[2010] Letter to My Past

October 28, 2010 at 9:16 pm (Prose - Nonfiction)
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Dear –

No, that isn’t right. You’re not dear to me. You’re not even a deer. You…I don’t know how to describe what you are. What you are, not who, forget even the inkling of the possibility that you might still be human. I know what I am though. Again, what, not who, for you and I have fallen low. We no longer host souls in these drooping frames. My thoughts are confined, as wide and spacious as the cage may be, to center back to that time. To you. Every day, at least once, I must return to it, as if I could not survive without it. It is almost like I am in love with what happened, in love with you.

You, who split me. You, whom I once deigned to share a smile with. I hope you think of me as I think of you. I hope the teeth I once used to grin at you just sink into your dying hours, into bone and second and marrow and afterlife. I do not forgive you. I will never forgive you. I will never forgive myself. Take that to console yourself, at least. Then drive a pen into your throat.

Regards,
The Present

 

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[2010] Imaginary Facts

August 10, 2010 at 8:51 pm (Prose - Fiction, Prose - Nonfiction)
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She walked on the curb, stuck one foot far out in front of the other, and eventually made her way to the front of the group. She hummed, sang little phrases, and listened to her friends chatter on about something or other. Sometimes she could sense them smiling at her. How cute, they thought. She’s so lighthearted.

A puff of air escaped her lips, painted white by the cold, and she giggled at it as she watched it dissipate into the morning light. They stopped at the final crosswalk, and she looked to her right. The train was approaching, large and silver and very train-like, as it should be.

“Choo-choo!”  she said, under her breath.

Then she played the ‘What If?’ Game. What if the curb was thirty feet higher? What if it was two point four feet narrower? What if blood was in this season, and all the roads were wearing it in her shade? What if she just jumped?

She laughed, jumped up and down (still on the curb, always on the curb) and bellowed “Choo-choo!” The hood on her jacket bounced with her, urging her to stop playing the ‘what if’ game, to start playing a new game, something more rational and science-based, something with concrete (bloody) evidence.

“But everything’s so big!” she replied, frowning and scrunching up her eyebrows. “Too, too big!” She turned around as the train passed behind her. She was still bouncing on the curb like the sparkle-bounce balls she would find at the bookstore with the mega crayons and the inflatable walking sticks in the back because the bookstore had no self-esteem and didn’t think anyone would love it enough if it only had books.

She would jump another day, she decided, thinking about how sad the bookstore would be if she played a new game. The bookstore loved to play the ‘What If?’ Game with her.

“Do you guys ever tell the bookstore that you love it? It needs to know, you know.” she said to her friends, and let out another puff of breath.

How cute, they thought. She’s so lighthearted.

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[2010] Good Luck

April 19, 2010 at 4:10 pm (Prose - Nonfiction)
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They handed out neon green sheets of construction paper. I stared at mine quietly, listening to the words of the conference coordinators. The time was 9:30, perhaps earlier, perhaps later. It didn’t matter to me. Time didn’t matter, not with these people. Nothing mattered in this massive hotel ballroom but the people inside it.

Everyone has a story to tell, they told us. It’s time to share yours. Get a pen, and write. Something along those lines, although it was much more eloquent, much more beautiful. At least, that’s how I remember it.

So I did. I wrote. In my misshapen scrawl, I wrote.

Before SDLC, I wasn’t a very happy person. I didn’t think I deserved much. What right did I have to breathe the same air as everyone else? What right did I have to walk on the same ground? It hurt to live, it hurt to smile. But I’ve realized that you guys are the most beautiful people in the world. Everyone lives through difficulty and adversity. I never realized how strong people can be, how they can love and be loved all at the same time. So…thank you for reading this. I know I can say everyone has changed me for the better, and I can walk on.

Now, they said, stand up and trade your story with someone else. Read their story, then pass it on to someone else. Keep reading, keep trading.

I passed my story on to a girl with big brown eyes and mussed blonde hair. She smiled softly on getting my story and whispered, “Thank you.”

I read the one she gave me. It wasn’t hers, as it told the story of a boy. A boy who didn’t understand how trusting people were before this conference.

I read the story of a girl who loved the people at SDLC, who didn’t want to go home. But she was happier having learned so many things with us, and couldn’t wait to share them with people at home.

I read the story of someone who lived in a dysfunctional house, who felt like a perpetual outcast. They hated everything about their home. But they realized that they could find love if they opened their heart.

So I read story after story, traded neon green for another neon green. Each one made me smile a little more, made me want to cry a little more. I blinked fervently, holding my heart in place as best I could.

Finally, we were asked to stop and find a place along the wall to sit down. I moved myself between two girls, who grinned at me when I asked if it was okay.

They put microphones out in the center, one for each wall. In the middle of these microphones, a tiny candle was placed. It flickered in the dimness of the ballroom. I smiled. A little cheesy, but the sentiment was appreciated.

They called it a Quaker-styled meeting. Everyone who had something to share stood at the microphone and spoke to all of us.

“I just learned fifteen minutes ago…that my uncle was shot in the face. I’m scared. I don’t know if I’m ready to go home. But I’m glad I’m here with you guys. You guys make me feel like everything’s going to be okay.”

