Saturday, December 21, 2013

Il m'aime.

If I were a braver girl than I am, I would tell you just how much I love you. How I have been crushing on you for the past 9 years, waiting for the day when I thought you might return the feelings.

And now that I feel like I can't possibly hold my feelings in any longer, I find I am in the unpleasant situation of being married to someone else. Not to say that I don't love the man I am married to, but that I have so many unresolved feelings for you. Feelings that I was always too much of a coward to go on.

I think back on the e-mails we shared when we first became friends. I remember all the moments we spent together and I think, with painful clarity, that maybe you did have feelings for me at the time, but didn't want to express them since you were so far away. A world away and older than I.

I feel so stupid now. Stuck with feelings I can't seem to get rid of, no matter how much I tell myself I should. And I have countless poems to you, countless feelings written into so many words and I can't tell any of them to you.

Sunday, December 15, 2013

Too Much Credit

You give me too much credit. More credit than I feel I deserve. I try not to argue with you, because I know that you are complimenting me. I know you feel the praise is deserved. I just wish I could see what it is you see in me.
And I wish we could be a bit more than we are. And I wish a great many things.

In the mean time, for today, I'll let you praise as much as you want. I won't argue with you.

I'll say "thank you."

Friday, December 13, 2013

A Gift.

Its hard, Aunt Peggy, to accept a gift.

You told me all the time to just accept it, it wouldn't break you.

Its hard to accept a gift when you feel like you don't deserve it. Like, you are so unworthy of the gift. I want to be able to accept gifts, Aunt Peggy, without any guilt attached like a card on a ribbon.

I wish the gift you had given me was more time with you, instead of learning the lesson  you meant to teach me while you lived. I think I've finally learned though, as hard as that is. Its a lump in my throat, Aunt Peggy.

So I'll stifle the guilt, I'll fake a smile and say thank you. Because maybe that person needs to give the gift. Like you felt you needed to give gifts to me. I knew you loved me without the gifts, Aunt Peggy. I hope you know I loved you too.

Its the same as lying...

I just can't deal with the emotional upheaval you cause me.
If you tell me that you are going to do something, DO IT.
If you aren't going to do something, TELL ME. Don't feed me a fucking line.
Telling me you will and then you turn around and don't is the same as lying to me.

You'd think I'd have learned by now. You'd think I'd know better than to believe you, but I don't apparently. I'm a stupid girl who puts her faith in you over and over and over and over. Far more than I should. Its not just that you let me down. Its not just that you change your mind.

Its that you say one thing, but you do another.
Its that I was looking forward to these things. I had put my hopes into your hands and you threw them on the ground.

And you know, it was your fucking idea in the first place, so I shouldn't be this upset, but goddamn, I was looking forward to it.

You wonder why I don't ask you to do things with me. Go places with me. Etc.

You always bail on me. I can't trust you to follow through with something. There is always an excuse. Always. Sometimes, its a valid one, but more often than not it just comes across as a fucking waste of breath. Don't tell me you are going to do something and then not do it. Don't tell me that you are going to do something and then give me some flimsy excuse later. It isn't fair to me.

And its the same as lying to me.

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Missing kind of Night

Dear Aunt Peggy,
There are not enough letters in the alphabet to express just how much I miss you. How much I want to tell you that I love you and that I am so angry that you died so soon.

I am angry that you just gave up. I am angry that I didn't get to tell you goodbye. I am angry that I couldn't do anything to stop you from going. Mostly, Aunt Peggy, I'm angry at myself.

I'm angry that I didn't visit you more at the end.
I'm angry that I didn't finish the "Indian Princess" story you wanted me to find and finish.
I'm angry that I have failed you.

I wish you were here. I wish I could hug you one more time. I wish I could just have a few more minutes to tell you just how much you mean to me.

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Thanksgiving.

Dear Aunt Peggy,
In another hour it will be the first Thanksgiving I will spend without you. I still miss you more than I could ever express and I wish you were here every minute of every day. I'm STILL waiting for you to call me. I have to stop myself from calling you all the time.

But if I am thankful for one thing, it is that I got to spend as much time with you as I did. I am blessed to have gotten to spend time with you almost every week for 14 years. Even when you drove me absolutely crazy.

I love you, Aunt Peggy. And I miss you like crazy. Happy Thanksgiving.

love,
Sarai.

Saturday, November 23, 2013

In Defense of Short Hair

To the frat boy who seems to think that short hair automatically makes a woman ugly,

In case you haven't looked in the mirror recently, you aren't such a peach yourself.

I promised myself that I wouldn't stoop to your level, because that would be insulting to ME. And my mother used to say "If you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all." However, my mother also taught me to stand up for what I believe is right. So, instead of letting you continue, I'm going to stop you right there and I won't let you finish.

Boys (I wouldn't call you a man, because real MEN don't act the sexist pig) like to claim that sexism doesn't exist. And, if it does, it is most definitely MISANDRY, because Feminists are all man-hating bull dykes who make it impossible for a perfectly nice man to live with his simple pleasures. Feminists come in and ruin a perfectly good party or a perfectly good lay or a perfectly good "dumb blonde" joke because they're ugly and can't get a man.

The funny thing is that the term "feminist" is not limited to women of a homosexual nature. In fact, there are a lot of MEN (there's that word again and, no, it doesn't mean what YOU think it means) and women of varying sexual orientation, skin color and beauty make up the word. You think you can set limits, but in reality, it has to do with a collective conscience. All of us, who are living in the 21st century, realize that NONE of us are EQUAL until ALL of us are EQUAL. Meaning, that women should be able to *gasp* cut their hair, shave or not shave, dress how they want, etc. All things that men have been able to do.

And yes, Misandry does exist! It exists because BOYS believe that MEN can't express any feminine traits without being "gay," "pussy-whipped" or "weak." Misandry exists because BOYS don't know how to be MEN and they live like petulant assholes for the rest of their lives.

So, welcome to the 21st Century. Believe it or not Women can do any of the following:

* Vote
* Have Sex with WHOMEVER THEY PLEASE
* Dress how they want
* CUT THEIR HAIR
* Drive
* Have as many children as they want
* Go where they want
* Read
* Write
* Not shave their legs, privates or under-arms
* Own their own property
* Get a divorce from an asshole who thinks cutting their hair makes them ugly

Sincerely,
The Girl whose Husband helped her cut her hair short, because she wanted it that way, and who is still beautiful despite your stupidity.

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Fighting Racism

Dear Sir,

Originally I would've said that your service was one of the best I've ever been too. And that would be true. I've been in church for most of my life, so I've heard a lot sermons. It is no light compliment to say that it was among the best.

However, the message of your sermon was rendered completely hollow and pointless for me after the comments at dinner after service.

I understand that Mr. P. is not a part of your "flock" and therefore not under your "jurisdiction" so to speak. However, the "joke" he made about our President was not only crass and tasteless, but racist. Being a minister, a speaker for God, you still should have stopped the jokes. And, despite what you said about racism being only aimed at skin color, it was racist toward a different religion as well. One that neither of you know anything about, besides what you've heard in a biased post 9/11 media, I'm sure.

So, here's a bit of a history lesson for you, Islam stems from the same Abrahamic roots as Judaism and Christianity. Islam follows Abraham's other son, Ishmael, as the promised son. Islam is also no more bloody than Christianity and the "terrorists" are such a small percentage of the overall religion as to be likened with "Westboro Baptist Church." The Qur'an, in point of fact, praises Jesus as a prophet of the one true God, Allah, who goes by many different names... Much like Jehovah.

Next point: the Bible says that we are to respect those in authority over us (Romans 13:1-3), as in Government officials. So, whatever President Obama's politics, you are still supposed to honor him as a person placed in authority over you by God. Another verse that comes to mind is "Judge not lest ye be judged." (Matthew 7:1-5) or, if I were to refer to your sermon, "Love one another" (John 13:34-35).

Which brings me to my next point. You said "God is Love." That the only way God could stop being Love would be to stop being God. What is the opposite of Love, sir? I believe that is "Hate." And racism comes from a place of hate. The opposite of God is Satan. The opposite of Love is Hate. Going back to what you said about God is Love, if God is Love then there is no room for hate. And therefore we shouldn't speak words that come from a hate filled place.

Next Point: Racism has almost nothing to do with the color of one's skin. It has to do with preconceived notions and stereotypes. So, being Polish is not the same as being "Polack." And making jokes about someone's intelligence (or lack there of), no matter what you are making the joke about (their hair color, their eye color, etc) is not kind. Nor loving. Please refer to Philippians 4:8.

All of this being said, due to your lack of practicing what you preached, I lost all of the meaning in your message. And all the respect that I had gained for you because of your message.

Sincerely,
Sarai.

Saturday, November 9, 2013

Dear Younger Self,

Dear Younger Self,
Tonight I realized something about us, staring at the loaves of "Sunbeam" bread with "Not by bread alone" on the packaging and the little girl's head bowed in prayer.

