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Author Topic: a room of her own  (Read 16434 times)

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SamyElisabeth

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #30 on: September 30, 2014, 02:22:14 PM »


 



My dear friend, rest in peace now. You will be remembered.
 



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SamyElisabeth

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #31 on: September 30, 2014, 07:34:13 PM »
It's been a week since I started leaving out milk for the stray cat. The first two nights, it didn't touch my milk at all. But the third night... it drank it all! Last night I checked around midnight and saw the cat sitting outside my doorstep. It was staring straight at me. o_O

We indulged in a staring contest for a few minutes before I went back out there to pour it some more milk, and I also put some leftover roast pork out there as a snack. When I came back inside, I realized that I have become one of those weird, crazy old ladies who feed stray cats in the middle of the night.

But I guess there are worse things you can be, so I'm okay with it.



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SamyElisabeth

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #32 on: September 30, 2014, 08:33:08 PM »
When the smoke is in your eyes,
You look so alive,
Do you fancy sitting down with me? Maybe?







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SamyElisabeth

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #33 on: September 30, 2014, 09:21:52 PM »
At the wedding they played this game. Apparently you're supposed to go find things and then run back to your seat, and every round they take away a chair. It was pretty funny.







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SamyElisabeth

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #34 on: September 30, 2014, 10:44:58 PM »




I still dream about it. I miss my family, and I miss the time I spent there. It was like I left all the bad things behind when I went there, and even though just as much bad happened there as there was good, I am still thankful for the experience.

Fields upon fields of sunflowers drying in the hot sun greeted me as we drove through the countryside. They would be collected to press for oil. I remember fields of corn and high towers of metal that reminded me of home, but the air smelled different. Even the clouds were different. They were large and gentle above our heads, sentinels in the azure sky. The landscape was different yet familiar, strange yet oddly I felt at home. I was no tourist, no distant visitor; instead I was a daughter of the country, welcomed in its embrace. All my previous fears and anxieties dissipated beneath the heat of the Gallic sun, and I was home.

The night I spent alone in the emergency room was awful, made only bearable by the vigilance of the kind nurse who spoke English to me. His hands, so confident when he searched my arm for arteries, started shaking when he failed. His trembling frightened me, so I clung to his hand to steady him.

When the doctor told my uncle and mother that they had to leave me there overnight, I almost cried in front of them. But I didn't. I waited until they turned off the lights and closed the door with the reassurance that all would be taken care of in the morning. I turned to my left side, away from the door so that no one might see me, careful not to disrupt the flow of the IV, and I cried lonely tears into my pillow. There was only one person I wanted there with me, but he would never come to my side, nor would he ever speak to me again, yet I still wished and hoped until I fell into an uneasy sleep.

When I came back from the hospital, I slept for a whole day. I had been welcomed home by this country, and I had tasted its delights as well as the reality of pain, and maybe this was the unexpected adventure I always longed for.

The day before staying in the hospital, my family had a string-tying ceremony and dinner for my mother and I. They tied scores and scores of white strings around both our wrists, and we ate an elaborate yet distinctly Hmong meal. At the hospital, when one of the nurses put the patient wristband on me, she noticed the strings and gave me an inquiring look.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" she asked.

I said, "It's a symbol of love."

Her face told me she didn't comprehend.

"Un symbole d'amour.... de ma famille," I said in halting French.

That's all I have left now: symbols and memories and souvenirs from my time over there. There is also the reassurance that I have a family there who loves me, and also the knowledge that they're only an ocean away, an email away, and a text message away. Being among them and trying to maneuver my way through a country that was both foreign and familiar at the same time reminded me that this world is very large and beautiful, and even though there are terrible things that may happen to us at any given time, we should always hold near what we love and treasure. The time away was good for my heart and soul. I left the States with reluctance and a broken heart, and I came back with a heart full of love and life.

I remember the first time I opened the window of my room in my uncle's house. French houses don't have outer screens like we do here. The windows were large metal grates, and once unlatched and pushed open, the world was right there, large and immediate in its vivacity. It demanded to be met full on. It was awake. It was alive. There was no room for the past or for aching regrets. There was only that open window with the cool breeze pushing my hair back, and all of the world before me.




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SamyElisabeth

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #35 on: October 08, 2014, 12:27:41 PM »
Il est entré dans mon coeur
Une part de bonheur
Dont je connais la cause

C'est lui pour moi
Moi pour lui dans la vie
Il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vie








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SamyElisabeth

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #36 on: October 08, 2014, 01:51:28 PM »
Beautiful photo.  It's always been a dream of mine to visit France (Paris, to be exact and the surrounding areas to visit relatives and sightseeing). 

