If I'd play by the book of courtesy, I'd be saying sorry for my absence. Well okay, I am sorry. But I'm back now and my memory stick can be filled with new memories that have been aching to get out and in again. Where should I start?
Morris and his family have moved into town. They found a nice place and Granna and I have already visited. I think Morris was very glad to see at least one of his daughters after so long. Caro is off to New York, with mom. How convenient huh? Avoiding confrontation.
It is weird, though, to suddenly have a dad around. Not that he acts like one, telling me what I can and can't do and such. His wife is nice. And the children are cute, as I expected. They look like her a lot and I think it's funny that they're my halfbrothers and baby sister. We don't relate like siblings yet, but we're good friends already, that much I can tell. It's really cool to know there's more family at my disposal :-)
Morris said I could get my own computer for my 18th birthday. So that's what I'm doing now. Making wordmusic on my very own keyboard. Have to admit that I've been using it for some other things and that I consciously ignored this blog and my Facebook account. Oh, and Twitter too! But I feel, with a new year coming, it's all going to be good. I am so excited about the Blue Moon on New Year's Eve.
Even if I don't get to see it, I know it'll be up there. And it will be special.
Yes it will.
Tuesday 29 December 2009
Wednesday 23 September 2009
Granna rocks!
Feels like ages since I had the opportunity to sit down and write. Must say it did affect my mood some because I couldn't. Am I addicted? Or do I just need to vent whatever eats away inside? Caro and Granna had an argument the other day about Morris. Morris is our father. His real name is Maurizio, but somehow Morris sounded better when he was young and eager to conquer the world. It's what he once told us, some time before their divorce and when we all seemed like a happy little family. Anyway, Granna heard something she wanted to share with us, his daughters. She felt we were entitled to know. And we would probably learn about it sooner or later in a letter or so.
Morris and his family are planning on leaving Delaware to return to the West Coast. Apparently he found a new job and needed the challenge. His wife liked the idea as well and they somehow must have agreed it would be best for their kids to grow up in a more sophisticated area of the world than in some lame village in Delaware. Oh. I didn't know what to say at first. Especially when Granna said he wanted to be closer to us, for as long as that lasts since Caro will be off to New York next year. Yes. Dad is moving to OUR town and within the next 2 months. Come again?
Caro was at Granna's for a change, had a fall-out with her precious little coven of hysterical friends. So Granna decided to tell us after dinner and expected us to be happy. I don't really feel anything in particular but some curiosity, Caro however really really really flipped out. Which is weird, since she is the one who misses Morris the most and kind of like mom, resents him for leaving us. Maybe that's what made her throw a fit. Mixed emotions. Am I glad I don't do any of that.
Then Caro kind of took her frustration out on Granna. Who is one fine lady if you ask me. And smart. The more I spend time in her company and presence, the more I realise she isn't just a loving mother and grandmother who once had a flourishing career as an actress. She really has personality, not exactly something you'd expect of a person who enjoys being somebody else all the time. Granna rocks! She didn't mind for Caro to be her obnoxious little self and even encouraged her to speak her mind. Although they heavily disagreed.
Caro felt we had to tell mom. And not wait for some letter to arrive to drop the news. Granna insisted we should keep quiet about it and let Morris and Sally (that's our mom) deal with it their own way. Granna said Morris would contact mom himself. Oh. I don't think I want to witness when that happens!
So, I had some time to think about all of this. And I think it can really be fun to finally meet our little brothers and sister. Have I already told you that dad's new wife is black? And that their kids must look the cutest? I sometimes wondered about them, you know. Yes. The idea of meeting them now somewhat excites me. To some degree.
Morris and his family are planning on leaving Delaware to return to the West Coast. Apparently he found a new job and needed the challenge. His wife liked the idea as well and they somehow must have agreed it would be best for their kids to grow up in a more sophisticated area of the world than in some lame village in Delaware. Oh. I didn't know what to say at first. Especially when Granna said he wanted to be closer to us, for as long as that lasts since Caro will be off to New York next year. Yes. Dad is moving to OUR town and within the next 2 months. Come again?