Donnie said something then, when I refused to buy that bread and picked up a different brand, that made sense. He said that, in a way, the way we grew up was good for me. In that, it caused me to look at things, question things, develop my own opinions, question why I have those opinions.

It was awful, what we went through. I wouldn't change a moment of it though. Everything we have been through, everything we've done was for a reason.

I have to believe it was for a reason.

The majority of the time, you will like who you are. Even though there is still the underlying self-loathing. Even though you still question your every decision. Even though you wish you could just fix everything and make it perfect.

The trials, the tribulations, etc. I promise they will be worth it. At the very least, I believe they will be worth it.

love,
Me.

Friday, November 8, 2013

Dear Body,

Dear Body,
these lungs you keep trying to destroy are actually a part of YOU! STOP IT!
sincerely,
Breathless in B-Town.

Monday, October 28, 2013

Making the Best of things

Dear Aunt Peggy,
Every day I can't imagine another day without you being here. I know there is nothing I can do to bring you back, but I so desperately wish there was something. Even though you irked me sometimes, even though you made me want to scream in frustration other times, I loved you so much. You've been gone a month and I am still waiting for you to call me and ask what I want for lunch on Monday.

Tonight I tried my hand at making goulash. Its not nearly as good as yours, it never will be. But its a close approximation. One that will have to do while I try to make the best of things without you.

I miss you, Aunt Peggy. I wish you were here. There is so much I want to talk to you about. I send little thought bubbles to you and I hope you get them.

I love you. I miss you. I wish you were still here. I wish you could try my goulash and tell me whether or not you think it is like yours.

love,
Sarai

Thursday, October 3, 2013

De-criminalize the Human Body.

Dear Radio Station [I used to enjoy listening to],
Sad to say that I un-liked your page [on Facebook] today because of comments made about Breast Feeding in public causing people to "lose" their appetite.

Would you like it if you were forced to eat your dinner in a public restroom or a hot car or under a stuffy blanket?

Breasts were intended for the feeding of children and if some people can't be adult enough to handle that a child is hungry, maybe they shouldn't be eating in public.

sincerely,
Sarai.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Your Absence

Your absence has not gone unnoticed. I still miss you every day since you passed. I'm still waiting by the phone, re-listening to your voice-mails, wishing I had asked you to show me how to make goulash, wishing I could tell you about being able to finally eat rice again, wishing the Mondays weren't stretching out before me in weeks, months and years.

I am still feeling the pain of your loss. I am still waiting for you to call me, feeling guilty for not having called that last week you were here, wishing I could do it all over, wanting to see you again.

I know it sounds selfish to other people. They must not understand what its like to not be able to breath, because you feel like someone just kicked you in the ribs. They must not understand what its like to crumple to the ground, because you suddenly don't know how to stand. They must not understand what its like to lose someone that you believed, foolishly, would live forever.

I want you back. I want you here. I want you to annoy me by constantly calling. I want you to tell the TV people that they don't know what they're talking about. I want you to do that funny little dance you would do whenever you were getting up to go do something. I want to be in your too hot house while you grumble about all the cooking you have to get done.

I want you back, because I'm looking at a calendar full of empty Mondays and I just don't know what to do without you. And they say these things fade with time, but I don't think it will. I don't think I'll ever get over this.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

On Monday

Dear Aunt Peggy,
I keep expecting you to call, even though I know you're not going to. I keep expecting you to leave me a voicemail message, saying, you know, "what do you want for lunch on Monday?" And I keep thinking "what am I even going to do on Monday?"

I've had a lot of suggestions.

"Well, you could always catch up on all your reading." or...
"I'm sure you'll come up with something, you have plenty of time." and...
"What will you do on Monday?"

My answer is, I don't know.

What will I do on Monday, Aunt Peggy?

You're not going to be there and I keep thinking, "man, I kept putting off cleaning those pictures for you. And, man, I kept putting off going and seeing you there at the end. And, man, I did a lot of putting off didn't I?"

And then I keep thinking you never broke any promises to me before now. In one fell swoop, you broke several.

I don't have a picture of you. Besides the one I took on my phone when you weren't paying attention. Can't see your face.

And you broke your promise that you would live to 100, 'cause we still had seventeen more years to go.

And, you know, broken promises. I'm not angry at you. I just wish you'd been able to keep them.

But I keep thinking that you had the spaghetti and meatballs all ready. And that you were so excited we were going to have spaghetti and meatballs because we hadn't had it in a long time.

And I keep coming back to "what am I going to do on Monday?"

Because we're not going to get to share our McDonald's cup of coffee anymore.
And we're not going to get to eat goulash together anymore.
And we're not going to get to rant at Pat Robertson anymore.
And we're not going to get to do any of those things anymore.

So, what am I going to do on Monday, Aunt Peggy?

What am I going to do on Monday?

I thought maybe I'd still come and share a cup of coffee with you.
And maybe I'll bring my books and I'll bring a blanket to sit on so I don't get grass stains all over my rear.
And maybe I'll go and buy a chocolate soda.
And maybe I'll figure out how to make goulash on my own.
And maybe I'll use those potholders that you gave me.
I'll put up all the knick-knacks you gave me.
There's a lot of maybe's.

But Aunt Peggy, I'd much rather be with you. I'd much rather actually be getting to see you than wondering what it is I'm going to do.

Who am I going to watch "The Price is Right" with?
Who am I going to banter with about who pays for what?
Whose going to make me ham salad even though I don't eat pork? But I eat it anyway because you made it. The only time I ate pork for a really long time.
Whose going to worry about me while I'm off gallivanting in DC and whose going to ask me what "erectile dysfunction" means and whose going to ask me all these questions I don't know how to answer?

Its not fair, Aunt Peggy.
I love you.
I miss you.
I'm sorry I didn't come and see you at the end.
I'm sorry.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Miley Cyrus.

Dear Miley Cyrus,
I don't care how you dress, how you sing or how you act.
If you want to grind, twerk, hump, etc. go for it! You are an adult and are allowed to do what you will. Its your life, do what you want to.
You are right, only God can judge you. Whilst I can say those wouldn't be my choices, its not MY life.
So, this has been to say that I feel you shouldn't be attacked for doing what you want. Or dressing how you did. Trying to guilt you into being someone other than yourself is wrong and I refuse to partake in that.
sincerely,
Sarah.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

30 in a 50

Dear gentleman in front of me who went 30mph in a 55mph zone,
Thank you.

Honestly, thank you. You gave me a moment to let all the emotional craziness settle, a moment to just enjoy the nature around me. I wasn't even angry that you were going so slowly. I feel like I haven't really breathed in days and you gave me an opportunity to do just that; breathe.

Truly, I appreciate it more than you'll ever know.

sincerely,
Sarai

Sunday, August 11, 2013

With love to Russia

My darling Russia,
next to the United States you have been my biggest supporter on my blog(s). And, truly, it isn't your fault that Vladimir Putin is such a jerk-face that he has now relegated Homosexual/Bisexual/Transgendered people into a myth that Christians tell to frighten their children into submission.

Be brave, sweetheart. The world is changing. We are the ocean and we are shifting. Take heart in that there are those of us who believe in LOVE, no matter WHO you love or WHY. Be brave because one day there will be people, like Mr. Putin, who are no longer taken seriously and are merely ignored. I don't know when that day will come, but it WILL.

In the meantime, I still love you, dear Russia. And I still can't wait to visit you someday.

with much love,
Sarai

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Dear Pat Robertson,

Dear Pat Robertson,
Its not very often that you have the power to so completely shut down my mental capacities that it takes me this long to recover. But boy, have you really outdone yourself this time!

On your worst days you are ranting about how there needs to be a "vomit" button on Facebook so you can click it any time you see homosexuals kissing or how Haiti has supposedly made a pact with the Devil. And let's not forget your comment on Feminism: "a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians."

I could spend a decade writing about just how WRONG you are on SO many topics, but today is not that decade.

However, this time I'm going to talk about something you said that actually made me... move toward tolerating you. However, I'm very confused. VERY confused.

"I think there are men who are in a woman's body," he said. "It's very rare. But it's true -- or women that are in men's bodies -- and that they want a sex change. That is a very permanent thing, believe me, when you have certain body parts amputated and when you have shot up with various kinds of hormones. It's a radical procedure. I don't think there's any sin associated with that. I don't condemn somebody for doing that." (huffington post)

Wait... Did you just say it was okay to be transgendered?!

 Hell just seriously froze over. Satan's ass is getting freezer burn right now.

The thing I don't understand is this: You are so grossly homophobic and like to back it up with outdated verses from an outdated book, but you are cool with a woman becoming a man or a man becoming a woman?

Wouldn't that go directly against your beliefs? I mean, God makes no mistakes right? So why was this person born a man when they were supposed to be a woman? Wouldn't that IMPLY that God isn't as perfect as we are led to believe?

