Sun Kissed FieldsEnumclaw, WA
Monday, April 26, 2010
Just another dirty face
I saw you yesterday. You didn't see me, at least im pretty sure of that. In your own world high up in that stupid truck you own. Its been years. Truley years since I've even thought of you. Anger and shame is long gone baby, cause your not worth my time. You weren't worth it all that time ago either, but try telling that to a beautiful disaster. One look at your face and the floodgates of memory open and the lingering smell of wet concrete and old red seats come in. Long nights shared with you. Never to my face. No not to my face and if I'm really honest with myself, I can say that I truly don't know if that was more for your benefit or mine. Desperate to feel needed I took it too far. Desperate to feel satisfied you let it come in. Your fault or mine?
I was a young girl trying to be grown. Long blonde hair, small waist, and an ignorence for truth. You smelled the wetness behind my ears a mile away. Preyed on it, got high off it. I was self destructive, trying to find a way out, out of what im not sure. Life? Reality? The sheer normalcy of the yellow painted house called home? But you knew what to do, you knew how to work me, you knew I would break.
Children of technology it started simply enough. Too late summer nights spent behind that screen. Hours we would talk. Typing fast, the world falling away around us. I wish I could say I shared my soul with you. But I cant. I shared lies with you. I rehearsed the words that I knew you would want to hear. But all this time later I take solace in knowing that you didn't know me. You never knew me and you never broke me. I wasn't attracted to you. But you didn't want me and that was too much to accept. Boys wanted me. Plenty of them. Not new to the sideways glances of young brown eyes I waited for yours to come calling.
And of course they came. My body was present, my mind a mile away. Away from that night, away from the cheapness, the sickening truth of it all. It was October and much like the rain, I was falling. Splattered on the concrete I was forgotten. It was over before it started but the effects of it just begining. As if I needed any other reason to lower myself that night. As if I needed any other reason to be nobody. A Truce made true between two friends, between us this will stay. Of course just another lie spoken that late October night.
Ironically enough the car was parked in the parking lot of my youth. Middle school, not long ago yet a million miles from where I sat. Not much had changed really. Hips wider, and an inch taller, but mentally, just the same. I let you bother me too long. I let your shallow poison drip into the torn innocence of my heart. But one day I laid myself to sleep, and upon the bright sun of the morning let you go. Let you go, let that time go. I realized that the decisions you make in the vulnerability of your youth don't define you. You change and you grow and the dirtiness accrued at one time or another drips off your back and fall to the ground. You can be new. You can be clean, you can be free of mistakes of your past.
I dont know why I saw you that day. I dont know why old memories were stirred or why our paths crossed. But I do know that it left me with a smirk. Because Ive made it and you havent. In a few days Ill be on my way to California. On may way to the dream of my life. I'll be free and careless, sand between my toes and my soul being cleansed by the goodness of the sun. And once again, you'll be nothing but an old memory, filed away in the dusty corners of my brain. You'll be alone, and lonely, and ill be flushed with the love of another. You may have shook me for a time half a decade ago, but you didn't break me. You tried but you failed. You fell into the abyss that is nothing.
I was a young girl trying to be grown. Long blonde hair, small waist, and an ignorence for truth. You smelled the wetness behind my ears a mile away. Preyed on it, got high off it. I was self destructive, trying to find a way out, out of what im not sure. Life? Reality? The sheer normalcy of the yellow painted house called home? But you knew what to do, you knew how to work me, you knew I would break.
Children of technology it started simply enough. Too late summer nights spent behind that screen. Hours we would talk. Typing fast, the world falling away around us. I wish I could say I shared my soul with you. But I cant. I shared lies with you. I rehearsed the words that I knew you would want to hear. But all this time later I take solace in knowing that you didn't know me. You never knew me and you never broke me. I wasn't attracted to you. But you didn't want me and that was too much to accept. Boys wanted me. Plenty of them. Not new to the sideways glances of young brown eyes I waited for yours to come calling.
And of course they came. My body was present, my mind a mile away. Away from that night, away from the cheapness, the sickening truth of it all. It was October and much like the rain, I was falling. Splattered on the concrete I was forgotten. It was over before it started but the effects of it just begining. As if I needed any other reason to lower myself that night. As if I needed any other reason to be nobody. A Truce made true between two friends, between us this will stay. Of course just another lie spoken that late October night.
Ironically enough the car was parked in the parking lot of my youth. Middle school, not long ago yet a million miles from where I sat. Not much had changed really. Hips wider, and an inch taller, but mentally, just the same. I let you bother me too long. I let your shallow poison drip into the torn innocence of my heart. But one day I laid myself to sleep, and upon the bright sun of the morning let you go. Let you go, let that time go. I realized that the decisions you make in the vulnerability of your youth don't define you. You change and you grow and the dirtiness accrued at one time or another drips off your back and fall to the ground. You can be new. You can be clean, you can be free of mistakes of your past.
I dont know why I saw you that day. I dont know why old memories were stirred or why our paths crossed. But I do know that it left me with a smirk. Because Ive made it and you havent. In a few days Ill be on my way to California. On may way to the dream of my life. I'll be free and careless, sand between my toes and my soul being cleansed by the goodness of the sun. And once again, you'll be nothing but an old memory, filed away in the dusty corners of my brain. You'll be alone, and lonely, and ill be flushed with the love of another. You may have shook me for a time half a decade ago, but you didn't break me. You tried but you failed. You fell into the abyss that is nothing.
Both a Beginning and an end
I saw your Facebook page the other day. You made it as private as possible, just like you made your life to me; private. But I went around that. And I saw the pages of your family. The family that you kept from me. the family that shares my last name, my blood. Unfamiliar faces glowing on the computer screen in the dimly lit room of my house. Reading through status updates and comments left between family, a familiar emotion washed over me. A feeling of sadness, of betrayal, of longing and understanding trickled from the top of my head to the ends of my toes; and even though Ive felt this before, it was more profound then ever before. I think it was at that moment that my inner self dropped the facade and allowed the understanding that you are happy to come in. I realized that ever thinking that you were alone, unhappy, or regretful was stupid of me. What the hell was I thinking? I suppose that scene in my head was built from denial, from still caring for you, for still hoping that you cared for me.
