As a reflection of my work this semester, I decided to take a couple of journal entries from the past months and polish them up!
september 23, 2020
Recall a moment outdoors when you were younger and write/describe what it was like. (river writing)
Nature was home to my cousins and me. When we would have family gatherings, the parents stayed indoors gossiping about which child had the nicest teeth or who cried the most as a child (which was me), while the children played outside – rain or shine. These days made up the majority of my permanent scars on my legs that never seem to leave me no matter how much lightening oil I put on it. But there’s a beauty in that; beauty in the past and having something to symbolize the liveliness of being a child, something that has been taken away.
We sled down nearby hills on mattresses and tarps that, frankly, didn’t work. We rolled down nearby streets in wheelchairs and rolling chairs that did work. The matter of it all was that there was never a dull moment, even when the sun was down, the street lamps still called us back home to the campfire. We had a ritual, not a dance or anything, but a sacrificial marshmallow that set an example for what a roasted marshmallow shouldn’t look like. The night ended in a photo with us in the same chairs, same positions and same smiles.
october 9, 2020
“And now – because of me – some little girl will never be the same”
Walking the streets seemed so natural again. I thought maybe after the incident, there was a definite tell of the trauma on my face, but everyone walking past me smiled as any other Canadian would. Some waved, some said hi, and some kids with their parents gave me a dandelion that grew between the cracks of the sidewalk. I eventually had a bouquet, a handful of happiness and serenity.
Distracted by the joy, you knock into my shoulder saying sorry while winking. The flowers float to the ground and slowly begin to wilt. You. The one that deflowered. The gentle hand that holds her’s used to be around my wrists turning my hand white. She is blinded by your charm, your smirk that somehow makes everything feel better. Soon you will leave her, with nothing but the feeling of pain and guilt, all because of me; a coward that didn’t do anything because I was scared of what else you would’ve done to me.
october 21, 2020
“I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.” – Margaret Atwood’s Variations of the Word Sleep
I would always notice you when you were around. I can easily identify your backpack or the tone of your voice even in a crowd. And once you’re present, my ears are hyperactive not even leaving the smallest whisper go unknown.
You hurt me by talking to me. Even when we walk to class together, you don’t hear my thoughts or the music putting sad thoughts into my mind about you. Talking to you should be fun and exciting but all the wrongs that you’ve done don’t make the small rights, right.
I want to be important.
To you, a breath of air after being underwater or a sip of water after a marathon. I want to be appreciated in that way even though I know that I’m a past thought right after I leave your sight.
november 9, 2020
Margaret Atwood’s poem – Dearly
it will come a time where someone will remember you for the last time.
the last photo of you will perish
and your name will be nothing but a combination of letters inscribed on broken rock.
and as much haunting that you do, your presence will just be named a ghost.
december 1, 2020
“A person learned how to love themselves through the simple act of loving and being loved by someone else.” – 1Q84
Thank you for the moments that you put my ideas down and made me feel like a welcoming doormat.
Thank you not for the happiness that you gave me and the contagious laugh that you have.
Thank you for all the times that you’ve interrupted to tell me your story when I needed you to hear mine.
Thank you not for teaching me what it feels like to fall in love.
Thank you for the numerous songs that I found to cope with the feelings I have for you.
You made me realize how easy it to be manipulated and yet still make me feel like love.
december 2, 2020
“Our faces are no more than ten inches apart but she was light years away from me.” – Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami
I laid there on her grave being as close to her as I can. Seeing her face on the stone was so daunting as it was so picture-perfect. It didn’t capture her aura. Her cold soul complained that I never cleaned the house and that when she got old I would never let her move in with my husband and me. You called me too fat equally as much as she called me too skinny – I never seemed to satisfy you. How could I, with a mother as elegant as you? Tan skin, a size 4 body and a smile that only dropped at the ugly sight of myself. At least with this picture, It can look right back at me and I can still see your pearly whites.