The Mission District

To Mom -

Mom, please don't grieve over mortality. It's hard enough as it is to live, but I need to see your Will, too. The Will to struggle, to fight, to be. Seeing you try and give up several times growing up has its adverse effect on me, Mommy. You understand when I tell you it's hard, don't you? You understand that my sadness is yours, isn't it?

Sometimes I am lonely. The feeling of being alone is stronger on some days. I try not to let it affect me; I know it is weak because my loneliness stems from nostalgia. For instance, on some days, when I don't have human contact, I am lonely. When I see a black SUV, hear certain songs, laugh with a mother and her children, I am lonely. I'm scared to think too much on my childhood. Memories of your anger, or my father's affection. I don't like remembering lovers, but I've grown up just a little bit more to understand that I am stronger and separate from each of them, no matter how many times I've had to relearn. My loneliness seems likes evidence to my unrefined ability to connect with others; the connection isn't strong enough to bind them to a willingness to simply be, and to live from moment to moment - I succumb to a nostalgia that is stronger than Now. But sometimes, I am overcome with the opportunities of what will come to be. Those are the moments that make me feel hopeful, and I continue to Be, no matter what state that is. I want to be strong enough to hold onto that hopefulness. I don't want to be weak to my memories any more.