uncomfortably different

Your priorities

Changed mine awkwardly, intrusively

Delved into the abyss of everything important

And exploded in repeated moments of chaos

Then you paused for a second

Craving immediate reinforcement

And in a moment falling back into the emptiness,

A place where you dwell incessantly

Where you see the world uncomfortably different,

Maybe mysteriously more real

And lashing out again

At the stranger still standing in front of you

Never becoming familiar to your eyes

You rely on something that worked yesterday

To bring one more moment of relief

One more second of satisfaction

We start over again.

Sbartel

ok, ok... i'm back

ok... thanks to Shereen... i have to start blogging again. Just when I thought I was free for life from the constraints of sharing my deepest thoughts to my friends and the rest of the world in this public manor; I had to go and read Shereen's most recent blog which 'tagged' me... thus forcing me back into this online community.

7 extremely private things about me that I have NEVER told anyone else in the world (so please... if you're reading this... don't share it):

1. One time I stepped on a baby chicken's head. He (or she) was only one day old when the tradegy happened. When I felt the small skull under my foot, I felt terrible and I quickly hid it so that know one would ever know.

2. I've been secretly praying for the flood.

3. I used to believe that since God is everywhere...So I would refuse to close my scissors because that would cut him. That made it difficult to finish crafts, and I often had an open pair of scissors sitting on my desk. (that's one possible reason that i'm not very creative)

4. I used to cheat on my spelling tests as a child.

5. I hate feeling forced into sharing things online. (grr.. shereen...)

6. Since my Dad was one legged, I believed that each on of my children would also be an amputee. (and people wonder why I don't have any children yet)

7. I think Tim's blog is by far the most entertaining and exciting blog that I've ever read (sorry heidi and shereen:)..). While he may not be my 'online' friend, I can only dream of the day that my blog site is listed under his list of friends.

unfinished stories

parts 2 and 3

I worked in downtown Camden, NJ. It’s known for many things, primarily its drugs, poverty, and violence. Rated the most dangerous city in the US in 2004 and 2005, Camden is home to 80 000 people, most of whom live below the poverty line. No hotel, no movie theatre, no grocery stores; this town is lined with corner stores, unemployment centers, bail bonds, community service centers, dollar stores, two prisons, and Chinese fast food restaurants.

Just across the street that runs along the boarder of Camden lays the American Dream. The suburbs are among the finest in the US. Moorestown, voted the most desirable place to live in the US in 2005, is only ten minutes away. The vast contradiction that I am faced with everyday from where I wake up, to where I work, is enough to make me wonder about the very fibers and essence that makes up the American Dream. How many really live it, and how many have been forgotten as the rest of the country grows richer and richer. How many have been left behind, with no hope of ever seeing or tasting any part of what the fathers of their country dreamed of.

Just months later, here I sit in the comfort of my own suburban home, 3500 miles away, learning to drive to work each day with no one knocking on my window, no one offering me cash for my services: no one even daring to assume I’m apart of such perversities. The stories still haunt me. Faces and stories that are as real to me as the air I breath. I am left feeling empty; feeling helpless. Disturbing stories with out any endings, dance around me and with me. Broken dreams of others knocking at the doors of my own broken heart, asking if there’s anything else. A fog of confusion and despair has grown thick around the hope that once resided and spoke so quickly of dreams.

I will never know their endings, never see their outcomes, never understand my own role in them. Any nugget of knowledge I receive, will only be as good as reading a couple scarce sentences in a book that I had been reading so diligently, never being able to put it down, and then one day, it just disappeared. I can only know in part now, what I once knew in entirety.

The Story I Need to Tell

*an attempt at verbalizing the heart. Part 1 of 5 parts to follow:)

part 1: the streets

Driving to work I pass large groups of girls jumping rope along the sidewalks as their older brothers play basketball at the Clinton St. Park. One solo girl fights hard to stay in the game taking place on the court. Fire hydrants bursting water out as I drive by with open windows welcoming the brief relief from the sweatering heat. Boys with corn rolls, girls with beads dangling into their faces: running through the bleeding water running like a river down the street. Bikes flying around the corner across a busy street, cars screeching to a halt to barely miss the grinning six year old darting in front of them. Corners busy with sales of illegal drugs, sidewalks cruised by white women willing to accept any small payment for their bodily services. Fiends begging for bus and food money; receiving the charity they dart around the corner to the local ‘grocer’ that sells their substance down a dark alley way behind the brick wall that is falling apart. Fancy BMWs and Lincolns cruising slowing by, rolling down windows at remote corners to reveal men in business suits that seem to know this neighborhood too well.

I park, and notice the immediate attention I’ve drawn. The man standing by my window thinks I’m one of the people in the rich cars driving in from out of town. I shake my head ‘no’, and he apologizes while he walks away. I step out of my car. A few steps later, the next man eyes me up. He assumes I’m one of the other white girls looking for a bit of extra cash. Again I shake my head ‘no’. Pull out my keys, unlocking the old raggedy church on the corner of Broadway and Berkley that no longer resembles a church due to a fire from decades ago, and the lack of finances to keep it running. It is now deserted. Meant to be demolished, but there isn’t even money enough in the city to tear down the condemned buildings. I walk in, turn off the alarm, double bolt the door behind me, and slightly jump as two mice scatter into their homes. Sitting on a chair facing the front street where I can see twelve people lined up waiting impatiently for their morning dosage from the ‘pharmacy’. I take a sip of my coffee, smile, think to myself, ‘I’m living my dream’, and get started on my day of work.

