I could never say anything about my mother:
how she repeated, you’ll regret it someday,
when I’m not around anymore, and how I didn’t believe
in either “I’m not” or “anymore,”
how I liked to watch as she read bestsellers,
always turning to the last chapter first,
how in the kitchen, convinced it’s not
her proper place, she made Sunday coffee,
or, even worse, filet of cod,
how she studied the mirror while expecting guests,
making the face that best kept her
from seeing herself as she was (I take
after her here and in a few other weaknesses),
how she went on at length about things
that weren’t her strong suit and how I stupidly
teased her, for example, when she
compared herself to Beethoven going deaf,
and I said, cruelly, but you know he
had talent, and how she forgave everything
and how I remember that, and how I flew from Houston
to her funeral and couldn’t say anything
and still can’t.
On our second trip to the grocery store of the night, we passed by these two gentlemen situated in front of the entrance. With rustic bikes perched by the column, they asked for change. It is not abnormal that the homeless ask for money. Although I did not know them personally, I was empathetic to their situation. They may be people down on their luck, or that there have been a string of situations that led them to this situation. Regardless, they are without a home.These gentlemen only had each other to rely on.
Although I did not have any change, my roommate gave them all the change she had: 35 cents. Now that may not be much, but to someone who has nothing to lose, it may be a big deal to them. It must have been the holiday season, or that I’ve ignored too many homeless people downtown, but I felt the need to give back. After picking up my essentials from the grocery stores, I picked up some crackers, and a 6 pack of orange juice, stuffed with a few grocery bags and napkins, and bought them with what money I had for the rest of the semester. Once all of us finished up our groceries, we ended up going through the same exit we went into.
I dropped off the bag in front of them. I apologized that it wasn’t anything more than just some sustenance for the night, they were more than happy with anything I gave them. After much thanks, one of them told me ‘goodbye, like a rolling stone’. I laughed in my head.
For weeks, I’ve been studying Bob Dylan and his music for a writing class, and that ‘like a rolling stone’ is becoming one of my favorite songs from a decade they were probably born in. And of course, the chorus goes as so:
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone ?
The world is quite circular in the sense of how knowledge and experience present themselves. Thank you gentlemen, for reminding me that everyone is a rolling stone.
The short hemline was structured around her waist. She stands in silent. The movement of her hands were as if they were graced by god, moving the emotions of the audience. She moves with the beat of her instrument and has the intention to provoke a sensation of the experience of art through her sculpted extremities. She moves with confidence and calculated Fouetté jeté creates a brooding emotion of the perfect storm. Yet, she has a passive emotion that is drains her pale, silent eyes as if she was present, but her soul was empty. She was as if her figure was made of ivory stone.
There is a reason I live on the westcoast: mild winters. For whatever reason, El Nina decides to bust my balls and keep it below freezing. My parents are from the tropics of the Philippines. The first time they saw snow was living in Winnipeg, where the winters there are long and harsh. Since then, they have moved to the westcoast and have been enjoying the non-existent snow and embraced the cold, wet winters. I have never been so rigid about snow until now. Public transit has become troublesome and no one can drive in the snow because A. Every time it snows, it’s as if this is the first time they’ve ever seen snow in their lives and B. no one owns winter tires on this side of Canada (unless you’re from the Territories).
Laugh at us, rest of Canada, because we are the biggest babies during the Winter time. Sure, we hosted the 2010 winter olympics, but even then we were enjoying a few days of 20+ degree weather. Please Canada, let us whine (just for a little bit).
The cold breeze passes through my window as I look at the silence of the snow falling towards the dewy, moist grass along the lawn. The grey skies blanket the town, with only the family of deer huddling together in a nearby bushel to stay warm and live another day. There is no appearance of the moon nor sky above me, sending chills down my spine.
There is a difference between a relationship and a friendship. A relationship comes in all forms: academic relationships, career relationships, or sensual relationships. A form of accumulation sporadic interactions that have an opportunity to blossom into a stronger bond, may be forming into a relationship.
A friendship to me is an accumulation of emotion and experience that form a special bond between each other. You choose to be a friend. You choose to form a bond that holds much more than just a conversation. It is an understanding that you create a support system that would allow the feeling of being raw, honest, and yourself. No boundaries to your emotions that are withheld beyond the words that are said.
There is an understanding that a friendship is a relationship that you choose to have and to hold. A relationship is something that have unset rules, in something where you have no commitment. It is far beyond that. A friendship, so sour or as bitter as the curdled milk, feel as as if the relationship is past its due date. We try to preserve and freshen up the relationship, but all I feel is that you choose to not become a part of my daily intake of promise, hope and reliance.
