I can almost smell home. I can see the faces of my friends, and the fur of my dog, and the color of my bedsheets and the sound of my music. I can smell New York City. Hot dogs and sweat and exhaust fumes and those sugary peanuts that everyone eats even though no one is sure where they come from. I'm just not..quite..close enough to touch it.
School is almost done, and it is so hot.
I have never wanted to go home so badly, nor have I ever wanted so desperately to remain.
I must combine worlds. Sicily and New York. Mixed in a very large mixing bowl to become a new reality, just for me.
Selfishly, I want to combine borders, cultures, languages, and friends.
I want everything and everyone all at once, without losing anything.
I am a child. I want my comfort, and I want it now now now now now.
I want the quiet and peace of Gigi and pepas house, mixed with the craziness that is my friends. I want Daniela and Lisa to tell me to stop smelling all of the lotion in the supermarket, and I want Erica to assure me that it's okay, because it makes me special. I want to snuggle with my dog, and fall asleep watching Dr. House, but when I wake up I want to be able to walk out the door and onto the sandy beach of the Mediterranean. I want to attend school in english, but joke in italian. I want to love un ragazzo, but I want him to live in America with me. I want my parents, but I also want my host brother and sister.
I want to craftily mold my lives into one, and live in this psuedo-reality for ever and ever.
I'll enter my old world, only to mourn my former. The italian amanda is going to die (or at least be brain dead and clinging to life....) The american amanda has long been buried. The only things left are the cold, white bones. I'm gonna create a new frankenstien existance, slabbing together the new and the old parts. Heart from america. viens from italy. languages of bones stringing it all together.
I'm coping as best I can.
giovedì, maggio 29, 2008
venerdì, maggio 09, 2008
runneth over
Nothing is important anymore .Nothing matters more than the crocus like lust that is blooming within the small intimate spaces between me and my bello, incredibile, ragazzo.
You tell me that my hair looks like tuscany, and that I smell like rock and roll.
I want to crawl into your pores and snuggle within the spaces inbetween your ribs.
We speak in whatever language suits our fancy. We joke in italian, explain complicated concepts in english, we curse in both. Ti amo, i love you, ti voglio bene, sei troppo incredibile, you get better the more I see you.
Our occasional language barrier makes us laugh. Makes us fall to the floor with tears in our eyes. We exchange pleasantries and flowers. Kisses and fingers. Nose to nose. We kiss in a language that is all our own.
You tell me that my hair looks like tuscany, and that I smell like rock and roll.
I want to crawl into your pores and snuggle within the spaces inbetween your ribs.
We speak in whatever language suits our fancy. We joke in italian, explain complicated concepts in english, we curse in both. Ti amo, i love you, ti voglio bene, sei troppo incredibile, you get better the more I see you.
Our occasional language barrier makes us laugh. Makes us fall to the floor with tears in our eyes. We exchange pleasantries and flowers. Kisses and fingers. Nose to nose. We kiss in a language that is all our own.
mercoledì, marzo 26, 2008
Ma vaffanculo!!!!
These past few days have taken a toll on my body. Really.
I haven't gotten very much sleep at all, I've had a head ache and a slight stomach ache.
And why? Because people are never what they seem.
I haven't gotten very much sleep at all, I've had a head ache and a slight stomach ache.
And why? Because people are never what they seem.
domenica, marzo 02, 2008
Non è una causa morale
Ignorance, in my humble opinion, is one of the humanities deadliest weapons. We could talk
(or ..blog..) all day about what it has done to our world. All sorts of other horrible things spring from “lack of knowledge”. But who is to blame for this unawareness? We laugh at the ignorant among us; but what about the people who are so only because they have never been taught? People who are ignorant about other countries, how are they to know unless they have been there, or someone has bothered to teach them?
Last night, I had the pleasure of spending time with a good friend of mine, who is another exchange student in the same town. Because her language skills sometime surpass mine, I found myself asking her how to say something was “wrong” in italian. Not in a scholastic sense, but in the sense of morally, or ethically wrong. She thought for a moment, and taught me that , in italian, we don’t use the word “sbalgio” (wrong) but instead, we say “questo non è morale…” (this is not moral). Of course, this got us talking . What, in our opinions, wasn’t moral. We talked about assisted suicide, gay marriage, and finally, abortion. Of course. We are both, surprisingly, for it. I say surprisingly only because she is from a very catholic country in South America. Anyway, she told me that if people don’t want kids, abortion is the only option. If a woman who was considering abortion decides against it, and allows her child to live with her, what kind of atmosphere is that creating for the kid?
“I didn’t REALLY want you..but..you know. Abortion is murder. Non è morale!”
I disagreed, declaring that adoption was, in fact, another option. (God.. did I really say it….)She didn’t even look at me when she replied
“ Yes but then I do not think that the child will have a good life”.
I suggested that we buy some crepes.
(or ..blog..) all day about what it has done to our world. All sorts of other horrible things spring from “lack of knowledge”. But who is to blame for this unawareness? We laugh at the ignorant among us; but what about the people who are so only because they have never been taught? People who are ignorant about other countries, how are they to know unless they have been there, or someone has bothered to teach them?
