Barnyard

"Closer to Love" by Matt Kearney

...oh, it's your light / oh, it's your way / pull me out of the dark / just to show me the way...

In the third grade, Ms. Miriello assigned us a project that required us to look at the moon every evening at the same time. We were supposed to record our findings in order to incorporate it into our lessons about weather, climate, weather and climate patterns, etc.

I always forgot to look at the moon at the same time each night and some nights I would just forget totally. I basically had to forge the information because I had no clue what the moon looked like that night. I forgot to look! I was 8 years old in 1995. The internet had not debuted in my life so I could not look it up and write it in on the calendar we were provided.

I cannot remember if my parents knew about my project and my delinquent reporting. I do remember, however, one night, my mother waking me out of my sleep to show me the moon. She gently held my hand and dragged my sleepy body to our back porch in our house in Raleigh, NC.

I could barely open my eyes and I was paranoid that I was in some kind of trouble so I was very disoriented. She stood behind me, held my shoulders, and rested her chin on the spot where my neck and shoulder met. She whispered in my ear while pointing up, "Look at the moon."

I looked up to a huge, blue glowing full moon, the only one of the cycle we were recording in school. I remember thinking how gorgeous it looked, that light cobalt blue against that almost black sky with sprinklings of small white stars.

I cannot remember if I recorded it or what, but that memory has always stuck with me. It was my little moment with my mom. I didn't have to share her with Sheikh or Lima. It was our little moment where my mother paid attention to the details of my life, woke her daughter up to look at the spectacle that was the moon.

I remember what she smelled like, the light pink pajama outfit she wore, the brand of her whisper. That is the woman I remember. I am angry with her. I am frustrated with her. But I remember that moment and I remember the woman that I love, the woman that I want to learn from, the woman I want to be like.

Since then, full moons have always meant my mother is watching, thinking of her daughter somewhere, with her hands on my shoulder and her whisper in my hair.

Goodnight Mommy.

Home Alone, Part Who Freakin' Knows

"Nikki" by The Dream

...now your heart is broken / go on 'head and pick it up...

So Will texted me. I was nice and patient even though I just wanted to say all kinds of nasty insults that I rehearsed when the ship sunk but never got a chance to say. We stopped talking (I'm still not totally sure how he has my new number because I didn't give it to him!). But he decides to randomly contact me. It was obvious that he was intoxicated or altered in some fashion, otherwise he wouldn't have had the nerve, as he admitted himself. So I couldn't be that mad. He wasn't totally in control of himself.

However, I cannot understand why he would think I want to have contact with him. He said that when he checked on me on my birthday this year, I said I forgave him. I was probably altered. I was in Miami and you know what happened in Miami! I want to forgive him and in those moments in which the details of my life and pain are fuzzy, I can forgive anyone, at least for a while.

And honestly, I know that as a child of God I should have forgiven him by now. There are a litany of people who I should have forgiven by now but I find it wholly impossible. I'm weak for pain. I feel it so deeply, it's so paralyzing, I cannot figure out how to let it go. And it is not as though I haven't done wrong to others.

But I still hate him. I still do. I have stopped wishing for bad things for him. I only did that for a very short while. But given the continued decrepit condition of my life, as much as I want to "let go of the past", I don't know how.

And I don't know that I want to. These experiences are the kinds of things that teach me how to be less naive and less trusting, which is what gets me in so much trouble. I should know better but when I love someone, I trust them. I didn't think it would be a problem if he knew my master password. Stupid.

I just believe people will be just as good to me as I am to them or try to be to them. In the end, it wasn't even what he had done but more what he said. I know he was angry. But as time has passed, I wonder why that is the emotion he had. You don't know what I'm talking about but if I had a friend in the shape that I was in, anger would have been my least likely expressed emotion.

When I was "loco", Gwenny and Christina were willing to put our friendship on the line to ensure my health and safety. They knew it was possible that I would not want to be their friend anymore after they brought my situation to light, but it was worth it to save my life.

For that reason, I have always been confused by his reaction. I have remained furious about it. When all was said and done, the ego I fear in every man spoke up for him instead of the caring, loving person I knew, a person who seemed to really love me unconditionally.