Caro was at Granna's for a change, had a fall-out with her precious little coven of hysterical friends. So Granna decided to tell us after dinner and expected us to be happy. I don't really feel anything in particular but some curiosity, Caro however really really really flipped out. Which is weird, since she is the one who misses Morris the most and kind of like mom, resents him for leaving us. Maybe that's what made her throw a fit. Mixed emotions. Am I glad I don't do any of that.
Then Caro kind of took her frustration out on Granna. Who is one fine lady if you ask me. And smart. The more I spend time in her company and presence, the more I realise she isn't just a loving mother and grandmother who once had a flourishing career as an actress. She really has personality, not exactly something you'd expect of a person who enjoys being somebody else all the time. Granna rocks! She didn't mind for Caro to be her obnoxious little self and even encouraged her to speak her mind. Although they heavily disagreed.
Caro felt we had to tell mom. And not wait for some letter to arrive to drop the news. Granna insisted we should keep quiet about it and let Morris and Sally (that's our mom) deal with it their own way. Granna said Morris would contact mom himself. Oh. I don't think I want to witness when that happens!
So, I had some time to think about all of this. And I think it can really be fun to finally meet our little brothers and sister. Have I already told you that dad's new wife is black? And that their kids must look the cutest? I sometimes wondered about them, you know. Yes. The idea of meeting them now somewhat excites me. To some degree.
Friday 11 September 2009
Tainted Love Poem
Facebook is kind a cool. I joined a few groups, mostly about writing or writers. And poetry. Now I have never really been into poetry a lot, although I do remember that when we lived in San Francisco, my mom's friends had lots of people over for artsy stuff. Ira and Leonora Kelman, their names suddenly came back to me. Been thinking about it for days now. Ira and Leonora were artists themselves, and rich too. Leonora's family left her a huge inheritance and she could easily have spent the rest of her life doing nothing but waste that money away. Instead she decided to help aspiring artists and friends, like my mom, to find their way in life. Which is admirable, if you come to think of it. But they're still flaky in my book. I don't know. You have to be crazy to some extent, right? I mean, why take in a single mom and her two kids? And why have all those young artists over every weekend? There was always something going on. Exhibitions in the garden, poetry and literature on Sundays, recitals in the evening hours and not to forgot those ouija board sessions. Because we moved into the basement, they continued their ghostly stuff in the garden chalet.
Anyway, I do remember some of the poetry people. One of them was a nice and elderly lady, Imogen Bradfield Baker. Not like the rest of them, who were mostly in their early twenties and obsessed with the idea that having reached the millennium would mean magic to their artistic careers.
Imogen Bradfield Baker had lived an interesting life back home in England and managed to escape an unhappy marriage by poisoning her husband. He was a ruthless man so she told me. Nobody really cared much for his death. The local authorities in the village where Imogen and her husband lived, never cared to investigate the rather strange circumstances surrounding his demise. The whole village benefited from it, and Imogen became their first and only heroine. Her husband owned a lot of the land and houses. Imogen just gave it all to the villagers who were indescribably thrilled, of course. So no way would they do anything to incriminate her. Not even when Scotland Yard came to ask some questions, since Imogen's husband did have some friends due to his membership as a freemason. But that inquiry never amounted to much, if anything.
It's Imogen's story I had in mind when attempting this poem for a group in Facebook. The Tainted Love Poem group, founded by a poet in Canada, Ken Chichester. It's amazing how all of a sudden you get introduced to people who exist in other places, who share their minds and lives from behind their computers. Maybe I am warming up to all of this after all. And as you probably understood by now, I changed my mind some about poets and poetry. Back then in San Francisco, what did I know, right? I was just a little kid.
The photograph
She tried so hard
To touch his face
But glass and dust
Seemed keen to erase
Her sighs of love
Her sighs of nurture
Kept cruel and wicked
From melting as one
He sat there looking smart
In an armchair warm and comfy
His eyes glazed in a void
While she attempted more
And more and more
No less
The love she once gave
But never returned
She gives and gives
And gives
No less
The glass was cold
The dust remorseful
Crumbling under cloth and water
Drops of hope
The glass shone brightly
Reflecting her eyes paired with his
As close as she'll ever get
So long
A warm kiss
Anyway, I do remember some of the poetry people. One of them was a nice and elderly lady, Imogen Bradfield Baker. Not like the rest of them, who were mostly in their early twenties and obsessed with the idea that having reached the millennium would mean magic to their artistic careers.