And if a woman is born a man, but becomes a woman and has sex with men, wouldn't that make her a homosexual? I mean, she was born a MAN and she has sex with MEN. Doesn't that kind of spit in your belief pudding?

And I'm not knocking anyone who is transgendered. I still feel like a man trapped in a woman's body and it has been a big struggle for me to determine if I can be happy as I am (as a woman) or if I want to change my body. I am actually really glad you said something like that, because it gives me a small (VERY SMALL) bubble of hope for the human race as a whole.

I just have one really serious question for you: Are you on drugs?

sincerely,
Sarai

Monday, June 17, 2013

Confliction

Dear ____,
I'm so conflicted when it comes to you. As if anyone was unconvinced of that by now.

Its just that when you start talking sweet, talking about Jupiter's 27th moon, or making me blush with sex references, I want to call you sweet names. Like honey, or baby, or darling. I want to hold your hand. I want to kiss you.

But I don't!

I want to be your friend without any romantic entanglements to ruin it. Which is why I don't call you sweet names. Which is why I will never hold your hand or kiss you. Which is why I'll stay with my husband. Because I do love him. I just love you too.

And you make jokes about us; all three of us, and I wonder if you know how much I wish that was the way the world worked!

I'm terrified that I'll lose you again, somewhere in the abyss of memory and our friendship will be ruined because I can't stop my heart from leaping every time you message me.

Sunday, June 9, 2013

The existence of Children.

Dear ____,
I want to snuggle you. I want to tell you I love you. I even, I hesitate to say, want to have children with you. You are such a beautiful person, inside and out. You are sweet and kind and sometimes you are just what I need.

I can't shake the image of a little girl, our little girl, cuddled up with you reading a story. I think you would be a wonderful father. And I hope, one day, that you find the woman to make you a father. I wish it could be me.

I love you. I love you so much, but I love ______ too. And I can't just stop that. I can't just give up on him. And I know this isn't going to be the beginnings of a polyamorous relationship, because I'm pretty sure I'm the only one here who would be cool with that.

I love too much. I think too much. I wish too much.

I just can't stop seeing a little girl with curly hair and a bow, curled up in your lap while you read to her. And I can't stop the butterflies I get when I think of that image. The longing I have to make that a reality and not just my imagination.

You said sexy was in the eye of the beholder and that I had every potential to be a mother. How would you react if I told you that I want to be a mother? That I want to be the mother of your daughter? I want to believe that you would want the same thing. I want to believe that you would find me attractive... dare I say, sexy?

In the meantime, I daydream and feel guilty and worried. I don't want to harm our friendship. And I don't want to lose ______ either.

Maybe in the next life, I'll find you sooner.

Thursday, June 6, 2013

A God Complex

Dear God,
My mother wonders why you and I aren't on speaking terms. She wonders why I no longer believe in you. It's obvious to everyone that I wanted to. I've tried to.

The reason, God, is that I can't trust you. It all comes down to that, really. I can't trust you to be the "loving" and "benevolent" God people claim you are. I can't trust the God of the Bible. I can't trust in you at all.

You don't wonder why, because you are omnipotent, or so they say. But in case there is any confusion, I'll spell it out for you.

When I was a little girl I was molested by a friend. A girl friend. And I realized that I liked girls. I was intrigued by the idea of a vagina and breasts. I wanted to touch and caress and prod these things. I wanted to learn more about them. I wanted to be sexual with these body parts, even though I had no idea what that meant, because I was far too young to know what sex was.

I wasn't completely naive. I realized, quite quickly that being with girls, while being a girl, was very wrong and that I shouldn't be having those feelings. So I prayed that you would make me a man. I asked you to make me a man, because then I could be with a woman and you wouldn't hate me. I could speak in Church, be a pastor, do anything I wanted to; if I were a man. I developed the worst kind of penis envy.

As I got a little older, I realized that becoming a man would actually make you hate me as well, because I would be changing the person you had made. The person you created would be altered and, in reality, I would still be a woman sleeping with a woman. And then there was the pesky problem of my attraction to men as well.

If you created me, then am I not perfect as I am?

The other reason I can't trust you, God, is because of ___. You allowed him into our lives. You allowed him to abuse us. You allowed him to break us. You allowed that. You didn't have to. You didn't have to stand by and just watch. You could've saved us, because you are all powerful, are you not?

Instead, we were beaten, starved, abused, etc. for fifteen years. FIFTEEN YEARS, God. Are you listening? FIFTEEN. Not two or three. FIFTEEN. My mother believed you wanted us to be there. That you brought him to us. That you are good and know everything. You had a reason, a purpose.

What kind of purpose did you have?

What possible purpose could you have, allowing a tyrant to belittle, berate, beat and abuse two small children? What reason is there for that?

What greater purpose was served while my brother screamed for mercy? While he cried out to YOU? What greater purpose was served there, God?

You allowed men into our lives. Men who claimed to be of you. You allowed them to play puppeteer with the tyrant you had already given us. You allowed cruelties that still give me nightmares.

___ used to say that you were a gentleman. That you allowed everything to happen because it had to happen to make us who we are. He would say that while he made excuses for his abuses. He was abused, so he didn't know any better. His sexuality was damaged by his parents, so it was okay to damage mine and my brother's. He was damaged, so that gave him the right to continue the damage. He made excuses for everything, even for you.

Yes, I'm angry. I'm an atheist because I am angry. Because I have lost all the belief I ever had in you.

Can you blame me?

Monday, June 3, 2013

Mon frère

Mon frère,
I am sorry. I am sorry that I didn't protect you from ___. I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you from _______ or ___. I am sorry that I let my own fears prevent me from being strong when you needed strength the most. I am sorry I didn't rescue you and that because of my weakness you were so damaged by someone who should've protected us.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry that saying it over and over isn't enough and that it won't undo all the damage that has been done.

I feel so guilty. I hear you screaming in my nightmares. I hear you crying out to God for mercy, even though I cover my ears and I run as far as I can. I can still hear it. I hear it all the time. How could anyone not understand your lack of faith in a God so cruel that he allowed such abuses to continue? That men who claimed to be from him would prescribe such cruelty?

I see your poor little burnt fingers. I see your tears and your anguish, staring at a plate of vegetables from last week. I hear your stomach growling because you've not eaten in two days. You eye the cabinets and the refrigerator, all padlocked to prevent you from eating until you've eaten those withered vegetables. How could anyone not understand your revulsion? How could anyone question?

Even when I stuck up for you, even when I tried to protect you, I failed. I failed miserably. He still tortured you. He still hurt you and I still hear you screaming when I close my eyes.

How could we believe in a God that would allow such horrors? How could we trust ever again, when the person we had trusted the most abused us?

I am sorry that ___ believed he had to be the dominant one, the alpha male. I'm sorry that I was incapable of protecting you, when I should've fought with tooth and nail. I remember being so scared for you and so scared that I, too, would be punished so severely. That I would be starved. Weren't we all starved anyway? Starved of love as well as food. I was too scared. I was a coward.

I'm still a coward. I can't stand up to him. Even now I can't protect any of us from him. I'm so sorry, mon frère. I'm sorry that saying "I'm sorry" is never going to be enough to undo the damage, to stop the hurt and the nightmares. I'm sorry that I've never been strong enough to protect you.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Pomegranate

To my dearest Pom Pomme Pomegranate,

This is an exciting, and terrifying, time in your life. You have finally found a man you really and truly love. You are embarking on a grand journey, an adventure, because it is time. Your time, not anyone else's. It is time to rise up to the challenges that are waiting (ooo, that sounded like a fortune cookie fortune, maybe I should send that in?).

Seriously though, even if you are a Gumiho and you have already given your precious bead away, I will always love you. However, I'm not a rich person so I can't afford to buy all that beef.

I want you to know that I am always here for you, no matter what happens. No matter what you do. Even if you aren't my real daughter, you are my kid. You always have been (even when we were legally separated) and you always will be (however, I get to keep Lee Jun Ki in the event of a divorce).

No matter what anyone says, honey, you are an AMAZING and WONDERFUL and BEAUTIFUL human being. You are childish at times, but you are mature in a lot of ways. Even if I get frustrated with something you do, I want you to know that I will always love you.

You can do anything you want! (Okay somethings you can't do, but damn it you can sure as hell try!) Who cares if you are a size 0? Who cares if you sometimes trip over your English (which is fucking adorable, by the way)? You are amazing because of what is inside you! And who cares for just the exterior? You can wrap shit in a bow and make it look pretty, doesn't make it pretty. Luckily, you are gorgeous, inside and out.

I'll stop, I know you are going to start crying in a minute. But my God, you are such a great kid. I am the luckiest Umma ever. Really! I can't imagine my life without you in it. You make me smile, even if I am feeling down. And I'm glad I've been able to do that for you too!

Fighting, ai!

lovers,
Umma

To my non-existent daughter.

My darling,
I am writing this so that one day, in-between the pages of a favorite book, you will read it and know just how much I love you.

