Remembering Him

It’s been nearly 5 years since I last heard my brother’s voice… 3 and half since his death. I’ve come to a point where I can remember him, tell stories, the funny ones that make you laugh… usually with tears in my eyes, but now I can at least smile and finish the story…mostly. Except for tonight.

It’s funny how things can jog your memory or consciousness… things that you bury inside, or that you think heals with time…only to resurface from a familiar song or smell, a face, a similarity so obscure, but yet so deep, it begins to hurt inside all over again. Tonight it came on so suddenly, I was not prepared. My sadness resurfaced all over again… like it used to.It used to come in manic waves…over and over, until the waves got smaller and smaller.

My brother. I’m thinking about my brother, and I still can’t believe he’s gone.

Tears instantly streaming down my cheeks, I remember how much I miss him. I want to cry in somebodies arms, and tell them how much I miss him.  But, it’s 3 and a half years later… and who can I tell now? My family is just as heartbroken as I am, even till this day, and I don’t want to make them relive the pain I know they still have inside. We’ve all cried so many tears. It hurts just as much to see them cry. It’s not the kind of thing you call a friend and confess, even the closest friend… it sort of kills anyones mood, and they won’t know what to say anyways.

I miss my brother. I don’t know who to tell that to anymore. I don’t think this pain ever leaves a person. So tonight I’ll cry alone… remembering him.

Home for the Holidays.

I hadn’t seen my family in a year… I missed them dearly. So much, that I booked my trip home for 12 days. 12 DAYS! What was I possibly thinking?!

It was bitterly cold so we were forced to hibernate in our living room, where my family launched into repetitious babble, each talking over one another, to the point where you realize that no one was listening to each other in the first place! I listened, mute by choice, exhausted by my futile attempts to chime in… as they continued to talk at one another. And so it went… for 8 days.

The last 4 where filled with the energy and excitement Christmas is supposed to bring, as well as the sorrow and indescribable loss that binds our family. It’s a particularly difficult time of year for us all, as we are each still grappling with my brother’s death in our own ways. I stayed with my sister-in-law (his wife), and my two adorable nephews, now ages 3 and 5. It’s bittersweet in a way, to see the life inside of them and feel my brother’s presence, as we mourn his loss.

All in all, 12 days is too long of a visit for me to swallow without my brother… he was the only one I could really talk to. We used to retreat to our own prospective corner of the house and laugh hystarically about mostly anything. He got me; we got each other… man I miss him. Family gatherings are just not the same anymore, not without my partner in crime.

Despite how annoying my family can be, the one thing I’ve learned through all this is to cherish the time you have together. Perhaps it’s not the length of time that matters, but rather the frequency and quality of time we share together. I regret not having made the effort to go home more when my brother was alive. I miss him every day, and I’m afraid now and I’ve missed too many days of the family I have left. It’s hard to face them alone, but maybe in small doses, I can feel better about our time together.

Long Lost Love.

The love between us never went away. We broke each other’s hearts, simply because we didn’t know how to make it work. A year has passed, and despite the pain and loss we felt once before, we cannot deny the feelings we still hold inside. It’s a rare thing to find this kind of love…I can only hope that this time, we manage to hold on to it.

Open door.

Have you ever closed the door to one possibility, only to revisit that option later in life? It’s hard to know whether or not to go down a path you’ve already been… hard revisit something with fresh eyes, when you’ve already seen what you’ve seen. However, it’s easier to resort to familiarity and a life you were accustomed to, especially when it seems there aren’t any new doors worth opening. Is it wrong to believe a walk along a familiar path will seem any different on another day?

A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words?

I’ve fallen madly in love with my camera. Seriously, it’s occupies all my spare time these days. I’ve upgraded to a Cannon G9, so I can start to learn the true mechanisms of a camera… you know aperture, shutter speed, etc. It’s challenging to understand right now, but I’m learning to work with it.

Recently, my passion for photography has been refueled with the help of a new friend of mine… we’ll call him Chicago. Chicago is one hell of a photographer who wanted some inspiration. I’m, well… an amateur photographer that needs practice! So together we decided to create weekly photo assignments based on different themes. At the end of the week we upload them to an online group, where we can both post our photographs and share our work.

So far, this experience has been amazing. Not only do I carry my camera everywhere these days, but I’m using it… a lot! It is interesting to see each other’s photographs and compare each other’s perspectives on the topic. I am learning through practice, and inspired by our mutual love of cameras.

The only drawback to this endeavor is that I’ve become so immersed in my new world of photography, that I’ve seriously been neglecting my blog. Writing and having this artistic outlet is so important to me. So, I’ve been trying to figure out how to maintain both… realizing that, as of lately, I’ve become all-consumed with photography.

Today I think I found my answer. As I was looking at other people’s photographs I found one woman, in particular, that I liked. She has some great photographs, but what really caught my eye was that she describes each one, as she took them:

OldhaMedia says:

Photo taken by: OldhaMedia

Lunchtime.

36th and 8th.

Chan (a total stranger who struck up a conversation with me) saw my camera and asked me to take a picture of him in front of the very big dog in the truck.

Chan would not stop chewing, however.

Margot (my co-worker – not pictured) could not wrap her Seattle brain around the fact that I talk to strangers on the street.

The pigeons were a gift from the photo gods.

—

Photo taken by: OldhaMedia

This is Donde. Maybe he said Dante.

Whatever.

I saw him across the intersection of Spring and Broadway, dancing with the pink bubble guns he was selling.

I shot as much as I could before the batteries died.

He danced and fired off thousands of bubbles with such complete joy, filling the streets with shining gems of soap and air, it made me feel filled with the same joy just watching him.

I went over and told him so.

His hair was amazing… Woven with shells and silver trinkets and things he loves… He told me that six years ago, he shook off his corporate shackles and decided to do only that which brings him happiness. His long dreadlocks are a symbol of that rebellion.

I’m mad about Donde… Or Dante… Whatever.

Yes, I now own a pink bubble gun, too.

Anyways, I thought I’d share my newest love in life with you… My words may be short and sweet over these next few months, as I’m glued to my lens. I’d like to share my photos with you, and as OldhaMedia has so candidly done. I hope you will enjoy following along with me as I explore a new world of art.

My Photos

Moving On When Love is Wrong

I found this piece of writing as I was cleaning through a pile of old papers… written in my early twenties, it brings me back to the place that I was in and emotions that I would later revisit in life. It was a very sad and seemingly helpless time in my life… a time of heavy contemplation and stark realization, as shortly thereafter I knew what I had to do and finally had the courage to do it. I thought I’d post a little of what I wrote that day… as the words speak a truth that others might need to hear. I know I’m not the only one to have gone through this…

‘I’ve toyed with the idea of movin’ on… for years I’ve made half-assed attempts, but for whatever reason, I’ve been too scared, too alone, too broke inside to follow through. It’s easier to resort to what you know. Comfort can pacify anyone’s mind to justify a compromised life. It’s that false sense of comfort that strays us from our true intentions, our will, our minds, our peace…it’s the life inside we loose along the way that keeps us down.’