenge. When someone has breached my trust, it takes a lot to gain it back. I say this, because, somehow, someway, I know there is that seed of forgiveness deep inside me.
I have never trusted someone (again) that lost my initial trust. Never.
I still hold a grudge against this Jamaican girl in high school who spread rumours about me and threatened to beat me up, just because she was jealous her best guy friend liked me. I still can’t stand this big headed guy, who on my prom night, started a fight with me because of a misunderstanding (that didn’t concern him, by the way).
All this to say, that I wish that love, trust, respect, still had a meaning to people, like they did to the fictional character of Jamal. I wish that men would see the light in women, in such a way, that they would do go through hell and back, for their loved one. But, it’s not like that. Deceit is always lurking around the corner.

I still believe in soulmates, in the possibility of eternal love, happiness & trust. I still foresee that kind of relationship for myself, one of these days. It will not be soon, perhaps... I think it will come, unexpected but welcome, & when it does, I will have met my potential as a woman, friend, daughter... Therefore I won't be scared, confused or uncertain, I will embrace it.
I will live off Love.

Sunday Scribblings # 161: I Confess.

2009-05-01T18:31:00.002-04:00

I Confess:

Although I seem to have it together, I do have days when I wake up hating how I look, dress etc...
Although Pop isn't my music of choice, I confess I have an eerie infatuation with the Jonas Brothers'...They are just so irresistible.
Although I hate tabloids & hate partaking in senseless gossip, I'm a regular reader of Perez Hilton & Theybf.com... I just can't help it! Some days at work are just so boring... Celebrity gossip is my guilty pleasure.
Although I can relate to most people, I can be very insensitive when in presence of stupidity, or self-pity. A friend once told me that I can only tolerate these qualities, when it comes to myself... hehe.
Although I know that Pork is havoc on your arteries, it remains my meat of choice. How can I resist the sound & smell of bacon, sizzling on an oiled sauce pan? In fact, when attempting Vegetarianism (for the second time), it was pork that led to my pitiful downfall.
Although I know that I will never meet him, & even if, he is married & twice my age, Johnny Depp remains the man of my dreams. He is such a talented actor, with such a wide range of performances, it is an honor to watch his movies. Damn Vanessa Paradis!

This is all, I believe. I am an open book, as you can judge from past posts. :-)

Rain.

2009-05-01T00:48:00.003-04:00

It's raining outside. It is 12:50am, I've always been fond of the sound of rain drops colliding with the window sill, the 'ssshhh' of car tires on wet cement, the fresh scent floating in the air. The smell of bark, the glistening grass and the earth; black-brown, soaked, & thriving with life...
Rainy days are perfect for 'la grasse matinee', hanging out in your sweatpants, watching re-runs of Louis Defunes 'les gendarmes' (all of them), or cuddling on the sofa with a juicy book.
I remember waking up on rainy mornings, my ex curled around me, like a question mark. His hands around my waist, his chin resting in the crevice between my neck and shoulder. When the light was still an uncertain blue outside, the rain singing so sweetly, and my love so close to me; These were the days my heart felt like it may fail me. Such happiness was a sin, such bliss filled me with guilt...
I'd wake up and do pancakes. We topped them with blueberries, I'd feed baby girl, and his brother's 2 girls. I'd talk to the sister in law, we'd laugh, do the dishes... He would go on the terrasse, smoke and sip on his coffee; black, no sugar, no milk. Baby girl would try to follow him but he'd never smoke in front of her.
'Daddy?' She'd say, quizzically, looking up to me with her blue-if-it's-a-boy eyes.
'Daddy be back shhhooon.' I'd say in my baby voice.
Other days, I'd get up at 6am, jump in the shower and get ready to go to work. I'd leave him, still sleeping, his body still warm.

I find solace in the sky's outpour; The threads of my life are finally coming together, I'm happy when I wake up, when I eat, when I breathe, when I write... I look forward to meeting new loves and fussing about my make up before a date. Even more; I am happy that when I wake, I am only responsible for my own happiness & not someone elses. for the past few years, I was carrying other men's burdens (& it seemed like I chose men with truck full of problems) & my back was too heavy, I couldn't concentrate on my own contentment.

Baby Steps, Baby steps...

Love is Stronger than Pride.

2009-04-23T01:42:00.005-04:00

I'm wearing his shirt. That night, I remember he was making food for Baby girl, I was so happy & in Love.

