North South East West

An old girl am I
Wear my grandmother's pearls girl, am I
Been all over the world kind of girl
Looked in every nook and cranny,
been down the winding streets only
lonely

In the South,
was a Mexican mistress
she awaited my return
to hear my stories of gold

through the gulleys, children roared
while machines played ring-around-the-rosey.
Not a pocket full of posies, had I
Only a handful of sorrows
and now it was all told.

So I hitched my sack and bid farewell,
kissed my mistress to make it last.
Turned my eyes against the sun
I heard, overhead
the call of
The North -
what more to be said?

Such a varied landscape,
The North:
from East to West
or East, West?
or West. East.
all of nature seems the same to me
and for some silence in mind,
I forsake society.

Travel the road,
the craggly rocks,
kindly now, like an old man's smile,
plenty of tooth, but
no life and I whisper,
grateful, grateful even...
to be alive.

- Remnants of the essence and wisps of a poem I dreamt

Occupational Hazard.

It is really very annoying when you hit that age - that really annoying age where people can't tell how old you are. At least...that's what has always happened with me. People can never tell how old I am - either i'm 12 or i'm 21. It's very strange, not to mention, extremely bloody annoying.

I'm wary of walking down the street with my parents. I now refuse to walk down the street (or anywhere for that matter) with my father, alone, if my mother is not there. Because - YES, this actually happens - people think I'm his wife. And that has such icky connotations, I can't even begin to unpack it, besides not wanting to unpack it. My mother and I look alot alike - and so people think "hmm, they are sisters". And this is really fucking annoying. Because, yes, my mother looks young....but she does not look THAT young. so either I look old and tired or she looks sparkling and young...which, no offense mom, you don't.

This is the occupational hazard of having parents that are far too young to be your parents. It's very annoying; either you're the wife or the dumpy sister and I want to scream at people's extreme stupidities for generalizing and thinking one way or the other. Having young parents is solely embarassing and, even though they can get you underage drinks, and you could potentially party with them doesn't mean you WANT to.

It was absolutely mortifying, for example, when my father would come to pick me up in his rare occasions of fatherly duty from my high school. And there would be a group of afghan girls that would stare and giggle as he passed. It was really quite nauseating, the way they would look back and pointedly stare him down, as if baiting him. It made me gag, not only at the process of the main human mating ritual (because this stare was not only reserved for him - it was pretty much there for any male in the school, the attitude being, look, drool and don't touch; affirmation basically, ugh, sickening) but because my father was the object of it.

My parents got married young - 21 (well...it's young in my books) and had a kid the very next year. So basically they were kids having a kid (and I turned out really messed up and neurotic for it). While all the other parents are now 50 or approaching such, my parents are approaching 41 or 45.

The curse (or blessing) of the genes in our family makes it so that all the women (on my mother's side) are slight and...lineless for the most part. My grandmother is 65 but looks like she is 50. It's really quite disconcerting. My mother, similarly, is 43...but pretty much looks like she is 32. But, no, I will NOT concede to the fact that she looks my age (and I, by default thus look her age) because that is a first-glance exaggeration.

The non-aging thing got passed on to me. Generally, women who are shorter and slighter look younger anyway, but at least my mother looks mature. I am on the short side, with a slight build and - I have glasses. Shit. I...look like a woman-child, which is very annoying. When I dress up, however, I look like I'm ready to bust a move because I'm naturally curvaceous yet my face is young. It is very, very annoying. I am a woman child and that makes me sad. It also gives me no hope for the future because I will forever look young (kiddy young), and not tall and amazing like that KT Tunstall song.

And its not just getting carded - who cares about that crap. It's the fact that, when I was in grade 7 and I wore dorky butterfly clips, this really big boobed fast assed blonde is like omg are you in grade 3? even though our classes were RIGHT next to each other and i was a chatterbox so she knew who i was. Dumb cow.

I really just wish people would stop generalizing, however, and use their brains. My friend, Katharine has a fifteen year difference with her little brother - me, i'm not so bad, its only a 10 year difference with my younger brother. Yet, whenever she was out for a walk with him, or pushing his stroller, people would shoot her dirty looks. They all automatically assumed: teenage pregnancy.

You know what? Fuck you. Pardon my french. But wow, can you not take TWO seconds to UN-generalize and UN-assume about people? Is that so hard? To look at people and NOT cast a judgement on what infitesimal detail you THINK you've discerned? Upon close inspection, me and mother not only look differentiable, but it is clear who is the mother and who is the daughter. But people always fucking generalize: "Oh my god, you two are sisters!" And it's not just flattery; people with no motives, nothing behind their words other than what they think is keen observation, will say this. And it gets me angry. Not because this means either that she's impossibly young or that I'm glaringly old. But because, people are constantly generalizing. About everything: culture, hair, race, clothes, what have you.

And quite frankly, it's disheartening.

So next time you see a really old guy with a really young chick. Don't pass judgement. Don't try to figure out their relationship - it doesn't concern you! Marvel at them individually, if there is anything to marvel at and make rational statements. And to all afghan girls at Marc Garneau, my father is not on the market. So piss off.

Cheers.

Sunehri

Even if I descend into dementia or if depression should finally receive an elimination envelope in my name, I will never forget the depth of these words.

"I will tell you something that your priests don't know. The Gods envy us. Everything is so much more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be more beautiful than you are now. We will never be here again."

.process.

I've finally woken up from a fever running at 104 and - mate, it was hellish. No pun intended, of course. I only joke about hell on the weekends.

Anyhow, amidst the dreary drifts and fitful fantasies spurred by continual doses of Advil, images and words struck me like I was panning for gold. These particular moments, dreamlike in quality and clarity, I tried to hold fast, almost against their will. The weak floral print protested under my insistence and whole ideas shredded into bits like ripped cloth. Some rags clasped tight in my fingers, others floated away.


When I awoke, not from the fitful fever, but from the sleep, the world seemed much less definable and I, in turn, much less loquacious. Mingled with a sense of drowsiness, was a feeling of being torn - proud that I had managed to finally achieve what seems to be so impossible these days, yet aggravated to realize just how easily I'd let these words slip away again.


I fervently tried to join the loose threads of what was floral rags. There was not much left to salvage, but at least I'll have tried.
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