Update - New Blog

As evident from my lack of posts on this blog, I have not been writing much about literature, politics, nor engaging in my sometimes poetic emotional rants.  I have instead been writing a lot about running.  I've been running on a consistent basis now for 18 months, during which time I have run three half-marathons, one marathon, and two 10K races, not to mention countless training runs of varying distances.

I am not abandoning this blog entirely, as I am sure eventually I will circle back to writing about something other than running.  But for the moment, you can find me here: Just Go Run

Memory Flash

There are these moments where I catch myself forgetting I have a mother. Data files of her image, her voice, her smell, her clothing, the age spots on her hands, the feeling of her skin, the texture of her hair, and her various gazes, both harsh and soft, caring and cruel, relaxed and tense--remain hidden in the recesses of my brain. I have tried so hard to keep her out of my daily consciousness. But then, out of the blue, one of the data files will open in front of me and like a film screen, pieces of her will project on the walls all around me. And that is when it happens. That is when I realize that I spend most days in denial of her existence, only to be reminded in quick, unexpected, bolts of lightening.

Deconstructing the Past

Almost a year
since that phone call,
since I left the door open
for you to walk through
or even look through,
but you never came.

So many things
are different now,
but the pain hasn't left,
it just hides in the walls
most days, but tonight
it crept out like a spider.

It's hard to look backwards,
I cannot even look at your picture
for more than a few seconds,
seeing your image forces me
to acknowledge you still exist,
reminds me you're still alone.

In those first few months
a hailstorm of memories
flashed through my mind,
all the moments I could
never understand in a rapid-fire
slide show, leaving me breathless.

I took to sorting them all,
assigning categories,
then filed them away
one by one. You were always
organized, one trait I will
not fight inheriting . . .

That Word

I do not want to hear it spoken,
that familiar, yet unfamiliar word.

She's not there anymore,
but then again, she never was.

I used to believe she was real.
But now I realize I was living off hope.

I woke up one day,
and decided I was done,
I couldn't say it.

The sensation of comfort one should feel,
has been replaced with a permanent emptiness.

So please don't ask me to say it,
or use it, because I have no mother.

Being Present

In my last post, I included an excerpt which in sum, says to slow down enough to be present and attentive, to struggle against the need to always be doing something. In the last month, I have tried to take the time to do just that, to be more attentive, and to reflect.

When you slow down enough, to feel your heart beating, to hear the ticking clock and murmur of voices blur into the background, there is a space left. Only in that space, can the seeds of awareness grow, can the mind take a breath and reflect, and is the heart left to open up and shed all the pain that you've housed and hidden away.

It is so easy to keep the mind distracted, especially for those of us striving to maintain everything that is outward, professional lives, social lives, and our intimate lives. For the type A, which I admit I am, you want everything, but there is a cost. You want to excel in every part of your life, but there comes a moment when you realize that your efforts to excel can keep you from being happy. You start putting everything and everyone ahead of yourself, you focus on the views of others. Ultimately, you can lose yourself.

Growing up, my biggest concern in life was just getting out of the house. I spent as much time as I could out of the house, away from my mother. I exerted so much energy trying to cope with the destructive environment that I had to wake up and return to every day. Once I entered college, and had successfully separated myself from the grips of my mother, at least physically (although not financially), I was too busy with class, studying, friends, and partying to allow room for much spiritual or emotional growth. Soon after, I went to law school which left even less time to let myself emotionally breath. The idea of creating some sort of space in which to reflect on anything other than cases, rules, and the IRAC method, was simply not in my mind.

I find myself now, trying to look back at the past several years through a new lens. Now armed with the recent revelation that all that my mother did, and continues to do, is neither my fault, nor within my power to change, I am attempting to uncover the scars of old wounds, instead of simply hiding them. I am forcing myself to slow down, to be attentive, and open my heart.