As of yet, you have not been created. That isn't to say that you won't, one day, come into existence, but for now you are a sparkle in my imagination.

Sometimes I imagine what you will look like. Will you have my curly hair? Will you have my father's chin and flat feet? Will you look like your father?

The majority of the time, however, I wonder how I would raise you. Would I do a good job? Would I be a good enough mother to you? Would you grow up believing the things I always wanted to believe?

If I were lucky enough to have a daughter, I would tell you that you are beautiful, every day. Well, I'd at least try to tell you that you were beautiful every day. I know what it was like to want to hear that you were beautiful and the feelings when the words never came. Most of all, I want to tell you that you are beautiful because I want you to believe it. I want you to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you are one of the most beautiful people ever born and no one can make you feel less than that.

I would read to you. I would want you to read and write and explore the world around you. I would want you to believe in Re-incarnation and the mythological gods. I would want you to believe that every story has a happy ending, even though it sometimes doesn't. I will teach you that life isn't always kind, that it will often be crueler than you can even imagine, but I still want you to believe that it is worth the living. I want you to believe that there is a happy ending waiting for you.

I would teach you that men can be liars, cruel and heartless. I would teach you that women can be conniving, heartless and backstabbing. I would teach you that men can be gentle, kind and caring. I would teach you that women can be confidantes, loving and supportive. There are two sides to every coin, sweetheart, there is good and bad in everyone.

I would want your father to be a part of your life, as mine wasn't in mine. I wouldn't want you to have the same insecurities about yourself that I had because I believed my father had abandoned me. I would want a good relationship with him, even if we weren't together, so that you would grow up knowing what a real relationship looks like.

I would teach you that even though your virginity is precious, that you are not a failure if it is given to the wrong person. I never want you to regret. Though you will do things in life that you'll wish you hadn't. That includes sexually. I want you to be able to talk to me about your sex life. Your concerns, your fears, your desires. I want you to be uninhibited. I want you to be whomever you will be.

I want you to love more than you hate. I want you to strongly dislike, never hate. I want you to make friends and travel and wish on stars. I want you to be brilliant, I know you will be. You are perfect. You will always be perfect, even if you fail. Even if you feel that your shine has been dimmed. You will always be the most amazing person to me.

I would expose you to all different types of music. I want you to be well-rounded. I want you to be eclectic like I am. I want you to find the beauty in everything, even when no one else can.

I have such high hopes and dreams for you, dear one. But I don't want you to live them out for my sake. I may have dreams for you, but I want you to have dreams of your own. If you don't want to be a doctor or an astronaut, I will support you, no matter what.

I want you to feel comfortable in your body. I want you to do whatever you want to your hair. I want you to pierce your nose and your ears and I want you to talk to me about tattoos. I want you to love someone as much I love you, as much as I love your father.

I want you to be politically active, never just accept something because someone says so. I want you to fight with me on things. I want you to argue your points. I want to be friends with you, while at the same time still being your mother.

I want you to grow up believing that you are beautiful and intelligent. And you don't need a relationship to make you happy. You don't have to have the latest everything to make you smile. I want you to be content with sunsets and the smell of hyacinths and the way the ocean looks after it rains. I want you to be perfectly imperfect and imperfectly perfect. I want you to be YOU.

I love you darling. I love you so much and I hope that one day, I am able to share these dreams with you and that you find this tucked away in your favorite book.

love,
Mommy.

Saturday, May 18, 2013

Wilted

Dear ____,
I believe you could never love me because you will never truly know me. I can't let you know me. I put up all the walls, even though I want to tear them down.

I do this with everyone. I want you to hate me because I'm not worthy of your love. But it would kill me if you hated me. I push you away, but I want you to be with me. I want you to love me, in spite of myself. In spite of my crushing self-esteem issues. In spite of my everything.

I want you. I want YOU.

And I don't.

I want to be taken, as I am. I want it to be time for my dreams, my hopes, my desires.

I want this lifetime to be rich with experience. I want it to be sated like a satisfied lover. I want to give you my everything.

And I don't want you.

I want the idea of you. I want the ____ I have created in my mind. The one who has grown out of childish desire and teenaged fantasies of semi-better times. I want to be more to you than I am because it would be a fulfillment of sorts. A way to be more than I am.

You want someone strong. Strong enough to counter-balance your weak moments. I am too weak. I am too fragile to even hold. I fly to pieces at the slightest jab. No. That isn't true. I bear up rather nicely in public. I bear up under a lot of pressure. Even though I feel my legs weakening. Even though I feel my everything weakening.

I'm not perfect. And I want to be. I want to be perfect for you. Even though I don't want to be perfect for anyone but myself.

You make me shine. Shine and wilt. Wilting, wilting, wilted.

That's all it takes. You shine and I long to shine too and I wilt instead.

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Letting it get to You.

Dear _____,
This is ridiculous. You aren't a bad writer. You aren't "unabashedly unreadable" (which makes no sense, as I mentioned before). You need to work on your grammar and your spelling. There are a few kinks to the story, but it is a GOOD story. I wouldn't agree to help you with it if I didn't believe in its potential!

You need to take a step back and look at this. Think about this.

Do you really want to write?
Do you enjoy writing?
Is it something you want to do with your life?

If you answered yes to all three of those questions than you need to know that it is an uphill battle. You have to fight for what you want. It isn't just handed to you. If you want to write, DO IT! Don't let someone else's opinion change your desires. Don't let someone else dictate what you want to do! Work for it. Fight for it. DO IT!

Its ridiculous to suddenly just stop and say "I'm not doing this anymore."

You are acting like a child. Stop it. You are better than that! You are an intelligent and creative human being and it is demeaning to yourself to act this way.

If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't say these things. I would hate to see a bright star diminished just because he isn't appreciated by a couple of people. That's beneath you.

If you want someone to stand next to you on the uphill battle, I'm there. I'm willing, and able, to help you with your writing. I'm willing to help with grammar and spelling. Those are things I enjoy and I'm more than happy to help you with them. I am willing to be a test reader. I will be honest with you!

Don't give up. I have really enjoyed this story so far and I would hate for it to end before its even been properly finished.

sincerely, and with much love,
Sarai

Monday, May 13, 2013

I Stumble sometimes...

Dear StumbleUpon,
You are amazing. Wonderful. Fabulous, even. However, I have the feeling you are going to be the death of me. Well, that you'll cause the death of my relationship with Sleep. You see, Sleep suspects that you are doing stuff to keep us apart... And I have to agree. You've been showing me an awful lot of AMAZING stuff recently. You aren't jealous are you?
As a side note the following blew my mind:


www.learning-mind.com/10-mind-blowing-theories-that-will-change-your-perception-of-the-world/
 

I love you, StumbleUpon. Please don't make me choose between you and Sleep.
love,
Sarah

Friday, May 10, 2013

A dream away

Dear attractive figment of my imagination/dream consciousness,
I appreciate that you tried to give me $60.08 for a guitar. You are probably right, I need more guitar in my life. I could probably stand to learn to play. I would love to, in fact. Is this your way of telling me I need to do more of what I dream of doing? If so, maybe you should've given me a couple thousand for a motorcycle too.

What I am confused on, however, is why you suddenly became a leprechaun type creature before getting mutilated by zombies... And why that was somehow recorded into reality so that I could re-wind and not really save you. My confusion mounted as you turned into a lovely origami Chinese dragon which then got torn up by the zombies.

My kisses on your little origami dragon head somehow helped, I'm not sure why. But then you turned into an even bigger origami dragon and flew away leaving me wondering what I was going to do with the $0.08 you gave me when Guitars are so much more than $60 and some change...
In short, maybe its time you settled down. Hm?

love,
Sarah

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

A Liar, by any other name.

Dear ___,
Its fitting that you changed your name to Jacob.

Especially since it means "liar." You've spent your whole life telling lies, being hypocritical, two faced, etc. Its fitting that Jacob lied and stole from his own family. You lied about your love. You stole my youth, stole my everything.

You had Leah, a perfectly good wife, and you still kept lusting after a Rachel. Oh you were faithful, faithful in that you didn't have sex with another woman. But you were never faithful in your heart.

You believed you would be the father of nations, a king to rule. And then my mother turned out to be a Rachel in a baby sense. Unable to carry five children to term. And you stood in that pulpit, crying, mourning as if you were the only one affected by the loss. You act as if you are the only one who has ever been abused or hurt.

You talk about how your mother and father harmed your psyche (a word I'm sure you don't know how to spell or even pronounce), your "manhood," your sexuality.

What about my womanhood? My sexuality? Or _____'s manhood and sexuality? What about ______? Did it ever occur to you that you have damaged us in more ways than your parents ever damaged you?

You make excuses, hide behind your terrible childhood, adolescence.
"I was abused." You abused us.
"I was damaged." You damaged us.

Why don't you be a fucking man and own up to your mistakes? Why don't you stop whining and boo hooing?

