I am scared.
Today, Tornadoes ripped through Alabama killing, destroying lives. Just like the one in my brain. I can't sleep. The thunder and lightening from voices and images of bad things flash, roar through my brain. Rain falling from my eyes. I am scared.
"OMG, Angel, are you okay? There's a tornado in Downtown!" Christina frantically texted me.
"Yes, I am." My phone wouldn't send or call. I didn't even know if she received it.
"Do you have a basement?"
"No."
"I should have told you to come here, but I didn't know about any tornadoes!" she continued. "Cover yourself with a mattress or a bunch of pillows."
Christina, my first college friend. We're a lot alike. Emotional, scared. We feel as if we need to protect ourselves from being hurt. Emotionally. A few weeks ago, we were sitting in my car, talking about her new found feelings for her best friend, something that I know a lot about with Muffin. "On the trip, something clicked. I realized I love him, and I am scared." Scared of losing him, scared of the hurt.
"Dude, this is so awesome!" Alma said with excitement in her voice. "This isn't the smartest thing for me to stand on, huh? It is metal." She was standing outside on a metal box, lightening crashing all around.
"No!" I shook my head in disapproval.
"Let's go chase it. I want to see this! This is so exciting. Come with me!"
"No!" Was she serious? Chasing a tornado!?
"Come on! I'm going!"
I didn't want to go, and I was repeating "No, no, no, no" all the while I was walking to the car. I do that a lot. My brain says one thing, my body does another. So, that brings me to where I am now. It is 5 a.m. Scared, and crying with a mattress and a mountain of pillows around my heart. Drawing a wedge between me and the man I love so much it is scary. Why? Guilt. Guilt that has building and building for the last four months, and every time that I mentioned it, it would be glossed over with "I love you." Like our love makes everything okay. But everything isn't okay, when paranoia takes over my brain every time my phone rings from an unknown number, wondering if it is her, if she knows, if she is going to hurt him, if she is going to hurt us, like "she" hurt me before. He's tired of the mattress and the tear-soaked pillows. I can tell, and I'm scared.
I weathered the storm, and chased it even though I was scared. I turned out okay. And many families lost homes, loved ones. I don't know what today will look like. I hope I don't lose my home or my loved one to this storm brewing in my head. I am just scared.
Maybe tomorrow will be beautiful.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Chinese Face!
So I was in the middle of writing a blog that will be posted at a later date (i.e. tomorrow or the next day) about "a new friend" when Muffin sent me a dumb text. That's right. I said, dumb!
"Hey Baby, if I send you a link to the documentary will you watch it and listen for my tunes?" (He did some music for a documentary... stating the obvious here.)
"Psh Baby please! -_-." I said. He always makes Chinese faces when I say something outlandish. I have always called it "chinese face" but now I realize that a better name for it is "Asian face." Nick makes that face all of the time. So does Christina. Nick is Korean, not Chinese. And Christina's Italian, but she inherits the face from the Korean. Eh, you'll meet them in the next post.
"So, that's a no?" Send. "Hehehehehe." wtf, really Muffin? REALLY?
"Chinese face." Send. "Of coarse, my horse." (I will download the documentary and listen for your tunes, duh.)
And so, I did. As I was watching it, I could tell Muffin's noises from the others. I know his ears. His peaceful "tunes" are much like his melodic voice to me. So calming, you know.
"I miss your voice. Sadface." Send. I really do.
"I miss yours. It is so cute." Send. Really?
I hate talking on the phone. I only talk on the phone to people I feel comfortable around. I could stay on the phone with him for hours even if it's listening to him play with his instruments or equipment. My voice is something that often frustrates me and is one of my biggest insecurities. And he thinks it is cute? The ears that makes the most peaceful music? Really?
"Will you love me when I'm fat?" Send. "And UGGGGG!" Send. -_-
Chinese Face because for one, he knows that I hate it when he plays the "ug" card. And for two, he loves the one things I am most insecure about... and asking me if I will love him if he is fat and ugly.