Last night, I had the pleasure of spending time with a good friend of mine, who is another exchange student in the same town. Because her language skills sometime surpass mine, I found myself asking her how to say something was “wrong” in italian. Not in a scholastic sense, but in the sense of morally, or ethically wrong. She thought for a moment, and taught me that , in italian, we don’t use the word “sbalgio” (wrong) but instead, we say “questo non è morale…” (this is not moral). Of course, this got us talking . What, in our opinions, wasn’t moral. We talked about assisted suicide, gay marriage, and finally, abortion. Of course. We are both, surprisingly, for it. I say surprisingly only because she is from a very catholic country in South America. Anyway, she told me that if people don’t want kids, abortion is the only option. If a woman who was considering abortion decides against it, and allows her child to live with her, what kind of atmosphere is that creating for the kid?
“I didn’t REALLY want you..but..you know. Abortion is murder. Non è morale!”
I disagreed, declaring that adoption was, in fact, another option. (God.. did I really say it….)She didn’t even look at me when she replied
“ Yes but then I do not think that the child will have a good life”.
I suggested that we buy some crepes.
martedì, febbraio 19, 2008
The Burden of Perspective
I’ve been told recently about a serious flaw in my personality.
It’s not something most people would consider a flaw, of course. But since I am the queen of self- critical (at least today) I’ve decided to count this little quirk a defect in my character.
This shortcoming, measured by most as mere sociability, is the remarkable ability to be kind to nearly everyone. And I don’t mean just cordial, how-do-you-do-I-like-your-shirt genial. I mean, full on by-the –end- of –the- day- you –think- I –am- your- best- friend-genial.
Let us explore.
When I meet someone( who I don’t find objectionable..which is pretty much everyone) I rush in with full on “Amanda”. I leave nothing out. I give every aspect of my personality. My speech my music my trust my confidence my inner workings and my cheerfulness I am just as nice to them as I would be to say, my best friend. Or my dog. Or anyone else who is important to me and who deserves my affection. I am trusting, and kind, and enthusiastic. I have this ability to make people happy, and to make it seem like I really like them. And I do. This is not falseness we are talking about here. I’m genuine when I say that I like nearly everybody, and I do my best to express my fondness by being warm.
But here, my dear friends, is where the quandary arises.
I do not enter a relationship with caution. I am not a fly on the wall, looking good and hard at the situation before putting myself into it. I do not observe, or evaluate or inquire. The only thing that will make me “step back” a little,(less friendly less trusting less open) is a slight on the other persons behalf. I am wholehearted and passionate and unquestioning until someone gives me a reason not to be. Thus opening myself to inevitable disillusionment.
I give everyone everything I’ve got. I jump head first into friendships and relationships, hoping only for something equally as warm and inviting waiting for me on the other side. Sometimes, however, people don’t respond in quite the way I expected, and I smack onto marble. Or concrete. Or some other chilly, hard substance. They do not respond with the same level of loyalty, or correspond with my expectations. They take my kindness for granted; mistake my gentleness for naivety, or worse, weakness. I become unacknowledged, as everyone is so confidant that I will remain by their side, regardless of how I am treated. And because I didn’t look both ways before I jumped into this swimming pool of closeness , I am left laying at the bottom; skull cracked, brains and plasma seeping out through every broken bone.
It’s not something most people would consider a flaw, of course. But since I am the queen of self- critical (at least today) I’ve decided to count this little quirk a defect in my character.
This shortcoming, measured by most as mere sociability, is the remarkable ability to be kind to nearly everyone. And I don’t mean just cordial, how-do-you-do-I-like-your-shirt genial. I mean, full on by-the –end- of –the- day- you –think- I –am- your- best- friend-genial.
Let us explore.
When I meet someone( who I don’t find objectionable..which is pretty much everyone) I rush in with full on “Amanda”. I leave nothing out. I give every aspect of my personality. My speech my music my trust my confidence my inner workings and my cheerfulness I am just as nice to them as I would be to say, my best friend. Or my dog. Or anyone else who is important to me and who deserves my affection. I am trusting, and kind, and enthusiastic. I have this ability to make people happy, and to make it seem like I really like them. And I do. This is not falseness we are talking about here. I’m genuine when I say that I like nearly everybody, and I do my best to express my fondness by being warm.
But here, my dear friends, is where the quandary arises.
I do not enter a relationship with caution. I am not a fly on the wall, looking good and hard at the situation before putting myself into it. I do not observe, or evaluate or inquire. The only thing that will make me “step back” a little,(less friendly less trusting less open) is a slight on the other persons behalf. I am wholehearted and passionate and unquestioning until someone gives me a reason not to be. Thus opening myself to inevitable disillusionment.
I give everyone everything I’ve got. I jump head first into friendships and relationships, hoping only for something equally as warm and inviting waiting for me on the other side. Sometimes, however, people don’t respond in quite the way I expected, and I smack onto marble. Or concrete. Or some other chilly, hard substance. They do not respond with the same level of loyalty, or correspond with my expectations. They take my kindness for granted; mistake my gentleness for naivety, or worse, weakness. I become unacknowledged, as everyone is so confidant that I will remain by their side, regardless of how I am treated. And because I didn’t look both ways before I jumped into this swimming pool of closeness , I am left laying at the bottom; skull cracked, brains and plasma seeping out through every broken bone.
lunedì, febbraio 11, 2008
Vietato agli animali
I am caught in a strange web between extreme happiness and extreme despondency. I've been tangled so long, and no solution has come up, that I find I am tired from the struggle.