Imogen Bradfield Baker had lived an interesting life back home in England and managed to escape an unhappy marriage by poisoning her husband. He was a ruthless man so she told me. Nobody really cared much for his death. The local authorities in the village where Imogen and her husband lived, never cared to investigate the rather strange circumstances surrounding his demise. The whole village benefited from it, and Imogen became their first and only heroine. Her husband owned a lot of the land and houses. Imogen just gave it all to the villagers who were indescribably thrilled, of course. So no way would they do anything to incriminate her. Not even when Scotland Yard came to ask some questions, since Imogen's husband did have some friends due to his membership as a freemason. But that inquiry never amounted to much, if anything.
It's Imogen's story I had in mind when attempting this poem for a group in Facebook. The Tainted Love Poem group, founded by a poet in Canada, Ken Chichester. It's amazing how all of a sudden you get introduced to people who exist in other places, who share their minds and lives from behind their computers. Maybe I am warming up to all of this after all. And as you probably understood by now, I changed my mind some about poets and poetry. Back then in San Francisco, what did I know, right? I was just a little kid.
The photograph
She tried so hard
To touch his face
But glass and dust
Seemed keen to erase
Her sighs of love
Her sighs of nurture
Kept cruel and wicked
From melting as one
He sat there looking smart
In an armchair warm and comfy
His eyes glazed in a void
While she attempted more
And more and more
No less
The love she once gave
But never returned
She gives and gives
And gives
No less
The glass was cold
The dust remorseful
Crumbling under cloth and water
Drops of hope
The glass shone brightly
Reflecting her eyes paired with his
As close as she'll ever get
So long
A warm kiss
Thursday 10 September 2009
Candlenut dinner
Granna can be a wicked old lady. She's been pushing me, or rather daring me to join Twitter as well. Must admit that me joining up in Facebook was also her idea. Granna is addicted to gossip, preferably thrown up in smelly digital gutters to satisfy the thirst of million other junkies like her. She follows Perez Hilton for crying out loud! Caro and her friends used to read his blog when they were younger, but it kind of lost its appeal when they realised it didn't make you look good if it was on your resume. Granna doesn't care about all that and laughs whenever I try to talk sense into her. She says it's all very funny and innocent and that Perez Hilton is a caricature reminding her of a guy she once dated when she was an actress, young and beautiful and in the prime of her life. "Yes, but Perez is gay," I then told her, expecting some other lame excuse to validate her peculiar taste for spending time online. Granna then replied that her friend was gay as well, but that she used to dress up like a man and he got a kick out of that. It's moments like these when I really wonder about the woman who has been watching out for us ever since we moved into the neighbourhood. Her living room is filled with photographs of her children and grandchildren, her late husband sits distinguished in a beautiful painting done by an artist friend. Nothing in her house makes me think of her as someone other than a loving and giving person who cooks fabulous meals and who shares sweet stories of her blessed childhood.
Caro called. She'll join us some time later. Granna prepared a special dinner today. We're celebrating. It's the 5th anniversary of us moving in next to her. She says she knew we'd all be friends and had a strong notion about me. Whenever Granna decides to focus her attention on me, it makes me feel weird. I have never told her about my thoughts and how I know deep inside I have lived before, even though I can't remember where and when, and who I was. But she seems to know something too she is not sharing. Yet. Every now and then she asks me a question, out of the blue. I am not sure whether she expects me to respond, or if I am to just sit there without being able to give an answer. Because I can't. Give answers.
Like if I knew why it wasn't Jesus they worshipped in San Cristobal, but his cousin John the Baptist instead. Or what wine they served at some party in the White House 80 years ago. Say what?
No. Never had anything with candlenuts in it before. The smell coming from the kitchen reminded me I was hungry. Granna made a dish she learned to cook when she lived in Hawaii. She says the candlenut carries its name because in the olden days, it was used to burn and set afire to give light. In Hawaii they named it 'Kukui'. Strange idea. To eat something that was also used as a torch of some kind? I closed my eyes and something weird happened. I saw flashes. Faces of people I didn't know, sounds and languages I couldn't understand. But I knew the smell of the candlenuts triggered this.
