“You know I tell people I came to this country to gain international experience and avoid the thrills of the current job market, but I also am looking for that cliché object of 'self'. I gave up earthly comforts; a woman who loved me and supported any ill-advised decision because of that love, a handful of friends who’d drop anything if I was in need, and relations that have grown closer with every new tangle, all to come to place civilization wouldn’t use as a rest stop. I’m in no way trying to elevate myself or debase others, but I’ve come to think great awakenings are easier for the feeble minded. The epiphany moment comes when you find yourself lost and then found. It comes simplest to those who lack intrigue, analysis, or some level of self-awareness. For the few of us that know exactly the past and the now, our odds are more fucked. We can either force ourselves into the wilderness with blinders hoping when we stumble upon some pure truth we can fool ourselves into surprise and jubilation. Or we can continue on as we are praying we’ve over-estimated ourselves and life conjures that part of purpose which meets ability despite the longest of bets. These are the thoughts people wish naught talk about when they have their deeply shallow conversations on 'self-discovery' around a coffee table, campfire, or some swank setting. Actual realization is reserved to a select few, not for those who have a moment of squigglies in their stomachs thanks to being blurred by their deranged protruding ego for a long enough timeline. Instead it’s for the travelers that know themselves entirely, yet admitably know nothing. Now this letter was not anything I was expecting. Things brew in the mind and if I’m lucky enough to have paper and pen and will, they spew outward. Whether you like it or not you’ve been privied into a part of my thought process and psyche. Though I am a sarcastic, bitter, ass, maybe now you can understand some of the rationale. Actual Realization through self-discovery can only be fathomed by a minority, yet alone encountered by a sliver. One of many reasons I always question, I always rile for blatant honesty and truth.”
After spewing those thoughts to bleached sheets to a pen pal PCV I went outside to sit on my bench, to think, and to smoke (Yes loved ones I smoke a few cigarettes a day to help pass the time and clear my head. I think God will forgive me for these transgressions.) As I sat on the sanded wood, with a torch between two finger tips, sipping sometimes of smoke and others on water hinted by fruit from a western import proving progress in the region, I analyzed my feelings. My heart or head finds no anger, or depression, or even aggravation in my state of life. What I find, what I feel is much more blessed. I unearthed contentment, at least for the moment of time. Over a year and a half ago I broke from the only true comfort I knew and spent the 18months, shared in home soil and here in the bush, rambling, changing, rummaging to find the cover for void of purpose, so I can have that idea of “whole.” A quest for new love turned up predictably halfhearted. A change of scenery gave me new feats with similar outcomes. The more you know little of life, society, philosophy, and all the intricacies which build one’s interaction with another, the more difficult acceptance and a level of comfort is in our present being. Africa was my forced progression into this process, which for a choice few of should never end. The adventures and challenges which arise with new exotic airs have been merely dull and unimpressively complex. New people only often brings trivial puzzles in a few litmus lines of dialogue. We all want security, physical comfort, and maximum pleasure (the most basic of needs, somewhat contradicting Maslow). I’m far too vindictive to say some people are better than others, but there are two people with the same moral platform and one grew up in the West and one in war, bloodshed, loss of family, and everyday struggle. In this environment I pressed into for hopes of a bludgeoning indescribably, revolutionary moment. Instead I’ve learned a different staircase. The epiphany is broken into bits as grained as a day. A writing, a scrap of paper, a project, a time filler, a discussion, a drunken chat, all may nick away rift obstructing the view. Then again, perhaps this is the revelation. I’ve never been one to be caught fully off guard, which can give life a little monotony if you let it. This entry has no satisfaction of an end for I have not reached a last step or even sight of one. No matter, I feel content.
Deal (15 Feb)
As a peace corps volunteer one of the biggest issues you have will be sense of emasculation when troubles arise at home. This is an attempt to deal. Now why I posted such a private letter on the internet, I’m still not quite sure. Maybe it’s because I write better when the audience is more obscure. Maybe this is easier than mass emailing it to the loved ones I need to send it to. Maybe it’s because people should know where others come from. Or maybe it’s just that I rarely don’t care what assumptions are made and I always try to lay everything out there. Here it is.
