Probably Persiflage

Paralyzed but Expectant

probablypersiflage — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 05:56:52 +0000

The seemingly banal brown box waited patiently on the doorstep for one of us to arrive home. I peered at the return label, and smiled knowingly. I bypassed the card and went straight for the cookies… cookies you can devour, but the words would take time to savor. The first morsel delicately melted in my mouth, and transported me from 2201 to Exit 12.

“Are you lost ma’m,” the forest ranger asked with a slight chuckle and warm eyes.

“No sir…. I’m finally found,” I softly replied while adjusting Jill Scott.

Moments later she pulled into the parking lot, the deafening music silencing reeling thoughts and grounding her in the present. She greeted me with warm practicality.

I surveyed the scene, her and I, each in our version of pigtails, orange shirts, and oversized sunglasses. My eyes drunk in the waves crashing against endless nude-colored grains of sand and the paths leading to the unknown.

Of course we ate first because that’s simply what we do. She selected a secluded patch of sand and we began the picnic process, laying a flimsy foundation of Ikea sheets and beach towels. We unpacked the coolers, convivially recognizing that each of her selections were a perfect complement to my own.

Channeling our juvenile spirits, we spent hours ambling along the shoreline and displacing thousands of grains of sand. We dug holes to the center of the Earth… just deep and methodic enough to bury our sorrows and set free our joys.

Eventually, the sun cast our shadows, artfully reminding us that we were indeed full grown women. We stood and dusted off our bodies, sand falling as freely as the secrets and sentiments did from our lips. I read the same look of despondence on her face, neither of us desiring to leave the wonderland we’d created.

I finished the last of my white chocolate, cranberry cookie and opened my eyes to examine the austere living space. The moment of security and unbridled happiness were as ephemeral as the taste of cranberry on my tongue. Back to reality. Back to slow drivers and drawls, to lesson plans, to labyrinthine roads, to impetuous administration, to air so thick it becomes a burden, entrapping conservative ideals and stifling ingenuity. Is this where I belong?

I asphyxiated the moment of rumination in favor of making a to-do list…. much easier and in some ways, more practical.

Clean my bathroom.
Watch puppet master and perfect the dance.
Pay electric bill.
Read a book that contains no pictures.
Come up with a rockin’ name for the Grand Canyon album
Break the monotony of the day.
make props for lesson on Tuesday.
Catch up on Psych, RP, and PR.
Finish washing and iron work clothes.
Listen to the 21 new voicemails on my phone.

It seems as if every list I make is predominately composed of ambitious goals and infused with the superfluous… a disproportionate fusion of my free-spirited past and regimented present. I’m certain that many of the projects will be neglected, but reading is not one I’m willing to sacrifice.

I read recently that life’s challenges are not supposed to paralyze you, they’re supposed to help you discover who you are. Honestly, right now I, like most in my predicament, feel paralyzed. I hope to be set free soon. Set free from feelings of inadequacy, ignorance, alienation, and cynical thoughts. Scratch that. I need to be set free stat. I need some affirmation that this is where I’m intended to be… amongst the “Yes ma’am, No ma’ams”, the low hanging trees, the Piggly Wigglys.

I have a house, but I’m waiting for the day when this place and profession feel like home. I lie in bed most nights with expectancy in my heart: tomorrow will be the day. But I’ve surmised that until tomorrow comes, cookies and cards will have to do.

Always and forever— Kesh

Posted in The world as I know it

A Promise of Faith, Maybe to You

probablypersiflage — Sat, 30 May 2009 02:57:53 +0000

I read recently that the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love. I paused afterward, somberly reading, re-reading, meditating, absorbing. The only thing that counts… For better or worse, it’s an exclusive statement. Under this newly found presumption, I guess it didn’t count when you lied to me and yourself for months. And I can only hope that the same rule applies when temptation calls and I perpetually submit to its plea. Maybe, then, it won’t count when I sever ties with you, I don’t expect it to be an expression wholly of love.

