Our lives become the stories that we weave

http://www.yaledailynews.com/news/2012/may/27/keegan-opposite-loneliness/

—- a poem I wrote for Alyssa on her 17th birthday in 2008 that I came across recently and thought it was too cute and funny not to share ——

Dear friend,
No matter how much time pasts,
around each corner and every bend,
beneath star filled nights
or fields far away
in the glare of city lights
or soft illumination of the moon
wherever you go, whatever you do,
breaking from our sheltered cacoon,
know that I will be there.
No matter what travels you make or adventures you take,
I will always be there.

Our lives thus far are not hard to measure:
Days full of laughter and love,
summer bringing even more pleasure;
walking down the street,
sitting in my passenger’s seat,
long bike rides,
high and low tides,
resting on our trampoline bed,
witty banter and conversations said,
just being,
stars for seeing,
60B,
my fellow loopee,
I know that you have always been there.
No matter the day or the things we might not say,
you have always been there.

Dear friend,
Time has passed so quickly;
soon we’ll be at high school’s end.
With goodbyes to come, sadness will hum.
For now, try not to stress.
I love you whole-heartedly and not a bit less!

Happy birthday, dear friend!
Now you are seventeen,
with so many experiences that only time will lend.
Know that I will be there.
No matter the decisions you choose or how life ensues,
I will always be there.

Running in circles

I’m beginning to look at time as a circular body. Despite the fact that I’ve always found or made connections between different events, emotions, and people even when connections should not be logically made, it never really occurred to me how everything evolves or devolves back into itself; change is only a moment in time and we are always brought back to the point from where we started from.

I watched the season finale episode of Glee tonight, the graduation episode, (I know… a great time for an epiphany to be had) and remembered the first episode that I’d watched; I watched the first episode of Glee at Temple…most of the first season actually… I remember locking myself up in my room and raising the volume on my tv so loud so it could drown out the sounds of the city, my roommates, and the terrible thoughts that were circulating in my head. For at least one hour every Tuesday I felt happy. Glee reminded me of home, of the friendships I had, of the music I loved, of feeling loved. I felt so connected to these characters that they felt like my only friends in that big city, my small personal hell. It sounds really pathetic, doesn’t it? But does it really surprise you? Does it surprise you that I attached myself to the only good that I could find, to a group that shared their feelings and love for one another through song? My roommates didn’t get it. I would hear them hackle in the room beside mine following any laugh or song that broke through the cold cement wall.

At TCNJ’s graduation, I was driving my golf cart when I caught a glimpse of her. I was moving so fast to pick up more passengers that I almost missed her at first. I turned my head around and saw her taking a picture with her family. Her older sister had just graduated from the Grad school and they stood in a neat perfect line with her boyfriend angling the camera. Almost four years later and she looked exactly the same as the first day that we moved in; she really did look like a nice girl. I was blatantly staring at her, remembering that room in that city of cement and hard potholes, when she turned in my direction. “Hi Rachel!” I said in a cheery voice. Her face was white with shock. I guess she had forgotten where I had transferred to. I guess I hadn’t given them much time to think it over before leaving; I hadn’t said anything to anyone until finals so I could start packing up my things, leave almost as unnoticed as I’d lived there. She responded eventually and we exchanged a few polite words back and forth. I really held no more animosity towards her. Weeks of counseling and tears shed had rid me of that anger but I still felt very bothered by the whole situation; of seeing her on my campus, four years later, as an Ambassador, starting my senior year of college.

I know I’m not the girl who left Temple and I won’t end college feeling lonely or lost, but I can’t help wondering if I’ll leave the way I entered into Temple: full of hope, a little naïve, and about to make  another big mistake. I know this mistake led me to a better place than I ever could have imagined but what does it say about me if I just continue to make mistake after mistake without learning from it and just lucking into happy circumstance? Even though I stand here now, feet firmly planted on the ground, what happens when I take the next step? Will I fall again? If time is circular, I’d rather stay here in the middle than start again. Isn’t that naïve? For all I’ve been taught, I guess I haven’t learned much.

The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows: sonder

…

Him: Hey…

Me: What’s up?

Him: Nothing…

Me: Ellipses always mean something more.

                I’ve always treasured the things that people have chosen to share with me. I take the responsibility of being that shoulder to cry on very seriously. I guess I’ve always thought that because I feel so many emotions all of the time, that I can handle another thrown onto the pile instead of leaving it to someone who isn’t used to carrying the weight of the world in their heart. Carrying the burden for them (even if only partially) has made me feel purposeful; perhaps I do it as much for myself as I do it for them.

Him: She drowned. She was fucking drunk and she drowned and I’m angry. I’m so angry with her.

Me: I am so sorry.

Him: Look at her [Facebook link included]

                I clicked on the link and saw the profile of a pretty 20 something year old girl. She was a bit overly made up and had hair dyed an unnaturally dark color that looked thick as tar. Her skin was fake-and-baked tan; I felt bad because I judged her; I judged the dead girl. Immediately, I got down to business, scanning her profile for a family picture, thoughtfully chosen music posts, a school aged picture – anything to grab onto for emotional value, to feel something for this girl so that he wouldn’t have to bare it all. I searched and searched but found nothing more than drunken slutty pictures that are a dime a dozen among the trashy college girls.

Me: She’s beautiful.

                What else could I say? I dug into my well of cliché inspirational pick me ups: Appreciate the time you had with her. Live life full enough for both of you.

Him: Thanks…

                Ellipses always mean something more…

                I wanted desperately to give him more of me, to take more of the pain away, to be more of what he need for me to be.

Me: I’m sorry. I know all of this is extremely cliché. I believe whole heartedly in everything that I’ve said to you but I know you don’t need to hear it tonight. Tonight you should be angry and hate the world and cry if you want to. Tonight things don’t have to make sense. It’s okay…

                He never responded. I realized then there was nothing I could do. I laid my head down on my pillow and realized that we really are all alone. It’s a “nice” thought: trying to help people or love someone but what does any of that really do? Very little. Maybe it makes you feel good for a bit, gives that person a bit of momentary relief from being fucked over by the cruel and unfeeling world but in the end, it all means nothing. You can’t take away someone else’s pain and make it your own to unburden them. Listening only goes so far. No matter how hard you try, you can’t fight their battles for them. And they can’t help you. We live together, work together, learn together, but we are isolated beings. Humankind doesn’t exist. We exist in our own worlds and in our own galaxies, left to only watch others from a window far away that’s been locked tight to keep something bigger than you or me away.

                I am going to die some day; maybe it will be as an old woman in my sleep, maybe it will be from being ripped to shreds by hungry vultures in the desert or just by the cruelty of the world, maybe it will be when I’m still “so young and full of promise” and all I’ll leave behind is a Facebook profile and an attempt at making a difference to someone somewhere. Regardless of the way it happens, how I feel and who I try to help means very little. As my body decays and decomposes beneath the sediment of the earth, my warm heart won’t help heat the core. My body will be as cold as the river she drowned in and all that will remain of me will be overly sentimental Facebook statuses and a timeline of my online activity to know that I ever “lived”.

Me: Hey

Him: Hey, what’s up?

Me: How are you today?

Him: Good, you?

Me: I’m good…

Him: Is everything okay?

Me: I was just checking in. I was worried about you.

Him: I’m fine. You don’t have to worry. It was just a shock.

Me: I understand but you know me, I always worry.

Him: I know. It means a lot…

Me: Really?

Him: More than you’ll ever know…