Author: djrendezvous3

birds in the sycamore tree

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“It started a year ago. I lost all awareness of time and the space around me. All I could see was his trembling body aching for help. It was my brother’s fifth seizure, a battle that he was in the midst of conquering for years. The control I took at that moment was beyond my personal relationship with him and the pain coursing through my heart, the control was my ache to heal. Since that day, I have had the ambition to heal, heal the broken, and heal people in dire need. ”

I wrote this a month ago for a scholarship essay. Even though it has become “normal” for my family, it’s not easy for me to talk about.

Three days ago was mothers day. Three days ago was also an anniversary.

May 10th was easily one of the harder days that I faced in my short lifetime despite the loss that I have experienced.

Death was introduced to me at a young age and has been one of the more consistent concepts in my life: my grandmothers, my grandfather, my aunt, a friend.

But this was worse. Grieving loss is one thing but the anxiety that is paired with the potential and fear of death is a much larger burden to bear.

Over the past 6 years, I have internalized many emotions and fears that I have for his life: Once I speak of my fears do they come true? Is his safety my responsibility? When does care cross into obsessive anxiety?

Eventually, I found acceptance. But it wasn’t easy.

Three days ago, we celebrated mother’s day with … peace and gratitude. I held my tongue as we sat under the sycamore trees while the birds sang above us and simply enjoyed what God had given us.

photo credit: fineartamerica.com

the wind gives me faith.

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they keep saying that as time passes, it gets harder. but for me, it had become easier, simpler, more tangible.  

–

I sat in my backyard yesterday at two o’clock in the afternoon while the wind was still and the sky was baby blue. 

I sunk my feet into the damp grass, satisfying to my callused feet.

a chai tea in hand; I slowly, with a green straw, stirred my drink with the ice that acted like it was one figure. 

content. 

but then the wind came, unexpected, abrupt. 

It stirred the scorched leaves from the early summer sun and had rested in the dirt.

the pink peppercorns and the pine needles fell from the trees. 

on the outside, it looked like the wind disturbed the plants, the grass, and bright orange marigolds that sit in the corner of the garden. 

but I stared longer at each aspect of my backyard, the wind melded everything together. 

the trees swayed together and the tall strands of grass danced with it. 

harmony.

–

It was hard for me to cope with a life that seemed stagnant at the time,

still like the wind that was not present when I sipped my chai tea. 

but I find joy in the little things like the birds chirping as I rise from my bed in the morning or the luck that I have after winning my fifth cribbage game. 

of course, I still wear a backpack of burdens that I impose on myself but that’s what it means to be human. 

serenity. 

photo credit: designlovefest.com

a feminist paper: presented through a playlist

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The fembots. An early sign of the objectification and sexualization of the woman in pop culture. 

Ironically, “FEMBOTS” is the title of her strictly female artist playlist on Spotify. It’s still an early adaptation of a playlist that has the potential to go down in user oliviarosebrown5’s history as the best of her creation. 

pc: pinteres.com

Once a month, I find myself grazing over the 20 playlists that each have their own emotions: pain, reminisce, serenity, pure joy. 

My feminist playlist was something that came to me over the years. Artists and songs that represented what it meant to be a strong woman were scattered over my several playlists. 

I found Eryn Allen Kane with Leon Bridges, 

Janet and Whitney with Michael, 

And Maggie in a junk drawer of alternative music. 

Each of them deserved to have their voices heard with clairity and without that pressure of male artists. 

Enter “Fembots.” 

“Fembots” is filled with female artists that taught me what it meant to love music the way I do. And not only that, they taught me about… life. 

The eerie yet poetic nature of Chloe and Halle as they ponder human impatience. 

Amber recreating a masterpiece with a new perspective while still preaching love’s power. 

Janet understanding that we don’t understand what we have until its gone. 

The confidence in being lost and letting ourselves be free from conformity is from Sabrina. 

Jamila offers “A Psalm Of Self-Love.”

The female artist that I have loved since I was a little girl dancing in her underwear has taught me more than what is reflected here but that’s for me to keep in my back pocket. 

Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me. 

