Muse

I’m not angry. The man of my dreams has not just walked out on me, my tears have not just blackened my cheeks with mascara, and the mirror has not just bluntly shown me how I really look. I am not angry, I’m sorry. I just can’t write.

***

  They had agreed to hang out together that day but it was mainly to catch up on work. It was only the two of them when they arrived at the open-air café. For a few hours, she was actually having a very refreshing afternoon; sitting in the sun on a comfortable couch, sipping an ice-cold pina colada, smoking an intoxicating coconut-flavored hookah and sitting next to the man who not only seemed to be the man of her dreams, but the manifestation of her dreams in a man.

  They had just recovered from a big fight but she didn’t doubt for a second that she was going to give their relationship another try. She was sitting right next to him, but he didn’t ask her opinion when he edited his short story for the contest. Her eyeliner was perfectly painted over her eyelids but he didn’t look her straight in the eye. Her skin was musky-scented but he didn’t put his arm around her. Her fingers were decorated with beautiful rings but he didn’t hold her hand.

   He was the only man who brought out the writer in her, who saw the female in her, the optimist and the dreamer. He was the first to admire her intellect and then her sexuality, her sarcasm and then her humor. He saw her from an angle she didn’t know existed.

   It is so foolish of him to think that the small talk would cover up the fact that he is hiding something. It’s an omen that he isn’t letting it all out like he usually does. I know he’s sitting right next to me, but he’s just not here. The writer in him isn’t being articulate today, the naughty guy isn’t flirting with me, the poet isn’t looking at me and describing how beautiful I look, the friend isn’t talking about his day, the thinker has abandoned teasing my brain, and instead we’re just talking about our work.

  They made their way through working for a few hours and eating lunch. But he was holding back what he was really feeling and she wasn’t sure what to ask him. So, she was waiting for him to come out with it, because, just like the short stories he wrote, he was being very hard to read.

  The sun was setting, putting an end to a beautiful day, but she was hoping the evening would have something good in store for her. 

 “I want to be a writer more than anything in the world,” he said.

“You know, this might be shocking to you, but I actually don’t mind having a child outside wedlock. I think that’s how much I don’t mind not having a wife but I would really like to have a child”

“You know my grandfather was a writer, he got married more than once but he always ended up divorced”

“I think it’s because my mom left my dad”

“I’ve lived alone since I was 15. When my dad used to go to work and I would have a cold, I used to make soup for myself. I don’t think I can actually have a long-term partner”

 Sitting on his right, she had one leg over the other and was looking over at him, in awe,as if watching him perform .They were no longer having a conversation .She had nothing to add to his list of why he thought she couldn’t and shouldn’t be in his life. Every time he said something it tore her pride because he was making her wonder whether or not he was really breaking up with her. Because- he- had- her-sit- there -listen –to-why-she –didn’t- fit- in -his –life, and yet he acted as if he were simply talking about himself.

“By the way, I’m leaving in a little while. I can’t wait till I get home to be alone and read and write all night”

  So he left her alone in the café to go enjoy his solitude, and so, for her, he didn’t just leave –like all the other men had. He left her behind.

 

  It was as if the space he had occupied when he was with her was automatically filled with descending words, emotions, and anger. She couldn’t contain herself, she needed to outpour her overflowing self before it all evaporated. She frantically searched for a pen and a paper. And under the dimmed lights of the café, amongst the chatter and laughs of the couples surrounding her, in the midst of the loud music, she managed to seclude herself. She was trying to transform her feelings into words. She was racing with her own brain, because if she didn’t write fast enough she wouldn’t be able to capture the muse that had temporarily possessed her.

 ***

 

Different people, different places, but nothing has changed. You need to vent, you smoke. You need to vent, you write. You need a relief. You walk away doubting that tomorrow is actually the future...

Promise

  She finally has the TV to herself. She sits down, legs crossed, in the tiny living room enjoying the temporary silence of her apartment. She is wrapped in her decades-old robe, holding, with both hands, a steaming hot cup of tea with milk. Stretching her back, her muscles start to untangle and her mind -as usual- starts to wonder how long her life is going to remain like this. 

