Sunday, January 30, 2011

We're all one phone call from our knees...

With each dirt-streaked tear, each faithless stumble, each heart-led fall, my head spins as all-consuming questions begin to layer in a desperately chaotic search for more. Sometimes, the answers I uncover aren’t enough to satisfy me. Sometimes, they aren’t what I want to believe is true. And sometimes, I still just don’t understand.

When I was younger, I couldn’t comprehend that the world was constantly spinning even if I stood still. So I would twirl myself in unrelenting circles; when I paused, the earth would make its rumored turns around me. With that, I was appeased.

I couldn’t fathom why, beneath the scientific explanations and logical conclusions, the sky was blue. So I would lie on my back, close my eyes, and think deeply about other colors replacing that which is accepted; when I opened my eyes again, I realized that I simply wouldn’t want the sky to be any other shade even if it could be painted over. Yet again, I was appeased.

And now, after all these years, the world is still spinning and the sky is still blue. But now, I’m not asking why it’s true; I’m asking how it’s true. How is it that this earth continues to make its rounds when a best friend, a beautiful soul, a man like none before, has departed? How is it that the sky is filled with its age-old, limitless color when my own life has gone to black and white without the person who filled it with shining light and glorious hues?

Ryan, I can't explain big the hole is that you created inside me when you decided to leave us because I’m honestly shattered. I don't know how I’m going to put my own life back together because when I realized your arms will never wrap around me again, my heart exploded with the terror, the grief, and the unfathomable. You were a slave to circumstance, yet another victim to the casualties of time. The chains were suffocating, and the masters of pain and fear were closing in on you. But baby, we all would have willingly locked ourselves into that darkened place next to you if you had just given us another chance. Together, through laughter and hope and love, we would have fought back the shadows. We would have linked arms, allowing our friendship to be the only chains holding us together.

And so my darling, together we cry. We cry for the incredible man who held his head high for so long. We cry for the lonely world that is now deprived of a mesmerizing soul. We cry for you Ryan.

Your heart will never leave this place that you were so desperate to escape from; I will forever hold it in my own. Thank you for the privilege of being apart of your life. I love you. I miss you. I’ll see you on the other side my love, my sweet, my friend.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Past and Precedence


There’s this place I get trapped in sometimes, this bizarre and inexpressible chasm my mind creates after sleep yet before awake. My dream begins to break up into over-exposed images flashing in random sequence. The underlying message of my unconscious wandering dulls as clipped pictures pass by effortlessly and I am powerless to register any information beyond the emotions each scene evokes. A noiseless, shapeless drone quickly approaches with an increasingly loud murmur that means absolutely nothing and still significantly something. I wake up in a state of dim confusion, questioning the pieces of my life that are slowly falling back into place. To be honest, I often greet the day with little concept of past, present, or future. Countless hours have been spent navigating such an in-between, recollections merging with potential experiences and distant moments colliding with rapidly approaching decisions.

A memory of undignified laughter lifts the corners of a dormant smile as my heart skips a beat in sympathy of such a moment; The way my happiness bubbled from deep within a secret place, moving forward at an unsurpassed speed with insurmountable force. The way my body shook with the effects of such pure joy, the trembles traveling straight through me, supercharging my soul. The way my tears of joy re-routed the dirtied, pain-filled streaks made by tears of regret, disappointment, and fear.

A memory of my dad skipping stones on a lazy river soars through my mind with uncanny detail; The way a vivid blue sky framed by fragrantly green trees made an expressive outline of his fatherly presence. The way unadulterated awe expanded in my young soul with each elegant, chaotic hop of his delightfully rounded rock. The way I stood, gangly limbs and ponderous expression, as I wondered whether my stone would always sink after an explosive splash or if someday my humble attempts would also yield faultless ripples, one after the other in perfectly rapid succession, as his always did.

At every turn, I run my fingers across the rough surfaces of my life that angle into the unknown. At every corner, I pause to catch my breath before whipping onto the adjoining path, prepared to scramble over the cracks, around the looming challenges, and past the beautiful things lining the way. And with each fleeting day, I sacrifice bits of my ever-shortening time to the memories; Memories of hellos, goodbyes, and bridges burned. Births, deaths, and the blinding light of life in between. Failed recipes, forgotten ingredients, and lessons learned from each mistake...