I was washing my hair tonight, & whilst in the bath, I remembered certain episodes with my ex that anger & shame me. In my love for him, I did a lot of stupid things, perhaps as much as most women do when in love. But there`s a difference in admitting to my stupidity, than owing up to it. It`s easy to say (in darkness) I did `idiotic `things, than to actually be honest & open about what these errors truly were...
I borrowed him a lot of money, invested in a business idea (with my tuition money). When making a weekly budget, I`d calculate his bus pass (when he quit his job, again, because he was depressed etc...), I`d buy food, cook for him, clean; I was his maid, his lover, his mother, all wrapped up in one, with a ribbon on it.
One day, I woke up because I sensed his daughter had awoken, I went to get her at the top of the staircase. She didn`t want to go back down, as she wanted `meelk` (milk was baby girl`s life at the time, she could live on it! Now, it`s `chickeen, I wan chickeen.`) I was wearing a top and panties, so I didn’t want to prance around his brother`s house nearly naked, as well, I was off to work and I had 30 minutes to get more sleep. I went back downstairs and woke up my ex, and asked him if he could `please give baby girl some milk.’ He complained, told me to do it, I persisted and waited until he got up and fed her. This small incident turned into a big affair. He was SO mad at me, said I didn’t want to feed his daughter, that I couldn`t be a good mother to her etc... I remember crying over it. I was so upset. He made it seem like I would have let baby girl starve, because she wasn`t my flesh & blood.
Another time, I was sad because things weren`t good between us; we were fighting so much. We were walking on the street & he looks at me & says; `You are so ugly, you don`t smile anymore`. I burst out in tears, again. There were so many instances when I put up and kept shut, out of fear of getting him mad. Like when he belittled me in public, telling me to `shut my mouth & not interrupt him.`, when he made displaced comments about me being so `white’ or when he called me crazy when I tried to communicate with him, when he threw my cell phone against the wall when I refused to listen to him... These are such little things, but they made me wonder if I was in a good place, or in a potentially destructive relationship.
Perhaps, what hurts me the most out of everything that happened is when he accused me of trying to trick him & get myself pregnant by him. We were nervous, as my period was late. I told him that I could do it, have the baby, I`d figure things out. I didn`t want to say `we`, I wanted him to say it.
Instead, he assured me he`d be there for the child but he`d leave me because I did it on purpose. I told him `go, I don`t need you. I can do this alone` I knew he was scared, & he didn`t mean it, he had one child already & he barely made rent each month. In my head, I was just like `The ONLY time I need you to be there for me, & you make it all about you. `
Bu it wasn`t all bad.
There were aspects of him that were so good, so pure... He was a good listener, he took care of you when he could, presented you to his family & friends, made sure you were comfortable, made sure you ate. He was smart, very wise, yet he lacked the expertise to apply his knowledge in his own life. He was funny too, such a good dancer & even a better lover. He knew how to talk, he was so smooth. I think he's one of the very few people in my life, that listened to my problems with such intent & goodwill.
There are certain things that transpired between us, which in time were almost holy. Moments in which I saw a life path in the whisper of his words, & a soul mate in the depth of his trust & support. It is always those you keep near, who will be the dagger to your heart.
I feel that if I keep what shames me inside, it will keep me from truly healing & letting the ice melt.
So here it is, I did some very stupid things indeed; Love is stronger than pride.

17 again.

2009-04-22T01:55:00.004-04:00

I just came back from the movies with the girls. We switched it up this week, as smoking Shisha regularly is doing havoc on all of our lungs. Apparently, one hour session of Shisha exposes you to 100 to 200 more smoke (inhaled) than a single cigarette. Not a good look.
So, instead, we stopped by McDonald's (one bad vice replaced by another) and grabbed a Big mac & Mccnuggets. We went to see '17 again.' I fell in love with Zac Efron (we all did) & we were all disappointed he didn't hook up with the hot mom, whilst in his '17 year old' body. Yes, quite sick indeed.
I'm home now, feeling a bit old. It's SO silly, as I am only 21, but the movie got me missing the simplicity and cruelty of high school. It was simple because it was prior to credit cards, tuition, cell phone bills and getting career 'experience', Cruel because every small thing seemed like the end of the world, low self-esteem had everyone jabbing at some one else and because it was like if I was a raw nerve, feeling everything so vividly...
I miss getting patties and drinking chubbies at recess, going to Jams and wearing pink from head to toe, because I was 'matching', ha. I didn't appreciate those moments, I was always living in the future, wanting to grow older and be independent. I miss liking a boy so much, after very little time and getting my heart crushed when he didn't call back, only to find out he liked me as much as I liked him. I miss writing notes in class, speculating if my crush is into me, getting so nervous when I saw him in the halls, being ecstatic when he invited me out. I miss all my prior philosophies, I believed; If you loved someone, it was inconceivable they wouldn't love you back, I'd marry my high school sweetheart, I'd be friends forever with my girlfriends...

