My Sister

Yesterday and today, I bonded with my sister. She asked me to do her hair, she asked me to watch Glee with her. I asked her to read a funny blog I found, I asked her to watch So You Think You Can Dance with me. For the first time in years, I finally felt like we have things in common and that she is growing up ... that she's going to be ok.

For years I have worried that our age difference was too much and that we would never have anything in common and we would never have a working relationship. I see now that the difference between 13 and 19 is a lot smaller than the difference between 10 and 16. For years I have worried that her attitude problems and that her personality would keep her from having friends and keep increasing the distance between us. However, the past two years that I have been away at college have helped my sister grow in terms of maturity and she is a much more relatable character now (even if I still see her as a giant ball of energy with a giant mass of hair always launching itself at me).

Her talent and thirst for the spotlight never cease to amaze me. The girl has joined a performance troop and is rehearsing to put on "9 to 5 the musical," she is taking first place ribbons at swim meets, she is taking piano lessons, and she is taking up karate later this summer. I am impressed at her desire and her talent - the self-confidence it takes to stand up on a stage and bare yourself for criticism is daunting. Three years ago, and even some days now, I would not be able to say that she had the confidence to do so ... but only because she has never had the confidence to be herself off the stage... until now.

For years, she hid behind her fluffed-up afro curtains of ebony hair because of her social awkwardness. I recognized it as my own, but always noted how different it was. While I was almost pathologically desperate to overcome my social awkwardness and learn how to function well in society (without losing my sense of self), my sister seemed almost pathologically determined to remain obstinately socially awkward and dysfunctional. So she hid behind her hair, frumpy clothes, bad jokes, and her over-exuberant personality that she used to try to attract friends...and ended up alienating everyone instead because she was just way too over the top.

Even though she is still the crazy, extremely-energetic, semi-annoying, inquisitive, loving, talkative, super-talented, curious, sometimes-too-empathetic, trusting, naive (in a good way), outgoing, brown-eyed girl with the giant fluff ball of ebony hair .... she is changing.

Now, she's discovered that she can be herself without exaggerating everything and she  pulls her hair back in a ponytail so people can see her face, so she can sing better in chorus, so that the audience can see her when she acts with the drama club's productions. She dresses like she wants, comfortably and age-appropriate. Thankfully, that does not mean "slutty" to her (and it also doesn't mean "pink" anymore, she has discovered other colors of clothes). She found reliable friends who accept her and don't try to change her - friends who are really her friends.

I'm happy that she's decided I am one of those friends, someone she can spend time with and share life's joys with, because I want to be a good friend. A friend who will do her hair and teach her funny dives off the diving board and appreciate her talents and share her passions and teach her about life/love/laughter/WWII/cooking/poetry/etiquette/good books  and dance to silly songs in the kitchen while making ice cream sundaes.

She is growing up, both physically and mentally, and I can't believe I'm here to witness these changes. I know they happen (as they happened to me and every other adult on this planet ....well not all of them, some people are still immature preteen boys), but I was not prepared to see my sister in a bikini - let alone hear her say that the bikini is too immodest and she does not feel comfortable showing so much skin and that it did not cover her butt. Funny. Also funnier still that she said this while clutching the straps of the bikini top in fear of "falling out."

So she switched into a one-piece and we watched an episode of How I Met Your Mother. The one where I explained awkward sex jokes to my sister ... so basically every episode ...and every joke. But it's ok, because one day she won't ask things like "I forget, what is the difference between an aneurysm and a orgasm?"

Clothing - a staple of civilization and culture.
Nudism - taboo in most societies and cities.
Comfort - not adhering to fashion's rules:

Lounging in the softness of my robe and...
Nothing more. Writing and delighting
In the sheer softness of skin - and a robe discarded.

Curtains and blinds left open, night and day,
Evolution of a safe haven, a zone critique-free
Where my larger-than-your-average-size-00-model

Thighs can ripple all they want out of the confines of
Tight jeans and constricting clothes no longer
Shove my ample-enough-for-me bosom

Into concealing cages of lace and cotton.
Nudism....
I think I can learn to be comfortable in my own skin.

