Saturday, April 28, 2012

Accustomed pain, I never gets used to it.

Monthly cycle, constantly growing pain in my body, nothing is new, I guess this is what Nature Mother commands me to suffer. Being a girl, growing up a woman, experienced the physical pain of delivery. In this body, I once bore a child for nine month, now she is nearly five years old. In this body, being five foot tall, one hundred pound weight, considerably tiny figure, I'm used to feel the pain. Someone tole me once pain is part of our life, so there is no use to resist. I never agreed to this statement. Acceptance was always hard thing to do for me.

   What we see is what we know, or we choose to see what we want to see. These are never-ending, looping questions, it doesn't seem to show a clear explanation any sooner.

   Circling around the northern part of city of Chicago, I found myself at the intersection of Lawrence and Pulaski. In a cafe, in the corner I finally can breathe. Asian, Hispanic, Middle Eastern, and Indian, I hear their chatting. No matter what I found a place finally I could sit, think and write, that's all I needed. Once in a while I'm coated with indescribable heaviness on my shoulder. Not before long, I'm immobilized. The echoes, the voices, the images drag me into a deep down hole. It's hard to change my mind. Their power, these invisible force, it's hard to describe. They drive me here and there, and I have to fight against them, I need to function my life, I have responsibilities, no one will live my life except myself.

   It's painful. Sometimes my memories cause me more pain than my menstrual cycle. They formed me who I am, and I'm constantly affected by it no matter how far I settle down, no matter how hard I try to escape. My memories are who I am.

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