I have been thinking a lot about secret wishes recently, not just about that, but mostly that.  After the obvious list of peace, happiness for all, the end of poverty, and the beginning of a profound new enlightenment, the thing I wish for most in the world, above any material “thing” no matter how shiny, or soft, or sweet it is to smell, would be blue eyes.  Big blue eyes that put oceans to shame and men’s hearts into their stomachs.  Blue, blue eyes that challenge the 64 pack box of Crayola crayons.  Eyes that can reach down into the souls of people and manage to find the good, no matter how negligible the good really is.  Blue reminiscent of Louis Armstrong and Charles Brown.  Blue like my lips when I’m cold, or my mind when I’m sad or the color of my tongue after a blue-raspberry Italian ice that costs $1.50 from the good humor truck in the middle of July.  They say that everyone wants what they can’t have.  Well, I have a lot of things.  I have a charming little room, a healthy body, a face prone to outbursts of smiling, a mom and a dad who are my friends as well as parents, and a door covered in letters from my beautiful friends.  I have an education, and food in my belly, and a boy who calls me pretty when I come home from school.  I have many things, but I don’t have blue eyes, and this is what I want.

I want to write

I want to write

I want to describe purple ardvarks, and glistening butterfly feathers.  I want to write of dear fathers abandoning little daughters, and oh of the way rain sounds when it kerplunks down on my head.  I want to write of the tickles in life; the tickles of kisses, the tickles of clothes, the tickles of itches, the tickles in your nose when you're sick or you do too much coke, the tickles of tickling.  For the shits and giggles, the things that squiggle, the way he sniffles, I want to write about nonsense, the lacks of common sense.  I want to write about us, for love,  this is who we are.  

Je t'aime France mais je deteste les devoirs de cours de francais

Chers,

Bonjour!  Comment allez-vous? Je ne vais pas bien.  Pourquoi?  Parce que j'ai un essai stupide pour le cours de francais.  Merde.  Je ne suis pas bien a parler et ecrire francais. Je ne suis pas bien parce que je n'aime pas etudier.  Bien que j'aime France.  J'ai envie de aller France.  J'ai besoin de vacances!    Poo. 

Je t'aime,

Maya

" Imagination, therefore, is nothing but decaying sense; and is found in men and many other living creatures, as well sleeping as waking." - Leviathan by Hobbes

photos by me

photograshmy

These are all by me, mulling around and about my school

Quintessential fall day.  I wish it could be fall forever.  

Sweater: Mamma's closet

Dress: From a little store in Rivera Maya, Mexica

Shoes: vintage from ebay

Watch: Swatch

Excuse the untidiness.  A messy girl leads to a unkempt room, always. 

silly thoughts with no meaning

My finger tips are sensitive, more sensitive than my mouth with hundreds of taste buds and a squishy tongue that is easily burned.  My finger tips have layers of skin in squiggly patterns.  They look like teeny knit potholders, so why are they so sensitive?  I can hold a sip of soup within my lips but the bowl cannot sit in my hands.  The touch ignites me, makes me howl and my mind go blank.  The human body is so mysterious, curious.  I could wonder about it forever.  

***

The girls I babysit are inherently passionate, so tiny are they that emotion fills their little bodies and consumes them.  If they are angry, they will yell.  If they are sad, they will wail and produce saline tears that don't roll, but rain down their faces.  If they are happy, they will show off their smiles which go out wide and not up tall, and reveal bones just millimeters long that they struggle to avoid brushing at night.  

While these qualities can be exhausting at times to them, myself, and their parents, I am quite envious of their ability to express emotion.  I want to throw fits when I am angry, knock books off of coffee tables.  To burst into tears whenever I feel like it, I want to be able to sing when I am happy no matter where I am.  I want to scream if a room is too quite.  I have much to learn from children, and this is one of these things.  I envy their unconscious inhibition.  It makes them important.  I am not important.  I am complacent, and coasting.