Kiwi of Knowledge

Three years ago… Three years.

How can such a small period of time stretch out behind me like a lifetime?

It’s been long enough that she feels like a different person, that shaking quivering mess that I was. Still, I can reach out and almost touch her, and I like to think that in doing so, she isn’t really as alone as she fears.

I’m not sure exactly how things became so bad, but I do know that my life came to a point where I could no longer see any purpose or benefit to facing one more day. I was so badly lost that I had given up all hope of ever being found, and I lived in constant fear that that living, loathing darkness would devour me whole.

I sat that night, my last night alone, holding Birgit’s little butterfly in the palm of my hand and trying to calm myself enough to sleep. For all the hopelessness that I felt, there was still a small glimmer of hope: A small, stubborn point of light in that black emptiness. Perhaps this was the gift left to me by that long-lost little girl I had been; Naivete and that elusive promise of better tomorrows. Childish, perhaps, but life-affirming in its simplicity and that thirst for a world that is fair.

Sorry I have been so absent. I was having somewhat of a blogger’s crisis trying to decide what I wanted to do with this blog/performance anxiety because my mother gave this address to the entire island of Montreal just about.

I haven’t written since November, and now (hopefully) we are straining toward spring.

GRANDPA

It terrifies me to reach out
And not feel your life alongside mine.
By day, I am numb and distant
But at night I wake myself with my cries,
Wet-eyed and calling out for you.
You were there always,
Creased, weathered hand in my smooth one.
The old time chivalry of men with remnants of fluffy white hair,
A quiet dignity from a time long gone.
Sometimes in the quiet,
A solitude more peaceful than oppressive,
I can hear you.
A quiet voice, whispering words of love,
An ever-present but seldom audible encouragement
And reflections of forevers
Stretching out into a horizon of unknowns,
Frightening yet strangely alluring.
I can make it if you hold my hand.
Do you float in a pool of love,
Surrounded by ripples of ever-present grace?
Do you sing once again,
With the voice of an English schoolboy
In a country church choir,
Jubilant songs of sweet homecomings?
I pray that you stay with me,
And hold me close,
Because without you the night is too dark.
I need you here,
Cradling my aching, grieving head in loving arms
Of eternal unity
And the hope of unwavering togetherness.
I will never stop straining to
Hear you sing soft lullabies,
Lightening the darkness of the night.

Ever since I started working retail, I have had a really hard time with Christmas. There’s something about being told to ‘fuck off’ on Christmas Eve that makes it hard to enjoy the season. Walking through a mall at this time of year still makes me anxious, and invokes some deeply buried rage. I’m not really sure where it comes from, but it is definitely there. Walking through the Eaton Centre last week, the Christmas songs were playing and I just kept thinking that the only reason why they were playing Christmas songs was to encourage people to spend money. It’s not like they decorate and play Christmas music to spread the love. Okay, so I’m bitter and jaded, but lately I just feel this incredible need to distance myself from outrageous displays of capitalistic frenzy. It’s not like large corporations give a damn about their employees (here and elsewhere).

I’m trying desperately to feel some kind of Christmas spirit, but it just isn’t happening. I keep trying to think of a meaningful way to spend Christmas, but I can’t come up with a single thing. I feel like cocooning. I remember how magical Christmas used to seem when I was a child. I remember lying awake on Christmas Eve, watching for the light of Rudolph’s red nose on the snow outside my window. In my memory, those Christmases were warm and bathed in deep, rich color: The dark green of the Christmas tree, red velvet decorations in my grandparents’ living room, shining silver cutlery that was only used for Christmas, silly paper hats in a rainbow of color that came from Christmas crackers that never really worked. I remember the heat and the orange glow from the fireplace, the itch of hand-knit sweaters, falling asleep against my mother on Christmas eve at church. Safety, warmth, the feeling of being loved and protected. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop time. The world seems colder now.

