A woman's first blood
doesn't come from between her legs,
but from biting her tongue.
- Meggie C. Royer
My mother was never the typical woman. She is brave, tough iron thoroughly pressed by the lick of flames. She was welded, molded to be the strong woman she is now. I want to be her, but at the same time I do not.
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CHILDHOOD DOTTED WITH BODIES. The picture above is from a war memorial garden I visited during the holidays. I find it ironic, in the sense that in front of such deep, thoughtful, and somber display is a wide array of tourists posing with a smile. The stones looked cold, the flowers smelled like dust. Apparently I cold mourn death I've never known about. It is almost September and I'm mourning the things I've lost.
More specifically, the things I've yet to lose. School and lessons have eaten up so much of my time that I'm left with barely any seconds to spend with the people I should dedicate my life to. It feels odd and disgruntling, like everyday I come back to the home of a stranger. "Burn all your bridges," they said "Then build them again with thicker ropes." But how would I do that when I know things are only about to get worse. I shed tears in the form of acid but still hope for someone to wipe them for me. My hands, as ever, are empty. The fact that they are so indulgent of my frequent breakdowns makes it harder for me to think about not failing them. All the things I've done, everything I've been through, they have always been for them. They can't be for nothing.
I do not work well in silence. Before long, my shoulders would be heavy, and I would feel something dense like a thin layer of wax slowly make itself under my skull, a dull throbbing following it soon. My mind would shut down and lull itself to sleep. Nowadays there are ways to accommodate people like me: Coffitivity (for Cafe or crowd sounds), White Noise, Fireplaces, and of course the playlists at 8tracks. Out of everything though, I like listening to jazz the best. There is some science I do not look upon, but it helps to play soothing and stimulating music while you do work (In my case, school & coursework), and of course my kryptonite would be jazz. Go to my "Contact" page and see a picture of Ella Fitzgerald performing in front of Duke Ellington (my favorite) and Benny Goodman. For the past month, my favorite record to study with would be Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers' "Moanin'." Moanin' is a classic piece, performed by many, even now and frequently used in medleys, but Art Blakey's original recording still carries itself fresh. I do not always believe in the principal that the original versions are always best (look at the recently rebooted Mad Max franchise), but in this case, it really is. The original LP only carries 5 songs, "Moanin'" being the first and longest at nine and a half minutes, but the total run length is 40 and a half minutes, enough for me to do the average practice numbers. Sometimes I find myself humming or tapping the beat of the drums with my pencil onto whatever unfortunate surface it comes onto. For me, optimum study comes when the music surrounds you but not suffocate you. The best case scenario would be playing the songs in your head during tests and finding yourself recalling your studies. But hey, everyone is different. Whichever works, I guess. |
AuthorMaura Adelia, Archives
January 2016
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