I don’t know where I’m going and sometimes, I wish I could erase where I’ve been. I suppose I can only content myself with the knowledge of where I am, and the blessing of something as simple as that.

Friday, January 7, 2011

And the World Turns.

             The scene was a simple one; kids playing with all their usual exclamations, the sky an open window, and my heart content. I had an eager, clammy hand pulling me wherever the fleeting whims of its owner led us and a destination that was certainly open for interpretation by the little ones who could override my every intention with a smile. My companions propelled me forward in the hurried manner of children that have no place to be, but are determined to reach that place with all haste. On our way past the brightly colored classrooms doubling as temporary bedrooms, those not party to our explorations called out a greeting and threw their arms to the blue skies in an enthusiastic hello. In return, the girls by my side would chant along with me as we practiced the Princess Wave, ‘Elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist. Touch your pearls and blow a kiss!’ It didn’t take long for giggles to become the only sound we could manage as skips and excited little hops accentuated our walk. Before long, a small head popped over the wall with curious eyes, checking out the commotion. ‘Cici!’ the tiny boy exclaimed, using my nickname. ‘Durga sweetheart, come!’ I exclaimed right back, my arm already out in preparation for his bony limbs wrapping halfway around me in a hug that always makes my heart smile. He shook his head in a decline but all the while, a wide grin stayed glued to his face. I walked over only to discover that he was changing into his school uniform. I backed away and said in brief, adapted English, ‘Okay, I wait.’ As he changed, that same wide grin kept me smiling, and my love for him swelled as he kept his eyes on me to make sure I didn’t leave him. Within seconds, he had skittered down the steps to my side. Even though I would have fought tooth and nail to keep him in my arms he was soon off to play without a backward glance, as boys are wont to do.

I cannot fathom an explanation, but this moment has kept me company every minute since being home. I think about little Durga constantly; the way he would stand by the porch where our team gathered, a blanket wrapped around his small frame and a face begging for attention just as it used to beg for food on the streets before he was carried to New Life, carried home; the way he was always the last child to give into yawns and heavy eyes, and the first to raise his hand with the sign of love on his fingers. I wonder if he lays awake some nights curled into his faded little mat on the classroom floor, the chilly air biting at his sun-soaked skin, while a multitude of other noises pierce the stillness and fade into the blackness unaccounted for. I wonder if he glances around at the dark shapes of his brothers, his friends, and thinks about the shadows of his past that came for him in the night. I wonder if he remembers how his parents tried to protect him before the world got through their defenses…It breaks my heart that he doesn’t fall asleep to hummed lullabies or soft goodnight kisses on the cheek. It tears me apart that he is still only one of hundreds of millions of babies facing the darkness on their own. It leaves me lost that I am helpless in the face of this disgusting part of humanity.

Memories of India drown me. Their tides determinedly pull at the frayed ties between a recent past and my diluted present. Their depths flood the fragile recesses of my soul, where I tenderly battle their invasion…memories as fleeting as the whisper of a child’s breath as she falls asleep cradled in my arms; as the hint of a stifled message that lies hidden behind dark eyes with no point of escape. Memories as insistent as the tug of a little one’s heart on mine; as the words that crowded my mind, fighting for a way to be understood by the people who stole my every breath; as the power behind loving a stranger in a way that terrifies, satisfies, and entirely captivates. Memories so disorienting that they make me lose my way; they overwhelm my mind and heart; they persuade me to believe that without it, I am misplaced. I am nothing. They wash over me until the stars blinking above me combine in swirling chaos, transforming into the beautiful light that a single place, a single person, brought to my life. The effect is staggering. I forget where I’m going and instead, my body moves toward the magnetic pull of a distant home. I am forced to wrap myself in my own embrace, enclosing the abrupt pain of losing them all…

I don't know how to pray when all I can do is plead. I don't know how to forgive when all I can do is condemn the world for standing by as these children go to bed hungry, alone, and anonymous. I just don't know.