My father is a carpenter. He makes a living working with his hands, he's supported his family his whole life, and this back-breaking work is this man's hobby. I find the same is true for me. My hobby is reading and writing and the art of languages (not just English) and teaching it, which is heart-breaking work at times, is a hobby.
As I am in my room tonight, I was merely looking for the second cordless phone that disappeared once we finished the refurbishment and moved to this house. I said I would call someone and my telephone had no service. I decided to look for this in the one place I knew it would not be- under my bed. My father very lovingly made that bed so I would not sleep in my closet as I had been since we had moved. Unfortunately, he's not a bed carpenter. The bed is made of white-painted plywood, is low to the ground, and has 4 drawers (filled with papers I have kept over the years and will attempt to go through another day), with a lid of sorts where my mattress sleeps. I am terrible at literal description so I hope you're following me here. Under the part where I lay my head is nothing but a giant gap, and in that void (before I had shelves), I stowed all my books and that's where I intended to search for the phone.
Did I know I wouldn't find it? Yes. Did I remember everything I would see? No. Sure I remembered there are a lot of dictionaries, grammar books, and a couple of books I could not bring myself to sell back to the university, but I completely forgot that this is where I stored 2 shoe boxes containing memorabilia from what seems like a previous life.
I pushed away the lid (imagine if you will, Indiana Jones) and there was my treasure. Wow! I love books, I found two editions of Charlotte's Web, The Complete Works of Christopher Marlowe, The Anthology of British Literature, The History of French Literature (in French), among many, many others. Some books are for pleasure and some just to make me feel smart. Instantly, my mood changed. Instead of thinking about all the things I have to do or the things I didn't do, or have yet to do, all I could think of is making time for myself to read the books I haven't read. It's so amazing what love of literature can do for a person; instant comfort.
Then, I look at the boxes. Two innocuous boxes sitting there. I pried one open, inside: my graduation tassels, my prom frame (empty- I have no photographic documentation of the evening) and a photo album. Lo and behold, Backstreet Boys concert pictures. BAM! Instant transportation to my freshman year of high school, but I didn't care for these pictures, I keep flipping, and there are pictures of me at the beach with some friends and a brief stint I did as a blue-eyed girl... I looked nice, but it wasn't me.
Continue on to the next box. MOTHERLOAD. JACKPOT. Whatever you want to call it. Here I found 3 albums and 1 diary. My super un-Cuban "quinces," my high school pictures at the ceremony before graduation, at graduation, and other random pictures spanning the ages 13-18. At 26, I feel reasonably young, but taking a look at these pictures made me feel so much older. I don't know, I can see innocence on the very face that is mine; such vulnerability; carefreeness.
Then the diary. I teach language arts, and if I had to be graded on this sucker, I would give me a low C. I read it and I felt like I didn't speak English. The grammar, the spelling, the conventions- all the things I look for now, atrocious! But there was some merit, some of my vocabulary was very advanced. Given it was my FIRST diary ever, and I had it from 6th grade (around the time I moved back from New Jersey to Miami) until 8th grade.
But it wasn't the writing errors that threw me for a loop. It was the content. I wrote silly things, Anne Frank-like things, and boy, was I a NERD! (Still am, but I like to think I have toned it DOWN!) I had forgotten I got a boy suspended for 3 days for spanking me on the rear during PE. Geez! Another entry was how insightful I was about who was my "true friend" and who was acting. I think I documented the time I actually acquired the skill to choose who would be good for me to have in my life and who was not! Incredible.
It also shows how much I love my family. I wrote a lot about my younger brother and how close we were and all the games we played together. I'd jump in a volcano for that guy.
But most of all, I saw how those things shaped who I am today. It's crazy how life passes by and everything little thing makes one who they are. I know I am ever-changing because of simple things like a photograph and a diary.
Isn't it crazy? It definitely blows my mind. It's very bittersweet.
I highly suggest taking a trip down memory lane. I have most indubitably become a better writer, a more worrisome person, a more cynical viewer of the world, a more melancholy person, one who pines, and so many other things. I don't know if I am a better PERSON, but I am different.
I would like to find that carefree girl, that nerd, that adaptable girl and keep her present instead of buried under my pillow and a wooden lid. I think it might give me a different perspective- a different outlook on things. I didn't lose the person I was, I just left her behind.
I did realize, good or bad, I love my life. When it's good it's breath-taking and when it's bad it's paralyzing, but only long enough for introspection and with realization comes wisdom to know how to look for good in crappy situations. It doesn't always come in a moment, but for me, I was able to see a piece of it tonight.
Forgive me for being all over the place, but I feel the way I am writing. Thoughts just keep surfacing and surging in my mind and if I don't get them written, I might lose them, and that would be a waste of a perfectly pensive evening.
Goodnight all.
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