The situation between Will and I has dulled the light I used to see in people. I am afraid now, most of the time, around new people. And I don't want to introduce new people into my life. It seems more trouble than it is worth.

There is a solid circle of people who have never swayed, never left, never really disappointed. I have resolved that they are all I need.

I still love people. I am still outgoing. But I am guarded. Sometimes I am sad because I wonder about the interesting and good people I am missing out on. Will was interesting and good to me, at least for a while. I miss (sometimes) the thrill of new personalities but it spares me of much pain. The trade-off is fair.

Ejecting You

"Tell Him" by Lauryn Hill

...let me be patient / let me be kind / make me unselfish / without being blind / though I may suffer / I'll envy it not / and endure what comes...

I haven't had a real fight with my mother for a long time, partly because we don't talk and partly because we talk about superficial, non-controversial things.

However, under the surface, their is bubbling hot anger we both feel for what we perceive the other put us through.

Today, it kind of reared its ugly head...the anger.

She thinks I'm selfish. I think she (and a coerced husband) deserted me.

And these are the things tha pollute our lives. These different views of the same situation, varied opinions of the circumstances, personal assessments for whose fault it is are what haunt this house.

In the argument, the same frustration, the same screaming, the same non-listening business was going on that directed our arguments when I was in high school.

She said such hurtful things to me. Just plainly mean things that I hope she doesn't mean but know she said out of anger. She has such a nasty temper.

Apparently, she has been generally frustrated with me since I came home. Additionally, my mother is very defensive about her parenthood. I pointed out that I was very melancholic today and she just nagged me and didn't ask me anything. She flatly said that I am 22 years old and I can talk if I want to. She is not a psychic nor does she study me. This was just absurd. I couldn't even rebuttle.

And then she asked me to leave. She can't stand my attitude. I don't know why, but today, it was too much for me. I cried all day. I couldn't control it. Even as we argued, water washed my face uncontrollably. She even said, "Could you stop with the emotion and listen to me?", totally unmoved. Which is fine, I guess.

I think something is wrong with my mother. She has many burdens. Coming to a new country with small children, living overseas helpless as war ravages her home country, her youngest son suffering from fairly severe Autism at a time when little was known about it, losing her mother when she couldn't see her for over 15 years.

She has been through a lot and I don't think she dealt with it well, if at all. That is why I only swell marginally with anger because she is a human being too.

She is not a bad mother. She is just emotionally inept and I am far too thin skinned to be here with her.

I don't know why her opinion matters to me so much. I wish I didn't need her approval. It is kind of a stupid thing because even if she really approved of me, she isn't the kind of person to express such. She means well, I hope. But the issues have not been resolved. We are still angry and bitter and frustrated and confused. I'm going to go to therapy, that way, no matter what she says, it won't matter.

Until then, I bow out.

When We

"Easy Conversation" by Jill Scott

...I like that you don't look at me that confused kind of way when / the thoughts are running through my mind / and I can't find the right thing to say...

I wrote a very good paper for my English class earlier this month about what literature is. The question was posed to our class and we were asked to define it and argue whether or not the definition, as collectively accepted, should be expanded to include the likes of rappers and singers, who are recent additions to the ancient life that is artistic expression.

I might post that bad boy up here although it is lengthy. It is good though. My Daddy said it was wonderful and you know I think he is a genius, therefore, the essay is that fire.

I emailed it to him yesterday following a discussion of the aforementioned topic. He said he wanted to read it. I rarely allow my Daddy opportunities to read my writing because his command of language and artistic writing ability dwarf a person's entire existence with its grandiosity. But he thought it was splendid and even read it to the graduate literature class he teaches to introduce the topic. Not excited about that though.

And then Daddy called me again this morning to tell me about the conversation in his class that was sparked by my paper. Daddy has been calling me a lot. It is exciting because I love my Daddy. I think he is the coolest, funniest, kindest person alive, despite concurrent feelings of resentment and frustration.