(Janury 19th, 2011)

A Cruel Mistress

Love - She's not an easy mistress:
She scorns, She scars,
She gives much stress.

A lover oft seen, are they loved
As a lover seldom seen?
No and yes:

For a lover seldom seen is
Missed - painfully, heart-wrenchingly -
So that when reunions happen,

Their love is rekindled, as if new,
Stronger because of the pains and scars
Now healed, stronger lovers reunite.

Love - She hurts while pleasuring,
She takes pleasure in pain of
Us being apart once more without

Comforting glances or loving caresses
In times of sorrow or need, none,
But think of the joy of seeing you,

As if for the first time again
When Time, Fate, and Love
(The cruel mistresses)
Allow our love once more.

death of a parent

today I realized my father is not invincible
today I realized my father is aging
today I realized I will outlive my father

death is imminent and his health is deteriorating
his memory no longer sharp but he is only forty-two
his weight is catching up to him
he lays in bed or on the couch, propped up on pillows
heating pads and ice packs strapped on
trouble sleeping, trouble staying awake - because of the pain

his knees buckle under the belly he can't seem to lose
frustration and sadness,
all written or splattered across his eyes
he is not lazy, he is in pain, too much pain

the danger of too many pills
the danger of exercise that will strain him
he cannot exercise until he loses the weight
but to lose weight he needs to exercise
he needs to work but his pain won't let him
I must work, Gabriel must work, I must work

he is depressed by this prognosis: evident in
his ever-present anger - always waiting to be baited -
the self-pity and the guilt and the worry

death, or something like it, lurks by the door
will it knock? will it break down the door?
will the pain ever be too much? will the pills?
afraid of losing control, he struggles with every step
to remain in control so he slows down, calculates,
will my father answer the door or cower from it?
will he open a window and win some time?
will he escape long enough?

the death of a parent is an expected one
a death we as their children should be prepared for
parents are old, they might get sick, and then they die
but not like this, not pain, not so early, not incapacitation
not loss of life's quality
the death of a parent is a dreaded one

today I saw my father struggle to sit or stand
today I saw my father struggle to use the stairs or walk
today I saw my father collapse of exhaustion
today I saw my father use a cane

Stormy Night - Forgotten

Dominating and slashing, rain whips the howling winds into submission-
The winds whimper and attempt to escape, flying at breakneck speed,
Ripping vulnerable leaves from their safety and squeezing through the cracks,
Trying to escape the abusive attacks of the rain which permeates everything.

Windbreakers rendered useless, umbrellas scattered on slippery streets,
And one window, torn open from its hatches by the hiding wind, allows
The pitter-pattering clashing rain inside. Unwillingly, momentarily,
Leaving the safe harbor of love's alcove, four arms reach to close the window-

Wind and rain fight, worthy opponents, splattering and buffeting two faces
Drawn in determination to shut the window and return to the privacy and safety
Found in love's embrace. Lightning flashes and thunder booms, shaking the floors,
Shaking frames holding roughly at each other in the frame of the bed. Four arms,

Entwined and rain splattered, begin to dry water drops and clear the fear-
Caused by the rain, calmed by love. Four arms and four hands clear the clutter,
Thrown off shelves by the violent winds of this storm. Broken vases,
Scattered books, ripped curtains, and water - water everywhere! Pattering,

The harsh rain slashes against the closed window, the protection of these lovers,
Attempting another unwelcome interruption into their privacy, into their moment.
But two arms enfold one whimpering body, to the sound of whimpering winds
Two lips meet one face, still streaked with the wet battle-scars of the slashing rain.

Two hands caress dripping hair while two hands clutch a soaked shirt.
Forgetting the whirling storm, two eyes behold two more- four eyes entranced.
Two arms encase the smaller frame, forgetting the thunderous night, and then two...
Two become one.

Leaves fallen, decaying flowers

  Leaves are floating, sinking, falling-
   scattering along, rustling together and

       falling alone. Changing colors of

    crackling leaves- were they the same?
bright oranges and browns opaque

        withering, breaking together

decaying alone. Flowers long gone,

      colors faded, is spring so distant? Is spring coming?