At least I’m sure of what does count. Like times spent perusing shops meant just for us and clandestine drives… when the paths of our minds are just as uncertain as our present situation. I’ve also surmised that planned expressions of love count. I remember the rhythmic rise and fall of our individual voices, to the same tortuous, syncopated melody. In a moment of umoja, we lit candles to betoken our souls and watched as our strong facades melted away with the candle wax, only to be replaced with vulnerable faces and promises of a reunion. Should I not forget the 11 pages you artfully crafted in a small metallic journal previously choked with cosmetic remarks? I touched the cream pages and could almost see remnants of your tears; many of joy washing away those of sadness. I remember the ice cream too, coffee, with large silver spoons. We ate to fill the silence and watched as the treat disappeared alongside the minutes, the slowly depleting container a constant reminder that soon there would be no more . Even hair can be an expression of love. I’ll always note your diligence as you two, both defined by their art, gingerly separated what was given from what was purchased. We sealed our circle with a pizza reserved for 3 and several chronicles of lives more alluring than our own. Still more instances of love come to mind. You traversed Detroit traffic for a moment with us; spent in a crowded coffee shop right before a life changing endeavor.

After all of these years, the only thing that really counts is faith expressing itself through love. I’m relieved, but somewhat nervous with a bit of remorse. And in this moment, as the suburban breeze blows through my toes, I have faith….in what, I’m still not perfectly certain. But I do know that I have felt the expression of faith through love and it’s stunning. And as I prepare for this new adventure, all I ask is for a little faith; I don’t think that’s too lofty of a request. I know I’m deserving and what’s really important is that you are too. I might have said this before (or maybe you just know)… I’m usually not much for promises. Life has taught me that even the well intended are too easily broken. But in this moment I desire to make a promise to you, a select few:

the first with hair as firey as her soul and another with a heart as golden as her curls
a third with a focus unparalleled and yet another with skin as bright as her future in education
one called to be extraordinary despite her present sentiments and another with a voice as beautiful as her demeanor
one with more work than she deserves and still another with admirable determination
and a final one that believes coffee unites.

I promise here and now to always have faith in you and to work endlessly to express that faith through love. Faith in your ability to lead, to educate, to save, to communicate, to rebuild, to change lives, to live remarkably. With Love that conquers pettiness and drama, that stimulates spiritually and emotionally, that speaks wisely and peacefully and that is a stronghold.

I have faith in you. I love you. And for me, for now, that’s enough.

–me

Posted in Friends...mine are gems, Just a thought or two, The world as I know it

I lose everything, but I need this back

probablypersiflage — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 04:36:39 +0000

Recently, I had a dream that I misplaced my words. Actually, it was more of a nightmare than a dream and I’m just realizing that it could perhaps be a reality.

It’s been a week for losing things:

keys [x2]
security
undies
free time
headphones
sanity

The loss of my words is most upsetting. I want them back. I demand them back. Zora once told me that there’s no agony like bearing an untold story. I feel them, my thoughts… desires… emotions…. moments, building up in me… filling every extra space. It hurts, but not in a burning kinda way. Instead it manifests in a spectrum of desires. I want to giggle and JuMp and weep and SCREAM and dance and feel and soak in the moment. But my housemates wouldn’t know what to do with me…so instead I sit here staring at a large fabric leaf. Typing, deleting, texting, hoping that Pandora surprises me.

I was hoping that this would help me to find my words. Like a use it or lose it type thing. I’m not sure that it is, but I’m comforted enough in the thought that it might. Thanks for listening….I think you helped the most.

Always and forever— Keshia

Posted in Just a thought or two

2 for 1, Like a Bad Christmas Sale

probablypersiflage — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 02:19:28 +0000

I made a pact last night with someone more perspicacious than myself. I promised I would write here and in return, she would routinely pen her thoughts about the world. I’m finding this task more arduous than I anticipated, but I don’t believe in empty promises. As of recent, my thoughts have been scattered, kinda like Too Much Light. An ever changing, honest, silly, disconnected, meaningful, incoherent, underdeveloped, too long, too short, abruptly ending set of notions. Don’t expect much from the words that follow. You might not understand it, but that just means I don’t yet either. I’m okay though, lets press on.

This will be two in one. Partially because I’ve got thoughts that flirt and court, but never quite make it to the point where they fuse together. And partially because I’m too lazy to come up with another post title.

So, this will be two or maybe even three in one.

