What Time is it?

Time is an amazing phenomenon. I became friends with time in the delivery room and we haven't parted since. During labour i begged time for reassurance and pleaded for it's speed. I was consumed by time: the timing of contractions, breathing, pain. At times time stopped, as it was, in my mind. I became nauseated just thinking about time, and when my baby girl was delivered, time and i became even closer: "1 o'clock, feed her, burp her, change her ", "3 o'clock, repeat diapering, feeding and changing", "take a 30minutes nap and repeat procedure", "take a quick shower between baby's nap-time and eat, quickly", "limit yourself to your personal space and be sure to sneak in enough naps as time may run-out!"

At fifteen months old, my daughter still takes much of my time, or is it her time? I still chase time, always trying to catch up. Time has become an obsession, another person in the family. There's breakfast, lunch and dinner time, nap time, play time, story time, visiting time.... time is the master and leader. There is never enough time, still, everything takes time. I had never been more time sensitive: i constantly check my watch, CONSTANTLY; i am always in a rush to catch time because i simply cannot afford to waste time. My life sits behind the wheels of a speeding time, and there are no brakes so i cannot stop time! My time isn't my time and her time dominates all times. I resent time, but i need time as without time i would be timeless; this is why i cannot waste time.... oh, why did i.... what time is it?

In Good Spirits, They Say

Well, i am in a particularly good mood today and for no other reason than that i'm happy. Every once in a while i have these little bouts of joy that covers me like a sheet fresh from the laundry. I find that i have to entertain positive thoughts nowadays when all else seem to evoke havoc and mayhem. We are living in times when smiles and happy faces are running scarce like grains in the middle of a famine. I'm very glad that i can find some peace within me and that my family is together and strong. I hope that those who scarcely have joy in their lives will someday find its solace. I cannot bring world peace (though i wish i could) and i now believe that such a thing can never be achieved. Human beings, in my opinion, have a subtle propensity to evil and it takes the workings of numerous chemicals on the inside and numerous social workings on the outside for us to be "good". We are like wild bears ready to prance only to find that we are caged into certain norms and codes of conduct. I choose to believe this over the other theory which says that we are all naturally good creatures because i feel like goodness is something that we achieve after knowledge; and, even then, we still have to try our very best to "be good". I hope that in our daily struggles we can successfully fight our own demons and emerge, close enough, to, well... this goodness.

Red Light, Green Light

The answer,
it coils in the veins
of a single blade of grass

Mother and Child

A lone dry tear caresses her
cheekbone,
it carries her (woman's) pain,
the weight of years it bears,
like a crow.
She is haunted by the loss,
of stars
in the dark (deep-blue) sky
her soul, raped by death,
consents.
She tries to speak, but her words
betray her
her heart beats, but without life
she sleeps
only to find herself awake,
mad grief!
She died her son's death
the grave
is left open, waiting
by numbers
the hole, is now home.

Mobility Rights

I am having a lousy day. I am so tired. I will be taking my citizenship test tomorrow, it's about time. I only read the-book-they-sent-for-me-to-study once so hopefully that's enough. I won't start on the "Canadian History" that you get to study, i'm just glad they included the Aboriginal peoples. I planned a trip to go see my relatives in the US only to find out that i need to be a Canadian citizen to go there. God, it makes me think about the politics of mobility rights. Only a those with first class international status can travel the world. If you are from the "third world" and poor, forget it. There is so much injustice in this world sometimes it makes me wonder if the man upstairs is sleeping. I am tired of being pissed off and i rock my brain trying to figure out what i can do about it only to realize that i just have to let it go...

In other news...
i bought Margaret Atwood's ALIAS GRACE because i'm trying to read ahead for my grad classes. It breaks the record for the longest novel i will have read for an English Literature course. It stands at a whooping 561pages. But more on that later, when i get over my crankiness...

Breathe...

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy"

Who is "the reader"?

I am staring down Lawrence Hill's BOOK OF NEGROES on my shelf thinking: "do i really want to start reading this?" It's pretty long, 469pages. I bought it five months ago with the intention that i would read it when i get the time. I know that it is supposed to be an important book for Afro Canadian history and that its contents represent fifteen years of research and hard work; after all, i had been to Hill's presentation on the book. The trouble is, just from flipping through the pages and stopping now and again to read a paragraph here and there, i am not connecting with the narrator. Who would have thought that connecting with a narrator would be so darn important to the reader? It's weird. The voice just does not... umm, it's not engaging. I don't know, i'm imagining an old African woman but the words on the page do not seem to be coming from her mouth...

