1)
I can't sleep, so tonight
my fingers reached out to try to grasp
these frozen pictures of faded colors and etched faces
in the slideshow that plays silently, conspicuously, in the background
of my everyday mind
tonight, I hear those laughter, whispers, gasps, and
awkward silences, abrupt coughs, mutters under breaths, drunken talk
of our young voices, gathered in shoddy dormitory spaces, living rooms, and cramped bedrooms
I recognize those sparkles in eyes, those smiling lips, those messy hair dos
those windy moments
that weren't self conscious that they would years later, be valued images of their time
My heart aches for the past.
Nostalgia is
not because I want to return to it,
not because I want to freeze time
but because it is the pieces of me,
that so many people have helped to put together
into this one montage
still incomplete, still yearning, desiring
and sometimes fearing
2)
I feel a deep, quiet, joyous sense of freedom
It is like the warm ocean that swims
beneath the layers of icy waters
I have lived honestly,
in fear, desire, and love amid
the clutter
3)
i cant remember now.
:P
Showing posts with label grieving and healing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grieving and healing. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
late night rumblings
I have to be at work in 5 hours, but a damned mid afternoon nap, and some annoying homework is keeping me up on this weekday night.
I can't help but find myself at times, having random flashbacks to the drama and pain that arose from the organizational split earlier this year. This past weekend had been particularly difficult because it was coupled on with family and financial stresses. I need to move on, and actually, I am moving on, slowly but surely, steadily and firmly, kindly and assertively. To give myself credit, I have learned to be disciplined with my emotional ups and downs and have been able to let go, and trust my environment and the people I surround myself with, to take me out of some really destructive holes I bury myself in. I have a lot of people around me to thank. I hope to be able to reciprocate this. I find myself, 6 months after the drama, feeling a sense of excitement and direction about political work, and a persistence to personal theoretical development in a way that I had not felt before. I lost an organization I built for 5 years, and some important friendships, but my testament to myself is that I am still politically active, and still believe in the liberatory potential of revolutionary politics. I have not let organization and its failings, become the totality of revolutionary politics. I won't let myself be a forgotten piece of memory for those who have done wrong to me, nor someone who can only be patronizingly lamented or easily tossed to the back of the mind. I have seen other women revolutionaries become inactive because of organizational trauma and seen how easily the trespasses against them have been forgotten, or buried in organizational archives and memories, a tale to be told but not a relationship to be rebuilt, a past mistake to be accountable for, or an organizational failure to be consciously learned from. My continual political activity is first and foremost, for myself, but also a statement that I will not, and cannot, be forgotten or dismissed as easily.
A line in an email from a Seattle comrade, who recently read the anti-police brutality piece that I collaborated in writing, really resonated with me. I quote him:
Yeah, as usual with me, a super-emo/dramatic line grabs my attention and gets me all queasy inside :). It is somewhat relieving to contextualize the individualized dramas, stresses and turmoil that I, and many others face, within the broader context of living and doing revolutionary politics. It comes with the terrain and my little heartbreak in this one year of my life, is a part of this broader narrative of emotional experiences that come with trying to be a better person, with many other people who are similarly *hopefully* trying to be better people themselves, while also trying to win concrete, measurable, qualitative victories. Countless other people have experienced similar things, and as the struggle heats up, if it does, then we will inevitably have even more intense moments to work through. We need to build emotional capacity, mental clarity and emotional discipline to weather such storms.
I wondered today at myself, a different person than I was a year ago. I feel a little slower, a little less quick to judge, a little less quick to respond to my immediate emotional responses, and a little more hesitant, a little more inward and a little more self-conscious. What is the difference between being a humble person, and being a person who has lost confidence? I feel a mix of both.
Sidenote: There is discussion on Kasama about psychology and mental illness. It's really great that there's a forum for this conversation. We really really need to draw organizational lessons from the past failures so revolutionary politics will actually be truly liberating for us and those around us.
