Thursday, December 31, 2009

My line of demarcation

Frantically, I realize that 2009 is leaving me. I don't know why this makes me feel pressed to run over the memories of this decade in my mind, seeing as how once 2010 rolls around, I'll still be sitting here in the same position, looking exactly the same, biting my lip in thought.

I read a list of things that happened in this decade to a family (via Flux Capacitor), so I suppose that's what has got me feeling so frantic. So I will attempt to pull together a list of things that were significant to my life in this decade. This list will definitely not be exhaustive, but just a taste of the things I can think of while I'm sitting here, still biting my lip.

I turned 13, 16, 18, and 21: I didn't realize it until this moment that I hit all the big ages (of youth, that is) during this past decade. I entered my adolescence in 2000, I had my Sweet Sixteen complete with all the trimmings (food, a DJ, stilettos, and a tiara) in '03, became a legal adult in 2005, and got to press my lips to a glass of alcohol in 2008.

I graduated from high school and from college: I graduated from the IB Program in 2005, and graduated cum laude from UF a mere three years later in 2008.

I was in Freshman orientation when the news broke: On September 11, 2001, I was in my Freshman orientation, and subsequently, was on the way back to class when someone said that an airplane had hit the World Trade Center in New York. Though I had no concept of how big the Towers were, nor where they were located in New York, I didn't believe it until I saw it on television. And even then, I didn't believe it. But I wept. I wept for the people whose loved ones they would never see again; for those people whose lives had been irrevocably altered. In essence, I wept for myself and all of us, because our lives have never been the same. I was 14 years old.

I was betrayed: without going into details that are not appropriate for this medium, I was betrayed time and time again. By people who really mattered to me. And these things hurt me. They changed me. They left fingerprints on the glass that is my heart. These fingerprints fade with time, but there is no Windex that will wipe them away completely. They became a part of me. And now that hurt is a part of my story. Not an excuse, not something I dwell on from day to day, but something inside of me.

I fell in love for the first time: and I've discussed it more than enough times here and even here. My feelings on this subject have long been clouded by many, many hours of deep thought on the first love that was never final. (when you don't understand why something even happened at all, it lends the feeling that it's not final, because when things are final, you no longer question them. Finality should indicate lack of doubt, hence, no need for questions.) It was the infamous situation that jaded me against other loves, but when it happened, regardless of his feelings, or the external variables that doomed us from the start, it was real. It was scary, it was dope, it was exhilarating, he was the first man I loved. And though I've tired of the hopeless domination of his memory inside my heart and have since adjusted for new loves, I still think about him. And part of me still wishes we'd realized we were just ordinary people, and that we should have taken it slow. Maybe I just wish that I realized that. I think he kind of got it.

I cut my hair off: I went natural... meaning the curly kinky goodness that grows from my head has been untouched by any chemicals since November 2008... though I did flat iron part of my hair into a bang a month or so ago...

I moved out of my childhood home: it seems like cheating, since this came at the very end of the decade, but it happened. It doesn't seem as interesting, since it just happened.

Loss and gain: We lost family members (my father's aunt and my great-grandmother, among others), but we also gained little ones :) I have many young cousins whom are intelligent and beautiful! Not to mention sweet :) They are continuing the family lines in great ways!

I am published: I had a poem (Inexplicable) published in an anthology, and I also had a short piece published in the Orlando Sentinel.

I am a freelance writer: I began my freelancing journey in November of last year (well, as I'm writing, it's now 2010, so, November of 2008) with Examiner.com, and though the road hasn't always been easy (when writing about relationships, your articles tend to be 125% influenced by what's going on in your life, and my love/dating life has been up and down the past year and some change), it's a road I have thoroughly enjoyed traveling.

Now that another decade is upon me, I try to remember the past decade more distinctly, but it's difficult. I'm sure there are things I have forgotten that occurred, and some things just don't need much explanation. I mean, ten years is a really long time to try and recount.

But above all, I lived this decade. I lived. I was a part of the many historical things that happened, because I was alive. And I'm still living. And I hope I'm writing to you a decade from now, and two decades from then, and three decades from then. And I pray you're still there to read what I have to say.