But that was a lie. You walked out of my life and straight back into the life that you lived 20 years ago. You left and you kept on leaving until you reached the red rock sand of Arizona. Reuniting with a woman that you knew 40 years ago. A woman that I will be damned to believe you only regained contact with after you dropped my mother and I. You linked arms with her, shook off the past 17 years of responsibility, of a daughter who needed you, and a day to day life that you despised and you settled on into a life that you finally got to live after such a long run in purgatory. I saw the brothers and sisters of yours that you hadn't spoken to in over a decade. The parents of yours, elderly and fragile. The same parents that couldn't accept us. Couldn't accept my mother, the woman that loved you more than you've ever been loved before. The woman who already had two children; older children from previous marriages, from previous lives. The woman who laughs a little too loud at times, the woman who lived without a veil of lies, the woman who passed her Jewish genes to your only child. The child your family would have liked to christen, to baptize, and confirm; the child your family would have nothing to do with.
I saw the structure of a family tree that I have never had. Your family together from the in ground roots of your grandparents, to the sturdy trunk of your parents, and the leafy branches of your siblings. So different than the shaky branch that I call my own family tree. I saw a family that even though each and every one of you are fucked in the head in your own ways, you stick together. Being welcomed back into a family that you had exiled yourself from for the good of the family you chose. Going back on every thing you had ever told me about your life as a young person in southern California.
And I was once again reminded that I don't know you. Not really; and I never have. It is still shocking for me at times to remember that I grew up living in a house with a man that I called daddy but was always distanced from by the solid concrete wall he'd constructed around himself. I can recount almost the entire life story of my mother. Of course not everything, I know there are things that she has chosen to keep from me, life stories and experiences that me, as her daughter does not need to know but I would have no problem constructing a time line, or writing an essay. But not you. No. Growing up i didn't ask many questions of you and your life. I guess I could feel it in the air at a young age that your life as a child, as a young adult, and as a person that existed before me was off limits. Anything that I did ask you was answered with a simple vague answer, or the generic 'I'll tell you when your a little older'. I know most of what i know by asking my mother. You at least shared with her. She at least knew you a little more as her husband. But I cannot remember one time in my life when you recounted a funny story of something that happened in your childhood. Not once.
And then my thoughts of me not knowing you shifted to the realization that you do not know me. And you probably never will. You left at a very pivotal time in my life- really in any ones life. I was 17 years young, gearing up for my high school graduation, held together by the boyfriend that had already loved me for 2 years, and just beginning to think of what life after the safety net that is school would be like. You were not very present. And when you were you were encouraging me to go to school, researching colleges online and trying to help guide me in the right direction. I was at a confusing time in my life, trying to accept that i had grown out of the ballet slippers of my childhood and getting used to the idea of leaving the nest. I was a typical absent minded, self absorbed, defensive teenager of 17 and that, is how you will always remember me.
You don't know me as the artistic, funny, capable woman that I am now. You don't know that i love to cook, and that my mothers talent and know how was passed to me. You've never tasted the home made bread, or the bolognese sauce that I was particularly proud of. You've never walked in my door to find me bent over the cutting board chop, chop, chopping away, humming the melody of my life.
You don't know that I've kept the same job for two and a half years. That I persevered day after day to gain the experience that i knew I would need to move past the telephone answering, appointment scheduling days of my early twenties. You don't know that i listened to your advise. That i listened to every word you ever spoke to me and that I held those words close to my heart. You don't know that i cherished every single one of the moments I spent with you as a young girl. The car rides to grocery stores, the games of catch in the front yard with the sun shining on us and the scent of cut grass hanging in the air.
You don't know that I've found my talent in photographs. That after years and years of believing that talent escaped me, that I had nothing to call my own I finally picked up a camera and saw something different through the lens. You don't know that portraits are my favorite, spontaneous and organic. You don't know that I gifted myself with a beautiful camera, a tool that became my outlet. You will never be a subject. Never stand across from me and have your face become captured in a timeless four by six.
You don't know what my house looks like. What couches, and wall hangings Matthew and I chose together. You don't know that summer time is my favorite but that the rainy streets of Seattle make me feel at home. You've never sat at my table as a guest in my house witnessing the pride i hold on my face for the life we have accomplished together.
You don't know that my feelings toward you have changed dramatically. At first it was nothing but a flurry of anger, of shock, sadness, hurt, and fear. For years a chip on my shoulder I held and anger in my heart but not now. I still feel all of those things of course at times. Mostly when I think of the blue eyed, courageous little girl of 4 that you abandoned. But now, my feelings are civil. I do not forgive you, I cannot forgive you and maybe I never will forgive you for what you did and I am angry that you stole the right for me to be happy for you. Because I could have been. You are my father, the only father I will ever have and through all of this shit, it helps me sleep better at night knowing that you are happy. That you have the life, now that you wanted then.
You don't know that its hard for me to even say the word 'Dad'. That the memories of my childhood with you are fading. That every happy memory I have of you is cheapened by knowing that you never cared. By knowing that you always wanted to get away. You don't know that when asked my full name, my last name feels foreign as it exits my lips. That the name now makes me think of you, and the family that birthed you; not me and the mother that took that name 20 years ago. You don't know that I would have kept it. That when Matthew and I finally tie that knot i would have held strong and kept your last name firmly planted behind my middle. In honor of you and being your one and only blood child. The only daughter that you will ever have. But now, I will take the name of my love, partially to start new with a solid foundation of a partnership, and partially to get away from the name that is not me. To change myself forever. To lay to rest the first chapter of my life for good.
But it gets easier every day. No longer do I think of you on a daily basis. No longer does the core of my being hurt quite the same way that it did in the beginning. Its easier now to push old memories and thoughts out of my head, out of my life so that I can focus on the right now. And I feel like now, almost 5 years later I am just beginning to heal. To be able to speak of you without tearing up. I am old enough, and mature enough to accept that I will never be completely healed. That the wound you created that November has a permanent place in my heart, but I am also mature enough to understand that that does not define me.