I can't help but find myself at times, having random flashbacks to the drama and pain that arose from the organizational split earlier this year. This past weekend had been particularly difficult because it was coupled on with family and financial stresses. I need to move on, and actually, I am moving on, slowly but surely, steadily and firmly, kindly and assertively. To give myself credit, I have learned to be disciplined with my emotional ups and downs and have been able to let go, and trust my environment and the people I surround myself with, to take me out of some really destructive holes I bury myself in. I have a lot of people around me to thank. I hope to be able to reciprocate this. I find myself, 6 months after the drama, feeling a sense of excitement and direction about political work, and a persistence to personal theoretical development in a way that I had not felt before. I lost an organization I built for 5 years, and some important friendships, but my testament to myself is that I am still politically active, and still believe in the liberatory potential of revolutionary politics. I have not let organization and its failings, become the totality of revolutionary politics. I won't let myself be a forgotten piece of memory for those who have done wrong to me, nor someone who can only be patronizingly lamented or easily tossed to the back of the mind. I have seen other women revolutionaries become inactive because of organizational trauma and seen how easily the trespasses against them have been forgotten, or buried in organizational archives and memories, a tale to be told but not a relationship to be rebuilt, a past mistake to be accountable for, or an organizational failure to be consciously learned from. My continual political activity is first and foremost, for myself, but also a statement that I will not, and cannot, be forgotten or dismissed as easily.
A line in an email from a Seattle comrade, who recently read the anti-police brutality piece that I collaborated in writing, really resonated with me. I quote him:
I recently learned of the emergence of a new grouping, here in Seattle, that appears to have emerged (or been helped in their emergence) from the struggle against the police murder of John Williams. This, together with the emergence of other new groups locally, is an indication that the world is changing. Something is happening. Yes, there will be twists, turns, betrayals and heartbreak ahead. There always is. But there will also be victory.
Yeah, as usual with me, a super-emo/dramatic line grabs my attention and gets me all queasy inside :). It is somewhat relieving to contextualize the individualized dramas, stresses and turmoil that I, and many others face, within the broader context of living and doing revolutionary politics. It comes with the terrain and my little heartbreak in this one year of my life, is a part of this broader narrative of emotional experiences that come with trying to be a better person, with many other people who are similarly *hopefully* trying to be better people themselves, while also trying to win concrete, measurable, qualitative victories. Countless other people have experienced similar things, and as the struggle heats up, if it does, then we will inevitably have even more intense moments to work through. We need to build emotional capacity, mental clarity and emotional discipline to weather such storms.
I wondered today at myself, a different person than I was a year ago. I feel a little slower, a little less quick to judge, a little less quick to respond to my immediate emotional responses, and a little more hesitant, a little more inward and a little more self-conscious. What is the difference between being a humble person, and being a person who has lost confidence? I feel a mix of both.
Sidenote: There is discussion on Kasama about psychology and mental illness. It's really great that there's a forum for this conversation. We really really need to draw organizational lessons from the past failures so revolutionary politics will actually be truly liberating for us and those around us.
A communist exploration of mind and personality
Communist line struggle over alcoholism (part 1)
Communist line struggle over alcoholism (part 2)
Mental illness among reds: Excavating problems of line & structure
Friday, April 22, 2011
Thank you
I have had an emotionally rocky past few days but have always unexpectedly been brought back to joy, closeness and human connection by those around me, near and far.
This is for all of you who have offered me food, laughter and tears unconditionally, who did not know how much I needed your generosity.
I give thanks for all of this, none of which was owed to me, but abundantly given by those around, and especially cherished in moments of deep sadness and confusion such as these.
Yet again, another emo post :)
This is for all of you who have offered me food, laughter and tears unconditionally, who did not know how much I needed your generosity.
I give thanks for all of this, none of which was owed to me, but abundantly given by those around, and especially cherished in moments of deep sadness and confusion such as these.
Yet again, another emo post :)
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Promise to self
1) Not let myself to sucked back into the emotional ups and downs of last year.