It just seems odd though. For months, I tried to talk to my Daddy and Mommy and for months, they weren't checking for me. The hot anger of the past and the cold indifference of the future have met to make a lukewarm existence of now. I don't worry about how the relationship turns out anymore.

I guess because I am older, I'm not crazy anymore, and education continues to sophisticate me, I realize that the whole family debacle isn't really that big of a deal. I am learning that time really will heal the wounds because time allows us all to grow. That growth is what heals the old wounds and makes us stronger to sustain future damage with less energy used to heal. I just wish I hadn't been such a dumb ass the past 3 or 4 years. I wish I hadn't been so sensitive, so demanding, so dramatic, so impatient, and so angry. There is plenty I wish of my parents' attitude and behaviors, but I had and have no control over them.

The thing is, love is bold. You scream and fight and reconcile and hate and blame and recuperate because you love one another. The love is permanently bonding so the recklessness is performed under the security of forever, no matter how unsatisfying the love may be. I know I am bold as love and because of love.

So, That's Awesome

"God Only Knows" by The Beach Boys

...I may not always love you / But long as there are stars above you...

Sniki texted me early this afternoon. She is a blogger and a blog reader (I feel as though that sounds so culturally contrived).

She texted me about two blogs that she thought were interesting and told me to check them out. Her blog is also quite amazing. She is on my Magic Woman blog as The Niki.

Because I decided to skip my only Friday class, my mind was in no way occupied, not being intellectual, and not being productive.

I was checking out these blogs and then I became a little idle. Some folder in my brain reminded me about a certain someone's blog, and, like an idiot, I decided to check it out.

Now, I didn't know the address so I looked up on Google the email address I remember he uses.

And I found it. And in it, he very measuredly, very casually, callously but effectively, and hurtfully called me crazy. The entry was not even about me and nor was my name explicitly mentioned but context exposed "the last girl I called myself in love with" as me.

I spent hours, hours thumb talking to my counselors Christina and Brittany trying to figure out 1) why he would say such a thing and 2) why I am so upset about it.

Here I am: A few months ago, I received a text asking how I was doing. I did not respond and received another message a few minutes later, a reminder from him that he will always be there for me.

I was enraged. I was so livid. After having "thrown a grenade and running," he was back, I guess, to assess the damage. I cannot convince myself that he was returning to rebuild a damn thing, although I could be wrong. Still enraged, I called him and let my angry lips talk without having thought about what I was going to say. It was profane and mean and emotional and raw, but it was honest. I still don't even know how he managed to get this new number.

What happened? What happened to "I am always here for you"? How quickly we arrive at "crazy" (and he knows I am afraid that people will think I am crazy so that's an awesome choice of a word). After the whole "betrayal" (oh it was such a production), I felt (feel) so slighted that I don't think he deserves to be angry.

But that is not fair. Those are his emotions. I cannot think for him nor can I feel for him. And if there is one thing I believe, I believe that we are all entitled to our emotions. He is angry and I cannot do anything but understand.

And I am trying. I am trying so hard to forgive. I try so hard sometimes it seems like he may feel it. He may feel that I am trying to let go and stop hating him. Obviously, he does not. I am trying to let it go, realize that people do bad things and will do bad things to me, I do and will do bad things to people, and move on with my life.

But it is hard. I understand that he his angry and I have a good idea about what and why. I am a student of psychology and I have already concocted some explanations about it, but it does not help me. It does not comfort me.

I let him in...all the way. I told him all the things that embarrass me, that I am ashamed of, angry at myself for, everything. And he caudled me and informed me that nothing is wrong with me, that I am still lovable, that I am a good person and then he left. And I wonder if he meant any of it. And then I returned to the days when I was certain. I am certain that something is wrong with me. He did not want me either.

I'm not angry. For one, I should not have been on his blog. For two, he is a human being and he deserves his anger and any other emotion he has. For three, he is a good man, a very good man who's ego was slighted. Empathy is almost always wholly silenced by ego. He is a good man, but he is a man.

The Christina and the Brittany responded to me all day with texts of encouragement. They said some unflattering things about my former friend (they may hate him more than I do, and it is not as though I haven't said some things myself), mostly just to make me feel better.