-_- He's beautiful.
"Hey Baby, if I send you a link to the documentary will you watch it and listen for my tunes?" (He did some music for a documentary... stating the obvious here.)
"Psh Baby please! -_-." I said. He always makes Chinese faces when I say something outlandish. I have always called it "chinese face" but now I realize that a better name for it is "Asian face." Nick makes that face all of the time. So does Christina. Nick is Korean, not Chinese. And Christina's Italian, but she inherits the face from the Korean. Eh, you'll meet them in the next post.
"So, that's a no?" Send. "Hehehehehe." wtf, really Muffin? REALLY?
"Chinese face." Send. "Of coarse, my horse." (I will download the documentary and listen for your tunes, duh.)
And so, I did. As I was watching it, I could tell Muffin's noises from the others. I know his ears. His peaceful "tunes" are much like his melodic voice to me. So calming, you know.
"I miss your voice. Sadface." Send. I really do.
"I miss yours. It is so cute." Send. Really?
I hate talking on the phone. I only talk on the phone to people I feel comfortable around. I could stay on the phone with him for hours even if it's listening to him play with his instruments or equipment. My voice is something that often frustrates me and is one of my biggest insecurities. And he thinks it is cute? The ears that makes the most peaceful music? Really?
"Will you love me when I'm fat?" Send. "And UGGGGG!" Send. -_-
Chinese Face because for one, he knows that I hate it when he plays the "ug" card. And for two, he loves the one things I am most insecure about... and asking me if I will love him if he is fat and ugly.
-_- He's beautiful.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
a world without muffins?
What did she mean?
Maddie, the woman who gave to birth to my muffin, said that I inspired her to start a blog. "I am going to write my first one tomorrow [today] in honor of Stephen's birthday. I'm going to call it 'choice' and it is going to be about my decision to keep him."
Wait, what?
What did she mean?
Does that mean what I think it means? Did I almost not have a muffin? Who's Muffin? Remember in the previous post when I told Crazy Eye that I was still in love with my ex. Muffin is the ex... and today is his birthday.
Muffin.... I don't know where I would be without him. I am not sure what she meant by what she said; I don't think I want to think about that. She was young when she had him, but if she didn't keep him, he wouldn't be the person that he is today. Life is nothing less than a puzzle, and all of the pieces fall together one by one from the moment we take our first breath.
I don't know how he does it, but he calms me. I am one high-strung individual. Any disturbance in my life's pond of order... the wake drives me crazy. One word from him and everything is still again. I thought I would never have that again, and I was preparing myself for a life of waves. But I saw him again.
14 hour trip; I was going to let go. I was going to make peace, and let go. 13 hours and 40 minutes in, he sent me a message asking me if I was nervous and I said no. I spent a year and a half on edge because life just didn't make sense without him. And with each mile of that long trip, all of the waves stilled. And, I remember thinking, should I be nervous that I'm not nervous? When I first laid eyes on him again, he was in the distance walking down the sidewalk, I turned away, looking down at my feet trudging through the snow. (I hate snow. I hate cold. I wasn't cold though. I was near him.) I couldn't look at him. It was too calming. If I was there to let go, I didn't need bask in the calmness. I tried to stay focused on Jon, his brother- my roomie- as much as I could... but then we were alone and all I had to focus on was all of Muffin's equipment or him.
He sat on the couch adjacent to me and stared at me. I glanced at him, but then I found myself constantly looking away. "Sorry, I just need to look at you for a minute." He did, while my eyes bounced all over the place. "Come sit by me." He patted the cushion beside him. I reluctantly concurred. "Angel, I am sorry. I was just confused," he began to cry and in the moments where I would look straight into his beautiful eyes, I would have almost bet that his tears would be stained green from the high concentration of pigment of his pupils. I turned away so he wouldn't see me cry. I needed to be calmed. I just took his hand into mine and cried on his shoulder. When we decided that it was time for me to go, he hugged me goodbye at the opening of my car door for what felt like days. And I had every intention of letting go....
but on the car ride home, each mile was like a pebble in a lake, and I realized that I never let go, nor did I want to let go.