If I got the chance to revisit my high school days, I'd do some things differently, but unfortunately, I probably won't get the chance to be sucked into a water cyclone, a la Zac Efron.

What I regret, & it is my only regret, that I don't love the same. I feel like an ice cube, sometimes, I feel like I'm melting & I'm going back to the old me. But then, the weather freezes & whatever I have gained, I lose twice fold.

Imagine: Yoko Ono & John Lennon exhibition.

2009-04-18T21:46:00.002-04:00

A tree with cards, on which visitors wrote hopes of Peace.
Yoko & John, Naked in Love.

Bed-in for Peace.

At the Musee des Beaux Arts, Yoko Ono & John Lennon exhibition, on April 17th.

Marvelous in it's simplicity, Delicious in its Philosophy, Timeless in Love.

Rosary: an excerpt.

2009-04-18T21:31:00.004-04:00

Jamilah’s body coiled, as if burned by an ember glazed rod. Her deep earth skin was feverishly hot and sweat was pouring down her Somali forehead. She clenched her teeth and placed a tentative fore arm between the void of her thighs. A gurgle emerged from the depths of her throat and desperate moaning sounds spilled out of her mouth. ‘Ahhh..oooOoo’
She shivered and felt her throat tighten, as the air languorously slipped out of her lungs. The panic- she couldn't’t feel the familiar rise and fall of her lungs. She grabbed at her neck and clawed at its frail layer of skin...
Her fingers drew blood but Jamilah could not feel the searing tingle. She was fighting an internal battle with an enemy that had been dormant in her pit for nearly 2 months. Foolishly, she had left her guard down, hoping that the hibernation would be prolonged.
A fool- yes, a fool she has been to believe that disease could be cured with blindness, or that demons could be swept under the rug. Imprudently, she had tried to conceal the knowledge of the evil in her, in far corners of her mind.
But ‘It’ was awake, sucking her soul dry. The ‘disease’ was rattling inside her body-breaking ribs, puncturing kidneys and slashing arteries. Jamilah felt her body exploding from within. She cried out to God and began rocking her torn body back and forth, sobbing uncontrollably.
Distress was plastered on her somber face.
‘I can get through this, I can get through this, You can do it yes, You can, Jamilah, You’ve done this before...’ she screamed, pounding against her ears ferociously.
Jamilah slid on her curved belly and pressed herself against the cold floor. The wooden planks were freezing as she never turned on the heat when she slept, but tonight, she couldn’t feel its chilliness.
Her body was ignited and Jamilah was convulsing in an epileptic manner. She began crawling to her dresser, still feeling the snake-the disease rumbling inside of her.
She couldn’t hold off much longer.
'I have to find it, I have to get to the rosary… 'she thought.
‘Ahhhh!!!’ she cried out, as a shooting pain numbed her entrails.
She was close to the dresser, she held unto its handles and pulled herself up. Her eyes were furtive, searching for the beaded sacred pendant. At last, just as she felt herself succumbing to the disease, she saw the familiar twinkle of the turquoise beads.
She moaned out relief and grabbed greedily at the rosary. It burned in her palm, as Jamilah fell down to the ground. She felt the resistance of the rosary and remembered that she has fastened the chaplet with a security pin, to the bottom of her jewelry box. The beads spilled to the wooden floor, solitary and obtuse.
The rosary was reduced to scattered globules; meaningless and powerless.
Jamilah screamed and sobbed uncontrollably. She knew all was hope was lost.
Without the rosary, she was weaponless against an opponent far too strong for Jamilah to fight alone. She thought bitterly how only minutes ago, she was sound asleep in her bed, curled into lavender sheets that smelled magnolia and soap.
She didn’t remember what she dreamed of- she was only reminiscent of the raging force that shattered her out of her sleep…
She stopped fighting, and lay restless on the floor as the ‘disease’ infiltrated her mind. Jamilah closed her eyes and succumbed to the darkness.