Mom,
You taught me to sing and dance without care of what others may feel. At this moment all I have are the brief glimmers of bright in what else was/is a chaotic relationship and battle of family. As distant as two points can be it’s scathing to see pain caused by you and dwelling in the family. The joys and thrills we find in this world are shared with evils and illnesses none can predict. We are a network of blood that has stared down and experienced the worsts of humanity while still holding the tag of “privileged.” Our kinship witnessed death of innocence and the unjust depreciation of a beautiful spirit dwindling behind concrete. Though all from one, we’ve coped in our own unique ways. A few bawl in the corner, comforted by something beyond and the coldness of the floor. And when their ducts are empty they stumble to a stand and find sanctuary in others as mumbles turn to discussion and possibly back to tears. At least one absorbed the traumas into his own persona through rationale and sarcastic relativism. Then pressing on in hopes all the heartaches will be powdered away by the half lives of others. Anyone in the circle can be found with a number of glitches and defects causing our quirks, diversities, and uniques. We can be stubborn, passive, careless, or lack tact to the degree of inappropriate. Others are cast the lot of inability to process. When horrific events occur in a family, especially one after the other, they don’t cry, they don’t find shelter with friends, or drink seriously in solitude. They set themselves apart from this reality and the results of hubris, and pluck together unrelated threads to form a line which not only makes sense to you, but curbs the anguishes of the truth. Living with others, however, the creation is instantly threatened and new variables must be joined to hold the line fast. Voices and variables bloom on the twine to keep the view alive. As years go on untreated, a simply woven chord meant innocently for defense has mutilated it’s nature into vines and webs of complex conspiracies and fantasized events that hurt, most importantly, the love ones trying to care for you. Mom, some children are too good for this world and Grant was one of them. Maternity is a fragile period and it halts by any number of problems and sicknesses. But it was no one’s fault and there is no evil back story. Young adulthood mires the best of us with the surprise of real life and humanity’s rushed, obliged questions on the rest of life are pressed upon you. Not even Josh can fully explain why he took the actions he did, but they were his own and he put himself in a position where the worst could happen to him and it did. The judge was a self-absorbed coward and gave a sentence far surpassing any plea arrangement and more horrendous than the simple stupid mistakes on the table. I’m unaware of the odds for a lookout with a broken radio to get two decades, but at some point there had to be an unlucky winner and Josh was it. There was Josh, the judge, and their decisions and nothing more. The reality we have now makes life a struggle each and every day, but it’s the reality and the fight your family, all of your family members continue to share. Our burdens are like those of many others, but what holds us from budging in the progress is you. You not making that grueling, courageous decision of accepting events as they were and as they are now. We need you to do this. We need you to take whatever medicines that can help you reach that point. There are no voices, no secret organizations, no conspiracies. What we have is us, our past deeds, and our future hopes. Now I’ve written at length on all of the feelings because if your current state is what you wish forever, then this is my closing letter. I will do whatever the family asks of me to help find you again, but I’m finished talking to you and pretending you’re fine. There are other deserving issues in the family and the out that have been neglected for far too long. Through the turmoil, your children have become a tough, compassionate, and self-reliant batch. In spite of Josh’s circumstances he holds a level of optimism and faith most can only aspire to. Tatum has shown to impress even the deepest of critics. She’s found what should be prioritized and knows now to invest in them. Tatum is stubborn and hardheaded, but thanks to all the family chaos I think she has more than enough grit to handle any situation. And Chase, well he’s developed a philosophy that one’s own comfort and happiness matters less than what can be secured for others. Mom, we’ve developed into phenomenal adults, and we don’t harbor resentment for you not being there for so long. Your sickness is not your fault, but you won’t find betterment until you choose to do so. We wish it’s instant, we hope it’s soon, we know it will take time. Since you’ve started down this tunnel, when I think of you I try to remember positive moments like late night excursions for pizza in some dinky car or artful endeavors around the house. But memories blur with every reflection. We love you mom, and I hope to share laughs and loving words with you as soon as you can, but for now I say goodbye.
