At home, doing fine new normal, nothing special when a flash of memory finds me.
Spanish class, every day, without fail we had our jobs. Our class starter, closing the door at 12:33, always 12:33, every day, without fail booming out the word Hola. There was
the job of making sure everyone had their stuff lapiz, cuaderno, computadora every day, without fail, those 3 words burned into my memory. There was
the tardy tracker with the black binder, marking lates I always hated having to say that I was the late one, but at least it was predictable at least then I could put the word always in a sentence. Every day, without fail.
On and on we went, every day, without fail, after lunch, knowing what to expect when I walked through the door. Nothing could stop our jobs, our rituals.
1. Observe! What are people doing? What's their expression, can you tell how they're feeling?
1. Observe! What are people doing? Perhaps sitting in front of a window so they're in silhouette and you really can't tell if they have a facial expression? Do they even have their video on?
2. How do they move? Are they graceful? Confident? Unsure and awkward? Is their stride springy or gloomy and sad? What does this tell you about them?
2. How do they move? Are they glitchy? Is their connection perfect, crystal clear? When they walk with their device, do they manage to keep it steady? How much of this actually tells you about them? Are you just learning about their computer?
3. How does their voice sound? Is it quiet or loud, gentle or sharp, solid or trembling? What can you
All around me, injustice. Thick in the air, popping up everywhere, a dark cloud threatening to burst.
I am an injustice-gazer. Watching through my telescope, I see it. I see the protests, the conversations, all the talking talking talking about how wrong this is. Yes, I watch from afar, agreeing it's wrong, but I stay back. I decide it's not my problem. I decide it's easier not to speak up. Easier to accept that I can't change the world than defy that and change it anyway. Easier to hide my face during the scary parts of life than to keep them wide open, full of courage and fire. Easier to be happy than make change by being sad. Easier to separate myself from the injustice than to connect myself to it all and find that I fit perfectly, because I'm human, too. We all are. We all need to care. But it's easier not to.
But easy isn't how anyone gets anywhere. Watching doesn't do any good. Telescopes aren't worth your money, trust me, I know. No, they don't do any good, not any good at all. Only change does.
I believe in you. No, I don't believe it'll be easy. I believe this life will be hard and sometimes you'll want to collapse on the ground, give in and let it hit you. But I believe you can get through it standing tall.
I believe in you. No, I don't believe you can make it through life doing what they think you should do, doing what they tell you. I believe you can defy them all, make your own path, blow them away just by being yourself.
I believe in you. No, I don't believe you can walk your path and manage to stay standing. I believe that you can go higher than that. You can soar.
I believe in you. I believe you can ride the wave of life, let it swirl around you, beautiful and dangerous, dark and light. I believe you can hold on, make it to the end, and come out smiling.
She stands there, shaking, ribbons of fear wrapping around her, encircling her wrists, marking them with red as they tighten. She panics. She could let the fear envelop her, succumb to its wishes, pretend they're really fancy ribbons, a luxury, not a limit, pretend there's nothing wrong, yes, but that would only be giving up. She could do what they tell her to do, rip those ribbons off and leave them in a pile by her feet, but she knows it's no use. No one can really leave fear behind, she knows. Those ribbons will come back in the end, they always will. So instead of giving up, and instead of trying to rid herself of fear, she takes those ribbons ties them in her hair, so they fly loose and free in the wind. Her wind. The wind she makes, because she is stronger than those ribbons. They aren't gone forever, but
My dog stands at the top of the stairs, unsure. Does he stay up here or leave for the floor below? He doesn’t know, won’t budge, so many reasons for why he should stay, just as many for why he should go.
How many people are like him? Fork in the road, no way to choose either way a loss, either way missing something? How many people are afraid to make the wrong choice, equally afraid to make the right one?
He settles down two stairs from the top, neither up nor down, lying there, not very comfortable, still knowing he’ll have to choose. Upstairs or down?
How many people wish they could be both, two things at once, leaving neither behind, taking the best of both worlds? How many people wish decisions didn’t exist, wish it wasn’t so hard to choose?
I just want to go home. No, not only this house that I eat in and sleep in every night, not only the place I live in, spend my time in. No, I want to go to a home with a kitchen table, yes, me and my parents laughing and talking and eating good food, but also to a home with a messy blue locker in an empty hallway, just me and my friends, alone, because we're late for lunch, laughing and touching surfaces that everyone touches. To a home with a playground--back when school had a playground and recess wasn't optional, to a swingset with us ten-year-olds, swinging and singing at the top of our lungs, not a single care in the world. To a home with endless hugs and high-fives, a home with parties and concerts and farmers' markets where we'd always run into someone we knew, running across the street, ringing the doorbell,
These are open window evenings. Leaning against the screen, watching the dusk happenings. Flowers quiver in a gentle breeze that flows softly through the screen, bursting with color though the twilight soon swallows it, because night's on its way.
Birds chirp, their music bringing calm the only soundtrack I want to listen to now the only song that fits this moment: an open window evening watching the dusky scene: night's on its way.
Far above, the sky unimaginable colors who knew orange could fade into blue like that? Except it's not just blue, it's that dusky specialty: robin's-egg, turquoise, and white-gray blended together in a way only the sky can show when night's on its way.
Nature is close, but far, too, because I am only in my dining room, window wide open, but screen keeping me in and when I leave my spot to write,