Guilt Complex

“You’ve got a guilt complex,” she commented after a pause. I added another jingle bell so that I had an excuse to not answer right away. There’s no denying it, she’s right, guilt. But why? Possible reason #1: overcompensation. I involuntarily and unknowingly left part of myself in 501 and on the 3rd floor. Not just any part, but the defining bit. As Bertha moved west on 94, the wind stripped away small wedges of my spirit and carried it back to where I belong. It didn’t even hurt, at least right away. Just like 20 times before, my little blue car effortlessly advanced into the parking lot. I unloaded only the essentials, everything else would come in time. The elevator stopped at 2 and I followed the cinnamon scented trail to unit 209. I matched the island key to the proper lock and greeted the quiet emptiness. On the first night you only have to unpack the necessities…and I knew it was missing then. I felt strange and uncomfortable, even awkward standing in the sage hallway. The silver, oversized mirror taunted me. Somehow, I had managed to elude myself. Way to go. Not long after, a phone tree went out. ”This may sound strange, but do you feel odd? Like you don’t know who you are or fit in any way? It’s okay if you don’t.” Why yes, yes I do. It’s nice to know that me, where ever (whoever) that might be is in the great company of at least 3 others. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole of 501 was there.

There’s always something distracting during these 5 weeks: a job, a charity, a man. But not this time. I feel guilty for not having appointments to keep, commitments to fulfill. And that guilt is manifesting itself in odd ways. This year, I sent more Christmas cards than I have friends. I cook every evening. I shop online. In the mean time it feels better to send Christmas cards and pack lunches than it does to figure out who I am and who I need to be. Guilt. Other possible reasons for it? I don’t know yet. And as long as there’s a gift in sight with no mistletoe, I don’t have to figure it out.

I love you… it’s just a reflex

You call every night… and I wouldn’t have it any other way. ’Cept last night. I lay beneath the cream and chocolate cloud and thought about you, imagined you. I heard the rhythmic rise and fall of your voice. I saw your lips form pledges of security and commitment. I felt your heart keeping the pace of your thoughts, slow and methodical. Connected we were and you swayed me to my place of peace, of red suede couches, of peppermint mocha twists, of pepto bismol-themed rooms. There I floated, calm, void of obligation, and above guilt. I found my phone and reread your words. That’s why I love you. Just a reflex right? 2 times…3….4…no, still a reflex.

Okay. That’s enough I think. I considered writing about intentions, but I have a greater desire to eat chocolate cake. I’m sure you understand.

Always and forever—Keshia

Posted in Just a thought or two, The world as I know it

An ode to fathers

probablypersiflage — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 21:04:22 +0000

“Her name is Mona and she looks just like you…the same freckles and everything.”

I have 67. I wonder if she does too. Does she care enough to count? Did her someone make each one feel special, with tiny childish kisses and light fingertips?

“We wouldn’t believe her, except she knows too much….and her eyes, she has your eyes”

Are hers bottomless and uncontrollable? With emotions of their own and an uncanny ability to hold the truth. Can she strip a person right down to their soul with just a glance?

“Genetics, man. It was a trip Kesh. Her lips even…shaped just the same.”

Same shape yes, but same words too? Does she have a slightly intimate relationship with P words? Do her thoughts make the rough transition to sentences and swell in her mouth until she’s forced to choke or speak her mind? What’s her preference, I know mine.

“Well… we have a few choices now, but the question becomes what do we want to accomplish?”

to be continued…maybe

Always and forever—Keshia

Yesterday I tallied the spots on my ceiling, but today seems brand new

probablypersiflage — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 02:08:56 +0000

I sat at my kitchen table today–built for three, but occupied by one–and watched a bug shimmy up a tree. I saw him struggle up his challenge, wished him good luck, and then rose to mine. I stretched and hopped on before I could back down and started the laborious climb to my Zion. As my body began to release salty tears of pleasure, my mind drifted to the night before.

Last night, I stood on a desk chair and took in a new perspective of my studio. As Gordon yelled at Jen and gave away cookware to housewives, I counted the specks on my ceiling. Somehow, I’d convinced myself that maintenance’s paint job was more interesting than introspection. A skype message exclaiming my loser status and other assorted insults brought be back to reality. I promised myself that within the coming 24 hours, I would stop hiding from the person I’d become.