I am living here, basically on my own. I function here in a way that I have never had to function before. I am beginning to miss my friends, and my family and my pillow and my bed and my dog..and all the things that have always been so ...comfortable..to me.
My brain is cloudy and my nose is stuffy and my eyes are hurting.
5 more months. An experience is an experience. Nobody said it would be a jar of roses.
I feel like that isn't quite the expression I was looking for.
I can speak Italian.
I am living here, basically on my own. I function here in a way that I have never had to function before. I am beginning to miss my friends, and my family and my pillow and my bed and my dog..and all the things that have always been so ...comfortable..to me.
My brain is cloudy and my nose is stuffy and my eyes are hurting.
5 more months. An experience is an experience. Nobody said it would be a jar of roses.
I feel like that isn't quite the expression I was looking for.
I can speak Italian.
sabato, gennaio 26, 2008
Gentle rain from a cloudless sky.
I can recall and relive any given moment of that evening.
I remember being nervous. Making mindless smalltalk with the person sitting next to me.
"Don't worry" Paulo said " You'll be able to handle it"
Sure. Great.
I remember staring out the window, watching the sparse trees go by just a little bit too fast.
You called his cell phone.
"Where are you?"you ask. Voice frantic. Anxious. "Two minutes away ", we said. "We're turning into the apartment complex right now."
I remember how my heart raced as my confidence wavered.
Maybe this was a bad idea. I bet I could stay here in the truck, and tell everyone it's all a big mistake.
"I'm not ready! I'm not ready! I can't do it! Don't make me! "My brain is screaming.
But outwardly, I'm silent. I could just turn and run, everyone would understand.
Instead, I get out of the car.
I can't believe I'm actually doing this. How many years has it been? And now, to resurface it all. It seems insane. And yet, I keep walking. I figure I have another 2 or 3 minutes until we locate which apartment is yours. 2-3 more minutes to prepare myself.
No such luck
I avert my gaze from the ground, and there you are, walking hurridly towards us. At least, I think it's you. You say something, and all of a sudden, recognition slides across my face. At this moment, I can't remember exactly what you said to me, as you rushed over for the longest hug I've ever experienced in my life. Emotion sometimes dulls all of the other senses, I think. But I suppose it doesn't matter anyway.
After the neverending hug, we are ushered into the front door. Susie is there, so are her kids. Nonna as well. Nana rushes in for the kill. Another hug. Thankfully not as long as the last one.
We awkwardly sit on the couch. Paolo sits in between us. I relax, thankful for the buffer. Nonna speaks first." You know, I used to call you snow baby. Your skin and hair were so white. You got all the German in us. I bet you burn easily"
I do.
I nibble on generic brand mint cream oreos. We talk about apartment prices, childhood antics, and school. Anything to avoid whats actually important.There's an elephant in the room. He's big, and angry. Just waiting to surface.
And suddenly, he does.
I hear whimpering from a few seats over. Paulo whispers to you. You nod, and tuck your hair behind your ear. Paulo gets up, and you inch closer and closer to me. I stare at my feet. You falter, but only for a moment, as you start to stroke my hair. I can't take it anymore. Paulo comes back from the kitchen, drink in hand, and notices his seat has been taken over. He sits on the far end of the couch.
You smile and me, or at least I bet you do. I still refuse to make eye contact.
" We're all here, sweetheart. A family."
I feel a lump in my throat, one that is roughly the size of the previously mentioned elephant.
You tell me about your hair. It was longer once, but lately you just don't have the time to take care of such lengthy strands. You cut it a few months back, but you miss it, and plan to re-grow.
Half of me wants to run out the door,and never come back. The other half wants to dive into your arms, and never let go. It's time to leave, Paulo says. We have to meet some people for dinner. You rush into the bedroom, and bring out a little box. It's contents? A little stuffed pillow. Covered in blue satin, with butterflies. It smells like lavender. Or something. I think it's the kind you put in with your underpants, to make them smell nice.I thank you, give brief hugs, and I start to leave. I turn back only once.
You look different than I remember. You look, older. Slightly pudgy. You're hair is still auburn, and you have enough freckles to mimic the constellations. You're wearing a black shirt, and dark blue jeans. Black isn't flattering to such a light skin tone. Someone should tell you. But, that someone isn't me.You hug me one last time. " My baby" you say. Barely an audible whisper. For a second, I embrace this. I buy into it. It's comforting, this bond we are supposed to have. I want to stay with you longer. Listen to you talk. Listen to your stories,your dreams, your life. I want to understand all of this shit. I want to hear it from you! Tell me ! Please, please give me some sort of peace!
But as always, you don't deliver.We ride to the restaraunt in silence. I am overwhelmed. Disenchanted with your reality. Heavy with despondency.
" How are you?" Paulo asks.
Fine.
I open the card that came with my gift.
"Happy belated birthday. Love, Mommy"
The letters seem to dance across the page. As if to gain my attention, if only for a moment.
