I guess this could be considered a response plus an explanation to your letter.
That’s amazing that you work with children. I love working with children, though I know I’m not amazing with them. I tend to treat kids the way my parents treated me. Like somewhat of an equal, just much shorter. I’ve stopped looking at it as compromising my mentality/vocabulary, and started seeing it as learning how to communicate with a completely different sect of humanity. There’s something in talking with children. Other than filling me with hope for our future generations (I really need to stop sounding like I’m a shitty 4th rung politician), it’s speaking to someone who is completely confident in their mind, beliefs, and statements. The kid a babysat the other week got me to believe in the power of the Power Rangers, and one of my students (my favorite kid, which I can admit here) has me believing in the possibilities of Jimi Hendrix not being dead (ergo, why he’s my favorite). The kid is 9, talking about Hendrix. Reminds me of me.
It’s funny that you mention superheroes, ’cause I was recently having a conversation with a close friend about the subject. For a few months, I was basically living with a friend of mine, and both of us were at a peak in our manias. While believing he was every amazing, and dark past having superhero, he would continuously switch the personalities/characters that he could become. While it sounds terribly awkward and unnerving to some, I understood it and fell full force into believing I was not only an old soul, but a range of amazing superheroes. But I mainly thought of myself as Hawkgirl. Now a days, I don’t quite remember why, but there was something appealing at knowing that while I was an old soul, each of my lives would ultimately be similar. And whether or not it’s because I’m a Taurus (though I hear it is), I like knowing that somewhere in life is consistency.
But to get back to the letter and why you wrote to me, I felt that you deserve a letter in depth and worth reading.
I got home a little while ago. I spent the day riding Metros around L.A. with my dad (since he’s never been) and running around downtown Long Beach with some friends. Now to give a little history, my insomnia and depression started in July after a miscarriage (though possibly met with joy, I’m still looking into it) and both of these factors plus the 4-5 hours of sleep knocked me out. But I pushed on with my day. Seeing a couple MCs, really cool performances, an amazing open mic and a play put me in the spirits to enjoy my day, my friends, and finally gave me the opportunity to not think about myself or my family. Sounds terrible, but I stay awake at night worrying, praying, crying, writing… Hoping that something will eventually get better for everyone.
But like I said, I got home a little while ago. I had skipped out on a party/kickback, knowing that I could get 6-7 hours of sleep if I went to sleep right away. As I always do when I’m getting ready for bed, I go through Undeniables. I haven’t had the chance to snag books from the library since my drop off, and I realized that I have such an amazing source of diverse writing right next to me. I scroll through the list on my profile, after admiring the picture in my header (because I’m vain and my exgf didn’t want to use the collage for a back piece which she had commissioned me to create). I check out Narinda’s, not only to read but because I haven’t seen her in a while, and then I scroll over your name, seeing you had addressed me in a letter.
Here’s the real part of the letter.
I quite admire that you stuck to the rules so well. I’ve been a bit flaky lately, but I realized the days I don’t write are basically the days I don’t do anything at all. Apparently I don’t think either.
I would like to thank you for the warning. I actually considered it at one point during the paragraph, but decided that if it was written to me, than I need to give the time to read it. But primarily, I was still incredibly touched and interested, and couldn’t stop myself.
When I found out about my grandfather starting dialysis, I was laying in bed with my ex-girlfriend – kissing and listening to Howling Wolf (she was amazing). I simply remember getting the call from my mom. Whether or not I tried getting off the phone with my mom, I didn’t hang up until she told me the real reason why she called. I don’t know whether I said “okay” and hung up (which I have done in the past so to come off strong and stoic while kicking myself inside) or if I cried. Either way, I had a friend drive me to Glendale and stop by the house I grew up in, thanks to my grandfather.
To hear this about the man that spent years raising me, teaching me, singing and playing multiple instruments, introducing me not only to chocolate – but the I Love Lucy and Gilligan’s Island… The man that taught me lessons of compassion, forgiveness, faith, and the appreciation of art… To hear that he had been feeling ill and couldn’t walk. That he didn’t want to go to the hospital, or said he was okay even though he wasn’t and wouldn’t show weakness. After talking to my family I found out he had started hallucinating and was getting sicker by the day. And this time it wasn’t issues with diabetes, but this was the failing of his kidneys. Hearing someone had to carry him into the car to take him to the hospital… I think was the start of multiple mental breakdowns.
And while he looks better now than he did back then, I still know he can’t survive without treatments 3 times a week. When I look at my grandfather in person, I no longer see the life and family loving man that would watch tv with me and teach me about music… I see tubes. I see unfocused eyes, tubes, and smell the disconnected anti-bacterial/anti-happiness.
I am terribly sorry to hear about your friend. That’s absolutely terrible, and I honestly don’t know what I would do if I lost my grandmothers. Though I hardly see them, and not have much of the chance to communicate with them, there is still the bond and love that I hope never to lose.
I wish the best for your friend and her grandmother. I can only hope that things get better and stable. They will be in my warm wishes and prayers.
Your friend is very lucky to have you to talk to. Even though you may have few words to say, presence – compassion – and sympathy is necessary and always appreciated.
I can only hope this letter made some sense, and was the response/explanation I intended it to be, though now I’m second guessing myself. Must be the time and the lack of sleep. Sweet dreams.
With regards and sympathy,
Kayla
P.S. – I hate the heat as well.
children, elders, and then there’s us. never knew why my moms, dads, aunts, uncles, lolas, and lolas would always try to guilt me by telling me everything they ever did was for me. that was until the day i realized they wouldn’t always be here to tell me that. and to tell me other things that, in a weird way, which was the intended way, i suppose, to make me a better person than they were. and once they were gone, i would have to take their place. as an adult. a father figure of some sort. someday. very soon. and that once they’re gone, everything that they had ever built should be improved upon by me. because that would be shitty if i let it collapse. and that everything i build, those little mofos that come after me should do the same. in the grand scheme of things, we’re simply a part of the trueness of evolution. it still sucks when my lola can’t remember who i am, though. life, eh? what weirdness.