Happiness is

the smell right before a storm breaks open.

watching someone reach into the garbage to remove the newspaper someone else couldn't be bothered to recycle.

blowing on the belly of a silly four-year-old boy.

realizing I'm ready to start dating again.

sore muscles after lifting weights.

the first bloom of spring flowers.

watching an eight-year-old boy entertain himself for the hour train ride with four unsharpened pencils.

being able to talk to old friends without missing a beat.

knowing that you love someone(s) enough to feel a tug of sadness after hanging up the phone or saying goodbye.

finding a way to crack my back in the exact spot I want cracked.

having a future to start imagining again.

figuring out ways to make the present more worthwhile.

knowing how blessed I am.

I am ready for love.

"I am ready for love
Why are you hiding from me
I'd quickly give my freedom
To be held in your captivity

I am ready for love
All of the joy and the pain
And all the time that it takes
Just to stay in your good grace
Lately I've been thinking
Maybe you're not ready for me
Maybe you think I need to learn maturity
They say watch what you ask for
Cause you might receive
But if you ask me tomorrow
I'll say the same thing

I am ready for love
Would you please lend me your ear?
I promise I won't complain
I just need you to acknowledge I am here

If you give me half a chance
I'll prove this to you
I will be patient, kind, faithful and true
To a man who loves music
A man who loves art
Respect's the spirit world
And thinks with his heart

I am ready for love
If you'll take me in your hands
I will learn what you teach
And do the best that I can

I am ready for love
Here with an offering of
My voice
My Eyes
My soul
My mind

Tell me what is enough
To prove I am ready for love

I am ready"
-india.aire

Safety

The notion of safety intrigues me. We worry so much about "being safe." How can we keep ourselves, our friends, our families, our country safe? Safe from what? From violence, natural disasters, death, accidents, etc. What people fear, and thus what they feel the need to keep safe from, varies greatly. One's belief over how much control they have in this world makes the need for safety vary. Our life experiences make it vary.

I went to a Bulls game tonight with R. and I convinced her to walk a mile to the bus instead of taking a taxi like she wanted. The area wasn't the nicest in the city, but I wasn't afraid. Enough people were around; enough cars were driving by; the streets were well lit; it was only 10pm; there were two of us. I had made the walk and waited for the bus later at night by myself in the same neighborhood before. I felt safe enough both times. R. got out her mace and made comments about the boarded up buildings. She didn't feel safe at all.

Why did I feel safe and why didn't she? We're both young women, both white, both have lived in the city for over a year- but we varied so greatly on our level of comfort with the area we were in.

There as many reasons our safety level varied as there are differences in our personalities, but I wonder if she would feel safe in the situations that scare me. She took a taxi to her place from the bus stop. I feel more comfortable standing in the middle of a "bad" neighborhood than I do sitting alone in a taxi with a man. I feel safer walking alone at night than I do drinking with acquaintances. I would rather be the only girl in a bar in less nice neighborhood than in one with fraternity type men.

I think my experiences make me more weary of people I know than of strangers. I think experiencing violence and a complete violation of safety already has lead me to both know that I can survive anything and to some extent to doubt the idea that it's even possible to be safe. That safety even exists. I can certainly do things to try and keep danger at bay. I can travel in groups; I can stay away from "bad" neighborhoods; I can pay attention when I am out alone; I can choose to live in a state that doesn't get hurricanes or earthquakes etc. I can always look both ways before I cross the street. I can meet new people in public places. I can do everything suggested to keep myself "safe," but when does one stop living in fear of danger (of death)?

And, even if I do all those things, I can get jumped in my nice neighborhood. My apartment can catch on fire. A drunk driver can hit me on the sidewalk. After getting to know someone well, he can assault me. I can only do so much. I can only control myself. At some point, regardless of what I do, the world takes over.

More

I want to be doing something more with my life. I want to feel like each day is making a difference--if not to an individual person, then to society as a whole; if not to society, then at least for myself.

This isn't enough for me. This isn't who I am. I am meant, I have made myself meant, for more.

Anniversaries

It’s strange to have an anniversary I “celebrate” alone. The word anniversary usually brings to mind weddings and romance—events that at least two people celebrate together. Even sad anniversaries, such as the death of a loved one or, on a larger scale, the date of a war or catastrophe are shared between people. Anniversaries give us the chance to remember, to reflect, to celebrate our love or the life of someone gone. They give us one day a year when we’re supposed to stop and appreciate the past and the future.