What if Maddie made a different "choice"? What if I never laid eyes on my calm sea? and what if today was just another day to me? What if there was a world without muffins?
That question sends a tidal wave in my direction.
Maddie, the woman who gave to birth to my muffin, said that I inspired her to start a blog. "I am going to write my first one tomorrow [today] in honor of Stephen's birthday. I'm going to call it 'choice' and it is going to be about my decision to keep him."
Wait, what?
What did she mean?
Does that mean what I think it means? Did I almost not have a muffin? Who's Muffin? Remember in the previous post when I told Crazy Eye that I was still in love with my ex. Muffin is the ex... and today is his birthday.
Muffin.... I don't know where I would be without him. I am not sure what she meant by what she said; I don't think I want to think about that. She was young when she had him, but if she didn't keep him, he wouldn't be the person that he is today. Life is nothing less than a puzzle, and all of the pieces fall together one by one from the moment we take our first breath.
I don't know how he does it, but he calms me. I am one high-strung individual. Any disturbance in my life's pond of order... the wake drives me crazy. One word from him and everything is still again. I thought I would never have that again, and I was preparing myself for a life of waves. But I saw him again.
14 hour trip; I was going to let go. I was going to make peace, and let go. 13 hours and 40 minutes in, he sent me a message asking me if I was nervous and I said no. I spent a year and a half on edge because life just didn't make sense without him. And with each mile of that long trip, all of the waves stilled. And, I remember thinking, should I be nervous that I'm not nervous? When I first laid eyes on him again, he was in the distance walking down the sidewalk, I turned away, looking down at my feet trudging through the snow. (I hate snow. I hate cold. I wasn't cold though. I was near him.) I couldn't look at him. It was too calming. If I was there to let go, I didn't need bask in the calmness. I tried to stay focused on Jon, his brother- my roomie- as much as I could... but then we were alone and all I had to focus on was all of Muffin's equipment or him.
He sat on the couch adjacent to me and stared at me. I glanced at him, but then I found myself constantly looking away. "Sorry, I just need to look at you for a minute." He did, while my eyes bounced all over the place. "Come sit by me." He patted the cushion beside him. I reluctantly concurred. "Angel, I am sorry. I was just confused," he began to cry and in the moments where I would look straight into his beautiful eyes, I would have almost bet that his tears would be stained green from the high concentration of pigment of his pupils. I turned away so he wouldn't see me cry. I needed to be calmed. I just took his hand into mine and cried on his shoulder. When we decided that it was time for me to go, he hugged me goodbye at the opening of my car door for what felt like days. And I had every intention of letting go....
but on the car ride home, each mile was like a pebble in a lake, and I realized that I never let go, nor did I want to let go.
What if Maddie made a different "choice"? What if I never laid eyes on my calm sea? and what if today was just another day to me? What if there was a world without muffins?
That question sends a tidal wave in my direction.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Waiting on Monday...
Jeffrey was the first boy to sleep in my bed, and he is adorable.
No, no. It wasn't what you think. He is one of my best friends, and last night, an updated status on Facebook sparked a conversation on IM. The conversation made me teary-eyed for a moment, because we barely talk these days. (Well, it's more like Jeff doesn't talk anymore and I don't listen to him ramble about something silly, throwing some giggles in there every once in a while!) God! I miss him! He moved an hour and a half north of that place a few moments before I moved an hour and a half south of it. Life. It is hard to balance friends, bills, homework, and responsibilities. I can't help but to blame myself for us not talking a lot anymore.
We hated that place. Always dreaming of the day, we could escape it. But now when I think of Sunday nights about three years ago, Fort Payne wasn't all that bad. Those summer nights, the air that we breathed seemed so innocent. Lauren and Jeff would play hot-hands in the middle of the street in front of Justin's house and I sat close enough to the grass that with one scoot backwards I could be out of the road. It seemed as if Lauren and Jeff would sit in the middle of the road just to wait on Monday, and I would be waiting on a car to come.