One of my favorite memories from Christmas was when my little cousin Kelly staged a nativity play in the living room, using the family members. My cousin Caitlin who was about three was very angry at being cast in the role of Baby Jesus, because what three-year-old wants to pretend to be a baby? All I remember from her theatrical endeavors was my uncle’s line, playing one of the wise men, “This is gold, it costs very much.” Poignant words, haha.

How to recapture some of those feelings of love and magic when I have seen some of the darkness in the world?

I love the early morning. This has changed as I have grown older. Throughout my teens and my early 20s, I was a night owl. I remember on weekends leaving the house at 11:00 pm and not getting home until the mid-morning. Even on nights when I would stay home, I loved the thrill and the mystery of the nighttime. Later, when I started to work, I would work the night shift to avoid sleeping at night. Those days, I lived in an alternate universe where I never saw the sun, and where I lived in a perpetual state of upside-down confusion. These days, I love the solitude and the quiet of the early morning. I like sitting by myself, sipping my coffee, listening to the radio and watching the first light of dawn seep through my window. This is peace, before the world comes alive, the shining promise of a new day. On good days, I celebrate the dawn and revel in those first rays of light.

On bad days, I find it hard to climb out of bed. Sometimes it takes all of the strength that I can muster to arise and face another day of being me. On these days, my day looms ahead of me like Mount Everest, and even little things like getting dressed seem impossible.

But sometimes, on mornings such as this, I realize why I’m alive. After a long week of anxiety and grief, I woke this morning to feel a sense of tranquility. Unexpected, but surely welcome. Where does it come from? A mystery, but perhaps I should just accept it and rest in this feeling. The dawn is beginning to break, and for a rare moment, I feel alive.

Prayers and peace to Canada’s veterans. ‘Lest we forget’.

Sorry I have been absent. (Does anyone read this anyway?) I seem to have developed somewhat of an actual life in the past couple of weeks. Plus, I managed to catch a flu that just wouldn’t let go pretty much as soon as I got home. I have also been spending a rather shocking amount of time on the bus. Um, yeah, down with public transit!

            The first week at school was a bit overwhelming. When I first made my schedule, all of my classes were in the same two buildings (which are right next to eachother), which made me feel relieved. However, they decided to change two of them so I spent a lot of time trying to figure out where the hell I was supposed to go.

            The social work classes are a lot less friendly than I thought they would be. You’d think that people who are going to be social workers would be slightly more, uh… social?

I will write something more substantial soon! Xoxo

I have decided that the weather here isn’t rainy enough, so I am going to visit a friend and then hurricane chasing in South Carolina. Be back in 2 weeks. Enjoy the rest of summer! xoxo

I am massacring this blog.

Stop before I delete again…

She takes my little red coat and hangs it on the hook in the hallway. I am three and she is my first friend. She always meets me outside the classroom door and takes me by the hand into the classroom. I am shy and timid by nature, and although I love school, I am often afraid to walk through the door. When Nanny walks me to preschool, she always smiles to see her. She is happy that this little girl will not let me hang back in the corner. I am young, and although I am hesitant, I possess an open lovingness of everyone. She cheats at Candy Land, and I stare wide-eyed and shocked. She isn’t like me, and right away I sense our differences: She doesn’t yearn to please in the same way that I do. She intrigues me.

Every summer, we play at the park. I live in the little brown house with the pink fence that is right next to the soccer field, and she lives across from the swings. We pump our legs and imagine that we can fly. She is better at it than I am; Even then, I am uncoordinated and don’t possess much physical strength. One day I bring stamps to the park, and we pretend we are pirates and bury the treasure. As we get older, we become more adventurous: We run up the slide, and I watch breathless as she climbs on top of the bar that holds the tire swing.

Over the years, we learn about the world from one another. I love reading and writing, and share the treasures I glean from within the pages. She is bold, but more sheltered and innocent. I am old for my age and feel as though I must always act as an adult. Sometimes it is hard for me to relate to other children, and I cling to her because I feel different. She normalizes me, and I challenge her to grow. We complement one another, and she makes me feel safe.