And even though I want to believe them and be angry because it feels so good, so filling, it is not right. I feel for him in the midst of my anger because whether or not I am wrong or he is, both of us are still humans and your pain is always real and never soothed by pointing fingers and dodging responsibility.

I am sorry. I apologize. I hurt you and I am sorry. And I shall never be so stupid as to read the blog again.

It's like I eat stupid for breakfast or something.

Work It Out

"Declaration (This is It)" by Kirk Franklin

...it's a new day / I'm not afraid anymore...

I woke up for Yoga this morning at 8am. Showered. Made a small breakfast. I abhor waking up early in the morning but I suppose I am a "morning person" for my energy level rises to normal level rather quickly.

I have made a pact to exercise more will power and discipline this year. I have extended this to mean I must wake up early in the morning and be productive each day as early as I can.

I have not been waking up for Yoga because I stay up late to study. Not following the healthy schedule.

So I was able to do it today and Yoga was at 8am not at 9. I am not sure if it is because it is raining and ugly, because I am still living under my chronic melancholy, or what but I was VERY upset about it.

I feel as though I have lost control of my life. I therefore try to maintain it in even the smallest areas that I can. I clearly schedule every hour of my day because my time is all that I own and control.

As I walked home, I cried about a lot of things. This is the prayer I sent to God, not as humbly as I should have, but as honest as I am infamous for:

Sometimes I feel like You push me too hard

Sometimes I don't understand why You made me this way

Soemtimes I feel like I can't wait for the morning to come

And for Your blessing to wake me

Sometimes I feel as though You are not listening

Sometimes I feel like my tears are meaningless

As the cheeks they run down

Sometimes I feel like I'm too dramatic

But that just reminds me that I don't understand

Why You made me this way

Most of the time, I don't doubt You because my belief,

My faith is all that I have.

I am still alive and that is all the proof I have that You are alive

Waking up, sometimes, is all the testimony I have

Most of the time I cling to You like nothing else

Because I learned that you don't know that all you need is God

Until all You have is God.

And all I have is God.

I don't have a thing in the world to give anyone

I don't have a maternal hand to stroke my head when I feel the most defeated

And I don't have a tissue absorbant enough to catch all my tears

Which is why I don't release every tear my heart feels it needs to shed

And I don't have a paternal hand of encouragement to rub my back

When the weight of my sadness is too heavy.

But he is a father to the fatherless and a mother to motherless

So let the Devil know that your encouraged.

I hope God isn't mad. And I don't think He is. We all doubt Him and from what I understand, He expects us to. Smart people, critical thinkers, intellectuals write theses to discredit Him, but I don't think He gets offended. He gave us the talent to do so.

People have told me, "Zainab, I don't understand why you believe in God. You're so smart." As if to say only stupid people believe in God. And I do doubt things in the Bible. I don't believe in the story of Adam and Eve. But I know what I have seen and endured. I should not be alive to type this blog but I am and ain't enough luck in the world to have kept me alive.

Besides the doctrines and hard-to-believe-stories, anti-Semitism, persecution of homosexuals, church denominations, hypocrisy, hateful evangelists, my pending degree in science, my inclination to turn to science, and other controversial subject about Christianity, I have just been through some things I should not have survived, so God is as real to me as the keys I am typing on.

Come to My Window

"Sweet Mother" by Tilda

Sweet mother, I nor go foget you, fo di suffa wey you suffa for mi, ye

When I dey cry, mi mama go carry mi,

She go say, "Mi pikin, watin you dey cry?"

Stop stop...stop stop...stop stop

Mek you nor cry again, no...

My mother woke me this morning, on this last day of the year. She called me at about 9am. She has not called me in over 3 and half months and as you know, I have been pining for that woman's attention the whole time. There are several blog entries that are testaments to such.

My BF even commented recently that my blogs don't seem so crestfallen. I'm slowly moving on from my upset with my domestic situation.

This phone call along with my Auntie Yabom cooking my favorite soup, Krain Krain, seem to be signs to me. I feel as though it means there is hope for me and my family yet.

