i am trying to live.

dearest world,

i've been unable to breathe well lately. my mother broke my heart-again. somehow i feel as though something as sucked all the air out of me and i am left with nothing but an able bodied carcass. i am walking, barely speaking and unable to breathe.

she broke my heart again. the old adage if you fool me once, fool me twice...fool me my whole life and then everything is simply a whirlwind. again. i am cold, disaffected and so very sad.

the words that i write seem so distant from me but i insist on writing them just to make sure that i stay alive. i must remember that i am in pain from this loss of breath, from this broken heart, before i turn to dying. i must remember my pain to make sure that i stay alive and am living.

yesterday, one day after her open heart surgery, the same day after my 32nd birthday, my mother told me that she didn't love me. crushing words, painful. i turned to my sister and said aloud, "i told you she hated me." with a hope that i had guilted my mother into shame for hurting me on the first full day of my 32nd year. instead she continued, "see? see how disrespectful you are? listen to your tone." mine's was a tone filled with sadness that had dropped all the way down to my feet, i could barely drag myself out of that critical care room. heavy with grief. but when i turned, i could not return.

my mother broke my fucking heart. her's had surgery: sutures and long visible scars. mine: simply sundered into pieces.

i know that i am in pain. i know there is grief. i know that i am crying. but tonight, i simply can't feel any of it. none of it. there are no tears to wipe away tonight. i can't even seem to beg them to appear. i am instead gasping for breath. she broke my heart, again. like she did when i was young and left us. similar to how she let her boyfriend shake me into a nosebleed. likened to how she told me i looked just like my father while i yearned so longingly to look just like her instead of the man who abused and left her.

i am trying to feel this agony i know is inside. i want to feel it in my limbs, just know that i am feeling. i am live. in pain, and struggling inside of my life. instead, i am barely able to breathe.

i couldn't come back to see her today. there was no energy left in me. no ability to see her and endure the madness. i had no strength. none.

i don't even know where to go from here. don't know how to pretend that i didn't hear those words come from her. and yes, i know that she will deny them. tell me that i'm too sensitive and of course, selfish for not seeing her on her terms.

in this i struggle to find the feelings, to breathe again and then to know just what to do now...now that it is clear to me that my mother doesn't love me-so she says finally.

pain.

on nights like these i wish that some one was able to dig around deep enough to scoop out all of the sorrow.

on nights like these i take to the streets at 4 in the morning, hoping that direction will come to face me, welcome me, and take me in her arms.

on nights like these, i recall never finishing what someone else started, not being able to and hurting all the while.

it is nights like these that i remember the loneliest days with a father who left. a mother who left. and me wanting to just always leave...

lynching

in response to this: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/05/04/BA6917EDG8.DTL&tsp=1


post 1:
this is so much bull. but more importantly, most people love this country even though you know it is founded upon rape and pillage and that it continues to do so throughout all of its wars.

i'm glad you're quick to demonize this black man though. suddenly a conscious. clearly a great opportunity to articulate your anti-black racism. any chance you get, take it. (you do get plenty of opportunities). and of course on behalf of women and any fallen. perfect.

post 2:
sfgate-you should be disbanded for allowing so much bigotry against communities. people aren't even just talking about lovelle-he is the most recent catalyst for hate speech against the whole black community. oakland, ministers, jesse jackson, black protesters and their supporters, even al sharpton.

you sound just like the 1920's lynching squad. and need you be reminded that the rape narrative was also deployed, rather frequently, to kill and maim? hmmmm? and for them (as you), the black man was always a rapist even if there was no rape and the squad (you) are always righteous.

you can thumbs down me all you want but the truth remains: that festering racism in your gut couldn't wait for opportunities to grandstand and rile the troops to the cause. it didn't matter what lovelle did, you hated him before. now you just have a legal reason.

will you, righteous citizen, ever look in the mirror? it's not that pretty. and your hands are stained. some of you like that.

r.i.p

me

dear world,

my mother is still alive. i still love her smile, her smell, her beautiful long hair. she is still physically here. but her body is deteriorating-so she believes. nothing i can do will change her mind. nothing i say convinces her otherwise, no possible remedies, invitations to yoga or maybe positive thoughts. anything to help alleviate the pain. anything because for her the pain is too intense and death has been awaiting her for as long as i can remember.

i have wanted to save her since i was 8. since my father locked her out of the apartment when she was so hurt by him that she almost left but returned at my request. i wanted to save her since then. since she was so sad that she couldn't wake up in the mornings to take me to school. i'd shake her legs but to no avail until she'd begrudgingly awaken and finally take me to school late and in time for detention.

when she tried to leave my father the first time i was 4 i can remember her begging my grandparents to take her in, she left with a black eye from my aunt for being disrespectful. i wanted to help heal her during her failed exodus, pained face and forced return.

