(no subject)
When I woke up, I wasnt particularly emotional, or distressed. I was languid and slow-moving--not caring anything more than another wink of sleep. School was as it always was, except I had to go to the nurse after first period. My blood pressure was low, heart murmer was acting up, and my blood sugars were low. I lost my sight for a minute, and almost passed out. So the nurse gave me some juice, and a bagel. After I ate it, I was feeling a little better--my blood sugars were higher. But my heart murmer was still acting up. I left for lunch, and had to return to the nurse every so often for checkups, for her to make sure that I was still okay. And I was. By the end of third period (keep in mind I only take 4 classes) I was feeling much better, and I moved on with my day. School ended, as it always had, on a boring note. I got on and off the bus as usual. And when I got home I did my film homework, and got a haircut. When I was at the hair place, I bumped into Kait's grandma, and I said hi and we talked for a few minutes. It was nice. Shes such a nice woman.
Then when I got back to my grandmas house for dinner was when it all started. I would look at the second hand on the clock and analyze time. The ticker was like the heart, always constantly beating in a routine click. Yet time always lives out our tired bodies. And our body is just like the flower vase that my grandma has on her dining room table. Fragile. Holding the beauty of life. And all it takes for that vase to be destroyed is a simple gust of wind, or a gentle nudge. Then I started to look at the photographes scattered around the dead house. Pictures of my deceased greatgrandmother, and others who passed on. And I stared around the dark, lifeless room and I felt as if my grandmother had died. Like I was going through her things, to find the bank statements...and the such that family members usually do when a loved one passes on. My grandma was of course in the kitchen making dinner, but I still felt as if the life of the house had died. And I realized that years to come, one by one, my family will die. And I will see them die. It hurts to think that we arent as invincible as we think we are...years ago my mom could destroy any monster that hid in my closet. But in the future, she might be sprawled across a hospital bed, pale as milk, crying from the pain. And then with a simple breath, the tick of the clock, and the fall of the vase, she will die. And I'll be the one responsible to go through her dead house, and find the bank statments and find all the things that she valued. All the things that still retained the love into which poured into it, because my pain would have forgotten all that love by then, at that emotional moment.
She'll die, and my sister will die, and my dad will die just like my greatmother who was destroyed by a heart attack, and the man in that picture who also died of a heart attack. His wife by his side. Or like the cancer that destroyed my grandparents. And then we'll really be tested to see how much stress we can take in our lives. When those we love are killed.
In the middle of all this thinking, my grandmother called me down to eat, with the rest of the family around the old dinner table. This table was from the 70s and I sat wondering how many dinners had been eaten there, how many fights took place at that table, how many tears of joy, sadness, and how many angry fists abused the top of the wood. I ate my rice, while my parents talked about Matha Stewarts GUILTY sentence. (btw, i think shes innocent--but she may serve up to 20 years now...i smell appeal) and then the gay marriage subject hit the television screen. And I wanted to melt. Right there. Suddenly the topic of dinner changed from Martha, to gays. My grandma openly assaulted them in Spanish, and I felt as if someone had stabbed me. Like someone used their love, and shoved it through my heart with great force. My sister asked what gays were, and when my mom explained- she responded with an "eww", because she is young and thinks that gays are disgusting. Yielding another generation of bashers. My dad said he supports bush's law, and said they should be stricter in there anti gay enforcement. If i could, I would have bursted in tears right there. All the insults and assaults...they were crucifying me without even knowing, pushing the nail deeper and harder with each remark. My mom didnt say anything at all... and silence is the greatest torture. Not knowing how she stood on the law. Maybe she supported it, but didnt say anything because she remembered that cold night in my 8th grade year...
Now I'm worried that when they go to parent-teacher conferences next week, that one of my teachers will say something about the Gay Straight Alliance i started. And I saw the whole situation play out in front of me...parents coming home and putting me in an unpleasant position. Asking what clubs I joined...if I say GSA, i would be forced to come out, if i said none, then i'd be lying and they'd yell.
At that point the second hand popped into my head again. Time. It was only a matter of time until my life clashed with time. One week till it might be out. George Bush has ordered bombs be placed within this cramped closet of mine, and they are ticking, until that moment when GSA is all out there to the rents. And now knowing where they stand is not pleasing at all.