Eating my plate of rice and Krain Krain always makes me feel at home. It is so familiar and so comforting. I haven't eaten krain krain in several months because I have been away from my family.

God wants me to be at home, perhaps not physically, but He wants me to have a relationship with my family. And I want it too. Not eating Krain Krain for six months is ridiculous. Mothers pay so much attention to what their children eat and for several months, I haven't eaten my mother's food, the food from home. I feel as though I have been starving until today.

So I am interpreting this as a sign, that at the end of the day, or the end of the year, I still have a family, even if the relationship is not what I want it to be. I am trying to remember that because at first, after we talked, I tried to go back to sleep but lay down crying instead. I have missed her so much and she waited until the last day of year to call, talk to me, ask me questions, and let me know she cares.

Just when I was starting to come to terms with the idea that I will just have to do without a relationship; that I will have to bear with the distance; that I have to give her time...she calls and renews my hopes, without my knowledge even. I think I am a little optimistic that this new year season may give my Mommy the reconciliation fever. Maybe. Maybe not.

Nonetheless, I am going to continue with my plan. I will return to school next semester and finish up my degree. The other details of my life are auxiliary mechanisms to me graduating. I just want her (and my Daddy) to see that. I can manage without a real relationship with either of them. That will come with time.

However, I am still hurt about some of the things she has done or not done, as I am sure she is by me. I cried out of frustration. Any conversation we have is predicated upon me "taking responsibility". While I am totally willing to do that, I must say, I am not willing to be labelled as the sole culprit of this domestic mess.

I am no longer a child. Our relationship and my parents' role in my life has changed. Therefore, both sides are responsible and have made bad contributions. My parents, in old African style, don't believe that. It (whatever it is) is all my fault. So while I have missteps for which I have indicted them in my mind, they deny them all together and simply make me feel childish, paranoid, and overly sensitive.

But in this new year, I will try my hardest to be grateful. I will not say happy, because she is highly elusive. But I will be grateful. I am alive. I am well. I therefore still have opportunity and potential. This is especially poignant for me to remember now as two 'cousins' of mine have died in the last month, both of whom were my age. Marie of ovarian cancer at 22 and Khadija of a horrible car accident back home in Sierra Leone at 23.

Happy New Year Mommy. Forgive me for 2008. But please give me space, less criticism, and more support if you can in 2009.

Dented Armor

Inspired by Fitting Accidents

Broken.
The state in which you found me.
I was battered and bruised
and zoned out and in u zoned.
On broken.
The answers I didn't have,you had.
The self loathing thoughts I
punished myself with,
you took my rights to and
at times you set me free
The new growth my healing brought,
you believed in almost as hard as i believed in it.
It was too good to be true.
Then I found true not at all to be you.
After copping your emotional field,
you've become another dent in my shield.

_________

This is an example of how language connects us. My blog entry about my broken heartedness (Fitting Accidents) reverberated with someone else. My language spoke to someone else as if it wasn't words talking but our pains talking. She understood how I felt from my words alone. And I didn't think that was possible.

I thought that language was miraculous but inadequate and I think now, she isn't as inadequate as I thought.

Her poem is just so beautiful. She answered my words with more words and I feel like she told me how I felt better than I told myself. I even forget my heartache to remember hers and I'd like to inform you of something madam.

The dents in your shield do not make it any less functional. And eventually, you will be equipped with what you need to strengthen your shield again. And hopefully after that, you'll find a place in which you are remade with indestructable material and shield will no longer be necessary.

Fitting Accidents

"So What" by Pink
...so, so what / I'm still a rock star / I got my rock moves / and I don't need you...

Amy [Winehouse] has this song, "Back to Black" whichis kind of the place I am always returning to. I feel as though I awaken everyday to give it a try although I am consistently disappointed.

At this stage, it feels like I awaken just to have the comfort of Black. Someone did the cliche thing of "breaking my heart" again. And I don't mean it in the metaphorical sense. I really feel, sometimes that something, most likely my heart, is really broken.

I keep too many secrets, primarily because when shared, they come back to haunt me. I told someone all my secrets, all my passwords, all my pandemonium, all my embarrassing idiosyncrasies and he blew my cover.

