15 Years

Nana,

I didn’t forget this year. Today it’s been 15 years since you passed away. As is my own tradition, I am writing you how I am currently taking this day. Last year…last year I forgot. I woke up and felt so sad, but didn’t realize why until Mom reminded me of the date…and I felt so much shame. How could I have forgotten? What kind of a mindless existence was I trapped in that I let something like you slip from my thoughts? The year before? The year before was agonizing. I wrote you this little gem http://thesqueakyhamsterwheel.blogspot.com/2009/12/december-6-1997.html and cried until my chest felt dead…maybe that’s why I forgot last year…because I felt dead. This year…oh this year…I have so much to tell you.

I didn’t forget this year. Actually, this year I’ve spoken about you and every single memory I can come up with kind of non-stop. There were moments I had with you, that I hadn’t thought of since even before you died. You were so wonderful, abuela. I was so, so lucky to have you long enough that you’re part of the core of what makes me, Me. Fifteen years…gone by in the blink of an eye. That post from two years ago…I am so far away from that place…from those thoughts. From that confused state of anger and resentment. I was trapped, Nana. Prisoner of a past I could not let go of, tied to a life that was a lie to who I truly am…I wasn’t living. I hated thinking of you, of the rest of the family back home, of my past. I despised reliving the decisions I made without thinking of the consequences. Most of all, I was so ashamed of who I had become. A stranger to family and friends…a shadowed reflection in the mirror…my eyes barely recognizable. I felt old. I felt weary. I felt so, so alone in a world with 7 billion other beating hearts in it…mine was deaf, blind, mute…weary.

I am sorry for living my life that way for so long, Nana. For being afraid of trying anything that would make others disappointed or sad in me…when they didn’t even take a step back to consider that, maybe, I wasn’t happy at all. Please sit down for a second, and let me catch you up on what’s happened since my last letter…

I just finished my first semester in college. I can feel your smile as I typed that. I think I did pretty good, too. I was working full time and went at night. It was hard, to keep my focus…my brain isn’t what it used to be. Better late than never, right? I’m already enrolled for next semester. Three classes this time…I wish I could be telling you this over the phone. Um. Anyways. I moved out of my parents’ house, again. Now I have a tiny one bedroom apartment overlooking an empty field. It’s small, but warm…and I get to see the most amazing sunsets every afternoon when I get home from work and stand on the balcony. I have new people in my life that have just…brought me back to life. They’re the ones bringing the Yari you knew back to working conditions. I’m painting again. It had been 10 years since I picked up a paintbrush. I’m playing guitar and writing new music…easily been 5 years since I did that. I’m working more on my photography. So much more. Daily. The thing is, the world looks so different now, Nana. The sunsets are no longer the end of a day…a blue sky peeking through some trees is no longer just a Tuesday afternoon…everything is beauty and life. Grandma, everything is Love. I dream almost every night now. The nightmares…so very few of them. Remember I was having those recurring nightmares, every other day since I was 7? I haven’t had one in almost 6 months. I’m off my anti-depressants. I haven’t cut in 3 months. I’ve been patient and kind with Dad. I think I forgave him, finally. I’ve been talking poetry and art with Mom again. The other day we went for a drive, just them two and I, and we sang in the car. Remember the old songs? I was always singing every time we went for a drive? We sang them…together, laughing and…you were on my mind so much that night. My best friend, he knows…what you mean to me. He knows how much all these small changes are adding up to bigger things in my future. Most of all, he understands. Everything. All the things that made me a weird kid, I don’t have to explain them to him. It’s unspoken. Even in silence, we see the world the same way…and he’s pushed me to get out of the wallowing and self-pity…he’s pushed me to take risks and chase after the 200 thoughts that drift out of my head and into the wind…To make things happen. And. They are happening. I am smiling.

Fifteen years and I can only say this: My heart aches in a different way. I now miss you because I cannot share with you all the good in my life. My loves. My secrets. My freedom. I miss your voice. I miss your eyes. I miss your support. But I no longer feel empty when I think of you…because I am becoming who you always knew I would be. I am making it up as fast as I can…

I love you with all my heart. Fifteen years…but…I am here to tell you, I’m 12 again. Those 15 years have slowly been erased…and I’m starting it over. This time, with you right here with me. You have never been gone.

P.S. You would LOVE my new coffee maker.

Let Me Count The Ways

I love you more than...

My oversized flannel shirt, after my night time shower.

My uncle's schizophrenia.

The opening theme song to The Office.

A slice of cheesecake from my favorite Brooklyn joint.

My mother's OCD.

That email from my bank on Thursdays at 3 am, saying my paycheck has been direct deposited.

My grandmother's voice, as she sang in the kitchen at the break of dawn...and the sound of metal spoons stirring in ceramic mugs.

The smell of wet dirt and the cool, misty wind that announce the coming of rain.

Slowly finger picking my guitar strings from Am to C...and the knowledge that a song can start at any moment.

An original chicken sandwich from Burger King, add cheese and tomatoes.

My father's sentimentalism.

Watching the sun rise over Arizona, slowly flooding the desert in a golden haze. Every formation illuminated. Every cactus given a 'Good Morning'.

The sound of my grandfather's keys as he opened the gate to the front porch after a long day at work...the faint rustling of a paper bag on his left hand...which promised fresh pastries.

My aunt's random text messages wishing me the best of luck in all I do and reminding me how much she loves me...how proud she is of me.

