Don't let the sun go down on me.

Tora, our family dog was “put down” today, and I cannot help but think of all of the things that I could have done to make her life a little better or to extend it in some way. Anytime I lose someone in my life I immediately spin into a frenzy of what ifs and should haves.

Dealing with death is never a pleasant experience, and everyone has their own way of coping. Some people have their fantasy of heaven and how wonderful they know it will be someday. I envy those people. I truly resent the fact that I was born without the ability to put my faith into a concept as pleasing as heaven. Sadly people like me who don’t necessarily have religion are left to ponder the dark hole that a soul must slip into. I have always despised even allowing the thought of death to enter my head, even as a child, and even when I believed in the possibility of heaven. I never could really imagine heaven or what it would be like. I had my hopeful whimsy of lush vegetation and festivities, but I could never really bring myself to fully buy into to the theory. When I think about death now (as a cynical adult) it scares the living day lights out of me.

Once in a while I accidentally remember how mortal I am and how easily everything can slip away. I think about what it would be like to finally confront those last moments of your life, realizing that you are going to die, and slipping into the pure terror of the unknown…and then…nothing. The thought of not being able to see, hear, touch, or smell anything, and worst of all, not be aware of my lack of awareness is the most treacherous and terrifying thought that my brain can muster up. I think this is why each time I am faced with loss, I immediately feel sick to my stomach and have to force myself to mentally look away and divert my attention to anything else.

I can’t bear becoming even a second older, always knowing that I am coming ever closer to all of the losses I will suffer throughout my life, and then I will dreadfully arrive at my own inevitable demise. Once I am at the bitter end I fear I will still lack the comfort of knowing that there is something, anything that lies beyond my imagination. I know this morbid fear is partly due to my inability to comprehend something that is better than what I already have in front of me.

For all of life’s hardships, disappointments, and frustrations, a majority of what I struggle with is brought on by my own doing, or has been created in the very fabric of the society we live in. Even with all of the bad things, I still have a lot of charming and exquisite people, places, and things in the very life I live.

My walk to school today was the best I have had since moving to Richmond. It felt like the only weather I think could possibly exist in heaven. I didn’t want my walk home to end because the last thing I wanted was to face the reality of going into a building and sitting in front of a computer for several hours. When I experience situations like these, sometimes I think about dying. I wonder if when I am coming close to the end if I will remember walks on beautiful days when I was in college, hanging out with my family and playfully debating and picking on each other’s life choices, and having late night slumber parties with dear old friends who I don’t see often enough. In those final moments I imagine that even admitting defeat and going to work will probably seem just as wonderful…because I was living. I was alive. I could move around, make decisions, and do whatever I wanted. I could staple papers, eat almonds at my desk, and complain over the number of voicemails and emails I had. I could eat a pear on the way to school and then be jealous of all of the personal pan pizzas surrounding me in Anthropology class. I feel like when I am dying anything I did in life will seem like a better option than the one in front of me.

When taking English Literature last semester, one of my favorite poems was “Sailing to Byzantium” by William Butler Yeats. Yeats expresses his disdain for being stuck in a “dying animal,” and how he wished he could thrust his soul from his body and into a piece of art so it could live on and be admired forever:

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

I desperately and hopelessly miss the people I have lost, and I fear for where they are. I hope with every fiber of my being that they are floating around somewhere have the time of their afterlife.

“Frozen here on the ladder of my life”,

-Rosa

You can try to hold the breeze.

Loyalty. I have never been great at it. Anyone who knows me well enough has been there to witness my willingness to cave in the face of choosing one person over another…or worse and impossible…both people at the same time. The timeless code of friendship ethics has always had this rule smack dab at the top of the list: “You are not allowed to be friends with your friend’s ex-whatevers.” Guyfriends and girlfriends alike follow this rule of thumb, and those who break it are scrutinized with disapproval. I have been lucky though. For the few times that I have made these fatal friendship faux pas, I have always had people in my life who eventually try to understand (or at the very least accept) my way of thinking. I always allowed myself the excuse of being defenseless against how deeply I can fall in love with people and the characteristics they possess. For me, being around people is like watching your favorite show or movie. You know the characters well, and you love them for the reliability of their character flaws. Many people in my life, even people I barely know personally, become these characters and inhabit these qualities. For good or for bad, I can love and enjoy who they are.

With all of my loyalty issues my most grave mistake has always been the loyalty I owe to my self. This entire escape to Richmond was supposed to be about being “who I am,” and doing what I want to do, 100%, to my utmost ability. No matter how incredibly selfish that sounds, I felt like I owed it to my self. Since I have been here, there have been many moments where I have mentally and physically stopped myself in my tracks and said, “Slow down, slow down, slow down you fool! Be true to you.” I haven’t even been here a month, and already I can feel the precious time and opportunity slipping through my bone-less little fingers.