   As the show starts on TV, she inhales. Exhales. She thinks to herself that maybe she should’ve let my brother watch the cartoon he wanted, but she lets the thought escape her confused conscience. He knows I watch it every day, he’s just going to have to watch his cartoon another time.

  9 P.M.; an hour later, she’s back to her reality. Now what? I don’t want to go to bed right now, it’s really early. I definitely don’t want to go downstairs and sit with mom! Grandma will endlessly complain about what my overseas uncle said or didn’t say when he last called.  Ok, so, should I go and ….?

  I imagine that my mom spends most of her free time thinking what she should be doing with it. I imagine that most of the time when she’s waiting for my brother to be done with one of his sports practices, she watches the other moms talk and laugh. She wonders if they’re actually happy, she envies them for a split second, she reminds herself that everything happens for a reason, that God has something better in store for her. He must.

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She says it so many times. Sometimes it hurts and other times it doesn’t, but it catches me off guard, every-single- time. I honestly cannot imagine how she has survived living with my father until now. At least my sister and I have lives outside our apartment, but mom? Her world has become a combination of budgeting, blaming, reminiscing, crying, being almost genuinely happy for me and my sister’s accomplishments, and lots and lots of day dreaming.

“Mom, are you okay?”

She looks at me without lifting her head up, but I see tears glowing on her cheeks.

“Of course not”

 “What happened? Why are you crying?”  

She looks up at me and tries to straighten her back. “Nothing happened. That’s the problem. Nothing ever happens.”

I don’t say anything because this is not the first time that we’ve had this conversation, not even the hundredth time. She then breaks the heart-throbbing silence:

“Marrying your father is the biggest mistake of my life”

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It’s never really complete, her happiness. It could be the news of me getting the job I wanted or my sister getting the scholarship she applied for, I feel that she’s still never completely happy. I don’t think even a miracle would make her happy, what she wants is her life back, or at least control over the one she has now.

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 I think my excessive need for men to tell me how they feel about me and also act on it is because my mom doesn’t say much. And when she does, it’s when I wish I was deaf. Years of being alone, with three kids, trying to maneuver around an almost non-existent income has dried her inside out. Her emotions now are only what she does, because dad has proven to her that words mean nothing.

 

Definition

http://yourlisten.com/channel/content/112689/Definition

I Am the picture that I take,

the stories that I’ve made and the words I say.

But…

 I am more than action,

I’m a fire ball of potential.

I am the jammed ideas in my head,

the voice you haven’t heard,

I am delayed imagination,

I am the unwritten word, the untaken picture,

I am who makes you whole .

I am you.

I am you if you are here and I am still you if you were once there,

I am everything and everyone I have stumbled upon.

I am

but

a collection.

I am

but

an evolving idea of my own self.

I am not

complete.

I am the picture that I’ll take, the stories that I’ll make and the words I’ll say.

Oblivious 2

   Back arched. Water running down her bronze skin. Wet crystals surf up and down until they hit the bathtub. Her beautiful curves stand obvious to any female-interested eye. Massaging her scalp, she enjoys the water teasing her perfectly hanging breasts--thinking she has come a long way. Water slopes down her back , goes up a perfect half-circle, and finally streams along her thighs. Flawless drops. Flawed skin. And only she knows.

  She steps out of the bathtub, wraps a towel around herself and then examines herself in the mirror. The towel drops to the floor. She can see her head-to-toe reflection, unfortunately. She takes a step closer to the mirror, hoping her imperfections will--miraculously-- disappear if she looks closely at them. She is one step closer to the mirror. They're still there.

  She remembers how she felt with water surrounding her body: alive. With every drop caressing her skin, she felt worth touching. With every drop teasing a body part, she felt feminine. The water didn't care. It understood she was human. She can't be perfect.