Welcome to another decade. I'm glad to be here with you.

Alone on New Year's Eve

As I walked into my silent townhouse, expecting to hear the sounds of revelers, I was awash with the desire for some noise, upon their unexpected absence.

I fought the urge to turn on the television. It's New Year's Eve, and it only seems right to turn on the tv to watch Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve, something my sister and I always did. Only, things aren't what they used to be. Dick Clark isn't the forever-young looking host he once was; he will soon be replaced completely by Ryan Seacrest. My sister and I are not spending this holiday together, though this isn't the first time that has happened, but merely a close second. I don't live at home anymore, and I'm not in a relationship with *him* this New Year's, and sometimes I forget that because of the similarity of 2008 us and 2009 us.

Instead, I came upstairs, and fought the urge to shower. Instead, I went into auto-pilot, something I frequently do. I think it's God, quite frankly, the Hand who controls us when we ourselves run out of ideas. I took off my shoes, took off my pants, left on my knit dress, and turned on my light from IKEA, a light I find charming because it warms up, starting dim and morphing into a pretty solid stream of light. Just right for leaning back on pillows and writing my thoughts before the clock tells me another year, and hopefully not the final year, of my life is beginning.

I've opened my window so I can feel the natural, muggy air and hear the sounds of the night... it reminds me of my last year in college, when I always left my windows open at night. I always heard the crickets chirping in the bushes, such a comforting night sound. I hear it now, along with the sounds of cars driving by, as well as the far-away (and sometimes very close) sound of booming fireworks and drizzling sparkles falling through the night's air.

The quiet is comforting, and I'm glad I decided to come home instead of participating in tonight's various activities. There weren't many things I wanted to do. I wouldn't have minded drinking with him, or our unique combination of conversation and exploration, in fact, that's what I really wanted, but as I forget, he's not my significant other anymore; though he is a lover and a dear friend, there is no binding us together for holidays anymore. Isn't that crazy how a simple title change can be the difference between knowing you'll be hanging with that someone on a special day, and hoping you'll be hanging with that someone on a special day? I'm not too fond of this, but it comes with the territory. Occupational hazard of unconventional circumstances.

That all being said, it just didn't feel right drinking and being out in the crowd tonight. I wanted to come home and spend my time lost in word, in thought, in prayer, in meditation of many things... my life, things I want to make happen in this new year, etc.

I don't want to make New Year's Resolutions, because I hate them and rarely does anyone remember them after the first of January. So instead, I write for you, as well as myself. You've really taken a significant position in my life--I write for you more than I write in my personal journal, which I have neglected since September. The lapses in between entries are growing.

I owed you, as well as myself, this entry. My previous entry was lackluster, at best, though I did forget I was living inside a decade. I was distracted when writing, and the news was on, and I stumbled my way through wanting to say something, but not having the right approach. Sometimes, writing can be like that, like trying to screw something in with a hammer. I hope this is better for you. It's better for me.

I could ask you what you wanted to change in this new year, or what you loved about this year, but I won't do that. It's all so cliche.

Instead, I wonder where your line of demarcation is. The line that securely separates the person you used to be, from the person you are now.

It's hard for me to find mine. 2008 & 2009 for me have merged into one big giant period of growth, one so expansive that I forget the two years were individual. They seem to be one.

I think I've completed this line of thought. It's curious the way that works within me; I'll be going full steam ahead, my fingers flying faster than any thought, and then it will suddenly slow down or stop. I'll start thinking about something else, and then I'll know that this line of thought is over.

I won't even tell you "Happy New Year," because it seems, again, so cliche. Instead, I'll say, welcome to another year. What are you going to do to make this year better than your last?