I remember the last time I saw you. In the hospital after my precious nieces surgery. Such a strong little girl, more at ease knowing that her whole family was with her. Including the tall, gray flecked bearded man that she called papa. The man that had become scarce in her life, without understanding why. It was a hard time for us, for the whole family. Not understanding why this precious child's kidney didn't function, why it was making her ill, and why they had to cut through the porcelain skin of a young girls abdomen to remove it. I was the first to break down. Trying so hard to become like steel. To be strong for her, to be strong for her parents- my sister. But as they wheeled her out of that room the sudden thought that she doesn't fully comprehend what is about to happen was too much for me. And I did it, my eyes filled up and spilled over unwillingly allowing fear to take over me, shamed that I couldn't just keep it together. And then you looked at me. You looked at me; vulnerable, and upset. Scared for that 4 year old and scared of the unknown, you looked at me; and then you looked away. And it was at that moment that I was able to throw away the maybes. I was able to toss the 'he'll come arounds' out the window. And for the first time I could say; My name is Bonnie and my father will never be anything but a fleeting, transparent memory of my past. And then I was able to let you go.
But that was a lie. You walked out of my life and straight back into the life that you lived 20 years ago. You left and you kept on leaving until you reached the red rock sand of Arizona. Reuniting with a woman that you knew 40 years ago. A woman that I will be damned to believe you only regained contact with after you dropped my mother and I. You linked arms with her, shook off the past 17 years of responsibility, of a daughter who needed you, and a day to day life that you despised and you settled on into a life that you finally got to live after such a long run in purgatory. I saw the brothers and sisters of yours that you hadn't spoken to in over a decade. The parents of yours, elderly and fragile. The same parents that couldn't accept us. Couldn't accept my mother, the woman that loved you more than you've ever been loved before. The woman who already had two children; older children from previous marriages, from previous lives. The woman who laughs a little too loud at times, the woman who lived without a veil of lies, the woman who passed her Jewish genes to your only child. The child your family would have liked to christen, to baptize, and confirm; the child your family would have nothing to do with.
I saw the structure of a family tree that I have never had. Your family together from the in ground roots of your grandparents, to the sturdy trunk of your parents, and the leafy branches of your siblings. So different than the shaky branch that I call my own family tree. I saw a family that even though each and every one of you are fucked in the head in your own ways, you stick together. Being welcomed back into a family that you had exiled yourself from for the good of the family you chose. Going back on every thing you had ever told me about your life as a young person in southern California.
And I was once again reminded that I don't know you. Not really; and I never have. It is still shocking for me at times to remember that I grew up living in a house with a man that I called daddy but was always distanced from by the solid concrete wall he'd constructed around himself. I can recount almost the entire life story of my mother. Of course not everything, I know there are things that she has chosen to keep from me, life stories and experiences that me, as her daughter does not need to know but I would have no problem constructing a time line, or writing an essay. But not you. No. Growing up i didn't ask many questions of you and your life. I guess I could feel it in the air at a young age that your life as a child, as a young adult, and as a person that existed before me was off limits. Anything that I did ask you was answered with a simple vague answer, or the generic 'I'll tell you when your a little older'. I know most of what i know by asking my mother. You at least shared with her. She at least knew you a little more as her husband. But I cannot remember one time in my life when you recounted a funny story of something that happened in your childhood. Not once.
And then my thoughts of me not knowing you shifted to the realization that you do not know me. And you probably never will. You left at a very pivotal time in my life- really in any ones life. I was 17 years young, gearing up for my high school graduation, held together by the boyfriend that had already loved me for 2 years, and just beginning to think of what life after the safety net that is school would be like. You were not very present. And when you were you were encouraging me to go to school, researching colleges online and trying to help guide me in the right direction. I was at a confusing time in my life, trying to accept that i had grown out of the ballet slippers of my childhood and getting used to the idea of leaving the nest. I was a typical absent minded, self absorbed, defensive teenager of 17 and that, is how you will always remember me.
You don't know me as the artistic, funny, capable woman that I am now. You don't know that i love to cook, and that my mothers talent and know how was passed to me. You've never tasted the home made bread, or the bolognese sauce that I was particularly proud of. You've never walked in my door to find me bent over the cutting board chop, chop, chopping away, humming the melody of my life.
You don't know that I've kept the same job for two and a half years. That I persevered day after day to gain the experience that i knew I would need to move past the telephone answering, appointment scheduling days of my early twenties. You don't know that i listened to your advise. That i listened to every word you ever spoke to me and that I held those words close to my heart. You don't know that i cherished every single one of the moments I spent with you as a young girl. The car rides to grocery stores, the games of catch in the front yard with the sun shining on us and the scent of cut grass hanging in the air.
You don't know that I've found my talent in photographs. That after years and years of believing that talent escaped me, that I had nothing to call my own I finally picked up a camera and saw something different through the lens. You don't know that portraits are my favorite, spontaneous and organic. You don't know that I gifted myself with a beautiful camera, a tool that became my outlet. You will never be a subject. Never stand across from me and have your face become captured in a timeless four by six.
You don't know what my house looks like. What couches, and wall hangings Matthew and I chose together. You don't know that summer time is my favorite but that the rainy streets of Seattle make me feel at home. You've never sat at my table as a guest in my house witnessing the pride i hold on my face for the life we have accomplished together.
You don't know that my feelings toward you have changed dramatically. At first it was nothing but a flurry of anger, of shock, sadness, hurt, and fear. For years a chip on my shoulder I held and anger in my heart but not now. I still feel all of those things of course at times. Mostly when I think of the blue eyed, courageous little girl of 4 that you abandoned. But now, my feelings are civil. I do not forgive you, I cannot forgive you and maybe I never will forgive you for what you did and I am angry that you stole the right for me to be happy for you. Because I could have been. You are my father, the only father I will ever have and through all of this shit, it helps me sleep better at night knowing that you are happy. That you have the life, now that you wanted then.
