In my youth, many summer days were spent at the library, and many summer nights were spent sleepless, a flashlight in my hands. Reading a good novel under my favorite blanket is still a way I can be at peace with myself.
If reading seems boring to you, well, then, your loss. And if it makes you “sleepy”, seriously, don’t talk to me.
-VC
I am usually the person you encounter at the beginning of the work week who comes in with a bad case of the Mondays, who responds “What’s so good about it?” to a friendly “Good morning”. But today was different because I spent my Sunday doing almost nothing.
And as I washed my car in the front yard on top of the driveway, I felt so incredibly at peace. Dogs barked, kids played silly made-up games, sirens blared and soon decended as the SAPD cars flew by. Someone played tejano music while they BBQ’d. I saw the neighbors building a swing-set across the street. I heard the annoying repetitive sounds of an ice cream truck and it’s unnecessary greeting: “Hello!” What the hell, right? But whatever.
Yes, I live in the hood. But I kinda like it that way.
-VC
Recently, my house at home has been full, loud, and full of compromises. So, then why were we so peaceful and amicable on the day I left town?
Ironic, I guess.
It’s true that there’s no one in the world that I argue more than with my mother. How sad, some people would say. And it is sad, to an extent, but it’s also beautiful, I think, that we’re so honest with each other, that we can annoy the hell out of each other, and yet, when we’re apart, we think only of each other.
And my father. No one understands his temper more than I do. (I inherented mine from him.) But he helps me to see myself as I see him and to grow. And he dreams as big as I do. My dreams are all I got sometimes, and I’m thankful for the ability to pursue them.
It’s scary to think about how much I’ll miss my parents when they leave this earth because I miss them now – only 65 miles away from them.
Sometimes I feel lost, like I’ve got no sense of direction. Like I’m wandering through life… but then I think of home and how my family are like my compass, my map, GPS, and rest stop, and I feel OK.
I write this as I sip my chamomile tea, just like my father taught me to do whenever I have a sore throat. And almost instantly, I felt relief.
-VC
a happy person. cynical, yes. bossy, that too. but happy for the most part. and many good people love me. and there’s nothing else i could want. right?
its so hard for me to live life as i should. a sense of guilt lingers. why is my bed so warm at night? why are my friends so nice? why does my head think as it should?
i live with a burden because life is not so good for many others. i feel so undeserving sometimes.
i remember a time when i was a child. my dad acted like a tiger and chased me and my sister upstairs. we pretended we were scared, but we laughed inside.
i remember my mom bought me make-up and taught me how to put it on.
i remember when my big brothers would read stories to me or buy me the new Sublime CD.
i remember when my sister and i would play store.
i remember when my maternal grandpa took us to eat ice cream, and when my maternal grandma taught me to make eggrolls from scratch. or when my paternal grandma made my hair into pigtails and my paternal grandfather told me which finger was my ring finger.
once, a teacher told me i should be a social advocate. another told me i was the one of the best students they’d ever had. and i believe that i was.
stories upon stories. memories upon memories. i have many reasons to be happy. but i’m cynical because i can think of reasons why i’m happy and many others cannot.
-VC
