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Unexpected wisdom from a taxi driver. Part 1

I felt I needed to share this. This conversation I had with a taxi driver left me inspired, touched, amazed and heartbroken. Gave me hope, awareness and wisdom.

In about 30 mins, we spoke of religion, politics, race and culture. Basically everything “they” tell you not to talk about.

First, I noticed he had an accent. A familiar one, so I asked him where he was from, instead of making any assumptions but as I thought, he answered “Africa”. He was very kind and talkative. His accent wasn’t so heavy that I couldn’t understand what he was saying. He asked me where I was from, I answered that I grew up here in Minnesota, moved to Florida and came back to Minnesota after I had my son.

Everyone always looks at me like I’m crazy when I tell them I left beaches and palm trees and returned to the frozen tundra that Minnesota is for much of the year; and that was exactly what he asked next. I explained that my son has autism and that there is better care and services here than in Florida.

Then the topic moved onto autism. He spoke of his country. He said they don’t see that much over there. I took my medication because i felt my mind drifting and my eyes were locking, fixed on nothing in particular. and he asked if I was sick. I explained I have adhd and take meds to help manage it. He told me that when kids have Adhd in Africa, they don’t take medication, they put them in sports and activities but he had never seen the way people zone in and out like they do here. Adhd is different there.

He told me that he grew up in what is considered middle class over there. He attended university, their meals were provided but often, are what we would consider inadequate at best. He described one meal what they call “water sandwiches” in which they dunk bread in water because it is so stale and dry that it’s impossible to chew if they didn’t.

This is considered to be “well off”. I thought to myself, “shit. I have always had (for the most part) something to eat…we have no right to complain and I’m fucking lucky to have been born here.” Of course I replied politely careful not to sound braggy, but grateful, in which was how I was feeling.

Then, he told me about himself, with group of guys that are all from Africa, sponsor 20 children over there to take care of any medical expenses, food, and school. They send $1000 every month.

Think about that for a moment… He drives a taxi. He isn’t rolling in cash. He’s struggling just like the lot of us. Yet, he sacrifices probably close to half of his salary to children that otherwise aren’t given a chance at having a future.

To be continued…

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July

Emotions run parallel as you speak of the past. I swiftly brush the dew from my cheeks, swallow the stone in my throat forget and hope the feeling won’t last.

I can’t help but wonder, whose hand you’d let loose, to plummet to boulders beneath, if ever faced with a situation to choose whom you’d pull to their feet.

Trying to understand, small things are easy to lose track But to me these small things are big things time passes and we can’t go back.

For everyday is someone’s birthday, death day, and anniversary. So it must silly to want one of those days just for me.

I can’t help but compare myself to another and can’t help but compete. I can’t do one without the other.

I can’t help but want to be more a lover or paramour when someone else was your wife then became a mother.

The scales are tipping but not in my favor. And I’ll keep on sipping because pain is my flavor.

The bittersweet taste nips at the tip of my tongue, I lick my lips and reminenice of the days we were young. Try not to dwell in the hell in my head, forget the fact I’ll never be wed. Shrug off the sting of 35, and that day that he forgot in July, but again, I say, I can’t help but compete, and still wonder who he would pull to their feet, I wonder if he ever forgot that day in April when life was with her was simple and stable.

I try not to cry over that day in July. When the only thing I wanted was the thing denied. Try not to weep because he doesn’t tell me “I love you” because it’s not what, but, how you speak and what you do.

I know it seems dramatic but that’s always been me, with a shot of cheap whiskey, and the need to compete.

I’ve never been good at finishing things they I’ve started but I can wet my lips until the sadness has been thwarted.

Just take a deep breath and swallow that stone and remember with him, I’m never alone.

Gifts are just gifts, unless it’s a life. And a bride is just a lover whom has been made a wife.

365

365 days have gone by since I heard the chime that brought you back into my life.  

I have never been so grateful to hear what was a mere annoyance before it was you that triggered the sound. 

I remember looking down at the screen seeing your mother’s picture in the tiny circle that displayed the number one in red.  

My heartbeat quickened, uncertain of what the response could be.  Nobody had heard from you, you’d deleted your facebook account, your wife no longer had pictures of you in hers but another man instead.  I had no idea what to expect.  The feeling of  but what should’ve been relief swept over me. Thinking something horrible had happened.  It had,  but not what i was thinking and hoping not be true.  I hesitated to open that message on fear of what it might say. I swallowed my glass of wine and released the glass from my grip as I lazily poured another glass splashing little droplets onto the table and used my oversized t-shirt to wipe off the glass and pressed it to my lips filling my mouth with the courage I needed to convince myself everything was okay and to open the message.  
It was from you.  You sent me your number in which I promptly texted.  My stomach was swimming with butterflies and my trembling hands were clumsily sweeping across the screen. Then you called. It had been ages since I had heard your voice. The butterflies multiplied.  You told me What I had found out from an old friend of ours,  you and your wife were now divorced.  Knowing you, I knew you would view this as a failure,  I knew you’d blame yourself, which was one reason I feared the worst.  

We arranged to meet the following day and I’ll never forget the feeling of instant relief when you greeted me by taking me in your arms.  I felt like a beaten soldier that had just returned home from war… and from then on, we were inseparable. When we weren’t physically together, we were in constant communication with each other.  We fell in love again instantly.  

If someone were to ask me 367 days ago if I’d end up with my first love after 20 years, the response would have been much different than the actual outcome. 

Everyday,  I’m so grateful for this second chance to be in your arms, feel you next to me as you sleep, to hear your voice say the sweetest things to me as you hold me tight and kiss me goodbye as you rush off to work. No matter what, you always say goodbye.  Tell me you’re so happy to be back in your life.  

