Dear readers,
please join me on my next adventure onto my new blog. I will now embark on writing my first novel- Loving Me. You can read on at 1994LovingMeStill.blogspot.com
Feel free to leave feedback and enjoy my previous rants/poems/letters from 2015.
XOXO
Sunday, January 3, 2016
Saturday, November 21, 2015
Little Red Sport Cars
My home was never empty, never quiet; mom was always there, busy with laundry, dinner, or work. My dad was also always busy Monday through Saturday, working in farm labor as a water ditch driver. I was the oldest, from my siblings, and from all the neighborhood kids who helped keep my family house lively. We roamed the empty lots of future new houses being built on our block; we built forts and dug large holes in the ground and called it adventure.
I had my own desk top computer, it was bulky and loud and the screen was always too heavy to pick up to move, so I left it stationed in my parent's living room. During the hot summer months of vacation, I would typically spend most of my freedom outside with the other twelve kids. However, on the few days I wasn't outside running rampant, I could be found sitting, hunched over in front of the computer screen.
I use to write little secret stories, hide them in some file on my precious computer. It was like make-believe and pretend dress up, except this time, in words. I had a favorite character I liked to always write about....he was older, around thirty. He had sun-kissed, caramel-brown skin, black hair. I pictured him always wearing a white t-shirt and light washed jeans- black shoes. He drove an old, red sports car and he always had money.
Looking back, I can see why I would dream of such a character. An unknown man who felt so important to me- with his red sports car and his skin that tanned like mine, and the money he acquired so freely. As a twelve year old girl, I dreamt of the man I would have called Father. The man who I thought would one day, like in my stories, visit me and take me for long drives to the beach and buy me my favorite ice cream. I had never know a man who had so much extra time to spend with just me.
I forgot about these sacred stories I wrote in my childhood. They were locked away and hidden in files, not on my 2000 Windows 7 computer, but in my twenty-one year old brain.
I forgot about these, until one day, I was driving back to my parent's house. I had a flashback of a time that didn't exist.... I was twelve again, with the wind flowing through my long, brown hair. The sun kissed my honey skin and I was happy.
Where did this imaginary memory come from? I asked myself, as I pulled up to my parent's house and parked my little red car on the memory-filled block of dreams. Instantly, I remembered him and how he used to be my favorite imaginary character.
It wasn't until then, I remembered these stories I used to intricately write, hide, and keep for myself. How I wrote them so young, is amazing to me.... but the thing that amazes me the most, is when I bought my car, it was from a man with his name. A man who owned this red Dodge Neon Sports Edition car, had this brown skin and black hair that I so dearly didn't remember.
So now, when I drive my old, hand-me-down I don't mind the dusty smell or the stained interior. This little red sports car reminds me of the twelve year old girl I used to be, who loved her parents who worked so hard, who spent hours outside adventuring, and who wrote stories of a dream man who's still only just a dream.
I had my own desk top computer, it was bulky and loud and the screen was always too heavy to pick up to move, so I left it stationed in my parent's living room. During the hot summer months of vacation, I would typically spend most of my freedom outside with the other twelve kids. However, on the few days I wasn't outside running rampant, I could be found sitting, hunched over in front of the computer screen.
I use to write little secret stories, hide them in some file on my precious computer. It was like make-believe and pretend dress up, except this time, in words. I had a favorite character I liked to always write about....he was older, around thirty. He had sun-kissed, caramel-brown skin, black hair. I pictured him always wearing a white t-shirt and light washed jeans- black shoes. He drove an old, red sports car and he always had money.
Looking back, I can see why I would dream of such a character. An unknown man who felt so important to me- with his red sports car and his skin that tanned like mine, and the money he acquired so freely. As a twelve year old girl, I dreamt of the man I would have called Father. The man who I thought would one day, like in my stories, visit me and take me for long drives to the beach and buy me my favorite ice cream. I had never know a man who had so much extra time to spend with just me.
I forgot about these sacred stories I wrote in my childhood. They were locked away and hidden in files, not on my 2000 Windows 7 computer, but in my twenty-one year old brain.