So finally a few pieces of the puzzle were handed to me. Albeit as illusive as ever. Not remembering facts, but remembering a memory of something. Knowing there are memories hidden inside, almost aching to come out.
Still, I'm happy with what I got.
Caro called. She'll join us some time later. Granna prepared a special dinner today. We're celebrating. It's the 5th anniversary of us moving in next to her. She says she knew we'd all be friends and had a strong notion about me. Whenever Granna decides to focus her attention on me, it makes me feel weird. I have never told her about my thoughts and how I know deep inside I have lived before, even though I can't remember where and when, and who I was. But she seems to know something too she is not sharing. Yet. Every now and then she asks me a question, out of the blue. I am not sure whether she expects me to respond, or if I am to just sit there without being able to give an answer. Because I can't. Give answers.
Like if I knew why it wasn't Jesus they worshipped in San Cristobal, but his cousin John the Baptist instead. Or what wine they served at some party in the White House 80 years ago. Say what?
No. Never had anything with candlenuts in it before. The smell coming from the kitchen reminded me I was hungry. Granna made a dish she learned to cook when she lived in Hawaii. She says the candlenut carries its name because in the olden days, it was used to burn and set afire to give light. In Hawaii they named it 'Kukui'. Strange idea. To eat something that was also used as a torch of some kind? I closed my eyes and something weird happened. I saw flashes. Faces of people I didn't know, sounds and languages I couldn't understand. But I knew the smell of the candlenuts triggered this.
So finally a few pieces of the puzzle were handed to me. Albeit as illusive as ever. Not remembering facts, but remembering a memory of something. Knowing there are memories hidden inside, almost aching to come out.
Still, I'm happy with what I got.
Saturday 5 September 2009
Secrets (1)
Tommy gave me two keys last year. A blue-tagged key from a deposit box in the city. A golden key that fits the front door of a house somewhere in Florida. He was in one of his strange moods and not very talkative. I loved watching him as he sat on the porch, smoking a cigarette. His eyes always seemed to look beyond the horizon, as if he had places to go. Often I'd expect him to jump up and disappear just like that. But he never did.
It was on an evening when mom was home and life seemed tranquil. My sister Caro had a boyfriend with whom she spent hours chatting and Granna was visiting her grandchildren in Santa Barbara. Mom was tired and listening to music. I can tell in what emotional state she is in depending on the music she plays. This time it was an old record from the Rolling Stones. It has this song on it, 100 Years Ago? I don't know. As if she insists on hurting herself. My dad gave her that album when they just met and they told us that story over and over again, of how they first kissed on '100 Years Ago.' I think my mom still loves my dad. That's why it never worked for her and Tommy. Anyway, I could tell she needed some time alone, so when I said I'd be at Tommy's, she just nodded and blew me a handkiss with a sheepish smile. Sometimes I really wonder who's the parent and who's the child!
We had some sort of instant understanding, Tommy and me, from the moment I met him, when I handed him the keys he'd dropped and when he thanked me for it. There was something that made me pay attention. So when I saw he was still outside the store, I was so happy. As if I had just found a part of my life that was missing.
Back then my first idea was to introduce him to mom. We had a small apartment above the garage for rental purposes, our last tenant had moved out a week ago. If this guy needed a place to stay, he could stay with us! So when he said he was just passing through, I must have showed my disappointment. He asked me why I looked so sad all of a sudden and I just blurted it out. "You seem like a nice guy and I was thinking, maybe you can date my mom? But if you're just passing through, then it's not such a good idea. But if you're looking for a place to stay, we have a nice room with a kitchenette over our garage."
Tommy then looked at me somewhat surprised, followed by a huge smile that made his face turn into one of the most handsome faces I'd ever seen. "You know what?" he said, "why not give this town a chance, you're right. You're a good kid and I like your style. So yeah, show me that room you got because honestly, I could do with some sleep right now. And about dating your mom, don't get your hopes up, I'm not looking for an instant family to take care of. Besides, I think your mom's old enough to make up her own mind about men, don't you agree, kiddo?"
