You know whats fucking scary? The fact that I could literally change my life at any moment. I could stop talking to everyone that makes me unhappy. I could kiss whoever i want. I could shave my head or get on a plane or take my own life. Nothing is stopping me. The entire world is in my hands, and I have no idea what to do with it.
I’m gonna miss my grandpa for the rest of my life.
I am scared, no I’m terrified of the day that I can’t remember his laugh anymore.
And I’m going to fall asleep tonight in his shirt, wishing I could hug him one more time. Regretting all the times I didn’t visit or I snapped back in annoyance.
My heart is breaking tonight over not sitting at the table with him and grandma el, singing “happy birthday papa John”, holding hands and paying to a God I’m not entirely sure I believe in, and eating stuffed cabbages and cookies.
Loss is such a long lasting heart ache.
The devil inside
Anxiety is the churning in the pit of your stomach.
It’s reading about how to cope with rejection for hours online, just in case.
It’s the inability to commit to anything in life, be it a relationship or a career or a god damn school major, from the crippling fear of making the wrong choice.
It’s unhappiness, lingering in the bottom of every Jack and Coke on those nights you feel particularly pointless.
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost.
Also I have a huge crush on this dude I’m now working with. I’ll be blogging the appropriate gifs and such. You guys should probably just unfollow me now.
I reactivated Facebook to do a favor for a friend. Within hours, old acquaintances proved that I was right to leave the fb world, along with a few outdated friendships, behind.
I’ll never understand why people think that an apology fixes everything. I mend on my own time, not on yours. A quick stop by work and a few texts don’t undo the party few years of hurt. There’s no anger or residual bitterness, but I’ve moved on. I wish everyone involved would do the same.