Sleeping.

Taking pictures of my feet...everywhere I go.

Monopoly.

The way my dog Blue runs laps around the house when I get home.

My childhood memories.

The first Coke Zero in the morning.

The feeling of my feet sinking in the sand and having the ocean in front of me.

Sitting under a tree, on a cement picnic table in the middle of nowhere, on a breezy spring morning.

More than the things that once seemed to be the only reasons I could ever smile during a lifetime.

More than you will ever know. More than I can even understand myself, sometimes.

More than yesterday...but never more than tomorrow.

More than more.

The universe, it knows.

Maybes

My feet were tangled, with my thin flannel sheet wrapped around them. I kicked hard, trying frantically to free myself, and my arms reached out into nothingness at the same time. I was looking for something, someone, anything. Suddenly, I was falling and there was nothing I could do to stop it. What felt like a long free fall, was actually just a 2ft fall from the couch to the floor...landing hard on my side with my wrist twisted the opposite way. I felt it pop and gasped out in pain. I laid there for a few minutes, letting the pain in my wrist slowly subside -at least it wasn't broken- and allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness around me. My hand good hand reached over to the dull, green blinking light a few feet from my head. A swift slide of my thumb and the screen on my phone came to life, temporarily blinding me, but showing me the time. 2:25 a.m.

I crawled back up and got on the couch, staring at the ceiling...or where I know the ceiling is...since it was pitch black. My mind drifted to the reason I woke up in a panic.

I had been walking through a park in Pennsylvania, down a long path lined with orange and red trees. My favorite season engulfed me, and the cold air nipped at my nose. I hurried along, hands in my pockets and my black combat boots crunched the leaves underneath my feet. All of a sudden I heard her talking next to me, coming out of nowhere. I looked over and it was my sister Cathy, wearing a gorgeous dark green coat and a Kermit the Frog beanie. She reached for my hand and I held on to her cold fingers as we kept walking into the forest. She said it was a weird year, a year for growth and for change. She walked with me all the way to the edge of a noisy stream, picked up my hand and kissed my fingers, slowly, one by one. Her green eyes peered into mine, and I felt a cold run up my spine. She whispered, "Keep your eyes open, gorgeous. Don't get lost trying to chase ghosts." Just like that, she disappeared between the trees and the leaves around me rustled eerily.

I crossed the stream, it wasn't deep. The water was cold, but my feet stayed dry...I only assumed the water was cold because my toes felt cooler as I walked through it. When I reached the other side, I looked around me and it had started snowing. The snow had this iridescence quality to it, so it looked like everything was covered in purplish pink cotton candy. He stepped out into the clearing, dressed in black...all black and a gray baseball cap. He rubbed his hands together, blowing into them, shaking off the cold and snow. He seemed happy to see me, and walked up to me, giving me a tight hug. I tried kissing him, but he turned his face and just gave me a sad smile while whispering "Let's go for a walk, Yar." My stomach churned, and some crows made a ruckus in the distance. He tugged at my hand, it seems I had slowed down. "You already know what I'm going to say, though, don't you." I simply nodded, and waited. "I just had certain plans I wanted to achieve in life, babe. Maybe I'm not meant to want more. Maybe happiness is relative. I want to work on some projects and...well starting over in life would never allow me to accomplish them. Maybe things aren't bad enough to go chasing after 'maybes', ya know?" I swallowed hard and nodded rapidly, looking at my feet as we walked further away...the stream was barely audible by now. I wiped the tears off and I heard him sigh.

When I looked up to say something, he was about 100 yards away and getting farther. I called after him and was torn between chasing...and letting go. I tried lifting my foot, and roots had coiled around it...around both my legs, actually. I struggled to break free, but I started to slide down a hill. I called out his name, he was close enough to hear me still, surely. No answer. I slid faster and a root snaked around my neck as the other ones pulled me by my feet. I reached out and as I fell off the side off the cliff, I felt his foot stomp down on my hand to hold me in place off the side...My wrist popped. I looked up, and once he made sure our eyes had connected, he lifted his foot and I fell into darkness...

And woke up on the floor, with a sore wrist and my chest on fire.

It's been a while since the nightmares made their rounds...

For The Love Of Bacon (Untitled Poem)

I ask you if you love me

You say what you love first.

My crazy curly hair

The freckles on my nose

I make a face and laugh.

You snuggle close and sigh,

"I'd give up all I have,

to get lost in those eyes."

My mouth twists in doubt,

and you just continue...

"I love your artful soul,

the song that lives within you...

The way you give your love

to anyone who'll have it.

Your toes, your hands, your voice

your every little habit.

The way you see the world,

your mind, how it shines through.

That silly hat, your twirl,

The passion you exude.

But most of all I love

What I mean to you.

The way you say my name,

that YOU love me, too."

Reluctantly conceeding

to your lengthy proclamation.

"Fine, you win", I say,

"Now let's go grab some bacon."

~ Yari

How YOU Lost Your Friend

Hello,

Even that 'hello' seems like a forced greeting, since you simply deserve for me to spit on your face and nothing more.