You don't know that its hard for me to even say the word 'Dad'. That the memories of my childhood with you are fading. That every happy memory I have of you is cheapened by knowing that you never cared. By knowing that you always wanted to get away. You don't know that when asked my full name, my last name feels foreign as it exits my lips. That the name now makes me think of you, and the family that birthed you; not me and the mother that took that name 20 years ago. You don't know that I would have kept it. That when Matthew and I finally tie that knot i would have held strong and kept your last name firmly planted behind my middle. In honor of you and being your one and only blood child. The only daughter that you will ever have. But now, I will take the name of my love, partially to start new with a solid foundation of a partnership, and partially to get away from the name that is not me. To change myself forever. To lay to rest the first chapter of my life for good.
But it gets easier every day. No longer do I think of you on a daily basis. No longer does the core of my being hurt quite the same way that it did in the beginning. Its easier now to push old memories and thoughts out of my head, out of my life so that I can focus on the right now. And I feel like now, almost 5 years later I am just beginning to heal. To be able to speak of you without tearing up. I am old enough, and mature enough to accept that I will never be completely healed. That the wound you created that November has a permanent place in my heart, but I am also mature enough to understand that that does not define me.
I remember the last time I saw you. In the hospital after my precious nieces surgery. Such a strong little girl, more at ease knowing that her whole family was with her. Including the tall, gray flecked bearded man that she called papa. The man that had become scarce in her life, without understanding why. It was a hard time for us, for the whole family. Not understanding why this precious child's kidney didn't function, why it was making her ill, and why they had to cut through the porcelain skin of a young girls abdomen to remove it. I was the first to break down. Trying so hard to become like steel. To be strong for her, to be strong for her parents- my sister. But as they wheeled her out of that room the sudden thought that she doesn't fully comprehend what is about to happen was too much for me. And I did it, my eyes filled up and spilled over unwillingly allowing fear to take over me, shamed that I couldn't just keep it together. And then you looked at me. You looked at me; vulnerable, and upset. Scared for that 4 year old and scared of the unknown, you looked at me; and then you looked away. And it was at that moment that I was able to throw away the maybes. I was able to toss the 'he'll come arounds' out the window. And for the first time I could say; My name is Bonnie and my father will never be anything but a fleeting, transparent memory of my past. And then I was able to let you go.
He came and he went
I retreat inside myself. During times of sadness. Confusion, stress, anger, fear, its all the same to me. Its not something that I do with intention and it has always been something that does nothing but separate me from family and friends during times that I should be reaching out with tentacles of emotion and latching on to the only people that have really ever been there for me. The only people who have ever truly wanted to be there for me. But hard as I try its just not how I'm made. I would prefer late nights of inward agony to long heartfelt talks over steaming cups of tea that I hate, any day. To me, pain is private, my pain is private and it makes me an anxious pile of short breaths and upset stomachs to come anywhere close to sharing my pain. Huge wedges driven between those closest to me, wedges that I'm not sure I can ever mend. More to come in the future, that I'm sure of but the more I cause others pain from my isolations the more I want to isolate.
I cannot pretend that I felt any regret
Cause each broken heart will eventually mend
As the blood runs red down the needle and thread
Someday you will be loved
-Death Cab for Cutie
Someday she will be loved
Sitting cross legged on the faded brown carpet of my childhood; my sister next to me a strong, strong pillar bracing for whats about to come. There for support for the round bellied straight banged sister she wanted nothing but to protect. Nothing but a bright eyed hopeful child of seven I was. Ignorant, and un-foreseeing of the ability of others to hurt you. The ability of others to tip toe with torn heals on the hearts hidden within the chest of small children and big children alike. It had been several weeks since I had seen him. Not all that uncommon if it weren't for the fact that it was her birthday and the time for celebration, for party hats promised, came and went. Anticipation to kiss those chubby cheeks of the one year old that was less of a niece and more of a sister to me built and built, and the nagging questions came and came until it all came to a head. At this moment, right here, sitting on this shabby carpet looking up into the eyes of my trusted parents, this was the moment that changed everything. Unable to stall anymore, unable to create and recreate the bent truths and fabricated lies meant to protect me it finally had to be said. He would like it if we didnt see him anymore. Him and her, and that precious baby we love, well no more he said. The particulars and the mechanics, and the words and the hate of the situation omitted of course. But it didn't matter. He wanted me no longer and it was said and it was done thats all that did matter.
My big brother, my very big brother at fifteen years my senior had not always been a constant in my life. Living in a different state the state that birthed me, eventually making the move north, but always having his own life. I mean how involved can you be in the life of a sister fifteen years younger than yourself? But it didn't matter, all I saw through the glossy blue eyes of youth was my big brother. My brother that would always protect me and love me. Always be there for me and never leave. I sat there that day, a moment that I can still remember now, almost fifteen years later. I sat there with a very distinct feeling of being in a tunnel. A tunnel that encompassed only me, a tunnel that blacked out the corners of my eyes creating a round viewpoint, a tunnel that dulled sounds making everything seem very far away. A tunnel that created surround sound of the strong steady beat that was my heart. I listened, I sat very still and I listened counting the beats, wondering if it were true. If it were true that your heart could break. Did I hear a tearing sound? Was it ripping at the seams? Did it pop like a clear plastic bag filled too full with air? A new emotion to me, A feeling never felt in seven years, a feeling that I didn't know at the time but that would never go away. Only to be repeated and replaced over and over again through many years of life.
So I sat there alone, alone in my tunnel where no one could reach me and as I sat there I realized that I wasn't alone. I parted the darkness and swam through the weight, and I remembered that in the dully lit room with the brown shabby carpet was my family. My sister next to me I looked at first. Was she on the right or the left? I cant quite remember but the wet tears dripping from her chin I do remember. And when I looked at her I realized that I should do something. And not knowing what to do, I cried. I cried and I cried and I retreated and I retreated and I cried some more until I was scooped up and hugged and held and I could feel their arms but I couldn't see them from outside of my tunnel but they were there and I knew they were so there was no need for me to speak.