Thanks for sharing.

Thanks! I hope you do get a chance to make it out there someday. It's beautiful and old and haunting, a trip well worth the snotty french attitudes. Lol.



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SamyElisabeth

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #37 on: October 18, 2014, 12:05:00 PM »
Today I'm thinking about you. Hope you're well. Hope you have found someone to confide in. Hope you're in a good place, a better place.

Me, I'm not doing so well. But I can't tell anyone because doing so would mean I have to acknowledge that even though it's been almost three months, I'm still broken over you. No one knows how heavy my heart is, or how many nights I cry myself to sleep, or how pointless I feel now.

You inspired me in a way that I haven't felt for a long time. I was so alone, and you were there for me. All that silly talk between us, and all those fine spun dreams we weaved together about a reindeer farm in the wilds of Russia, they meant more to me than I could ever say, even if I knew that it would never come to pass. It sounds illogical and silly, I know, but that's how it is.

For that brief window of time, that magical summer, it felt like every heartbreak I endured and every wrong turn I took was all a blessing because it led me to you. We found birds in the sky again. We found a place where we supported and encouraged each other, where you were on my side and I was on yours. This is what I miss the most, just knowing that you were on my side. I could have faced a disapproving world as long as you were with me. I could've faced dark shadows and long nights because you brought such a bright light into my world.

But now, the birds have stopped singing. I can't feel anything inside where they once flew with such a beautiful song. All I have are memories of words, words that perhaps I put too much faith in, words that still cut me deeply in the wake of the void you left behind. Maybe you've moved on already, and maybe you're so far ahead of me now that all the things that I still remember with perfect clarity are only vague memories to you. And that's okay. It's what I want for you. I would never want you to be left in a dark place like the one I'm in.

I just wanted to say something out loud, one last time, because these words ricochet inside me like the cry of a lone bird flying over the lake. They keep me awake at night when all the world is sleeping and my lamp is still lit by my bedside. They are the reason I drive alone aimlessly at night when I'm thinking about you. They are the thorn in my heart.

I wanted to say that I miss you. I miss you so much that I feel like part of me has died, and I don't know how to revive it. All I know is that I keep stepping forward, smiling to fool the world and myself that I'm okay, and yes I will be okay again someday, but part of me will always belong to you. And that's the part that, for the rest of my life, will search for moments full of you... even though it's clear that you no longer search for me.



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3 Years Time

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #38 on: October 20, 2014, 12:13:14 AM »
Today I'm thinking about you. Hope you're well. Hope you have found someone to confide in. Hope you're in a good place, a better place.

Me, I'm not doing so well. But I can't tell anyone because doing so would mean I have to acknowledge that even though it's been almost three months, I'm still broken over you. No one knows how heavy my heart is, or how many nights I cry myself to sleep, or how pointless I feel now.

You inspired me in a way that I haven't felt for a long time. I was so alone, and you were there for me. All that silly talk between us, and all those fine spun dreams we weaved together about a reindeer farm in the wilds of Russia, they meant more to me than I could ever say, even if I knew that it would never come to pass. It sounds illogical and silly, I know, but that's how it is.

For that brief window of time, that magical summer, it felt like every heartbreak I endured and every wrong turn I took was all a blessing because it led me to you. We found birds in the sky again. We found a place where we supported and encouraged each other, where you were on my side and I was on yours. This is what I miss the most, just knowing that you were on my side. I could have faced a disapproving world as long as you were with me. I could've faced dark shadows and long nights because you brought such a bright light into my world.

But now, the birds have stopped singing. I can't feel anything inside where they once flew with such a beautiful song. All I have are memories of words, words that perhaps I put too much faith in, words that still cut me deeply in the wake of the void you left behind. Maybe you've moved on already, and maybe you're so far ahead of me now that all the things that I still remember with perfect clarity are only vague memories to you. And that's okay. It's what I want for you. I would never want you to be left in a dark place like the one I'm in.

I just wanted to say something out loud, one last time, because these words ricochet inside me like the cry of a lone bird flying over the lake. They keep me awake at night when all the world is sleeping and my lamp is still lit by my bedside. They are the reason I drive alone aimlessly at night when I'm thinking about you. They are the thorn in my heart.