I want to start by stating a simple thing. I am 27 years old, and I've been able to form my own thoughts and decisions for quite a long time. So if you think I'm writing this because someone else is pulling my strings or trying to pin me against you (i.e. your WIFE. Woman you married and are married to, yet continue to disrespect and treat like a tyrant), you are wrong. I know, I know. You're sitting there shaking that empty, retarded head of yours thinking you're the victim and the world just doesn't understand a complex individual like you...Complex. Can you even spell that word? Moron. You still, to this day, blame ME and HER for the dissolution of our friendship. How is it my fault? Are you still telling people left and right, telling her, that *I* chose to end this friendship? I chose to walk away? I chose to not talk to you anymore? How is it HER fault? Did you really think your true identity would be kept secret from me? Your WIFE didn't have to tell me ANYTHING about you that I didn't already know. Your actions speak for themselves. Loud and clear. You're a monster, a liar, a scumbag, a waste of perfectly good oxygen, a waste of tax payer dollars...yes...a huge pile of garbage.

So, Step One: Stop thinking your life is a joke and you lost me as a friend because of any other reason that wasn't YOU. YOU did this. YOU. YOU pushed me to the point that I HATED even knowing you existed. I hated that I ever associated with someone like you. I'm embarrassed to even remember the period of my life you were in it. You treated ME in the most disrespectful way I could ever imagine...and I took it. For months. Day in and day out. Until I realized you are NOBODY. Nothing. Insignificant speck. Guess what? All your Twitter "buddies and gals", they all realize what and who you are...one by one. So keep nurturing those relationships and discarding true people in your life that have been there when no one else was. I can't WAIT to see you fall and see your pathetic life out in the open for all to see.

Step Two: What I really, really wanna do is tell your new 'friend'...that I was there. A year ago. I bet she doesn't know all the dirty stunts you've pulled and people you've manipulated for years, does she? Does she know how you've treated your wife for years, when all she did was love you and forgive...and STILL forgive...every day? She has carried your flaws, your blame, your short comings, your mistakes. She goes out into the world every morning and carries YOUR SHAME. You selfish, tiny creature. Does she know how you treated me? The only friend you had that didn't mock you or ridicule you publicly on Twitter? You think all those people you talk to, that reply to you really give you a second thought during the day? Get over yourself. You're not even worth a decent conversation. Yet I made it work. I found ways to talk to you, to get to know you, to support you in your choices to better yourself...Silly me, thinking that once you got a better job you'd stop your pussy whining all day long about how hard you have it. First day at the other job, you're already complaining that your boss is this and that...Forget you. You're a loser. You'll never be happy with anything you have. Even when the GOOD things fall right on your lap, you will shove them off and then complain to whoever will listen about how hard your life has been...

Step 3: Stop HIDING behind a uniform and playing GI Joe. There are millions of men and women who server our country in a respectful manner. Giving their ultimate sacrifice. You use your service as an excuse to complain. You use your service as a sob story to get you laid and get you pats on the back from people that have no idea the evil you're capable of unleashing. And because I know this is your favorite excuse: "I'm like this because the Army made me this way", please, stop it right now. You have ALWAYS been like this. There is NO VALID EXCUSE for the behavior you continue to show the world. I wonder how many people would still look you in the eyes if they knew who you really are...what you are...what you've done. You are a disgrace to those who take their pledge seriously. You are a disgrace to the few of you who really have gotten to know you. You truly are your parents' child. Every last gene of them. Which brings me to this...

I wish I could say I regret meeting you...but meeting you brought to my life one of my best, closest friends: Your wife. Too bad you can't see what you have, what you've had and what you could've had. If you had only grown up, asswipe, you would have gained so much.

My purest sense of joy is that when time has passed...and all of us are old:

I will be happy with what little or much I have.

I will have a handful of friends, including your wife, who I'll share every aspect of my life with.

I will have learned lessons from life and used them to live healthier, full of peace and free.

You will be alone.

You will be plagued with regret, sorrow, bitterness and heartache.

You will have only meant something to your parents (maybe, because you're not much to be proud of) or your sister (because the poor soul just doesn't know any better than to love her brother)...but once they die, no one else on earth will think of you twice.

You WILL sit there and wonder where we all went...and I'll make damn sure that every year, you get a postcard of a smiling me. A smiling her. A smiling few of your friends that gave you a chance to be a better person.

Face it or not, the truth has been coming out slowly to those who have dared to see it. You dug your own grave. And the only tears soaking it, will be your own...

Because in a year from now, that new friend will be gone...and it's up to you to find yourself a new victim. I sincerely hope they all know that...every single new friendship you start.

Oh...and dude...you're not convincing anyone, by the way. Just own it at this point. It makes people roll their eyes and look at you like a piece of pigeon crap every time you truly believe we bought the lie.

The Boob Post! (Cancer Sucks)

It’s okay to write about boobs. It really is. Fun bags. Tatas. Maracas. Melons. Face pillows. Whatever you choose to call them is perfectly acceptable to me. Behold! It’s October, officially making it National Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

However, my question to you is this: Why wait a whole year to promote breast health or give a big push for women to give themselves self-exams? Cancer does not wait til October every year to rear its ugly head…so, why should you only check then?

My grandmother was, for lack of better poetic wording, the joy of my life and the backbone of my existence as a child. Strong, bold, stubborn, hard-working, dedicated, selfless, beautiful and full of life. That’s the main one…right there…full of life. She embodied everything life should be. Lived to the fullest, unapologetic…she was the definition of both loving and being in love. Therefore, to see her life ending before my eyes in a little over a year after being diagnosed with breast cancer will forever be one of the most painful things I’ve endured. Yes, I. I’m selfish. I want to talk about how her pain and suffering affected me. Because, in a way, I hold a small grudge against her. She knew she had cancer. For 12 years prior to her death she knew she had a bump in her breast she should’ve taken care of…but she never told anyone. By the time the symptoms got out of hand, the small lump in her breast had now spread to her other breast, her neck and lodged to the bottom of her brain. Was she afraid of going to the doctor? Why didn’t she tell us? Did she not notice it getting bigger every year?

