Self Portrait

Sticky Fingers

My memory starts with a purple pencil case and green spiral notebook. They sat on the starched white tablecloth most Chinese restaurants provide on their tables, usually ending in a tie-dye of soy sauce and messy chopstick habits. It is winter and I am warm, bundled in a mass of coat and scarf, which will prove to be useful for my plan.

Thinking back now, I didn’t realize that I had schemed this all out before hand. From the moment I heard my family and I were traveling to dim sum breakfast in Chinatown on the coming Sunday, I must have known I was planning to steal the Chung May Food Market’s excellent selection of Chinese candy. I brought along my pencil case and notebook (now really, who needs to draw during a delicious breakfast?) so I must have known I was going to hid the stolen candies within my pencils, a truly perfect plan. I also must have thought my parents would completely and totally disapprove of buying me candy if I had asked them. Being six years old, even considering asking a question that contained “candy” and “have” was inconceivable. But I had to justify my plan somehow. Or maybe I just had to have that candy.

The brilliant red decorations covered the walls and ceilings and floors of the restaurant. Chinese teenagers pushed and pulled the carts of food to each table, letting the customer’s eye each entree before choosing. The fleeting cart pushers weaved in and out of tables dodging and maneuvering their way around. The chaos of it all brought comfort and calm to my body.

My next memory goes straight to the act of the candy isle. My heart started to thump, hopefully muffled by all my layers. The rainbow of colors in the isle danced in my eyes and I stared, mesmerized by the choices I had. The Chinese characters on various candies no long brought confusion, but curiosity and excitement. I loved the prospect of having whatever I wanted, whatever my palette craved. I chose pink tablets in a cylindrical plastic case. The flip top caught my eye and I knew I had to have it. Slipping it into my pencil case, I turn and try to find my family.

I feel accomplished and satisfied though, I had done something wrong, but why did it feel so right?

My next vivid memory begins with my mom’s voice.

“Sarah Bell. Come in here please,” she calls me to. I can hear the sternness in her voice, but don’t connect it to my felony; how could she possibly know? The sixth sense that comes along with being a mother kicks in and ask me to go retrieve the stolen property and bring it to her. As I walk back to my pink-walled room, I can feel like the stares of my judging beanie babies and stuff animals. Their beady eyes follow me as I seek the candy from underneath my pillow. My face turns red with embarrassment and shame. Truly, nothing is ever as easy as it seems. I had never felt this way before; I was so upset and disappointed with myself. Guilt had never stricken me so rigid as it did on the walk from my room to my parents’. I handed my mother the candy. She eyed it, playing with it in her hands. A small part of me so sad because I knew I had barely even begun to start eating it.

They begin to lecture me; this part I can’t remember, but I assume I cried, hoping my tears could bring out the sympathy in their hearts; no such luck.

“Sarah, your father will take you back to the market and you must apologize to them,” my mother tells me. Shame and guilt pass through me faster than I stole that candy and I become completely petrified.

I remember finding myself in front the Chung May Food Market, once again warm in my coat and scarf, although this time, they suffocate me. My eyes tear and I can see the sympathy in my father’s exhale. I feel the awesome task before me, heavy on my mind. I can barely see for the tears are blinding my vision. I walk shakily through, into the dried fish smell, reminding me of the day before. I walk up to the counter, unsure and nervous. I place my stolen candy on the black conveyor belt, not even a breath leaving my mouth.

“Hi,” my dad begins, “My daughter took these yesterday, she just wanted to apologize and I can pay for whatever necessary.” I look up at him, still horrified of what could happen.

“I’m really sorry,” I profess, looking the cashier right in the eyes, sure she is about to yell at me for her face is completely blank.

“Ohkay, ohkay, two dollar thirty cents,” she announces, a blissful smile spread across her face as she rings up my half eaten candy.

LOVERS' INFINITENESS. by John Donne IF yet I have not all thy love, Dear, I shall never have it all ; I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move, Nor can intreat one other tear to fall ; And all my treasure, which should purchase thee, Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters I have spent ; Yet no more can be due to me, Than at the bargain made was meant. If then thy gift of love were partial, That some to me, some should to others fall, Dear, I shall never have thee all. Or if then thou gavest me all, All was but all, which thou hadst then ; But if in thy heart since there be or shall New love created be by other men, Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears, In sighs, in oaths, and letters, outbid me, This new love may beget new fears, For this love was not vow'd by thee. And yet it was, thy gift being general ; The ground, thy heart, is mine ; what ever shall Grow there, dear, I should have it all. Yet I would not have all yet. He that hath all can have no more ; And since my love doth every day admit New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store ; Thou canst not every day give me thy heart, If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it ; Love's riddles are, that though thy heart depart, It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it ; But we will have a way more liberal, Than changing hearts, to join them ; so we shall Be one, and one another's all.

