First and Foremost

First and foremost: learn.

Under the gilded chandeliers from centuries ago, returning once again to being the one I never was in an ante bellum manor, sheltered from the heat inside the big house, barely moving the exquisite fan in my hand from the heat stroke and dismay.

Dismay in May... "It's not even summer yet. Wait for August!" Old ladies used to say and I  honestly cannot fathom how they lived without air conditioning, and the thought vanishes as a sip of ice cold Coca-Cola rushes down my throat.

Yeah, I know this is a dream. But I am not here to dream.

First and foremost: learn. 

And pace the gentle gardens like I did as a child outside the big house (but inside the premises) being watched but alone, definitely undisturbed in my thoughts and outside my body regardless of the fact that it was my body walking me through the grass beneath the flowers under the sun, but only my mind was present and only the present had room in my mind. Like forty years ago or perhaps another life, so many dark pits in between but here I am: starting backwards all over again.

And I pray I may find myself this time. After so many failed attempts. What is the meaning? Who am I?

I ask myself as I put another side quest under my belt, triumphant (except I am really not) for I have conquered what they wanted me to and not what freed my soul and proud and tall I stand, yet trapped and lost because I will never know the way lest I start to walk and I will know my destination once I have arrived. 

So, what can I do in the meantime?

Enjoy the garden and the delightful company. Dream, imagine, discover  myself. Serve the community. Do my best. Hope for the best. Try and work hard. Try and succeed. Try and fail. Try again. But, first and foremost: learn.

Mystery of Life

There is no plan because I never thought I'd make it here. 

Way too far for me to recognize myself.

Dragged across the decades by life.

With no echo to my voice

Asking questions which answered no one.

Alone.

In a rare reality that made me turn inwards.

Finally realizing where this is all going

My body an open book for the first time 

Helped me to read and understand 

The mystery of being alive. 

And it came when I was already too tired 

But here I am, humoring the riddle:

I am the main character in this novel called____ (my name)

Within words that never end

In this lame joke without a punch line

For -we know-- I cannot die until I die.

It is just the ache of waking up another day.

The grandiose world too big for me to bite. 

But still I try to eat regardless

While I look for groceries online 

Simmering mediocrity instead of pursuing greatness   

And wondering if I will be remembered 

Or if this was a waste of time.

No Happy Ending

I want flowers and a special lunch.

Instead, there is distance and the plane tickets we cannot afford. How did we get so far?

I'm not sure when this happened. But surely much longer than last year. Yeah, sure, it started some time between your conception and your teenage years.

They said I was the missus. Next in line matriarch successor. When I was really just a scared nineteen who did not know what to do with her life or how to care for herself.

Much less for a special one. A tiny human entrusted to my life. Shoes too big for me. 

Nonetheless I would climb again each one of those jungle gyms for you. I would get you finger paint, ice-cream and songs in every time line. My heart was in the right place. You are, were, have always been, will always be my truest love. My daughter.

I feel this emptiness where my heart used to be. And then the haunting question presents itself again:

How did we get this far? And still no answer because perhaps it's not just one thing but a cluster of factors, occurrences, circumstances that drove us apart, yet I still feel connected like my life can't be complete without you because you are part of who I am:

I am your mother.

And the cake looks smooth on the outside. But who knows what is inside. 

I am your mother.

And I am now aware that I am less of a mother than you needed and I am sorry.

And I would romanticize the existence and sometimes wish for my own Mandela effect that changed your memories to all happy, wholesome ones because I love you and now I know what I could have done better but who knows if it would have really helped because this life is so tragic and we were held under the shadow and instead of me it was you who pulled me out and, who am I to manage your life story, to edit your memories? But remember me fondly, please, if you remember me at all.

Cherry pick the happy memories like quick kisses, like when I'd drop you by the gate for eight grade and you'd muster a hurried "bye". Imagine that it is just the morning that we will be apart. I will imagine you as the toddler you were once in my arms.

Daughter.

My daughter.

Love you more than I managed to love you.

This is no happy ending. No happy and no ending for now.