Psalm 23:6

notes on a conversation with the west

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two months ago, i was blessed with intelligence and wisdom from a stranger.

every word that came from his soul and out his raspy voice was enlightening and humanizing.

his words brought me down from a mountain where I praised my accomplishments and settled me into the soil where my roots where buried.

here is a view into that conversation:

Optimism ≠ fueled by hope (understand the dangers and evils)

Our culture is getting weaker: integrity and loyalty fail – the ego and arrogance is rising

Listen to LEARN.

Bear witness in something bigger than yourself.

Keeping who we are in check with the varying dynamics of Life is challenging but is a pressing need

modern society is caught in a cycle of conformity – CANCEL IT!

Love your Enemies

he is a sign and symptom of our culture.

Skin pigmentation does not excuse courage or harm.

find your OWN voice (think, love, feel for yourself)!

Habitual Vision of the Moral and Spiritual Journey = (greatness)

now, it’s the light I seek.

photo credit: pinterest.com

a diary from isolation

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White pillowy clouds and pink petals on the warm brick as the sun beats down is her back drop,
As she rattles on about the corrupt world filled with 
a dark persistence.

/ / /

Its been seventeen days, four-hundred and eight hours in this house and its been miserable.

The anger, the loneliness, and the disconnect are empty feelings that course through my veins on a loop as I try to navigate life.

I miss them. I miss their laughter and smiles. I miss their clothes. I miss their smell.

My tears burned my cheeks at 11pm. It was the first time I cried. It was the first time I felt completely unsafe and scared.

My body aches for human contact.

photo credit: pinterest.com

/ / /

As a daughter, I go through moments of my life where I don’t see eye to eye with my mother. And I thinks that’s true for most mother-daughter relationships.

The passive comments, the snarky looks, the aggressive sighs; They never fail me when I’m in the middle of a petty argument with her.

I find myself picking on her, never giving her a break, and trying to erase her imperfections like the comfort she finds in rubbing my ears or clenching her jaw when she is stressed.

But earlier today, I found myself rubbing my own ears and snuggling into her neck when I felt alone. I find myself having her mannerisms and saying the things that when she says them, it irritates me. We come from the same branch at the end of the day. 

Her and I, 
We come from the same branch at the end of the day.

/ / / 

I was staring at my wall today, full of photos from the past four years. 
The color from Utah, 
The smiles from my girls who know me best,
To the heat of a concert and 
The breeze from the beach. 
I felt warm inside looking at the 
Blue and Orange hues
Only to realize the cold reality.

puffy eyes

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an observation on what makes me cry:

  • My little sister’s tears
  • Academy Award Show acceptance speeches
  • essential oils when they get in my eyes
  • As by Stevie Wonder because it reminds me of what could have been.
  • Thinking about my aunt, my grandmothers, my grandfather, my idol…
  • animals with huge eyes
  • Seeing my brother cry
  • second-hand embarrassment
  • Helpless people that deserve better 
  • Doing something I really dont want to do 
  • My allergies 
  • Movies and TV Shows with happy endings 
  • Movies and TV Shows with tragic endings
  • Seeing my parents cry 
  • Death and birth
  • when people are awarded things that they deserve
  • spicy foods
  • when I stare into the sun during sunset and the wind blows in my face.
PC: pinterest.com

– from the perspective of a seventeen year old girl

the dove and the hare.

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I saw my future last night, 

In the white feather and the rabbit that crossed the road at 11:03

while he drove the car.

I saw the girl that I was meant to become 

As I cross the river, 

Into a new territory. 

/ / /

I saw my past last night too.

I saw a blonde, curly-headed girl give me validation to leave

To say goodbye. 

I saw fear, hesitation, and hate in her eyes. 

/ / /

I saw my angel, 

kissing me on the cheek 

As tears stream down her face, stinging her scars.

She wore her denial of the reality that hit her like a truck 

a mask over her face.

/ / /

And for the first time in six months, 

I saw clarity and

Felt serenity in my life. 

I understand where I have to go, 

How to cross the river, 

How to express and emote. 

photo credit: pinterest.com

Today, I look at the blue sky with the white blurs, 

And the blooming lavender and the blossoming rosemary with faith, 

And soaring red hawk with ambition, 

And a single rose on flourishing bush with purity. 

another diary from the shower

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SCENE — 7:00am on MONDAY, JANUARY 2020 in OJAI, CA. SHE WAKES UP IN DISTRESS FROM A LONG AND GLORIOUS SLUMBER.