Last night, he said, "You should see me now. You saw me at a bad time, and were there for me. I love you, Ang. I miss you. I was such a horrible person. I am what I wanted to be, and I've made a way for myself."
It's been a little over a year since those nights when we would have sleep overs. I would listen to him talk of her and their situation. I wanted to punch someone, but I didn't. I just listened until I fell asleep. When I would wake, there was my best friend slobbering on my pillow, his beautiful, shaggy hair stuck to the side of his face like a child. It was adorable, but he was lost... I was lost too, in that town.
Crazy Eye was the second guy to sleep in my bed, and he was a douche.
No, no. It wasn't that innocent. My bed had been in Birmingham for two weeks, and I had lost my innocents elsewhere. I was thrown into full-blown maturity in a matter of a night and 351 miles. College, proving I could make it without my parents. This was my time to find myself and figure out what it meant to be an adult. Lauren came from Fort Payne to visit Alma, the roomie, and me . We decided to do something crazy. Crazy Eye came to the club; I have heard his real name millions of times from Lauren; I heard a lot of things added to his name, for instance, slut; I had never carried on a conversation with him but he started drunkenly speaking to me. He had a crazy eye but, eh, whatever. He came back to the apartment that night. The next morning he left to meet his friends down the road without saying goodbye. I thought that was it, and it didn't bother me, at all. Yes, I did it! But then he came through my front door again and said, "You didn't think I left without saying bye, did you?" Yes. I did. However, I just shrugged my shoulders. As Alma and Lauren began to notice that Crazy Eye and I were spending more and more time together, they warned me, "Angel, be careful. I don't want you to get hurt." What they didn't understand was I wanted to prove to myself that I could do adult things and not be childish about it (i.e. getting attached.)
A month later, it was my birthday. I was excited. I wasn't convinced if I wanted to invite Crazy Eye or his ex-best friend to my birthday party. I kind of wanted to go with the ex-best, but unfortunately, the ex-best left the state the same weekend. So, Crazy Eye it was. Ugh!
There we were in the street in and around his car. "So, you know since I came all of the way back from Sylacauga for this at least you can do is pay my way in here." (He came all of the way back for an Auburn game, not for me...)
"NO! It's my birthday."
"Why? You asked me to come."
"You're a dick. You're using me."
"Oh my God! I knew it! Your fucking friends are feeding you bullshit. blah blah blah. I don't want a girlfriend. I told you that. And you call me a dick. A dick!"
"What is wrong dating?" I screamed. (Dating to me means no strings, but where the guy pays my way into the club... on my birthday.)
"I knew it! You like me!" His self-confidence pissed me off...
"No I don't! You're stupid! I'm still in love with my ex, you idiot!"
"Blah, blah, blah. More stupid shit. I don't need anyone Angel. I don't need a girlfriend! I don't need you! I don't need my mom! I don't need my dad! I can sleep in my car!" He yanked the seat of his car in recline mode so fast that I was impressed with his speed. Then he looked at me (I think) with anger in his eyes. "SEE!" he yelled like a child. "If I was such a dick, I would have left that morning and never talked to you again just like every other guy would have done!" I should have wanted to punch him right then, but I didn't.
The fight lasted 3 hours. The last hour lasted in the middle of the street in front of my apartment. The cops came, and laughed at his dramatics. I gave him his toothbrush and never saw him again. I didn't want to punch him until a few weeks later when my roommate told me that he slept with her friend Grocery Store Feet the weekend before my birthday. I wanted to punch them both. I wanted to punch him because I had went to get him that night because he was high on cocaine and couldn't drive. Grocery Store Feet bitched the whole way telling me I should forget him. She wanted to get high or something with these creeps from the club that she brought back to my apartment. -_- When she saw him for the first time, she made fun of his crazy eye. I took up for him. -_- The next day while I took him back to his car... -_-... he said, "Did you see your friend's grocery store feet? They were gross!" She wasn't my friend, but when I got back, she sure as hell pretended that she was as she continued to make fun of his eye. Somewhere in amongst of all of that making fun of each other, they had sex while under the same roof as me. I wanted to punch him when I found out because I was actually thinking about texting him to apologize and offering my friendship (because it was obvious that he had some serious issues going on in his head and could have used a true friend.) I wanted to punch them, but I didnt.