Did she know what it did to us to see the matriarch of a family line…of our little tribe…struggle with the chemo? Did she realize what it was like for those who needed her and looked up to her to see her first, become unable to hold food down? Then her speech slow? Then spend most of her days in a bed? How was I supposed to understand that the same woman who had taught me to cook and fed us all daily, flawlessly making her way through a kitchen, was now using a walker and barely keeping her balance against the counter as she struggled to fry a piece of fish for me in an effort to prove to us (or herself) that she could still do things? How could I process in my goofy pre-teen head, that this human that had taught me most of what I needed to know about life and how to live it…was now laying in a bed in her room…trapped in her own body? She lost all motor skills, all ability to speak and her feeding tube was the only thing keeping her relatively healthy. She’d lay there, feeling pain or maybe wanting to talk, and all I could see was her staring up at us with a few tears in her eyes. Prisoner in her body. Prisoner to cancer. That thing in her breast was as old as I was…and it had been small in the beginning. Maybe a small surgery and a short round of chemo would’ve helped? Maybe not? But she ignored it.

The rest of the details, all the way to the end, are irrelevant. It was the death that can never be forgotten. It was the person that can never be replaced or let go of. If anything, it showed me we’re all breakable, fragile. So, I ask this of you…

You all probably have family members who are selfish, like me. People that will never forgive you for not doing the best you can to keep yourself healthy in order to share a full, happy life with them. If you’re selfish and don’t feel like doing it for you…do it for them.

Squish your boobs! Squish their boobs! Squish your girlfriend’s boobs! Squish everyone’s boobs! If you’re a guy? Squish your boobs too! (Yes, there’s breast cancer in males, too.) The point is don’t be afraid. Save your life…save A life. All year long, squish because you love.

If you’re already battling cancer, stay a survivor. We are all rooting for you. Squish yourself twice for good measure.

Here’s links to great sites about boobies (not porn) and breast cancer boob help!

http://www.thebreastcancersite.com/

http://www.nationalbreastcancer.org

http://www.nbcam.org/about_nbcam.cfm

A Better Side Of You To Admire

There's a couple walking by the river. Arms linked. They're young...maybe mid to late 20's. He tucks her hair behind her ear and kisses her forehead. She simply nudges his nose with hers. They keep walking, stopping every few steps to look at the water or remind each other they're together, with a soft gesture. Pretty soon, darkness engulfs them in the distance...and they blend into the reflections and shadows at the end of the walkaway.

I stare at my half full...half empty...half a glass of some blue martini. It doesn't even taste right anymore. I push the full cup of soup away from me and look back out towards the river flowing quietly, carrying it with it troubling secrets under it's surface...downstream...away from here. The ferry floats by like an illuminated ghost. Red bulbs. White bulbs. Sloshing away. Saturday night. Somewhere to go. The napkin falls off my lap onto the floor. I leave it there.

I pay my tab...for half a martini and three spoonfuls of soup. Yet, it feels like I paid with my entire soul. I look at the river again, it looks darker and I catch my reflection on the glass windows. It's almost comical. I take a picture, and instagram it. Because I feel the need to capture the loneliness I'm exuding, staring back at me. Or maybe to remind myself of what I've always thought as a child: No one should have dinner alone. I grab my wallet and slide out of the booth, hands already tucked in my hoodie and looking at the floor as I quickly make my way out of the restaurant. The young host said goodnight as I passed him, and I barely registered it...simply nodding at him in a rush towards my room.

The elevator doors opened, releasing me into the confines of a narrow hallway...

I walked into my room and my curtains were drawn, revealing the view out at the river...the old bridge crossing it. The couple was making their way back from their walk, this time their arms around each other...sort of playing with each other's feet and laughing.

Closing the curtains, I turned and faced the empty hotel room. And that's where I found myself. Not by the river. Not at home. Not with anyone. A large, two bed hotel room...full of darkness and cold. For one person.

I miss you.

Dear Erin:

It's been two years since I last saw you...going on 3.

There have been highs and lows for both of us. Moments of intense joy and open communication...and long periods of silence...where we miss each other, yet, we know we're both okay.

I was talking about you the other day...about a particular memory I have of you.

My dear, you were always so sure things would end up okay in the matters of your heart. I had never encountered anyone so sure, serene, strong, certain that who she loved was who she was meant to love.

The world around you was stacking the odds against you. Doors were closing left and right. Lights were shutting off. Watching you love so intensely without knowing really where it was headed was scary, inspiring...but scary. You put yourself out there...because you felt it inside. You felt something inside you that no one else could feel. Something bigger, solid, strong...I couldn't see it...but it was as clear as daylight for you.

I look at it now...and I am in awe of you, my dear twin. In completely awe of all you've been through and continue to go through at times...but how it all just unfolded exactly as you were sure it was meant to unfold. I can almost see your wide smile and your eyes peering into mine, whispering "I told you so..." into my head.

I understand now...everything. That undying fire you felt...that feeling that no matter what you have to fight through, all will work out in the end...because the universe wants it to be. That feeling that this is what it's supposed to feel like, that this is worth fighting for because it is unlike anything ever felt. Peaceful. Calm. Even when the storm is headed towards you...staring you down..you know that through the pain...you'll emerge victorious at the end. It was worth it.