I cannot pretend that I felt any regret
Cause each broken heart will eventually mend
As the blood runs red down the needle and thread
Someday you will be loved
-Death Cab for Cutie
Someday she will be loved
Sitting cross legged on the faded brown carpet of my childhood; my sister next to me a strong, strong pillar bracing for whats about to come. There for support for the round bellied straight banged sister she wanted nothing but to protect. Nothing but a bright eyed hopeful child of seven I was. Ignorant, and un-foreseeing of the ability of others to hurt you. The ability of others to tip toe with torn heals on the hearts hidden within the chest of small children and big children alike. It had been several weeks since I had seen him. Not all that uncommon if it weren't for the fact that it was her birthday and the time for celebration, for party hats promised, came and went. Anticipation to kiss those chubby cheeks of the one year old that was less of a niece and more of a sister to me built and built, and the nagging questions came and came until it all came to a head. At this moment, right here, sitting on this shabby carpet looking up into the eyes of my trusted parents, this was the moment that changed everything. Unable to stall anymore, unable to create and recreate the bent truths and fabricated lies meant to protect me it finally had to be said. He would like it if we didnt see him anymore. Him and her, and that precious baby we love, well no more he said. The particulars and the mechanics, and the words and the hate of the situation omitted of course. But it didn't matter. He wanted me no longer and it was said and it was done thats all that did matter.
My big brother, my very big brother at fifteen years my senior had not always been a constant in my life. Living in a different state the state that birthed me, eventually making the move north, but always having his own life. I mean how involved can you be in the life of a sister fifteen years younger than yourself? But it didn't matter, all I saw through the glossy blue eyes of youth was my big brother. My brother that would always protect me and love me. Always be there for me and never leave. I sat there that day, a moment that I can still remember now, almost fifteen years later. I sat there with a very distinct feeling of being in a tunnel. A tunnel that encompassed only me, a tunnel that blacked out the corners of my eyes creating a round viewpoint, a tunnel that dulled sounds making everything seem very far away. A tunnel that created surround sound of the strong steady beat that was my heart. I listened, I sat very still and I listened counting the beats, wondering if it were true. If it were true that your heart could break. Did I hear a tearing sound? Was it ripping at the seams? Did it pop like a clear plastic bag filled too full with air? A new emotion to me, A feeling never felt in seven years, a feeling that I didn't know at the time but that would never go away. Only to be repeated and replaced over and over again through many years of life.
So I sat there alone, alone in my tunnel where no one could reach me and as I sat there I realized that I wasn't alone. I parted the darkness and swam through the weight, and I remembered that in the dully lit room with the brown shabby carpet was my family. My sister next to me I looked at first. Was she on the right or the left? I cant quite remember but the wet tears dripping from her chin I do remember. And when I looked at her I realized that I should do something. And not knowing what to do, I cried. I cried and I cried and I retreated and I retreated and I cried some more until I was scooped up and hugged and held and I could feel their arms but I couldn't see them from outside of my tunnel but they were there and I knew they were so there was no need for me to speak.
Namaste
Today was my third yoga class and it is safe to say that I am addicted. My name is Bonnie, I'm 21, and I'm addicted to Bikram yoga.
It is absolutly one of the hardest things I've ever done but also one of the most rewarding. Its no big secret that me and physical activity don't generally get along. I was the poor chubby kid in elementary school PE class getting lapped by the next slowest person as I frantically tried to keep one foot moving in front of the other around the track. Seven year old lungs rapidly contracting as my chest felt like God had just crumpled it up like it were a blue lined scrap piece of paper. And everything just went downhill from there. Through the rest of elementary school I took every opportunity to not participate, to participate as little as possible, or to just take the easy way out and ask to be excused to the nurse. Its a very common misconception that children can keep up on an equal level of physical activity, I was the perfect example of one of the kids that couldn't. In sixth grade I had a full on panic attack when forced to run the track of the small gym for twelve minutes straight. That ended with a phone call to my mother, speculation on problems at home, and a nice feeling of humiliation for the rest of the year every time I stepped into that gym. Middle school was no better. Maybe even worse as I was the new kid at school. In the small town I now live in, there aren't often new kids and everyone has grown up together since preschool. We moved here in October of my seventh grade year right in time for dancing in PE! Let me tell you just how fun that was, no one really wanting to dance with the new kid. I mean who is that new kid right? She awkward and insecure, and less than thrilled about joining us. So lets not chose her just so she can be placed with the unlucky prepubescence schmuck that gets chosen for her! High school was a little better. No longer feeling out of place, and finally secure enough in myself to not care if I embarrassed myself pathetically trying to participate in whatever activity it was. Most of the time I just wouldn't participate at all and that is where my first ever D on a report card came from. Mom was proud it wasn't an F. Dad was pissed I mean who fails PE anyways?
After high school my diet didn't change much. Not really eating more, or different than I did when I was still classified as a high schooler. But even though that didn't change, my daily activity level decreased quite a bit. That plus no longer eating on the schedule of the school made for a horrible equation ending with a good thirty pounds gained. And those thirty pound have stayed. No matter what I do. I try the gym, I really do. And I can handle it on certain days, but as a general rule I hate it. 45-60 minutes on a treadmill, sweat dripping down my back, while I try to focus on the horrible tv in front of me is my idea of hell. Strength training is no better.
I had done yoga before. Regular, calming, low impact yoga. But I never really saw results with that either. That was until I finally got up enough courage to do it. The closest place that does Hot yoga is about thirty minutes away. Not bad, but enough distance to try and make excuses. But I wasnt going to let my own lazy ass get in my way this time! Plus with the new student special they were offering I really had no reason to say no. So it was decided. Sunday morning, at 10:00 Im going. I'm getting up, getting dressed, the key is going in the ignition, and off we go to sweat beading, muscle shaking bliss!.... except for I refused to wake up to the 8:00 am alarm and instead slept until 10:00. But thats ok! Theres another chance at 4:30 and this time, nothing will get in my way! And this time I really did it. I got there, checked in, stood at the white wood framed french doors took a deep breath in and opened the door. Immediately the heat curled around you and your sucked in. Not too bad though, I can handle this! A little humid- 40% to be exact, but not as bad as I thought! That was until the class started and panic began to set in.