2) Not self-blame when I do. See it as a grieving process that rises and falls. Grief comes with a myriad of emotions: self-blame, self-doubt, anger, guilt, sadness, regret. But essential for moving forward
3) Not emotionally open myself with those who will open up these wounds until I am ready
4) Not allow others to make me feel guilty for needing this space and time
5) Prioritize my own healing without becoming hard. I cannot exchange my loves and life for moments of self righteousness
6) Work toward forgiveness:
Forgive ourselves for our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us
7) When I am ready, be active to convey my self-forgiveness, as well as forgiveness to others. When I die, I want as little emotional baggage left as possible and as many postcards from past/present and future friends as possible!! :)
8) When I am ready, apologize and accept apologies where given, for the pain and hurt that had fractured us in our short lifetimes.
9) Trust that others whom I feel have wronged me are also going through their own journeys.
10) Be intentional about self reflection
11) Letting those I trust around me know about what I am looking out for within myself and have them also hold me accountable. [re: Icarus Project radical mental health exercise!!]
12) My life is not a rebound relationship from past pains: Avoid seeking validation from the present or future for what were past errors or trespasses
13) See present relationships for what they are. Not carry history into the present
14) Work toward being the kind of person I want to be, who can, in 5 years time, look back at this one sad year and say, "I grew with this experience and have become a stronger, better, more loving and lovable person."
15) Be OK with the fact that not everyone will love me, trust me, or accept me for who I am and that's OK. I have my own truth-seeking journey and will live a good principled life deserving of love.
16) Remember there are those who love me and whom I love
17) Eyes on the prize!!! I want to live, live, and live!!! And this is part of it!!!
2) Not self-blame when I do. See it as a grieving process that rises and falls. Grief comes with a myriad of emotions: self-blame, self-doubt, anger, guilt, sadness, regret. But essential for moving forward
3) Not emotionally open myself with those who will open up these wounds until I am ready
4) Not allow others to make me feel guilty for needing this space and time
5) Prioritize my own healing without becoming hard. I cannot exchange my loves and life for moments of self righteousness
6) Work toward forgiveness:
Forgive ourselves for our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us
7) When I am ready, be active to convey my self-forgiveness, as well as forgiveness to others. When I die, I want as little emotional baggage left as possible and as many postcards from past/present and future friends as possible!! :)
8) When I am ready, apologize and accept apologies where given, for the pain and hurt that had fractured us in our short lifetimes.
9) Trust that others whom I feel have wronged me are also going through their own journeys.
10) Be intentional about self reflection
11) Letting those I trust around me know about what I am looking out for within myself and have them also hold me accountable. [re: Icarus Project radical mental health exercise!!]
12) My life is not a rebound relationship from past pains: Avoid seeking validation from the present or future for what were past errors or trespasses
13) See present relationships for what they are. Not carry history into the present
14) Work toward being the kind of person I want to be, who can, in 5 years time, look back at this one sad year and say, "I grew with this experience and have become a stronger, better, more loving and lovable person."
15) Be OK with the fact that not everyone will love me, trust me, or accept me for who I am and that's OK. I have my own truth-seeking journey and will live a good principled life deserving of love.
16) Remember there are those who love me and whom I love
17) Eyes on the prize!!! I want to live, live, and live!!! And this is part of it!!!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Lingering thoughts
Thinking through this day.
A. (another coworker of mine whom I have referenced in this blog), who is alone in the US, with 7 kids and his wife in distant Ethiopia, who infamously works 100 hours a week in 2 jobs, started crying in the break room today. Last week, his friend had died in a car accident unexpectedly, and I think E.G's death today hit him in the way that sometimes deaths around you make you wonder about your own life and its significance.
S., another coworker whom I also respect hella, was being all cynical about it.
"You are sad cos she wasn't a maxi lift," she said half-jokingly. "She went because this was the reason why she came."
Because EG was able to stand, she didnt require the laborious maxi lift everytime we needed to toilet her.
