Monday, April 25, 2011

I'm sleepy and Kenya is almost over and summer of love is almost here and I really don't know what to expect at all but I sort of want it to be like this:

Blue Arrangements: Silver Jews

From the Carbon Dioxide Riding Academy
to the children's crusade marching through the downtown.
Well I think I'd die see, if you just said hi to me.
When something breaks it makes a beautiful sound.

Sometimes I feel like I'm watching the world
and the world isn't watching me back.
But when I see you, I know I'm in it too.
The waves come in and the waves go back.
The kids in the corner all covered in dirt.
Caught trespassing under the moon.
My father came in from wherever he'd been
and kicked my shit all over the room.

The room is dark and heavy with what I want to say.
I see murals in the radio static and on your blue jeans.
What would you say if I asked you to run away?
It's been done so many times I hardly know what it means.

or like anything else that is sort of desperate and hopeful. summer of love is literally just that, so i fantasize about days filled with love, whatever kind of love, belly full of stars, all the time, as I digest Kenya, but not with impatience and frustration, but with careful, delicate love. I'm too tired and have too much work to do to articulate, and I don't want to articulate, so tired of words, so tired of trying to convince people with words, just want to convince them with hugs and smiles or not convince them at all.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Dad says, "I feel like a fish out of water." More like a fish in water, leaking a small stream of blood, trying to hide from the sharks. Maybe even trying to pretend to be a shark. My heart is an ocean, why can't you swim? My heart is... I'm always the fish.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Tomorrow is my birthday but I might pretend it is not, so I can pretend it IS later. It is terrible to say, but this place, this home, keeps me rattled and insecure, and I am ready to go back to Nairobi. And I certainly don't want to be here for my birthday. And I know, by now I should know birthdays are dang near useless but I really believe in them, OK? Not just like it is a day that is yours, but just think about it. I think about my mom a lot on my Birthday. It's the day with which you were given life, it is a good day to think about who you are, in a positive way. Self-reflection is an all time thing, but maybe self love is a little harder. Birthdays are they days in which you allow yourself to think about the good affects you've had on people's lives, allow yourself to dream that you are important, and maybe allow it to be true. Birthdays are important for people like us who think that in order to remain humble you have to be a little self-loathing. So tomorrow, even though I am half pretending it is not my birthday, I am going to love myself, because, to be honest, I am in a place where I need all the love I can get.

Monday, April 11, 2011

I should be doing my homework. But instead I'm trying to figure out why we love things more when they're sleeping. I've always wanted to be a big sister. I have a headache so instead of doing what I should I am going to go under my mosquito net and read until I fall asleep. I'll get shit done SOMEDAY.

I'm braggin. I'm always in love. [I'm worried.]

Sunday, April 10, 2011

This blog is just sort of a lost little thing floating in cyber space. This blog is maybe the biggest testament to my weaknesses and my dramatic flair, but a great testament to my writing, which is not to brag but to say I miss writing. (Upon further reflection, this is the blog of Savannah growing up)

Things are changing. They would be regardless of is I was there or not, and they aren't bad changes, just changes, and I'm getting so used to changes that it's almost doesn't hurt at all. Today, while half asleep, I dreamt of what it will be like to be on state street, in a sea of white people wearing hip clothes, none of them with plaited hair. And I felt a soft panic rise up. Because even though I love that and want to go back to that, it scares me a little bit. And that it scares me scares me even more. And I am already bracing myself to surround myself with people who are ready to listen and to understand, and contemplating shedding people who will just make this hard. And I am scared to say that all the things I wrote about change, all the months of pre-departure panic are becoming realized, and I think that is why I was panicking, because I KNEW it would do this to me, because I had to mourn the loss before I left because I simply will not have the emotional energy to mourn it when I get back. I am hoping people will surprise me. But trying to only keep hopes in some place farther back in my mind, as to avoid waiting. I feel like I could go to Portland, and more than that, I feel like I will. And not to fulfill some sort of destiny, not to finally stick to my guns like I did with this trip.

Maybe this is all just what i need to get a heart strong enough to let go of things. And that, is scary, defying stubborn promises I made to myself simply to justify my wallowing. And I knew that is what they were when I made them. And you know, maybe this should be a letter, but I got sick of writing letters, just a little, because I felt like sometimes I was doing it for the wrong reasons, like to force a closeness with someone when really I should let things happen more naturally. I am always trying to manipulate situations, to keep them within my grasp, but then they are always a little bit false, and a little bit disappointing. I am tired of putting up with disappointment. And though it is not quite true yet, it is on the tip of my heart, I am tired of blaming other people for my sadness and disappointments. Even if they do play some sort of role (see, not quite ready for this one). Blaming other people gives me a way to still feel close to them, and I am not ready to let people go.