          Petals crushed and torn, beauty

              stolen or given up? Deteriorated-

                wait! Pairs remain- two leaves

                entwined here, two leaves twirling afar,

                resplendently swirling in their own

                song of spring as autumn falls.

Your Favorite Dream

I am fiercely loyal, self deprecating
A fan of the underdog and celebrating
The mysteries of life, the beauty of pain,
the infinite sorrow, the fleeting gain.
I love with a vengeance; I fight with a cause--
These are my strengths and also my flaws.
I'm a lover and a friend, a goddess and a tease
And yet-- I am none of these.
If you want fantasy, I can do the stage
But if you seek brutal honesty, you've found the right page.
Not much for rhyme, I seldom do reason.
I write when inspired, I change with the seasons.
I'm a beast and a beauty, a Madonna and whore,
Say what you will but I'm never a bore.
A writer, an actress, a girl on your scene
A memory, a nightmare And your favorite dream. 

What if...

Life is full of questions and pondering, "what if"s and "so what"s, and where does that leave all of us? After every emotion has been stirred up in a whirl of thoughts provoked, what if we had the answers?

What if we knew for certain that everything we're worried about today will work out fine?

What if...we had a guarantee that the problem bothering us would be worked out in the most perfect way, and at the best possible time? Furthermore, what if we knew that three years from now we'd be grateful for that problem, and its solution?

What if...we knew that even our worst fear would work out for the best?

What if...we had a guarantee that everything that's happening, and has happened, in our life was meant to be, planned just for us, and in our best interest?

What if...we had a guarantee that the people we love are experiencing exactly what they need in order to become who they're intended to become? Further, what if we had a guarantee that others can be responsible for themselves, and we don't have to control or take responsibility for them?

What if...we knew the future was going to be good, and we would have an abundance of resources and guidance to handle whatever comes our way?

What if...we knew everything was okay, and we didn't have to worry about a thing? What would we do then?

We'd be free to let go and enjoy life.

Adventures in Baking

Allow me a brief interlude in my usual style of writing, for I'm not my usual self today. Today, I let myself be swayed by a single whimsical emotion and stirring.

"Who wants to have ADVENTURES?!?!?!?!" was the sudden scream I found myself listening to this afternoon. Oh and I was the one screaming.

That's right, adventures. This all began in the midst of an intense round of cleaning the house, when suddenly I was struck by the desire to bake. And not just bake any old regular dessert or pastry. No, I wanted Hamantaschen. To be more specific, I have recently discovered a blog belonging to a linguist and food(read: dessert)lover who is prone to insanely amazing photography. www.dessertsforbreakfast.com is my recent discovery and I must say I've been wanting to try out her recipes but never had the time (or the ingredients) to bake these luscious, eye-pleasing, mouth-watering desserts.

Until today that is. Since I realized I had more or less a free day, what with everything clean and the clothes just dancing in the dryer, I decided to go ahead and have an adventure. An adventure in baking.

So I rounded up the ingredients and started preparing the dough for Hamantaschen. With the wrong type of sugar. And I put it in the fridge for an hour, like the recipe said, and waited. I set my oven to 350 degrees (which turns out to be about 45 degrees higher than my oven actually needs). I rolled the dough, cut out 3-inch circles, folded up the "edges of the circles," and pinched the edges together.

However, I folded my circles into 4 and not 3, so I ended up with squares instead of triangles. In the unnecessarily high heat, my squares (reminiscent of hollowed out pillows) crumbled and the edges fell flat. The strawberry filling bubbled over and spilled out. To be honest, the cookies didn't cook as fast as the filling and they looked atrocious. Slightly horrifying and mortifying, leaving me feeling like a failure as a woman (I know it's insane and we're all past that whole "women should all be able to cook well" thing, but I felt like a failure for a little bit).

