blog taking another hiatus.
blog taking another hiatus.
I tell myself you’re where you’re meant to be
with the elephants and the lake that floods and the mangrove trees spilling their muddy roots deep, deep down
with the sweat and the bats and the gumboots
with sun that rises when my moon is dawning.
I tell myself you’re where you’re meant to be although my heart says ‘I want you here, here, here.’
I tell myself I’m where I’m meant to be
but it’s much harder to believe.
I’m learning, sure.
I’m growing deeper, wiser, but not brighter.
I’m struggling to accept the darkness while knowing one day there will be light.
I’m watching dandelions burst out over entire fields of new grass
fighting to believe their promise of hope.
I’m reading blog post after blog post written by old students and knowing you’re not reading mine.
I’m searching for pictures of you because I haven’t seen your face in oh so long.
I hear your laugh in my dreams and I hold on like it could keep me afloat.
I’m tired of treading water
but I’m unwilling to let myself drown
or drift away to somewhere else
because anyplace without you isn’t worth going to.
I hope you’re happy because of course that’s what I want for you
but sadness still fills the space you left behind.
is it so wrong to hope that perhaps the space I left still aches inside of you?
in this screwed up world part of me wishes something will always be broken
until we find our way to the same soil.
I don’t care if it’s night or day, humid or dry, raining or blazing, Khmer or English
I just want to hear you say, ‘I’ll try.’
because my heart never wants to leave yours behind
no matter how many times dusk and dawn fill our separate skies.
“‘Hey, I got your postcard.’
‘Yeah, well, just because I send you a postcard every day doesn’t mean I think about you all the time.’
‘That would be blatantly pathetic.’
‘Yeah, yeah, even for me. I had this dream where we were at the jungle gym.’
‘Wait, I’m confused. I thought that was real life.’
‘No, no… listen. In the dream, we started at the jungle gym, and we walked in opposite directions until we met on the other side of the world. And then I thanked you for always having my back.”’
I am dreaming.
I am next to you, in a circle, playing Apples to Apples, with a group of other people whose names I do not remember, whose faces I do not see.
My arm is draped over your leg. You are warm.
I can feel that we are still estranged, yet we are here. I do not know why, but I am grateful.
I am explaining the card I have played, defending it wildly, with ridiculous reasoning. This, as always, is part of the game.
And you laugh.
And it hits me like a freight train and fills me up and part of me, the non-dreaming conscious slumbering inside, recognizes I haven’t heard this laugh in a long, long time. Your laugh.
I am so, so, so glad to hear you laugh.
And by golly, even in this dream, for once, it sounds exactly like your laugh. It is your laugh. And I’m smiling, keeping on with my explanation, making it sillier because I just want to hear you laugh again, keep you laughing, because it’s the best sound in the world.
I can feel my sped-up heartbeat, pumping away.
I am thinking, I am so, so glad to hear your laugh.
It’s been too long.
Way too long.
And it’s amazing.
And I can feel my heartbeat and I can almost hear it and everything else fades away and it’s just my heartbeat, my heartbeat, my heartbeat and I wake up to Easter morning with this gift in my heart that I didn’t have before.
I thank God for your laugh.
on the nights when you feel
curled up by yourself
in a dark dark night
remember you can only feel this
because you once felt the opposite
and hope simply will not
even in this sea of black
“To learn to love
is to be stripped of all love
until you are wholly without love
until you have gone
naked and afraid
into this cold dark place
where all love is taken from you
you will not know
that you are wholly within love.”
fourteen yellow number notes
all stacked up in a row
top ones hiding those lying
larger, hopeful, below
I know it may be foolish but
that never stopped me before.
on every Sunday night my
crickets begin to chirp
when your sun is rising somewhere
I’ve never been before.
your day dawns on a week anew
my fingers peel back the old
greet a number that reminds me
you’re closer than you were before.
I don’t know when I’ll see you
I don’t know where you’ll go
but I can’t stop counting
the weeks away
until you come back home.
“She could remember how nice everyone had been that day… particularly nice… But by then of course, she was in The Pit, and when you were in The Pit, people being nice to you didn’t mean anything. Nothing did.
‘It’s funny, isn’t it,’ said Roland, ‘how people being nice doesn’t help when you feel like that. You know they want to help, you know they’re trying to help, but it’s like they’re in another world. They have no idea how you’re really feeling. Or what to do about it.’
Yes, thought Jessica. Yes, that was pretty much how it had been.
‘And you can try and pretend that everything’s okay.’ Roland was still talking. ‘You can act as if you think it matters whether you’ve done any schoolwork or what you eat or what you wear, but in the end… the pretending is such an effort, and you get so tired, that all you really want is for it to stop. For everything to stop… You look around, and everyone else seems to be able to get up in the morning and smile and laugh and enjoy themselves… and you think, why can’t I do that? Why can’t I be ordinary? Why do I have to be different from everyone else?’
‘And that’s what gets you in the end, isn’t it?’ It was Francis who was speaking now. ‘The being different. You want so much to be like everyone else but…’ He looked sympathetically across at Roland as he spoke. ‘You know it’s never going to happen. You’re always going to be different.’…
It was one of these letters that described something Jessica remembered and that the others instantly recognized as well. It talked about the extraordinary speed with which the feeling that life had no meaning could disappear on certain occasions and everything become normal again–for a while, at least. How one day you could be in the depths of despair and the next you could wake up feeling… okay. How little things like something someone said, or a scene from a film, or even a piece of music could change your mood in the blink of an eye. And how, when you were in one mood, the other seemed so silly. When the sun was out you could hardly remember the clouds and, when you were in The Pit, it was difficult to believe that sunshine had ever existed.”
“‘Do you know what love is like, Rose? It’s like having a sky, a whole sky racing inside of you. Four seasons’ worth of sky. One minute you are soaring and then you are all thunderclouds and then you are deep with stars and then you are empty.'”
“When you love somebody… it’s really hard when
you can’t see ’em anymore…
but, right now, you and me, here… put together entirely from atoms… sitting on this round rock with a core of liquid iron… held down by this force, that so troubles you, called gravity… all the while spinning around the sun… at 67,000 miles an hour… and whizzing through the Milky Way… at 600,000 miles an hour… in a universe that very well may be chasing its own tail… at the speed of light. And amidst all this frantic activity… fully cognizant of our own imminent demise… which is a very pretty way of saying… we all know we’re gonna die… we reach out to one another.
Sometimes for the sake of vanity… sometimes for reasons… you’re not old enough to understand yet… but a lot of the time… we just reach out and expect nothing in return.
Isn’t that strange?
Isn’t that weird?
Isn’t that weird enough?”