Saturday, August 28, 2010
keep writing.
keep writing. keep writing. because it is what you have. it's what you can do. it's what you love. it makes sense of the world, and makes sense to you. and words are beautiful. and putting words together beautifully is magical. and it keeps you going. and it's your expression. and your release. and you don't have to think, you can just write. and it doesn't need to look pretty to be pretty. and it doesn't need to be for anyone else, but it can be. and maybe if you put it down, make it tangible, arrange your thoughts, then it might change something. not everything. but something. maybe. and once you've written, there's something to read. and keep reading. keep the flow of beautiful words going in and let them come out. play your part in the circulation of beauty through black marks on white spaces. keep writing.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
another travelling song
i am a traveller. i know it. it’s in me in a way that i can’t explain, like you can’t explain why your favourite colour is green or you love the smell of the sea, or how you just know you’re going to be a fireman when you grow up. in that inexplicable, and sometimes seemingly irrational way, i know i'm meant to travel.
i’ve always grown up with strange people around me (strange as in foreign – although most of them were strange as in weird too). our house seems to be a haven for foreign friends, and foreign friends-of-friends, and friends of those friends who heard somewhere that we’d take them in if they showed up on our doorstep. and i’ve loved it. i’ve loved having these people who are so other, and sometimes complete strangers, and i’ve loved connecting with them in different ways and showing them my home – seeing it through their eyes. and, invariably, whenever one of the many travellers leaves, they leave with open invitations to stay in beds and on couches in their corner of the world. and it’s wonderful. it’s how a community should be. but i’m beginning to realise that while it’s fantastic to have all these people constantly passing through, it makes me feel more and more like i’m being left behind. because some of them you really connect with. and you want to be in their lives always, not just as a fleeting memory of a holiday in africa. but more than that, i feel that every time another visitor leaves, they take a small piece of me with them. and i feel like i’m being left here, getting smaller and smaller, while the world gets bigger and more impatient for me to see it all. to go find all the pieces of me and put them back together. and i so want to see it all. more every day. i want to see it now. because while i’m stuck here in a routine i don’t want, the world is happening. and it’s exciting. and even though some of it may be there forever, i don’t feel like it can wait. because i am a traveller. and i need to travel.
i’ve always grown up with strange people around me (strange as in foreign – although most of them were strange as in weird too). our house seems to be a haven for foreign friends, and foreign friends-of-friends, and friends of those friends who heard somewhere that we’d take them in if they showed up on our doorstep. and i’ve loved it. i’ve loved having these people who are so other, and sometimes complete strangers, and i’ve loved connecting with them in different ways and showing them my home – seeing it through their eyes. and, invariably, whenever one of the many travellers leaves, they leave with open invitations to stay in beds and on couches in their corner of the world. and it’s wonderful. it’s how a community should be. but i’m beginning to realise that while it’s fantastic to have all these people constantly passing through, it makes me feel more and more like i’m being left behind. because some of them you really connect with. and you want to be in their lives always, not just as a fleeting memory of a holiday in africa. but more than that, i feel that every time another visitor leaves, they take a small piece of me with them. and i feel like i’m being left here, getting smaller and smaller, while the world gets bigger and more impatient for me to see it all. to go find all the pieces of me and put them back together. and i so want to see it all. more every day. i want to see it now. because while i’m stuck here in a routine i don’t want, the world is happening. and it’s exciting. and even though some of it may be there forever, i don’t feel like it can wait. because i am a traveller. and i need to travel.
breakfast at... tiffany’s?
[or: rosehip & hibiscus tea, a dwarf, a two-headed dog, a crazy chinese lady and this music.]
the best thing about the chinese lady was her red jersey. and the best thing about the two-headed dog was its feet. there’s no use trying to pretend there was anything “best” about the tea, the music or especially the dwarf, but they added an element to the situation that made it more conducive to reveal a story.
whether the story was in the attempted-sandwich-gifting, the return of the lady in red, the sudden appearance and consequent observation of the dwarf or the bad adventure to awful tea and worse music, was unclear.
or, perhaps there was no story. perhaps the lady in red had simply had enough of her sandwich and had tried to re-gift it so as not to be wasteful. and perhaps she simply came back because she was lonely and felt sad, and being around the interesting creature cheered her up in some way. watching the dwarf can be very plainly explained by the fact that he was a dwarf. and the tea was merely a bad judgement call, not helped along by the dreary music.
maybe, when you dissected it and looked at each individual event in its own right there wasn’t a big picture, or a full story. but, when you consider that it all happened at once, on the same street corner one friday morning, it does begin to seem quite curious. quite curious indeed.
the best thing about the chinese lady was her red jersey. and the best thing about the two-headed dog was its feet. there’s no use trying to pretend there was anything “best” about the tea, the music or especially the dwarf, but they added an element to the situation that made it more conducive to reveal a story.
whether the story was in the attempted-sandwich-gifting, the return of the lady in red, the sudden appearance and consequent observation of the dwarf or the bad adventure to awful tea and worse music, was unclear.
or, perhaps there was no story. perhaps the lady in red had simply had enough of her sandwich and had tried to re-gift it so as not to be wasteful. and perhaps she simply came back because she was lonely and felt sad, and being around the interesting creature cheered her up in some way. watching the dwarf can be very plainly explained by the fact that he was a dwarf. and the tea was merely a bad judgement call, not helped along by the dreary music.
maybe, when you dissected it and looked at each individual event in its own right there wasn’t a big picture, or a full story. but, when you consider that it all happened at once, on the same street corner one friday morning, it does begin to seem quite curious. quite curious indeed.
Sunday, August 01, 2010
daddy's little girl
I don't know how to express the gratitude I feel to this man for giving everything he has to my sister and I. And no matter what is not right in the world, for being the one person who can fix it. I will never love another man as much as I love him.
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