And then I ate one. THE most delicious cookie I've ever made. Batch number two was modified and all aspects re-evaluated. Batch number two looks astoundingly better, but it's all gone without any photographic evidence except for crumbs, and I no longer feel like a failure. In fact, I feel successful. Not just as a woman, but as a person in general who can create something out of nothing. Amazing what milk and cookies can do for you. Oops, I mean Hamantaschen and milk. Definitely trying out the Hamantaschen again, hopefully with more results more visually-appealing than this:

After my most delicious adventure in baking (with minimal mess, if I may say so myself), I feel more inspired to cook and bake more often. As soon as I round up the more obscure baking ingredients and utensils.

Midnight Fight and Morning Run

Gusts of wind whipping ebony curls against my face;

my legs, moving faster than I ordered them to, whipping the pavement into submission;

tears forgotten, are they still falling? drip drop dripping, streaming, escaping against my will;

hiding, escaping, crouching, entombing myself in the darkness -

words forgotten - as I escape the now and try to reach that time:

that time which belongs only to us.

the darkness fades into light as the sun rises on a new day;

a new day bringing it's own heat to warm the ice in my chest

as I run farther and faster, making an attempt at forgetting and trying to forgive,

hoping for resolution, needing a resolution, begging for some resolution

to this never-ending struggle, this repetitious struggle...

will it ever end? How will it end? and if so.... do I want it to?

Out of the Bubble

Except for one sunny beach and the Tennessee Aquariums, I had never left the protective bubble of East Cobb, Marietta. Not until December of my eighth grade year of middle school. In December, I woke up one morning to find a brightly flashing four floating in mid-air. I arrived at school to find an eerily quiet gym, filled to the brim with silent teenagers. The silence was deafening. I saw the usually serene conductor almost fall off the edge. I learned how coffee works wonders.

I fell asleep on a rickety bus to the smell of exhaust, Starbucks, Earl Grey tea, McDonald's, trail mix, Goldfish, and salami sandwiches. I learned about the strength of my stomach.

In the midst of empty airport hallways, I heard gossip, arguments, video games, and blaring MP3's. I could not hear my own thoughts, though I didn't have enough time to think, and had already begun to miss the bubble of East Cobb. Once the plane took off, I heard even more gossip traveling above the noise of jet engines, and the smell of coffee grew tenfold.

Wintry and welcoming were my first thoughts of Chicago. I had never seen such tall buildings, never heard louder street vendors, never had I watched more beautiful street performers. I had never felt more cold, lost, or out of place. I had the best time of my life. I saw clouds that blocked my view of skyscraper roofs. I felt wind whip at my face and snow fall down on my shoulders. I learned that a building has only one correct side; it all depends on the direction of the wind.

I met a Santa Claus with a real beard, a stray dog carrying a steaming hot dog, and a novice bellhop who dragged our luggage up the stairs while flirting shamelessly. I shared a room and, above all, a bathroom with three other girls. I tasted shampoo for the first and definitely not the last time during four minute showers and reminisced about my estranged hairdryer. I learned that wet hair in ten degree weather can almost freeze and easily breaks off.

I ran down thirteen flights of stairs because the elevator didn't work on our floor, barely making the bus on time. I tasted my own sweat, followed by blood trickling from my lips, because I was too stubborn to put on Chapstick.

I saw the guitars of Elvis Presley and Bon Jovi on restaurant walls. I watched our waitress dance the YMCA on our tabletop, while balloons floated down from the ceiling, adding to the oddly suggestive sight. I tasted the greasiest pizza and the thickest milkshake on the face of this planet. I have never had a better meal.

On the way to rehearsals, I tripped on snow. I met a homeless man with a spectacular singing voice. I felt comforting warmth emanating from the second and third Starbucks on the block. During our walks, my fingers bled and I resignedly put gloves on. During rehearsal, my fingers bled and my arms ached, but I happily kept playing until the giant grandfather clock struck noon. I learned that an expensive violin doesn't necessarily make a better violinist.

We went ice-skating and I felt myself glide over ice like my bow glides over my strings. I skated with one of my fellow violinists and felt a pang of jealousy at seeing all of the happy couples skating hand-in-hand while the snow softly fell on the ice. I hoped to join them someday.

