Slice of (my) Life

What about us?

We are the people who sit at the few chairs in that crowded room.

We are the people who find what’s inside those shot glasses a little weird, or think that beer is too bitter.

We are the people who help random strangers when they throw up because really, that’s the only way we can get involved.

We are the people who when dancing, just really jump up and down and randomly wave our hands in the air, but only for a few seconds.

We are the people who “disappear” from the party for a few minutes, but that’s only because we really, really need some “air” and end up staying outside the doors for ten minutes.

We are the non-party people: the people who as much as they like people, or trying to like people, or liking get-togethers… don’t like parties.

Which is why, when we get invited (and on the rare occasion go) to a party: it always ends up something along these lines:

We get there. We greet the people that know us and laugh with them when they say lines such as “oh my, you actually came!”, “let’s get you drunk!”. We awkwardly stand in the corner or sit at a table or you end up dragging us along with you introducing us to person after person: names we actually ALREADY know, but we know perfectly well, we’re just not going to get along. and that’s the reason why we never spoke to them.

However, we don’t want to drag you down, so we tell you (somewhere between your third glass of alcohol and half a shot glass of ours) that you should go on, enjoy the party. We’ll make our own friends, we say, smiling as we push you to the center of the room and give you a small wave.

But it’s just so hard. The alcohol. The music. The few people we know know people better than we do- they flock together and we end up doing some quiet thing like petting your cat or walking in the garden, or (and this is the best case scenario) stick to one person we know (which is most likely feeling the same way as we do.)

And what about you? You give us sneaking looks at times;  drop in on us, asking how we are, waving, smiling. But as the night goes on and the alcohol gets to you, you end up laughing with the group you’re most comfortable with (and we know this because you talk really loudly at this point) that you kind of feel sorry that you forced us to go, since apparently it is “not our thing to party.”

You end up apologizing the next day, we smile, say that it was “chalking it up to experience” or “maybe my mind will change about these things one day” , we go our separate ways, and you make a little reminder in your head to never invite us again to one of those parties.

The thing is, it’s not that we don’t want to. We’re not even angry at you for inviting us, we’re probably more angry at ourselves. We’ll think that we’re so antisocial, or that we’re weird, or that we don’t “jive” with most people- we hit ourselves the hardest because there was that “perfect” opportunity to “break out of our shell”, and we end up questioning ourselves on what we did wrong, how can we interact better next time, but at the same time being annoyed that these things are necessary and feel irritated at the saying “this is not even difficult.”

Perhaps what I’m trying to say here is a reason for me refusing that invite. Or me being a feeling a little bit hurt at that announcement. It’s just that it’s passed from the point of “could be” to “better not”, that I honestly think there is nothing wrong with you telling me stories of “how great that party was” and wouldn’t mind if you skipped the customary “wish you were there”.

What I want you to do is to understand: that I’m just doing both of us a favor, and I wouldn’t mind if you texted me at 1 am saying that “we’re still going strong” and inevitably ask us to keep you awake in class the next day. We know who you are. We know what you do. All that we ask is that you do the same.

So the next time you send out that post or text message, just remember…

What about us?

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Slice of (my) Life

The Back Of Her Notebook

If you want to get an honest opinion about her, look at the back of her notebook. It doesn’t matter if it’s a textbook, cookbook, classbook, or notebook. As long as she can write in it. Pick it up (preferably when she’s not looking) and take a peek. Don’t ruffle through the front pages- look at the back.

It may seem bad, it may seem sketchy, or shady, or something that you feel that you shouldn’t do, but if you really, really want to, look anyway. Look at the back of her notebook, because it’s one of the places where she feels the safest, where she knows she can be honest, because no one in their right mind would look at the back of her notebook. Because people, as weird as they are, as short-sighted as they are- only focus on the front. What’s presented. The makeup she applies. The topics she integrates into her life. The notes that she writes down as she’s dozing off in class, trying to pay attention to that boring teacher droning on and on- because, subconsciously, she tends to write. To draw. To doodle. Anything to pass the time. And if there is one thing you can depend on in a girl, it’s to express herself- in any way she can.

Why do they do it? Why don’t guys do it, for that matter? Because guys are weird. We only tend to focus on what’s given to us, and sometimes (or okay, most of the time) we don’t pay attention. Except, really, when it’s too late to matter. But more on that some other time.

But why do girls do it? I can only guess that it came from the instinct we had when we were children to express ourselves, to be understood by the world around us in any way we could. That somewhere, between the childhoods both sexes had that they thought kissing was gross and the adolescence where they passed notes about people they liked in class while the teacher wasn’t looking- most guys outgrew doodling in their notebooks, while girls didn’t. And for the most part, those very same girls would continue to draw, doodle, write in the back of all their notebooks as they grew older.

What would you find at the back of her notebook? The back of her notebook is where a girl puts her heart: where she is honest, truthful and kind. In those pages you’ll find little scribbles of the name of the guys she likes with scribbled hearts all over it. You’ll find her dreams, her hopes, her frustrations expressed in long, winding, script that curls around on itself, all over the page and spilling from the margins. You can find her joys. Her sorrows. Her happiness. Her irritations, vexations, prayers, and wishes all in one page. You’ll find the cute drawings she makes of herself and her best friend, random highlighted phrases, circles that spiral down to an small point.