I thought, for a little bit, that I was possibly worthy of having good people in my life who loved me and would help and protect me. He made me think that was possible.

But skip all that sappy business. The bottom line now is I am pissed, infuriated, livid, red with rage, and all that. Not that I am blameless because I allowed my naivete to guide me despite the fact that I know I can be naive, especially about people. Other friends warned me but I always had a response, a defense ready that quieted them, even just temporarily. I did more than that, but he can write that blog if he wants.

I learned the hard way instead. He broke all of my confidences and meddled in my family life in a way that he never should have. He reinforced the mistrust, cynicism, and fear I already had for people. And it made me feel inadequate all over again.

The letters in someone else's name, logging into my shit, the mean emails and messages addressed to hurt my feelings, scouting for my number, telling people my business, and whatever other shit I may not be aware of is just the basement of the problem. The problem is the awesome skyscraper I have built to distract everyone from the crumbling city it is surrounded by. I will never show my damage or my vulnerability again.

But like an invaded country, I wear the scars, suffer the broken infrastructure, the casualties in the street, the debris, and all the signs of invasion, while he and his troops walk away, a little bruised, but back to a home that is intact as mine is burning to the ground. I feel like he gets to return to his life while I struggle to live mine.

So he lost a good friend. So what? I lost the progress in a relationship with the woman who made me. I cannot "quit" my mother. I have to deal with this ravaged country that is our relationship no matter how inhabitable it is.

And as if to add insult to injury, I get correspondence asking about how I am doing. Do you really care? I have to say I don't think so. Guilt and a search for forgiveness are possibly bigger motivators than your genuine interest in how I may be doing.

For I am not doing well. I am not doing anything. All the things I was ashamed of myself for are now common knowledge, but continue to go unacknowledged. I still feel ashamed. I never really forgave myself for the things I did that I told you in confidence, but you somehow felt it appropriate to share them with others, whose opinions really matter to me, whose approval I really need, simply to embarrass me, not to help me.

Yesterday came the text messages (when he shouldn't even have my number). And although I thought it a good idea to call and ask for a cessation of correspondence and say my piece, I didn't really feel any better afterwards. I cried so bitterly (again) to the girls because no matter how much time passes, I just don't understand how things went so wrong. I am mad at what was done but I blame myself, instinctively.

Simultaneously, I don't understand what I did that was so bad to deserve such a thing. I try to be a good person because I've had a crappy life and I don't want anyone to live as I have. But maybe I didn't do such a good job. Maybe I didn't show the love I said I felt. Maybe I'm just not a good person. I don't know.

But leave me alone, whatever you do sir, because it isn't fair that you pop up in my life whenever you want and make me relive the whole thing again. Things are no better. I am still angry and I still hate you. I'm sorry to hold a grudge but I ain't that good of a Christian. So to answer your question: No, life is not treating me alright.

Girl You Are Rich, Even with Nothing

"Player" by 112

...I'm a player / girl I thought you knew / when you started messin' around with me/ you knew I wouldn't commit to you / cuz I'm a player...

Thanksgiving Day has passed. I spent it here in Houston, Texas with people I barely know.

I sense that my Mom thinks I skip out on the family because I don't like them. At least, that is what is communicated to me by my aunts and uncles that talk to me about the way my mother perceives me.

I love them. There is no place in the world I would rather be than home, even in these times of awkward tension.

I did not call them on Thanksgiving Day. I felt bad for not being at home. Simultaneously, holidays don't hold any significance for me because I feel like a nomad. A nomad with no family.

I feel as though lonely nomads of thousands of years ago probably died earlier than their accompanied peers.

I am going to my parents' house in a week. My Daddy is traveling home so I will be hanging out with darling Lima. I can't imagine how my Mom and I are going to get along. I know we won't fight or anything because I don't do that with her anymore. I wonder if she will talk to me at all. I wonder if I will be able to resist staying out of her way.

Something tells me that she doesn't really want me there but she has no choice. I'm the best person imagineable who could tend to Lima so meticulously. I must stay out of her way. I don't want to anger her or annoy her.

