Insomnia

I cannot see you when I speak
or hear you when my eyes are open

Is it something I always sensed?

Your dolls close their eyes as you put them sleep,
Sinking into automatic darkness
But it's the blindness of my eyes that makes me see,
Forcing a sudden awareness

My heart starts to open
My soul starts to bleed

They both long for your wise innocence

If I listen close enough, I can hear it.
The empty melody of my own words
- are they yours? -
tries to shine a light.
But I fail to fully comprehend. And I fall.
I'm lost.
Nothing can change this
I'm lost and I'm crying
I'm lost and you're nothing
Yes, nothing can change this

I only see you when I'm half asleep
or feel you when my heart is broken

Though I never asked for this,
Here you come again
And again
And again

A neurosis, feeding on itself

Reading, Feeling

The more I read, the more I'm touched by words, or so it seems. I'm not sure whether this kind of empathy develops with practice or with age, but I can't feel detached anymore. More and more, I find myself genuinely feeling and hearing the voices others put on paper.

I cried my eyes out with E. Lynn Harris, got so enraged I was ready for war with Achebe, felt a sweet melancholy with Sagan, and now Uwem Akpan. "Say you're one of them" literally broke my heart. All throughout the book I felt restless, helpless, and extremely emotional. When I read the last page last night I simply could not take it anymore. I tried to read those emotions away with an old Sagan but it  was all in vain. I could still see their faces, taste their blood, and feel their pain. Their voices still resounding deep inside of me.

I guess I have to be careful what I read now...

Soldier of Love

After 10 years of waiting, a dream is finally coming true. Sade's new album is scheduled to drop on February 8th. 

It's hard to describe what Sade's music mean to me.

She's always been one of my mom's all time favorite singers, and so she'd play her tapes on my dad's old boombox for hours on end. It didn't matter whether she was cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, or simply trying to take nap, Sade was there, singing ... being a part of the family.

It's not difficult describing the music you grow up with, but it is extremely difficult finding words to express the feelings behind the music you grow up on; the one that shapes you in your early years, the one that speaks to you throughout your entire life, the one that is there whenever you go - and grow - through something that affects you deeply.

There is a sort of unbreakable bond between you and that music. After becoming such a part of you, it's almost as if the music is an extension of yourself.

The music is you.

That's what Sade's music means to me.

----- UPDATED. New Song

America's Best Christian

In addition to being America's best christian - because, let's face it, she is "more conservative than Jesus" - Betty Bowers' sense of humor and parody is priceless.

Everyone should check out her messages on her website, including this video, in which she explains what constitutes a biblical marriage.

Pay It Forward

Sometimes working hard feels like doing coke. The more work they give you, the more energized you feel. Spending less (or no) time in bed, eating less, and drinking more coffee rarely has the effect you would expect on your body... and the withdrawal leaves you completely disoriented. A holiday? What is that?
Good thing that being high on work is a habit that is quite easy to break.
Now that I can take a few moments away from teaching, grading, translating, or localizing, I can finally update this blog, which is slightly overdue.

Last week, I received a package from Botswana, which I had been expecting but had actually completely forgotten about. In that package were gifts from Lauri Kubuitsile, a Motswana writer whose blog I read daily. This is all part of "Pay it Forward". I am not sure who started this , and how many people it has reached so far, but here is the principle:
Each person who receives a gift sends gifts to three other people. It's not about owing something to someone, but a nice way of passing on your generosity. So now that I received those gifts from Lauri, it is my turn to "Pay it Forward."

If you are interested in being one of the people I will send gifts to, let me know (by leaving a comment here, a message on facebook, or by shooting me an email).
But keep in mind that I have the budget of a grad student. :-)

Roots

You say you've started seeing somebody, that you are quite happy with the way your relationship is shaping. You tell me about all the cute things you want to do for him, and I listen.
That's wonderful, I say.
I know I should be happy for you. I think I am, actually. At least a part of me is, but...
I've gotten used to our intimacy. I like you.
We're not a couple and we're not just friends. But I was happy with our gray area. Does it always have to be black or white, friends or lovers?
I don't know if I can entrust my happiness and well-being to one person. It seems that instead I've chosen to lay my foundation somewhere else. So that I can be more stable, so that I can stand, I have been slowly growing my roots into different shades of gray.
Your heart.

Their hearts.

Mine needs it.
Today you've sent us back to the o so proper dichotomy.
You sever our link using the sharp end of your words, and suddenly my heart loses its balance.
I know I won't fall,

But it hurts.

Surprise !!!

Just when I thought nothing could distract me from working on my midterms, I got an interesting notification on my facebook page.

Nice! I wasn't able to make it to her last concert! I sure won't miss that one... I hope facebook will also let me know about upcoming gigs from Marvin Gaye and Jeff Buckely... I haven't seen them in a while either

Epiphany

All good things must come to an end,
so I'm on the train, on my way back to Port Authority

My iPod is playing. The song is sad and intense, but I'm happy : I'm moving
Epiphany: you and I can never be. I know it now

It's not as bad as I thought it would be

I can feel it in my bones ;

something is going to happen.
Something is going to hurt. But I'm looking forward to it
I'm looking forward to the heartbreak, the insecurity and the crying

Just cut me now so I can bleed.

I want to feel that I'm still alive. I want to see it

Something is going to happen. Something is going to hurt
But I have this warm feeling
I'm happy

Reminiscing

Niko and I met the other night. After 2 years of talking on the phone, this was our first time seeing each other in the flesh. Gray areas. I've become a master at exploring those. Yet this one is limpid and pure. He and I are living proof that even (especially?) online, you reap what you sow. When you are genuinely open to true friendship, you can find it anywhere.
We left Times Square and headed towards lower Manhattan to a place "far away", a place that took me 7 years back, back when you could still use tokens on the subway : the Staten Island ferry.
Very first night in the country.
Very first night in the City.
But truly, the very beginning of this love story.

I was one day late for my orientation, so of course nobody deigned to pick me up at the airport. It was 9pm and I was supposed to go from JFK to some random place in Staten Island. I had no clue where I was. I had no clue where I was going. But boy was I going there. I was in NYC at last and nothing could stop me. Not even the fact that my big travel bag was held together by safety pins, or the fact that I was lost in the city with just a vague idea of where that strange island was.
The airport shuttle dropped me off at Times Square. From there I took a train (or 2 or 3) downtown, befriended the strangest people. From the train to the ferry (thank God it runs all night) and so on and so forth.

I remember sitting there, a little scared, not knowing what was going to happen. Was I actually going to make it there? My bag could give up on me at any moment. A weird guy started pulling on my pants, asking me where I got them and could he get them anywhere around here. Could this get any stranger?


I couldn't help but smile while I was reminiscing. There I was, 7 years later. Same place, completely opposite situation.
While waiting for the ferry, Niko and I were resting, leaning on each other.
I was serene.
I knew exactly where we were and where we were going to.
But most importantly, I knew exactly where I was:
Home.

Conspicuous

At the Marriott in Times Square for the ATA conference. I am walking quickly through the 7th floor, on my way to the next presentation.

Hotel guy, pointing to his right: You room is that way!

Me: How do you know that?

Hotel guy: We talked earlier... and I'm not likely to forget this, now pointing at me.

I thought it would be fun to wear my yellow shoes, red pants, and a bee-like sweater at a conference where wearing beige can make you look conspicuous.