You may think of the back of the notebook as a representative of her- because it’s who she wants to be seen, who she is, and who she wants to be- all in those few pages that people don’t really look at. You’ll find the things most important to her, things that she wants from life. And if you’re lucky, you’ll find you in those very same pages, which can only mean that this girl- in the time that you’re not together, or subconsciously, while she’s nodding off in the middle of class – takes her pen, goes to those parts, and out of all the things on heaven or earth or that has ever existed and ever will exist…she wrote down you.

So if you want to know a little more about her, behind the face, behind the smile, behind the hands that caress your face when you’re feeling upset or hold your hand when you’re together, look at the back of her notebook.

You’ll be surprised at what you’ll find.

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Slice of (my) Life

Dragon Lady

 

 

Silence.

That is all that I have heard from you, these past few days. Silence.

I have no idea what happened. To someone like me, that is one of the worst things you could ever do to me- to leave me with an unfulfilled purpose and an unanswered question.

To be honest what we had wasn’t really that big, looking at it as a whole. It was fun. It was friendly. It was, on occasion, sweet. Amusing to look at. But it was there, it was real. It wasn’t love- since we had both agreed not to love, and it was impossible, for our situation.

Where was your roar?

I don’t know what I did wrong. Somewhere, sometime, you just… went away. And that little icon there that says you’re still online, those status updates that I end up over analyzing because I think they’re about me, mulling over what I think I could have done wrong even before I met you is driving me crazy.

Where was your fire?

That’s what I miss the most. That twinkle in your eye that you seem to communicate through our chats, that spunk that you kept pushing on me, your frantic expressions that never really meant anything, because they were just you. I don’t know how far to push you, how much to ask you, because the same fire that kept me warm, you might end up using to burn me.

Where are your wings?

To someone like me, who has a little trouble with connecting with people, meeting you was a fresh breeze of something new and something interesting. It was something that I live for, that moment where you’re talking with someone who’s a stranger and yet you feel is more or less the exact same as you- the feeling of a personal agreement between two people.

And now I have to face the possibility that what existed is now gone- or even worse, that it was all a lie and it never existed in the first place.

If you ask me how I feel right now, I can’t really say that I’m mad. Or disappointed. Just wondering. These are questions I might never know the answers to, questions that I think I just need to let go of, rather than see it through to the end.

I really don’t know what else to say. I have said from the beginning that your decisions are your own, and I will never, ever question them. I more or less brought that on myself. But still, I wish I knew. I wish I knew why.

I can’t say that I’ll wait for you. I already have, and if I continue doing that, the idea of you being there but treating me as if I’m not is just too much to take.

So that’s it for you and for me. Like your namesake of legend, fly. Fly away.

Fly away from me.

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Black Rose
Poetry

May It Be

 

For the one who was gone too soon.

 


 

May It Be

 

There are no words to say.

Only eyes that aren’t dry.

There are no smiles to be given today,

Only the sighs that say good-bye.

 

We were strangers. You were friends.

And yet this pain is all too real.

Where we thought life begins- yours ends

What else are we supposed to feel?

 

Some may say I have no right to grieve.

And I sometimes think they’re right.

But what wouldn’t all of us be prepared to give

For a little sleep this night?

 

I don’t question. I’m not asking why.

That’s why I was never that much around.

But now if to see you, we must look at the sky-

Do you not remember the ones you left on the ground?

 

May it be that the darkness fall

At the end of every day,

Is just you reminding us all

To continue along our way.

 

May it be that what you left behind

Is something that we’ll grow

May it be that what’s inside

Is worth it- even though you’ll never know.

 

May it be that your memory

Is something that will never dim,

May it be – even though you’ll never see

Our resolves grow stronger, not thin.

 

And finally- may it be

That those you left behind today

Will live as you wished- hopeful and free

A light that will never fade away.

 

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Poetry

Day 9: “Lahaina”

And now, our (optional) prompt. Today’s prompt was suggested by Bruce Niedt. Here’s Bruce’s explanation: take any random song play list (from your iPod, CD player, favorite radio station, Pandora or Spotify , etc.) and use the next five song titles on that randomized list in a poem.


Songs:

Lahaina (Maholo Version) – Depapepe

Lovers In Japan – Coldplay

Tricky Sister Girl – Skankfunk

Endlessly – The Cab

This Life – Mandalay


 

Lahaina

 

This life is fleeting, though it seems long-

Much like how lovers view their time together.

 

Some choose to wait. Some choose to travel.

Paris. Milan. New York. Japan.

 

But here’s the question- one that’s quite tricky:

What is in life that we choose to live for, endlessly?

 

Girl – Sister, Boy – Brother, why even bother?

Who is anyone to tell us what to do with our time?

 

I guess there’s nothing short of guessing it-

What you do with your life is simply how you live it.

 

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Poetry

Day 8: “Truth And Reconciliation”

And now for today’s (optional, as always!) prompt. Today, let’s rewrite a famous poem, giving it our own spin. While any famous poem will do, if you haven’t already got one in mind, why not try your own version of Cesar Vallejo’s Black Stone Lying on a White Stone? If you’re not exactly sure how such a poem could be “re-written,” check out this recent poem by Stephen Burt, which riffs on Vallejo’s. Happy writing!


 

After “A Betrayal” by Lang Leav

 


 

 

Truth and Reconciliation

 

I can see

the truth, so free-

somewhere above

in joy and love.

 

The most beautiful thing-

about this task

 

Is that we can move on-

the past is past.

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