#reflectingonlife

for me and perhaps all September person

do we would create any better tense?

or likely do the same in previous over and over again?

never knows, nobody never knows

in spite of that, we are September's

shall to pursuing hardly

learning thoughtfully

and struggling intensely

yet please do remember to constantly love of self

and spread goodness

that's how the prosperity and serenity inside appear

dear beloved September,

Since I heard “First is the worst, Second is the best, third is the one with a hairy chest” being sung in 2nd grade, I knew I’d come unto something special. Second is the best. It seemed true, though I realize only if I’m putting myself there. I can be incredibly competitive, to the point that it’s been easy to get me to do something by insisting I couldn’t do it. This should not be my preoccupation.

I hated school because of how much it ate up our time. It seemed like a big scam— wake up early, go to school, and come back and do more school? I probably would have been fine if it ended there, but tricking us that it ended at 3pm? I think I expect people and things to be very honest and upfront with me. I read today that reading others’ intentions is a valuable skill. It is, undoubtedly. I don’t know why lately it’s been difficult to read others’ intentions, while knowing my own. Is it because I’m reading the wrong intention? That would complicate things. Am I adjusting my intention based on what I think they want to do? Probably. These things have become subtle but these days, the line between me and others is getting clearer. I noticed the guilt I used to feel coming home to my family after a run. I wanted them to start exercising more, knowing just how inactive they were because I was more inactive before leaving home and coming back. I felt a lot lighter, more confident, and proud of myself, but coming home knowing they were doing something that could lead to an early death triggered the grieving part of me that I thought was buried. I think a preoccupation with not wanting them to die so early is being blamed at 1st grade for my mom’s high blood pressure. It was because my toys were all over the place—I was playing with different sets of toys as villages, conspiring among themselves and others. I turned anything and everything into a toy and found a way to make them interact with one another. But I thought I could clean them up, it’s no big deal. She told me no, I couldn’t or something like that and my vision lost focus for a second. Whatever—for some reason, I knew it wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t trying to give her blood pressure, I wasn’t doing anything wrong. How was I so independent in my thinking? But it did clue me into her mortality. Into her effort. I can give grace now, knowing the absolute madness that it is getting a newborn. She’d come from the hospital and just given birth to my sister. It was her second birth in America, with me in Egypt. She was always so self-conscious about her English, and I can understand why. Was going back a hard thing for her, since the first time led to her being unheard?