Voodoo Child v. 17: Welcome to the One Woman Show

This weekend, Husbandido and I went off to register for Bambina. I honestly waited this one out; I thought to myself there were so many things that could go wrong. I didn't want to say that I was being negative or afraid that something wouldn't go right, but in my mind, there was no sense in me trying to jump the gun and pick out things without confirmation...that Bambina was going to be a-ok.

Scanner in hand (in Husbandido's hand, as he was the guy who held it when we registered for our wedding), we went through the stores and asked ourselves, "Oh crap, I didn't even think that we need this or that..." and even "I haven't even made a decision about what bottles to buy." We know the room should be painted green (but we don't know when that'll happen). We know that she'll be breastfed (but what the hell kind of pump are we talking about here. A pump? WTF). It's funny, when we think about it. But the good thing is that we're on the same page, and it's a laugh a minute for us while we figure out how to be parents.

It's not easy is it. That voice again. Over my shoulder. It's been awhile, I think to myself.

No, it's not, but it's a good thing that we're in it together.

Sounds good - that you have a partner in crime. God smiles. A gap-toothed smile that makes me think of Madonna.

It helps. Does it make sense that we're not feeling too nervous?

Sure. What are you worried about?

Well, I don't know. Changing up everything. Life. Timing. Issues. If we get it done right.

You are worrying too much then. 

In what way?

Ever notice that you tend to worry about stuff that doesn't happen or doesn't need to happen necessarily?

Ew, you noticed that.

Of course. I notice all of these things.

Why?

Think about it. People go through life like it's in a vacuum. No one notices the little things they do: the way they brush their teeth, the way that woman across the street shifts her hip when she notices that guy walking towards her. The way you worry constantly. People notice these things. Not just me. It's the beauty in life that these little things come to light.

I feel like you're spying on me.

You think no one else notices? People watch you all the time. Yet no one has stopped to correct you or tell you otherwise. Notice that too?

That no one has told me how crappy my parenting plans are?

Yes. Notice that?

I guess I didn't think of it. 

Of course you haven't. If someone didn't agree with you, they'd tell you. God smirked.

That's true. But don't you think someone would rather not say anything for the sake of just saving face?

Would you consider that person your friend?

Hell no.

Then think about the people around you...if they were your friends, they would tell you. Straight up. For the first time I realized that God didn't change shape. Normally God does. I feel unnerved for some reason. Sometimes I change. Sometimes I don't.

Any reason why?

You always have to know why, don't you. God smiled and stretched his arms over his head with a big yawn. The truth is you expect to see things as they are, that you expect something to happen when it doesn't necessarily need to happen. The whole thing about you expecting for things to go right? It doesn't need to be so. Just be happy that things are the way they are. It's really simple. Have faith.

I try.

Stop trying. Just be. Sometimes it's better to let the process unfold instead of you folding it. With that God sparkled and flickered away. I thought I had another question in mind, and waited for God to reappear, but when God didn't, I just let it be.

And that was okay. 

I hate it when God's right.

Voodoo



 

Posted by Voodoo Child at 08:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

When life ends
And the time comes
For you to say goodbye
Do the angels remind you of everyone you've
Forgotten to say goodbye to
Do the clouds descend enough
For you to step onto
And if you could take
Something
With you
What would you take?
In the sunset of your day
As you take that short walk to the
Next unknown
If you could look back
And remember one last thing
What would you want to see
The perfect day
Faces
Smiles
Your favorite truck
When everything was better?
Before you go
Thank you for showing me
How important
This time is
And that person is
And how very important it is
To not wait
For that ending
To ask for that one
Moment
To be able to look back
One last time.

Godspeed, Harrison.

Voodoo 

Posted by Voodoo Child at 11:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I walked into a cafe around the corner from my hotel. I had been eyeballing this place all week, and a few days before I went back to reality, I finally built up the nerve to get inside and enjoy a legendary hot chocolate. I was in Paris by myself, on my first real big trip away from everyone and everything. I had reached the point of comfort where I could really see myself walking through the streets on a regular basis, and as I inhaled deeply the smell of baked goods fresh from the oven, I rationalized ways for me to move here outright.

The pastries, oh the pastries, the image of the pastries lined up in a row staring at me sticks in my head to this day. Bande de fruits.  Palmiers. Financiers. The ubiquitous croissant. I hesitated, staring at the massive options. I settled on a croissant and a tart. I spent the last few meals eating tarte tatins for dessert, and wanted to give another dessert a try. I sat by the window, watching the world go by, and after a while stared at the Louvre in the distance.