San Francisco - Spring Break 07

03.18-03.24

To Leah and Tina; Lyn and Jesse; Rachel and her parents; Lori and Rob; the toothless people of Corney, WA; the little black kid who gave us the finger; our new hippie friends; the plastic didgeridoo player; the bored officers at the American boarder; the gas station girl who just happens to live in the dirtiest town in Oregon; the factory workers of Tillamook cheese; the angry, tired cable car driver; the abstinence preacher on the side of the street…

to all my companions in the journey, this is for you.

I’m not sure about people anymore. They’re responsible for some pretty nutty stuff. Individuals I’m crazy about though. -Berkeley Breathed (quote from Starbucks cup in downtown San Francisco)

What makes traveling worth while? For me it’s the unique interactions that you have with a world that is not your own; the brief moments that you live in someone else’s shoes and see their perspective. It’s feeling the pain of a cable car drivers boring day… and hearing the story of a love lost and then found again. It’s the eyes of the toothless ladies, who earnestly hand you a freshly grilled deluxe hamburger and the heads that refuse to look up at you gazing at them work at their minimum wage factory line-up job. And in the end, you always leave thinking you’ve come to know a place, when rather, you’ve come to know a small part of some individuals.

SF proved itself to be a very friendly city. One day as we were trying to find the Golden Gate Bridge on our rented bikes (Yes, that’s the big orange bridge that you can see from almost all points in SF) an older couple, Lori and Rob offered their help. They then carried on to give us a complete educational tour of the Bay and Bridge area. Two hours later they turned around to head back to their work.

Another night, a group of hippies at a local coffee shop laid claim of our friendship. Everywhere we went, there they were with their musical instruments from open mike night, their weed, and their on going conversation about just about everything. One was shocked about the tall girls we grow in Canada (you guessed it, that comment wasn’t directed at me - see above pic)… another was impressed that I could play the harmonica (which proves that they were high since I can't play it). Finally as they wandered off to their next adventure, we realized that we had now idea where we were.

memories created, people met... california sunshine soaked up... back to work tomorrow. Guess all good things come to an end.

PS. biking in San Francisco is all good, until you decide to attempt the hills. Piece of advice for people seeking adventures in SF... don't bike up the hill.

Revolutionaries

his warm glowing eyes screaming thank you
staring out of the cold rock that inhabits a spot in the desk he sits
i see it. i can always see it.
they’re a mask, but a true mask.
a small truth that has yet to surface.
smiling i welcome the birthing soul.

fingers of a broken promise stretch out
gently caressing my heart
screaming for answers to brokenness
scratching nails rip a small scar of memories
kissing the fingers i place them on top of the scar
to stop the bleeding.

a picture of a child swinging
careful not to scribble over the black lines
colored in an attempt to please
she hands it to me again
same as yesterday
my shadow is with me
clinging to my heels,
can my attention heal?

threats of hatred uttered
unable to scratch the walls of my calloused heart
pealing the threats away all i find is pain
loss of a mother, a father, a life
the threats bounce off the heart
ricocheting to the irises of my eyes
piercing a hole to let the tears fall.

so many different faces
speaking such different languages
all hiding the same thing
all with the same plea
a loss of innocence
yet still at the age of innocence
each one desperately using
self taught languages
yet to be translated
begging for our forgiveness
for sins they never committed
clinging to our love
seeking and fighting for a hope
which has yet to be found.

all these small revolutionaries
who are unknowingly
standing on soap boxes
on every corner of our streets
each one begging for us
to do something about the injustice

we walk past
shaking our heads at society.
shedding a single tear
for the Victims.

my first blog...

Dedicated to my blogging inspirations: Heidi and Shereen

Gloomy weather outside, the wind whistling through the third floor windows. The pounding rain reminding of the hours that still remain at this desk. Piles of work surrounding me; i look for something to distract. Just a couple minutes of rest, thats all i need. A couple minutes to take my mind off of marking and planning for tomorrow.

With little thought, check my email... nothing. With greater hopes... I log into my myspace... nothing. My technical world that once brought me satisfaction fails miserably. That's when i recall a conversation i had over a couple glasses of wine... with a person that claimed to be my Best Interenet Friend. I quickly look up her site... only to find my face right there staring back at me and an article about my birthday, speaking loudly of an internet friendship that i have yet laid claim to. A friendship that began giving before I ever recieved or returned.

Now when the rain crashes, and the wind whistles, i take a sip of my warm coffee, feeling no dread of how i might take my mind of my work for a couple minutes. I click on Heidi and Shereen's blogs... and with their creative help, i forget... briefly... that i'm surrounded by piles of work!

Hopefully... i can do the same for you:)