Today is your birthday, Daisy Jay. Erin. Twin. Plookie. Every possible name we ever had for each other. Today is the third year I've been a part of your life and you've been a rock in mine. I love you and those gifts you brought to the world, Cora and Emma. You're family. My family. I can only hope I can see you soon. I miss your eyes. Your strength. Your laughter. Your light.

Thank you for teaching me lessons. For preparing me. For being my heart.

Have a happy, peaceful birthday. You were right. You were always right. And it's beautiful.

Here's to you, me and Chief Brody...yumyumyumyum

Oh, Brother...

"Mom?", I whispered carefully, trying to not disturb the stillness of the night around us. The sun had set long ago and my mother had decided to curl up in bed with me to have a long poetry reading session.

"Hmmm?", she grunted back...slightly jumping at my question, as if my voice had ripped her out of the dream state she was falling into.

"Why don't I have a brother? Or a sister?"

A long pause lingered in the air before I heard her throat clearing and the familiar clicking of her tongue against her palate. This small gesture usually meant she actually had given the answer some thought before wording it in a way I would understand. As well as a 6 year old could understand the deeper topics in life, anyway.

"Well...", she began, "...I guess we're happy with just having you, Yari." She turned her face towards me and found a small, shiny pair of eyes staring directly at her...expectantly. She sighed and continued, looking at me..."Why do you ask?"

"All my friends have brothers and sisters. My cousins have brothers and sisters. Why not me?", I remember asking a bit more forceful.

"Because, Charola, it just hasn't happened. Besides, aren't you happy being the center of our attention? Being the only girl and the baby of the family? What if you had a little sister and no one payed attention to you anymore?", she reasoned.

I mulled over this question. I was the only child, which had it's perks. I was the youngest grandchild and the only female in a long parade of boys. The princess, so to speak. That, too, was good to have. I had my own room and I didn't have to share my toys. Comfortable living situation, indeed. But...

"What do you mean it hasn't happened? Have you guys even tried?", ever the clever child.

Mom shifted next to me a little uncomfortable and cleared her throat again. "Yes. But I can't have any more babies, Yari. Ok? The doctor says I can't."

Sadness and hopelessness crept on me like a suffocating blanket, but I would not cry. I swallowed and my throat seemed tight. Dry.

"What about adopting, Ma?"

She looked away from me and at the ceiling for a long time. Her lips parted slightly and she mumbled, "Dad doesn't want to."

"Why?"

"Because he says there's no way of knowing if that child has genes from their parents that would make them prone to being violent, alcoholics, hard to handle or sick...", she finished, quietly.

"What??!! Genes don't make people be violent. It's how their mom and dad raise them to be! What if their sick? We'll take care of them. I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of not having someone to play with. I want a big brother to stop the other kids from picking on me at school, Mom! I want a sister to braid my hair or a little brother to teach how to play basketball! You guys shouldn't have had me so I could be a lonely kid!", I all but sobbed out.

Her hand quickly found my bangs and her fingers quickly went to work running through my hair, pushing it away from my face.

"Charo, you're not alone. You have lots of cousins and friends. Not just at school but here in the neighborhood. More importantly, your family can also be your friends. Your uncles and aunts, c'mon Yari, you always treat them like your buddies and they treat you the same. Your dad...me...we love being your friends. You're funny, fun, smart, sneaky and loving. So kind, Yari. You're like a little grown up...it's the weirdest thing.", she added, smiling.

"Besides, Yari, want to know what one of my favorite quotes says? Since we're being poetic and deep, little philosopher?"

I smiled in the darkness at the thought of me being a philosopher. I even pronounced the word slowly, half giggling..."fi...lo...so..fa"

"Yes, filosofita. The quotes says 'There exists companions disposed to break one another to pieces, but there exists a friend sticking closer than a brother.' Don't worry, Yari. You'll find friends that won't even make you miss not having siblings. Ok?", she smiled at me, slightly tickling my foot with hers.

I curled up laughing, and nodded into her chest...

And so it was. Through the years I've made friendships that I would not trade for a sibling. I've found people who I've developed such a connection with, bond, need for their affection and constant contact that it defies any logical explanation. Complete strangers that have no reason to have anything remotely in common with me...

When I have been in my darkest moments...there have been a handful of you to pull me out. You are my brothers and my sisters...or even better. Because you HAVE to love your family, no matter how they choose to treat you. I chose to love you and you guys chose to love me back, no strings attached, through it all.

For you, out there in the universe, thank you for adopting me. For the memories. I love you.

Oh, and Mom? I still would've liked someone to stop me from getting my ass beat daily in school. Hmph.

Onward

I took the long way home,

down the road lined with spirals of broken glass.

The light of the moon reflected off them

A myriad of flashes, mirroring my face.

In my back pocket, a few old coins -

the good luck coins blessed by an ancestor

using the name of an unreliable deity.

I would have no savior

no luck, except my own.

No future except the next 3 steps I took.

You took it all. Every last beat.

In the smoke of the incense,

I see your eye. Controlling. Watchful.

But I'm walking on home.

I have my place in the darkness.

Somewhere to live in the light.

Fight. For me. For you. Fight.

So I stand here, uncertainly sure.

Confusingly clear.

I ask of you...no. I simply ask

Are you sure?