I shoved it back into the envelope.
I remember being nervous. Making mindless smalltalk with the person sitting next to me.
"Don't worry" Paulo said " You'll be able to handle it"
Sure. Great.
I remember staring out the window, watching the sparse trees go by just a little bit too fast.
You called his cell phone.
"Where are you?"you ask. Voice frantic. Anxious. "Two minutes away ", we said. "We're turning into the apartment complex right now."
I remember how my heart raced as my confidence wavered.
Maybe this was a bad idea. I bet I could stay here in the truck, and tell everyone it's all a big mistake.
"I'm not ready! I'm not ready! I can't do it! Don't make me! "My brain is screaming.
But outwardly, I'm silent. I could just turn and run, everyone would understand.
Instead, I get out of the car.
I can't believe I'm actually doing this. How many years has it been? And now, to resurface it all. It seems insane. And yet, I keep walking. I figure I have another 2 or 3 minutes until we locate which apartment is yours. 2-3 more minutes to prepare myself.
No such luck
I avert my gaze from the ground, and there you are, walking hurridly towards us. At least, I think it's you. You say something, and all of a sudden, recognition slides across my face. At this moment, I can't remember exactly what you said to me, as you rushed over for the longest hug I've ever experienced in my life. Emotion sometimes dulls all of the other senses, I think. But I suppose it doesn't matter anyway.
After the neverending hug, we are ushered into the front door. Susie is there, so are her kids. Nonna as well. Nana rushes in for the kill. Another hug. Thankfully not as long as the last one.
We awkwardly sit on the couch. Paolo sits in between us. I relax, thankful for the buffer. Nonna speaks first." You know, I used to call you snow baby. Your skin and hair were so white. You got all the German in us. I bet you burn easily"
I do.
I nibble on generic brand mint cream oreos. We talk about apartment prices, childhood antics, and school. Anything to avoid whats actually important.There's an elephant in the room. He's big, and angry. Just waiting to surface.
And suddenly, he does.
I hear whimpering from a few seats over. Paulo whispers to you. You nod, and tuck your hair behind your ear. Paulo gets up, and you inch closer and closer to me. I stare at my feet. You falter, but only for a moment, as you start to stroke my hair. I can't take it anymore. Paulo comes back from the kitchen, drink in hand, and notices his seat has been taken over. He sits on the far end of the couch.
You smile and me, or at least I bet you do. I still refuse to make eye contact.
" We're all here, sweetheart. A family."
I feel a lump in my throat, one that is roughly the size of the previously mentioned elephant.
You tell me about your hair. It was longer once, but lately you just don't have the time to take care of such lengthy strands. You cut it a few months back, but you miss it, and plan to re-grow.
Half of me wants to run out the door,and never come back. The other half wants to dive into your arms, and never let go. It's time to leave, Paulo says. We have to meet some people for dinner. You rush into the bedroom, and bring out a little box. It's contents? A little stuffed pillow. Covered in blue satin, with butterflies. It smells like lavender. Or something. I think it's the kind you put in with your underpants, to make them smell nice.I thank you, give brief hugs, and I start to leave. I turn back only once.
You look different than I remember. You look, older. Slightly pudgy. You're hair is still auburn, and you have enough freckles to mimic the constellations. You're wearing a black shirt, and dark blue jeans. Black isn't flattering to such a light skin tone. Someone should tell you. But, that someone isn't me.You hug me one last time. " My baby" you say. Barely an audible whisper. For a second, I embrace this. I buy into it. It's comforting, this bond we are supposed to have. I want to stay with you longer. Listen to you talk. Listen to your stories,your dreams, your life. I want to understand all of this shit. I want to hear it from you! Tell me ! Please, please give me some sort of peace!
But as always, you don't deliver.We ride to the restaraunt in silence. I am overwhelmed. Disenchanted with your reality. Heavy with despondency.
" How are you?" Paulo asks.
Fine.
I open the card that came with my gift.
"Happy belated birthday. Love, Mommy"
The letters seem to dance across the page. As if to gain my attention, if only for a moment.
I shoved it back into the envelope.
lunedì, gennaio 14, 2008
to voglio tanto tanto bene.....proprio..
As I sit here in an internet cafe, sipping vanilla tea and trying to warm ny feet against the heat of the radiator in front of me, I can't help but wonder if I am drinking this beverage to drown out the last bit of emotion I have left in myself.
I stand amazed today, that my life, no matter how confusing and unbearable and insane it sometimes can be, is just what it looks like. Life. I am living my days in between a state of homesickness, and the feeling that I never want to go home again. Part of me wants to return to the states, and snuggle back into the life of my peers. A life of dorm rooms and scholarships and college acceptances and finals. The other part of me wants to buy an apartment near the sea, and live this new life for the rest of my days, speaking any language I want, switching from Italian to English as I please.
“Heyyy whats up! Come stai? Tutto posto? I’m so happy for you! Ti piace tua famiglia? Mine is pretty good. Everyone has their moments I suppose. Tu vuoi andara per pizza opurre.. qualcosa? Ho fame! You too? “
It comes so naturally to me know, this cambiarmente of lingua. This change of tounge. This life of being a foreigner.
