I’m on Earth to make my ancestors smile a big smile.
Emeka
I’m not strange, I’m just not normal.
Salvador Dali
The manifestation of hate, anger, guilt, shame, resentment and rage prevent me from getting out of bed, brush my teeth, make coffee, eat and go to work.
Is it possible to call in sick with symptoms of unmotivation, uninspiration, hopelessness and infinite despair? I cry for the loss of a vision; I desperately seek for an immense shift in my thinking and searching sends me into another dimension of tears from exhausted eyes.
I internalize people, places, things and situations and cannot muster the courage to accept, or release the illusion of control. I am undefined; I run away from my thoughts, people and traditions to avoid my inhibitions and insecurities.
I long for deep sleep form the fierce thoughts in my head and seek solace in the darkness. Or the other extreme, days without sleep. I waver from the irresponsibility of my actions. Perhaps, if I do not think about it, it will cease to exist in my periphery.
“Get over it….this will pass…what is wrong with you…” is what I whisper to the reflection or they yell across thousands of miles away on the telephone. For a moment the facade of “it will never happen to me” weakness faltered and I could finally see the deep, lonely ache of complete hopelessness.
I sometimes act like I am strong, but just like everyone else I bleed when I am cut. I have fears and insecurities and I will not ever have all the answers.
You see me as rational
as witty, warm and wise
but underneath the mask I wear
another spirit cries
You see me as a champion
you put your faith in me
but underneath the mask I wear
defeat is all I see
You see me as a survivor
who’s mastered all the pain
but underneath the mask I wear
I think that I’m insane
It cuts like a knife when I’ve given it all
Time is so cruel, yet I was strong in my fall
I didn’t know it because pain wore a mask
And all I gave, received nothing in return
When it is too late, it will be known
All that I am is what’s known as home
Just look at her, they whispered
She thinks she’s so cool cause she lives in the city
Went all cosmopolitan on us
Walks in high heels with head up high
She’s sooo stuck up
Wears lipstick, mascara and blush
Talks with big words
She acts like she’s trying to be ‘qassaq,’ that traitor
One time I saw her in the city, she just ignored me
Just look at them looking at me, she thought
All the girls I went to Headstart with
That was a long time ago
What do we talk about?
Should I tell them about all the dreams I’ve had about home — like the time I was flying across the tundra
Or when my Auntie came to me in my dreams to say good-bye
What would like have been like if I stayed?
Could I move back and try to recapture the village I remember?