I can say that I have never released that much sweat. Ever. It felt as if I had taken a shower in warm salty tap water. Most of the class I was flat on my back eyes closed, desperatly trying to get rid of that horrible dizzy, nausous, im either going to die or throw up feeling. But that was ok! To be expected for the first class, and even the second and third. I wasnt the only one struggeling so that was also comforting. I have to admitt that my attitude wasnt entirly positive the whole time. Thoughts were floating through my head that ranged between 'Please God if you let me survive this I promise I will listen to Derek from now on and just lift the god damn weights!' to 'I'm going to throw up, no, No I'm not I'll be OK. No I'm definitely going to throw up'. to 'well OK the end is near, I'm actually going to survive this. but im never coming back'! When class finally ended and I had laid in Savasana long enough I stood up, rolled my sweaty mat up and headed for the door. The second that the door was opened and the cool refreshing air flowed into the room I felt like I had never felt before. My eyes were opened, my body was cleansed, and my outlook was renewed like never before. It was a high that Ive never felt and I was immediately hooked!
Once in the car, the moon roof was opened, both windows went down, Death cab was put on play and my drive home commenced. I felt the happiest and most carefree that I have felt in a long time. And as I was speeding down the freeway, a genuine smile on my face with the cool April air pushing in on me and floating to my ears I felt like I could do this. I could do everything! That all of this stress that I've been going through these past few weeks, all of this uncertianty and hurt, frustration, and loss, all of it cannot and will not overcome me. That I am a strong person, a strong woman, and human being. Those 90 minutes in that little hot room surrounded by strong men and woman who all had one goal in mind changed me. It made me a better person in so many ways. Because along with all of the toxins, and the impurities that were flushed through my pores and soaked through my clothes was also all of the fear, and anxiety, and worry, and uncertainty of the future that I have been feeling. It was all gone. And all that was left was me. The person that I want to be, the person that I am working so hard on becoming. Because I can be happy on my own. Whether I am with that person or not, whether I am alone, or surrounded by the few people that love me, I am happy, I summer skincan be happy. And slowly but surely I am learning to depend more on myself to be happy than other people. That experience was exactly what I needed at this exact moment in my life. I need to learn how to make myself happy, how to be satisfied with myself, because if you put that responsibility in another person you will always be let down.
I don't know what my future is like. Hell I don't even know what tomorrow has in store for me, but that is OK. I will be OK- no matter what. And I am so grateful that I now have this amazing outlet to aid me in my journey. I have gone to a class after work three days in a row now and I feel like a whole new person. It is such a spiritual and cleansing experiance. And as I lay there feeling so sick, I know deep down that I can do this. I can stay in this room the entire 90 minutes. I can take the rest that I need, and then get back in the game. I can hold this pose the whole 45 seconds and I can push on to the second set. I can wipe the sweat from my neck and wipe it again, I can not give a damn what anyone else thinks, and I can push myself through this. I can not worry about tomorrow and I can leave it in God's hands. Because in the end it all comes down to him. He created me. Strong, independent, and capable. It is just up to me to discover how deep those things are buried within me, and then pull them out. Lift them out of me and use them, and instead push down the insecure, anxious, Dependant person that I have been. Because that is not me, it is not who I wanted to be when I grew up, and its not who I will be in the future.
Alis Volat Proriis
'She flies by her own wings'
It is absolutly one of the hardest things I've ever done but also one of the most rewarding. Its no big secret that me and physical activity don't generally get along. I was the poor chubby kid in elementary school PE class getting lapped by the next slowest person as I frantically tried to keep one foot moving in front of the other around the track. Seven year old lungs rapidly contracting as my chest felt like God had just crumpled it up like it were a blue lined scrap piece of paper. And everything just went downhill from there. Through the rest of elementary school I took every opportunity to not participate, to participate as little as possible, or to just take the easy way out and ask to be excused to the nurse. Its a very common misconception that children can keep up on an equal level of physical activity, I was the perfect example of one of the kids that couldn't. In sixth grade I had a full on panic attack when forced to run the track of the small gym for twelve minutes straight. That ended with a phone call to my mother, speculation on problems at home, and a nice feeling of humiliation for the rest of the year every time I stepped into that gym. Middle school was no better. Maybe even worse as I was the new kid at school. In the small town I now live in, there aren't often new kids and everyone has grown up together since preschool. We moved here in October of my seventh grade year right in time for dancing in PE! Let me tell you just how fun that was, no one really wanting to dance with the new kid. I mean who is that new kid right? She awkward and insecure, and less than thrilled about joining us. So lets not chose her just so she can be placed with the unlucky prepubescence schmuck that gets chosen for her! High school was a little better. No longer feeling out of place, and finally secure enough in myself to not care if I embarrassed myself pathetically trying to participate in whatever activity it was. Most of the time I just wouldn't participate at all and that is where my first ever D on a report card came from. Mom was proud it wasn't an F. Dad was pissed I mean who fails PE anyways?
After high school my diet didn't change much. Not really eating more, or different than I did when I was still classified as a high schooler. But even though that didn't change, my daily activity level decreased quite a bit. That plus no longer eating on the schedule of the school made for a horrible equation ending with a good thirty pounds gained. And those thirty pound have stayed. No matter what I do. I try the gym, I really do. And I can handle it on certain days, but as a general rule I hate it. 45-60 minutes on a treadmill, sweat dripping down my back, while I try to focus on the horrible tv in front of me is my idea of hell. Strength training is no better.