But she wants to be. Nevertheless, her years of self-consciousness and emotional recovery from teenage obesity have taught her a lesson: one can only be a perfect version of one they already is.

 Still standing across from herself and being exposed to her own,very critical, eyes, she wonders if her physical imperfections have left marks on the person that lies within. Ten years later, she wonders if she's still thirteen-years old inside, if she has grown up at all, if she's more comfortable in her own skin. She doubts it. Then she doesn’t. Then she thinks it’s a maybe.

  She hears music playing in the distance, and in the small space between the mirror and the wall she dances. She shyly watches her wriggling bare curves and smiles at herself whenever she masters a move.

 But no, if water is satisfied with bathing her beautifully-flawed skin, if water is in fact that oblivious , it’s simply because it’s just water. No human being will ever examine her with such a tolerant eye.

 She's too stubborn not to love herself enough until it is exactly how she wants it to be. She never was nor will she ever be oblivious to what she lacks, to what she has, or to what seems to be.

  She takes a deep breath and stares at a reflection of the embodiment of the person she has become rather than who she feels she really is. She thinks to herself that the next time water slides over her skin and makes her aware of her temporary shell, she will have come one step closer to the image in her head, to the love she owes to herself. Perhaps  she’ll have come one step closer to perfection. Or one step closer to being oblivious to it.

Just a little slower

   I think it was meant to slow me down. Or in better words, it happened so I can slow down and therefore become more appreciative of what I have, where I am and all of the opportunities that lay before me and ahead of me. It was meant to happen so that my options would be less and so I would stop being overwhelmed by the possibilities at hand that I always –more often than not- try to grab all at once. The result of which is inevitable frustration and exhaustion.

 And it did slow me down of course. Sometimes it slowed me down a little too much, it was painful. My enthusiastic, fiery, curious self hates nothing more than restraint. The idea has been implanted in my brain, the resources have been made accessible but it is I who can’t do it; it is just like having the apple within arm’s length but you just can’t reach it. Nevertheless, I, now, look back at the past 2 weeks and see that I’ve been calmer and more organized. I’ve managed to attend sessions, meet a few students outside class, plan for my weekends, study, and more importantly enjoy the little things about every passing day.

 I have been able to do more than just look around me; I have seen what I’m surrounded by. I have noticed, observed and taken mental notes. It is definitely something I’ve long needed; to take a step backwards, stand still and watch the world move forward on either side of my body because otherwise it is very hard to observe. With no observation, I believe, no proper opinion can  be formed, no genuine appreciation can result and no true enjoyment will take place.

I am glad. I am glad I broke a bone in my foot.

Wishful Thinking

  Black smudges on the pillow. Wrinkled bed sheets.  Eyes staring at the ceiling. Puffy  ones. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” was playing tonight, is playing right now in fact. I could’ve gone. I’d wanted to go since I’ve heard it was going to play today. I was thrilled because I’m free Wednesday evenings and because I would get the chance to wear one of my new skirts.

  Mirrors are tricky things though. They are honest. And in my case, more often than not, they’re not only honest, they’re blunt.

 It was an exciting morning with many planned errands run, I felt accomplished. Now, the evening has come. Time for some fun. I slowly opened the drawer, picked a skirt and anxiously tried it on. I walked to the mirror. I took a few steps forward and then a few ones backwards. Turned around, tried every pose possible. I tried on a second skirt. I tried on a third skirt. Alas.  The gods of weight loss along with the gods of self-esteem don’t want to give me a break. And I desperately need one.

 Nothing is more unsettling than the feeling of being stuck within yourself. Not with yourself, but within.  Time is another tricky thing. It just won’t give you what you want when you need it the most. You have to wait, and most of the time it is painfully inconvenient.

  Lying still on my bed fighting tears and thoughts, wishing I had a different body, at least for tonight. Or maybe wishing I didn’t care how I looked or maybe wishing I was thirteen again , starting all over and never approaching those cookies.

 Lying still on my bed, Black smudges on the pillow. Wrinkled bed sheets.  Eyes staring at the ceiling. Puffy  ones.

