Songbird
You are in college now and are glad for having broken free. You don't rebel but always wished you did atleast once, to tell them to stick it up theirs. Who are they? This you don't, can't exactly define. Maybe you don't want to. You somehow sense that this other is also a part of you. Another cage that another bird defines for itself. But that is being so unfair one might say. What about ecosystems and the natural place of things? You surely don't expect a polar bear to live in the middle of Sahara do you? Well you don't know. You would like to be like the pelicans. Your nose, how you used to squeeze it so that it would become sharp like Sue's, is broad like a pelican's beak. You like to open your arms, climb on stools and wave them around. Not always, only when you are fairly drunk.
There are two continents in you, just for now. And like continental shelves,they constantly are grinding against one another. They seem to be at war within you. You should know, you live in California. right on top of the San Andreas fault. The other day you were hanging out with Jim, Andy and Sid. Jim got into this talk of riding his bike with his motorcycling club into East Okaland and how he got into this big fight in a bar with niggers. He went on to say that niggers had no buisness riding Harleys all around town, like in a gang of twenty to thirty. You fairly
cringed at this refrence to race but let it go for Jim is the most lovely person one can meet. Maybe he got socked and is just angry about that. You try to flush any thoughts of that conversation from your head. But like wildfires that burst out all summer in the California heat, requiring evacuation of rich folks for their hilltop villas and subsequent million dollar insurance claims, those thoughts come back to you. You had always fought them.
When you were six, deep caramel and black hair in that suburban school and hardly could speak English fast enough, you remeber you were surrounded by these kids who started to pull your plaits. Someone started baby talking in a high pitched voice, you recongnize your own voice entwined with those words. Hurt comes at you in waves. You try to be brave and start to cry. You see Sue in the group laughing too and you wish you had blue eyes and short golden hair just like her. Maybe you can ask Santa for that, but even you knew this was something you can't change.
(to be continued)
My Daily Notes
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