Four Posts

(1)

“El amor es nuestra proyección”

Scribbled onto the bottom cusp of a quechua poem, the blue ink drags me alert on this dreary Tuesday morning. Foggy, damp, chilled- all signs show that I should be bundled up in fuzzy socks with my bed dutifully pushing out all the whirs of the World. Mmmm, let’s add a cup of tea there, steaming in my lap.

Regretfully, I come back. And there it is: "love is our projection".

I wonder if he knows I have fallen in love with him. Even if he did know, I’m sure he could not know the moment in which I fell in love, consumed by my own projection. It was just when you pushed those hairs off my forehead all while poking fun at my overly demonstrative demeanor. I so hope you know and share in this projection of ours. I wish to stay on your fingertips.

Paradoxically, of course, I hope that you know all this while I concurrently pray that I will not be the one to say it first. I want it to be known but not said, so that my being in love may stay flawless and fleeting, suspended in our projection.

(2)

Aly Higgins, Filler of Passport Books, Dies at 87

After a long life chasing an insatiable thirst for adventure, Aly Higgins passed away quietly on October 6, 2083. She was found by her upstairs neighbor hours later. The neighbor noted that Higgins held a cup of tea, her legs wrapped up in her favorite quilt.

Higgins spent much of her childhood and young adult life in Colorado. However, she discovered her passion for travel early on; during her senior year of high school, Higgins spent a month traveling to various cities across the island-nation of Indonesia. In the five years that followed, Higgins would trek across all six inhabited continents, leaving footprints in England, South Africa, Bolivia, Chile, Peru, New Zealand, Austria, Turkey, Japan, Australia, Hungary and Argentina. Her pursuit of happiness always seemed to be reflected in her near-obsession with adding stamps to her passport pages.

One of Higgins’ college roommates, who remained in close contact with Higgins over the years, arrived to clear out the apartment. Under a large pile of clothes, the roommate discovered a pile of old notebooks. Assuming the notebooks to be old travel logs (Higgins was an internationally acclaimed travel writer), the roommate read the notebooks as she cleared the closet.

“Honestly, I am so surprised at the contents of her notebooks. This is not what I expected. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to make sense of much of Aly’s writing, but I expected more travel stories… You know, even in college, Aly couldn’t sit still. She always wanted to be somewhere else. Of course, she had close friends, and she was always really good at giving all of us these big philosophical speeches, telling us things like: ‘We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were’ (Didion 6). I appreciated the speeches, but it always seemed like Aly gave these speeches to quiet something within herself, to convince herself of something we could never understand. I loved her, but I could never be sure she really loved me. She always seemed to be dreaming of something bigger that I just couldn’t give her. I remember she was dating one of our good friends, but she left after graduation without pause, not saying anything. So, that’s why I am so surprised at these notebooks. You know what’s in them? It’s thoughts about us, all of us who were a part of Aly’s life at some point. There are just pages of her talking about lots of people. Things she never told us… I can’t believe she couldn’t tell us all this.”

After giving this statement, Higgins’ roommate asked to be alone in the apartment.

Higgins appeared to live much of her life on display; she was known as a chatty traveler, never afraid to share her most embarrassing moments with those around her. She embraced a limited openness- she could be vulnerable in many ways, yet she rarely vocalized her feelings for others. She was content in collecting stamps and experiences. Today, Higgins’ loved ones are left with these notebooks- with many thoughts that were left unsaid.

After a long moment of wistful intimacy, Higgins’ roommate ultimately shared: “‘[You know, these notebooks will never belong to us. Aly has shared a lot here, but I’m sure I don’t understand the half of it. Still, even if we don’t understand her, it’s nice to have her here with us in this small way. I mean, i]t is a good idea … to keep in touch, and I suppose that keeping in touch is what [her] notebooks are all about’” (Didion 6).

The memorial for Higgins- daughter, writer, loved one- will be held this Saturday at her family home.

(3)

Still foggy, damp, chilled, I stumbled into my meeting with my thesis advisor. Dr. Mercado and I are in the midst of our ‘relationship-building’ stage. Much of our conversations up to this point have consisted of me begging him to let me write this superweirdnotreallydevelopedsociologicalthingwritteninbrokenSpanish. Typically, our conversations go something like this:

Aly, frazzled college student: *attempts speaking Spanish and flails hands about in crazed fashion, begs Dr. Mercado to let her write something totally not up to his standards*

Dr. Mercado, immensely intelligent DU professor: *blank stare*

Aly, frazzled college student: *…. um, please?*

Dr. Mercado, immensely intelligent DU professor: *sighs before closing eyes and says, in English, ‘Aly, Imma kill you.*

Aly, frazzled college students: *thinks the use of ‘kill’ is probably a little dramatic but also appreciates this unapologetic bluntness. She continues to babble in broken Spanish.*

Dr. Mercado, immensely intelligent DU professor: *eventually sick of frazzled student’s presence, says a reluctant ‘yes’ to things but then promptly gets his revenge by assigning ridiculous amounts of homework to said frazzled college student.*

So there we have it- the usual state of our ‘relationship-building’. Today, however, we moved a step forward. I am not good at giving compliments, and I often keep much to myself even though I know voicing these compliments would bring happiness to those around me. In this way, I rigidly hold many fronteras. Therefore, I was truly shocked when Dr. Mercado, at the end of all my blabbering, said nothing more than this:

“Estoy orgulloso de tú.”

“I’m proud of you.”

(4)

Dear Mom,

On the eve of my graduation, I cannot sleep. I am having a very cliché night. Of course, before this grand milestone in my life, many memories are flashing before my eyes. I think of things I would have never remembered if it were not for the psychological pressure of this looming milestone.

Tomorrow, you already know that I will graduate with a degree, and we will take so many photos to save this moment (well, really this is a collection of many infinite moments crumpled together). But Mom, did you know that I will also graduate with your biting tongue? You are fierce. You are like biting sunshine- radiant in infinite spaces. You are also soft. You were never afraid to hold me, to shake my tears away, boldly telling them that they had no purpose staying there for long.

I am biting like you; I like to be fierce, like you. But, I wish I were softer like you. I wish I could hold people, resting in collective vulnerability. You always stay; I always fidget. I disappear before getting too close to sharing all of my heart. I see tears fall.

Then, I run away as fast as I can.

Teach me to be soft like you, Mom. Teach me how to hold people. Teach me how to say, “I’m proud of you”. Teach me how to say, “I love you” first. I am graduating tomorrow, and I don’t want to be so in my head anymore, Mom. Teach me to turn inside out.

Mom, I never told you that you are my everything. I never was able to stay still long enough to tell you that the small piece of Universe within me stands in awe of the vast Galaxy you embody. I never told you that your laugh is my compass. I never told you that you always bring me home.

On this eve of my graduation, I must tell you that I wouldn’t be here without you. I am so glad you were never afraid to hold me.

Thank you, Mom. Thank you for everything. Don’t worry, I am getting some sleep now. I am falling asleep to the hope that someday, someday if I work awful hard, I will be soft like you, my biting sunshine.

Love,

Your Daughter