"Oh, poor Jacob." Oh, poor you! Stop hiding behind your pathetic excuses and be a real man.

If I were a man, I would fight you. I would say all of these things to your face, because you are a coward. You will bow out. A man so deep in the closet because he hates what he doesn't understand. I wish I could make you see.

I wish I could shove your nose in all the shit you forced on us. All the pain, the heartache, the heartbreak. I wish I could force you to look at yourself and see.

Wishes are useless, however.

In the end I am left marveling at the irony of your choice in name. "Jacob hath I loved," said God. So you imagine yourself beloved by heaven. Jacob is a liar and a thief. How fitting that a "jealous" and "angry" God would love a liar like you.

In "loveing" memory.

Dear Jerk in front of me who glared as he passed,
You spelled "loving" wrong on your "In loving memory" sticker.
It's "loving" not "loveing."
sincerely,
Me.

Monday, April 15, 2013

Impossible

Dear ___,
You have made it terribly difficult to trust. You have made it impossible to not question, not fear, not loathe. You brought this side of me to life.

Did you hate me the entire time? Or is it just now? I can't believe anything you say. You are a liar. A pathological pervert.

Did you touch me? Did you do something to me? Those nights, when I woke up and discovered that my night-shirt had been unbuttoned and pushed to the sides, was that you?

What is this hatred that you have kindled inside of me? What am I?

I am so sick of myself. So sick of men. So sick of YOU. I can think of innumerable things I'd rather do than see you again. I can imagine numerous horrors I'd rather face than you. And you have always had the audacity to try and force your way back into my heart.

You are a worm. Lower than a worm. You disgust me. You frighten me. You make me sick. You force me to look back on our lives and see the torture marks. The scars you have left still bleed periodically. Even if you pretend they don't exist. Its almost funny, you denying all the pain you caused. Its almost humorous. Almost.

I think of our days together. I think of those times. You are a poison and I'm pushing my veins full of anti-venom. I'm trying to flush you out of my system and I can't do it. I can't rid my heart of your taproot. It is stupid that you can still make me feel like this still.

You made flying an impossibility. You dragged me out of the sky and staked me to the ground. You banished me to the darkness, left me to wither without the sun. You made love a risk. You made living a hazard. You sank all the dreams, tied me down with weights so that I would drown.

You clipped my wings so that I'd have no desire to leave the earth. Does it bother you that they have grown back?

To my unborn daughter/son

Note: I am not pregnant, nor do I foresee myself being pregnant in the near or distant future, but if I ever had children this what I would say to them.

To my dear daughter/son,
The world is an odd place, dear one. It will infuriate you, dazzle you, sadden you and hurt you. It will be cruel, conniving and flippant. And it will be beautiful, sweet and constant. You've been born into a world of contrasts dear one. It is a world of contradictions. Life is a contradiction. But it is worth it. Even if it is painful.

I want you to have the same passion for life that I do. I want you to embrace the world and all its contradictions. I want you to be willing to learn, willing to make mistakes and fall down. I want you to have a thirst for knowledge, a desire to learn, a hunger for anything new and different.

I want you to be respectful of other people's differences. I want you to experience all there is so that you can best decide who you want to be. I want you to be whatever you want to be! I want you to experiment and not be afraid to explore. I want you to kiss the lips of gods on pedestals, I want you to soar.

Most of all, my love, I want you to know how much your mother loves you. I love you more than life itself. More than all the stars in the sky. And I want to teach you how to say I love you and mean it, not just because someone else says it to you. I want you to speak elegantly, plainly, respectfully. I want you to mean what you say and say what you mean, no matter what anyone else says those are two different things.

I want you to know that you will never be merely pretty or merely handsome. You will be intelligent, you will be amazing, you will be creative, you will be passionate. You will be beautiful, inside and out no matter what anyone says. And I'm not just saying that because I am your mother.

I want you to be comfortable in your own skin. You only get one body in this lifetime. Be kind to it. Don't abuse it like I did. Love it, cherish it, make it something you are proud of. Be proud of yourself! Love who you are! Cut your hair, don't shave your legs, get tattoos or pierce your nose. Its YOUR body! Be comfortable in it. Embrace who you are and don't let anyone else say you aren't beautiful.

When the time comes, I want you to be comfortable enough to come to me before you give your body to someone else. I promise not to judge you. I promise to tell you the truth. I promise to not spare your feelings if I feel you are making a poor decision. And I promise to do it with love. I promise to always love you, no matter who you give yourself to. I promise to accept whoever you are. I promise to stand behind you when you truly believe in something and even when you don't.

Most of all, dear one, I promise to be here for you, no matter what. Because I love you and I will always love you. No matter what you do or where you go. I will adore, cherish and love you. More than love you, though there is no word to describe it.

Love,
Your mother, Sarai. 

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Dear Mom,

Dear Mom,
Over the years, I have thought of many things I would like to say to you. Some of them kind and full of love, some of hurt and some of anger. There are so many things that I don't even know where to begin. I suppose I'll start somewhere and go from there.

It hurt my feelings when you told me that I needed to give up my "whimsical attraction to other women." It isn't whimsy, Mom. I am genuinely attracted to other women in a sexual manner. I can't change who I am, and I'm not sure I would want to. I suppose in my mind I thought it would be easy for you to accept me. Uncle Dick, Aunt Janice, Aunt Becky and Uncle Kevin are all homosexual. The statistic in our family is 1 in 3 is homosexual. Somehow I thought that would make you more accepting of my own sexual proclivities. I suppose I shouldn't have assumed that just because we have that statistic that you would be accepting. After all, your grandmothers never came to terms with it either.

It hurts that you are gone so much lately. I feel like I never really get to see you or talk to you. And I feel like when we do hang out you are mad at me. I feel sometimes like you just use me to take care of Chris when you aren't there and that is both annoying and angering.

I'm mad that you stayed married to W. as long as you did. I suppose it's time to admit that. I know you kept clinging to the belief that God gave him to you and I know you keep saying I need to stop being mad at God for it. But if God gave W. to us and God is omnipotent, then God is cruel. He knew what W. was going to do long before he did it. He knew that he was going to starve Chris and beat us. He knew that W. was going to take advantage of you. He knew that W. was going to take advantage of me. He knew W. was going to try to turn Hannah against us. And that he would mostly succeed. But you stayed. And I know you loved him, I know you thought it was somehow God's plan.

I'm not angry that you couldn't defend us anymore. It wouldn't have mattered. W. was going to do what he would, regardless of your intervention. He would have just shamed us into not telling you anyway.

There were good times, though Mom. I do remember some of the good points. Like learning to play chess and trips to the Children's Museum. Learning about Sacajawea and Corrie Ten Boom and heroes of the Bible. There were fishing trips and moments where I felt really close to you. I feel closer to you now than I did then.

I was afraid to be close to you. I was afraid you would die, especially after your massive miscarriage. I was afraid that if I cared more than I already did you would die and I'd be all alone. Sometimes I still feel that way. I'm afraid to love you because I know it will hurt more than anything when you are gone. And we all go at some point or another. I couldn't stand to see you deteriorate the way Grandma Bobbi did. I just couldn't.

I still feel lingering guilt from some of the thoughts I had when I was younger. Thoughts that if you, Chris and Hannah all died that you would all be better off because things were so terrible for a while there. I felt like a terrible daughter and sister because I wanted you to be gone so that you wouldn't suffer. But at the same time I couldn't imagine losing you. And I was afraid to lose you. I'm still afraid to lose you.

You're my best friend, Mom. In spite of hurt feelings and anger and fear. In spite of all that, I can't imagine what it would be like to not have you. And I can't imagine not talking to you on the phone for silly reasons or going to O'Charley's all the time. Or sharing some of my random music with you.

I suppose all of this has just been supposition to say, I love you Mom. More than any other human being on this earth. More than I could ever fully express. And even though you have hurt my feelings and pissed me off, I wouldn't be the person I am today without you. And, most of the time, I'm pretty happy with the person I am. Bisexuality, hatred for God and religion, lack of forgiveness for W., currently divergent political views and all.

love,
Sarai

Thursday, March 14, 2013

To the Edward Cullen in my life.

Dear Stephen,

Sometimes when I think about you I feel a bubble of the attraction and affection I had for you. Other times I wish I had succeeded in killing myself so that I wouldn't have to think about you anymore. That may seem very drastic, partially because it is. I should've never gone with you. I knew it was wrong from the beginning. I knew it wouldn't last.

I wanted to want you. I wanted you to want me. It was stupid and ridiculously impetuous of me.

Eight years my senior, a convicted child molester, on probation for said child molestation, divorced, need I go on? You were all kinds of wrong; for me and in general. You made me crazy though, crazy aroused and crazy "in love." I drew blood while we were broken up, because I couldn't take the explosion of feelings bursting out of me.

I listened to those dark lyrics in those Kelly Clarkson songs because they fit "us."

