"this feels strange and untrue...."
I'm home. I traveled back in time by six hours, and I am here, jet lagged and speaking in my native tongue. While I waited in line to pay yet another fee for the damned excess baggage weight (!qu'e co~no!), a little girl was exercising her gross motor schools for her American mother and Spanish father. Lovely little bilingual child. I want mine to be like that some day.
It's hard to think about the future when the present itself is so uncertain. I feel so easily paralyzed by things. I want to flee back across the ocean and live back within that bubble of fear and anticipation. Anything is better than facing inaction and desperation and that horrible lack of dignity that I'd grown so accustomed to.
No, not my own.
It makes me angry more than sad, and I wish that I could just have a job and be out on my own, be on the way at least to establishment, but no, I'm still caught in the middle and how could I possibly leave the rest of them behind? I'm afraid for them, and I'm afraid for him and his inaction.
I'm not making sense-- it's just that the unfairness of it all enrages me.
Maggie and I set a herd of cows stampeding today, poor things. It was good to see her again, and get over our awkward tiff from yesterday.
I spent Monday at Borders with Dalia, reading, talking to customers an co-workers and the boss lady herself (that being Dalia), drinking coffee... then picked up Steven and Rahmia that afternoon and colored and read with Rahmia for the remainder. Amal's hug when I saw her early early that morning was one of the most genuine embraces I had felt in a long time.
More to come. Of course, there always is, and sometimes that is the frightening part.
How odd it was to hear English spoken at the Continental Airlines desk... I whirled around, bags knocking into fellow travelers, as I stared in awe at the anglo-parlants. And to stand there in cool New Jersey air talking with that boy from Berlin, and that that army kid from New Orleans....
Nausea... the world is chaotic, viscous, formless... we shape it, our choices. Our painful choices. No wonder people flee when faced with the responsibility of choice. We have no one to blame but ourselves. Old adages, but true. Terrifyingly true. So why do I stay so scared? Perhaps I'm one of those that flee. I'd like not to be, but I do it anyway, like the druggie that cries no more when shaking with the runs on the tile floor, coked up the next evening and touching a flame till a finger burns. Just a test, just a test.
Yeah, of choice.