I know S. wasnt completely serious. I know that a part of it is to think of our residents in this way of, how much work do they require from us, because it's the easier way to think about being surrounded by people who are dying, and us needing to be detached.
But it also struck me that it was an objectifying way of thinking about our residents. I have thought of our residents like this too. But in grieving for this person who just passed, so much came out in how we process death, process our work and our emotions on a daily basis.
When the morgue came to take her body, many of us lined up to sing "Amazing Grace." It's my workplace's standard farewell practice.
But except for me, none of the people sending her away were CNAs. They were all office administrators who had very clearly been called out to stand in procession. My other coworkers were busy with their work, not having been told of this procession, this farewell.
It is so ironic. That us, who felt the closest to this person because we had toiletted her, bathed her, fed her, in the intimate ways one can support another living being, were, whether intentionally or not, excluded form her farewell and instead, those administrators, who had devalued this person's life by cutting our labor, dismissing our work, hurrying us, stood today to bid farewell.
I know this is not very articulate. Maybe at another time I can express this sentiment better. But I felt sad and trapped. That even in death, our work goes unacknowledged, our emotions, unrecognized and undervalued, struggling to compete with objectification.
A. (another coworker of mine whom I have referenced in this blog), who is alone in the US, with 7 kids and his wife in distant Ethiopia, who infamously works 100 hours a week in 2 jobs, started crying in the break room today. Last week, his friend had died in a car accident unexpectedly, and I think E.G's death today hit him in the way that sometimes deaths around you make you wonder about your own life and its significance.
S., another coworker whom I also respect hella, was being all cynical about it.
"You are sad cos she wasn't a maxi lift," she said half-jokingly. "She went because this was the reason why she came."
Because EG was able to stand, she didnt require the laborious maxi lift everytime we needed to toilet her.
I know S. wasnt completely serious. I know that a part of it is to think of our residents in this way of, how much work do they require from us, because it's the easier way to think about being surrounded by people who are dying, and us needing to be detached.
But it also struck me that it was an objectifying way of thinking about our residents. I have thought of our residents like this too. But in grieving for this person who just passed, so much came out in how we process death, process our work and our emotions on a daily basis.
When the morgue came to take her body, many of us lined up to sing "Amazing Grace." It's my workplace's standard farewell practice.
But except for me, none of the people sending her away were CNAs. They were all office administrators who had very clearly been called out to stand in procession. My other coworkers were busy with their work, not having been told of this procession, this farewell.
It is so ironic. That us, who felt the closest to this person because we had toiletted her, bathed her, fed her, in the intimate ways one can support another living being, were, whether intentionally or not, excluded form her farewell and instead, those administrators, who had devalued this person's life by cutting our labor, dismissing our work, hurrying us, stood today to bid farewell.
I know this is not very articulate. Maybe at another time I can express this sentiment better. But I felt sad and trapped. That even in death, our work goes unacknowledged, our emotions, unrecognized and undervalued, struggling to compete with objectification.
R.I.P
One of my favorite residents passed away today.
E.G, Rest In Peace.
I have so many memories of E. from the past year of being her CNA. E. was super talkative, and was a "farmer's daughter from Ashland Wisconsin," as she would say, which explains why she loves drinking milk.
I remember my most recent memory of her was when my coworker and I were talking in anticipation of the weekend, saying
me: It's my Friday today!
N (my coworker): It's my Thursday, one more day to go!
E (whose wheelchair I am pushing): It's my Tuesday today!
(and then she cracks up, knowing full well that she was clueless about what was going on)
We were cracking up so much cos she was so funny, so adorable, and so friendly.
She could never get over the pull-up diapers and called them the "fancy panties" that she'd buy for herself when she moved "back home to Seattle." I dont know if she knew where she was.
