Come Pick Me Up

I feel lost, alone…like a kid that was left behind in an amusement park. The rides are fun, they are a distraction…but at some point you want to find the person you came with so they can hold your hand and guide you back home. Does he try walking back home? Why didn’t anyone notice he was gone…not in the car on the way back? Did they mean to leave him there?

There are glimpses of how things could be. Could. I hate that word. I hate maybe, could, wish. Saying something could be ok or better, means you have no faith at all in it every coming to fruition. It’s admitting all you’re doing is sitting and waiting for things to magically happen, and if they don’t, you won’t fight to at least get the ball moving or move forward. You accept what is and remain stagnant.

I feel like…I’m chastised for not daring to dream, for being sad, for feeling normal things anyone feels…For feeling real emotions and staring them in the face, trying to work my way through them. Then I turn around and push the negativity aside, and dare to hope…only to be told “Well don’t go hoping too much, this is real life, not a youngster’s dream. Could. Perhaps”. So what is it? Do you want me to hope and try to be happy? Or do you want me to be a realist and live my life in the box I’ve been in my whole life? Stop. Go. Stop. Go. Don’t be sad. Don’t be happy. What am I supposed to be?

It’s a bit disheartening when people who are supposed to be by your side, encourage you to chase after something, are the first ones to cut your wings before you take off. As a friend, it is their duty to tell you of some details you may be ignoring on your quest for something new. Understood. But to look at the situation and point out how it’s bound to fail because it doesn’t follow some sort of pre-manufactured recipe for success is of help to no one. If we all followed the same rules and lived our lives according to what worked best for someone else…wouldn’t that pretty much guarantee we are bound to be unhappy forever? You like oranges. Oranges make you feel safe. Oranges work for you. Oranges make your life complete. Guess what? If I ate oranges as much as you did, or put all my trust in them, I’d be dead. Literally. I’m diabetic. Can’t have oranges all the time. Half a banana is what keeps me alive and is good for me. You hate bananas? What a predicament.

Silly example? I know. But sometimes I would like for just a bit of support from others…at least if they love me. Life isn’t scripted. Life isn’t perfect. There are no white picket fences. Beauty fades. Money fades. Some people have goals that include big names, titles…grandeur. Recognition. Good for them. That makes them happy. That’s not my cup of tea. I want to, well, live. I want to walk outside and not be thinking “I hope someone notices I’m wearing this or I can afford that. I hope I get a pat on the back for being a big shot and rubbing elbows with important people”. I want a peaceful life, where I can be passionate about what matters to me. Love. Family. Freedom. Music. Art. None of those things pay the bills…but all of those things are what make up what I value most, have always valued most in my life. The bills will be there. Work will be there. I have no desire to be known for wearing a power suit. I want to be remembered when I’m gone, for loving whole-heartedly. For giving my hand when needed. For contributing peace, equality, basic rights to this world. If I ever have a child, I want the kid to grow up knowing what matters most. What we take to the grave. We don’t take possessions. We take memories, life triumphs, loving moments. We take life with us. I want her to remember me for being there with her, dancing in the living room and being silly on random afternoons. I want her to always carry with her the I love you’s I told her through the day. To take my voice with her, and hopefully my advice. To remember my eyes and how hard I tried to pass on to her the good memories that were passed on to me. Not that I was busy making a name of myself so I could afford to give her material things, missing key moments in her life. Quality of life. Everyone talks about it, but does anyone really know what makes their life worth living? Even if you have to work hard to keep your family afloat in these tough times, those few minutes a day you take to actually LIVE your life, share yourself with others…we always remember that. Always. I had an outstanding childhood. We were dirt poor, I seldom had new toys, and my first cell phone was at 18 with my own money…and I can truly say I LOVED my childhood. Because my parents were my best friends and I never lacked memories. They were free. They were good. They will never fade. Which is why I share them with you, friends. Because they were too beautiful for me to keep for myself.

I want to walk out the door every morning, knowing I am about to change someone’s life that day. In a tiny, insignificant way…or in a larger scale. I want to share myself.

Someone come pick me up, will ya? The park is closing…they’re turning off the rides and it’s getting dark. I’m hungry. I’m cold. My feet hurt. I just want to go Home.

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.