I wanted to say that I miss you. I miss you so much that I feel like part of me has died, and I don't know how to revive it. All I know is that I keep stepping forward, smiling to fool the world and myself that I'm okay, and yes I will be okay again someday, but part of me will always belong to you. And that's the part that, for the rest of my life, will search for moments full of you... even though it's clear that you no longer search for me.
Wow.

Wish someone would say that to me.



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SamyElisabeth

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #39 on: October 24, 2014, 04:06:24 PM »
Dear Mom,

First I wanted to say that I love you. I love you so much, and I can't imagine life without you. I'm sorry that I can't express myself through speech, but you should know that already so please don't force me to talk about it.

Second of all, I'm never going to be the perfect Hmong daughter. If I'm angry, I'm going to show it. If I need to vent, I will punch something or scream into my pillow. It saves me from screaming at you when you look at me with that disappointed expression, because I'm not really angry at you. Just angry at the world and this ducked up society. I'll never be able to "uv" things as much as you did. I'll never be a good little Catholic girl because right now I'm just as angry at God as I am at the world. I'll never be able to hide my contempt for the distant uncle who beats up his wife and kids, and I'll never be able to hide my happiness when I'm around someone who makes me feel alive.

I am just me: your no-good, lazy daughter who stays up too late at night. I'll always have a short temper, and I'll never be able to respect a man who says a lot but does little. I don't give a duck what people say about me anymore. To be honest I'm too tired to keep up with the latest gossip about myself, and to be even more honest I just want to do whatever the duck I want without worrying about how it'll stain the family reputation. And if you know me at all, you'll know that even though I feel that way, I'll still worry about whether I'm giving you and my dad a bad name or not, because you spent 30 years building our lives and one single act from me could mess it all up. Which is just ducked up, by the way.

So Mom, right now I'm irrationally angry at the world. I'm depressed and have lost interest in everything I used to like. I find it a deep accomplishment already when I'm just able to get out of bed and put on clothes. And I feel alone, so alone like a ghost wandering through a thick fog. But I know I'm not, and for this I am thankful. Because you're still here, and even though I can't talk about it, I know in time I'll be okay again.



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SamyElisabeth

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #40 on: October 28, 2014, 01:22:39 PM »
It's OK.  When I was young, my mom used to say those things me all the time....about ua sab ntev, uv and uv again and again....never show your anger to others, especially your in-laws.  But as I got older, she realized that I will never be that so she stopped saying those things to me.

Just be who you are....just make sure you have a s/o that is fully aware of your personality and can/will accept you.

Parents know we love them even when we don't verbally express them.  This is especially true for older generations where words of affection normally don't exist in the family. 

It's OK to be angry at the world.  Matter of factly, that is preferred over holding everything inside.  :)

Thank you... I am feeling a little more myself now. I'm also working on being more patient with my mom and understanding that her criticisms only stem from a place of love and concern.



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SamyElisabeth

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #41 on: October 28, 2014, 01:29:31 PM »



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Offline tRouBLe

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #42 on: October 29, 2014, 08:45:14 AM »
Lilac, sorry to hear that you haven't been feeling well.  I'm sure you know this but just wanted to remind you......they (whether family or friends) will lecture and express their feelings/thoughts about us and to us only because they care.  It's when they stop doing this that we should be worried....... because that will mean they stop caring about us and what happens to us.  As you are aware of, they only want the best for us even though we may not agree with them.  Take care, girl!   :)



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Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are. ~ John Wooden

SamyElisabeth

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #43 on: October 29, 2014, 04:30:57 PM »
Lilac, sorry to hear that you haven't been feeling well.  I'm sure you know this but just wanted to remind you......they (whether family or friends) will lecture and express their feelings/thoughts about us and to us only because they care.  It's when they stop doing this that we should be worried....... because that will mean they stop caring about us and what happens to us.  As you are aware of, they only want the best for us even though we may not agree with them.  Take care, girl!   :)

Thanks, trouble. :)



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SamyElisabeth

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Re: a room of her own
« Reply #44 on: October 29, 2014, 09:59:47 PM »
Dear highway,

Your friendship has been one of the most important things in my life. I don't think I could ever express the depths of how thankful I am that you chose to be my friend. Thank you for listening, for witnessing my grief as well as my happiness, for letting me text you at 3 AM, and most of all, for being there.

Our boats may beat against the current but our anchors will always lead us to a place of comfort and hope.






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