Just breathe

I inhale slowly, like he told me to, letting it flood my senses. It burns my throat slightly, but I don't cough. I am in control. I feel it spreading through me, my tongue tingling, I take another hit, but I feel nothing, or everything, I feel too much and I can't stop, I can't turn it off ever, I sip some wine and swirl it around on my tongue, swallowing, my head feels pressurized, everything is magnified by ten, but still I can't forget, I can't shut off my thoughts. I suggest more wine but he says I've had enough. I mumble under my breath, I think they can hear me but I'm not communicating, I can barely hold my head up, my thoughts coming faster than usual, melancholy, depressed, they say this is a downer, oh I feel it. I am ruining their vibe, but I can't help it. He tells me to go watch a funny movie but I don't want to be alone. I stare at the moon and mention its brightness, they laugh at me, I don't know why I didn't mean it to be funny. They carry on a conversation but all I can think about is G-d, what my purpose is in this world, and how I can be a giving person without getting hurt. I am aware that I am saying too much, I should stop talking now, I really should. I know I should just go to bed, but I don't want this weird night to end, and yet I know I will wake up tomorrow and pretend it never happened. He asks me "Are you good?" and I smile and nod and tell him yes, I'm good. And in a strange way, I think I am. 

On Body Image

I thought it was just me. But it isn't.

I sit on the couch with an old classmate looking through high school pics and reminiscing about the 'good 'ole days'. After all, it has been quite some time since high school. But the more we talk, the more it seems that we had a very different high school experience. While she went to a high school where she was young, thin, popular and had lots of friends, I was the awkward overweight teen who stood out in all the pictures, had a bad haircut, and had a hard time making friends. With every picture came more regrets, more shame, more self-hatred. The best way to explain it is that I was mad at "her" for being overweight and missing out on all the experiences, even though her was me and it wasn't really my fault.

"Oh my gosh, you lost so much weight, you look emaciated!" which is her way of saying 'you look hot and skinny', but the word emaciated conjures up images of bodies of people in the holocaust, and why would you want to look like that? But apparently thin is in.

Even famous people hate their bodies, apparently. But the question is, why? Is being thin going to make you happier? Looking like Brad Pitt going to make you more attractive? Will changing anything about yourself going to make you into a better person?

The problem is, if you can't figure out how to change your thoughts, control your mind, change your way of thinking, you can change your body, but inside you will still hate everything about you.

On Flying

We don't live in fear, we don't board a plane and wonder if it'll be our very last plane ride, if we will be hijacked midair. We roll our eyes and take off our shoes and go through security, bemoaning the liquid carry-on rules, the increasing baggage fees and the decreasing baggage limits, we roam the airports in search of electricity so we can stay connected, that is our one goal in life as we watch our batteries drain with fear in our eyes to never be without. But we are always watching, on our guard, alert. Or we are being watched, as we leave our bag for a second to walk over to the garbage can, and we know there is someone wondering if we will come back. We imagine saying "Oh no sir, that is not my bag," as we walk away, slowly, casually, imagining the bag blowing up behind us and leaving chaos and fear in our wake.

No? Is that only me?

I watch the travelers, wearing leggings and baggy clothing, traveling gear, nothing fancy, our hair and makeup and basic hygiene put on hold as we travel for 3, 5, 10 hours at a time, we confine ourselves to claustrophobic seats and even smaller bathrooms, our internal clocks screwed up as we cross time zones and date lines, getting to our destinations at ungodly hours and being forced to perform, to smile and hug and greet people and be a generally polite human being when all we want to do is scream that this is not human, and please I just want some sleep!

There's the safety video that is meant to catch people's attention and leaves me with raised eyebrows and headshake. A nun, really?

At least water and oxygen is still free. Barely. 

Wait, that's your BROTHER?!

On one of my Facebook stalking routes I came across a profile picture of a pretty girl and a pretty boy in a pretty picture with sunlight slanting over them. Someone commented on the picture, "And, who may I ask is this with [you]?" Someone else replied, "That's her brother." I would have been more taken aback had I not seen the same guy in another picture with another girl whom I'm friends with. (I have to say, he's a good looking guy. But that's not my point.) My point is, why would you pose in a rather intimate picture with your brother?

I saw another picture of a shirtless guy and a girl in a bikini with the caption "Look who I came across!" Apparently, also brother and sister, and if I understood correctly from the comments, they were both backpacking in Europe (separately) and chanced upon each other, prompting a sibling reunion. If the half naked thing wasn't enough, the siblings were commenting back and forth on each other's bodies, saying things like "I look so fat, look at my bloated stomach, but you look great!"

Okay, what we learn from this is that I have too much free time on my hands and should stop stalking random people on Facebook.

But seriously, I was never that close with any of my brothers, one of whom can't stand me for some reason. I'm not saying that the way I act with my family is normal, but neither is being overly close to your brother to the point of raising eyebrows.

I recently moved to an area where 2 of my (single) brothers live. I barely see them, but when I do they pretty much ignore me. Now, I know this is an unfortunate holdover from the somewhat dysfunctional childhood we had, but to me it's just normal.

I was feeling pretty homesick so I kind of sort of asked my brother if he wanted to hang out, and I was not surprised by his response of "I don't like you, why would I want to hang out with you?"

I am all for having normal healthy relationships with your brothers, but if you choose to post a picture of the two of you as your profile picture, please do us stalkers a favor and write #sibs.

I don't know how

I don't know how
to separate the private from the public
so I just say nothing.

I don't know how
to bare my soul
to leave everything behind on the stage

I don't know how
to close the divide
between what I'm feeling and what I'm saying

If only I could be that brave
if only I could be that good

if only,

My grandma calls to ask how I'm doing,
but there is so much we don't say,
were taught not to say from a young age.

My father says
he barely speaks to his mom anymore
because after all the things we are not allowed to talk about
there isn't much left to say.

We couldn't mention when my dad got his first cell phone,
because he was clearly too poor to have one.

We didn't talk about the new house,
don't tell them you are unemployed,
let's keep the transparent paper-thin charade going
as long as we can,
so they believe we are something
instead of losers.

I can't really say
that I spent 4 years in college
with not much to show for it.

Well
I'm sick of being a loser,
It's hard to move past all the
family drama,
all the things we never said.

These people,
these performers
speak about racism,
speak about love
and hate
and self-loathing

They speak of  broken homes
and broken hearts,
cut up bodies,

they speak of themselves,
they open their hearts and souls
they dig deep
and use their lives
to wow audiences and judges.

I want to be one of those persons,
I want to perform
not just write
in a dark dusty corner
forgotten.

I want to invoke tears
applause
feelings of awe

I want to feel that I too
can share from deep inside

But there is so much we do not say,
it's like locked up
in a box
deep inside

I don't know how to let it out.