It's not that i am intimidated by the length of the book, God knows, i've had my share of big books! I can usually tell from the first four pages, because you get a feel of the tone, mood etc., if a book is going to be great. Austin Clarke's, THE POLISHED HOE, is just as "big"; the difference is that as soon as i read the first four lines from Clark's text i knew, immediately, that i would be in for a treat. Almost instantly, i could see and hear Mary-Mathilda speaking and i recognized who she was and where she was coming from. I don't know, i hate to past a judgement on THE BOOK OF NEGROES so early but i just don't feel this one. Hence, its place on my shelf, and me glancing over every now and again savouring its elegance and sheer size among my other "slim" creative texts. Hopefully, one day i will summon up enough courage to read it. I feel my conscience kicking in a bit, but nothing distresses me more than having to read a book only to find it disengaging; that's just painful. Gosh, it's painful just to write those words. Anyways, if i'm going to have any shot at being a critic, i'd better start learning that being harsh is part of the game!

Loving Yourself

So, grad classes begin seven weeks from today, yay! My sisters are asking when will i be done with school and get a job. Truth be told, i wish i never have to stop. Ah, i'm such a nerd! Well, what can i say? I love learning. My high school motto was "Vitta Sine Litteris Mors Est " (life without learning is death), and given the history of my history, i never want to stop learning. I feel like my ancestors were denied access to literacy and book learning in such a way as to preserve their self-denigration and put a leash on their potential as a people. And that is why so many of us are still searching for ourselves. Lord! I feel like i am about to start preaching! The reality for many of us is that we have to finish high school, if we're lucky, and find a job, if we are lucky. See, when you have that kind of history you are already at the back of the line, and when the race begins, you have to jump over hoops and hurdles to get to the front; some people never get to the front. When i look in the mirror (and i don't look in the mirror often) i see a girl with a dream, a big dream, who has to use a whole lot of imagination to see herself at the front of the line. The reason she still clings to that hope is because that is all she has. She has no inheritance, except what history has handed down, and she has no treasures. When i think about all the people that i carry on my shoulders, the pressure isn't so bad. This is our journey. So when my sisters ask casually, "when are you going to finish school?" they have no idea that it is actually a "we" question, and they also do not know why i always respond with a casual "i don't know" answer.

For all you believers and dreamers, keep believing and keep dreaming. Always try to be your best self, regardless of what others think about you. Define you, and do not let others be the definers of you and your destiny. Your future is what you make of your present, and only you can change it. Love yourself, love yourself, love yourself. Then, and only then, will you begin to see yourself among others and begin to love them too. Set a goal, and work towards that goal. Live everyday as if it is your last, that way you have no regrets. Be a leader by example so that others will see, and shine from your light. Love your children and teach them the importance of family; guide them to be their best self. This is the road to happiness. When you get there, celebrate...

Serious Times

This is a re-post. The original post was July 12, 2007. I accidentally disabled the track and i haven't figured out the way to fix it.

Review (Beah)

I just finished reading Ishmael Beah's memoir, A LONG WAY GONE, and had to take a few minutes to compose myself and "take in" all the unsettling nuances of the text. A LONG WAY GONE is about Beah's experiences as a child soldier in Sierra Leon in the early 90s and the mind boggling atrocities and brutalities that helped to shape his life as it is. I first saw Beah in a television interview with Steve Paikin on TVO's, "The Agenda" back in May about his abovementioned book. I recalled taking issue with some of the questions Paikin was asking Beah because the politics of race and violence was still fresh in my mind. I nonetheless kept the book's title in the back of mind, never thinking that i would actually go out and buy it. Turned out i did, on July 06, 2007, and here is my review:

The memoir is more than a dictation of Beah's experiences; it is a riveting account of the realities of war and what it means to exist in a war torn country with no breathing space for hope, freedom and redemption. His memories of his experiences in the army are profoundly disturbing and it forces you to psychologically negotiate your own humanity, not in the context of war because you still can't imagine being forced to participate in and help to direct the course of a civil war bent on miming and executing others, but through sheer perplexity and bewilderment. When reading Beah's work, you sometimes close the book and dream with him, you go through war, rehabilitation and more war. You open your eyes, but you cannot keep your mouth shut because you are seeing all the blood and dead bodies, children and women screaming for their lives and warlords sporting AK47s and machine guns which the author vividly describes.

By the second half of the text, the plot starts to feel like something fit for the silver screen; it just becomes more and more riveting, nauseating, heart piercing and unfathomable all at the same time. You fall in love with Beah because you admire his courage, determination and resilience when, in fact, given the situation of the war, you would want to lay down and beg someone to shoot you. Undoubtedly, this is a demanding text. It demands your attention, exclusively, and demands that you spend some time in your own head deciphering what you have witnessed between the pages of the text. It makes you contemplate the innermost questions of what it is to exist among others by showing you the extent of your own evil, which, if given the circumstances and space to breed, can transpire above and beyond your wildest dreams of your own capability. This is a text that scares you, if only to reflect upon the values and structures of your own society. It offers you no answer to the pain and trauma that surrounds the text like a golf of smoke, but asks that you think about them, meditatively.

With the present-day international conflict predominating the media and our coffee shop conversations, this text is good timing because it speaks to the broader global, historical and human problems that we face in this post-modern era. A LONG WAY GONE is about a child soldier engulfed in a "mad" civil war but it goes beyond the the problem of recruiting and exploiting children to touch upon the very meaning of war and what it means to fight for change and national morality. It is a text worth reading a million times over.