regardless of my bitterness, i wanted to save her. make it better. i watched her tend to my dying grandparents. wanted to make it better. even when she blamed my grandmother's death on my unruliness. i accepted it. for decades. i reluctantly absorbed the guilt and apologized profusely.

i wanted to heal her memories of war and assaults from childhood, the u.s. war. i wanted to tend to her wounds from trauma.

but lately, she's gained more weight, and refuses to listen to anything. she never did hear me. she's recalling bad memories from morning to night-unable to sleep remembering. she is chased and chasing, over and over again. her pain is so obvious and can't stand hearing from me sometimes.

she'll text me sweet messages but refuse to talk to me. and though this is a long standing pattern, it has gotten so worse. and i can't do anything. i feel so helpless. and so lost, confused, sad. but i can't do anything.

today, i attempt to mourn the legacy of fruitless efforts met by my mom's discontent, habitual disdain and ingrained fear. immense sadness. i mourn the efforts and belief that i can do something. i can't. i can't call to console, she doesn't want to hear me and i don't have any more words. she tells bad memories over and over again, i try to hear but sometimes they are to hurt me as much as she is pained so i deflect, but i am losing the ability and interest in deflecting because most of the time, i lose. i hurt even way after.

funny that the word for mom is me in vietnamese. please forgive me, me. i couldn't do it. you asked me when i was a kid to take care of jenny when you'd die, you've been expecting death since i was a child because it hurt you so much-you suffered so much. i always promised that i would but i think i wanted to take care of you the most. and i can't do it. i'm sorry. i can't.

you went in for a test this week and i know that you're scared to hear the results. i asked you for them but you refused to hear them. you're so scared. you've been for so long. but i can't protect you. and i'm sorry. i'm so sorry.

i can't even protect myself. and i relieve myself, slowly, of that desire. i mourn that the desire because i never was capable in the first place.

as i apologized to ba ngoai for hurting her. i mean it this time. i'm sorry to you and me. but i have to let go.

for 31: 30 and before.

I turned 31 a few days ago and believe that there are a few moments that continue to warrant celebration or at the very least, a recollection or commemoration.

my sister's birth: 5/16/1985; a gem, a beautiful addition to anyone's life.
my grandmother's death: 1/5/1995
my father's death: 4/20/1996
critical resistance: 9/28/1998
excessive turmoil 2000-2004
brain hemorrhage: 4/2004
cranial bypass: 9/2004
cranial bypass 1/2005
teacher: 2005-2008
PhD student: 2008-present

i mark these dates for a number of reasons and while i am currently sick, i believe that i am not ready to speak on their importance emotionally and psychically. the time will come maybe as i become more wise and patient with myself and others.

in the meantime, these are the hallmarks of my life. they will continue to have their imprints and i will continue to understand how and why.

Barack's Election first draft.

At the risk of operating solely as a diatribe without cause or effect, I carefully write this criticism. Save for my own desire to speak there may be no audience and I may be a dubious source. Either way, I write:

November 5, 2008:

The recent, monumental election of President Elect Barack Obama has been received by many as an indication of the success, dedication and perseverance of the black population in the United States. He serves as a symbol for change that has been long over due. But, I cannot help but to ask some fundamental questions about his symbolism in this war time economy. I refer to Derrick Bell's criticism of desegregation and "interest-convergence." Why now?

Derrick Bell asked these questions about desegregation especially because it had not proven to benefit black children? Instead, it offered no protections to black children forced into unwelcomed, violent settings. Instead, black children were not guaranteed equitable education (let alone culturally relevant as modern educational reformists advocate). He asks, why then and for whom? He asserts that more popular white support for desegregation wasn't for the same reasons or longings for equality central to black Americans. Instead, the support for desegregation came in light of the tainted national image of America during the Cold War, the rise of communism. It needed to reestablish its international credibility as equitable and worth following. He argues that white America supported desegregation because it needed to reestablish loyalty and patriotism following World War II and the dissonance promulgated by its dissenting black citizenry (i.e. Paul Robeson). Resistance toward US policies, however minimal, could have tremendous far-reaching effects and white America was forced to contain it through the auspices of desegregation. He states that in order for the equal protection clause to have been justly adhered whites would have to be required to give up many of their fundamental rights. "...the equal protection clause clearly bars racial segregation because segregation harms blacks and benefits whites in ways too numerous and obvious to require citation." In effect, adherence to "true equality for blacks will require the surrender of racism-granted privileges for whites." A concession that desegregation white supporters (however fleeting and temporary) would never offer. Instead, desegregation would have to benefit their status quo and positions. For which Bell argues it did.