The past week has included my first week of classes and my official third week at work. Every single day consists of school, work, school, work, school, work (except for the weekends which I have miraculously been able to weasel away.) Sometimes when I do slow down and try to take things in I have to keep echoing the sentence, “Be true to you,” as corny as that may sound.

I have these little breakdowns throughout the days. Today I was sitting in class and my professor was lecturing on the history of social work as a profession. I wanted to jump out of my seat each time he brought up a new interesting point. I can’t help it!! I am supposed to be listening (always a sore spot with me), but for some reason I just wanted to participate in this lecture like it was a conversation. I am quite capable of restraining myself, which I usually try to do. When we finally got up to the year 2000 my professor posed the question, “Does anyone know what kind of president George W. Bush ran as? What type of conservative did he proclaim himself to be during his campaign?” (So FYI I am insanely obsessed with current affairs and politics, I blame my father for getting me hooked on talk radio as a kid.) As one of the only people who will participate I said, “A fiscal conservative?” “No.” Dr. Schwartz affirmed. For some reason more than one person, possibly two, or dreadfully three… actually laughed. They giggled. At first I thought, well of course they must have been laughing, because of the irony of how George W. Bush turned out to not to be a fiscal conservative. They must have thought I was telling a joke, or that I was being sarcastic. They could not have been giggling at the verbal exchange, my enthusiasm, and then obvious question/answer failure. Just as I got lost in old K-12 nightmares, Dr. Schwartz said, “A compassionate conservative!”

I started to sink in my seat. Had I become that student who over extends their participation requirements? And just as I started cursing myself into oblivion for even opening my mouth I remembered, “Be true to you.”

These things happen to me every day, at work, the gas station, even at home all alone. Once in a while I find myself second guessing the move, the school, the job, and my entire life. But I have made a conscious decision to stay true to myself and grant myself the loyalty that I would not have before.


I will just continue to let life unfold in front of me, and enjoy all of the rascally characters along the way.

Be true to you.
-Rosa

Come on, get happy!

Well not only am I here, but I am doing it. I have been working as the HR Assistant at Nordstrom for the past week and my first day of classes begin tomorrow morning (at 8am.) When I stop moving for a minute or two, which I don’t permit myself to do often because of possible loneliness; I start to think about the past month.

It is hard to believe that thirty days ago I was just recovering from surgery and doing a great job of feeling sorry for myself. It is even more difficult to wrap my mind around the thought that another thirty days before that I was still taking classes at TCC, and anticipating my certain death in the operating room. Life has a funny (but not really very funny) way of whizzing by, yuck! Just thinking about it gives me the creeps. But I can’t get over how fortunate I have been this far.

Truthfully, the most difficult moments have been thinking about Pilly or my family. I know I am only two hours away, and I get off lucky with the level of phone conversation generosity they have bestowed upon me. Sometimes you just have to give in to cliché, because there is a reason there are clichés. You know, the whole “you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone” thing. When I start to feel down I just listen to the cd Pilly made me, it always cheers me up. I think it is because this cd was the only way he was ever going to be able to tell me he understands me and the choices I have made. Not because he couldn’t just say the words, but because getting me to shut up and listen is no easy feat.

Everything is okay though, anytime I feel the first twinge of sadness I stop myself and do something. If it is nighttime I just throw on one of my favorite podcasts or an episode of Sex & the City. No matter how pathetic it sounds, after you really fall in love with a podcast, show, book, etc, it always feels like you are hanging out with a friend. So what if I pretend Rachel Maddow, David Pakman, Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, Charlotte, Hasha and I are a group of friends who just moved to the city? You have your faults too.

During the day it is a lot easier to amuse myself because Hasha and I will take a walk. Yesterday we found a little coin laundry near Grove Avenue. We walked the blocks during laundry cycles. Everyone around me seemed nice, friendly, or at least decent. The people on the street smiled at Hasha and nodded at me. It’s not hard to feel like you belong here.

Even though Richmond is not my home, it just seems that you can be yourself and everyone is okay with it. Even at work…everyone just accepts me. Now of course that doesn’t mean that everyone likes me or wants to be my friend. I don’t really fit in with anyone yet. I always find a way to do my part and be as awkward as possible, yet with all of my blunders(primarily a comical wardrobe) everyone just lets me be me. As long as I keep smiling at everyone I think I am going to be alright.

The one thing that I can’t stand about being here is that I feel like I am not really “living” enough yet. There are so many places to go and things to see. I feel like I should be in a montage with “99 Red Balloons” playing in the background. All the while snapshots of Hasha and I making friends and exploring the city fall one on top of the other. In one picture I unexpectedly get caught in the rain, but I am happy about it and I jump into a puddle.

Oh well. As soon as I replace the batteries in my camera I will write out an “Oath to Richmond and Jessica Rosa,” and I will swear to do a list of amazing things while I am here. Then I really will be “living.” Until then, I will keep sampling.

Keep your powder dry.
-Rosa