No, no. It wasn't what you think. He is one of my best friends, and last night, an updated status on Facebook sparked a conversation on IM. The conversation made me teary-eyed for a moment, because we barely talk these days. (Well, it's more like Jeff doesn't talk anymore and I don't listen to him ramble about something silly, throwing some giggles in there every once in a while!) God! I miss him! He moved an hour and a half north of that place a few moments before I moved an hour and a half south of it. Life. It is hard to balance friends, bills, homework, and responsibilities. I can't help but to blame myself for us not talking a lot anymore.
We hated that place. Always dreaming of the day, we could escape it. But now when I think of Sunday nights about three years ago, Fort Payne wasn't all that bad. Those summer nights, the air that we breathed seemed so innocent. Lauren and Jeff would play hot-hands in the middle of the street in front of Justin's house and I sat close enough to the grass that with one scoot backwards I could be out of the road. It seemed as if Lauren and Jeff would sit in the middle of the road just to wait on Monday, and I would be waiting on a car to come.
Last night, he said, "You should see me now. You saw me at a bad time, and were there for me. I love you, Ang. I miss you. I was such a horrible person. I am what I wanted to be, and I've made a way for myself."
It's been a little over a year since those nights when we would have sleep overs. I would listen to him talk of her and their situation. I wanted to punch someone, but I didn't. I just listened until I fell asleep. When I would wake, there was my best friend slobbering on my pillow, his beautiful, shaggy hair stuck to the side of his face like a child. It was adorable, but he was lost... I was lost too, in that town.
-------
Crazy Eye was the second guy to sleep in my bed, and he was a douche.
No, no. It wasn't that innocent. My bed had been in Birmingham for two weeks, and I had lost my innocents elsewhere. I was thrown into full-blown maturity in a matter of a night and 351 miles. College, proving I could make it without my parents. This was my time to find myself and figure out what it meant to be an adult. Lauren came from Fort Payne to visit Alma, the roomie, and me . We decided to do something crazy. Crazy Eye came to the club; I have heard his real name millions of times from Lauren; I heard a lot of things added to his name, for instance, slut; I had never carried on a conversation with him but he started drunkenly speaking to me. He had a crazy eye but, eh, whatever. He came back to the apartment that night. The next morning he left to meet his friends down the road without saying goodbye. I thought that was it, and it didn't bother me, at all. Yes, I did it! But then he came through my front door again and said, "You didn't think I left without saying bye, did you?" Yes. I did. However, I just shrugged my shoulders. As Alma and Lauren began to notice that Crazy Eye and I were spending more and more time together, they warned me, "Angel, be careful. I don't want you to get hurt." What they didn't understand was I wanted to prove to myself that I could do adult things and not be childish about it (i.e. getting attached.)
A month later, it was my birthday. I was excited. I wasn't convinced if I wanted to invite Crazy Eye or his ex-best friend to my birthday party. I kind of wanted to go with the ex-best, but unfortunately, the ex-best left the state the same weekend. So, Crazy Eye it was. Ugh!
There we were in the street in and around his car. "So, you know since I came all of the way back from Sylacauga for this at least you can do is pay my way in here." (He came all of the way back for an Auburn game, not for me...)
"NO! It's my birthday."
"Why? You asked me to come."
"You're a dick. You're using me."
"Oh my God! I knew it! Your fucking friends are feeding you bullshit. blah blah blah. I don't want a girlfriend. I told you that. And you call me a dick. A dick!"
"What is wrong dating?" I screamed. (Dating to me means no strings, but where the guy pays my way into the club... on my birthday.)
"I knew it! You like me!" His self-confidence pissed me off...
