I Can't Believe In Me Anymore.

You say that I choose sadness, that it never once has chosen me.

Maybe you're right.

Rilo Kiley

{Photo: Ida Cathrin Flickr}

I'm Sorry, Too.

My mom sent me a letter today - among other things. A whole package, really.

It was all unexpected. The package that she sent - but the even more so - the words she sent it with, all caught me off guard.

She wrote me things that I had thought to myself in the deepest corners of my mind and heart many times, but was so sure that this woman - this stranger in my home - never could quite get.

My family, without my brother..

In reading her letter, a sadness washed over me, that came with the realization that she understood in her own strange way. That she had been fighting to make the words work and come out, and I had never seen that.

A sadness at the opportunities never acknowlegded.

A sadness that we left each other without even knowing who the other was.

And I'm sitting here now, enjoying the hell out of the dried mangoes she sent along, and wondering if we could have been close. If it was ever in our cards to be friends, and somehow we both passed it by..

Her letter to me: more than anything, was an apology letter.  Admitting that she didn't know always, the best way to raise me. That as she watched me grow she wished she had gone about the whole parenthood thing differently. She told me of her regrets.

It was healing for me to read her words.

I love my mom, I always have. Our home was not a bad place. Not even a little. It was a peaceful place. No, we did not have struggles that you could look at, hear or touch -- just a disconnect. It was not a place where we could share our joys and sorrows openly. I didn't try to keep secrets from her, but many times it seemed like she just didn't want to know. She never expressed an interest in really knowing my life - always skirting over the big stuff.

I am not like my mother, in more ways than I can count. But today I found out that we do have similarities. More than I could have guessed. That heals me.

S.

Come, my love, we have oceans to sail.

I hope my life is made up of real adventures. I think that being bored is a terrible tragedy in this world that is so beautiful and so full. It shouldn't be wasted.

{Photo: Thea's World Vision}

S.

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In those days, we finally chose to walk like giants and hold the world in arms grown strong with love. And there may be many things we forget in the days to come,

But this will not be one of them.

Brian Andreas

{Photo: Raised By Pirates}

Don't Read This.

My hands are cold today. I can't shake that.

Do you know, today, I put on that old shirt and that scarf. Something I wore, one day, with you. You wouldn't remember. But this morning, I thought of that day. I got dressed to that day.

It's not important, I don't think. The details. But sometimes, somehow, they become bigger then they were. Magnified through time and seperation and imagination.

You know, it's funny how it always comes back to you. Even - especially - when I don't want it to.

I never did want it to.

But I think there were moments when I knew it would.

If I'm lucky, you'll never see this. You'll never know this.

(But you know I'm rarely lucky, and I'm always, always cold.)

S.

When We Are Together Again

We will devour raspberry rooibos tea infused dark chocolate. Lying on a bed - because that is where it tastes the best.

We will sing loudly to songs - you'll sing well and I'll sing off-key, as I always do, but I'll probably be louder. And I'll be dancing around like a lunatic, please join.

We'll take pictures. Oh you know we will. But we can't be blamed. It's in our bones.. So look your best.

I will go through your iTunes, trying to fix all the mistakes - and there will be too many to deal with, of course. You really should stay on top of that.

We will spend the time in the sun - I pray there will be sun - because the Lord knows we need it.

We will talk wistfully, angrily, softly, jokingly, with terror and excitement. About life and death; growing and learning; travels and work; friendships and fall-outs; the past and the future.

And about boys. How stupid they are and how stupid we are for bothering. And how they tend to have to do with all of the things we will converse about. And we will vow to forget them, but we never will, so we'll talk about them more.

Oh, and you will tell me your cute stories - I know you have them.

And I'll tell you how I'm a fool. How I'm still a fool - but how I'm enjoying it now, how I'm enjoying life.

And we'll squeel about the future. How it's coming towards us at hyper speed, and how somehow it is already upon us. How our time is slipping away, so we must hold on, and soak it in, and love it, and remember it for what it is - short.

We'll talk about the transition from high school to university life. How we think we've changed in only a few small months.

When we are together again it will be like not a minute has passed since we saw each other last.

{And for the record, you're great at  conversing, you're funny and witty and clever, so don't you worry about that. And smile. Start with that. That's what I've found. Don't be afraid to overhear conversations and jump in. Don't be afraid to ask for directions. To ask if you can sit down with someone. Everyone is looking for someone to show a little kindness and not the averse treatment of someone living in fear.}

Miss you pretty lady. You're going to do amazing things, you know.

S.

ps. Quebec is nice.

When You Feel Just Like A Tourist.

Do you know, I'm moving out in three days. Three small days.

Not just houses, either. No. I'm jumping straight over four provinces to get to the right one. Or, I hope it's the right one, that it's where I'm supposed to be at this point in life.

Truth is, I don't know what I'm doing. It all seems a little silly. Like some joke that just got taken too far. It's terrifying and I question myself, and wonder what a fool I am.

But exciting. Oh it's exciting.

And I've been having such a time exploring this area that I live, as a desperate measure, to see all I can before I can't. I just got back from a two day kayak trip with my best friend. We spent the time hitchhiking around, meeting locals, eating crepes, going to the Saturday Market, visiting her family. And then tenting on a little island, one of the little spits of land that you could walk around in five minutes flat. Our own private island for the night.

When it's time to leave, you know it, because everything and everyone becomes so much more real - and yet, unreal in a sense. You want to touch and see and feel everything because you know soon, oh too soon, it will all just be memory. And I'm trying to leave with the best ones possible.
And I'm succeeding, if time wouldn't keep hurrying me along.

Three days. Three more days.

S.

Change Of Plans.

She supposed she would just live and live
doing all she meant to do
hoping that someone or something would be worth it,
would make her want to stop
and change what she always meant to do
into what she was always meant to do


Afraid - oh more than heights and dark corners and answering machines,
afraid that she will reach the end of her days
never finding what was always there for her to find
afraid nothing will come along to rearrange her
and make her glorious


S.

{Photo: Tec Petaja}

Exist or Live?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Mary Oliver

To Be Torn

I am learning a lesson. A lesson of heart ties and longing. And it is preparing me, I think, for the future. For a couple months from now - or is it just one? Where has the time gone?

Being a camp counsellor this summer on an island that is 3 long ferry rides from home is teaching me - slowly, painfully - that once I cross over into the great unknown that, right now, is named Quebec, I will always be looking back in some sense - longing for those friendships and moments and familiarities. But not always to home. Because when I am home, I will feel that same longing and wishing and wondering about my new home. I will always long for the other. Not that my heart will divide in two, but instead, a new heart will grow for that place and those people, and no matter where I go, something or someone will inevitably be missing.

This is what I am learning on the little island where I'm spending half my summer. It is a scary lesson. It frightens me because I can feel it already. Even after only spending two weeks there. Two weeks at camp, verses a lifetime at home; and yet my heart is already torn, filled with longing for the other when the other's not around.

How will my heart hold if it is strained this way for the rest of my life? How can anyone stand the longing?

{And yet, I can't wait! Every day I grow more and more restless to get started on this new time in my life! I only hope I am ready - as ready as I can be.}

S