I search for comfort in the most obvious of places, but keep coming up empty handed.
I wonder what I must do to live the life I've so maticulously weaved for myself.
I stand amazed today, that my life, no matter how confusing and unbearable and insane it sometimes can be, is just what it looks like. Life. I am living my days in between a state of homesickness, and the feeling that I never want to go home again. Part of me wants to return to the states, and snuggle back into the life of my peers. A life of dorm rooms and scholarships and college acceptances and finals. The other part of me wants to buy an apartment near the sea, and live this new life for the rest of my days, speaking any language I want, switching from Italian to English as I please.
“Heyyy whats up! Come stai? Tutto posto? I’m so happy for you! Ti piace tua famiglia? Mine is pretty good. Everyone has their moments I suppose. Tu vuoi andara per pizza opurre.. qualcosa? Ho fame! You too? “
It comes so naturally to me know, this cambiarmente of lingua. This change of tounge. This life of being a foreigner.
I search for comfort in the most obvious of places, but keep coming up empty handed.
I wonder what I must do to live the life I've so maticulously weaved for myself.
mercoledì, dicembre 12, 2007
Sorry I Missed You
It’s remarkable how time has the ability to change everything. Memories fade, people who were once important fade into your history. Pain you thought would never heal slowly turns into nothing more than a sore spot, flaring up again when something, anything, triggers your memory. Our lives, our beings, are cast by our experiences. No individual is the same. Everyone is inimitable. This seems trite; a message drilled into our heads as little children in an attempt to raise self esteem, and convince us all that we are as special as our mothers think we are. This phrase, while stale and tired, is completely true. It is a fact that our life occurrences shape us in every single way. Every decision we make, every thought we think, every moral fibre intertwined within us, is there because of something else. Some determining factor. If you look deep enough, really look, you can find a reason for nearly everything you do.
Because I am slowly developing independence, I have been trying desperately to find some time to myself. And I’ve succeeded. I am finding time to sing, time to write, and time to think. This time, these treasured moments of solitude and self reflection, have shown me things I never knew I possessed. Neil’s meticulousness and demand for sincerity in all meaningful relationships. Gloria’s music and passion for history. Dave’s easy going manner, and respect for all those who are deserving. Kathleen’s emotional unsteadiness . Her ability to read people, even if it hurts to interpret. I am all this, and more. A muddle of people. Of blood and exterior influence. Neither more important than the other, but all imperative in making me who I am.
I love you. Despite everything. Really. I tell people I don’t care about you, that you are undeserving of my affection, and therefore you mean nothing to me. You have failed, I tell everyone, and you are nothing in my life anymore. I cringe when compared to you, and I unleash my emotional claws on anyone who is brash enough to make the connection. But inside, I am soaring. Happy to have a connection with anyone. Even if all you’ve never done anything to deserve it. The fragility of our relationship (if it even exists anymore) is profound .We care, but we don’t ask how one another is doing. We love, but we will never see each other again.
Happy birthday.
Because I am slowly developing independence, I have been trying desperately to find some time to myself. And I’ve succeeded. I am finding time to sing, time to write, and time to think. This time, these treasured moments of solitude and self reflection, have shown me things I never knew I possessed. Neil’s meticulousness and demand for sincerity in all meaningful relationships. Gloria’s music and passion for history. Dave’s easy going manner, and respect for all those who are deserving. Kathleen’s emotional unsteadiness . Her ability to read people, even if it hurts to interpret. I am all this, and more. A muddle of people. Of blood and exterior influence. Neither more important than the other, but all imperative in making me who I am.
I love you. Despite everything. Really. I tell people I don’t care about you, that you are undeserving of my affection, and therefore you mean nothing to me. You have failed, I tell everyone, and you are nothing in my life anymore. I cringe when compared to you, and I unleash my emotional claws on anyone who is brash enough to make the connection. But inside, I am soaring. Happy to have a connection with anyone. Even if all you’ve never done anything to deserve it. The fragility of our relationship (if it even exists anymore) is profound .We care, but we don’t ask how one another is doing. We love, but we will never see each other again.
Happy birthday.
martedì, ottobre 16, 2007
Sono libero
I have decided that I am never coming home.
Perhaps you are waiting for a further explanation. She has to be joking. She is going to use that phrase and cleverly blend it into a metaphore to express how much she is enjoying herself.
Except, I'm not. I never want to come back. I never want to leave this Island. I'll stay here forever. I'll become perfect in the language. I'll marry an Italian. Have lots of tan babies. I'll teach English. I'll do whatever it takes. I have never been so completely happy in my life. Perhaps its because nothing matters anymore. I am who I am. I am not tied down by preordained misconceptions. I have friends I have family. I have the sea. I have my wonderful bed. I have freedom, responsibility, and new expectations. I have life, and I love it.
For the first time in my life, I am uninhibited. Who I am is not tainted by irresponsibility and sin and trash and stupidity.
I am only me.
Perhaps you are waiting for a further explanation. She has to be joking. She is going to use that phrase and cleverly blend it into a metaphore to express how much she is enjoying herself.