I had done yoga before. Regular, calming, low impact yoga. But I never really saw results with that either. That was until I finally got up enough courage to do it. The closest place that does Hot yoga is about thirty minutes away. Not bad, but enough distance to try and make excuses. But I wasnt going to let my own lazy ass get in my way this time! Plus with the new student special they were offering I really had no reason to say no. So it was decided. Sunday morning, at 10:00 Im going. I'm getting up, getting dressed, the key is going in the ignition, and off we go to sweat beading, muscle shaking bliss!.... except for I refused to wake up to the 8:00 am alarm and instead slept until 10:00. But thats ok! Theres another chance at 4:30 and this time, nothing will get in my way! And this time I really did it. I got there, checked in, stood at the white wood framed french doors took a deep breath in and opened the door. Immediately the heat curled around you and your sucked in. Not too bad though, I can handle this! A little humid- 40% to be exact, but not as bad as I thought! That was until the class started and panic began to set in.
I can say that I have never released that much sweat. Ever. It felt as if I had taken a shower in warm salty tap water. Most of the class I was flat on my back eyes closed, desperatly trying to get rid of that horrible dizzy, nausous, im either going to die or throw up feeling. But that was ok! To be expected for the first class, and even the second and third. I wasnt the only one struggeling so that was also comforting. I have to admitt that my attitude wasnt entirly positive the whole time. Thoughts were floating through my head that ranged between 'Please God if you let me survive this I promise I will listen to Derek from now on and just lift the god damn weights!' to 'I'm going to throw up, no, No I'm not I'll be OK. No I'm definitely going to throw up'. to 'well OK the end is near, I'm actually going to survive this. but im never coming back'! When class finally ended and I had laid in Savasana long enough I stood up, rolled my sweaty mat up and headed for the door. The second that the door was opened and the cool refreshing air flowed into the room I felt like I had never felt before. My eyes were opened, my body was cleansed, and my outlook was renewed like never before. It was a high that Ive never felt and I was immediately hooked!
Once in the car, the moon roof was opened, both windows went down, Death cab was put on play and my drive home commenced. I felt the happiest and most carefree that I have felt in a long time. And as I was speeding down the freeway, a genuine smile on my face with the cool April air pushing in on me and floating to my ears I felt like I could do this. I could do everything! That all of this stress that I've been going through these past few weeks, all of this uncertianty and hurt, frustration, and loss, all of it cannot and will not overcome me. That I am a strong person, a strong woman, and human being. Those 90 minutes in that little hot room surrounded by strong men and woman who all had one goal in mind changed me. It made me a better person in so many ways. Because along with all of the toxins, and the impurities that were flushed through my pores and soaked through my clothes was also all of the fear, and anxiety, and worry, and uncertainty of the future that I have been feeling. It was all gone. And all that was left was me. The person that I want to be, the person that I am working so hard on becoming. Because I can be happy on my own. Whether I am with that person or not, whether I am alone, or surrounded by the few people that love me, I am happy, I summer skincan be happy. And slowly but surely I am learning to depend more on myself to be happy than other people. That experience was exactly what I needed at this exact moment in my life. I need to learn how to make myself happy, how to be satisfied with myself, because if you put that responsibility in another person you will always be let down.
I don't know what my future is like. Hell I don't even know what tomorrow has in store for me, but that is OK. I will be OK- no matter what. And I am so grateful that I now have this amazing outlet to aid me in my journey. I have gone to a class after work three days in a row now and I feel like a whole new person. It is such a spiritual and cleansing experiance. And as I lay there feeling so sick, I know deep down that I can do this. I can stay in this room the entire 90 minutes. I can take the rest that I need, and then get back in the game. I can hold this pose the whole 45 seconds and I can push on to the second set. I can wipe the sweat from my neck and wipe it again, I can not give a damn what anyone else thinks, and I can push myself through this. I can not worry about tomorrow and I can leave it in God's hands. Because in the end it all comes down to him. He created me. Strong, independent, and capable. It is just up to me to discover how deep those things are buried within me, and then pull them out. Lift them out of me and use them, and instead push down the insecure, anxious, Dependant person that I have been. Because that is not me, it is not who I wanted to be when I grew up, and its not who I will be in the future.
Alis Volat Proriis
'She flies by her own wings'
A little story 'bout Jack and Diane
Its the first day of spring and I have definitely sprung. Today I felt alive as I was speeding home from my massage, loose and warm. The moon roof open, windows down and the radio turned so far up it became my heartbeat. The soft sun and warm air speeding in on me as i cruised down the road in my new car. I felt alive, awake and present. I felt like i could do anything take any risk and accomplish anything. I had just entered the pastures of Enumclaw when I decided to take a detour. Decided to change the station and go straight instead of turning left to home. And as i passed the fields of the city of my childhood, smelled the air of the place that Ive called home for nearly 10 years i felt like i could do this. I can tell my anxiety to fuck off and make the changes that need to be made. At that moment i could have told the world to fuck off and packed my car.
I could have filled the trunk with necessities and memories, backseat covered with blankets for my dog and the passenger seat full of the only necessity i really need; my love. i could have grabbed my camera, hung it from my neck and captured everything that i saw from here to California. Backups on I5 and pissed off commuters. The area of nothing but desert from southern Oregon to central California. Potty breaks for the puppy at cheap truck stops and the silhouette of the dark haired, freckled skinned, goof ball that has morphed into the man that I love; in the dusky minutes before the sun sets below the horizon. We would take detours onto the 101 just to see the ocean. To center us, to remember where we are and why we're doing this, to remember that its just him and i creating this life, creating this memory that is our early twenties. To remember that its in our hands. We would park under the bright stars of California in the warm night air, puppy asleep in the back, us laying on a fleece blanket on the hood. Talking but not. Talking with our bodies, understanding each other for the new people we have become. Two lovers not new to each other in reality but in fantasy fresh and exciting. Hearts beating and sweat beading on our foreheads partially from the heat, partially from the excitement of being someplace new, someplace forbidden, and partially from the passion seeping from our pores.