Serious Times

Experience the serious vibes of Gyptian's pronouncement

My Golden Star

I woke up late this morning because sunshine did not peek through my bedroom window. My friendship with her goes way back, but we haven't been the best of friends lately because she believes that i am using her to get what i want. The truth is, she has an anger problem but doesn't want to admit it because it will deter her other friends from tanning and sun bathing. She gets grumpy when it rains and, at times, won't come out for days. Everyone is happy when she's at her brightest, but no one will stay in her company for too long (because like i said, she has a red hot temper problem). My daughter loves sunshine very much and is adamant about seeing her everyday, so i wrote this poem for her to say to sunshine on her very next grumpy day:

My Golden Star

Sunshine, Sunshine,
where are you?
why won't you come out
and play with me?

I love apples, oranges
and bananas too,
all things pleasant will come
to you

you are my friend,
so glorious and free
today, if i see you,
I'll be sure to let you know
you are my only, lucky
golden star!

On Motherhood

It's not easy being a mom. Having a child takes so much out of you; you forget to comb your hair, check your clothes before throwing them on, heck, you sometimes can't remember if you've taken a shower all day! It's fun, though, to watch your child grow and notice each little development and transformation. I still can't figure out how people with three or four children handle it. Moms should get a check in the mail every month for just being moms; after all, they are responsible, for better or worse, for raising these little aliens to be good and law abiding citizens. I love my daughter to death. I can't imagine life without her in it. The trouble is, my life has never been the same since she entered it: lack of sleep, weight gain, appointments, you name it. It's not all about me anymore that's for sure! I'm now, officially or unofficially, a doctor, teacher, nurse, dietitian, counsellor, personal support worker, secretary, interior designer, general consultant, fashion auditor.... I wonder what kind of woman she will turn out to be? With all my hard work, hmmm, we'll see...

Lucille

She cringed at the smoke filled room with its blood stain panels and crocodile ceramic. It took her a while to find the place. She had found it nonetheless...in spite of her difficulty to distinguish between the shock waves of her dreams and the fears that define the reality of her existence. She had travelled the distance alone, without the help of a map or an interpreter. It was supposed to be a trip to find answers, but she was sure that the hollow in her life would call for more than simple awakenings. She surveyed the room, hoping to find a clue in the mass of objects which surrounded her. Nothing. The lonely occupants scrambled to find nourishment in whatever remains they could find while she gazed randomly at piles of unread manuscripts and paraphernalia. Almost imperceptibly, she noticed the darkened window sills and webs, as if, they too, had been tainted by the sempiternal sorrows of the place...

Why Write?

Who should keep a diary? What should be written in a diary? Who is the reader? As i sit here contemplating what i should say in this weblog i find myself trying to seive through all the boring uneventfull stuff which complete my experiences today. Is the the diary suppose to reveal the "true self" of the author? Well, don't we all construct our private experiences in hopes of evoking a positive reaction; and, God forbid, we fail in engaging the reader! The truth is, i don't have a story to tell you today, unless you want to hear about what i had for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I went to visit my aunt today; it was nice to get out and have someone else make dinner for a change! I will be up until late tonight, no doubt. Let's hope i have something more interesting to tell you tomorrow. Peace, out!

Navigating Life

I woke up feeling dizzy today which resulted in a trip to the doctor. Turns out i'm fine, medically. I need to start a workout routine but my daughter is keeping me busy; actually, she is the workout! I dropped by the book store and got myself a copy of Ishmael Beah's A LONG WAY GONE and, so far, i can tell it will be a masterpiece. It won't be long before it is added to my list of fave texts. It's a memoir and i find that i am drawn to these kinds of life writing texts. I am usually drawn to works that are disrupting, that makes you cringe, emotionally, and say, "damn, this is important, and i am glad that i have read it." I have been forcing myself to start writing again. Funny, i know there's gotta be some creative talent in me hiding away somewhere, the task is to give voice to it. See, now i have to write this blog while listening to "pop goes the weasel" because JJ just cannot bear the weight of silence. I am humbled by her personality; her energy is out of this world; makes me wish i was the one being spoon fed applesauce!

Shattered

All seven children
he took their lives
she said nothing
they were broken

Broken lives take time
to heal
the wounds are still open
the abuse, oppressive poverty
they were never loved

Love had no place
in their home
those children needed love
love never showed
at the door

The door was always open
open to strangers
strange things
hunger visited, often
innocence was lost

Their lives had been shattered
by a single white blow
their broken hearts yearn
for life, lost
rebirth is slow and painful

Hello World!

I had said that i would never keep a weblog, but here i am, naked to the world! Well, not really. I am here for leisure; it’s summer and i need to “get out”. I hope i can benefit from this logging, chatting, documenting lets-see-what-happens blogging. I haven’t kept a diary since i was fourteen years old so i am an amateur at this. We’ll see…