Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Twilight and Babies
Reading the last book in the Twilight series, I feel cheated. I just found out that Edward and Bella end up having a child. In fact, the whole forth book pertains to this baby fiasco. Life does not always have to lead to babies. I do not feel that you need children to have a fulfilling life. Edward and Bella were going to represent eternal love. Their love for each other was beautiful. Now they have to share that love with a child. Boo.
I just refuse to be pressured and persuaded into believing that life fulfillment comes in the form of procreation. I'm selfish. I'm plain. One love is satisfactory. In fact, I'm tempted to fix myself so that I can't be a hypocrite in the future. A simple matter really, easily taken care of in the form of tied tubes. I want more than just babies. I don't want to settle for the house with the white picket fence and 2.5 children. There is more to life than being an incubator, an oven, a tool. I want that life.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Volume I - Number 1
We moved a lot. Our houses were always made of a hardly-stationary wood foundation; finalized with a dirt floor. There was no glass, metal or any other polished, permanent structure. We moved when the land had born us the best of its fruit. We couldn't afford to try and soothe another crop from a ravished ground.
My mother had died years before. I was young. I don't remember her but in sudden snatches of a wide smile and sensible cotton dresses. She died of a fever, father says. He had me removed from the house so that I would not catch what would later kill her. I was told, though I don't recall, that I stayed with the Shimada's who lived down the road. They had two daughters who use to snicker and laugh at me until I cried. I cried a lot more when I returned home without a mother.
Father took a trip back to his home country; Japan. When he returned, he came back with a new wife. She was pretty and quiet. She did not speak English and could barely understand my gnarled version on English and Japanese. I liked to call it Janglish. For the most part, we interacted very little. I was going on ten years old and she was going on settling into a new life in a foreign land.
It was not even a year later that she bore my father a son. A feat that my own mother failed to do. I am testament. The baby was big, round and healthy. The perfect strong newborn son. I, myself, had been told that I was a sickly little creature out of the womb. My half-brother was named Ichiro, meaning First Son. With his birth, I became an insignificant blotch on my father's new and improved family.
Now three years later, as times grow harder on the farmers, I realize how expendable my life has become. If my father is the head, then I am a toenail. I continue to grow and grow even as I am cut back farther and farther. For three years, I have continued to grow.
Supper is a poor affair. Although we are farmers, we have little to eat. Our meals are rationed, systematically representing our family's hierarchy. It goes like this: husband, son, wife and first-marriages surplus daughter. The surplus is, of course, me.
What father does not know, is that I share my skewed little portion with another lowly existence; a stray dog. I call him Sempai, a honorific name that can be interpreted as Senior. The dog can very well be my senior.
It started a little over a year ago. I had taken to eating my supper on the front porch, lest my father decided to reconsider my meager share. It was on that porch that I first saw Sempai. He was a straggly old thing; an obvious forgotten entity. Despite his misfortunes, he was friendly; a trusting and loving soul by nature. I fed him that first evening and I saw gratitude for the first time in a long while. I called him Sempai in gratitude as well.
My mother had died years before. I was young. I don't remember her but in sudden snatches of a wide smile and sensible cotton dresses. She died of a fever, father says. He had me removed from the house so that I would not catch what would later kill her. I was told, though I don't recall, that I stayed with the Shimada's who lived down the road. They had two daughters who use to snicker and laugh at me until I cried. I cried a lot more when I returned home without a mother.
Father took a trip back to his home country; Japan. When he returned, he came back with a new wife. She was pretty and quiet. She did not speak English and could barely understand my gnarled version on English and Japanese. I liked to call it Janglish. For the most part, we interacted very little. I was going on ten years old and she was going on settling into a new life in a foreign land.
It was not even a year later that she bore my father a son. A feat that my own mother failed to do. I am testament. The baby was big, round and healthy. The perfect strong newborn son. I, myself, had been told that I was a sickly little creature out of the womb. My half-brother was named Ichiro, meaning First Son. With his birth, I became an insignificant blotch on my father's new and improved family.
Now three years later, as times grow harder on the farmers, I realize how expendable my life has become. If my father is the head, then I am a toenail. I continue to grow and grow even as I am cut back farther and farther. For three years, I have continued to grow.
Supper is a poor affair. Although we are farmers, we have little to eat. Our meals are rationed, systematically representing our family's hierarchy. It goes like this: husband, son, wife and first-marriages surplus daughter. The surplus is, of course, me.
What father does not know, is that I share my skewed little portion with another lowly existence; a stray dog. I call him Sempai, a honorific name that can be interpreted as Senior. The dog can very well be my senior.
It started a little over a year ago. I had taken to eating my supper on the front porch, lest my father decided to reconsider my meager share. It was on that porch that I first saw Sempai. He was a straggly old thing; an obvious forgotten entity. Despite his misfortunes, he was friendly; a trusting and loving soul by nature. I fed him that first evening and I saw gratitude for the first time in a long while. I called him Sempai in gratitude as well.
Monday, August 18, 2008
I'm apathetic. Anyone who knows me will readily agree. I just can't seem to motivate myself to care. It's either this or that and either way, it's fine by me. I've lost opinion; expectation.
I'm sullen. Disappointed with life and therefore disappointed with myself. It's searching but never finding.
It's typical me. I'm starting to figure it out. If I can't have it all, then I don't want any of it. There it is in all of its wretched glory.
Solution: I need to change my mindset.
Reality: I am not ready to change.
"Lit a light on my gloom and now there's only a half moon...Hey, hey moon, I think
I'm sullen. Disappointed with life and therefore disappointed with myself. It's searching but never finding.
It's typical me. I'm starting to figure it out. If I can't have it all, then I don't want any of it. There it is in all of its wretched glory.
Solution: I need to change my mindset.
Reality: I am not ready to change.
"Lit a light on my gloom and now there's only a half moon...Hey, hey moon, I think
I figured it out. I think I'm coming about. My whole world is in tune and much clearer now."
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
She stood, face crumpled into an unrecognizable expression of devastation. The old dog lay at her feet; dead. An overwhelming feeling of frustration and sadness washed through her then. She stood there, unable to move but able to cry. The tears were so hot. They fell, punishing her cheeks and dribbling down her chin. Her body trembled with the effort; emaciated shoulders shook in convulsive silence. Then after shocked stillness came the anguish. A shrill cry tore its way out of her throat and she howled with the reality of it all. Boney fingers clutched inward to herself, pressing towards her heart. Lips quivered and fumbled for words to say, any words at all. But there was only grief, representing itself the only way she knew how; unbearable tears.
The sun broke from its curtained slumber then, and the light shown with a blinding brilliance. Her eyes closed and the setting sun bathed her in a moment of dazzling nothingness. Her arms fell to her sides and she stood motionless; devastated face angled up toward the sun.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Everything is much clearer in college. I knew what was expected of me and where I was going. I knew the final result: a college degree. It's funny how a world, a life, can be turned upside down so quickly. I have graduated college and now I do not know my purpose. In college, my purpose was to go to school and study hard. Now, I need to what? I no longer know my final result. It is frustrating. It is scary as hell, because I was one of the students who couldn't wait to finish school. I wanted to go already. I wanted to sprint my way into life. I didn't know what I was talking about. The starting gun has gone off, but I realize that life is not a sprint race after all. Life is about endurance and the long haul. So, I need to regroup and slow down. Life has a way of leading you to where you want to go, if you pay enough attention to the details.
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