Momentum

Right. It’s been awhile, I know. :p  Boo on so many levels.

But I’ve been busy.  Busy with my heart. Busy getting back on track. Busy forgiving. Busy paying attention. Busy planning, moving, settling in, teaching, learning, loving and learning some more.  Busy letting go.  Busy accepting.  Busy making up for lost time.  Busy resting. Busy recalibrating.  Bust traveling. Oh and busy with images.  

Yup.  Been busy living.  

There’s more to it too, of course.

The silence.  

Part choice, part involuntary mutism – there’s always more to it than just the silence of someone’s soul.  Um, because it’s never really quiet in there. The total opposite actually.  And until some of the wires untangle, and not until breathing resumes to normal,  attempting to write about whatever sometimes, especially when nothing is pouring out, becomes counter productive.  

Sure, I have been documenting what I’ve been grateful for these past months. Sharing snaps and slices with people I love in my other online spaces. Traveling has made that easy. There’s something about visiting old friends in a new place (Jower in KL) and visiting old places with fresh eyes (Manila and New York City) that allow for this combustion of inspiration. Everything I see right now, I want to shoot and share. So, yeah,  I thank G everyday for photography and communities who appreciate photography. 

But writing, boy do I miss you.  There’s nothing like you and the way you enable/force us to articulate what we are thinking, feeling, learning one word after the other. I have missed you, old friend. I have been cheating on you with my new love, photography and I’m really sorry for neglecting you.  Please forgive me because here I am. Mid year. Mid July. Mid summer break.  In my favorite city on the planet, doing many of my favorite things with a lot of great people sometimes;  alone most days.  Am overwhelmed with gratitude and joy right now and I’d like to honor where I am standing right now with this momentum post and an old poem.

A brief background and an extended explanation:

I wrote this poem for and with my students (and co teacher) last school year.  I write a version each year I teach poetry actually, so there are many versions swimming around on different pieces of scratch paper, several inboxes, maybe three to four Moleskine notebooks and Pages documents.  I’ve read older versions aloud to my class before but I’ve never blogged any of the pieces.  This is the first one I’ve shared beyond the classroom.  The original post written for my kids lives here.   There’s also this writing and photography course I am taking this summer with 89 other women all over the world, who are strangers right now but hopefully won’t be for long, and I wanted to share this post with them.  We are on our second week with already two sets of photo and writing exercises.  This where I’m from poem (inspired by George Ella Lyon’s version) reminded me of the first writing exercise we had to do – stepping stones to unravel where we have been, which may also reveal where we are headed.   Here goes…

Where I’m From

39

by Ms. Pau

I am from an old house on 21 Lilac St.

from rooms with stories, secrets

and slippers in my father’s hands

occasionally hitting the exposed

surfaces of my little body.

I am from extending stolen tearful

 glances at my mother who

didn’t know what to do.

Making that first note to self:

never cry where your young

angry father

could sense you.

I am from the stone balcony that looked out

at the dusty street

and our big black steel gate

where I watched my

Yaya Shirley leave unexpectedly

after she was almost stabbed

by our other evil helper.

The road ahead

I am from abandonment that I

got to know too intimately at a very young age,

from the expectation to be

strong, silent and sure, which

meant I was being a good girl because

I understood why,

because I didn’t cry.

I am from thinking that moving houses

was never supposed

to be traumatic.

Haunting images of my parents,

partners and friends

leaving me again and again and again

from Sunday tears erupting from my core

for no good reason except the thought

of another goodbye

even years later

as a grown woman

an older me

I am from a bigger backyard, a bigger house

 a bigger gated subdivision that left

an even bigger gaping hole in my heart.

I am from this place where I learned to say the words

“I love you” second and not first;

“I am sorry” first and never second.