Love, sincerely,
Malorie

you, always

i do think that i am
hallucinating
the scent of you
that couldn't have possibly held on to my skin
hours past when i
begrudgingly
lifted myself from my safe place
next to your warm
safe
body
to trudge
into the wilderness
of life outside
of the reality
we've created for
each other
it is practically
impossible
that a scent could
last beyond
the shower we shared
the soap i dropped
the many squirts of lotion
the numerous surfaces i've touched
since taking my hand away
from the power of your back--

i swear, i still smell you on my hands
like i've just wiped the sweat from your brow
in the haze
of our normality.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

I forgot this was a decade

I've admittedly been away from my computer for a while now. I've been busy--moving out of my parents house, Christmas at home, Christmas in Georgia, etc. Not to mention, sometimes I just don't have anything to say. Scratch that--it's not that I have nothing to say, it's that I just can't find the words sometimes.

So, I completely forgot the fact that we were living in the first decade of the New Millennium. Completely. Maybe it's because as soon as the decade started, no one really knew how to title it... what do we call it? The 00s? Maybe it's because I covered the expanse of my adolescence during this decade (13-22). I don't know, but the 00s just didn't fit as neatly as the 90s, or the 80s, etc.

It wasn't until everyone kept making such a big deal about this New Year's that I realized we were getting ready to enter a new decade. (Where does the time go?)

I've changed so much... and I know everyone says this, and I know it's been ten years, so I should be different, but seriously.... when you think about it... it's amazing.

At the beginning of this decade, I was in the 7th grade at Memorial Middle School... and now, I'm a college graduate from the University of Florida... if you would have told me then of the things that lie ahead of me, I wouldn't have believed you if you talked me until you were purple in the face.

Of the things that happened in my adolescence that seemed to make little sense; of the pain and hurt I experienced, of all those things that I couldn't grasp then, ten years later, they make so much sense. As Minister Sharon said last night to my youth group: God is grooming you for the things he has planned for your life.

Well, God must be grooming me for something spectacular... and we'll leave it at that. I do believe he's grooming me for something bigger than I can think of.

Think about the past ten years of your life. What do you see?

Saturday, December 12, 2009

memory

I remember when

LOL

actually meant

I was laughing

in the space

of quiet air

just like how

you

once meant

me

Garage Sale/"I call it a lesson learned..."

I feel like those radio station personalities... on Saturdays, they are always live from some dealership, trying to get people to come out and see them...

I'm Miss Malorie and I'm spending my Saturday live from my front yard with plenty of deals... come stop by and say hi!

Okay, so maybe not so much radio personality, but I am actually having a garage sale today. It's my first one, so I'm a little anxious. Besides it being my first garage sale, it's in my nature to get anxious about things that I am a part of. I take everything personally and get very bent out of shape very easily about things that I am heading up. Not necessarily the best personality trait, but it's certainly mine.

It causes me to think about how the little things in life can easily show you who your true "friends" (I like the term "people," it encompasses everyone--friends, lovers, family, etc.) are. I am a person who practices fierce loyalty... I know I'm the type of person who will go above and beyond the call of duty to show that loyalty for my people that I love with all my heart, and I feel like these types of things show you who will do the same for you.

For instance, a friend of mine made it her duty to drive over to my house with her family to check out my sale, and a couple of my neighbors, whom I haven't actually shared that many conversations with stopped by when they saw me sitting outside. Not to mention the efforts of my mother, who got off from work and went right to helping me set up, find more items to sell, etc.

That all being said, I'm well aware of the fact that I can be very quietly though quickly judgmental of people whom I feel should have loyalty toward me... but still, it's funny when you find out who will stand up for you, and who won't. Whether it's a performance you want people to come to, a garage sale, or a different kind of event you've planned. If you give life a chance, it will show you who your people really are.

And funniest of all is when the people who are really there for you are less familiar to you than your good good "friends."

Thanks to all my real, loyal, true people. You all know who you are. And you should know that I love you and will ALWAYS be there for you. Always.

Okay, going back to my garage sale now. And yes, I know I have loyal people who cannot come to the garage sale today. No, it doesn't make you any less loyal. I just had to say that because I know my words have had a habit of being taken and twisted and misunderstood... but maybe I won't have that problem anymore since I'm eradicating non-friends and lunatics from my life. Hmmm.... one can hope, right?

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

just so you'll know

Today, I feel the urge to issue a disclaimer.