Are you ready?

Are you in?

Dreams Are Made Winding...

Going along the lines of my last post...

This was my first rock concert...big name band, I mean...that I ever attended. System of a Down. New Jersey. I was 15.

I told my parents I was going with some friends to NJ to spend the night in Phillipsburg at another friends house. In actuality, I left right after school and drove to a motel near the venue (a hotel would not accept a minor without an adult/credit card). I paid for my room cash and took the bus to the venue. I was at the gates by 7. I stuck to a group of guys that were in their late 20's so no one would card me, because I'm a ninja like that.

I was scared out of my mind. I had never been in a concert for this type of music (tho I loved this band and knew every song by heart) nor had I been in a mosh pit with this kind of intense energy/anger. I had been in other mosh pits tho, so I figured I'd join this one. I was fearless. I was dumb.

It was during this song up that I posted the video to that I got my first rock concert injury. It was during one of the heavy, slow parts of this song that the mosh started moving angrily...we were all blinded. Suddenly I felt intense stinging, pain on my left hip...and warm water trickling down my thigh. I looked to my side and some dude was wearing very long spikes on his wrists and while swinging in the mosh, he had successfully lodged three of those spikes on my hip. I shoved him off me with all the anger I felt at that moment for his stupid move (you dont get in a mosh pit to hurt others, at least that's not how it's supposed to be...unspoken rule), and as the spikes slid out of me more blood kept coming out. I freaked out and he kept apologizing. I asked him for his shirt, which he gladly gave me, and I pressed it tight against my wounds as I poured water on it from a water bottle. Burn. Sting. Pain pain. I tucked the shirt as a gauze on my hip and my jeans kept it in place tightly. I limped away and missed the rest of the show. It was almost done anyways.

That night after I showered at the motel, I ran down the block to a 24 hour Walgreens and grabbed antibiotic ointment, gauzes and alcohol. I came back to the room and took care of things, then went to bed more worried about my parents finding out what had happened or where I was...instead of being concerned that the wound might get infected...

Alas, no one ever found out. As far as my parents know, I had a great sleep over in NJ, 45 minutes away and came home safe and sound the next morning by noon.

Shhh...keep my secret.

The Good[Cool] Kids Are Texting

I never once lied, as a child. Well. I take that back. I lied once.

There are things in life, which I cannot resist. Powdered sugar is one of them. So are donuts. When you combine the two, now you’ve created a super food which overpowers every thought in my head if placed within a 50 ft. radius of me. That being said, I was 5 years old and was coming out of my room and into the kitchen, to get ready and have my supper. The food still had a few more minutes to go before it was done, but my mom had placed two small powdered donuts on a Barbie plate, in the middle of our dining room table already. My eyes zoned in on them. A shark, eyeing its prey from underneath…preparing to launch a surprise attack on the unsuspecting. “Yari. Don’t eat the donuts. Those are for after you eat your dinner. Ok?”, said my mother in a soft, but serious tone. I pried my eyes from my delicious goal and reluctantly met my mother’s gaze. I nodded, indicating I understood the instructions. “I’m watching you. I’ll know if you touch them, so don’t lie to me. Do you understand?”, she re-iterated. I sighed, seemingly defeated and simply sat at my place on the table, head laying on my hands. My mother walked away to take a quick shower, and little Yari was left all alone in the kitchen…with two donuts a few inches away from her tiny, eager little hands.

My mother came down the hall, fixing her clothes, shaking her wet hair. I jumped out of my chair and went to grab water, pretending to be suddenly thirsty and taking down big gulps. I turn around to go sit back on my place, and my mother is staring at the empty Barbie plate. She looks at me, eyebrow raised.

“Yari. Did you eat the donuts?”

“No.”

“Yari. I know when you’re lying to me. I’m going to ask you again and tell me the truth. Did you eat the donuts?”

“No! Mom! I didn’t touch them!”

“Where did they go, then?”

“I don’t know! I was over there drinking water. You saw me.”

“Yari. Are you sure you didn’t eat the donuts? Are you lying?”

“No! I’m not lying! Look inside my mouth! *opens mouth, confident the water washed all residue away* See?”

“I see. But if you don’t know what happened to the donuts, and if you didn’t touch them or eat them…then what’s this?” *walking up to me, pointing at the powdered sugar residue all over the front of my shirt *

Needless to say, I never lied again. The look in my eyes, my body language…gave me away as soon as something was remotely off with me. Let’s not mention that they thoroughly explained why lying was wrong, and how it hurt others at some point…made them disappointed in me. Apparently those were enough reasons for me not to do it.

So time passed, and I was the good kid. Straight A’s with my homework done within an hour of being home from school (if I hadn’t already finished it at school already). Never talked back to my parents, accepted my discipline, helped around the house, respected everyone, didn’t sneak out or tried drugs. I was the daughter all my parents’ friends wanted to have. “That Yari, she never gives ya’ll any worries…”, they’d comment. My parents would simply smile and nod. I was rewarded with their trust, with privacy, with them letting me go out with my friends and come back whenever I deemed it was a responsible time to be home (I was always home by 11 p.m., even if they never asked me of it) and I was left to be judicious in my use of the internet when I was 14.