We would pull into the cheapest motels we could find. Backpacks full of only the bare minimum, bad take out food in our hands. We'd spread out on the hard queen sized mattress, pass around food and crack open our laptops. On a mission to upload, edit, and share the photos of my life. To review the previous day, pick out the most inspiring and edit to create the perfect immortal memory. Uploading to Flickr and updating my blog so that i can always remember what this time was like when my life was young. When my eyes were wide and my responsibilities few. And then we would fall asleep exhausted from the constant go, run down from not having a place to call home; in a bed not ours, with our puppy content between us feeling safe. And then we would go, keep going, keep pushing on until we drive through a place that feels like home to us. A place where we could see ourselves grocery shopping, working jobs that we'll tire of, and setting up a home to call ours. Would it be Santa Monica? San Luis Obispo? Would it be a place our ears had never heard before? We would be home and our life would be new. I would be free of the job, the experiences, and the heartache that transformed me into a woman. We would talk long hours on the phone to our families. The supporting, loving, unconditional families that we should have had from the beginning. And every three months we would make that familiar drive north to visit the town of our youth, to drive the streets we drove at 17, and to see the family and friends that helped shape our beings.
I would feel at home in the state that birthed me, at home in the glory that is the sun. California Dreamin. And we would live there proud of ourselves for changing what needed to be changed. All forgiven of the raised voices and jagged lines drawn in the sand of our past. We would be new. And we would no longer be afraid of not being the 15 and 16 year old children we once were. We would no longer be afraid of not being nestled under the protective wings of our parents. Death Cab would be a constant. The sound track of our lives year after year. "You may tire of me, as our December sun is setting, cause I'm not who I used to be"... But we wont be afraid. We'll grow together, laugh together, and be careless together. We'll accept that we wont ever tire of each other, we'll be content that we did it. We made it. Against the statistics. Against the nay sayers, against the natural order of things. We grew together from the moment we fell in love standing in the concrete courtyard of our youth. Thinner than now, more immature than now, more hopeful than now. Two self absorbed kids of 15 and 16 meeting for the first time. Two kids who's lives were changed forever as our blue/brown eyes met for the first time. Looking into the eyes of our future. Proud of ourselves that we fought the fight. Because no, love is not patient, it is not kind, and it does get jealous and boastful, it is not easy and it takes work but thats why its so rewarding. That is why its the most sought after, that is why we feel at home in each others arms.
And so we would live there. The day to day. We would become California natives, find jobs we don't particularly like and "peel the freckles from our shoulders...". We would stay, for months? Years? Decades? We wouldn't know but that will be OK because we did it together. We did this. We took the steps to make the change and we survived. We're alive and in love, happy and free.
I could have filled the trunk with necessities and memories, backseat covered with blankets for my dog and the passenger seat full of the only necessity i really need; my love. i could have grabbed my camera, hung it from my neck and captured everything that i saw from here to California. Backups on I5 and pissed off commuters. The area of nothing but desert from southern Oregon to central California. Potty breaks for the puppy at cheap truck stops and the silhouette of the dark haired, freckled skinned, goof ball that has morphed into the man that I love; in the dusky minutes before the sun sets below the horizon. We would take detours onto the 101 just to see the ocean. To center us, to remember where we are and why we're doing this, to remember that its just him and i creating this life, creating this memory that is our early twenties. To remember that its in our hands. We would park under the bright stars of California in the warm night air, puppy asleep in the back, us laying on a fleece blanket on the hood. Talking but not. Talking with our bodies, understanding each other for the new people we have become. Two lovers not new to each other in reality but in fantasy fresh and exciting. Hearts beating and sweat beading on our foreheads partially from the heat, partially from the excitement of being someplace new, someplace forbidden, and partially from the passion seeping from our pores.
We would pull into the cheapest motels we could find. Backpacks full of only the bare minimum, bad take out food in our hands. We'd spread out on the hard queen sized mattress, pass around food and crack open our laptops. On a mission to upload, edit, and share the photos of my life. To review the previous day, pick out the most inspiring and edit to create the perfect immortal memory. Uploading to Flickr and updating my blog so that i can always remember what this time was like when my life was young. When my eyes were wide and my responsibilities few. And then we would fall asleep exhausted from the constant go, run down from not having a place to call home; in a bed not ours, with our puppy content between us feeling safe. And then we would go, keep going, keep pushing on until we drive through a place that feels like home to us. A place where we could see ourselves grocery shopping, working jobs that we'll tire of, and setting up a home to call ours. Would it be Santa Monica? San Luis Obispo? Would it be a place our ears had never heard before? We would be home and our life would be new. I would be free of the job, the experiences, and the heartache that transformed me into a woman. We would talk long hours on the phone to our families. The supporting, loving, unconditional families that we should have had from the beginning. And every three months we would make that familiar drive north to visit the town of our youth, to drive the streets we drove at 17, and to see the family and friends that helped shape our beings.
I would feel at home in the state that birthed me, at home in the glory that is the sun. California Dreamin. And we would live there proud of ourselves for changing what needed to be changed. All forgiven of the raised voices and jagged lines drawn in the sand of our past. We would be new. And we would no longer be afraid of not being the 15 and 16 year old children we once were. We would no longer be afraid of not being nestled under the protective wings of our parents. Death Cab would be a constant. The sound track of our lives year after year. "You may tire of me, as our December sun is setting, cause I'm not who I used to be"... But we wont be afraid. We'll grow together, laugh together, and be careless together. We'll accept that we wont ever tire of each other, we'll be content that we did it. We made it. Against the statistics. Against the nay sayers, against the natural order of things. We grew together from the moment we fell in love standing in the concrete courtyard of our youth. Thinner than now, more immature than now, more hopeful than now. Two self absorbed kids of 15 and 16 meeting for the first time. Two kids who's lives were changed forever as our blue/brown eyes met for the first time. Looking into the eyes of our future. Proud of ourselves that we fought the fight. Because no, love is not patient, it is not kind, and it does get jealous and boastful, it is not easy and it takes work but thats why its so rewarding. That is why its the most sought after, that is why we feel at home in each others arms.
And so we would live there. The day to day. We would become California natives, find jobs we don't particularly like and "peel the freckles from our shoulders...". We would stay, for months? Years? Decades? We wouldn't know but that will be OK because we did it together. We did this. We took the steps to make the change and we survived. We're alive and in love, happy and free.
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