Except, I'm not. I never want to come back. I never want to leave this Island. I'll stay here forever. I'll become perfect in the language. I'll marry an Italian. Have lots of tan babies. I'll teach English. I'll do whatever it takes. I have never been so completely happy in my life. Perhaps its because nothing matters anymore. I am who I am. I am not tied down by preordained misconceptions. I have friends I have family. I have the sea. I have my wonderful bed. I have freedom, responsibility, and new expectations. I have life, and I love it.
For the first time in my life, I am uninhibited. Who I am is not tainted by irresponsibility and sin and trash and stupidity.
I am only me.
domenica, ottobre 14, 2007
Don't run off in the pouring rain.
I don’t even talk about you anymore.
Invariably, you come up in conversation. But once again I feel those pangs when I mention your name.
Why aren’t I over this?
I thought we were over this?
Everyone misses theres. “We’re so close!” they say.
Is it cultural, or are we missing something? Something besides the obvious; eachother.
Whats wrong with us?
Invariably, you come up in conversation. But once again I feel those pangs when I mention your name.
Why aren’t I over this?
I thought we were over this?
Everyone misses theres. “We’re so close!” they say.
Is it cultural, or are we missing something? Something besides the obvious; eachother.
Whats wrong with us?
mercoledì, settembre 26, 2007
life is so good i am waiting for the downfall
As I sit here in Sicily, my life is unfolding around me. Everything is good. Isn’t that odd’ How many people can say that there lives are completely worry free. Everything is happy. I am happy. It is blissful to feel as if nothing is wrong.
What have I accomplished? What have I made of myself? I am here, in Italy. Learning Italian. Bathing in the meditteranian sun. My white skin is slowly turning bronze. My blonde hair is becoming lighter as the sun bleaches and sparkles my dark golden locks. My face is clear, my mind is free. What have I done to deserve this? Neinte.
I talked to Dave yesterday. He bought Ellen a truck. And a credit card for gas money. And he pays for the insurance.
She’s 14 years old.
He calls it being a good parent. I call it being a stupid ass who is going to spoil his daughter right into the fiery inferno of hell.
Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.
Arrivaderci amore, ciao.
I’ll wait here to cheer you on? I’m tired of waiting.
What have I accomplished? What have I made of myself? I am here, in Italy. Learning Italian. Bathing in the meditteranian sun. My white skin is slowly turning bronze. My blonde hair is becoming lighter as the sun bleaches and sparkles my dark golden locks. My face is clear, my mind is free. What have I done to deserve this? Neinte.
I talked to Dave yesterday. He bought Ellen a truck. And a credit card for gas money. And he pays for the insurance.
She’s 14 years old.
He calls it being a good parent. I call it being a stupid ass who is going to spoil his daughter right into the fiery inferno of hell.
Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.
Arrivaderci amore, ciao.
I’ll wait here to cheer you on? I’m tired of waiting.
life is so good i am waiting for the downfall
As I sit here in Sicily, my life is unfolding around me. Everything is good. Isn’t that odd’ How many people can say that there lives are completely worry free. Everything is happy. I am happy. It is blissful to feel as if nothing is wrong.
What have I accomplished? What have I made of myself? I am here, in Italy. Learning Italian. Bathing in the meditteranian sun. My white skin is slowly turning bronze. My blonde hair is becoming lighter as the sun bleaches and sparkles my dark golden locks. My face is clear, my mind is free. What have I done to deserve this? Neinte.
I talked to Dave yesterday. He bought Ellen a truck. And a credit card for gas money. And he pays for the insurance.
She’s 14 years old.
He calls it being a good parent. I call it being a stupid ass who is going to spoil his daughter right into the fiery inferno of hell.
Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.
Arrivaderci amore, ciao.
I’ll wait here to cheer you on? I’m tired of waiting.
What have I accomplished? What have I made of myself? I am here, in Italy. Learning Italian. Bathing in the meditteranian sun. My white skin is slowly turning bronze. My blonde hair is becoming lighter as the sun bleaches and sparkles my dark golden locks. My face is clear, my mind is free. What have I done to deserve this? Neinte.
I talked to Dave yesterday. He bought Ellen a truck. And a credit card for gas money. And he pays for the insurance.
She’s 14 years old.
He calls it being a good parent. I call it being a stupid ass who is going to spoil his daughter right into the fiery inferno of hell.
Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.
Arrivaderci amore, ciao.
I’ll wait here to cheer you on? I’m tired of waiting.
venerdì, agosto 31, 2007
lunedì, agosto 27, 2007
Conditional Surrender
Since I was a little girl, I’ve dreamed of contacting my biological family again. Surely, my 6 year old brain thought, they must miss me? They must wonder, they must speculate how I’m doing? What I look like now? What I enjoy, and find objectionable? For as long as I can remember, I’ve been in this mindset. I was sure I was missing something. I was envious of all the other kids. In preschool, while all of the parents would sit around the playground and chitchat about the day their children were born, I would sit with my mom as she shifted awkwardly. She didn’t even know me when I was that age. I could sense the discomfort etched in her face, the longing to just be like everyone else. I could relate t to that feeling.
I hated telling people. When my childhood friends would ask why I don’t look like my parents (at all…actually) I would shrug it off, and tell them I looked like my Irish grandmother. My parents even repeated this lie to people who were nosy. When I was finally gutsy enough to actually tell people, their questions were just as I had feared.