So. I was left alone. I was trusted that I wouldn’t lie about who I was talking to, what I was talking about and that I wasn’t lying about going to bed. I had earned that right to privacy. So, I started lying. About texting a friend, when I was really texting boys. About what I was doing with my free time. No, I wasn't on the phone with my friends or reading a book or just laying down in my room doing my own thing...I was exposing myself to people who were brought up different than I was. People that weren't innocent or naive or going through the same stages of insecurity that I was. No. They had malice and poor intentions. And I was prime territory to claim.

By the time they realized they should probably monitor what I was doing, it was a little too late. I had seen and done things no teenager had business even knowing about. I'm not saying I am ungrateful for the trust they had in me...and after all, it was I who violated their faith in me and my decision making...

I guess I wrote this out of concern for many of my friends who sometimes want to provide their kids with technological freedoms. I am not a parent, so I would not presume to think I could do better or that I have the right approach. Each person knows what works in their case. I simply want to warn of the danger of blurring that line between being a parent that kids can consider their friend...and being the parent that tries desperately to be cool, turning their face away when they should be monitoring closely.

The end. Heh.

More Nothingness

I find myself at a loss of words when it comes to this corner of my life. I wish I could say the lack of thoughts shared is due to nothing new happening in my life. No.

I started school last Monday. 9 years after graduating HS, I'm finally having my first day as a freshman in college. It was pretty much as terrifying as I thought it was going to be. I was lost. Out of place. Awkward. The chair-desks were too tiny for a fat girl. But I survived, and look forward to finishing the semester with a decent grade. Nothing fancy. Maybe make a friend. I'm too old for these expectations.

I'm drowning in a sea of emotions. Most of them good. The rest are bouts of stress, confusion, worry, panic...I feel like something has to give.

Maybe if I want something bad enough, the universe will conspire and make it happen. It already did once. I just need for it to continue where I want it to go. Before I kill myself overthinking, overworrying or simply being impatient.

Fresh Outta Nice

For about two months now, the "new guy" at work - whom which I have a love/hate relationship with - has been coming to me for advice on what to do with his recent love issues. Every time, I have told him to take it easy. He just got off a 15+ yr relationship, in which he only stayed out of duty and his 'honor'. He's struck up several romances at the same time...but not wanting to be in a serious one. I warned him one of them...if not all....would at some point demand more from him than he was ever intending to give.

This is today's convo. He picked the wrong day to come crying.

New Guy:

well kinda good. i have to talk to the austin about things...she's getting clingy.

Yari:

ok

New Guy:

she's probably not going to take things so well

and it kinda bothers me

i told you she was moving to pecos, right?

Yari:

I'm shocked that she wont take things well...really...this is my shocked face.

and yes you did.

New Guy:

well i've guarded myself from the beginning

and somehow it backfired

and she wants more than i offered to give her

and i won't ever move to pecos

and i don't want long distance even if it's 1hr away

and even though i'm sure they are wonderful children, i don't want to raise 4 kids

Yari:

yeah.

New Guy:

and she is a great person and we've had some wonderful experiences

and she understands me and gets me

and we can relate...but...see above

Me:

did you tell her that from the beginning. right off the bat?

New Guy:

well i kinda. first of all, she only talked about moving to pecos as a thought or a dream..then it was going to be next year, then it turns out she is moving tomorrow

so she knows i was out of the relationship and wasn't ready for anything

Yari:

doesnt matter...kinda doesn't cut it.

if it was a dream

or next year

New Guy:

she hasn't pressured me into anything and she tells me that...but then she turns around and does pressure me in a way.

Yari:

youre never moving to pecos...ever. She should know.

no, but she's sure as hell hoping you change your mind

New Guy:

sigh

Yari:

sometimes, i really wonder if im the only one that can see crap happening to people.

I mean, surely youre not that naive!

New Guy:

lol i'm not

but i have hopes

Yari:

hopes that you can have your cake and eat it too.

New Guy:

nooo

if i get serious with a certain someone...i really don't need anymore cake

and that's the honest truth

i really thought things were over and gone between me and the other girl... and i would just ride things out with this one..seeing each other every 3 or 4 weeks, ya know...?

so it would be ok

Yari:

no

you just wanted to stick your finger

in every cake

taste them all without having to pick which was your flavor right away

and not having to pay for any of them

New Guy:

what! i pay

in my own way

New Guy:

it was supposed to be me time i guess

Yari:

No, they pay

and it was supposed to be time for you, like I told you weeks ago

not to be looking to be tied up again

especially when your feelings are so conflicted

New Guy:

*silence*

Yari:

i wasnt trying to bust your balls before because i was trying to be a bitch

I was simply telling you how it was gonna go down

when you made certain choices and you led these chicks on

it doesnt take a scientist

just some common sense

we live in a world where people are lonely

people need love

are looking for company

for the 'right one'

its not a world where you can tell every girl pretty things

make her feel nice, better about herself, loved during sex

and expect her NOT to assume its a lot more serious than it really is

this isn't a trip to Sam's where you can sample crap

and not buy

these are people

people that sometimes have been through rough situations

broken hearts

so for you to come in with your romanticism, pretty words, making them feel good about themselves when no one else has done that for them in a long time

yeah...feelings happen.

New Guy:

then i'm better off just being a recluse and never show off my light

Yari:

no

show your light to whores

cuz theyre the only ones that wont get attached

and you can keep your freedom

New Guy:

i don't want hoes

ho's

Yari:

oh well.