I am from Alabang Golf and Country Club,

holding hands, bad poetry read to young crushes

who thought they had found their true love

Big words and alliterative phrases

clumsily strewn together for loved ones I vowed

I would never forget

never wanted to forget

to forget me

reflection

I am from betrayal, deep sadness

and harsh secrets learned too early;

from an awkwardness in my own skin

I clung to, not knowing how else to be

from fighting for a self that he, she, and

everyone I knew thought was perfect

except my-self

I am from everything they said I couldn’t be

I am from one day realizing I had wrapped

myself voluntarily in a cocoon, so difficult

to escape and wiggle out of

feeling like I deserved to hide there, and

to prove me right I had to

break my heart

over and over and over

But I am also from the paper thin wing that

made the first finest tear

the path to redemption and forgiveness

began with

the other wing setting me free…

butterfy bound

I am from books that adorn my walls

fortified from anyone who thought I was

illiterate and not critical enough

Yes, from a thousand books

I can’t live without today

A thousand friends who have

kept me company, have helped

me escape, who constantly remind me

all to well about my own humanity.

my books live here

I am from a hundred films, movies

and pirated DVDs; characters like

Tyler Durden, Mr. Keating, and

Lara Croft, I wish

I were instead of me sometimes.

Their happy endings, misadventures

and worlds combined

leave me envious and confined

As I gaze vacantly at the laundry

spinning round and round

I am from the quest for kindness

gratitude and turning the corner

 but still not having a clue

from women’s rights and claiming feminist

and not believing in God for awhile

because according to my Masters Degree

 that made me look weak

I am from all of it boiling down to that angry little girl

who wasn’t allowed to speak

or make an appearance

All she wanted was to be heard and be herself

I call her Olivia

Aaahhh. Don’t eat me.

 I am from writing and writing and writing

during nights desperate for answers

and from days like this, where I am writing

and writing still

I am from many complicated,

complex and convoluted corners

that don’t remember everything

like I thought I did

Yellow

I am from wondering what it all means to

all of it making sense

sometimes

I am from seeing the world behind a lens

and through my pen and lined journals

from finding solace

in the sound of the pounding of keys

I am from these eternal lines and shared images

from these two always, always saving the day

loves

I am from malignant tumors

that peppered my neck and upper chest

from cancer that came out of nowhere

but taught me the most important lessons

in life

from being in remission

and from being spared

for a reason

Survivor

I am from my body image, the final frontier

 that is the total contradiction of who I am now

fissures from an old script

of a self worth defined by a society screaming

I need to be stick thin to be beautiful

tiny cracks in my psyche that need

to be filled

healed and sealed

Self acceptance

I am from metamorphosis that only happened

when I stopped trying

from being transformed by

gratitude and a love that overflows

from the ultimate well spring of life

I am from my Creator

who reminds me that I am

wretched and yet

still the best thing that’s ever

happened to Him.

I am from a God who says

I made you for a reason and has

a son who helped me understand

the words, ‘I forgive you.”

Redemption

I am from the earth and the sea and my

sun kissed skin

from beneath the shallow surface

of the ocean, watching dugongs

swim away as I listen to my heavy breathing

and celebrating a heart that’s so full

it could burst at any moment

Ennui

Hope

Constant

I am from my Kuya I was born to adore and

 a mother and a younger sister I learned to love

and a father, now older, less angry, my biggest ally

These pieces make me who I am

the best bits that make the most sense

most of the time

the very basic

definition of where I belong begins

with Mon and Maqui, Eddie and Rae

Family Gold

Baby sister

I am from my classroom

the conversations that wow me on

a daily basis

to collaboration, asking important questions

and reclaiming the power of storytellers

and storytelling

I am from always challenging myself as a teacher

and learner and from saying

I can still do so much more

Special beginnings

My classroom today

I am from spaces that we create to build a new life

three hours away from where I was born

From missing the sound of the clipping carabiner

to finding peace on the mat

I am from the inked narratives on my skin

that remind me that the pain, it always ends.

I am from love lost, love found

love that I have recently discovered

who recognized me back

as his long lost friend,

match, partner and soulmate

a challenging handful he can’t quit

We are from the shark always being included

in this disastrous adventure 

we have begun

together

Here goes…

Here we go

The big move

I am from my mistakes and

my redemption and transformation

that has already begun.

I am from where I am headed,

where goodbyes become easier

and where everyday there are

warm hellos.

I am from today, still alive

more than okay

the best I’ve ever felt

in 39 years

I wouldn’t recognize ennui

if it sat in front of me to have tea

I am from

looking out my balcony

writing these verses for the most important

people in my life right now

finally coming home to a huge party

where everyone is invited

Happy

Again, thanks for passing by.  Appreciate it.

grateful slice: summer break, time, poetry and honouring where we are from

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3 comments

    • Ms. P

      Thank you for passing by. It was interesting to write and it helped me a lot in ways I can’t describe. Again, thank you.

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