The madame brought me a bowl of hot chocolate, Merci, and I inhaled it deeply. I learned over the last few days that what we lack as Americans is a headlong embracing of sensuous things, not in a sense of sex, for the things we think are luscious are often tied to the nether regions, but sensuous things like the scent of baked goods, the appreciation for crisp pizza, and how wonderful a cup of hot chocolate really is. i don't know that I have time to think about the simple things in life back at home. I opened up my notebook and started to think about what to write. It seemed fair enough that the topic of amazing hot chocolate would be good. Or we'll see what pops up.

I stalled in drinking my hot chocolate. Part of me didn't want to finish because well, that would mean it's all gone, but also because that would draw to an end my time in this quiet space. The tart was to die for. And I would never accept a mediocre croissant from Costco again.

I finished my cup, much to my dismay, and I asked two tourists to take my picture for my album. I was already amassing scraps, business cards, tickets to here and there. It was going to be a big album. I gathered my things, and walked out of the patisserie, and saw a flood of children playing near the petanque grounds. A small girl in a red coat ran up to me and said, "Konichiwa!"

It was like a little snap to the forehead. Here I was in my French reverie, only to be kindly reminded that I was clearly not one of..them. I leaned down and spoke to her in french: "Bonjour, cherie, mais je ne suis pas japonaise, je suis americaine." Hello, but I'm not Japanese, I'm American. She giggled. I smiled, and kept walking to the metro. The sound of an accordionist filled the tubes leading to the platform. Today I was off to Pere-Lachaise cemetary. The metro was arriving, proceeding from a warm gust of air whipping by me.

I turned the knob on the door and stepped into a train. Because it was after the rush hour, I found the train empty enough for me to find a bench with two free seats. The other passengers stared out the scratched windows, listened to portable music players, read the paper. The horn sounded, indicating that the doors were going to close. A young man leapt through last minute and took a seat across from me.

Continue reading "7 years ago...Conversation with God" »

Posted by Voodoo Child at 09:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So I tell you all last week or so that I was going to get back to blogging. And then guess what, I don’t go blogging. Horrible. I’m bad at keeping my promises, apparently, but I swear this one has a story to go with it.

I have always had a theory about the world that the reason why we love Heroes (the TV show), movies like The Hulk, Batman, and all those other rock ‘em sock ‘em caped crusaders is because in this world, the very one where we live, we need someone to help us hope. We need someone to step up when we can’t. We need someone who can inspire us to bigger and better heights when the world around us sucks. And admit it, people - it sucks.

After losing my grandmother, this story comes into my radar about a family that is lost somewhere near the middle of nowhere. The world seemed to be stuck in a bad place for a few days then I find myself in a place to hope again.

So I’m at home, work, gym, mind racing over how this dude is going to save the family. They find the family. No pops. Shit. I check website after website. Yes, while there is a war going on in another part of the world, my family is asunder, I want to know: where the hell is James Kim, and await the moment he stumbles out of the woods and says, “Hey fuckers, can I get some help here?”

I feel like the need for some vindication in my world, that he will be The One that saves the family. I have hope in my heart for a moment because I NEED for him to come back. To have a hero means that insurmountable odds are nothing, that the world has a chance even though it’s all wrong, that somewhere, a man with a heart as big as a mountain has a shot.

I won’t get into how moved I was because he basically said, “Honey, Imma find help. Be right back.” He gets mad love for that. But as I thought more and more about it, it was the hero factor that did it for me. The little guy who beats the odds.

When I learned that they found him a few days later, it really made the stop in my tracks. Heroes. Do. Not. Die. I said to myself. It was unbelievable. I found myself mired in loss for two people: grandmother and someone I never met before in my life. It baffled me. I was speechless.
I wandered that day watching hope slip like sand in a sieve, but at that moment understood that heroes don’t need to have capes, masks, or superhuman powers. Heroes are people like you and me who through willpower, faith and even a little grasp of hope can change tides, lives and minds.

I’d have to agree with you. A voice called behind me. I smiled. I haven’t heard from God in awhile. And you know me. When God calls…you sort of have to answer. I turned around in my chair and looked over my shoulder. I small girl sat in my office on what I called my “Harry Potter” chair. It was loud, black, brown and cream colored. Her feet dangled off the edge. Black patent Mary Janes.

You think? I baited God. Horrible to do, I know, but we’re friends like that.

I think it’s not necessarily that heroes don’t die, like you said, because they do. But heroes don’t die metaphorically. That’s what makes them great, their stories. She stared at me with big eyes. Doe eyes. Then smiled.

They don’t. You’re right. But am I right though, that the world needs heroes? I turned around to face not the girl with shiny black patent leather shoes. Her face shimmered into a old woman.  She smoothed out her blue cordoroy jacket and looked up at me.