  1. It is absolutely freezing but it’s only 50 degrees.
  2. This shower should only take five minutes. Jump in, jump out.
  3. I found myself praying earlier this week but I don’t remember why.
  4. I find serenity when I look up at a blue sky underneath an oak tree to see the sun peaking through the branches. It reminds me of home.
  5. Gold is definitely my color.
  6. I can wait another day to wash my hair even though it’s been two weeks since my hair has seen shampoo.
  7. Clouds are still wild to me.
  8. There is another bruise… woah.
  9. My body hates me this week.
  10. I wish I was better at sewing.
  11. I love his song “Call it all for nothing, But I’d rather be nothing to you, Than be a part of something, Of something that I didn’t do”
  12. Periwinkle is an underrated color.
  13. I hope they are okay.
  14. I love that feeling of being completely out of breath after climbing up a mountain and getting to look out at the view = the feeling of accomplishment.
  15. Is she okay?
  16. I cannot be that person for her, I need to be that person for myself.
  17. This soap smells divinneee.
  18. There is nothing better than hot water.
  19. I am really gonna miss her.
  20. Jellyfish have a place in my heart.
  21. How long have I been in here?
  22. I really gotta go.
pinterest.com

a scene from a 2000s christmas

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photo credit: floridamemory.com

The beach houses that my mother would find always seemed so big to my four-year-old perspective. 

With a staircase that I remember to be spiraling and

a brown and cream-colored chess board in the middle of a large living room

which was later to be covered in wrapping paper is what this house seemed like to me at the time. 

My mother was always frantically scurrying around the house to make sure everything was perfect for my grandmother, 

meanwhile, she didn’t mind the imperfections but simply didn’t have the power to say anything. 

The uncles were catching up as the oldest was in Chicago and the youngest was living his life in Australia.

My brother, was playing with his GameBoy, 

eyes locked to the screen. 

My grandfather was looking at the beams and the ceilings to find some reason why the house wasn’t architecturally perfect in his eyes.

And then there was me, either in the corner or on the couch next to my grandmother, where I would play with my Polly Pockets being relatively quiet.

/ / /

I do not remember a lot at the houses except for the people and the feelings surrounding the time.

The presents and all the other material items around me did not matter,  especially because I knew the reality of the grandmother’s illness and how she had limited time here on earth with me. 

I do remember the smell of the house, 

a mixture of palm trees, 

salty ocean mist, and

the sand that has been carried many miles, 

just for me to feel that unforgettable warmth between my toes. 

I also reminisce about her during the holiday season. She wore fuzzy socks. I still have a worn out, baby pink pair of her socks stuffed in the back of my drawers. 

From cuddling on the couch, with the chaos of my family 

to being on the beach, with the rolling waves and the roaring wind, 

her amenity still remains within me. 

a reflection on my past.

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I was recently reflecting on a past assignment that was given to me in middle school. My memory of the prompt is vague but it went along the lines of, “write down your most cherished memories from your life.” I wrote about the experiences that I thought I was going to cherish forever. But now, four years later, I have matured and so have my memories.

I remember going into kindergarten and meeting a girl who I thought would stay in my life forever.

I remember my parents fighting over the phone.

I remember day dreaming all the time.

I remember the smell of summer in the valley and my blonde ringlets.

I remember being alone in my room but being utterly content.

I remember growing up faster than my friends,

isolating myself, being insecure.

And years later, I remember my self-realization.

I remember listening to different music, wearing different clothes, and becoming myself.

As I wrote my “memory list” 6 years ago, I have grown into (what I think) is a more emotionally in-tune woman. These memories are not actual moments from my life but rather feelings and emotions. In thirty years from now, I know I will not remember all the details from my favorite concert or my first crush, but I will retain the feelings that come along with those situations.

“I was talking about time. It’s so hard for me to believe in it. Some things go. Pass on. Some things just stay. I used to think it was my re-memory. You know. Some things you forget. Other things you never do. But it’s not. Places, places are still there. If a house burns down, it’s gone, but the place—the picture of it—stays, and not just in my re-memory, but out there, in the world. What I remember is a picture floating around out there outside my head. I mean, even if I don’t think it, even if I die, the picture of what I did, or knew, or saw is still out there. Right in the place where it happened.”

Toni Morrison, Beloved
photo credit: pinterest.com