Whatever Comes To Mind V
Art : Mind?
By Sakuan.
Sea.
The day has treated me well, Mama. I did everything you wanted me to do, Mama. I am the way I am because of you, Mama. I love you, Mama. I know you did what you did to me because you had to, Mama. This is a tough world we live in, and I’ll be damned if I let one of those bastards take what is rightfully mine, Mama. I just hate the fact that I am human. I hate these feelings that come with everything you taught me to live by, Mama. I cry myself to sleep every night, Mama. Only I know that. I can’t afford to invite any man into my bed, Mama. They’ll see all these skeletons in my closet, and it will scare them away. As I write this, more tears are falling down my cheeks, Mama. I hate that. Why do I have to feel? Why did God make me like this and also give me these feelings? I can’t run away from them because everything I know comes with them. How do people have a fresh start? Maybe that’s just something in movies. I can’t blink and forget everything I’ve known for the past thirty-seven years. I wish I could, but then that would mean I’d be forgetting you, Mama, and I’d rather die than let that happen. See, I told you it’s complicated. Mama, you taught me to be tough, and I was tough. I still am. It comes with a price though, I drink to kill the pain, and I smoke just to have something to do. I guess that’s what hobbies are for? I didn’t get the memo. How could I when you are the way you are, Mama? You told me this new era is hard for a woman. As a little girl, I didn’t get it. But now I do. Damned if you do, and damned if you don’t. Society told me to work so hard, and I did. But while doing that, I forgot to pass on your bloodline, Mama. And it hurts. It hurts so bad, Mama. I wish you were still here with me..
See.
See what the world has done to us. The world is made up of societies, and people form these societies. We are all controlled by society and its beliefs. We follow the rules we find here; we don’t go astray at all, and we are okay with it because what we have has been this way since the beginning of time. It isn’t fair that you have to follow rules you never agreed to—rules that are supposed to make you a “better” person. You don’t really know these rules make you better, but you follow them. If you break them, you’ll end up isolated from the community, and that alone is punishment enough since we are social beings. Isolation affects you; it breaks even the toughest minds and souls. It’s part of being human. Sitting alone with your thoughts in a dark, silent room for days will drive anyone crazy. No wonder it’s a punishment in prison for rule-breakers. Isolate yourself for long enough, and you forget what it’s like to be “normal.” You forget that you have to lie all the time to fit in, that you need others to survive. Because you think you can survive alone, you take people for granted, and that mistake catches up with you fast. It’s a human coping mechanism that bad people’s actions always catch up to them, that the truth will come out, and nobody ever truly gets away with “it.” That’s the hopeful view, but the reality is, bad people get away with “it” all the time. You probably did when you were young, and now, as an adult, you just chalk it up to you being young and dumb and not knowing any better, in reality your actions have shaped someone else’s life, for better or worse, and it doesn’t matter if you were young in their eyes. You got away with it because you faced no consequences, and you may have even forgotten what you did. You got away with it, it never caught up to you, and that is life..
C.
C could mean many things, but this time, I choose it to stand for change. I like change only when it benefits me, as does everyone else. It makes me normal, it makes us human. Why would we be happy with change when it could be something that harms us? I don’t like dwelling, but I do it all the time because that’s what we do, again that human thing kicks in, we all just had to be human, didn’t we? It’s funny how life hits you sometimes—you dwell, you change, and sometimes it works, but most times it doesn’t, and you just have to live with that. I do drastic things at times to avoid becoming a slave to societal norms. Some norms are worth it—norms that let us live peacefully, norms that benefit society, and I follow those. But there are norms that are useless, just there for a reason that’s not good enough for me to go through hell for. These norms don’t really impact others but they do affect me; making a habit of them would enslave me. I need to do whatever I want and whenever I choose, without being restricted by “useless” habits. I see women go through this all the time, especially when they present themselves in society—those insecurities of “I can’t go to the store with my hair like this,” or “I need to do my makeup before I leave the house.” You become a slave to what you’ve made a habit, tricked into thinking society's expectations are real; you think you must present yourself a certain way, or else... what? You never really think about it, huh? What you think society will react is all in your head. The last thing I’d care about is whether you put on your mascara—I don’t even know what mascara is. All I can think about is how my daughter will react when I tell her her mother has terminal cancer. She’s only seven. As a man, where do I even start to raise a girl alone?
Si.
When you can't sleep and all you do is write, you write until your fingers bleed. You recognize that you're nothing special and all you can do is say YES to everything that comes your way—say yes to this, say yes to that. This is the reality we live in; these are the things we live by. My time in this world has to mean something; the people around me have to mean something, and they do. I truly acknowledge that. I cannot let anything go; I have to sit and listen to whatever needs to be said. People have things to say, I have things to say. The sad part of it all is that no one—and I mean no one—is ever there to say YES to me. It’s a tragic reality I exist in. I can blame myself, I can blame society, or I can blame the man in the sky. Still, at the end of the day, I am responsible for who I am. No matter what happens outside, it always comes down to me. It’s always about me. This isn't narcissism at all; it’s a reality I have to accept—dine in, enjoy it—even though it comes with challenges, to say the least. Yes, I will do it. Yes, I will do this and that for you. But will you reciprocate? Will you honor me with the courtesy of being there for me when I need you? Or is this one of those situations where it's every man for himself? I wonder. I face this reality as only I can. Only I can tell who I am. The witch has its day, and the people around me know what I’m all about. I know I can be frustrating to be around at times, but you know what I am about. Yes is the answer I give all the time. Sometimes it’s bad for me, and sometimes it isn’t, but that’s the risk I have to take. Yes can be good—or, should I say, Si?
See Sea C, Si?
The waves hit me where it matters: my feet. It feels great to be a part of something; I am a part of the sea. All my life I've never belonged to something that actually matters. I've always existed in a space that never sees what I do—this is who I am at my core.
How could this be all that I am? This makes no sense to me. This feeling has me asking questions I never knew I would ask. See what life could be like if we cared just a little bit more? See who we are? See that my problems really exist? See who I am, what I did, what I could be? See this is blood, this is fair, this is the life I live, this is what you'll inherit if you decide to be with me. See this is perfect—see and see a little bit more.
C, are you listening to me? Carolina, are you even paying attention? Carolina? C?
Oh well, there goes the only person who ever told me yes. Even she doesn't want anything to do with me. Just how pathetic can one person's life be? The juice I drank—she made me drink it. She told me this was the only way I could become something. I believed her, and now we are here. I was alone, then she came along, and now I'm back to being alone. What kind of life is this?
People tell me things I want to hear just to get something out of me, but I can't do that back to them. It's not because I'm a good person and can't see myself doing that to somebody. It's not because I care. The answer is rather simple: it's because I don't know how to.
My soul yearns for connection, my mind craves understanding, my body aches for touch. I need a shoulder to lean on in times of sorrow. I need someone who will truly listen when I need to blurt mean, unfiltered thoughts into the void.
I should sleep well at night knowing she is happy, but I don't because she is not here with me. Hurt me, she did, be there for me when I needed her the most, she was, leave me she did, love me, she did.
C, please come back to me.
By Nu Nazareth…