acting it out

the art of learning to live

Archive for the category “the daughter”

Thank you for remembering

I knew she would be remembered.

How can you not remember someone who is so full of joy & life?

I knew she would be remembered, because I am here. & my brother is here.

We will carry her with us forever.

I knew she would be remembered, but I still find myself overwhelmed with it.

The love & support that is pouring out, not just from family & friends who are family, but from neighbors, car pool buddies, distance acquaintances, long lost peers, casual encounters, & those who met her, albeit briefly, while on their own life journey.

Even they remember.

If only but a fading memory, a subconscious thought triggered by a sound, a smell, a song.

She will be remembered.
She will continue to love & live in that special way she always did.

So, thank you.
Thank you friends.
Thank you strangers.

It is an honor to experience your words, your thoughts, your prayers & your memories.

Thank you for remembering her with me.

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For My Mother

Every time I look in the mirror, I will think of you. I will see the nose I once hated & I will smile because it is your nose.
Every time I dance, I will think of you. I will hear you singing along & I will laugh because you never could carry a tune.
Every time I’m sick, I will think of you. I will feel your hand on my head & I will feel better because I know chicken soup really is good for the body & soul.
Every time I cook, I will think of you. I will smell the memories of meals past & I will toast to you because you finally did master Julia Child’s coq au vin.
Every time I feel discouraged, I will think of you. I will remember your words & I will carry on because I know I have your strength inside of me.
Every time I am happy, I will think of you. I will live my life to the fullest & follow my dreams because you taught me how to embrace myself & be my own person.
Every time I think of you, I will love you even more.
I will be thankful because you gave me life, but you also gave me so much more.

I love you for forever.

I carry your heart, I carry it in my heart

Stuck

I’m between the ghouls and the monster

Fear.
It makes you stick,
stick in one place.
It makes you
Stuck.

& that’s what I am

Stuck
By
Fear

I’m afraid to mourn a mother who is not yet (physically) gone.

I’m afraid to live
I’m afraid to love
I’m afraid to learn from my mistakes
because I feel I have already made enough.

That’s another word I identify with my current state,
enough.

However, I do not use it as an adjective to describe myself,
no, that would be too kind.
& kindness can not be afford to those who need
tough love?

enough
I’ve had it.

I’ve had enough pain.
I’ve had enough anger.
I’ve had enough doubt.

I’ve cried enough tears.
Haven’t I?

I imagine there’s a collection of all the salt water I release
at night in my bed,
or in my shower,
or in my car, in broad daylight, at a stop sign, while an old Chinese lady stares at me.

There’s just jars & jars of it, sitting on a shelf somewhere.
They are labeled with my name & someone is sorting through them,
with the tiniest pasture pipette,
counting out each droplet,
seeing if it has reached the magic number,
seeing if it’s
enough.

But it isn’t.

So, the universe rears back its fist to have another go.

But I have had enough.

faith. take two.

my faithlessness
is causing me to verge on hopelessness.

my life seems to be so full of ups & downs,
it feels like a roller coaster.

actually,
maybe it’s more like the giant wave pool at water parks.

do you remember those?

a giant cement square,
filled with water & probably a hundred people.
It was built as a gradual slope,
with a deep end, and then a shallow end that turned into a “shore”.

I remember all the people crammed in this thing,
floating on inner tubes,
laughing, swimming & splashing around.
Then they would sound the horn
that signified the oncoming “waves”.
People would scramble to their flotation devices, or some even headed for the “shoreline” to escape the waves.

I was always the kid who braved the deep end during the “storm”.
I stayed out there treading water,
pretending to be a mermaid stuck in a hurricane
or a pirate caught in a shipwreck.

I’ve lost that little girl,
void of fear & full of such life.

now I’m trapped in the deep end of the wave pool,
struggling to get above water,
trying desperately to push through the crowd to get to the land.

I remember when I was a kid, when/if I had a moment of insecurity in that wave pool,
I knew in my mind that if it did become too much, that I could always grab on to a friends inner tube.

I am so grateful to have that safety net, symbolically, in my life today.

this is what I will have hope in.
this is who I will have faith in.
this is what will allow me to survive these harsh waters.
& this is what will eventually bring back that
brave little girl.

so thank you to
my dear
my wonderful
my patient
my understanding
my kind
my generous
my funny
my talented
my thoughtful
my unselfish friends,
who are my true family.

Without whom I would surely drown.

faith.

Complete trust or confidence
in someone or something.

I once had so much of it.

But now, at a time in my life when I need it the most,
I find myself left
wanting.

I find myself wanting
more of
it

this invisible force that gives people such hope & clarity in dire situations.

faith
the magic word
which some people use with such sincerity
that it causes jealousy in my now cynical & questioning heart.

I use to have such faith in
God
“destiny”
the people in my life
people in general

But most importantly,
I use to have such faith in
myself.

Where did it go?
How did I lose it?

& how can I get it back?

I find myself struggling to
answer these questions.

Now I grasp for
hope
hope that I can find
faith

faith
that I will be able to
answer these questions

that I can find
my faith
in anything
again.

But mostly importantly
that I can find faith in
myself.

hiraeth

a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

The ground is changing beneath me every where I step.

The floors have literally been ripped out of my childhood home.

I’ve always been a person who faces change with difficulty.
It’s one of my greatest personal frustrations.