I also can't hope for a miracle while I am at home. The heart in my mind wants me to hope that having to see me everyday for two weeks will weaken her resolve to be mad at me or forget me (or whatever she is doing). But the mind in my heart is trying to let me know that I am being ridiculous and I am underestimating the strength of my Mom's will and the depth of her frustration.

I hope I can resist the temptation to make a scene while at home. It's just that I want her to know that I grew up, I understand, I miss her, I love her, and I want her to forgive me.

I don't need to move back in. I wouldn't mind but I don't have to.

When I was younger and people would tell me that they could make themselves cry, I didn't understand. I was under the impression that one could only cry when in pain. And I was one of the happiest children so I could never "cry on demand".

I can do that very well now. And it isn't just "crying on demand". I actually have things to cry about that I conceal until the appropriate time.

It's usually about my Mama. I can be sitting in the happiest of moments but if I think about my Mama, I can easily, easily cry. That is what I want for her to know. That I'm not a selfish child, I just had to grow up. The more heartbreaking thing about growing up and changing is realizing how horrible you used to be. The most heartbreaking thing is not being able to show the person who matters the most how much better you are. Sorry Mom.

Telling All Your Business

3.42PM on my Sunday

I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
But she's just like a maze
Where all of the walls are continually changed
...
So fathers be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers
Who turn into mothers
So mothers be good to your daughters too

***

***

Mother's Day is fast approaching. For most of my life, this day has always been surrounded by an ugly drought of affection. The manufactured holiday is more of a tragic reminder of what I do not have with my mother and what Hallmark expects that I should have.

***

***

Father's Day has only once been cloudy, but not so much that I forgot there is a sun. I still was aware of my love and my connection to Daddy. On the other hand, it does not take much to become completely blinded by the storm that is my relationship with my mother.

***
***

This year might be our last Mother's Day. Not that I anticipate either of us to die, as that is a possibility for all mortal things, but I simply feel like I will be unable, at least for a while, to acknowledge her as a 'mother'. She will always be my mother, but I don't feel much obliged to celebrate her motherhood.

Promise of More to Come

I miss him. I miss his stupid humor. I miss his baritone laugh. I miss the moroseness of his absence and the tragedy, the drama of his presence. I miss his ringtone. I miss the feeling of annoyance that sometimes surfaced in his times of chronic pursuance. I miss his anger, most acute when I had been out drinking or with questionable company.

I miss his kids. I miss being their cool stepmother. I miss his dependability. I miss knowing there is a person in the world that I could call at outrageous hours of the night for absurdly simple maladies that would come running. I miss his inflexible confidence that he could correct anything that faltered me in my steps down the path of good. I miss and I loved how it angered him that I didn’t believe he could always fix, correct, and rebuild for me.

I wonder what it would be like now, us. I wonder if the alterations of my mind would have any bearing on our interactions now. I wonder if he has changed. I wonder if he would notice that I have changed. I wonder if my alterations would be maintained should I again become his better half. I wonder if he at all misses me, thinks of me, fights himself not to call me, or deleted my number. I wonder if he will take me back.

I want my resilience back. I want my clarity back. I want a new glass.

I won’t look out the glass he shattered. Obviously, the picture is distorted and the world is much better than I’d be able to see. I won’t blame myself. I won’t say I deserved it.

I might cry. I might be sad. I might make a playlist. I might play that playlist a few too many times. I might cry some more. I might think recklessly, but only temporarily. I might pine for him. I might sweat out my frustration for him. I might feel desperate. I might curse the day we met. I might cry, cry, cry.

I believe I am beautiful. I believe I am beautiful. I believe I am at least Christina’s champion and God’s champion, if I am not to anyone else. I believe that God will send me better. I believe that I will get over him. I believe that I am supposed to feel this pain and this pain will only further introduce me to the woman that I am.

I know that God will send me something better. I know He will send me healing. I know He will send me a forgiving spirit. Because He is, there is a promise of more to come.

I will keep in mind that it is natural to miss someone I let in my heart even if he did not prove to be worth the price of admission. Thanks Will.Yum.