“Were you in an orphanage?” they would squeal, eyes rotund with wonder “ Why didn’t anybody want you?”
Such are the scattered memories from my early days. Not that this obsessed my life . Goodness no. I was regular in so many ways. But there has always been something..different in my way of thinking.
I dreamed about how wonderful it would be to see my mother again, and to finally have someone who I could relate to. Someone who would instinctually be like me. Someone who, I fantasized, would love me in such a profound way that I would marvel how I ever lived without her.
When I sought my mother out, she was just as emotional as I had expected. She cradled me (I was 14...so this was highly inappropriate.) She cried, and tucked my hair behind my ears. “My baby, my baby” she kept murmuring. In the perfect world, we would have fallen madly in love with one another again. We would share letters and phone calls, making up for lost time. I would feel wanted, accepted. She would finally do what she was supposed to.
In reality, I found a drunken immature drug addict who loves only herself. I found a father who, despite his good intentions, cannot separate love from discipline. I found a sister who just wants me to get the hell out of her life, so she doesn’t have to share any of what she has worked so hard to maintain.
The disappointment weighs heavy on me. Heavier than anyone will ever know.
I don’t know whether it is the fact that I’m getting older, or the fact that I am too disappointed to bounce back, but I am finally at the point where I can attempt to let it go.
What I was searching for was closer than I had ever imagined.
You Underestimated Me, Hun.
Skipper is the cutest thing in the universe.And everything is falling into place exactly as it should.
For once, I don't feel guilty for being happy.
I am doing what I am supposed to.
I'M THE FIRST ONE DAVE.
It's all ending with me.
domenica, agosto 26, 2007
I've been doing a lot of relfection.( Uh oh! I smell a long post) I often do so when I know that my life is about to change drastically. As it is about to do.
Perhaps the biggest perk about leaving the country in 10 days, is that I don't have to interact with my psychopath sister and her father who is in denial about her level of psychoneuroses anymore. When I started contact with them again ( seven years ago..wow), everything was great. I felt so..complete. I felt like I knew what I had been missing all those years. I talked to my mother again, which was emotionally draining and fucking scary as hell, but I'm glad I did it. She gave me some real insight without meaning to. I realized not only am I so happy I have nothing to do with her, but I will never, ever be her. Which quite frankly, I am so relieved to know. I give the woman credit, because I could never do what she does. I could never live with myself knowing that people needed me, and I was powerless to help them. I could never willingly desert the ones who are supposed to be most important to me. She has skewed my whole view of motherhood. I read and hear that your children are the most important thing in the world to you. You'd do anything for them. They are the core of your being. This really..messes with me. I won't lie, I think about it from time to time. And I realize there is always going to be something I am missing. Something that I can't put a finger on, but I know is present.While her unique absence in my life is debilitating, however, it has also made me appreciative.
I'm leaving to study abroad for a year! Fucking take that Ellen you dumb bitch! You are absolutely such a failure, and I hate you more than you can ever fathom. Fuck fuck fuck you! Go hang out with your ponies baby, because they are going to be the last thing thats going to tolerate your bullshit.
I felt every ounce of me screaming out. It's so hard to do what I must.
Perhaps the biggest perk about leaving the country in 10 days, is that I don't have to interact with my psychopath sister and her father who is in denial about her level of psychoneuroses anymore. When I started contact with them again ( seven years ago..wow), everything was great. I felt so..complete. I felt like I knew what I had been missing all those years. I talked to my mother again, which was emotionally draining and fucking scary as hell, but I'm glad I did it. She gave me some real insight without meaning to. I realized not only am I so happy I have nothing to do with her, but I will never, ever be her. Which quite frankly, I am so relieved to know. I give the woman credit, because I could never do what she does. I could never live with myself knowing that people needed me, and I was powerless to help them. I could never willingly desert the ones who are supposed to be most important to me. She has skewed my whole view of motherhood. I read and hear that your children are the most important thing in the world to you. You'd do anything for them. They are the core of your being. This really..messes with me. I won't lie, I think about it from time to time. And I realize there is always going to be something I am missing. Something that I can't put a finger on, but I know is present.While her unique absence in my life is debilitating, however, it has also made me appreciative.
I'm leaving to study abroad for a year! Fucking take that Ellen you dumb bitch! You are absolutely such a failure, and I hate you more than you can ever fathom. Fuck fuck fuck you! Go hang out with your ponies baby, because they are going to be the last thing thats going to tolerate your bullshit.
I felt every ounce of me screaming out. It's so hard to do what I must.
venerdì, agosto 24, 2007
Lazy days and sexual cats
I spend my days laying in bed, listening to audio books on my iPod. Occasionally, I'll get up and go for a run, or I'll write a college essay or two. But mostly, I listen. My kitten, Mozart, loves these moments. It is exactly what he loves to do. He spends most of his day sleeping alone up on the rocking chair in my mothers study, so when he has the chance to sleep near me on my comfortable bed, he's all for it. He purrs and nuzzles and does all of those sensual things that cats do. I cover my face with blankets and pillows, and I sit with my little iDog. Yes. I have an iDog. It's a little stuffed dog (that my dad insists is a bear) that has built-in speakers in him. You plug in your iPod to a little wire that trails out of his back, and snuggle/listen all you please.