The world has always needed heroes, dear. You know that. Just like the world needs antiheros to show us the other side. Her eyes were watery. It was hard to tell if that was emotion or her age. I often saw my grandmother’s eyes like that. From out of nowhere: She says hi, by the way.

Tell her I said hi too. I almost lost it. You know, those novenas we’re required to do? I hope she didn’t mind that I threw in James’ name. She doesn’t mind. She knows. Grandmothers always know, I thought to myself.
It seemed natural to pray for both of them. I paused after I said that and looked around. My parents said nothing. Mom smiled. They flowed with it too.

A breeze shied past my shoulder. Sometimes I hear my name called at night. I wanted to ask about it, but I already knew what it was. A man’s voice this time. You do, he said. I felt a hand on my shoulder but no one was around.

Voodoo 

Posted by Voodoo Child at 10:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I really wanted to sit down and write something down about my thoughts on the events of 9/11. I walked through campus today and I thought about that day, not so long ago. I was teaching then, as I am now, and I found myself in a class lecturing and stopping to look into the eyes of my students, hollow and empty. I put my lecture aside and stood in front of the 30 students and asked how they were all doing.

Earlier that day, we went to mass as a community. We filled the church to capacity, students, staff, faculty and others. Just earlier this week I went to that same mass, and it was barely one-fifth full. Same mass. Same tradition every year. We were struggling to get a grip and understand the ramification of such action. Some were angry, some were jumpy, and many were scared. The presiding priest furrowed his brow and spoke gently about the struggles of coming to terms with our reality, shattered and changed:

Today violence has rocked this country in ways previously unknown by us, and sent shock waves around the world. What is a one-time occurrence for us is woven into the fabric of daily life for our
brothers and sisters in Africa, Northern Ireland, Palestine, Iraq and the former Yugoslavia.

I sat still in church and felt that resonate in my core being...to live in terror and in fear of what is to be on a daily basis...this brought me to my knees and I couldn't even begin to fathom that saying I throw around a lot: your blues ain't like mine. After mass, I went to class and stood before staring eyes. What could I possibly give them in this moment and in this time?

I spoke to the students as I always do, straightforwardly and with what humor I feel necessary, and we went on with the lecture afterwards. And one student followed me to my office, and she could only sit in my chair and ask me questions. Questions I still ask myself: what is going on in this world? am I ever going to be safe? why do people have to do this? what are we going to do?

I have rage, to be certain, about how the world is, and how naivete shattered makes you want to reach out and strangle someone for bringing the world crashing down. I have rage over unjustified deaths, both American and otherwise. I have rage over stupid decisions. I have rage over promises long forgotten. Over leaders who have seized this moment for personal gain and spinning reality into a bizarro us and them world. I have so much rage.

I've lived with these thoughts over the years trying to make sense of them and the place and space I'm currently in. And what sticks in my head the most is the look on the faces of the youth in that room: distant, scared, shocked, fearful.  But what sticks in my head even more is that this is how many parts of the world live every freaking DAY. As a counselor I know that living in this persistent state creates a  way of being  that is short on hope and high on fear and that  is no way to live. And that's not okay.

I asked God, "What is the answer?"

And God said, "I can't give you that answer."

Can't or won't?

You have everything you need to know the answer.

You're not answering my question.   

Since when have I ever given you a straight answer.

No shit.

Mos def, no shit.

I pondered that. So I would know the answer, right?

Sure. You're smart.

The world-

Yes?

-is full of people who think they're right, but in their own sort of way.

Right...

And too right to listen...

And too right to want to give up.

Katrina didn't teach us anything. The war isn't teaching us anything. The way the world hates us isn't teaching us anything. The leadership isn't teaching us anything. I struggle with all of this, and it's making me frustrated.

The thing is, you can't get frustrated about this.

I know I can't. But there is one thing I'm doing -

Is there now, I have got to hear this. God laughs.

It's like this - I can change the world one person at a time, and give them reason to hope, to see the future, to feel that they are positive parts of the world. It takes a very simple steps, nothing complicated. But the hard thing is that I have to fight those feelings of hopelessness myself.

Because you know as well as I do that your people will see through you if you don't.

No shit. They know.

And that's what has kept me going these last five years in the face of despair, in moments of doubt, and in the asking of questions that don't have answers. Hope. Hope that helps me wake up in the morning, hope that gets me out of bed, hope that gets me looking dead square in the eye of my students and asking them what they world is going to be like when they get out there. Because I'll help them get there if only because someone has to make this world right. Right now it ain't that way.

Good luck.

Thanks, I need it.

Voodoo 

PS: Btw, G says Hi.

Sup, G. don't trip off what others say.

What's that supposed to mean?

That was for her, not you.

Shit. 

Posted by Voodoo Child at 10:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)