I’m Stealing Hanif Kureishi’s Study!

Surrounded by books, music (which he plays when he writes) and pictures of family…

Verano

Maybe it will be different the way we will remember
The summer
The way in which the wind competed with the heat and lost
Remembrance of time lost with things unsaid

Maybe it will be different the way we will remember
The way the mug of chai touched your lips in between words
The taste exchanged with expressions of pain
Creamy spiced pain

Maybe it will be different the way we will remember
The way laughter escaped me in between bites of double chocolate cake

Maybe it will be different the way we will remember
Our shadows closer than our own passive bodies

Maybe it will be different the way I will remember
Five months from now, awaiting another summer
Memories separated from emotions
Thankful for that brief but unforgettable exchange

Copyright © 2007 RNLH

Fascinated, Addicted and Overwhelmed—BLISS!

I find that I have a new addiction, well maybe not a new one but…

I told myself that I would go straight to bed, without staying up to read articles on writers and their experiences writing, but here I am yet again, reading another article. I think I have a fascination with Zadie Smith (still reading White Teeth), I am fascinated by her mind– she is seemingly unpretentious. I’ve read articles, watched interview with her on Youtube, and I love the fact that she is a young women of color, still wraps her hair with the headscarf sometimes :). She writes from her heart. It is obvious that she is a lover of words and books.

I am also fascinated by Junot Diaz, Edwidge Danticat, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Jhumpa Lahiri, to name a few—young writers who write with passion and expand the world’s perception of what it is to be an “other.” I especially love it when they highlight their influences, and pay homage to just great writers, no matter their race, gender or creed. At the end of the day “real recognizes real,” as they say in New York; meaning beautiful words cannot go unnoticed by one who inhabits them within, as well.

I LOVE THIS SONG!!!!

Finals driving me up the wall, nothing left to do but dance! This song is about the constant yearn for home…

This Morning…

I woke up with a song in my heart: “Jah Live” by Bob Marley. I had to play it, when I eventually got up from my bed. Before I played the song, I reached over to my makeshift night stand and read a poem by Rilke. I just flipped through the pages and came across this beautiful poem that I placed an asterisk next to sometime ago :

[ You Who Never Arrived ]

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don’t even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of
the next moment. All the immense
images in me — the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and un-
suspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods–
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house– , and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced
upon,–
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back
my too-sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening…

The interesting thing about both the Rilke and Marley pieces is how they contrast each other. Bob’s song is very determined and triumphant. Rilke’s is actually hopeful that what he desires is actually out there– genuine love.

Two masters of words, blended together in my mind, this morning.

Updated: 11/30/07– Rethought the Rilke poem (in a meeting yesterday, by the way) and I do not know if he was really talking about love per se. A very spiritual man, Rilke was probably talking about God as the “beloved” that he is seeking. Maybe the poem is about this elusive validation that we all seek. Maybe.

Finals…

Caribean Beat

Found a really cool site that highlights the beauty of the Carribean. I especially love it because it demistifies the stereotype of  people from the West Indies looking a particular way, or thinking alike. There is no one way of being West Indian, as there is no one way of being African or American. We are a range of hues, tongues and scrumptious dishes, but we are all West Indian.

Sing It Nina!

Listened to her while writing my last post. I pay homage to you, mama Nina:

Lyrics:

She takes
just like a woman
Yes she does
And she makes love
just like a woman
and she aches
just like a woman
but she breaks
like a little girl

Nobody here feels any pain
tonight as I stand inside the rain
everbody knows
baby’s got new clothes
Lately I see her ribbons and her bows
and the problems
from her curlsREFRAIN
She takes
just like a woman…

It was raining from the first
and I was dying her of thirst
That’s why I came here
and a long time’s curse
and what’s worse
is this pain in here
I can’t stay in here
Ain’t it clear
Ain’t it clear

I must admit
I believe it’s time for me to quit
And until we meet again
bein’ introduced as friends
please don’t let on
that you knew me when
I was hungry
and it was your world

REFRAIN

I take
just like a woman
Yes I do
And I make love
just like a woman
and I ache
just like a woman
but I break
like a little girl

Home…

Countee Cullen once wrote, “What is Africa to me?” from his beautiful poem entitled “Heritage.” This poem came to mind when I thought of home today. What is home to me?

Going home this week will be different from the other times I have gone home since leaving for college ten years ago (dang!), this time will be different. I have accepted not just my family but me within my family–our quirkiness, our beauty, our love. I am thankful for them and for the lessons that I learned because of them. I see beauty in the struggles my parents have gone through, and although we do not see eye to eye on some things, from politics to religion, they love me.

So what is home? Home is a place where at the end of the day you are accepted for not what you do, or whom you do or do not love. It is not a place where there is peace and tranquility all the time. It is the look in your mother’s eyes, swelling with pride as she introduces you to a new co-worker or friend. It is the giggles of your nephew who cannot get enough of his favorite aunt bouncing him on her knee. It is the acceptance of yourself that your family is apart of you and you of them.

The beauty of this uniqueness cannot be replicated elsewhere, your home is unique to you—it adds to your own splendor. The beauty of home is evident in the fact that over ten years ago when I announced to my family that I stopped eating beef and pork, and my mom said, “Well you not eating this Thanksgiving,” to her now making sure that Borca Burgers are in the freezer for our 4th of July BBQ in the backyard. It is evident in my mom making me my own special dish of turkey lasagna for Thanksgiving or my dad giving me oodles of blankets because, “it gwan get cole yu know,” before I left for grad school. So, I give thanks for my home…

The Garcias Are Catching Up With the Joneses…

…oh lawd, the brown people are taking over! God forbid it when the Ahmeds move on up!

Picture source: http://www.nytimes.com