"No I don't! You're stupid! I'm still in love with my ex, you idiot!"
"Blah, blah, blah. More stupid shit. I don't need anyone Angel. I don't need a girlfriend! I don't need you! I don't need my mom! I don't need my dad! I can sleep in my car!" He yanked the seat of his car in recline mode so fast that I was impressed with his speed. Then he looked at me (I think) with anger in his eyes. "SEE!" he yelled like a child. "If I was such a dick, I would have left that morning and never talked to you again just like every other guy would have done!" I should have wanted to punch him right then, but I didn't.
The fight lasted 3 hours. The last hour lasted in the middle of the street in front of my apartment. The cops came, and laughed at his dramatics. I gave him his toothbrush and never saw him again. I didn't want to punch him until a few weeks later when my roommate told me that he slept with her friend Grocery Store Feet the weekend before my birthday. I wanted to punch them both. I wanted to punch him because I had went to get him that night because he was high on cocaine and couldn't drive. Grocery Store Feet bitched the whole way telling me I should forget him. She wanted to get high or something with these creeps from the club that she brought back to my apartment. -_- When she saw him for the first time, she made fun of his crazy eye. I took up for him. -_- The next day while I took him back to his car... -_-... he said, "Did you see your friend's grocery store feet? They were gross!" She wasn't my friend, but when I got back, she sure as hell pretended that she was as she continued to make fun of his eye. Somewhere in amongst of all of that making fun of each other, they had sex while under the same roof as me. I wanted to punch him when I found out because I was actually thinking about texting him to apologize and offering my friendship (because it was obvious that he had some serious issues going on in his head and could have used a true friend.) I wanted to punch them, but I didnt.
-------
"I punched a guy in the face for making fun of you at Justin's and nearly knocked him out with no warning. I really have this protective thing about you that I feel like will last forever..." Jeff continued to say last night. He punched a guy for the same reason that Crazy Eye insinuated that every guy was going to walk away from me. I have Cerebral Palsy.
You know, Jeff wants me to see him now, and how far he has came from the boy that I knew in that town. I want him to see how far I have came myself. Moving from Fort Payne to Birmingham proved that I am capable of being independent, and on some level, I'm not disabled like millions of "not friends" have crammed into my head. My friends are here because they love me and care enough to protect me. I don't feel unworthy anymore like I did in that town that infected my mind with immature thoughts. Thoughts of suicide that my friends don't really know about, but it is my friends like Jeff that kept me here, making me smile and giggle. Not those "friends" like Crazy Eye or Grocery Store Feet. I don't have room for those kinds of people in my life. The kind of people that need to be punched, that I know would have been punched if Jeff would have been around at the time...
I am what I wanted to be, and I've made a way for myself. Most of all, though, I want to show Jeff how far I have came from that little girl that got so upset when people made her feel less than. I am now this woman whom those remarks, such as If I was such a dick, I would have left that morning and never talked to you again just like every other guy would have done!, do not phase me emotionally at all anymore. I want to show him that I am no longer that girl that sat close to the grass, in fear. I know he wants to show me how far he has come from the boy who slobbered on my pillow. The thing is I always knew he would find his way. I never really thought I would find mine.
How am I going to show Jeff how far I've come? Well, I think I will just sit with him in the middle of the street waiting on Monday.Friday, April 15, 2011
april showers...
Friday, April 15th, and it is raining. I sighed when I heard the gentle repetition falling, hitting of the ground, outside of my window. Not because I despise the rain or anything. It is just that I really had my mind set on going for a walk today. After all, it is my first real day free that I have had for the past 2 months. It's a little thing called homework; a little less than slave-drivement. Anyways, when the rain began rustling through the trees, here is an account of my internal dialog with myself:
"Ugh, it's raining. Now I'm going to be stuck inside of the apartment all day!" I thought sourly
But then I began to think. "Why can't I go for a walk in the rain?"