“I wish I had hundreds of arms so I could hug each and every one of you.”

“I call myself a writer. I always like to look for words. But I can’t even find the words to describe how I feel, right now, with you guys.”

“Everyone thinks I’m the funny and wacky one, always smiling. I don’t know who I’m fooling.”

So these comments went, crawling their way into my heart and nestling in a quiet nook. One boy took to a mic. He was so far away I could barely make out his distinguishing characteristics. A mop of curly brown hair? Bright peach skin? A dark shirt? Or were they dark pants?

“I was reading the story I got, and…and, I just wanted to say. You are alive. It’s not some sort of privilege to breathe the air I breathe or walk on this ground. I don’t know who you are, but I love you. I love everyone here. I think you all are the most amazing people I’ve ever met.”

The flood of tears surged down my face.

I love you too, whoever you are. Thank you for your endless kindness. Thank you for your personal response to my story. We will probably never meet, but I hold you dearly in my heart. Whoever you are, where ever you may be…this is my promise to you–

I will walk forward with a smile. The gift you and those 1100 other young people gave me, I will pass it on to others. I will help better this world. If I can make person upon person smile sincerely…perhaps it will return to you someday.

Good luck, to all of us.

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[2010] My First

April 12, 2010 at 7:34 pm (Prose - Nonfiction)
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We ended the song in unison, trying desperately to overcome the loudness of the original track with our tiny voices. I gasped; my voice sputtered and gave out to silence. But no one noticed.The gym resounded with claps from teachers and students. My class gave loud whoops, proud to have someone represent Ms. V’s class.

May grabbed my hand and clasped it. I squeezed back. Lexi and Kathy grinned, perhaps more out of relief than excitement. The emcee motioned us to bow as he said in a sort-of-booming voice, “Great work, the double twins! They’re like real singers!”

“We’re not twins!” The four of us protested, although the fact that we said that together didn’t help matters. No one heard us anyway. May and I, both of Asian descent, were often assumed to be sisters (we didn’t really look alike at all, besides the short blue-black hair) while Lexi and Kathy had the same problem with their blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes.

“Moving on in the talent show,” the emcee said, “we have Emily performing a cheer…”

“Let’s go guys!” Kath whispered. “We need to get off-stage!”

I suddenly realized the expanse of people before us. Somehow while I was singing, they had disappeared. But now they returned, tenshundredsthousands of eyes focused on the front.

On us.

On me.

This was a mistake.

I was the first to descend the short set of wooden stairs off the stage to reunite with our classmates. Ms. V gave me a pat on the back and smiled. I struggled not to shy away from her touch. Her hand was warm, like a blistering bead of sweat on a summer day.

“You were wonderful, sweetie,” she said.

She’s lying.

“Um, thanks, Ms. V!” I smiled at her before moving to the end of our row.

Anthony tapped me on the shoulder. “You’re awesome!”

He’s stupid. Don’t listen to him. You were terrible.

I kept my smile on and nodded at him. Sitting down, I felt my hands shaking. The world moved in and out of focus. I could barely register the cheers of the girl on-stage. It hurt to breathe.

You can’t sing. What were you doing up there? You shouldn’t have let Kath convince you to do this. That was embarrassing. How could you have done that to yourself? What a disappointment.

You should die.
Disappear. Die. Die. Go away.

“Hey…you okay?”

My shoulders jerked upwards, and I found myself outside the gym. We walked in single file back to class. I had lost track of time. When did the talent show finish? How long did it take?

I finally noticed Quinn staring at me with one dark eye; the other eye had hidden itself beneath the beads at the end of his many cornrows. He repeated himself. “You okay, Annie?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired. Singing is ha~rd work!”

“Totally, dude! You and May and Lexi and Kathy sanged good though!” He flashed me a thumbs up.

“Thank you! Hey, you’re slowing down the line, Quinn! Dork!”

His eyes widened and he sprinted forward, even though the next kid was only about five feet ahead of us.

I sighed and turned my eyes to the sky. It still hurt to breathe.

I was nine years old when I first began to have suicidal thoughts.

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[2009] Eavesdropping

January 3, 2010 at 12:23 pm (Prose - Nonfiction)
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She leans against the headboard, swathed in the comforter. The warmth of it comforts her. Hmm…a comforting comforter…she almost wants to smile at the idea. But instead she tunes her ears, and listens with bated breath.

She waits. And waits. And–oh. There it is. But she doesn’t care much about that part. The more important piece– What’s the response?

Pure and absolute silence for a few moments. Somehow the quiet hurts her chest.

With each ticking of the clock, little bits of hope are building inside her, piece by piece.

Then, there it is. The answer.

It’s a shattering of glass.

Along with whatever was just broken, the hope she had been clinging onto shatter as well. There’s no turning back now. The decision’s been made.

She sinks downward and pulls the comforter over her and hopes for something new: that sleep will reclaim her mind and she can stay there, just for a while. Closing her eyes tightly, she tries and tries. But her mind buzzes and buzzes like billions of bees, angry and upset.

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