Pictures hold a thousand words, as I discovered today. And maybe years from now, my neices and nephews will be meandering through my sister's home, and stumble across a picture of me. But that picture will possess 1,001 words. The additional one being: gay. And they will learn at that moment what gay means, learn how to use it out of context, tell their friends, and the hate will begin its efflorating and manifesting process...
I think this was the deepest thing i have ever written. -joe
I'm all alone in the house now, my mom and dad took my sister to a basketball game @ Princeton Univ.
Then when I got back to my grandmas house for dinner was when it all started. I would look at the second hand on the clock and analyze time. The ticker was like the heart, always constantly beating in a routine click. Yet time always lives out our tired bodies. And our body is just like the flower vase that my grandma has on her dining room table. Fragile. Holding the beauty of life. And all it takes for that vase to be destroyed is a simple gust of wind, or a gentle nudge. Then I started to look at the photographes scattered around the dead house. Pictures of my deceased greatgrandmother, and others who passed on. And I stared around the dark, lifeless room and I felt as if my grandmother had died. Like I was going through her things, to find the bank statements...and the such that family members usually do when a loved one passes on. My grandma was of course in the kitchen making dinner, but I still felt as if the life of the house had died. And I realized that years to come, one by one, my family will die. And I will see them die. It hurts to think that we arent as invincible as we think we are...years ago my mom could destroy any monster that hid in my closet. But in the future, she might be sprawled across a hospital bed, pale as milk, crying from the pain. And then with a simple breath, the tick of the clock, and the fall of the vase, she will die. And I'll be the one responsible to go through her dead house, and find the bank statments and find all the things that she valued. All the things that still retained the love into which poured into it, because my pain would have forgotten all that love by then, at that emotional moment.
She'll die, and my sister will die, and my dad will die just like my greatmother who was destroyed by a heart attack, and the man in that picture who also died of a heart attack. His wife by his side. Or like the cancer that destroyed my grandparents. And then we'll really be tested to see how much stress we can take in our lives. When those we love are killed.
In the middle of all this thinking, my grandmother called me down to eat, with the rest of the family around the old dinner table. This table was from the 70s and I sat wondering how many dinners had been eaten there, how many fights took place at that table, how many tears of joy, sadness, and how many angry fists abused the top of the wood. I ate my rice, while my parents talked about Matha Stewarts GUILTY sentence. (btw, i think shes innocent--but she may serve up to 20 years now...i smell appeal) and then the gay marriage subject hit the television screen. And I wanted to melt. Right there. Suddenly the topic of dinner changed from Martha, to gays. My grandma openly assaulted them in Spanish, and I felt as if someone had stabbed me. Like someone used their love, and shoved it through my heart with great force. My sister asked what gays were, and when my mom explained- she responded with an "eww", because she is young and thinks that gays are disgusting. Yielding another generation of bashers. My dad said he supports bush's law, and said they should be stricter in there anti gay enforcement. If i could, I would have bursted in tears right there. All the insults and assaults...they were crucifying me without even knowing, pushing the nail deeper and harder with each remark. My mom didnt say anything at all... and silence is the greatest torture. Not knowing how she stood on the law. Maybe she supported it, but didnt say anything because she remembered that cold night in my 8th grade year...
Now I'm worried that when they go to parent-teacher conferences next week, that one of my teachers will say something about the Gay Straight Alliance i started. And I saw the whole situation play out in front of me...parents coming home and putting me in an unpleasant position. Asking what clubs I joined...if I say GSA, i would be forced to come out, if i said none, then i'd be lying and they'd yell.
At that point the second hand popped into my head again. Time. It was only a matter of time until my life clashed with time. One week till it might be out. George Bush has ordered bombs be placed within this cramped closet of mine, and they are ticking, until that moment when GSA is all out there to the rents. And now knowing where they stand is not pleasing at all.
Pictures hold a thousand words, as I discovered today. And maybe years from now, my neices and nephews will be meandering through my sister's home, and stumble across a picture of me. But that picture will possess 1,001 words. The additional one being: gay. And they will learn at that moment what gay means, learn how to use it out of context, tell their friends, and the hate will begin its efflorating and manifesting process...
I think this was the deepest thing i have ever written. -joe
I'm all alone in the house now, my mom and dad took my sister to a basketball game @ Princeton Univ.