I forgot about these, until one day, I was driving back to my parent's house. I had a flashback of a time that didn't exist.... I was twelve again, with the wind flowing through my long, brown hair. The sun kissed my honey skin and I was happy.
Where did this imaginary memory come from? I asked myself, as I pulled up to my parent's house and parked my little red car on the memory-filled block of dreams. Instantly, I remembered him and how he used to be my favorite imaginary character.
It wasn't until then, I remembered these stories I used to intricately write, hide, and keep for myself. How I wrote them so young, is amazing to me.... but the thing that amazes me the most, is when I bought my car, it was from a man with his name. A man who owned this red Dodge Neon Sports Edition car, had this brown skin and black hair that I so dearly didn't remember.
So now, when I drive my old, hand-me-down I don't mind the dusty smell or the stained interior. This little red sports car reminds me of the twelve year old girl I used to be, who loved her parents who worked so hard, who spent hours outside adventuring, and who wrote stories of a dream man who's still only just a dream.
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Prince Charming
Here is my rendition of a beloved fairy tale: Cinderella. An assignment for my Children's Lit class; a classic made modern. This is my second version.
The King invited all of the eligible women in the kingdom to the royal castle, for a night of fine dining and dancing. He was sure that tonight, his son would find a bride and his throne will soon be in safe hands.
The next morning, Charming and his father sat and had breakfast together. “Do you think you’ve found her?” His father asked. “No, I think I will tonight, surely, tonight I will not disappoint you, father.”
The next morning arrived, and the King and Charming met for breakfast.
Prince Charming
This story, is a different story. A prince, named Charming, once lived in the royal castle. He was handsome, brilliant, strong, and especially, brave. One day, the King of the castle called in his son Charming. “Charming, my beloved son, the time has come and it will soon be your turn to govern the kingdom...but first things first, you must choose a bride and marry.”
The prince agreed and instantly became very excited for the new future. He loved the idea of love, true love. He loved it almost as much as he loved hunting and fishing, and conquering new land.
Soon enough, the day came. “Tonight is my celebration. Father is celebrating me and I will find my true love.
The King invited all of the eligible women in the kingdom to the royal castle, for a night of fine dining and dancing. He was sure that tonight, his son would find a bride and his throne will soon be in safe hands.
The music was angelic and the wine was plentiful as the night began. Prince Charming entered the ballroom, walking and gleaming down the white, swirling staircase. All eyes in the room were on him. Charming scanned the room, looking for a beautiful face.
He greeted and waltzed with many young ladies, but couldn’t focus on keeping a conversation, because his eyes were busy moving up and down the room.
As the prince was introduced to every lovely lady in the room, his father watched from above, sitting in a chair overlooking the festive night.
The night was coming to an end when the King could sense the frustration in his son’s eyes, since he has yet to choose a guest to pursue. That was until, through the king’s glasses, he saw the doorman trip and drop a few of the coats being passed back out to the leaving guests.
“Oh, let me help you with those,” Charming insisted, “no need for embarrassment, I’ve tripped down here before, too.”
“Thank you, my Prince.”
The two caught eyes and this is also what the watchful King saw. It was there, in his golden chair, the King saw his son become bashful, pink, and mesmerized.
The next morning, Charming and his father sat and had breakfast together. “Do you think you’ve found her?” His father asked. “No, I think I will tonight, surely, tonight I will not disappoint you, father.”
Prince Charming hadn’t found a bride the night before, and he was frightful with the thought that maybe, he didn’t want a bride. All day he couldn’t get those eyes, those green eyesーgreen as the spring grass he was so fond of, green like the trees in summer, and as green as the ocean in Decemberーof his mind. He couldn’t imagine what his father would say about such an idea, so he tried his best to let the idea go.
Although he didn’t know that his father knew of this divine encounter, the King did indeed see the attraction and connection his son and the doorman shared. The King loved his son with all of his heart, he remembered what it felt like the moment he met his own wife. Bliss. He knew that smile on his son’s face last night was no ordinary smile, it was a blissful smile.