Fair enough. So Tommy came into our lives and stayed over our garage for 6 months. Sometimes he came for dinner at the house, fixed some of the stuff that needed to be fixed and he even found a job at a gas station. Him and mom got along fine, but they never dated. Mom was away for work a lot and with Granna taking care of us when we came from school, she liked the idea of having a man around nearby in the evening hours. Caro also liked Tommy, but she never really saw him the way I did. When he moved out to live in a house closer to the beach, I was devastated for a while. But then I realised I now had a place and someone to go to when I needed to be away from home. And life was good again.
It was on an evening when mom was home and life seemed tranquil. My sister Caro had a boyfriend with whom she spent hours chatting and Granna was visiting her grandchildren in Santa Barbara. Mom was tired and listening to music. I can tell in what emotional state she is in depending on the music she plays. This time it was an old record from the Rolling Stones. It has this song on it, 100 Years Ago? I don't know. As if she insists on hurting herself. My dad gave her that album when they just met and they told us that story over and over again, of how they first kissed on '100 Years Ago.' I think my mom still loves my dad. That's why it never worked for her and Tommy. Anyway, I could tell she needed some time alone, so when I said I'd be at Tommy's, she just nodded and blew me a handkiss with a sheepish smile. Sometimes I really wonder who's the parent and who's the child!
We had some sort of instant understanding, Tommy and me, from the moment I met him, when I handed him the keys he'd dropped and when he thanked me for it. There was something that made me pay attention. So when I saw he was still outside the store, I was so happy. As if I had just found a part of my life that was missing.
Back then my first idea was to introduce him to mom. We had a small apartment above the garage for rental purposes, our last tenant had moved out a week ago. If this guy needed a place to stay, he could stay with us! So when he said he was just passing through, I must have showed my disappointment. He asked me why I looked so sad all of a sudden and I just blurted it out. "You seem like a nice guy and I was thinking, maybe you can date my mom? But if you're just passing through, then it's not such a good idea. But if you're looking for a place to stay, we have a nice room with a kitchenette over our garage."
Tommy then looked at me somewhat surprised, followed by a huge smile that made his face turn into one of the most handsome faces I'd ever seen. "You know what?" he said, "why not give this town a chance, you're right. You're a good kid and I like your style. So yeah, show me that room you got because honestly, I could do with some sleep right now. And about dating your mom, don't get your hopes up, I'm not looking for an instant family to take care of. Besides, I think your mom's old enough to make up her own mind about men, don't you agree, kiddo?"
Fair enough. So Tommy came into our lives and stayed over our garage for 6 months. Sometimes he came for dinner at the house, fixed some of the stuff that needed to be fixed and he even found a job at a gas station. Him and mom got along fine, but they never dated. Mom was away for work a lot and with Granna taking care of us when we came from school, she liked the idea of having a man around nearby in the evening hours. Caro also liked Tommy, but she never really saw him the way I did. When he moved out to live in a house closer to the beach, I was devastated for a while. But then I realised I now had a place and someone to go to when I needed to be away from home. And life was good again.
Friday 4 September 2009
Dreams
My mother is a caterer. She travels a lot to cook food for artists and business people, she works for a small company she co-founded. When we lived in San Francisco, she tried to stay home for us and worked at a restaurant. But she needs to move around. It's who she is. She once joked she has gypsy blood. I don't know. I tried to focus on the thought of having gypsy blood, but so far no luck. I haven't seen any glimpses of past lives being a gypsy. Not that I can remember anyway.
My sister took her notebook with her when she left to stay at a friend of hers. I don't have a computer myself, because mom has one I am supposed to use for homework and all that. But it's in her room and I don't like to have to sit and write in her room. It makes me feel uncomfortable. Or maybe I just miss having mom around.
I'm at Granna's now. We sometimes sleep over. Granna has plenty of space since her kids moved away and her husband died. Her son Elias bought a computer for her, to stay in touch with the family. She knows how to use MSN, how to find the latest gossip and she likes to watch clips on YouTube of people she once knew. I don't know. Granna used to work as an actress. She is still beautiful, but old. Too old to get a decent role I guess. Granna told me it is important to follow your dreams and your heart. Is it really?
