Language

Paris

  Paris was where I tasted newness again.

     When I first arrived, it was crowded, full of life and color and familiarity.  But it wasn't new, like I thought it would be.  It rained sometimes, and washed up mistakes would overflow out of the gutters.  The same nightmares, the same lifelessness, the same resistance had followed me.  My resistance, overused memories and monochromatic emotions, still lurked behind the colorful signs and the tourist destination spots. 

   So I decided to step off the beaten path.

   I wandered, turning right sometimes, turning left others, until I reached the end.

   I wouldn't know what else to call it, this place on the outskirts where Paris still somewhat existed.  But it was empty, quiet, blank. 

   I breathed out those old memories.  And began to write.

    It was refreshing.  It was awakening.  There was still resistance, don't misunderstand me, but I could combat it with an energy I didn't know I possessed.  I had access to those old memories that had sucked me in and confined me to the same emotions previously.  But now they were new tools, only used for writing if I felt like it.  And even though it rained every day, it was almost cleansing, washing away the mistakes.

    The place soon developed its own color, its own life, crowded with ideas and inspiration and untouched by tourists who take more than pictures and graffiti their opinions onto the walls.

   Then one day I found the plane ticket I had left in my sweater pockets, along with the crumpled peanut packages and loose change. The date: 1/13/2012.

    I packed my things, locked the door, and found my way back to the airport.  But the key still hangs around my neck. Paris hasn't left me just yet.

   That place--where it is left unwritten and open, waiting for you, where Paris really is--taught me to be original again, to push my mind's boundaries, to write myself where I've never been before.  And I hope that all those who travel there throw away the brochures and walk past the gift shops and find their own Paris.

~effervescent laughter

Me. Myself, and I

     I used to love questionaires as a kid.

     Favorite color. Height. Birthday.

     Is my favorite food me?

     I don't know.  I never really thought so.  Maybe I just didn't know myself.  Maybe I just don't know myself. 

     If you really knew me, would you think I was Indian food? Or the color blue? Or white water rafting?

     If you really knew me, you wouldn't have to answer.

     If you really knew me, you'd know that I don't wear matching socks. And that I can't eat just one pistachio. And that hearing my own voice makes me self conscious.  If you really knew me, you'd know that I like feeding ducks and flying kites and I think for things so cliche we don't do them enough.

     If you really knew me, you'd know that I don't like awkward howdoyoudos and I fail at small talk, usually avoiding it altogether.  You'd know that I'm really not that shy, just unsure what I could say that will make people listen.

     If you really knew me, you'd know I love to laugh.

     If you really knew me, you'd know I have more regrets than I can count. You'd know that I hate violence.  You'd know I don't believe in astrology, but I'm such a Libra.

     If you really knew me, you'd know that I found out I had synesthesia last year and it turned my world upside down.

     If you really knew me, you'd know that I stayed up all night last week to see a meteor shower.  You'd know that I love summer storms and seeing people's opinions.

     If you really knew me, you'd know that I love my memories, even the bad ones, and I'm afraid of forgetting when I'm old with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel, that somehow I'll lose them before I make it to wherever we end up after we die, that somehow I'll forget who I really am.

     If you really knew me, you'd know that I'm still discovering myself.

 

My Journey

A piano.
A piano and a field.
A piano, a field, and the big open sky.
A piano, a field, the big open sky, and a girl.
A piano, a field, the big open sky, a girl, and sheet music.
A piano, a field, the big open sky, a girl, sheet music, and
Silence.

    Jacqueline is a lawyer for a small company in Florida. She is sent on a business trip to handle case in Wyoming for one of the manager's sons. He was accused of murder.  Jacqueline isn't a fan of traveling so far for so long, but she agrees to go after consulting her friend. She goes to Wyoming, meets the guy, and starts to get to know him. He tells her he is innocent, and she believes him.
   The family of the victim is sueing him, and she is able to win the case. Meanwhile, he shows her the sights and takes her to restaurants and such and she starts to fall in love with  him. However, she visits the scene of the crime and finds evidence linking him to the crime because of what she had been learning about him over the past few days.
   The day before the federal case, he takes her out into the middle of nowhere, where there are just fields and fields and open sky, and a piano. He tells her about the piano, how his dad took it out into the middle of nowhere to play a song for his mom when they were dating. She is torn, but finally confronts him about the evidence, and he drives off without her, leaving her stranded in the dust. She pulls out the number of the taxi from her coin purse he thought she left at the hotel, and calls it.
   The day of the trial arrives, and he had already hired a new lawyer to finish the case. To his surprise, she walks in, proves him guilty, and returns home.

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Gandhi

When will we own ourselves completely?

Some say when we stop judging others and being judged.

I was one of them.

But then a wise friend told me that 

"Judging doesn't make you a uniquely horrible person; it matters instead if you act on your judgments."

So. I judge people.

                                                                                                              

I pay attention to their actions and expressions.

I see their good intentions.

I admire their determination.

I never get tired of seeing the intricacies of human life,

Of feeling the weight of their soul in my hands, admiring their sparkling hopes and their powerful wings laced with veins of emotion.

To see the expanse of their potential

Is exhilarating to me,

To understand that this beautiful soul is owned by itself and nothing else.

I admire their uniqueness.

I keep forgetting faults are a bad thing.

It shows growth,

It shows humanity,

It shows a need for love and something better.

I respect their faults.

I get lost in the beauty of other people so often that

I keep forgetting to own myself.

I think we will own ourselves completely when we understand

This beautiful thing called humanity,

When we aren’t afraid to judge without acting on our judgments,

When we aren’t afraid to hold those fluttering crystalline souls in our hands

And see the light in each other’s eyes.

And though you may judge me for it,

Tonight is not the last time I’ll see the light.

Look up

This is for those who can't sing.

This is for those with writer's block.

This is for you.

Look up.

This is for the kids who collect change from underneath vending machines. 

This is for the science teachers who can't retire, for those who need an answer but know it anyway.

Look up.

This is for the perfectionists. This is for the medical students who never see their families and stare at the pale faces of the dead. This is for the doctor's daughters who grow up without a daddy so nobody else will ever have to see that face. 

This is for the fire fighters who can't breathe.

Look up.

This is for the old ladies who live shut up in their dusty houses, with stories to tell but no one to listen.

This is for the insomniacs sitting alone at night. This is for the forgotten. This is for you.

Look up.

Look up from your sheet music and breathe deeper. Look up from your sneakers and into the gaze of your peers. Take your tired eyes from the computer screen and up to the pieces of inspiration tacked to your wall. 

This is for the music listeners, the microwave fixers, the girls who wear too much lip gloss.

Look up.