I don't know what it is, but with E., so many of us had grown attached to her jokes and her demeanor. Always waiting for her kids to come (and they did come, just not as often as she thought they did, or wanted them to!), always talking about her hometown in Wisconsin, always talking about how her mom taught her to wash her hands after the bathroom, and how she felt wasteful for using more than 1 paper towel to wipe her hands till she saw me using 3 and didn't feel so bad after that, how she just always had that grin on her face when she saw us cos she knew she was the popular kid in the lunchroom. How dementia didnt yet take away that naughty gleam in her eyes.
Perhaps more importantly for me, as my mind often drifted into dwelling on the sadness and sense of loss that I have felt in the past year, E.'s voice breaking the monotone of my thoughts, asking me for this, or that, to go to the bathroom, or to get ice cream, or what, always brought me back to the present. Brought me back to the silent, humbling joy I felt for being able to do something for someone who needs it, in a very bare bones sort of way, in a very concrete and unpretentious sort of way, to be useful, as one life supporting another.
Till the past week, as she began to lose her alertness and her face sagged, unable to hold together her grin, mouth drooping, and her health declining, and she started to whimper "Mama, mama" every few minutes with her eyes barely open, me feeding her between her sporadic waking moments...It all happened very fast.
Maybe I needed her presence in my life, more than she knew, and more than I knew.
R.I.P
E.G
E.G, Rest In Peace.
I have so many memories of E. from the past year of being her CNA. E. was super talkative, and was a "farmer's daughter from Ashland Wisconsin," as she would say, which explains why she loves drinking milk.
I remember my most recent memory of her was when my coworker and I were talking in anticipation of the weekend, saying
me: It's my Friday today!
N (my coworker): It's my Thursday, one more day to go!
E (whose wheelchair I am pushing): It's my Tuesday today!
(and then she cracks up, knowing full well that she was clueless about what was going on)
We were cracking up so much cos she was so funny, so adorable, and so friendly.
She could never get over the pull-up diapers and called them the "fancy panties" that she'd buy for herself when she moved "back home to Seattle." I dont know if she knew where she was.
I don't know what it is, but with E., so many of us had grown attached to her jokes and her demeanor. Always waiting for her kids to come (and they did come, just not as often as she thought they did, or wanted them to!), always talking about her hometown in Wisconsin, always talking about how her mom taught her to wash her hands after the bathroom, and how she felt wasteful for using more than 1 paper towel to wipe her hands till she saw me using 3 and didn't feel so bad after that, how she just always had that grin on her face when she saw us cos she knew she was the popular kid in the lunchroom. How dementia didnt yet take away that naughty gleam in her eyes.
Perhaps more importantly for me, as my mind often drifted into dwelling on the sadness and sense of loss that I have felt in the past year, E.'s voice breaking the monotone of my thoughts, asking me for this, or that, to go to the bathroom, or to get ice cream, or what, always brought me back to the present. Brought me back to the silent, humbling joy I felt for being able to do something for someone who needs it, in a very bare bones sort of way, in a very concrete and unpretentious sort of way, to be useful, as one life supporting another.
Till the past week, as she began to lose her alertness and her face sagged, unable to hold together her grin, mouth drooping, and her health declining, and she started to whimper "Mama, mama" every few minutes with her eyes barely open, me feeding her between her sporadic waking moments...It all happened very fast.
Maybe I needed her presence in my life, more than she knew, and more than I knew.
R.I.P
E.G
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
"it's like being dead before you die"
Ab., one of my favorite coworkers, said this today of our former resident, O.C, who passed last night.
R.I.P
In the past month, we had a series of deaths among the residents. Old age, illness, they move on. One of the bitter jokes we say, is that, in the absence of extra workers to help relieve the workload, at least their deaths make our daily work easier -- less residents to take care of.
O.C died last night, but before she died, none of her family members had come to see her. In the past year that I have been at this job, working around this unit, I have never met her family. Save for some cards dated years ago that are pinned up on the bulletin board in her room, there are no memories, no signs of a life that was once lived.
So when Ab. said, sometimes, our residents are dead before they come here to die of dementia and illness, in our little sad deathfarm, they already have lost many things.