Today has not been noteworthy in the slightest. I do all the things I always do. It seems a little strange that my life is about to change so drastically, when everything seems so banal.
12 more days. What will the year bring forth I wonder?
Today has not been noteworthy in the slightest. I do all the things I always do. It seems a little strange that my life is about to change so drastically, when everything seems so banal.
12 more days. What will the year bring forth I wonder?
mercoledì, agosto 22, 2007
The Unbearable Lightness
Yellow moon on the rise,
Big birds flying across the skies,
Throwing shadows on our eyes.
Leave us
Everything I write is psychobabble.
Nothing makes sense. I struggle to string together coherent sentences, but nothing seems to flow.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, bleeding out the wickedness that settles on my tongue.
I am tired, I am anxious, I am ecstatic, I am old.
All I do is watch reruns of House , drink elderberry/pear water, and stress until my brains ooze out every crevice of my face.
Everyone tries to please me, unaware of the fact that I live to please others.
Everyone tries to coddle and appease me; but nothing has any effect.
When I was little, Gale would set in front of me various artistic substances. Clay, scented markers, watercolor pencils, and crayons. She would talk to me, pick apart my brain with her bony little fingers, as I drew ponies and faeries and butterflies and cats.
"Why wont you talk to me?" she would ask. "You can tell me things.You can trust me "
I would ignore her. I would scribble on my paper, crunch the crayons; mash the clay between my 8 year old fingers. I would babble on and on about dinosaurs and pinwheels and the ducks at central park. I would tell her about my teacher, Mrs. Alfano and how she had unusually small feet.
I claim to be older now, well past my childhood embarrassment.
But every time someone mentions the word, I get acutely aware of my surroundings. I am mortified. I could die of shame. I keep it a secret though. I just become quiet and subdued, ignoring the pain that tears through my ribcage.
crack, crack, crack,crack, crack.
Big birds flying across the skies,
Throwing shadows on our eyes.
Leave us
Everything I write is psychobabble.
Nothing makes sense. I struggle to string together coherent sentences, but nothing seems to flow.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, bleeding out the wickedness that settles on my tongue.
I am tired, I am anxious, I am ecstatic, I am old.
All I do is watch reruns of House , drink elderberry/pear water, and stress until my brains ooze out every crevice of my face.
Everyone tries to please me, unaware of the fact that I live to please others.
Everyone tries to coddle and appease me; but nothing has any effect.
When I was little, Gale would set in front of me various artistic substances. Clay, scented markers, watercolor pencils, and crayons. She would talk to me, pick apart my brain with her bony little fingers, as I drew ponies and faeries and butterflies and cats.
"Why wont you talk to me?" she would ask. "You can tell me things.You can trust me "
I would ignore her. I would scribble on my paper, crunch the crayons; mash the clay between my 8 year old fingers. I would babble on and on about dinosaurs and pinwheels and the ducks at central park. I would tell her about my teacher, Mrs. Alfano and how she had unusually small feet.
I claim to be older now, well past my childhood embarrassment.
But every time someone mentions the word, I get acutely aware of my surroundings. I am mortified. I could die of shame. I keep it a secret though. I just become quiet and subdued, ignoring the pain that tears through my ribcage.
crack, crack, crack,crack, crack.
Big birds flying across the sky,
throwing shadows on our eyes.
They leave us helpless.lunedì, agosto 20, 2007
Happy Borthday
I have a new baby sister.
Which, is nice. I guess.
I won't actually meet her, but it's still a nice thing to think. At least, I like to think that she will be more like me than like Ellen. I'm happy for her in the sense that she is fortunate enough to get the hell out before she realizes that she is trapped.
Trapped trapped trapped trapped. Like one of those cute little fox's who has to gnaw its own leg off to free itself.
No matter what she does, she'll be stuck.
Contrary to popular belief, it doesn't matter how much love is showered upon you. It always haunts you. It always fucking hurts. It sends a pang of grief over you every time you go to someones house. Every time you meet someone who reminds you. Every time someone enters your life, and every time someone leaves it. Rejection is sensitive, you are an alien.
I am a fox. I chew and chew and claw through sinew and flesh and finally bone. The marrow rots my teeth and burns my lips. But I keep going, afraid of what will happen if I stop.
Happy birthday.
Which, is nice. I guess.
I won't actually meet her, but it's still a nice thing to think. At least, I like to think that she will be more like me than like Ellen. I'm happy for her in the sense that she is fortunate enough to get the hell out before she realizes that she is trapped.
Trapped trapped trapped trapped. Like one of those cute little fox's who has to gnaw its own leg off to free itself.
No matter what she does, she'll be stuck.
Contrary to popular belief, it doesn't matter how much love is showered upon you. It always haunts you. It always fucking hurts. It sends a pang of grief over you every time you go to someones house. Every time you meet someone who reminds you. Every time someone enters your life, and every time someone leaves it. Rejection is sensitive, you are an alien.
I am a fox. I chew and chew and claw through sinew and flesh and finally bone. The marrow rots my teeth and burns my lips. But I keep going, afraid of what will happen if I stop.
Happy birthday.
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