My sister Caro will be off to college next year. Doesn't seem like she has the brains for it, but she will go to New York and get with the program of... environmental studies. Yes. I am not kidding. It was a shock to us all. But her grades seem fine and she really is determined to go to New York. I haven't asked her about it yet. We hardly see each other this summer.
My dreams? It's what Tommy asked me too, when we last spoke about 3 months ago. I don't know. For me it seems hard to have a dream, any dream at all. The idea I have lived before and am in fact a very old person, that just keeps lingering and whenever I try to dismiss the thought, it comes back. So lately I have come to the firm belief that the paths you take in life are predestined. So what is the purpose of having dreams, if somehow things are written in stone already?
My sister took her notebook with her when she left to stay at a friend of hers. I don't have a computer myself, because mom has one I am supposed to use for homework and all that. But it's in her room and I don't like to have to sit and write in her room. It makes me feel uncomfortable. Or maybe I just miss having mom around.
I'm at Granna's now. We sometimes sleep over. Granna has plenty of space since her kids moved away and her husband died. Her son Elias bought a computer for her, to stay in touch with the family. She knows how to use MSN, how to find the latest gossip and she likes to watch clips on YouTube of people she once knew. I don't know. Granna used to work as an actress. She is still beautiful, but old. Too old to get a decent role I guess. Granna told me it is important to follow your dreams and your heart. Is it really?
My sister Caro will be off to college next year. Doesn't seem like she has the brains for it, but she will go to New York and get with the program of... environmental studies. Yes. I am not kidding. It was a shock to us all. But her grades seem fine and she really is determined to go to New York. I haven't asked her about it yet. We hardly see each other this summer.
My dreams? It's what Tommy asked me too, when we last spoke about 3 months ago. I don't know. For me it seems hard to have a dream, any dream at all. The idea I have lived before and am in fact a very old person, that just keeps lingering and whenever I try to dismiss the thought, it comes back. So lately I have come to the firm belief that the paths you take in life are predestined. So what is the purpose of having dreams, if somehow things are written in stone already?
Monday 31 August 2009
Tommy
My best friends have always been the people I got to know in books I read. Call me weird, whatever, but that's how I see things. If I think about my sister Caro and her friends, it makes me cringe and feel ashamed instead. They're so stupid. Caro is different when she is alone, or when we're at Granna's. When around her friends, she acts so unbelievably dumb. Anyway, I wanted to tell you I decided to join Facebook. Curiosity might have killed a cat or so, but it probably won't hurt me. There was no problem signing in and all that. And it is safe. Nobody can see you unless they're your friends. I found Pamelia Kurstin. And she is my friend now in there. WOW!!! The things she can do with the theremin, it's just amazing!!!And I can now talk to her if I want. Wow. And also the writer Armistead Maupin. Mom has some of his books and I read most of them. Made me think of our year in San Francisco. And how different the books are compared to my own memories of the city. But I was very young, then.
I mentioned the one friend I had, who took his own life? His name is Tommy and I decided to write a note about him on Facebook. It's about how we met. I figured he could date my mom. But things didn't turn out the way I thought they would. Instead Tommy and I became friends. Which was better, because if he'd dated my mom and they'd split up, I probably would never have seen him again. I know I won't see him now he's dead, but at least he's been around for a while. Tommy, Tommy. I hope you found what you were looking for.
Sunday 30 August 2009
Nightmare on Octavia Street (1)
We lived in San Francisco for about a year. My parents had just split up and my mom took us to stay with some of her flaky friends. I was like eight and my sister was nine. I don't know what it is that makes people go crazy and change their entire lives when a relationship ends. Big deal. My dad was never around much to begin with, always away for work. And when he was home, they argued all the time. But they often kissed and made up. Passionate souls, that's how they liked to refer to themselves when laughing it all away with friends. Until my father told my mom he'd fallen for another woman. One he also had kids with already. Say what?
Even though he turned his back on us, I don't hate him, never have. My sister still misses him a lot. She used to wait for him to come home so he'd take her for icecream down the block. I never cared much about icecream. And now I also think I understand it wasn't the icecream that made my sister so happy. It was being in the company of dad.
