Dear You,

We have so many, many, many memories together. Good ones, bad ones, better ones, worse ones... I wouldn't say you've been there for me my entire life, but you have witnessed my entire life. And that means a lot, to know that you know everything about me. I'm so comfortable around you it's almost ridiculous. We're two halves but together we make a whole and a half. We're two peas in a pod and then some. I don't know where I end and where you begin. You've been with me for so long that you've become apart of me.
But lately things have changed. I need you, I do. But you don't need me, it seems. You've turned into a cancerous tumor that is begging to be evicted. I wish I knew what you were thinking. I wish that I could cut you open and see whats ailing you. Is it me?
I used to read you like a book but all of a sudden like some manic director you've changed the script, swapped scenes, edited the ending. But you didn't tell me. You didn't tell me. And I was left standing in the storm without an umberella. I was expecting sun, you see.
Maybe the fault is mine. I don't know. To be honest I don't know has become my way of life when it comes to you.
I miss you. I guess that's all I'm trying to say. And it hurts, like you've cut up my heart and crazy glued the pieces back together, to know you don't miss me too.
Usually I don't get attached to people so they don't phase me, I act aloof. Like I don't care.
Somehow I don't think that was an option with you. The answer was there and there were no other choices.
Attached. Like my left leg. My right ear, my broken arm. Part of me no matter what. I cannot disattach you from me anymore than I can disattach me from myself.
I love you. It sounds so foreign like I'm speaking another language and I fear you won't understand me. I took it for granted that you knew, maybe that was my first mistake. Maybe I should have let you know and not have assumed you did. It seems crazy to me that you wouldn't know, that I love you, more than I love myself. I do. I do. I do. Maybe I should stop trying to fix things and let life take its due course and let the pieces fall where they may. Maybe things will get better, maybe they won't. But for now I will sit back and watch you like one of those suspense movies we're so fond of. The kind that has elaborate plot lines and twist endings. And I'll hope, and I'll pray for a happy ending. Happy, like we used to be.


From,
Me

Sylvia Plath

So I remembered a poem I read in AP Lang last year by Sylvia Plath and I wanted to share it. Her story is rather morbid having been abused for a great portion of her life and than committing suicide in a rather gruesome fashion, but her writing amazes me. This poem in particular allows us a chance to see right into her head. I love it I love it I love it. It's so vivid, so powerful. Read it.

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time---
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one grey toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Tarot pack and my Tarot pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of *you*,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You---

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two---
The vampire who said he was you
and drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat, black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

-- Sylvia Plath

I'm trying to write but it just doesn't feel write. So this is all I have to say.

“The future is not a result of choices among alternative paths offered by the present, but a place that is created--created first in the mind and will, created next in activity. The future is not some place we are going to, but one we are creating.”

I found this quote online, source unknown, and it made me smile. Everything I have been feeling lately summarized in a few choice words.
I've made mistakes, so shoot me but you know what? I'm pretty okay.
I'm content. Happy with the way things are and ready for whatever tomorrow has in store for me. I am writing my legacy. And believe me when I tell you it's gonna be a best seller (:

Goodbye

Goodbye is the biggest misnomer I've ever heard.
I'm wondering, is it supposed to be a euphemism? Is it supposed to take the sting away?
Because it doesn't make a damn different.
Goodbyes always make me wish I could gather everyone I loved and keep them with me forever.
But all good things come to an end, right?
boo freakin hoo.

A letter to myself

Dear J,

I really don't know how I should start. I feel like I know everything about you, and other times you're like a complete stranger and I know nothing at all. Just know that what I say is from the heart. The deepest most secret part of the heart that you choose to ignore. I want to tell you everything you've never had the nerve to tell yourself. Everything that you've been avoiding and pushing to the back of your mind. It's ok if people misjudge you, it's ok if they see something that isn't there. You have nothing to prove to anyone but yourself.

Choosing not to acknowledge something does not make it disappear. You cannot run away from yourself. Slow down for a minute. It's not so bad is it? You're not so bad, are you? Perfection is an illusion my dear. You're acting like the stupid dog that is condemned to running around in circles forever chasing his own tail. Breath. You cannot rewind and you cannot fast forward. No matter how much you wish you could hold time in the palm of your hand and throw it away tomorrow will always come after today will always come after yesterday. Yesterday is dead. Gone. Never, ever to be experienced again, only in that awful place in the back of your mind that's stuck in repeat. Today is such a beautiful thing. It's the second chance that no one else would give you. The gift that keeps on giving. Now. That is all you're guaranteed. Make the most of it.

You're a good girl. And I know how much you needed to say that. But don't let it get to your head. There is always room for self-improvement. You are not perfect, and I know how sometimes you think you are. You are not any better than anyone else. Your situation may be different, your circumstances, your condition, but you are not any more worthy of God's grace than anyone else. Remember this and always be humble.

Forgive and forget. I know how hard it is to forget, but remembering will do you no good. There is no point in remembering what you want to forget, these thoughts do nothing but clutter your mind. Forgive others, forgive yourself. Yes, you have made mistakes and you have done many many stupid things but they do not make you. You can wear them and be proud, or you can put them behind you and move on. Remember that God is always forgiving. Find it in your heart to forgive as well.

Be heedful of all that you say. It's ok to lose your temper, but just know that words are sharp and can do far more damage than you are aware of. We are all human, we all get angry, but always be mindful of the feelings of others. Take great measures in preserving feelings, for they are fragile. More fragile than you can ever hope to know. May you never cause another to frown. You have happiness inside you, and it's a cold world out there. Let others bask and take comfort in your light.