At the moment, you are non existent. The circumstances do not help as so, but I try my hardest, and I know you are not reciprocating that effect. Every time I talk to you, all I hear is “me.me.me” and never “we.we.we”. You only talk when you want something from me, or want to form a relationship beyond what we have. All I hear is all this talk, and yet no action has taken to do so. I am not one to deny you that, but I stand in so to deny you of the fact to how I feel and you do not reciprocate. This friendship is nothing more to a relationship to you now. I refuse to utter anything more beyond the fact that you won’t listen.
Was created from the rib of a Man,
not from his head to be above him,
not from his feet to be walked upon,
but by his side to be equal,
near to his arms to be protected,
and closed to his heart to be loved…
Papers are shuffling around me, while the strokes on a keyboard keep ringing in my ears. The simple clicks of a mouse turn into a symphony of white noise of individuals pointing towards an answer. Each of us look at a screen, rather than each other. The headache persists with every voice and every step, until there is only a numbing sensation one would hear after a collapse of their concentration. The library is not a place of solitude and learning, but rather a battlefield that is muted.
Snow is falling.
There is a nude in my room.
She surveys the wine-coloured carpet.
She is eighteen.
She has straight hair.
She speaks no Montreal language.
She doesn’t feel like sitting down.
She shows no gooseflesh.
We can hear the storm.
She is lighting a cigarette
from the gas range.
She holds back her long hair.
The first person I let see me cry, was the first time I knew I could trust him.
We all have our small obsession with ourselves that no one else sees. A flaw that we always see in the mirror that we wish we could change about ourselves. Mine? its my teeth. I obsess about them for hours in monthly intervals. I’ve had braces about 5 years ago for 2.5 years during my highschool years. Teeth have moved slightly since I don’t frequently wear my retainers.
I go through every photo on Facebook, and all the photos I can find of me smiling, showing my pearly whites. All I can see are my front teeth becoming angular, throwing off the balance of my face; the canines are becoming much more forward, putting the other teeth in jeopardy. Even the smallest gap between my clenched jaws is unsettling to my self esteem issues that is written accross my face.This goes on for hours, a cavity of self doubt and the feeling self conscious.
I try to not think about it, but it always shows across my face. I wish I could just try to re-align my evaluation of my self worth to how I look. Life doesn’t work that way. It never does. But then I think about my dad.
What makes him so charming as an individual is his gap tooth smile. Nothing has to be perfect; different is what makes you great. I couldn’t see him without his gap teeth because I feel as if it would be an extreme change, Just as how completely crazy I am that I think I have the worst teeth in the world (as I catastrophize my words).
Life is much bigger thing to take a bite out of.
sitting in a back of my best friend’s honda while my other best friend rides shotgun. I must say that it is one of those nights where the memories of my teenage years will be filled with singing to the tunes on an ipod and turning up the volume to extreme decibels. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
steam rises over my nose
against the night
cold empty room as wide as my throat; eases/flows
river a mocha memory from aunt ora’s
kitchen. she made it in the
big tin percolator and poured the brew into thick
white fist sized mugs
and put lots of sugar and milk in it for me and
the other kids who loved it better than chocolate
and the neighbor woman used to tell her and us
it wasn’t good for young colored children
to drink. it made you get blacker
For the last 6 days, I have been without my laptop. I’ve had separation anxiety ever since. It’s crazy, I know: a girl having a separation anxiety from a few pieces of plastic and a hard drive. It’s not the physical item that I have been missing, but it is what contains them.
My laptop is a labyrinth of my past: containing photos, files, and notes only I have ever seen. Without my past, I wouldn’t know who I am. I am nothing without the past.
The access to the internet has been limited. Facebook was my cup of joe every morning. Going cold turkey on the social network was driving me insane. At the moment, I’m more than just indifferent to a website to connect me to my friends I talk to almost on the daily basis.
Surprisingly, I’ve gotten a lot done without my laptop; I was able to save important school drives on a USB and have been using my time diligently at the library. Actually having time for my real life, rather then trying to represent it on some website.
I’ll see you in a few short days, internet world.
So I thought the lyrics went as such:
what the actual lyrics are:
come back come back come back to me eli…
I have been singing this in the house for hours while everyone is at school. That would have been embarrassing.
Come back come back come back to me like
You would you would if this was a movie
Stand in the rain outside til I came out