I saw a saleslady with one leg in the most ornate mall I've ever set eyes on. I held a diamond necklace the weighed more than I did. I saw hundreds of shoppers pushing overloaded carts vainly hoping to finish their holiday shopping.

I played cards until two in the morning with a throng of unknown girls in our room; our nighttime friendship protected by darkness and then dissolved by daylight. As I tried to sleep, I heard piercing horns blaring and harsh men baiting women and swearing at men on the street. I missed the tranquility of the bubble of East Cobb. The screechy wheel of the maintenance lady's cart passed by our door twice every night and we feigned sleep while the lady in the next room watched Jerry Springer. I learned new words I would never use, not for years.

Though I was glad to be home where there is no wind, no curfew, and no more than one Starbucks per block, I often think back to the excitement of the windy city and the lessons it taught me. I learned that four girls and one mirror don't work well together. I learned eighty-three orchestra students and one restaurant don't mix well. I learned that if we want to experience any life other that life inside the bubble, we alone must take the first step outside.

In the years that have passed since this trip, the East Cobb bubble has been abandoned frequently for many adventures. Thinking on it now, I'd love to return to Chicago someday, to see the rest of this breath-taking country and burst through whatever bubbles I find.

Red Oak

Reliant roots, sturdy, stretching swiftly far and wide

though not too deep. Reaching out

into

my

world: entwining

myself with my surrounding family, e x pan d i ng into my community,

embracing my friends. Absorbing the best of my surroundings,

nourishing my soul and sentience.

Supporting

whoever

needs

it, lending strength

without discrimination.

Scorning the harmful advances of the unworthy.

In this wobbly world, strong roots make for stable footing.

Ardent heart

at the very center.

Enduring, sinewy, and steady.

Supporting what my roots

cannot, ready to cherish and

love

with al it can.

A heart strong enough to stand

on its own

against tempestuous storms

and emotions

yet

delicate

enough to be broken.

Such a sweet

strong

supportive

heart surrounded

by peculiarly hard

and protective

bark.

Particularly beautiful?

In the most conventional ways,

no.

The other trees,

they are taller and shorter, skinnier with slender arms,

they have more delicate branches,

or smooth leaves.

Those other trees are

more common and this one...

This one finds itself overlooked.

Often overlooked.

But someone would like

this individual oak

to see its own beauty,

even if only once in a while.

Those initials carved along

the oak's trunk proving an everlasting

love. Sometimes the oak can,

given enough love.

External internal

eternal beauty.

It can

see.

If only this oak could also see how tall and proud it stands:

bending away from the destructive gales of this changing world;

never yielding or breaking down, always surviving, day after day.

If only this oak would see.

Cloudy days inspire respect

In my head,

you're bold and brave:

fighting the invisible with strength unrivaled

by the ancient knights who fought and bested the dragons.

In my head,

you've been unevenly matched against an unrelenting foe,

but invigorated by your cheering fans you fight

and jump back up every time your opponent knocks you down.

I see a brave knave, struggling under heavy armor,

nobly charging into battle with every waking breath.

Constantly fighting, never given a break, and still smiling triumphantly.

Never defeated.

Long live this brave knave.

Long live, my friend, all the walls you crash through,

all the mountains you move,

all the kingdom cheers for you.

Sometimes I pray to the gods watching over us,

here on this little medieval court,

that they could let you see

what I see

in my head.

Lifetime of Love (sestina)

In your eyes and arms I always feel loved.

We may seldom each lose tempers sometime,

But above all, you let me live and laugh

Through moments when my heart would surely break.

Do I think, believe, know I love you? Yes.

I swear I will, always and forever.

Always have we been friends, on forever;

I hope you feel more loved than I feel. Loved?

As always, so confident, you say yes;

But how can I be sure? You're not sometime...

Is your heart full of love about to break?

How am I to tell if you always laugh?

O I love your eyes and smile when you laugh,

Please never stop, smile and laugh forever;

The stiff oppressive silences you break

With the ringing music I always loved

Since friends only were we ... Propose sometime?

So I, in your arms and eyes, may say yes?