After the treadmill broke my spirit, I lumbered back home. I resumed my same spot next to the window and looked for my buggie, Rick. He wasn’t there anymore, but I sent a prayer up for him. I sat in a sudoriferous nature for awhile, hoping for Rick’s company, but knowing that we’d never be together again. For the first time in awhile, I thought about me and about who I used be. I watched the breeze flirt with the oak leaves and contemplated some recent ultimatums, but came to no firm conclusions. It was a good start though and I licked a refrigerated kiss with almonds in celebration.

Summer is here and I’m waiting to see what’s coming with it.

Always and forever—Keshia

Music is where I’d like you to touch

probablypersiflage — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 18:40:00 +0000

On the last walk home, she plugged in the headphones and dived into her small silver sanctum- the one with the white touch wheel. It’s appropriately named Lillie, after her great grandmother. As God strummed a melody on her umbrella, Lille held her in a familiar blanket of slates and blues, to match the sky. She walked slow purposely, watching faces blur behind thick drops and lives change in an instant. A toddler capering about a puddle, discovering the murky depths of the world firsthand. A couple, one pugnacious and the other yielding. She moved on, leaving behind the toddler, the couple, the moment.

She watched the gray sky melt into darkness and wondered what color paradise was. She walked the latter half of the wonted journey for the last time, smiling at the music lady, winking at the cute paper boy, avoiding the street vendors. The motions came easily, as she expected they would. But the emotions that followed were unforeseen. Her tears fused with the world’s, creating small, salty pools of memory on her Primark coat. A few for home, a few for the last days here, five for friends, one for a broken heart, and six more for good measure. That’s enough.

She listened to the words of encouragement Lillie provided, searching for the secrets of the world or at least of her world. Some Lillie whispered in English, most however came in an exotic tongue…those, she decided, were the best. As she ascended the stairs to an underground world, the conversation replayed in her head. The memories grappled with the music until it imposed itself on her mind. “I’m spending 21 days getting lost, to find myself,” she said in explanation of her future to her past. The past replied, “But everyone thinks you already know.” In that instant, she wished she was everyone, but alas she could only claim to be herself.

Effortlessly, she moved with the crowd, snuggling with the stranger next to her. The train lurched forward, forcing her back to the present. Holborn came, but she wanted to stay. She wanted to ride on red until forever came, but today wasn’t the day. She changed to navy and played footsie with stranger #2. 7 stops later, home came. She allowed her body to be swept through the buried playground, but her mind floated back to conversation, to finding who people thought she was.

The breeze felt lighter at home and maybe a bit stickier. But, responsibility loomed over her, heavier than the clouds Mother Nature made two zones away. Iron & Wine filled the silent moments between Lillie and her. She completed the last leg of her peregrination, and let her eyes soak up the sights. A bakery- meant just for red velvet cupcakes, A Moroccan restaurant- especially for celebrating portfolio completion, A pub- built just so that she could have her first snakebite.

She turned the corner and at that moment, Lillie began to sing about sunshine. She felt God’s smile warm her heart as she pushed the key into number 12. Somehow, she told herself, it’ll all be okay.

Always and forever—Keshia

I hope I finish this one.

probablypersiflage — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 22:40:17 +0000

Today I decided that something needs to be done about my lazy posting behavior. The past three posts I’ve written are simply drafts– left mildly abandoned, somewhere between my inner world and yours. I spent a bit of time today musing about why….why is that publish button so daunting? I know I have things to say, grand conclusions I’ve come to over the past week, funny stories, random thoughts. Probably more funny stories than grand conclusions…but even still the words won’t come.

I wonder if I’m afraid for them to….if they come out, my stories, my emotions, my thoughts won’t be just mine. But isn’t that the point of an online journal? Maybe I need to retake kindergarten sharing lessons.

Well…I’m over it. So, just in case you were wondering today happens to be my 2nd favorite holiday! Second only to Jesus’ birthday It’s Earth day!! I’m a bit sad because I haven’t done much to celebrate. No e-cards from the rain forest website, no new trees planted, I didn’t even click to donate money for animal habitat conservation. All in all, I’m pretty lame, but I did manage to recycle a hefty stack of papers.