That night of the second celebration, the King requested that the doorman be there again, to greet and collect the coats of all the guests.
Again, the music was heavenly as Prince Charming entered the room from the pearly staircase. There was something different about this night, though, as the Prince took one glance out into the large ballroom and there was no guest in sight. Charming made his way down the staircase and towards the the tall, wood doors. There, the doorman stood, just as surprised as the Prince.
“Where is everyone?”
“They should be arriving anytime now, my Prince.”
“Well, it’s unusual and rude.” With that, they both looked at each other and laughed. Charming asked the doorman if he could stand down there with him, until the guests arrived. “Of course, I would love the company of my Prince.”
The two stayed down there at the towering doors and talked the night away, forgetting about the time passingーevening turning into morning. Neither of them noticing the King sitting in his chair above, watching his son fall in love.
The next morning arrived, and the King and Charming met for breakfast.
“Father, I, I have something to tell you…”
“Yes, I know son.”
“You, know?”
“I know that you love the man who stood at the door and collected the coats of our guests and Iー”
“Oh Father, I promise, I promise I will not let this ruin your kingdom, I will find a bride tonight if you just give me one last chance Iー”
“My son, do not worry. There will be no other invitations, except to your wedding, certainly.”
Charming looked at his father with tears in his eyes, stood up, and wept at his feet. “Thank you Father, thank you, I will not disappoint you, I promise, this love is true.”
Days later, the wedding invitation were sent out. Guests from the kingdom and other kingdoms hundreds of miles away, gathered together at the royal castle.
The music was grand and the wine was tasteful. All eyes waited in anticipation for the newlyweds to make their way down for the wonderful celebration.
“Hear ye, hear ye, now presented to you, our beloved Prince Charming and his husband!”
Long live the Prince, long live the Prince, long live the Prince.
Friday, September 11, 2015
Never Forget
Two words, I've heard all day, never forget.
Never forget that morning, that morning that changed us forever.
That early morning, I suddenly became very aware that this world was not the pretty daydream, my seven year old mind had it out to be. The morning that turned into an afternoon of riding home on the bus; all of us rowdy kids, silent. And then, the afternoon that changed to the evening news, loud in our small house; my mother crying in shock and my father cursing with anger. Finally, the evening that grew to night; laying in my bed, scared and confused.
Until now, I've always never forgotten today, as the day that brought fear to me. Fear of war, fear of sacrifice, fear of an uncertain future.
But now, today is different.
On this new, September 11th, I am not a frightened seven year old.
And I will never forget this morning, this early morning that I woke up and knew I loved you. This morning, turning into afternoon when I remembered your smile, and the way you say my name. And then, the afternoon that changed to my evening alone; thinking about you coming home, to stay. Finally, the evening that grew to night, as I lay here in bed, peacefully and safe.
Granted, I may forget the tragedy of September 11, 2001, whether it be from old age or blocking the violent memory.
But I will indeed never forget that morning, on the new September 11th, that morning that changed us forever.
Never forget that morning, that morning that changed us forever.
That early morning, I suddenly became very aware that this world was not the pretty daydream, my seven year old mind had it out to be. The morning that turned into an afternoon of riding home on the bus; all of us rowdy kids, silent. And then, the afternoon that changed to the evening news, loud in our small house; my mother crying in shock and my father cursing with anger. Finally, the evening that grew to night; laying in my bed, scared and confused.
Until now, I've always never forgotten today, as the day that brought fear to me. Fear of war, fear of sacrifice, fear of an uncertain future.
But now, today is different.
On this new, September 11th, I am not a frightened seven year old.
And I will never forget this morning, this early morning that I woke up and knew I loved you. This morning, turning into afternoon when I remembered your smile, and the way you say my name. And then, the afternoon that changed to my evening alone; thinking about you coming home, to stay. Finally, the evening that grew to night, as I lay here in bed, peacefully and safe.
Granted, I may forget the tragedy of September 11, 2001, whether it be from old age or blocking the violent memory.
But I will indeed never forget that morning, on the new September 11th, that morning that changed us forever.