Can you believe it has been  seven years? Can you believe that I was willing to marry you?

Shall we start from the beginning of our "relationship?" Shall we discuss all the signs and warnings that I ignored?

Meeting you was the highlight of my month. I was on the verge of seventeen and so ready to fall in love. In truth, I had already fallen "in love" so many times I wasn't even sure what it meant anymore ("I'm hesitant to say I'm in love... How many times have I said that about other guys?" Journal entry May 30th, 2005). Here you are probably saying "We hadn't even met in May." Which is true, but you see my point. I was thinking that line of thought long before you and I met. Also, I have "conveniently" misplaced the journal that holds all my entries about you. Actually it is rather inconvenient, because I wish I could tell you all that I was thinking, better than I can right now. I'm rambling now.

I met you and you seemed so smart and practically perfect in every way. I adored your grandmother and your uncle. It seemed only natural that I adore you too. And you seemed so interested in me. You seemed to genuinely like me. Not just because of my overtly large bosoms or naivete. We talked and you said you could give me an orgasm from a foot massage (or was that later?).

I remember telling you that I didn't want to leave (church that is) because I had to go and see my grandparents and my grandmother hated me. I told you I was afraid she was going to say something cruel about my weight (which she usually did). I gave you an emotional opening. After I let you in that far, it was easy to let you in ever farther.

It wasn't even love, Stephen. I ran into your arms because I was missing someone else desperately. I was missing a guy friend that I could never admit to liking, even though I adored him. He was the reason I wrote that journal entry about love. You were my rebound in almost every sense of the phrase. It was infatuation and the desire to be in a relationship with someone I knew I shouldn't be.

You stalked me. You belittled me. You whistled for me, as though I were a dog, in front of my mother. You touched me inappropriately. And, worst of all, I let you. I let you touch me in places I knew I shouldn't be touched. I let you do things I shouldn't have. I let you get me tangled up in so many messes I thought I'd never escape.

I was addicted. I was addicted to your kiss, even though it tasted like cigarettes. I was addicted to your touch, even though it made me sick to my stomach. I was addicted to the attention you gave me. Or didn't give me, depending on your mood. I was addicted to the drama it caused when I was with you. Because everyone said it was a bad idea.

Did you know that the pastor's wife actually took me out to "discuss" you? She bought me lunch, took me on a drive and explained to me that you weren't the best idea for a boyfriend. She tried to be gentle and kind. It only made me rebel. It only made me want you more. Everything anyone said about you, I ignored. I pretended not to hear or, worse, defended you.

You made subtle threats and some not so subtle actions. Getting mixed up in the gang was the worst. I still freak out if a car is behind me for more than a block. I'm so glad we don't live where we used to. Having just gotten home from school and fixing an afternoon snack, seeing a random car at the end of the driveway, the windows tinted. Just sitting. They never came down the drive. Just sat there, watching the house. Always when you knew I'd be home alone. That was the worst part. The feeling of being unsafe and not being able to tell anyone because I was afraid of you.

Too much to contain in one letter to you, Stephen, so I suppose this is all for now.

I hope I never see you again.
Sarai

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Dear God,

Dear God (specifically the God of the Christians),
As my darling girlfriend has said, you are one of the most genuinely unpleasant characters in all of written fiction. You're followers are some of the most hypocritical and some of the most foul individuals I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. Not to mention the ones who are just plain batshit insane.

People murder in your name, you know. They use you as a convenient excuse for all their petty bullshit. They hide their actions behind your book. It's a funny thing really, because more than half of them have never read the thing all the way through.

I used to believe in you, you know. I wanted to be a minister. I used to take my bible out and I would preach to the trees. However, a woman shall not have dominion over man. I still have more of your word memorized than I would like (i.e. Matthew 4:4). At least it comes in handy when I'm pointing out the hypocrisy of your followers.

I used to be afraid of going to Hell. And I felt such massive guilt for my attraction to women and my burgeoning sexual affinities. Yes, Lord, I have sinned and fallen far short of the glory of you. That used to bother me. Though, to be brutally honest, I tried to be bothered by it more than I actually was. I haven't been "on fire" for you in a long time.

Mom says I need to forgive you and start talking to you again. She says you are good. I don't believe it. I don't believe in you at all any more.

Previously to this moment I used to believe that you existed in some fashion or other. Recent events however have made think otherwise. Though there are still good things that happen, making me wonder if you are behind it trying to lure me back. Like Obama winning the election. That made me wonder if you weren't real after all. Because I cried out louder than I ever have that he would win. To anything out there. Of course, if that is true, mayhaps it was Krishna or Ra answering my prayers.

Mom says I need to talk to you. She encouraged my desire to be Muslim because she believes you and Allah are the same being. Which I also agree with, for the most part. She tells me that I need to pour my heart out to you. I tell her that I don't believe in you. She refuses to believe in my disbelief. I suppose she has a right to that.

I have never felt more like an atheist than I do now. And I'm not sure if that is a good or bad thing. But I am dried up. I have felt this before. I know believing in you won't make a difference. It is just the way of things. I hate you, but I want to believe in you. Why is that?

Why do I care?

Because the little girl I was survived Hell and wants to believe it was for a reason. I want to believe I have come this far for a purpose and not because you enjoyed toying with me or because you didn't exist at all. I want to believe it was all for a better world. When in reality, I think it was because the world is sick. And I wish I could be like the girl in my favorite series and destroy the swollen and rotting portions of this world, save it from itself. I can't. I can't save the world. And you have left me with this gaping hole where my heart should be.

I tried to give it to you. It wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough. I tried to be perfect. I couldn't shake the desire to be a man. The longing to be with a woman sexually. I couldn't deny those feelings and I couldn't deny the love I had for things that were not of "you." Maybe I have been led astray. Maybe I have been wrong. But I tried. I tried, God. I tried to be a good and faithful servant. And I give up. I'm tired of fighting who I am because I am scared of some being that may or may not exist.

If you can't love me for who I am, for who YOU created me to be, how will I ever survive?

Dear A,

Dear A,
I'm afraid to send you my stories.
I'm worried that you won't like me once you actually read all that is inside my head. And I know I shouldn't put that much stock in other people's opinions of my work, of me, but I do. So if I seem shy about sending you things that is why.
I felt like a little honesty. A little randomness because you have no clue where this is coming from, but I can't help it because it is something that has been pestering me since I sent you my other story "The Ring of Roses" back in February.
I don't know why I sent you my blog. It has so much more truth than I feel comfortable with you reading, but I wasn't thinking. I did it. And it has been bothering me because I care about you and I don't want you to read my stuff because I want you to still care about me.
I'm afraid you will find me a monster and run from me. Run because I have so much darkness swirling about in my head.
I'm afraid that you will realize my feelings for you, feelings that neither of us can follow because I am married (and I love him, I do) and you are so far away, not just in physical distance. You are so much smarter and wonderful. Too wonderful. And I have self-esteem issues. Issues that have become debilitating because I keep pushing myself out there. Pushing because I want to live beyond myself and because that is something you admire about me. I'm not used to being admired. I'm not used to the attention you have given me before. And it scares me, but I want it. I want you to like me. I want you to admire me. I want you to love me.
Damn it. I want more from you than I have any right to, but I need it too. And when you tease me and say "come visit" you have no idea how I soar on that, how much it makes my world brighten and then darken.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

A Birthday Letter

To my darling dearest baby sister whom I love and adore,
Tomorrow, at 1 in the afternoon you will be officially 17.
17 years ago you came into this world, the baby sister I always wanted. The one who kicked the palm of my hand whilst still in utero. The one who I would always find hiding inside the bottom cabinet with her baby dolls and her Shirley Temple curls.
And, 17 years later, you are still the little sister I absolutely love.
I can't believe you, my baby, are turning 17. It is both sweet and bitter. I miss you. I miss you being small enough for me to carry around and swing up above my head so that you could touch the sky. I miss you being with me all the time, even when you would annoy me. I miss talking to you about randomness. I even miss our petty disagreements.
I remember when you first started walking. I used to taste your baby food before I would feed it to you, because I wanted you to have the best. I used to change your diapers and give you baths. I used to read you books and chase you across the yard. And I know we can't do any of that anymore, you being 17 now, I still miss those days.
I am excited to see the young woman you are growing up to be. The one who isn't afraid to speak her mind, even though sometimes she should think first (it's a love!). The one who is a good friend. The one who is so beautiful. The one who is well read and has interesting musical tastes. I can't wait for you to enjoy your 17th year of life and I hope it is one of the best ever.
I love you darling.
Happy Birthday.
love, Me.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Bisexual Bias

This is my response to an article written by a student at Indiana University. You can read the article for yourself at:
http://www.idsnews.com/news/story.aspx?id=90666

Dear Sir,
In regards to your article "Bisexual bias" in the IDS, I would like to say a few things.

