All I can think about is exploring the English countryside in the rain. Get me through this last week (and a day) of school.
february always makes me want to go to the ocean.
I don’t understand how some people can be so outgoing in new situations. It’s like they aren’t afraid of what anyone thinks of them, they just put themselves out there. They seem to have nothing to hide, be ashamed or embarrassed of. I wish I had that same confidence.
I hate the way that she yells at me. She doesn’t even use words. She screams with her eyes. But it’s not the way that she looks at me, it’s the way she doesn’t. Not even a glance in my general direction.
Growing up in Mississippi I was used to mama-don’t-tolerate-nonesense. When mom found out I ditched the football game early with Drew you better believe she was waiting up for me sitting in the dark with my dad’s worn belt tight in her grasp. Even if my voice had the slightest undertone of disrespect when she told me to take out the trash I was in for a week’s grounding. But this isn’t the worst kind of punishment. The hostility ringing in my ears, the stinging welt left behind isn’t as bad as silence.
At least when my mom yelled at me, she looked me in the eyes. Our eyes wide open, mine sometimes a little cringed, but always our pupils meeting. Those little black dots that each of us carry, those holes we expect to find someone in. Looking at me, looking in me, looking for me, acknowledging my soul. But this avoidance, this glance past my shoulder, focusing on my feet, you don’t know I’m in there. You don’t know I’m here, I’m a person, I’m inside those black holes, deep in my belly, buried between organs, there’s my breath, my life- here I am! and nothing hurts more than denying my humanity.
Yell at me so I know I’m there. If you hit me, at least we know I’m real. There’s hope that tomorrow you’ll look at me again this time with kind eyes and vanished anger. But if you don’t look at me, if you pretend I’m not here, perhaps I’ll vanish from your imagination, blending into the walls like you want me to.
When I got home that night as my wife served dinner, I held her hand and said, Iâve got something to tell you. She sat down and ate quietly. …
I’m just confused by my country. And the people in it. Everyone is talking about Miley Cyrus’ performance last night on some TV show. Everyone is tweeting about some annoying person that cut them off this morning. I’m instagramming a picture of my lunch. And what is going on in Syria? Children becoming orphans, parents mourning the deaths of their kids, bombs going off, chemical weapons, rape, beheadings, blood, blood, blood.
Our politicians are being hypocritical liars. But no one cares because no one is listening. We’re retweeting Kim Kardashian (side note, I just googled her to figure out how to spell her last name and the first thing that pops up is “Kim Kardashian considers eating her placenta”….AND THIS IS THE NEWS!?). We’re watching Jersey Shore. We’re reading Cosmopolitan and how to be sexy for “him.” Does any of this confuse anyone else?
I’m disgusted. My family in Syria has asked us multiple times, “What is America doing? Where are they? Why aren’t they helping us?” And I’m too embarrassed to tell them our government has a hidden agenda, our government is guilty of worse chemical warfare than they are framing the Syrian government of (Hiroshima, Nagasaki, aiding Saddam Hussein in chemical warfare against Iran, Agent Orange, etc.). And I’m far too embarrassed to tell them what seems like the majority of youth (this includes me) in the US is doing- posting useless, ridiculous shit on social media.
God, I hope my prayers are loud enough.