Friday, January 20, 2006
Nostalgic Awe
The first two poems that I wrote here (well....aside from rude versions of Happy Birthday) were about how much I hated school and Clinton and Fakhri, and about how people of the world were all different.
My last two were about a little girl at war time, and a survivor of the Khmer Rouge.
From just over 8 to just under 16, those are the changes in thought process of an actually not so very complex mind.
I am awed by the fact that my hobbies have become such a part of me that they've grown right along with me.
I've matured (sort of), and so have they.
From the chubby, clumsy kid on stage to the performer people miss when she's not making mistakes and looking at Nazmi for confirmation. From the child who mocked Sa Ri Ga to the adolescent comforted and pacified by a good classical melody. From a bunch of papers stapled together to the quality cloth bound, hardcover miniature that any printing press would be proud to publish.
Now, ya know what? I'm still not that great a singer, or dancer, or pianist or anything. But what astounds and never fails to reduce me to a state of nostalgic awe is that people I've barely spoken to, people who I never knew were watching me.....were watching me.
Aish's dad told me that once, about four years ago, he saw me walking home from school crying, crying so hard I couldn't even see him through the tears. He was telling me the other day that he was so proud of me, how I'd grown and morphed, relating back to this incident, and telling me how he'd wanted to get out of the car and ask me what was wrong.
I was actually speechless for once. Not even Sarah has seen me speechless.
I'm not gonna get this anywhere else, man, NEVER anywhere but here.
Damn, I'm gonna miss this place.
My last two were about a little girl at war time, and a survivor of the Khmer Rouge.
From just over 8 to just under 16, those are the changes in thought process of an actually not so very complex mind.
I am awed by the fact that my hobbies have become such a part of me that they've grown right along with me.
I've matured (sort of), and so have they.
From the chubby, clumsy kid on stage to the performer people miss when she's not making mistakes and looking at Nazmi for confirmation. From the child who mocked Sa Ri Ga to the adolescent comforted and pacified by a good classical melody. From a bunch of papers stapled together to the quality cloth bound, hardcover miniature that any printing press would be proud to publish.
Now, ya know what? I'm still not that great a singer, or dancer, or pianist or anything. But what astounds and never fails to reduce me to a state of nostalgic awe is that people I've barely spoken to, people who I never knew were watching me.....were watching me.
Aish's dad told me that once, about four years ago, he saw me walking home from school crying, crying so hard I couldn't even see him through the tears. He was telling me the other day that he was so proud of me, how I'd grown and morphed, relating back to this incident, and telling me how he'd wanted to get out of the car and ask me what was wrong.
I was actually speechless for once. Not even Sarah has seen me speechless.
I'm not gonna get this anywhere else, man, NEVER anywhere but here.
Damn, I'm gonna miss this place.
Queen Sana at 1:53 AM