I then got out of my computer chair (messy bedhead and all) and walked barefoot outside. I stole the idea from one of my classmates' stories in Creative Writing, Frankie. She walks around barefoot. "It makes you more aware of your surroundings," she says. The class was fascinated. We all laughed when someone mentioned how painful it must be to walk across the asphalt roads in between the buildings on campus, that I imagine not only are hot from the sun on sunny days but hot from all of the friction of the tires of traffic. She said calmly, and bluntly, "It isn't that bad." She shook her head in a pause. "You just have to run really fast."
When I was outside, I felt the grit of the dirt on the porch. Then, the moisture that made it onto the rough texture of the brick steps from the sky. I reached out for the handrail that is always there to assist me down to the sidewalk. It was also slippery from the April shower. As I stepped onto the sandy-colored surface that ironically felt like I was stepping on that part of a beach where the sand beneath your toes meets the waves... As I was standing there, the shower had already turned into sprinkles and they fell sporadically in my messy curls, it was beautiful...
Then I noticed the woman. She walked out of one of the townhouses down the road, talking on her cellphone. I turned around and spoke to myself, "She's going to think I'm an idiot!" I came back inside... I am a Creative Writing major at UAB, but I am also a Sociology minor. I have learned that things that tell us "Don't go walking in the rain! You'll get wet!" or "Wear shoes! You'll get a piece of glass stuck in your foot!" are just social constructions, social norms. Products of society. So Why did I run away? Why did I care if the woman thought I was an idiot? I was in amongst another beautiful moment of my life. I was walking in the rain...Then I realized, that has become a theme with my life.
"Don't." They tell me...
and I do what they say because I know if I do and the showers come, they'll say, "I told you so, you idiot!" But isn't April full of showers? And May always comes with flowers. April showers have already fell on us, but he is still my handrail that is always there assisting me down the sidewalk. It is okay that April showers come. They're going to come. It is okay to walk in the rain. You'll get wet, but it is okay. It is okay to walk around barefoot. The asphalt may get too hot, but that is okay. It's not that bad, and we'll just have to run really fast. It is okay to be in love. April Showers are going to come, but May always comes with flowers... and it's going to be beautiful.
"Ugh, it's raining. Now I'm going to be stuck inside of the apartment all day!" I thought sourly
But then I began to think. "Why can't I go for a walk in the rain?"
I then got out of my computer chair (messy bedhead and all) and walked barefoot outside. I stole the idea from one of my classmates' stories in Creative Writing, Frankie. She walks around barefoot. "It makes you more aware of your surroundings," she says. The class was fascinated. We all laughed when someone mentioned how painful it must be to walk across the asphalt roads in between the buildings on campus, that I imagine not only are hot from the sun on sunny days but hot from all of the friction of the tires of traffic. She said calmly, and bluntly, "It isn't that bad." She shook her head in a pause. "You just have to run really fast."
When I was outside, I felt the grit of the dirt on the porch. Then, the moisture that made it onto the rough texture of the brick steps from the sky. I reached out for the handrail that is always there to assist me down to the sidewalk. It was also slippery from the April shower. As I stepped onto the sandy-colored surface that ironically felt like I was stepping on that part of a beach where the sand beneath your toes meets the waves... As I was standing there, the shower had already turned into sprinkles and they fell sporadically in my messy curls, it was beautiful...
Then I noticed the woman. She walked out of one of the townhouses down the road, talking on her cellphone. I turned around and spoke to myself, "She's going to think I'm an idiot!" I came back inside... I am a Creative Writing major at UAB, but I am also a Sociology minor. I have learned that things that tell us "Don't go walking in the rain! You'll get wet!" or "Wear shoes! You'll get a piece of glass stuck in your foot!" are just social constructions, social norms. Products of society. So Why did I run away? Why did I care if the woman thought I was an idiot? I was in amongst another beautiful moment of my life. I was walking in the rain...Then I realized, that has become a theme with my life.