Don't measure yourself by the standards of others. You will always either find yourself to be too good or not good enough. It is time for you to rise to your own standards and expect nothing less from yourself.

I worry about you sometimes. You're too reckless. You're too restless. I've seen you throw caution to the winds too many times to count and have stood by unable to do anything but watch another disaster unfold. Slow down. Think for a moment. Think about tomorrow. Am I contradicting myself again? I tell you to make the most of now but to be mindful of later, does that even make sense? Yet, somehow I know that you know exactly what I am trying to say. I can put together a puzzle that looks like nothing anyone has ever seen. They cannot name it, cannot identify it. Yet, you know. You know, even though sometimes you pretend you don't.

I see great things in you. I see potential. And God, I know how much you hate that word. Potential is that thing. That evil thing that makes you so unhappy with what you are because you are too busy looking for what you can be. Potential cannot be fulfilled because no matter how well you do you can always do better. That isn't the point, and you know it. Don't let the prospect of more poison your view of what you have. Make the most of yourself. You are your greatest asset.

Beauty is such a superficial thing. The tree might be beautiful in the fall, but it loses it leaves every winter. People who like for the way you look ignore the person you are inside. I know you know people like this. Beauty is the box that carries the present. Once you open the box you realize that the real gift is inside. I'm just saying that it's ok to look nice, but don't get carried away. More often than not beauty is a cover up of whats inside. Don't let the cover distract you from the writing. Don't let you're cover be all that you have going for you. Let people see inside of you when you speak, when you act. You're a diamond, you know that? A real gem. I know you look at too many girls and are disgusted by how easily they throw themselves away. No one will ever know what you are worth unless you treasure yourself. You are priceless.

What is your last name, child? Do you know what it means? Do you have any idea what it represents? It is not your last name, only. It is the name of your father and his forefathers. It is the pride of a family. It is respect and honor and dignity encompassed. You represent the family in your home. The family to come and the family that was. You carry all the glory of the past and all the hopes for the future. You carry a village in Africa, a city in Arabia. A culture, a religion, a people. And I know it is a heavy burden to carry, but so far you have bore it well and I know that you will continue to do so. Keep your head up high and remember who you are. You are the hopes and dreams and labors of many. You will not let us down. I know this.

Surround yourself with people who love you for you and in spite of you. Your family. Your few true and good friends. You owe these people so much. I would say more than you'd ever know, but I'm sure you do know. A debt that can only be repaid through love. Love is the only thing that matters. Life? It's really too short. You're 16 already, a junior in high school. When did that happen? Don't waste your time being angry at the people who mean the most to you. You wake up and then it's over. Love, love, love, love. You know the feeling. Look at your brothers and your sisters and your mother and your father and your best friends. They are what matters. Hold them close and don't let go. Whatever happens, they will be there. Love them and let them love you and know that nothing will ever feel as good.

You're really going to make something of yourself, you know that? Who am I kidding? Of course you know that. It's time to live. It's time to allow yourself to be everything you were made to be. Good luck, girl. Good luck.

Your friend,

J

There's a world outside my window

There are no wrong turnings. Only paths we had not known we were meant to walk.

- Devin di Tigana in Tigana, by Guy Gavriel Key

I think I've actually learned something this summer. About myself. About the people around me. About the world. A little more about the random mishmash of things we call life.
For one thing, I realize that we are all incomplete. We, and when I sat we I mean people in general, are an architects dream, never to be his reality, because a lifetime will never be enough for what he has in mind. Everyday he builds, and builds, and builds, and then one day he dies. And no, I do not find this the least bit morbid, rather I find it reassuring. For the longest time I've refered to myself as a work in progress. Tired of becoming and ready to just be, never realizing that all this time I have been. And I've been wasting my time on a concept that doesn't exist. This, right here and now. This is my reality, this is me being. I am not a work in progress! I am already everything I ever will be inside my little self. It is up to me to bring her up to the surface and allow her to breathe. It is up to me to bring her out of hiding. I can work to improve myself, but I cannot let it take up all my time because then I will have no time to live. I'm ready. No, I've been ready all along. There is a world outside my window, and I am ready to go meet it head on.

Busy bees :)

“The busy man is troubled with but one devil; the idle man by a thousand”

I think maybe it's because I hardly ever am, or maybe it's because when I am it's by choice, but there is nothing I love more than being busy.
I just love the adrenaline that comes with having so much to do and the slight worry that you won't have enough time.
Busy, busy, busy weekend.
So Uncle M was off this weekend so I got a chance to be out and about. Saturday was Somali day, and him and I2 got haircuts.
A funny story, actually.
We walk into the barber shop and there's this 'yo-yo' kid with the baggy jeans about 5 sizes to big, hanging around his ankles. But what was weird about him was the fact that he was missing a strip of hair down the middle, and the rest was an afro.
His father, being traditional had told the barber to cut off all his son's hair, and the son, trying to be modern but getting it all wrong, wanted some sort of braided style.
And the barber, obviously, listened to the man that would make his pocket $12 fatter. So the kid was flipping a fit and causing such a scene. And I was just sitting there stuffing my fists in my mouth trying to keep from laughing, lest I be shot by these wannabe gangsters in a fit of misplaced rage.
And today we spent the day at Valley Fair. The most enormous theme park I have ever been too. Seriously, Oaks Park? An ant in comparison.
And that was heaven.
There is nothing I love more than that moment where you're roller coaster is at the very top of the hill and you feel a momentary pang of regret at being stupid enough to get on that thing, and the next minute you're flying and your senses are too overwhelmed to do anything, to feel anything, but that moment. Nothing but the screams around you and the sky above you and the wind in your hair.