& the last 6 months of my life has been nothing short of a perpetual spiral of change,
with me grasping for any shred of normalcy or the familiar.

today, I spent 15 minutes just trying to help my mum get out of the bath tub.

as I stood there inside the bathtub with my jeans rolled up to my knees,
I thought

This woman who was like Wonder Woman to me growing up
This woman who was “the man” & “the woman” of the house
This woman who fixed cars, mowed lawns, installed garbage disposals,
& built furniture

she can’t even stand up on her own
she needs assistance doing simple things I take for granted every day.

& she is fucking beautiful.

& even without the ability to pick herself up
she is the strongest person I have ever met.

God, I wish I could be half as strong as this woman.

but I’m not.
Not yet.

I picked her up & I sat her down
& I walked into the hallway straight into the arms of my giant little brother
& I cried.

I cried because I know I’m not that strong.
I cried because I’m worried I will never be that strong.

I cried because I miss my family.
I miss what we use to be.
I miss what we could be.
I miss what we will never be.

am I ok?

are you ok?

my dad asked me this today on the phone. It made me think about how often people have asked me that exact question (or variations of) in the last few months.

These are some examples of those questions
& how I have answered them, almost every time:

are you ok?
yes
how are you doing?
fine.
how are you holding up?
fine.
do you need anything?
nope.

& these are the honest answers to those questions:

are you ok?
I am ok.

just ok.
I’m not particularly good,
but I’m not bad either.
I am ok.
& that’s ok.

how are you doing?
I am doing.

I am trying.
I am learning.
I am growing.
I am creating.
I am living.
I am doing.

how are you holding up?
I am getting up.

Sometimes I’m falling down.
Sometimes I’m breaking down.

But I get up.
I move forward.
& even if it seems like I’m
taking 2 steps forward
& 1 step back,
I continue to take those steps forward.
& soon it will only be forward.

do you need anything?
yes.

I need to be surround by friends.
I need to be alone.
I need support.
I need honesty.
I need tough love.
I need patience.
I need to stay as busy as possible.
I need to sit around and be lazy.
I need all that will be given.
I need nothing at all.

& I need understanding that
I need different things
at different times.

my mothers daughter

I am my mother’s daughter

Or at least I hope to be.

The older I’ve gotten,
& especially now,
I’ve realized more & more who my mother is.

But I’ve also realized how much I don’t know her.

I know that she is smart.
I know that she is beautiful.
I know that she is funny.
I know that she is kind hearted.
I know that she is talented.

& I know that she is strong.

But was she always so strong?

I wish I could know all her moments of weakness. All her struggles. All her defeats, failures, & short comings.
But also know her comebacks, her revivals, & her survival of her life this far.

Because our lowest moments are what defines us. How we handled it. What is was that broke us down to that level.
& most importantly:
how we rose above it.

Because how can we measure a person with only their good qualities & still gain a wholistic understanding of that person.
A knowledge with breeds:
sympathy, empathy, apathy.
Patience. Respect.
Full, unbiased love.

Because how can I truly know my mother without knowing these things?

edits

It’s been a month,again, since my last post.

& that last post was what I want this blog to be.
What I need need need it to be.

Honest.
Honest unedited words just spilling out of my mind through my fingers onto the screen
Onto the screens of anyone who comes across this page

That’s a fucking terrifying thought to me

But it is also a satisfying one
Because I don’t want to edit myself
I want to be able to read this months, years from now & know that what I said here is exactly what I was thinking and exactly what I was feeling.

I want that for myself

And that’s who this blog was started for
Myself

& yes I want it to touch people
& I want it to mean something to someone
& I want it to be a non socially & personally damning representation of myself

But why?

If someone is offended
Or critical
Or judging

Why do I want them in my life?
Why should I care?

I won’t. I don’t. I can’t.

I can’t, because I legitimately feel that those people, that type of person, is detrimental to my soul & to who I am & to who I want to be.

So, yes, this may become a chaotic mess of emotion.
& yes, it may become more real
More brutally honest than most people would like
But it will just that.
It will be real
It will be honest
It will be me.

& I’m done being anything other than those things.

struggle

writing is a struggle against silence

But my problem isn’t silence.

It’s blaring, soul-wrenching, blood curling screaming
inside my head.
How do I get it out. How do I put it down into to type.

I feel like I’ve lost it.
The eloquence. The beauty of writing my thoughts.

It’s everything,
Our words. Our thoughts.
are/our everything,
If we were stripped down and left in a desert, what would we have?
Nothing but thoughts and words inside our heads.

So what does it matter how it comes out?
A jumble mess of thought vomit spewing out,
lacking that perfect pentameter and punctuation

Just do it. Just say it. Just write it.

But fear.

What oh what will people say? What will they think?

This poor girl with all her problems and her sad life and her poor dying mother and her poor fucked up family and her poor sad mind all jumbled up and upside down and inside out and spinning spinning into the darkness only to be drowned out by her 4am cries of self torment and self doubt and self deprecation and anger and sadness and anger and confusion and anger and loss.

Does it matter?

Who are these people who’s thoughts are more important than the ounce of sanity you feel after the release of your thoughts and words? Who are these people you care so much about?
Is it the friends or is it the former friends
Is it the family who already criticizes your every word and action
Is it the new people in your life
who you fear will label you as the girl with the dying mum
Is it the random acquaintance or the strangers
Why do any of them matter
Why do they matter over yourself?
Why why why why why

What is this society standard of self censorship in the matters of free thought and any emotion below happy?

So what if I’ve got problems? Who doesn’t?

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