What do we have to show, for lives once lived, for passions once bursting, for ideas that were moments of breakthroughs, for the daily slog of life, for the many personal rebellions, for walking our own paths along the road less taken?
There is definitely something to be said for, the only thing you can do is to be a good person any and everytime you can. There is never a guarantee of reciprocity. We are lucky if we have loved ones around us.
I am afraid I will be one of those family members who forget about their parents. I think about my parents and their distance, their expensive, costly separations from me, and their cultural distance from this new place I call home. I dont know what to do.
I feel sadness too, that those whom I had built with for 5 years are now barely on speaking terms with me. Friendships broken and only shock, and some bittersweet memories left.
I am so emo!! Blame it on the ENFJ personality type!!!
I like listening to Sarah McLachan's Angel, and also Better than Ice Cream. Both songs encompass my mood right now, so here they are!
R.I.P
In the past month, we had a series of deaths among the residents. Old age, illness, they move on. One of the bitter jokes we say, is that, in the absence of extra workers to help relieve the workload, at least their deaths make our daily work easier -- less residents to take care of.
O.C died last night, but before she died, none of her family members had come to see her. In the past year that I have been at this job, working around this unit, I have never met her family. Save for some cards dated years ago that are pinned up on the bulletin board in her room, there are no memories, no signs of a life that was once lived.
So when Ab. said, sometimes, our residents are dead before they come here to die of dementia and illness, in our little sad deathfarm, they already have lost many things.
What do we have to show, for lives once lived, for passions once bursting, for ideas that were moments of breakthroughs, for the daily slog of life, for the many personal rebellions, for walking our own paths along the road less taken?
There is definitely something to be said for, the only thing you can do is to be a good person any and everytime you can. There is never a guarantee of reciprocity. We are lucky if we have loved ones around us.
I am afraid I will be one of those family members who forget about their parents. I think about my parents and their distance, their expensive, costly separations from me, and their cultural distance from this new place I call home. I dont know what to do.
I feel sadness too, that those whom I had built with for 5 years are now barely on speaking terms with me. Friendships broken and only shock, and some bittersweet memories left.
I am so emo!! Blame it on the ENFJ personality type!!!
I like listening to Sarah McLachan's Angel, and also Better than Ice Cream. Both songs encompass my mood right now, so here they are!
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Grieving.
An acknowledgement of all the pain, all the suffering, that our peoples are experiencing now.
Everything that is now individualized, personalized into our own psyches, into dilemmas among relationships, into tensions among friends, into vicious self judgement.
The crises permeate into us
like knives, chopping
hearts from muscles, pain, from love, from
one another.
Mortality is on many of our minds.
What is a good life, worth living?
How to imagine a nuclear explosion?
Who,
would I save, can save, will die regardless of me and
How
will I, they, we all, die?
I smelled the coffee in the house today and memories of past jobs swarmed my mind
Borders Bistro Singapore, Coffee Exchange Providence, Faculty Club Providence, Royal Grill Detroit, Starbucks Seattle
This was the earth where my feet have scurried upon
In case I forget, or you forget
and death, erases those traces
and memories of lives once struggled, once lived, once survived
The 50 workers in the Fukushiima Daichii nuclear plant facilities
I cannot begin to imagine how hard it must have been to make the choice
to stay in the crumbling deadly entrapment that will definitely
inevitably, assuredly, take your life/kill you/ruin your life hereafter if you do not die.
Let them never say that workers are useless, replaceable, greedy
I am thinking of you, and crying for you that
their insatiable greed, their inhumanity, their uselessness, has forced you and your families
to make this painful life-losing/changing decision.
Thank You, and your families, so so so much.
You, are joined, in our memories, as martyrs alongside those of the Egyptian, Bahrainian, Libyan, Tunisian revolutions
And I for one, will never forget.
.
Mortality is on our minds.
May we find also the serenity, to channel
this frustration and pain and ever exploding crises
into resolution, into unity, into humility, into courage,
to change the things that we can
together,
with what we have left,
of one another.
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