Dearly,
Your Son
Mom,
You taught me to sing and dance without care of what others may feel. At this moment all I have are the brief glimmers of bright in what else was/is a chaotic relationship and battle of family. As distant as two points can be it’s scathing to see pain caused by you and dwelling in the family. The joys and thrills we find in this world are shared with evils and illnesses none can predict. We are a network of blood that has stared down and experienced the worsts of humanity while still holding the tag of “privileged.” Our kinship witnessed death of innocence and the unjust depreciation of a beautiful spirit dwindling behind concrete. Though all from one, we’ve coped in our own unique ways. A few bawl in the corner, comforted by something beyond and the coldness of the floor. And when their ducts are empty they stumble to a stand and find sanctuary in others as mumbles turn to discussion and possibly back to tears. At least one absorbed the traumas into his own persona through rationale and sarcastic relativism. Then pressing on in hopes all the heartaches will be powdered away by the half lives of others. Anyone in the circle can be found with a number of glitches and defects causing our quirks, diversities, and uniques. We can be stubborn, passive, careless, or lack tact to the degree of inappropriate. Others are cast the lot of inability to process. When horrific events occur in a family, especially one after the other, they don’t cry, they don’t find shelter with friends, or drink seriously in solitude. They set themselves apart from this reality and the results of hubris, and pluck together unrelated threads to form a line which not only makes sense to you, but curbs the anguishes of the truth. Living with others, however, the creation is instantly threatened and new variables must be joined to hold the line fast. Voices and variables bloom on the twine to keep the view alive. As years go on untreated, a simply woven chord meant innocently for defense has mutilated it’s nature into vines and webs of complex conspiracies and fantasized events that hurt, most importantly, the love ones trying to care for you. Mom, some children are too good for this world and Grant was one of them. Maternity is a fragile period and it halts by any number of problems and sicknesses. But it was no one’s fault and there is no evil back story. Young adulthood mires the best of us with the surprise of real life and humanity’s rushed, obliged questions on the rest of life are pressed upon you. Not even Josh can fully explain why he took the actions he did, but they were his own and he put himself in a position where the worst could happen to him and it did. The judge was a self-absorbed coward and gave a sentence far surpassing any plea arrangement and more horrendous than the simple stupid mistakes on the table. I’m unaware of the odds for a lookout with a broken radio to get two decades, but at some point there had to be an unlucky winner and Josh was it. There was Josh, the judge, and their decisions and nothing more. The reality we have now makes life a struggle each and every day, but it’s the reality and the fight your family, all of your family members continue to share. Our burdens are like those of many others, but what holds us from budging in the progress is you. You not making that grueling, courageous decision of accepting events as they were and as they are now. We need you to do this. We need you to take whatever medicines that can help you reach that point. There are no voices, no secret organizations, no conspiracies. What we have is us, our past deeds, and our future hopes. Now I’ve written at length on all of the feelings because if your current state is what you wish forever, then this is my closing letter. I will do whatever the family asks of me to help find you again, but I’m finished talking to you and pretending you’re fine. There are other deserving issues in the family and the out that have been neglected for far too long. Through the turmoil, your children have become a tough, compassionate, and self-reliant batch. In spite of Josh’s circumstances he holds a level of optimism and faith most can only aspire to. Tatum has shown to impress even the deepest of critics. She’s found what should be prioritized and knows now to invest in them. Tatum is stubborn and hardheaded, but thanks to all the family chaos I think she has more than enough grit to handle any situation. And Chase, well he’s developed a philosophy that one’s own comfort and happiness matters less than what can be secured for others. Mom, we’ve developed into phenomenal adults, and we don’t harbor resentment for you not being there for so long. Your sickness is not your fault, but you won’t find betterment until you choose to do so. We wish it’s instant, we hope it’s soon, we know it will take time. Since you’ve started down this tunnel, when I think of you I try to remember positive moments like late night excursions for pizza in some dinky car or artful endeavors around the house. But memories blur with every reflection. We love you mom, and I hope to share laughs and loving words with you as soon as you can, but for now I say goodbye.
Dearly,
Your Son
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