New Guy:

lol

Yari:

that's what girls end up being

when they run into you

they give you deep stuff back

only to be kicked to the curb and made think it was never serious

just a good time

New Guy:

wow

tell me how you really feel...damn

but that's not the truth

even if you feel that way

Yari:

sure. whatever helps you sleep at night

youre all about being blunt and honest

because that's what friends do

i dont like half the crap you tell me

but I take it

because youre outside my box

and you see things I don't

about myself

about my actions

But your arrogance and inability to learn to love yourself...your reluctance be by yourself... all these will be your own downfall

and this time you wont be able to blame it on doing the right thing

on being the man you thought you should be

because now you have choices

you have freedom

to NOT repeat history

many don't get that chance

you have it

New Guy has logged off.

And then, it rained...

Yes, yesterday,

I woke up old.

My face was long

The feet were cold.

I wore sandals

Instead of Chucks

Tried to call in

But I ran outta luck.

Work killed

Meetings blew

Wasted the day

Feeling blue.

At 5 o’clock

I made it home

For a second

Lighting shone.

And then it rained…

It rained, poured,

I splashed my feet

A kid again,

The water sweet.

My father sung

My mother danced

My toes in mud

Three dorks, enhanced.

The dogs hid

The neighbors thought

“What weird people-

Playing in that lot”.

I went inside

Dried my face

Feeling happy,

Back in place.

I woke yesterday,

Feeling very 27.

Then it rained,

And I was once again, 7.

~Yari

How, When, Where

When I was 12, I discovered Neruda’s “Sonnet XVII” in the dark, cool corner of the public library in my small hometown. I was sitting across from my mom, as she took down notes from some old novel she used to like as a teenager, and I remember reaching over and tapping her hand with my fingertips. She looked up and shushed me, even before I had opened my mouth to say a word. I nodded as if to tell her I remembered, yes, we were in a library and I had to whisper.

“Can you give me a page from your notebook? I want to write this one down and take it home”, I whispered.

“Which one? Are you sure you really want that one? You can only do 4 every time we come, otherwise you’ll end up copying the whole library and taking it home with you. Let me see…”, she whispered back, grabbing my book and reading the small sonnet I was pointing to.

She read slowly, with a soft sigh towards the end and gave me the book back. She quietly and methodically tore a page from her notebook and handed it to me.

“I always liked Neruda, too. That one is beautiful. Good choice.”

“Yes, I love the part where it says ‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where’. It seems silly, right Mom? You love from the heart. And you love because you want to…”, I giggled back with a certainty that she felt the same way, surely.

She gave me a strange look and said, “It means something else too, sometimes. But you’ll understand when you’re older. And no, I’m not explaining it now. You wouldn’t get it.”

I made a face, knowing she had anticipated my request for an explanation and went on to write down the poem down in my best penmanship. Something about poetry demands to be written exceeding your best efforts. Not sloppy. Rounded letters…no smudges. It’s art in words. It’s a story. It’s love. It’s pain. It’s history.

I took the page home, and folded it just once…neatly tucking it in a tin can where I had all my other poetry. It’s still there, 14 years later. Fourteen years changes a lot of things in a child’s mind. Time always gives experience. You’re no longer a novice, naïve when it comes to a skill, a pattern…life.

Those words mean a whole different world to me, now. The entire poem takes a new meaning.

The how: There is such thing as a love so powerful it cannot be contained in the confines of a simple heart. It would be like trying to hide the sun in a coin purse. It would burst at the seams, flooding the universe with its light. How does one explain that love to someone that’s never felt it? To people that have their own ideas of what love should and shouldn’t be. Textbook love. Predictable love. Rehearsed love. Pretend love. How can you love someone with such passion, blinded adoration and that life force feeling that runs from the tip of your toes up to the hairs on your head?

The when: Every nanosecond of the day. And then the days blur together and you lose count of how long you’ve loved this person. Because, now, all you know is that you go to sleep feeling loved and loving. If you dream, even if they’re bad, you don’t wake up feeling desolate and alone in the world. Someone makes it right by just listening to you and reassuring you that while the dream world may have fallen apart, the real world…which now feels like a perpetual fantasy…is very real. When? When you close your eyes while soaking up the sun and all you see is love. When you do day to day things, and now they seem to have a purpose. A reason. You’re no longer just existing…you matter. You belong. You are loved. You love. Always. Not a moment where that disappears. Even when it seems to be at its worst, that when it never fails, never waivers. The ‘when’ may be warped slightly…but there it is. Faithful. Strong. Always.

From where: A love you never knew existed, so it absolutely catches you unaware and leaves you wondering where it’s coming from? Where had it been hiding? Has it always been there? Waiting to be uncovered? How did you never notice it before? How can you even begin to understand where this love originates? Was it the first time you heard love say your name? The way it still stops your thoughts…stops you on your tracks to hear your name, so commonly used before, fall of love’s lips like the song of angels. Was it something bigger in which love pulled through for you? The way love looks at you…Oh the way you’re looked at. Where does is that look of unadulterated adoration birthed? Simply looking into their eyes and feeling like a blind man seeing for the first time. Loving from the darkest corners of your mind and body, unlike you’ve ever loved before. Where, indeed.

So yes, now it makes sense to love things in secret…since I know what he meant when he said “between the shadow and the soul”. A part of you that no one can touch. No one can take. Safe from the world and life and the passing of time. My treasure. My smile. Mine.

Sonnet XVII

~ Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,

Or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

In secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms

But carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;

Thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,

Risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

So I love you because I know no other way

Than this: where I does not exist, nor you,

So close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.