"I’ve had a saying for a few years now. Bisexuals are like unicorns. You really want them to exist. But they just don’t."
1. Comparing a bisexual person to unicorns is mostly, if not entirely, ridiculous.
There are many cases in which unicorns can have existed, thus leading one to believe that you are saying bisexual homo sapiens do, in fact, exist.

Examples: If we were to go completely old school Biblical on the matter, if you are one who believes in the Bible, you would find there are several verses involving the unicorn. This might lead one to believe that you were saying that bisexuals at one time existed, but don't any longer. For your in-depth research (which I am sure you did for your article) verses involving unicorns can be found in the KJV Bible, said verses being: Numbers 23:22, Job 39:9, Psalms 29:6, Job 39:10, Numbers 24:8 and Psalms 92:10.

Or, if you don't believe in the Bible, we can look at the Narwhal, oft considered the Unicorn of the Sea or any other animal with one horn.
   *The word "unicorn" stems from early 13th century Old French "unicorne" and from Late Latin "unicornus" meaning, quite literally, "having one horn." Uni- meaning "one" plus cornus meaning "horn." If we go with this, that means that anything having one horn is considered a unicorn, making them quite real in the etymological sense of the word.

I'm sure, however, that you meant them in the purely fairy tale sense of the word, being a horse with a lion's tail, a single horn protruding from its head and a billy goat's beard (or, if you prefer, Pliny's version: a creature with a horse's body, deer's head, elephant's feet, lion's tail, and one black horn two cubits long projecting from its forehead). Or maybe you meant it in the allegorical sense, which was used as a tool by the Christians to teach morals. Such morals being that a Unicorn can only be tamed by a virgin (virgin in almost any sense of that word), the Unicorn being Christ in certain tales. And dire consequences for those who pretended to be virgin as they were skewered on the horn of the beast. That doesn't seem to fit quite as neatly as your original simile, but if we're talking of backwards philosophies it seems to fit quite nicely.

"It’s very difficult in our society to believe in something as free-spirited as bisexuality."
2. It also seems very difficult, in our society, to believe in Love and Marriage being uninhibited by things such as age, sexual preferences, gender, race, religion, etc. Love is apparently tethered to concrete ideas and laws. "Free-spirited" makes it sound as though it is a childish thing. Sexuality isn't an idea that we follow, like the Flower Power movement. Sexuality is not Hippies in the summer of '69. It is a deep and personal thing, grounded in one's sense of self. It is something we all find inside of ourselves. It is longing to be with another person in the most intimate way, sharing bodies and things that no one wants to talk about because they are "shameful."  And that longing is not restrained by your narrow view of the world.

"it’s threatening. For heterosexuals and homosexuals, we have to contend with only being attracted to half of the population. Those odds aren’t terrific. For someone who’s bisexual, the world is their genital oyster. It’s actually a very picturesque image. Men, women, who cares? I’m attracted to everyone."
3. I don't understand this part at all. You say it is threatening, bisexuality that is, but don't explain how it is threatening. How does bisexuality threaten your sexuality in any way? Truly, I'm curious. Explain to me, without Biblical or personal biases, how Bisexuality is threatening in any way, shape or form. You then say that the world is a "genital oyster." That is, not only, a vile pictorial image, but also shows just how little you understand about sexuality in general.

Yes, sexuality does, often involve, genitalia. However, there is so much more to sexuality than just sex. Sexuality is a strong basic instinct, a need, a desire, an attraction. It involves emotions and physical sensations. It can be impacted by the atmosphere one grows up in. It will never leave you. It is a key part of one's identity.

You make it sound almost as if sex meant nothing except, simply, getting one's rocks off. As if a bisexual is a selfish or greedy being for being attracted to more than one sex. Bisexuality is an attraction to either gender, that is true. But often the attraction is deeper than sexual. One can be attracted to anyone; beyond their gender, religion, sexual preferences, age, race, cultural background, etc. And what one finds sexually attractive doesn't even have to be human. There are those who are sexually attracted a person's mind or even inanimate objects. Wherever humans are involved there is no strict definition for sexuality. No strict definition for anything. We are more than the limits placed on us by other, simpler, creatures.

You say that "Those odds aren't terrific" when speaking of being "only" attracted to half of the population. Being attracted to only a man or only a woman isn't terrible. The odds are fine. In fact, when did odds even enter the picture? You make it sound like a race. As if we are all in a race with one another to see who is more attracted to who. It isn't a race. It isn't a game. There are no "odds." There are only people. People who love and hate, create and destroy, write good articles and shitty ones.

"Now, I am not bisexual."
4. Clearly.

"I also can’t assert assurance on things like Bigfoot, John F. Kennedy’s assassination or the contention of Jesus’ divinity."
5. I cannot say, with certainty that Bigfoot does or does not exist. JFK was, in fact, assassinated, though by whom is still up for debate. And whilst Jesus did exist, I cannot say with certainty that he was divine. However, I also can't say with certainty when we will die. I can't say that Coca Cola is the superior of all carbonated beverages. Nothing in this life is particularly certain. Truth is defined by who is looking at it, not by what it actually is.

"The real issue has to do with the male psyche and sexuality."
6. Yes, yes it does. At last, something we agree on! It DOES have to do with the Male psyche and sexuality. Men are generally insecure about their sexuality, no matter their preferences. Everything about sex makes one insecure. The length and width of his organ, whether he is doing well, how quickly he can reach orgasm, etc. Men are generally quite insecure with anything having to do with their own emotions and their being as well. I have yet to meet a man who is completely secure with being emotionally honest. Does that mean that he doesn't exist somewhere? Does that mean I am going to have to start writing wildly inaccurate articles on male emotions?

"The same notion just doesn’t extend to heterosexual women. You’d be hard pressed to find a straight woman finding the same sexual stimulation from watching two men go at it."
7. You, sir, clearly have never met a woman willing to talk about being aroused by two men "going at it" as you so delicately put it. I myself enjoy watching two men fornicate, kiss, etc. I find it arousing when a man kisses another man. The funny thing is that you would be "hard pressed" to find a straight woman who is NOT aroused by two men having sexual intercourse. There are numerous articles you can find about straight female arousal whilst watching male on male pornography, but I'm assuming you didn't actually try to find any. Your whole article suggests a lack of study on the topic at hand.

To quote a poster on one of the response brought up by my searches: "What I find hilarious, is that so many straight men assume that women don't find it erotic, just because THEY [men] don't."

"But after years of men grind stoning women’s sexuality to the fine powder it is today, why should anyone be the wiser? Two women going at it? Crack a beer and enjoy. Two men going at it? Ultimate party foul. It’s typically pretty hard to party once the gay bomb drops."
8. I don't understand that first sentence at all. "But after years of men grind stoning women's sexuality to the fine powder it is today," what does that even mean? Did you even edit this before posting it to such a public forum? And what do you mean by "grind stoning women's sexuality"?

Two women are having sex with one another and this is suddenly a party? Do men do that? They all get together and watch lesbian porn whilst drinking beer? Someone puts in a gay porno and then all bets are off? "Gay bomb?" Truly, your word choice is ridiculously childish.

"I can’t begin to believe in bisexuality in a society where men’s sexuality isn’t nearly as fluid as women’s."
9. The problem with men's sexuality being fluid has nothing to do with whether or not bisexuality exists, but lies (once again) with the male psyche. Men seem to have this preconceived notion that it is unacceptable for them to be bisexual. Out of all the homosexual and heterosexual men I have met it comes down to this idea that they have to choose. That there is no "this" and "that." It is all "this" OR "that." It astounds me, actually, the number of men who find some other men attractive, but won't do anything with that attraction because they also find women attractive. That is definitely a problem with today's society, you are correct on that part. Society says it is totally wrong to think or exist outside of the sexuality box it has created for us.

"Recently in Hollywood, loads of successful women have come out as bisexual."
10. Hollywood is DEFINITELY a good place to look for reality and facts. Plenty of people will say whatever it takes to become famous or to have the spotlight shine a bit brighter on them. That doesn't make it fact.

"But the future may be bright. Frank Ocean is one example of a successful man who’s admitted to having a relationship with a man."
11. I find it sad that the final breath of your article is a sarcastic, and pithy, "Men in the limelight aren't bisexual so no one can be bisexual."

I am a bisexual woman. I am proud of my sexuality and who I am as a person. I have a loving husband and a wonderful girlfriend. I can't imagine going through my life without either of them. There is more to my being attracted to them than their gender. More to my love for them than their genitalia. Its people like yourself, that raise the banners of prejudice and bias against what you don't understand and don't bother to understand.

sincerely,
Sarai.

Monday, January 7, 2013

Dear W__,

Dear W__,
I watched an old video today with you in it. You were so different in that video. You were so nice and wonderful. Everything I could've hoped you would be. It was painful. One of the hardest things to watch I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot of terrible things.

Having watched this old home movie, I would rather tell myself that you never cared about me and Chris than remember that you did and don't now. That was what hurt.