And I can do those things on my own. I can remember. I can reflect on my growth over the past four years. I can appreciate where my future is heading.

But what if I don’t want to remember alone? What if I just don’t want to remember at all? I try to convince myself I have a choice in the matter. That if I don’t want to reflect then I don’t have to. That I can ignore the day and let it be like any other. But I can’t ignore it. My mind and my body remind me. It’s there. Sometimes the day sneaks up on me. Sometimes I forgot about it until I happen to glance at the calendar and the date jumps out at me. Other times, like this year, the anniversary walks alongside me for weeks. A glimpse of that night will flash in my mind; a memory of the first anniversary sneaks into in; a man standing too close to me causes my body to shake. And I remember.

I remember being so excited to go to a party, declaring I was finally going to be social and have fun.

I remember being happy to spend time with Kyle and Tiffany and to be around classmates.

I remember Tiffany giving me a cup for free because I didn’t have cash and she didn’t really care.

I remember starting to get tipsy and frolicking from person to person.

I remember flirting with Kevin and him flirting back.

I remember running into Joey and talking to him momentarily. I remember handing my cup to someone and drinking more.

I remember talking to Kip and being so happy to see him after so long.

I remember standing outside Tiffany’s house and the world being completely black. I remember asking someone to get my coat. Telling him that it was pink.

I remember sitting on a tile floor, vomiting into a recycling bin, and a hand rubbing my back. I remember being so confused as to where I was.

I remember being in a bed. I remember my clothes being gone. My bra next to my head.

I remember being unable to move. I remember being unable to speak. I remember wishing it would stop.

I remember him telling me he had a crush on me forever. I remember him putting his clothes on me and curling me into his arms.

I remember waking up. I remember trying to find my clothes. I remember trying to find my way back to my dorm. I remember telling my roommate we had sex. I remember sleeping through class.

I remember piecing together what happened.

I remember all that happened after.

I remember. And no matter what I try to do, I remember. Year after year. Day after day. I remember.

"Civilized"

"...that's where the difference is: the majority of Iraqis have a deep respect for other cultures and religions...and that's what civilization is. It's not mobile phones, computers, skyscrapers, and McDonald's. It's having enough security in your own faith and culture to allow people the sanctity of theirs..."
-river (Baghdad Burning, pg 113)

Giving Up or Letting Go?

I find myself at another reevaluation point. This time centering mainly on my relationships with people and what I want for myself within them.

I've been spending too much time recently dwelling on my relationships that have started to fade away. I find myself reaching out to these people, working to get their attention, longing for us to communicate again, to be important to each other again. I've been wanting what we used to have. Or more correctly, what I thought we had.

These women are fabulous people and I don't doubt that our friendships were true or that I wasn't important to them at some point, but I'm realizing that I may have placed more attention, more importance on them than they ever did. That there's a lot going on in their lives and I'm someone for them that can be let go.

And I'm finding that I'm ok with this. I miss them. I miss what I thought was there. I miss what was indeed there. But I also know what it's like to need the time to step back from everyone who isn't vital. The dissolution of friendships always hurts a bit, but it's life. We love people. They love us. For some amount of time, in some world, in some situation. We care and if we're lucky we help one another grow. If we're lucky, we have moments to remember. If we're lucky, we think to send good messages, good vibes their way.


In realizing that there are some relationships I need to let go, it becomes easier for me to remember that there are also relationships worth working at. Relationships that still have life in them-- they just might need some help. People who are physically nearby who make my days sillier and happier and more alive. People who I've stopped appreciating recently, who I've let slide because life's gotten crazy. The ones who I long to spend time with but keep putting off because there will "always be time" to get together.

The people who are in other states, but who still mean the world to me. Who the bond runs so deep with that conversations once a month still work. Ones where I know to say congratulations (on her engagement) without her even telling me that's why she was calling. Ones where we play phone tag for a while, where one of us gets too busy to contact the other--but we keep calling. Ones based heavily on emails or IMs, that don't feel any less real or special or important.

It's time to refocus. To be willing to start at whatever point we left off at. To make the time to see or to call them. To go out even when I'm exhausted and just want to go home and be alone. My relationships make me feel alive. They remind me of why I care about this world. Why I care about living. Why it is that I love.

My relationships are worth fighting for. And worth letting go.