Sunday Scribblings # 159: Language.

2009-04-17T14:18:00.002-04:00

I speak three languages; Polish, French and English.
I learned them in this order, but ever since, the order of which language I master best, has been reversed.
I write in English; stories, poems, my blog!
I speak in French & Polish to my parents, as they do not speak English fluently.
Polish is a necessity when I go back home, to the small village of Pleszew, & my grandmother, cousins, uncles & aunties, welcome me once more. I don't have the luxury to speak in any other language, as they do not understand. When I stumble on a word, I get frustrated, because I feel like I don't have such an expansive vocabulary, as I do in English & French.
I understand Spanish, thanks to high school courses and a University class, & I can even communicate my basic wants/needs, ask for directions etc...

Languages can be;

Barriers: Many people only speak one tongue or dialect. When they travel or relocate, they cannot experience a country to the fullest, as they will always be an outsider looking in, until they learn to love, live, breathe in this new language.
Daunting to learn: Especially as an Immigrant. My mother had to learn French when she was in her 30's. It was emotionally & mentally challenging. She never lost her European accent. Whilst, my sisters and me were still children when we were thrusted in a French school. I remember, no one understood me! I would cry at night; I couldn't make friends, I was the weird kid that couldn't communicate. It was a very lonely time, even lonelier for my mother.
Blessings: It provides variety, it offers a challenge to exercise our minds & discover new ways for communication. My father speaks; Polish, French, Lingala, Batetela & Swahili. He understands English, but has difficulty speaking it.

I want to perfect my Spanish & learn Swahili. I will, in due time.

Noblesse Award.

2009-04-16T20:44:00.006-04:00

I've received my first award! I was SO pleasantly surprised to see that Chocolate Covered dreams has given me the Noblesse award.

This award is given because:

1) The Blogger manifests exemplary attitude, respecting the nuances that pervades amongst different cultures and beliefs.

2) The Blog contents inspire; strives to encourage and offers solutions.

3) There is a clear purpose at the Blog; one that fosters a better understanding on Social, Political, Economic, the Arts, Culture and Sciences and Beliefs.

4) The Blog is refreshing and creative.

5) The Blogger promotes friendship and positive thinking

I am in absolute awe, because I didn't know that my blog meant anything, to anyone but myself. As well, she was so kind to write about me:

Vintage Velveteen - If I would've had another daughter, Nana would definitely be it. She's adorable and such a wise thinker. She processes life out loud and from those thoughts, I gain wisdom from her. She's sweet and talented and most of all, honest.

Thank you so much! You've really made my day...

The rules are as follows:

1) Create a Post with a mention and link to the person who presented the Noblesse Oblige Award.

2) The Award Conditions must be displayed at the Post.

3) Write a short article about what the Blog has thus far achieved – preferably citing one or more older post to support.

4) The Blogger must present the Noblesse Oblige Award in concurrence with the Award conditions.

5) Blogger must display the Award at any location at the Blog.

So, Ladies & Gents, the nominees...

Tangerine: She is my favorite blogger in the blogmosphere :) Her postings are scarce, but they are soulful and beautiful. She has such an innocent approach to life, she is so receptive. It's like she's a sponge in the vast sea, that is life.

Retromus-ik: Her posts are always honest. She is such a quirky personality (& a good dresser, she updates her blog with her outfits) and isn't afraid to talk about her principles. She is a good friend of mine & has always supported me in all my endeavours. She has offered a shoulder to lean on & has given me good advice, on countless occasions.

Floreta: She updates her blog ALL the time! I was introduced to the Sunday Scribblings through her blog & I am very thankful :) As well, she's fearless. Many times, I have read a posting and thought 'She lets it all out!'. It takes courage.

Sunday Scribblings # 158: What scares you?

2009-04-10T00:15:00.004-04:00

It might sound silly but this question feels so intimate. What scares me?