Anyway, we moved into the basement of a building on Octavia Street. My mom grew up in San Francisco, so she still had ties there. When she met our dad in Europe, they stayed in London. Both my sister and I were born in London, by the way. Somehow my dad insisted we were better off born there instead of in the States. Before we arrived, they had apparently been living in two homes, one in London and the other in Los Angeles, because that's where dad worked a lot at the time. We basically lived in L.A. and spent our holidays in London. And when my parents split up, we left L.A. for San Francisco. My dad moved away to a small town in Delaware. Don't ask why. If he could have kept having kids with another woman a secret for so long, who knows what else we have no clue of, right? Granna says he hasn't forgotten us, but that my mom's attitude makes it tough to somehow stay in touch. I do know he pays a huge sum of money each month, and that my sister and I will get a lot of money when we turn 21. I don't know. There's plenty of rich kids around, like those students from #49? One of the guys OWNS the building, can you imagine. His dad bought it for him, because he didn't want to stay at the dorm he was in. But does money make you happy? Our family didn't stay together and we had money. It can't buy happiness, but it can buy diversion, that much I know.
The basement in Octavia Street was a horrible place to live. It was damp, dark and it smelled like something had died in there. My mom's friends had used it for their seances and you''ll sympathize with me when I tell you they said there was the possibility of some ghosts still lurking about from time to time, even though there wasn't anyone summoning them with an ouija-board. Great. My mom was emotionally on the rocks and on top of that, we had to deal with her crazy friends.
Even though he turned his back on us, I don't hate him, never have. My sister still misses him a lot. She used to wait for him to come home so he'd take her for icecream down the block. I never cared much about icecream. And now I also think I understand it wasn't the icecream that made my sister so happy. It was being in the company of dad.
Anyway, we moved into the basement of a building on Octavia Street. My mom grew up in San Francisco, so she still had ties there. When she met our dad in Europe, they stayed in London. Both my sister and I were born in London, by the way. Somehow my dad insisted we were better off born there instead of in the States. Before we arrived, they had apparently been living in two homes, one in London and the other in Los Angeles, because that's where dad worked a lot at the time. We basically lived in L.A. and spent our holidays in London. And when my parents split up, we left L.A. for San Francisco. My dad moved away to a small town in Delaware. Don't ask why. If he could have kept having kids with another woman a secret for so long, who knows what else we have no clue of, right? Granna says he hasn't forgotten us, but that my mom's attitude makes it tough to somehow stay in touch. I do know he pays a huge sum of money each month, and that my sister and I will get a lot of money when we turn 21. I don't know. There's plenty of rich kids around, like those students from #49? One of the guys OWNS the building, can you imagine. His dad bought it for him, because he didn't want to stay at the dorm he was in. But does money make you happy? Our family didn't stay together and we had money. It can't buy happiness, but it can buy diversion, that much I know.
The basement in Octavia Street was a horrible place to live. It was damp, dark and it smelled like something had died in there. My mom's friends had used it for their seances and you''ll sympathize with me when I tell you they said there was the possibility of some ghosts still lurking about from time to time, even though there wasn't anyone summoning them with an ouija-board. Great. My mom was emotionally on the rocks and on top of that, we had to deal with her crazy friends.
Saturday 29 August 2009
Next blog, please
Random things in life make my blood run faster. The kids in my class are so stupid. So childish. The girls become like their moms, too loud and too keen on finding a suitable guy. The boys in my class are exactly that. Boys. So if I want to know what a man is like, I'd have to focus on our teachers. But they suck too. They're either too old, too ugly or just too interested in young girls. I don't know. If I were my mom, I'd not trust my daughters to be a minute alone with our history teacher Mr. Wilson. Frank Leonard Wilson. He is 37 years old, married, no kids, no pets, no life. All he seems to do is teach, go home and come back to school again to teach. But like many of those guys, he has secrets. And Frank Leonard has a secret life. I found out by chance, when my locker got stuck and I had to wait for Karl to fix it. Karl's our janitor. Anyway, it was hot so I went outside. Karl knows how to reach me, I mean, what would life be without a mobile right? And that's when I saw Mr. Wilson. You want to know what he was doing? Hm. I don't know. Would it be safe if I just wrote it down here? What if his wife finds out? I mean, anything can happen. I clicked the next blog button on top of this blog and found a weblog of a woman who calls herself Angel. All of a sudden you walk into a stranger's life. But it does feel kind a cool too! So, I'll be clicking the next blog more often. Who knows what I'll find. Even if I can only look at pictures and don't understand a word that's written!