I couldn't believe you had ever been wonderful, but all the memories I've suppressed to protect my heart came rushing back. The good times we had over that fifteen years. A year or two worth of beautiful memories flooded my brain. I had to walk H_____ to the door to remind myself that you are, in fact, an asshole. That you aren't the person I remember. My memory must be faulty.

These are the things I say to myself to protect me from the pain that you have caused.

"You never really cared" is so much easier to handle than "You cared once and now you don't."

sincerely,
Sarai

Dear Appa,

My dearest Appa,
Thank you. Thank you for making me cry this morning. Thank you for saying what I've been needing to hear for years. It was something I will always cherish.

Thank you for saying I was beautiful. Thank you for calling me your daughter, even though there is no blood between us. Thank you for loving me, even though you don't have to. Thank you for taking care of me and my siblings. Thank you for making me feel a little like I have a family again. I hadn't realized just how much I missed that until now.

Thank you for supporting me, even when I know you don't like what I'm doing. Thank you for not trying to stop me, but being there for me when I'm going through it.

Thank you for taking care of my Mom. Thank you for loving her and treating her the way she deserves to be treated, with love and respect.

Thank you for everything you have done. I'm sorry that I am not the best daughter that I could be, but I'm trying. Forgive me for being cautious around you, for not quite bringing myself to call you "Dad" yet. You are more of a father than I've had in a long time and I appreciate that more than I could ever tell you.

I love you so much, Appa. I may not say it often. I may not express it well, but it is there. I may not call you "Dad" quite the way you would want me to, but I'm scared. I'm afraid that you may stop loving me, may suddenly realize that I'm not worth it, that I'm not perfect and that I screw things up. I'm afraid that you will suddenly see me the way everyone else does, as nothing special. Just another body in a sea of bodies. That terrifies me, Appa.

When you said "talking to the most beautiful 24 year-old daughter I have" I melted into a puddle of tears. Happy tears, because I realized I've been waiting for those words. I waited for D_____ to say it. I waited for W__ to say it. You said it and it was like a little piece of something fell back into place, something I hadn't realized I was missing.

I appreciate that so much more than I could ever explain.

I love you, Appa. Thank you.

With love,
Sarai

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Dear Gunner,

Dear Gunner,
First of all, I really don't understand the need for a normal human being, like myself, to own semi-automatic weapons. When am I going to need that for hunting? When am I going to need to kill several hundred people at one time?

Secondly, I don't think that registering your weapons is a bad thing. Why wouldn't you want to know who has guns? I mean, if the crazy person next door has guns, wouldn't you like to know about it?
Thirdly, the fingerprinting, I agree with. I had to be fingerprinted for my job, what is wrong with someone getting fingerprinted for purchasing a weapon? However, I think fingerprinting should be enough in that situation, so I do disagree with the photography. People's appearances change, fingerprints don't. Unless you do something on purpose to change them.

Lastly, why would you say that? You've been posting verses, I've seen them. Why would you be quoting scripture and then turning around and calling someone a "b***h" and a "c**t"? Doesn't the Bible say "Judge not lest ye be judged"? And "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you"? And "Anyone who hates his brother is a murderer, and you know that no murderer has eternal life in him."?

You may disagree with what she says, but are you really being a good example by behaving in this manner? No. You are actually making an irrational and awful statement about attacking someone so that they will do things your way. Last I checked, that wasn't the American way (America is the land of the Free. Freedom to express personal views. Last I checked, that was the 1st amendment. Granted, that doesn't mean there aren't repercussions to saying what you want to, but she has the same basic rights everyone else does.) or the Godly way ("Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen").

Not trying to start a fight, just trying to show a different point of view.

I'm sorry to have upset you, Gunner. Apparently you have changed more than I originally thought. I am sorry that you seem to be under the impression that because you have had bad things happen to you in your life that you should be allowed to force your opinions on others.

I'm also sorry that you seem to find Liberals "repulsive" as I am a liberal. I believe in equal rights for everyone, I believe in gun control because it is right, not because it will actually stop anyone. Will there always be criminals? Absolutely. Will there always be evil? Absolutely. However, I don't understand your reasoning behind this. No rights are actually being infringed upon. Nowhere in the second amendment does it say that you have the right to semi-automatic or fully automatic weapons.
The second amendment is still very important to me, no matter what. I believe that we have the right to bear arms. I believe that guns are important to the safety of anyone. My great-aunt has a rifle she keeps in her closet in case someone tries to break in. She has been fingerprinted for it and registered it with the State Police. Has she ever had to use it? No. But I'm grateful she has the right to have it.
I'm not living in a dream world. I know the government lies to me. I know everyone around me has two faces. There is the side the public sees and the side that the private world sees. I'm saddened by this, but it is a fact of life.

I'm also saddened by the fact that not that long ago you commented on something I had posted (as said by Eisenhower). He also said "A people that values its privileges above its principles soon loses both." And that is all I'm going to say on the matter.

sincerely,
Sarai

Dear ____,

Dear ____,
Whilst I appreciate your sentiments, your viewpoints have been so horrifically altered by a biased media.

Have you ever read the Qur'an (I believe I have asked you this before)? Did you know that the majority of Muslim women actually wear the hi
jab and niqab because they want to? The covering and modesty have been forced on many, yes, but to say that the stance of all Muslims everywhere is to force women to dress so is ridiculous at best. And isn't the Bible the same way? 1 Corinthians 11:6 "If a woman does not cover her head, she should have her hair cut off; and if it is a disgrace for a woman to have her hair cut or shaved off, she should cover her head."

Did you know that women are to be honored and not abused ("do not harm them in order to oppress them." Qur'an 65:6)? In fact, the Qur'an speaks very highly of one woman in particular, you may know her as Mary the mother of Jesus (who is also highly regarded in Islam as being yet another prophet of Allah). "while God had been fully aware of what she would give birth to, and [fully aware] that no male child [she might have hoped for] could ever have been like this female." That verse speaks of when Mary was born. Her mother had intended to devote the child's life to God if she had been a man, instead Mary was born and in Allah's eyes no MALE child could ever have been like this FEMALE. That's funny, a woman being praised in the Qur'an that you say so harshly oppresses women?

Like every religion, there are those who skew and warp it to their own means. Christians bomb abortion clinics directly going against "Thou shalt not kill." And I have known far too many "Christian" men who abuse and harm not only their wives, but their children.

There is no glory for Allah in the murder and/or rape of women. There is no such verse extolling this practice either.

A few other verses from the Qur'an:
"O you who have believed, it is not lawful for you to inherit women by compulsion." (in the Bible a man may buy a woman he has just raped from her father.)

"Only an honorable man treats women with honor and integrity. And only a mean, deceitful and dishonest man humiliates and insults women."

"There is no compulsion in religion. Verily, the Right Path has become distinct from the wrong path."

"Never hit your wives, they are your partners and sincere helpers."

"And why should you not fight in the cause of God and on behalf of those, who being weak, are ill-treated and oppressed, men, women and children whose cry is, 'Our Lord! Rescue us from these oppressors, and raise for us, from You, one who will protect and help.'"

"So do not fear the people but fear Me," (that sounds awfully familiar doesn't it?)

As to Leviticus, I reject the belief that it has no application to New Testament Christianity. It is ridiculous to even say that. The New Testament would not be without the Old Testament. You cannot properly learn from the New before reading the Old. I say this after reading the entirety of the Bible multiple times over.

Also, I get so tired of people saying this nation was built on Biblical beliefs and principals. Thomas Jefferson, one of the founding fathers, was a devout ATHEIST who wrote his own version of the Bible in an attempt to disprove it. George Washington was never proven to be a Christian. You are a teacher, you should already know that.

I will not argue the point of whether I am valuable and/or precious. And I do not understand your desire to apologize for failings that are not yours.

I don't want to argue with you about whose religion is right and whose religion is wrong. I don't want to argue about verses written by dead men centuries ago who may or may not have been inspired by God. I choose to believe in what I will believe in. It is from my own searching, not from hurt feelings or from childish whims. I am who I am because I have been created this why by something. I'm not sure if that is Allah or God or Zeus for that matter. But I am determined to explore and study and learn, rather than believe everything that has been force fed to me for over a decade.

I do love and adore you, no matter what. But you can't apologize for someone else's failings and you can't stop me from believing what I will. You can pray for me to find my way, if you believe I have lost it. And I will pray for you as well.


Dear ____,
I'm sorry that I actually do my research and have seen Jefferson's "bible" with my own eyes. I'm sorry that I an wasting a few minutes of my lunch trying to explain something to you that you will never understand because you don't want to. I'm sorry that you will believe in my so-called naïveté about the bible and history (which happens to have always been my best subject, by the way). This all makes me very sad. However, what makes me saddest is realizing that all this time I thought you were far better than ___ and I see you are just the same. Believing you are in the right with no proof and being just as much of an ignorant and arrogant "man of God."
I wish you well.