Oh how I have oft dreamed of saying yes...

But for the moment I can't dream or laugh,

For we need to be serious sometime,

If we want to be as one forever,

So that we can make each other feel loved.

In love, we cannot then the silence break.

When anew we as one, morning will break,

My dreams fulfilled: to you I have said yes,

Vowed and promised you will always be loved.

Our tears cascade, trickle, come from the laugh,

The laugh echoes in our hearts forever...

Reason says we might forget it sometime,

For we both know that love too fades sometime.

Together through this fading we will break,

We vowed and promised our love forever,

Remember a wedding? We promised yes,

Sealed it night and morning break with a laugh,

Promised to make one another feel loved.

Seasoned, sometimes we forget we said yes,

But you must break the lull of old age - laugh

For I'll forever let you know you're loved.

Monday, October 18

Frustration rising to a rolling boil

bubbling under the surface of the perfect student

scalding steam escapes through exasperated sighs

tap tap tapping fingers... biting lips, click click clicking pens

seemingly omniscient teacher: the cause of my discomfort

the bane of my existence, the dreary overcast sky over my perfect day.

monotone monologues, lectures, disrespect and condescension

insipid and devoid of all interest, lethargic contemplation

and musing: just how incompetent does he think I am?

am I to be subdued, repressed, like this and just accept it?

will there really be no repercussions for his actions?

how much will everyone care if he were to... disappear...

rejoice we would, rejoice we would...

his cruel subjugation of me continues

I snap out of my reverie

the minute hand moves to the fated hour

I walk away, escaping once more

only to return again

unable to stay away

I return once more

Persistence

Oh, small buddign blade, so verdant, lively and green;

You trudge along, during the harsh, bleak, unforgiving winter,

Working your way up through the cold crumbling dirt and

The entangled webs of roots below the withering tree.

You fight the icy blasts of rain and unrelenting wind

While others, looking just like you, will begin to grow during spring showers,

Under the warming sun, among blooming showers,

Stretching beneath the softly-caressing winds, among young saplings

Whose roots do not impede their ascension

And giants will not trample over them as they grow.

But they are not you, oh small budding blade, for they take the easy way out:

Budding at conventional times and then withering before the autumnal parade of colors,

Never to see the first snowflake float down through the sky.

You, little blade, too eager to wait; you grow now

Before all the others, among the fallen autumn leaves, before the snow falls.

All alone, bold and brave, by your own accord,

You fight for your life and the chance to live it;

And there you are, a mere inch above the limits of the ground,

So verdant, lively, and green.

Trudge along,

Trudge along,

Trudge along.

Sonnet 004

Only five days left until he arrives

The little boy I knew so well before

Only four days left until the big surprise

Now a man, it is I who he adores.

Slowly the hours go by, I am patient

Not frantic, not queasy, but excited

To see the boy to whom my heart I lent

And then we will once again be parted.

I struggle to think straight, only three days

Until we meet again, star-crossed lovers...

Two years since I last saw him, two days,

Here he'll be, impatience I discovered.

But faithfully I await, just one day,

Hours pass, here he comes and there he goes.

Undated and Un-named

the passerby's and the silhouettes

the shadows- paintings in the sky

they move, they dance, il baile d'amore on weightless wings

the vibrant hues and the leaves in the wind

the clouds- all colors in the sky

floating, falling, feeling, flowing, and those crazy things:

smells and sights dancing in the sky

invisible music resounds

raindrops sway in the breeze

gently dropping to the ground

Pink Petals

cherry blossoms petals floating to the ground

around you, as you stand beneath the tree,

your eyes twinkling, your smile widening

watching me, you say exactly what you feel:

speaking tender words of love, you hold me,

whispering in my ear as the petals float,

gently floating down, the cherry blossoms fall

Monday Morning

My eyes forced open once more

by the rising sun...

d r a g g i n g myself out of bed,

why has it come once again?

Slip into a shirt, slither into jeans,

can hardly stay awake for

I stayed up late

thinking of you

my eyes close one me,

my thoughts unclear,

I need to sleep

but monday morning is here