Not being able to protect/provide for my family.
Not achieving my goals.
Not being able to have children: This would be a killer for me. I know adoption is a viable option but I want to go through the stages of pregnancy & see my body change, experience the pain of labour, hold my wet-as-a-seal newborn & marvel that he/she is flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood.
Sickness; there's so many deadly & incapacitating conditions out there, I'd be terrified to find out something (a tumour) is growing inside me, sucking the life out of me. Also, HIV scares me. I call it the 'monster'. Thousands upon thousands are dying each day, while thousands upon thousands contract it.
Being broke (again). I grew up in a household that was never quite financially stable, & although it made me who I am today, I still get nervous about being a dollar too short.
Silly stuff: Ghosts (yes, I believe in spirits), squirrels (they're like rats with furry tails, I always imagine they want to attack me), gaining weight (I know, I know. It's silly right? It must be the European in me. I've been weight conscious (i.e mortally obsessed) since 10 years old, thank you mommy!)

Happy b-day.

2009-04-07T12:55:00.003-04:00

My mom, Grazyna Teresa, is 46 today! She is the best mother in the world & I am blessed to have her on my team. Love you Mama!

Reminiscing & Off with the White?

2009-04-07T11:55:00.008-04:00

Me & Alicia, 2005

I stumbled across the above picture, I can't believe it is nearly 4 years old!!! I was fresh out of high school when I decided to get an eyebrow piercing. I removed it a year later but I still have the needle marks. It's OK though, Scars give you character ;)
The picture was taken (if memory is correct) on the day Alicia was leaving for Belgium...
Alicia & I met up in Paris, last may. It was great, She took an express train from Brussels & we had a fun day in the city. We were together from 8am to about 4pm (She had to be back in Belgium as she started work at 6pm). We had breakfast & lunch, sipped on coffee beverages at 'Les deux Magots', browsed stores, had chit chats about what's been going on in our lives.
It's crazy how I have grown/changed since we were both teenagers...

Another thing...

I'm thinking about changing things up on my blog. Should I keep the background white, or what suggestions (colors) do you have?

Sunday Scribblings # 157. What have you got to celebrate?

2009-04-04T16:43:00.007-04:00

This is my first post for the Sunday Scribblings!

Family: I feel immensely blessed to have such positive, genuine people in my life. I have learned so much from my family; their trials & victories are my own.

Writing: Not everyone can find solace & a voice through a pen & a paper.

The little things:

Drinking my cup of coffee in the morning while checking my email
Removing clothes fresh out of the dryer, I love the warmth of the fabric.
Going for a walk
Getting fresh pastry at Molisana
Lying in the dark, talking & sharing
A glass of wine with a good plate of Pasta

Friendships: On Tuesdays after work, I unwind with my two girlfriends with Shisha (Flavored tobacco in a bong) & drinks at a downtown lounge. We sip on Lychee martinis, tea or smoothies, depending on the mood. Also, there's a little spot downtown, Cine-express, it's open 24/7 & they offer great food, ambiance & affordable pitchers of anything you want (sex on the beach, Sangria, Rum & coke...). I've had many fun times there as well.

Freedom: When women around the world are still killed & imprisoned because they demand to live and not simply exist, I celebrate my own freedom to wear what I desire, to have opinions, a sense of humour. I feel blessed being able to love whom I please with abandon. To make mistakes and learn from them & not be stoned, jailed, or beaten.

Education: My father is from Congo Kinshasa. He moved to Poland in his early 20’s, to pursue higher studies. He had to learn the language, adapt to a strange country & make new friends. He did what he had to do to get an education. He worked hard & got a master in Engineering. He was lucky, so many people don't even have the opportunity to work their butts off, like my daddy. I celebrate that all I have to worry about (when it comes to education) is writing essays.

Literature: My desire to write was born when reading great books, written by great authors. 'Matilda' by Roald Dahl gave me the initiative to read, read, read. I thought I would gain magic powers, & in some ways, although I cannot levitate or move the cereal box with my eyes, it did bring magic in my life. In fact, I string words into stories now, my imagination knows no boundaries. 'Paint it black' by Janet Fitch, gave me a glimpse into a Lover's depression, while also, giving me yet another standard for my own writing. Junot Diaz 'the wondrous life of Oscar Wao' & 'Drown' gave me the courage to write with courage & acceptance.

Love: I've learned so much through Love. I have grown because of heartbreak, as well. You can never lose, when you chose Love. Even though, it might hurt sometimes, you will end up victorious if you keep your eyes on the prize. :)

On Love&Trust.