..I have been loving you for 730 days and counting..
Thursday, August 6, 2015
Happy Birthday Momma
Raise your glasses, to the greatest woman in my life.
Nineteen years ago, I chose her. I chose her because of the way her sandy brown hair gleamed and blew, while driving fast in an old jeep. I chose her because I knew the way she would look at me, with those emerald eyes. I chose her smile, her laugh, her cry, her heartbeat. I chose her because of her patience and beautiful soul. I chose her because I knew, when I grew up, she’d be the kind of woman I wanted to be.
She deserves your loudest applause.
There is no time in my life when I can remember her not trying her best. She is constantly doing her best; her best at being a mother, her best at being a sister, being a daughter, an aunt, a friend, a wife. Yes, she has made mistakes--forgetting to put a game jersey in the dryer; not calling back; burning dinner… but there isn’t a year that goes by, that she’s not getting better at being the best.
I apologize, to her, and all the other mothers out in the world, for not always giving you the attention that is due. I am sorry for all the tears I’ve ever brought to your perfect eyes and I am sorry for all the times, and times to come, that I will not take your advice.
If I had one wish, it would be to spin back time and spend so much more of it with you.
Choosing you is one of my best, if not the best, decisions of my life.
I thank God everyday for you and I catch myself begging for a million more.
I am proud to be yours.
I love you Momma.
Happy Birthday.
Saturday, August 1, 2015
August 1st
I have decided to value myself over anyone else.
I have decided to treat myself the way I have treated others.
I have decided to let go of the people who only bring bad vibes into my life.
I have decided to remind myself I deserve the best and I deserve to be happy.
With these decisions, that are almost twenty one years late, I will now live my life to the highest capacity. I will not degrade myself with ungrateful thoughts; unnecessary ideas of limitations; and/or complex and undesired relationships.
So long to the days when I used to stress over being the best. Fuck you, all of you, who thought I wasn't the best. I was fucking good at being the best.
I stood up for you- even when you lacked the strength to do so for me.
I called out for you- even when you couldn't find the time to look for me.
I took care of you- even when you were unbearable and mean and especially selfish.
I would have done it all for you- even when you only found the pleasure of being with me, while it was only useful for you.
I have finally decided, that this is going to be the best decision of my life.
Goodbye,
The Best.
P.S. If you have been offended by this short, but true decision of mine, I am not sorry. And this is me, breaking up with you.
I have decided to treat myself the way I have treated others.
I have decided to let go of the people who only bring bad vibes into my life.
I have decided to remind myself I deserve the best and I deserve to be happy.
With these decisions, that are almost twenty one years late, I will now live my life to the highest capacity. I will not degrade myself with ungrateful thoughts; unnecessary ideas of limitations; and/or complex and undesired relationships.
So long to the days when I used to stress over being the best. Fuck you, all of you, who thought I wasn't the best. I was fucking good at being the best.
I stood up for you- even when you lacked the strength to do so for me.
I called out for you- even when you couldn't find the time to look for me.
I took care of you- even when you were unbearable and mean and especially selfish.
I would have done it all for you- even when you only found the pleasure of being with me, while it was only useful for you.
I have finally decided, that this is going to be the best decision of my life.
Goodbye,
The Best.
P.S. If you have been offended by this short, but true decision of mine, I am not sorry. And this is me, breaking up with you.
Monday, June 22, 2015
Fathers' Day
Father
Thank you for these deep, round, brown eyes and thank you for this honey skin. Thank you for my curly hair and my pink, plump lips. Thank you for leaving me, to become the woman I am today. Thank you for teaching me, I don't ever need a man to stay.
Thank you for choosing her, and also choosing me. Thank you for years of love and completing my family tree. Thank you for the hard work and constant pain on your back. Thank you for believing in me and never loosening the slack.
And to both of you, I thank you, from now since the start. Thank you for the lessons learned, and thank you for my strong heart. Thank you for coming with me and thank you for going without; thank you for teaching me how to love--even when in doubt.
To the both of you, I'm sending a "Happy Fathers Day".
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