the end

"All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves. We must die to one life before we can enter another."

Anatole France

i'm eating ice cream and chocolate cake and trying to write something. i haven't written anything in a while, and it's getting uncomfortable. it's kind of like constipation. too much? maybe?

i've started everything is illuminated by jonathan safran foer. it's good so far.

i'm done with school. i'm officially a senior in college.

in two days i'll be done with work. (i work in a second/third grade classroom). i'm afraid the kids will forget me. for the life of me i don't want them to.

i'm a little sad that everything's coming to an end. i was so excited for the end, so excited to be done, but i'm so sad. i don't know what to do with the end now that it's here.

that's why that anatole france quote means so much to me- because i feel that way. it's grief, that achy sadness that you can't shake off. i'm grieving because i will never again be the girl that i am this year, i am grieving for the girl i was the year before that, and the year before that.

this sadness won't last. i know in a few days it'll be gone and it'll be officially summer, and i will drink lemonade and get a suntan. but it will come again. it always does.

relativity

i feel too much. every single thing. i can't turn it off. i'm overwhelmed by how much i feel sometimes. happiness, sadness, loneliness, anger, disappointment. it is almost painful to be so hypersensitive to the world and the people in it. it's a blessing and a beast. god, i beg when my emotions bring me to my knees. i am constantly crumbling. it is a difficult way to live.

what is the difference between a blessing and a curse i wonder. is it all relative?

letters

i haven't written any letters in a while. i'm a big fan of letters in case you haven't noticed. especially letters to people i don't have any (legal) way of reaching.

dear adam levine,

i think i'm in love. i graduate at the end of next year, and then i am all yours. i'd leave school right now, but just in case things don't work out, i need something to fall back on. it's the feminist in me, what can i tell you?

i know you have a girlfriend... a victoria's secret model? seriously? so unoriginal, adam, i'm a little disgusted. but i see the allure. just look at those long, spindly legs... on second thought, don't. so if you can wait just a little longer? i'll never leave your bed. (what? it's a song, okay, don't look at me like that).

yours,

jamila

dear james franco,

one of my biggest aspirations in life is to marry a good looking writer. you're certainly good looking, and your certainly a writer, but are you a good writer? and with those smoldering eyes of yours, does it even matter? hm. i recently read your book of short stories palo alto, and i immediately took a shower afterwards. just kidding. no, actually i'm not really kidding. but thank you for making me realize that i must amend my standards: for a guy to be marriage worthy he must not only be good looking but be a good writer, too. so thank you for making me realize that i deserve better.

forever yours,

jamila

now letters to people i actually know:

dear dawsa,

i love you and i miss you so much. it's incredibly lonely without you here. i miss you at the most random times. sometimes at night before i fall asleep i'll look at the clock and calculate what time it is for you, and i'll get sad. i wish you weren't so far away. my sister girl.

dear mama,

everyday is mother's day. i hope you feel that way. you're beautiful, inside and out, and i'm so blessed and proud to be your daughter. it's so nice having you home these past few weeks. i love seeing your face when i come home from school. it's my favorite face in the world, did you know that?

dear grandma,

i think, and this might seem a little strange, that you know me better than anyone else, and in a lot of ways i know you better than anyone else. better than your dead husband, or your own children. i can't wait to come see you. i dream of you sometimes. it makes waking up with you so far away that much harder. every poem i've ever written is about you in some way.

monotony

i am so tired of the same old routines. it's a half hour past midnight and i want to shout: does it ever get better? i am waiting. don't ask me for what... i couldn't tell you, but i feel as if i've spent my entire life waiting.

and if you think about it, we are all waiting for something. for a boyfriend or a husband to call. for the weekend. for a cab or a train or a plane. for a baby, for the flowers we planted last month to fight their way into life.

and the fact that i am not alone in this should make me feel better, but it depresses the hell out of me. it is spring, and this sense of monotony makes me ache. the days bleed so thoroughly into the other that they blur. it gets hard to distinguish one from the other.

royal wedding

When I was like 10 I had the biggest crush on Prince William. I just knew that I would meet him, and he'd fall in love with me, and we'd be married, and I'd be a princess. I think that's what I was most excited for- being a princess. (What?! What ten year old girl didn't want to be a princess?)

I'm watching some NBC special about the preparation for the wedding and a number of issues come to mind:

- Why the @&(@# do I live in America? There is no royal family in America. The closest thing we have is Obama (don't get me wrong, Obama is the homeboy) and... Paris Hilton. Shoot me.

- Now that Kate Middleton is to marry the prince I am this much further from becoming a princess. Damn her. I'd hate her if she wasn't so darn cute.

- Hey Prince Harry... I always thought you were the cuter brother... No? I'll stop while I'm ahead.

I am feeling some royal envy. And I shouldn't. Because you know what? Princess is a state of mind.

priorities

“A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word to paper.”
-E.B. White

I have two midterms on Thursday. I locked myself in my room. I was determined to study. I wrote a poem instead. I'm not ready for my tests on Thursday. Anyways, here is part of the poem I wrote:

i am far older than you. my face
a worn map, my breasts a heaving
reminder. you ask me why i have never
married.

do you know now why i took you under
my skirt? i am a small planet with no moons.
i weep. i wanted better for you, but africa
has always been on fire— the women
flameswallowers. ashes in the heels of their boots.