2009-04-04T14:26:00.004-04:00

Luck (or fate) has it that my character, Lola, says my favorite line in the play:

‘‘No.You’re not (in love with her). If you were really in love, you wouldn’t say ‘Yes’, like that. Cause love is scary and you’re never sure whether you’re in it or not. And you’d never say it like that ‘Yes’. (You’d say) ‘Yes, I am in love’’

When you love blindly; you are always restless, your heart is a frail crystal & you have placed it on the edge of a high cliff. Its preservation depends on elements out of your control; if the wind is too strong, or too weak, if there is erosion of the stone, the crystal will fall into the abyss & shatter into a thousand pieces. Your lover may give his love in return, but who will be the trashing wind, who will be the hand that seals the crystal’s faith?
Love alone, the passionate lustful hopeful love, will come to an end. If you accompany it with trust, it will transform into a soothing love that defies time & logic.

Yesterday, I felt champagne bubbles in my head. I can’t explain, words fail me, but it means that the ice inside me is melting. It’s scary, it’s freeing, it’s exciting.
I feel like the old me is resurfacing, bit by bit.
I love&trust myself.

Good Times.

2009-04-02T23:03:00.002-04:00

My Partners in Crime (The best Co-workers EVER)

Sull (middle) turned 25 last week! A quarter of a century!

I count my blessings.

2009-04-02T22:29:00.007-04:00

I am exhausted; I've had a beautiful, eventful week. Remember the Fringe Festival post? Well, to make the story short, I wasn't casted for the role I initially auditioned for. Instead, I got an email from the producer, offering me the role of 'Lola'. It's a smaller part in the play, but I am so glad I didn't get the lead! Lola is a beautiful and complex character. I am so excited, I hope I will give her an adequate and moving interpretation.
Wait. The best is yet to come...
We had our first meeting today & the producer, Jesse, told us that there is a possibility that the play is extended at the Centaur theatre after the Fringe festival. That is AMAZING; more exposure, more experience, more money.
Wait, Wait. It gets better...
Jesse is a producer, he makes movies through Quiet us films. He told us that there's also a possibility the play gets adapted into a movie!!!
I am SO excited.
Wait.Wait.Wait....
Two friends/fellow actors are in the production!!! The chemistry will be out of this world!!!
We've also been given our performance dates at the Fringe; 6 shows baby!
Also, I have 'A Raisin in the Sun' in November at the Espress-O theatre. I'm working with such amazing, talented actors. I'm so happy, I can't breathe!
Wait.Wait.Wait...
I've been writing so much, I submitted a story to a bi-yearly fiction publication., Carte Blanche As well, I will be sending out stories to African writing ( a UK monthly fiction publication) & Ms.guided, a feminist Zine. I've also written a query letter to Essence for an essay I'd like to publish in their upcoming issue.
It's too soon to know if my stories will be published, but I am putting myself out there, and I can't wait to get those letters/emails of rejection. Every writer goes through it, and I want to make my way in the literary world through sweat and blood. I want to earn it!
I'm SO happy, SO happy, SO happy!
Wait.Wait.Wait.Wait..Wait.
I am also blessed because I have great family & friends who remind me I am amazing, even when I don't feel so stellar.
Thank you Billie for making my day!!!

At this Junction of my life, I chose to live amongst the flowers, not the thorns.

2009-03-27T18:21:00.005-04:00

This Saturday, I was at my friend's daughter's birthday party. I was waiting for this event impatiently as my X and his daughter were to attend.
I was nervous, a bit scared, curious to see if my emotions would unravel at his sight.
The past month, I had been hitting the gym twice a week, obsessing over small details; I wanted him to see me, have a sudden epiphany, regret that he didn't try harder, that he didn't beg me to stay with him. If you ask me, He was the problem, not I.
I was so hurt when we broke up, so confused, so angry. I felt so STUPID to have invested so much emotions, so much money, so much energy into someone...
But then I saw him.
& throughout the night, I was reminded why I fell in love with him in the first place. He was still funny, silly, simple...For the past 5 months, I've hung unto the bad memories, dwelling on his bad qualities; it was easier this way, nurturing my hate towards him helped me overcome my love for him.
Seeing his daughter was something else. I bought her a pyjama and a playdough spaghetti factory, but when it came to giving it to her, I just felt so silly.
She didn't remember me. She asked me 'what's your name?'
Every word was like a small needle puncturing my heart. I know she's just a child, but I hoped she remembered all the weekends I have spent with her ; teaching her to dance, feeding her, cleaning up after her when she was being potty trained...
As heartbreaking it was, her loss of memory was also a relief. I could move on without leaving Babygirl behind. I wouldn't be hurting her feelings, she had already made her goodbyes, her child eyes will meet, forget, new people, new places, new situations.
I will always remember the joy and learning she had brought in my life but it doesn't feel as real, with her amnesia.
As for her father, I didn't cry, I didn't regret, I didn't feel my heart breaking...again.
We were polite, even exchanged some jokes. I'm going to be good from now on, I am closing that part of my life, I'm making peace with my mistakes.