I love you, Joel Mesaros.  I always have, and I always will. No matter what. 

role reversal

I don’t like to think that genders have roles but the fact of the matter is, they do. Socially, culturally…we fit into the slot the best we know how and live our lives as we feel comfortable. There are plenty of stereotypes that happen to be true… not for everyone, but often enough it is the reality.

I like to think of myself as progressive and open minded But I have expectations of myself that fall into what some people look at as outdated. I have a special needs child and because of this, I am a stay at home parent. I have expectations of myself. those expectations are to make sure the house is clean and safe, do the laundry and i do the cooking. Much of the time, I fail to keep up with these things because of superficial shit that 99% of us are guilty of. Facebook, E-mails, Pintrest…whatever. Social networking and the internet is a real problem for me as it is for most people.

I am in a great relationship. We both are damaged but for the most part, functional and productive. I hold these standards for myself. He does not hold the same standards for me as I do for myself but I’m used to being the “woman” in the sense that I should assume these responsibilities because I am in the home more often than he is. but because of this, I have inadvertently, subconsciously, developed expectations for him.

I’m used to men being sexually driven and being with one that is not, even though we had experienced one another long ago, is tiresome. I dont think its an attraction issue. I don’t think it has to do with skill or keeping things interesting. It’s just not a favorite thing to do for him. My memory sparks up and I remember, hes always been this way. I was his first and still, not his favorite thing to do. He enjoys the cuddling, talking, etc. Its the emotional intimacy that he loves. Don’t get me wrong…I LOVE that. Its great. but the thrill is gone when it comes to the passion, getting tangled in the sheets, pouring sweat, that thirst for one another that is animalistic. Unshakable. Now…it really doesn’t take much to “punch a hole in the raft” so to speak.I’m not innocent. I’m not always tactful. I speak before I think. I have no filter.

Sometimes I wish it were easier to flip it back on. I miss being thrown down and being devoured. I miss the beginning even though our relationship has grown so much. Maybe it was too soon for him. Maybe the wounds from his divorce haven’t healed… I love him anyway. I love all of him but I cant help but think that it has something to do with me.
Continue reading role reversal

Lucky girl

I’m just the luckiest girl in the world. My boyfriend watched my son overnight  so I could go hang out with my mom and sister, I have to get a procedure done and he texts me to say that he got the days off and approved by management within an hr or 2 of me telling him when it was scheduled, he buys me pickles every time he goes to the grocery store, he goes to all of my son’s IEP meetings, tells me I’m pretty everyday and never makes me feel badly for feeling upset or crying. I never feel like I can’t tell him if something is bothering me,  I can talk to him about anything, we sing System of a down together in the car, play guitar hero, I feel valued and appreciated and he makes me laugh. 

He’s smart, observant, intuitive, compassionate,  affectionate, loving,  witty, empathetic and perceptive.

He’s my best friend. 

Second chance

I am elated, blissful, light and giddy. My life has turned into a plot line from a Nicholas Sparks novel and I’m falling madly in love for the second time with my first love.  20 years had passed since we’d last laid eyes on one another and the moment we had, it was like o time had passed at all. But here we are, 20 years, one marriage, several failed relationships and 3 children later, smitten with one another, texting every waking moment while apart but together in every possible chance. They say you never love quite the same as you do with your first… This is true. I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never felt so alive and excited about waking up in the morning. Well,  Not since my freshman year in high school.

We’ve been inseparable for the last few weeks. We can both say “I love you” without hesitation and with complete confidence. It feels like I’m living a dream. I can’t focus, my mind is always drifting off to the man that has had my heart all of these years. Whenever I think of him, I’ll hear my phone ding and it a text from him saying he’s thinking of me. I never want to lose this feeling. I want to fly high on him forever.

I’m sinking

The ground has given to the weight upon me. The weight that is me.  So much wine flowing through my veins my very presents opens a fault line under my achey toes. I bear down, but the earth just crumbles to sand as I desperately try to keep my head from being buried beneath the rubble.  The destruction and chaos that myself alone am responsible for.  I am the driver of the vessel that barrels through the crowd of people, losing control,  losing myself and taking everyone down in the process.  I’m not a nice person.  At least not if you are close to me. Or as close as you let me.  If i love you,  i will shut you out.  I will pick fights with you because you have gotten to me.  You have me at a point that I am no longer in control. You CAN hurt me. And you will.  But the only one to blame is me.  I’m shutting you out because you don’t understand me
Nobody does.  I should be alone, but I can’t be alone.  I don’t want to hurt.  I don’t want to freak out.  I don’t want to be crazy. 

But I am.  I’m fucking nuts. 

If I can’t find something,  i scream,  i cry,  i punch walls, doors,  if i could get by with it,  I’d punch myself.  I’m no picnic. I’m the eye of the hurricane.  I’m the olive sky before a tornado. I’m the brilliant lights of lightning as it strikes your dwelling. I’m the girl that wants to be better; wants to do better, wants to be good enough and not like my head and heart are tangled and and ripping eachother apart.  like my whole life is ending everytime there is a bump in the pavement, a crack in the sidewalk or a pebble in my shoe. Someone help me.  pllease god…help me. I’m defective.  I’m destructive,  my pain is contagious. I leave all I touch writhing in agony.  My tears are as acidic as the phrases that dance off the tip of my tongue. My pretty mouth will  frame words that will paint everything as red as my lipstick. My hands are cold and tremble, and will freeze one to the core. Hearts freeze and shatter like mine did.  I’m contagious.