In other news, I’ve got a funny story about roommates. I don’t care to share it with the world, but I feel the need for it to be documented. Hopefully this will serve as an inside joke, but only inside me. Is that possible? I want it to be the kind where someone says a random word and I burst out laughing, except I’m the only one. I know it’ll be a little awkward, but I’m used to that.

So after that random tangent, I’d like to close. There’s nothing more to say. Happy Earth Day. Go recycle your pop can! Turn off those extra lights! Use biodegradable cleaning products! Make me proud

Always and Forever—Keshia

Taking Off The Trainers!

probablypersiflage — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 17:00:33 +0000

This morning, I woke up early and hopped out of bed. At 7:30 am, I did a little dance and sung a squeaky, high-pitched good morning to my groggy roommate. I couldn’t help but smile as I buttoned up my collared shirt and secured the clasp on my necklace. Many of you may find this behavior odd, especially for me because my favorite hobby is sleeping. But today was unique. Think Christmas-when-you-thought-Santa-was-real exciting. Yes, that special. Today was the opening day of the British Neuropsychological Society’s Spring Meeting!

A whole day of talks on my favorite topics (Autism, Prosopagnosia, Fetal X Syndrome) by some of the leading experts in the field. For hours, I took notes excessively and a few times found myself disappointed because I hadn’t thought to bring a tape recorder. I felt surrounded by greatness and excited about the future. I wanted more than anything to stand in front of a crowd of scholars and have them analyze my methods or discuss future projects. It would even be fine if they hated all the research I conducted and criticized every step. As long as they were scholars

In this very moment, I realize something quite profound about my life. I’m a nerd. Okay, well maybe not a legit nerd based off of the definition (an intelligent but single-minded person obsessed with a nonsocial hobby or pursuit…..in case you were wondering). Although a few of you might argue that simply looking up the definition confirms my nerd status.

But being classified as a nerd isn’t new for me. I’ve heard this before from friends…enemies…my mum, but I’ve never taken it to heart. I always thought that once I admitted to myself and the world that I loved books and classical music, I could kiss my social life goodbye. Today though, I realized that my nerdy-ness is a part of me, a significant part. More importantly, I am now cognizant of the fact that people have seen it wayyy before I wanted them to. And somehow, they still managed to befriend me. *Whew* that’s a relief! Now, I feel freer, lighter knowing that in a few minutes when I press publish, I’ll have publicly called myself a nerd. Isn’t it strange that we can spend our whole lives running from the inevitable? Today, I stop running. I’m taking off my running shoes and trading them for the cute pair of green and gold flats I saw at Top Shop!

I’M A NERD!!!!!

I’m YOUR nerd

and I’m proud

Always and forever—Keshia

Wishing Circles Were Lines

probablypersiflage — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 14:25:22 +0000

Far far

Far far there was a little girl

She was praying for something

To happen to her

Every day she writes words and more words

Just to spit out the thoughts

That keep floating inside

And she’s strong when the dreams come

‘Cause they take her, cover her

They are all over

The reality looks far now

But don’t go

How can you stay outside

There’s a beautiful mess inside

—Y. Naim

I had the same dream last night about you. That one dream that only John Soanes and my Seagull know. The one where we fight, like usual. You defend the social norms of the past and I fight fiercely for the rights of all women everywhere. Then, somehow the cosmos change. We’re swept up in a moment of passion that exceeds our former hatred. It was essentially the scene from every romantic movie where the world fades to black and white, except the two in love. The strange thing is that we’ve never been in love. I don’t suspect that we ever will and I’m okay with that.

I woke up this morning and thought about circles. As I lay in my very unsteady top bunk, I stared at the ceiling and wondered what you were doing. I wondered if you cycle through times of thinking of me and then sweep me to the depths of your subconscious. I thought briefly about how life might be different if you were an only child. Then I realized what a loss to our society and me personally, without your siblings. I suspect that I’ll never know what you envisage because both of us are too stubborn to admit simple truths.

Anyway, I’m impatiently waiting across the ocean hoping that this phase in my cycle wraps up quickly. If it’s at all possible, I’d like to finish my excel spreadsheets without thinking of you. Unfortunately, finishing this phase would be a short-lived victory. That’s the thing about circles… soon you’ll be forced right back to the place you were escaping. I guess I’ll see you and my unanswered musings again in a few months.

Always and forever—Keshia