Insignificant

 

Inhale. Exhale. Clenching her left fist, releasing it,clenching it again. She stood squinting at the big white door ; her next challenge.

Time to go in, I can't just stand here.

As she swung the door open an air-conditioned breeze flew her way. Nervously scanning for him in the big work office, her lungs decided she needed the air inside for now.

The radar that had been implanted in her since she arrived at work disregarded all the buzzing voices in the background, and then it picked up his voice behind her, greeting someone. He wasn't just his usual loud. He was happy loud. She unclenched her first, and her lungs released the air free.

She turned around,and saw him; the man who once awakened senses  in her she never knew she had. The only man in her adult life who made her feel like life is worth living;who made her feel alive.

He wanted time off he said. Despite all his troubles, I still can't believe he wanted time off from me.

Standing across from him, her eyes faked looking for something behind him and as they turned to the left, they met his. His eyes were brown lit and his smile pearl white. He was happy. And I have nothing to do with it. A smile formed slowly on her face despite herself.

“ You're back ?” She asked in what she thought appeared as a nonchalant manner.

“ Yeah, I arrived a few days ago. You didn't know?” His smile slightly faded away.

  Her thumb started rapidly rubbing the back of the ring on her ring finger.

“ How would I ? You were totally cut off from the world for a month.”

  A moment of silence dawned on the both of them, she looked deeply into his eyes and knew she wouldn't hear what would soothe her heart.

“ I...umm..I...have to go. I have work to do.” She whispered.

She couldn't wait for him to respond – or she was scared to. She turned around,feeling her heart expanding in her chest. Breathless. She walked out of the office from the back door as if she'd been under water for hours, and now sticking her head out for some air.

It started when she commented on a short story he posted on his blog. They talked about it the next day at work, and they didn't stop talking for the following 3 weeks. They talked about everything to its finest detail. Their past was no longer shameful , their present no longer boring and future plans not a secret. No time on Earth was enough for them to quench their curiosity; they had finally found each other.

Inhale. Exhale. She had her back to the wall. Staring into the corridor, she hoped the solution to her misery would pop out of thin air. She bent her knees, pulling herself down the wall. She shut her eyes for a few moments and held her forehead in her palm;deep in shock. She decided to open her eyes, and slowly pushed herself upwards. Regaining her balance, she stepped away from the wall, and tied her hair in a pony tail. Eyes closed. Jaw clenched. It's time to face the music.

On their first official date, a romantic moment brought them closer than they' d ever been. Eyes closed. She was trying to preserve the moment,to lock it up in a place of happy memories in her heart. She couldn't believe it was really happening.

Well, it wasn't.

Opening the door , her heart thudded against her chest. She walked into the room with her back straight, a clear throat and eyes wide open. So many comforting faces, yet none that really matter. She was looking for his, hoping he wouldn't be there. He wasn't. She sat down, and held a pen with her slightly shaking hand. I have to try to get some work done.

Being so close to a girl, he remembered what he'd been through,and decided he wanted to take it slow. He was scared for the both of them, he said. One week later and a few days before he left, the potential love story went from slow to over.

He walked in the room and looked right past her as if she was a ghost. Work was now the last thing on her mind. She couldn't contain herself. She felt like she had to talk to him; to tell him she'd been restless ever since he left. She placed her left arm on the table,supported herself and slowly stood up. The humiliation she felt was coming her way conjured up tears in her eyes.

She walked up to him in hesitant steps. Standing behind him, she stretched her arm and patted him on his right shoulder. Her eyes fixated on his shoulders, she saw his right shoulder turn slowly to the left . She took a step back, swallowed her saliva and felt it slide down her throat. Now facing her, he looked at her with expressionless eyes. It was only then that she remembered what he had once told her.

“ You know, my friends always ask me why I seem to be perfectly okay whenever I break up with a girl. I tell them that when the most important woman in your life walks out on you,no other woman really ever matters.”