"Don't." They tell me...
and I do what they say because I know if I do and the showers come, they'll say, "I told you so, you idiot!" But isn't April full of showers? And May always comes with flowers. April showers have already fell on us, but he is still my handrail that is always there assisting me down the sidewalk. It is okay that April showers come. They're going to come. It is okay to walk in the rain. You'll get wet, but it is okay. It is okay to walk around barefoot. The asphalt may get too hot, but that is okay. It's not that bad, and we'll just have to run really fast. It is okay to be in love. April Showers are going to come, but May always comes with flowers... and it's going to be beautiful.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
and it was beautiful,,,
I captured one of the most amazing moments of my life, today. It was one of those moments, you know, that you just keep with you forever. The room was raging with the angry words of my peers- my classmates that I feel like I am the most close. No, the sense of closeness isn't from being crammed in the smallest classroom on campus, but because we're in a creative writing workshop. Non-fiction. So, from reading my classmates most personal thoughts on their lives in their essays, I feel close to them. Our professor, Dr. Braziel, had been talking about "Writer's in Motion" coming to visit our class. These writers are traveling the world "exploring the rise and fall of America." These writers are suppose to be our role-models; they were suppose to inspire us to get out there and write; They were suppose to be our peers! Fellow writers, eh? Instead, they supposedly came with a preconceived idea of Birmingham and attacked my classmates with questions, and then they ridiculed my classmates for their answers in their blog. The blogger wrote:
" I noticed that there were no black students in the class --no future black writers to write about the Birmingham future, or past. As I listened to the students, I couldn't help remembering the photo that I'd seen this morning, on the front page of The Birmingham Times, of a black man hanging from a tree. A supposed suicide."
The writer failed to mention (what my classmates and I would consider) crucial information such as the hanging happened in Mississippi last year, not in Birmingham. The writer failed to research because there are African American students in the class. They just happened to not be there to witness this fiasco of a class. These writers came to our city, our classroom, to inspire us. What they did was bash us with their assumptions and criticized us for wanting to write good things about our city, rather than the dark past. Last night, when I first read the blog, I thought to myself, who are these people to write negatively about us when they were here to inspire us; they don't inspire me! But they did. They taught me a valuable lesson about writing based on my assumptions. They taught me to never write without doing my research. They inspired me to be a better writer. As I walked into my classroom today, all of the classmates' words were hot from betrayal and hurt, the moment was one that will remain with me. My classmates, that I have came to have the most gorgeous respect for, were all coming together and standing up for one another... then I thought back to Birmingham's past of segregation, racism, and the fight for Civil Rights... The world still has a long way to come, but today, I walked into a classroom where people came together and stood up for what was right. People from all walks of life, male and female, black and white. Standing together in unison for an issue we all believe in. It gave me hope... and it was beautiful.
" I noticed that there were no black students in the class --no future black writers to write about the Birmingham future, or past. As I listened to the students, I couldn't help remembering the photo that I'd seen this morning, on the front page of The Birmingham Times, of a black man hanging from a tree. A supposed suicide."
The writer failed to mention (what my classmates and I would consider) crucial information such as the hanging happened in Mississippi last year, not in Birmingham. The writer failed to research because there are African American students in the class. They just happened to not be there to witness this fiasco of a class. These writers came to our city, our classroom, to inspire us. What they did was bash us with their assumptions and criticized us for wanting to write good things about our city, rather than the dark past. Last night, when I first read the blog, I thought to myself, who are these people to write negatively about us when they were here to inspire us; they don't inspire me! But they did. They taught me a valuable lesson about writing based on my assumptions. They taught me to never write without doing my research. They inspired me to be a better writer. As I walked into my classroom today, all of the classmates' words were hot from betrayal and hurt, the moment was one that will remain with me. My classmates, that I have came to have the most gorgeous respect for, were all coming together and standing up for one another... then I thought back to Birmingham's past of segregation, racism, and the fight for Civil Rights... The world still has a long way to come, but today, I walked into a classroom where people came together and stood up for what was right. People from all walks of life, male and female, black and white. Standing together in unison for an issue we all believe in. It gave me hope... and it was beautiful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)