Eating Leftovers

 I know how sadness looks like, I've been terribly sad and rejected happiness many times before. Now In a different country, I find myself discovering the clean edges around sadness, how it lives and breathes right when we wake up and stays long after we are snuggled under our covers unknowingly seeking warmth right next to it. I'm staying with an auntie I haven't seen in years and a very ill uncle. She's calm and has an exaggerated laughter that can immediately disappear when eyes start to wander to a different subject. It really doesn't take much for that quick shift to happen, it just happens. I've continued each day with how I was welcomed, big smiles, big hugs. It wasn't until we were washing our clothes by hand that I noticed her sadness, her scrubbing became more focused as she began to mention moments with her youngest daughter who had passed away. I don't even remember how we got there but I was there with her in that moment her eyes got red, scrubbing with this newfound strength. Her tears rushing, she continued to scrub faster than before. What she said next had a piercing sound to it, "I don't want to be alone but I am once your uncle is gone..and I still remember her, it feels like it was just yesterday". This happened three days ago, she still smiles, does her cleaning with preciseness but even at first glance her smile is a bland one a conscious reaction, her deep focused with each brush, each scrub is another way to get lost at least for 30 mins. Her exaggerated laugh dies into her bleakness words that come right after. 

Listen to Igor and ended up thinking about how Tyler’s crowd was surprisingly chilled maybe due to his newer sound (flower boy-igor)

I just got off the phone with my crying mother. Strength, it took strength to tell her I couldn't hear her cry anymore about all the sad facts about her life, my life...about life. Strength to hang up. Weak, no one thinks my mom is weak but today she wasn't a fighter. No coming up with new bad words, no raging eyes peering into my soul just her crumbling old raspy voice, sobbing words of defeat and hopelessness. One of the most uncomfortable positions of this week. One, I was laying on the floor, which was sort of fitting and can be pretentiously artistic. Two, I'm just like my mother. I feel defeated. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree right? another reason I hung up. I heard too much of my own thinking in my mothers voice, the tone she carried each word with...enough to cause fear and panic in my already existential teen mind. Maybe that's the only real reason, it wasn't strength...it was weakness. I was too weak to keep on hearing the facts? How in the world of millions and billions of sad endings, to maybe even keep things balanced I was meant to have just another bad ending? 

I love growing....I love feedback.