Right now, I am in bed. Sick. There seems to be a virus going around; your throat gets swollen, your body aches, your nose is stuffed.
The good/sweet news is that a friend was so kind, he sent me sushi and flowers 2 days ago, and a chocolate cake today. Awww.
:)

Headshots.

2009-03-05T21:33:00.002-05:00

Finally, I have professional head shots! I have an Audition for a play that will be part of the Fringe festival. It is a great opportunity, the festival runs 11 days & attracts an average of 45 000 spectators.

Column 11: Hero.

2009-03-05T21:11:00.006-05:00

In 2 weeks, I will be attending a dinner party for my friends' daughter, Michelline. She's turning 1 years old, & I have promised her mother, I will help her set up the party. Michelline's father is my X's best friend. He is the most responsible, hard working & wise 22 year old, I have ever met. He is the main bread winner; he works full time at a community center, as well as studying to be a fitness trainer. All this, while juggling a very active family life.
He is amazing. I spoke to him the other day, & I asked him advice about a situation that had been bugging me; my X's presence at the birthday party & the rumoured presence of a date...
& of course, as usual, he offered constructive advice & reassurance.
I know that he is not perfect. He has vices, threads of his personality that contribute to his humanity, but damn, He is a great person.
He sets the bar higher; he reminds me to stop worrying about trivialities of my calm life, & push harder in every domain. This manchild (still a boy, but a man because of his wisdom & father figure) is doing things that many men cannot, in their 20's, 30's, 40's & beyond; He's being a good father, he is tired, overwhelmed, but he is doing what he must to insure his daughter's future. That, ladies & gents, is a modern Hero.

Column 10: Day & night.

2009-03-02T00:03:00.006-05:00

Is it normal to feel a void whenever he comes back, through a meaningless call or rushed text message, in my life. Is it normal that my world is destablized with active knowledge of his presence, the awareness that somewhere, with someone, He is recreating moments I thought would remain intimate & secret for eternity. Is it normal that, I would willingly put myself in hot water, just to be near a man that reminds me of him. A man that could potentially leave me broken like a doll, because he has all the qualities & abrasiveness, my X once possessed.
Is it normal, that I feel taken back with anger, that he closed our joint account without my presence. I thought that, bank procedures would prohibit single decisions, that we would both have to terminate a stupid account, who the fuck is crazy enough to make financial decisions after so little time, with awareness of his frugality. Me. Of course.
Of course, had I known I could have closed the account, I would have done it the day after I cut my hair, painted my heart black, iced my fucking soul. But. I hate that he's done (yet another)something without consulting me, without at least, letting me know that another bridge has burned.
There's still the car we had bought. Most likely, abused by winter, but still parked in his brother's drive way. Still rusty, but magnificent in its symbolic emblem.
Little car, did you know you used to be a carrier of hope? That, I thought that you'd help him get back on the road, fool him to believe that he could rebuild, acquire autonomy through you?
But I was wrong. It was all for naught.
I feel used. I feel like my love has been taken for a weakness. I feel like we broke up in October, then yet again November, & I cannot spend a day without thinking of him...
Day & night, loneliness is my second skin.
I know that there's much worse in the world than heartbreak, I also know that, one day, I wll wake up & feel silly for ever giving him the time of day. But I also know, that when it comes to loving again so freely, I will not, I cannot.

So. God. Next time, I feel my heart pound out of my chest, next time, I smell flowers blossoming in winter, next time I hear roll drums; I need complete reassrance.
Because I refuse to put my heart in a man’s palm if you cannot justify who you are, if you do not prove to me, that this man knows what he wants from me. That this man loves me, & not only the support and comfort I have offered him this far. I need to know that this man loves my mind, that he respects my emotions, that his goal is my well-being and growth. I need to know, God, that he will not take advantage of my weaknesses, that he will not impose his will on me, that he will not take and take, without offering anything in return...
Because. Honestly. I am drained.