War

Shame and guilt and mostly the angst of tomorrow

Discolored flesh, purple and yellow, dots of deep blood red

I despise hope and any rendering of my sorrow

Water my eyes to sprout thorns from my mouth

You are my villain, my disgust, and my lover

Who are you to tell me I can't beat what I desperately hate

And when I finally throw my rising and falling

heaving and crawling heart into your hands

You carry me gently, absorbing toxic liquid

My heart is breaking. And I am sitting here, reminded of him. Of how I feel and how I am thinking of ending this. It's breaking my heart. I can not stop shedding tears of agony. It burns my face and leaves my eyes stinging. How do I know this is right?

I just, I just want that love. That love that lifts you beyond everything else. But, I want it to stay too. And that just is not happening. I'm cornered and I hate it. I want to be strong. To prove to myself that I am my own person. That I am confident and faithful. But I've also cried ten different times today. So what the fuck do I know.

Collection Of Late Night Thoughts From My Typewriter In 2008 (he wrote them not me...):

march 4 2008
been trying out this thing where i don;t where makeup. it has been going okay. at first my insecurities really took over but im finding a beauty within me i never knew.

being in this eating awareness/body image club has really made me consider my own image. i know i am taller and bigger than most girls but i think for a while i never knew that about my self. i want so much to be small and skinny, to be able to wear what i wish with no concerns or doubts. and i wish i could be confident enough to be a woman other females look up to when they think about their own body. but i am not like that. i am just as self conscious as everyone else and that bothers me. i need to change.


you cocoon me
and wrap me in hope
and love
is it love?
i think so
they say the first time is the best time
but only the covers of my bed know
and feel my heart pounding
im in a cocoon
i cant see the world when i talk
with you
numb
my cheeks are numb from smiling
i need a cocoon to hide the humbling
hopeful
happy
scared?
feelings i have
i want you with me in a cocoon of our own.

holding hands i think
there is something about him i like so much
something about him
i cant find myself about to touch him
but to play with his hand
and maybe to play with his heart

i'm still not open enough to understand
why i cant open myself to others
or to hold their hands
i just want to hold hands with you.

i'm alone
i feel useless
i'm not doing anyone any good


i'm worried im becoming the exact person i hate and i cant seem to stop it. i dont want to be one of those girls that only hangs out with their boyfriends and i dont want to be one of those girls who is anti social and i dont want to be one of those girls that is fake and i dont want to be a sloppy drunk or a bad friend or a friend that fades away. i want to be loyal and trustworthy and fun and interesting but i dont want to be friends wtih the wrong people or be a friend that im not. i want to love everyone and be friends with the people who i like. i dont want to be affected by other peoples thoughts or judgements. i dont want to care what other people think of me but i want to listen to what they have to say. i want to be more open and confident and i dont want to hate everyone at my school or become an outcast and be misunderstood. i want to do what makes me happy but sometimes i dont know what that is. i dont want to regret my high school experience. i dont want to be constanly thinking of the future and make up scenarios i want to happen but will never come true. i want to be able to hold a conversation without coming off as a complete weirdo. i want to understand who i am and why im here. i want to stop being confused. why cant i do all of these things that i want to? why cant i be the person i want to be with feeling bad about it?

Overcast

Populations of waves crowd the
ethereal air above our heads
Micro, mobile, and heat
radioactive, dangerous with potential
are pulsating, pushing, pressing
Like a parasite to a host
There are hopes and endless emotions
All are searching
Vociferously they blather
We all blather
but are never heard
We can swim in the ideas
drown in the worry
race against dreams
all floating, suspended above our heads
depleting the ozone layers
raising the sun
and then dropping it without caution
there are waves in the air
subconciously we emit
without choice or knowledge
sometimes these waves linger on our skin
prickling then tightening its hold
movements are restricted
minds become overcast
and we cannot help but disappear
but sometimes, sometimes
they help us find our eyes and
we can fly.