Friday 28 August 2009
The wind keeps whispering his name
For a while now it's been eating me away inside. I don't have a computer of my own, so I need to be careful when using my sister's disposable gadget. Because that's all it is to her. She uses it for school, or to chat with her silly friends but that's about it. She doesn't mind me using her notebook and is not interested in what I do. Still, her friends might be nosy enough. So I try to erase every trace each time I use the damn thing. Everything has its price.
There's a party going on somewhere down the road. They're loud. Not sure, but I think it's the students from #49. My sister sometimes goes there as well, to hang out with some of the cool guys she doesn't get to meet at her own school. She looks older than she is. She acts older, even. Our mother is away most of the time so she can't control her daughter anymore. If ever! We have a neighbour watching over us, a sweet elderly woman we call Granna. Her name is Anna and she is like a grandma, so that explains it. My sister loves Granna. I love Granna too. Never knew our own. The rest of the family lives far away, so my mom told us. Our father left us for another woman with whom he has children too. I think we have about three or four little brothers and one baby sister. But we never see them. Nor dad. Granna tells us about all of this, because a cousin of her brother-in-law is married to a relative of my father's new wife. Mom doesn't know we know and we promised Granna we would never say a word about it. At least not to mom. To her, our father is the enemy. I guess he hurt her real bad.
It is weird to write this down now. As if turning my thoughts into actual words makes it less surreal. But my heart is pounding just the same. I don't know. I see his face and can hear his voice as if we spoke only yesterday. But we didn't. Sorry. I am not talking about my father. I realised you might think I was. No. I need to write about a friend of mine who took his own life not long after his birthday. It didn't come as a real shock, but when I found out, I was still shaking all over and felt sick. It wasn't the first suicide in my life. I have lost so many people already. Truth is, I am in a younger body and in a new life myself for the last seventeen years. But I have lived for ages already. Sometimes I remember parts of my previous lives, but the flashes never last more than a few seconds. As if they are not significant enough. I don't give it much thought. I know that when I need to remember, I will. So that is why I know my lives have been filled with loss before.
There's a party going on somewhere down the road. They're loud. Not sure, but I think it's the students from #49. My sister sometimes goes there as well, to hang out with some of the cool guys she doesn't get to meet at her own school. She looks older than she is. She acts older, even. Our mother is away most of the time so she can't control her daughter anymore. If ever! We have a neighbour watching over us, a sweet elderly woman we call Granna. Her name is Anna and she is like a grandma, so that explains it. My sister loves Granna. I love Granna too. Never knew our own. The rest of the family lives far away, so my mom told us. Our father left us for another woman with whom he has children too. I think we have about three or four little brothers and one baby sister. But we never see them. Nor dad. Granna tells us about all of this, because a cousin of her brother-in-law is married to a relative of my father's new wife. Mom doesn't know we know and we promised Granna we would never say a word about it. At least not to mom. To her, our father is the enemy. I guess he hurt her real bad.
It is weird to write this down now. As if turning my thoughts into actual words makes it less surreal. But my heart is pounding just the same. I don't know. I see his face and can hear his voice as if we spoke only yesterday. But we didn't. Sorry. I am not talking about my father. I realised you might think I was. No. I need to write about a friend of mine who took his own life not long after his birthday. It didn't come as a real shock, but when I found out, I was still shaking all over and felt sick. It wasn't the first suicide in my life. I have lost so many people already. Truth is, I am in a younger body and in a new life myself for the last seventeen years. But I have lived for ages already. Sometimes I remember parts of my previous lives, but the flashes never last more than a few seconds. As if they are not significant enough. I don't give it much thought. I know that when I need to remember, I will. So that is why I know my lives have been filled with loss before.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)