Only because I know that there are individuals in my life who read this blog, whether or not they think I'm aware of this fact, and I'm sure that it can sometimes be awkward... well, it's probably awkward all the time.

As any woman can probably attest to, we women do keep secrets inside our hearts; little snippets of conversations that we never forget, things we've never said aloud because we couldn't find the place for them in our mundane endeavors.

A lot of times, I'm sure these special individuals who read find themselves subject to staring in a mirror via my blog: meaning, they end up finding themselves represented in my writing, without seeking to be represented in my writing.

I don't think I'll understand how this could make those special people feel. I've never been subject to being one's public & artistic muse (unless I was and was never aware of it), so I've never been on that side of the fence. I wonder what it feels like sometimes.

Regardless, the special people know who they are (or who he is), and for the aforementioned party, I ask you for understanding. My writing is akin to my breathing, practically--it's something that comes natural, and something that I can't really help but to do.

Understand that it's not my attempt to put you on display for the world to see when maybe you don't want that, but that you're a muse to me, and that cannot be helped. I think you should wear it as a compliment.

"...that I was, fucking high..."/"I am colorblind"

"And, for a space in time, I forgot we were Black.

His Black, really a yellow, honey brown, tinged with the residue of all the places he is--Italy, Panama, Jamaica, the world.

My Black, really a deep, red brown, flecked with honey gold yellow, wrapped up in the rolling hills of Georgia, the lowlands of Carolina, and the desire for the azure of the Caribbean Sea; the places far beyond what I've seen.

In that indiscernible moment, the drug riding up and down my spine and diminishing seconds to slow motion oozes, I close my eyes and forget what color we are. We become beyond color, just the need in our bodies to be close.

We become beyond our names, beyond our history, beyond our future because in that moment it is just us pressed against each other as if our very sanity depends on how close we can be without merging into the same being.

We float mid-air, transcending our bodies, leaving the bounds of your room, even; skating on air, our spirits touch nakedly, unashamed, needing, feeling, existing in the other.

Your kisses fall like tiny explosions underneath my skin, erupting outward, stealing my breath until I pant with need want desire want desire need need need of you
to touch
the hottest
quietest place inside of me, your place, that I give to you.

And when you do, I close my eyes to you, as if I am blind, and I become all other senses:
I taste the tiny bumps on your tongue as I smell the soft fragrance of your skin and the strong scent of us; I hear your struggling to retain control as I feel you loving me the only way you know how

with you, my body is lithe, thin teenager glory and simultaneous adult curve all woman and with me, your body is manchild beauty, familiar comfort
and together, we are more than Black, for a space in time."

(an unnamed piece from my writing notebook, Tuesday, 12.08.09, 9:45 am)

Thursday, December 3, 2009

growing pains

I would like to make my blog spiffier.

Like this.

Or maybe like this.

Or maybe even like this.

I wonder how I can go about this. I'm not exactly 125% computer savvy, but I'm also not incapable of using computer functions. I'd say I'm somewhere in between.

But I want to change my blog, just like I want to change aspects of my life. I'd like everything, including my blog, to completely represent me.

Hmmmm...

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

little things...

Have you ever noticed how it's the little things that always get you; that always bother you to no end?

Intellects try and try to put them to the side, to pretend that they are unaffected by such things, but they are. People, big and small, red and yellow are bothered by the small things.

It's evident that the big things bother us... but oh, for the small things...

like how your lover can respond to everyone else's comments on Facebook except yours

or how an old associate won't keep you as a friend on Facebook (FB has become quite the big deal, don't deny it)

or how someone cuts you off in traffic and they speed up to make the light, whereas you get stuck waiting

or like how you text your friend and they don't respond

or how you wake up hoping you've still got plenty of time to sleep but it's two minutes before your alarm is to go off

or how you think you've got one piece of cake left and you come home and someone ate it already...

These things are so minuscule... but do they bother you as much as they bother me? It's really the little things that have the ability to get under my skin and stay stuck there.

Unless otherwise indicated, all words here are property of Miss Malorie

MyFreeCopyright.com Registered & Protected