Given the historical precedence of a monumental civil rights decision and its professed progenitor, the advent of President Elect Barack Obama, Bell's question and insight remains critical. For he argues that desegregation hurt black children more than it helped. With Obama's election, coincidentally won (or seceded given the history of Republican's voracious will to steal) during its most unpopular period, in the midst of imperialist wars wrought with death and failures; why now? Why now when its citizens have been duped out of trillions of dollars? Why now when the current regime and its multi-millionare oil and banking constiutents are about to make out with more money without recourse but instead concessions and support? Why now? Why a black president now? Others have written about how a black president rises or is allowed into existence (depending upon your political leanings) only after the country has been economically ravished and is in the midst of post-keynesian military industrial complex with wars waged against numbers of countries and their citizens. Why now? Why now when the United States' image is at an unfavorable, unprecedented low? Why now when South American countries are collaborating and rising to dominance? Why now when the United States is losing credibility (however limited or fictitious) with the rest of the world including its allies? Why now?

If we say that it is because of the will of the people, I agree and support this momentous movement. But, when the will of the people want freedom for all, racial justice for more than symbolic purposes, will white America have really conceded? Did black Americans and the world watching win last night? Or did white america and its ploys against black freedom, for imperialist control dominate through this black body, Barack Obama, the beneficiary of desegregation politics. And, who will this hurt? What shields will again be inexistent when violece against blacks and other people of color continues?

Distraught

The wind is blowing crazily; tree limbs crashing to the ground and rain pounding against every surface that is met. Seems as though these past few days are projections of my thoughts. There is a tumultuous whirlwind forming inside of me and soon my words will be slamming down someone's throat or slapping them blatantly across the face-like the trees that demanded uprooting, freedom from the grounds, right onto some unsuspecting victim's front yard and cars. Slam!

Here it goes, I put it out into the world and I hope that the winds carry these thoughts into someone's space-especially those that don't welcome me.

I am done-done. The other day I went into an emergency staff meeting to talk about the recent killing of one of our student's younger brothers-a student who brought a gun to school 3 days before his 14 year old brother was shot at a middle school. The kind hearted Latina principal proceeds to explain the recent events and that we will now have a closed campus. Students will now no longer be able to leave this jail of a campus for lunch. I have mixed feelings-true, one week before school went on vacation one of our students was jumped during lunch at an off site location. However, in a campus of 180 students, we want to keep them barred in and will now assuage them with Madden tournaments, cardgames, movies and some dominoes. Teachers are now recommended to be "extra vigilant" at our doors-as requested in a district wide phone call by the superintendent. What the fuck does "extra vigilant" mean? Regulate harder? Shoot more teacher glares with stronger force? Use jedi-mind tricks? Or bring our own guns? Send more kids to the office when we think they're acting out? Really? That seems most effective.

I did not sign up to be a goddamn police officer or prison guard. I came to teach. To teach not to be extra goddamn vigilant. I'm too tired of being hardcore. Watching my own goddamn back and now you think that watching backs is what will keep these kids alive? Please.

Last year, I sat on a series of district wide meetings to address "diversity" in the district. These district reps were charged with the responsibility of choosing a training program that would assist all staff-administration, certified, credentialed-everyone. We compiled our research, met with even the renowned-Lee Mun Wah and other district reps only to be dismissed with a short e-mail that said that there was not enough funding yet; the project was postponed indefinitely. The district has decided to focus on literacy.

Since when was one substituted for the other? As if diversity and literacy cannot exist simultaneously. But to be more crass, who the fuck is reading now that they are focused on mourning? Read that!

So, I'm angry and bitter. I went to the child's funeral, heard children crying. Children should not be suffering this way. But they do and that is our calling, isn't it? To help them in their time in need?

But, before I jump on the solution train which will face opposition by paid folks who always think they know more than the already suffering, suffered; tired grown and young people-I am venting-as loud as the keys will allow me to express.

I am so pissed. Pissed at trying to do things. meetings that are fruitless but instead end up becoming mockeries of the critical thinkers, educators and empassioned people of color who sit for countless hours trying to tell everyone to help us heal and change things.

Note: Since I have worked, the stories most of my students of color and working class students have shared include a Latino student being threatened of getting jumped by more than 5 black students, black students explaining they've been chased by carloads of Latinos, sexual assault, police brutality-cops sicking dogs on them, being taunted by police officers, their friends and family dying premature deaths...

I am thoroughly exhausted and I will be in school tomorrow trying to figure out how we are all supposed to function without real support-intervention, conversations on race, class, gender, sexuality, violence and respect; real safety besides locked gates and more boys in blue with guns intimidating the atmosphere.

I am sick of this shit and I am done. Even now, I feel like my words are tepid. My ferocious insides are eating me up because no one will hear this or other conscious teachers speak-and even though I started to believe that blogging would help-who the fuck is going to get this community to hear this blog? Who's going to make it echo into their dreams and become the nightmare that it has for so many others?

The pastor at the child's funeral said, "there's a nationally recognized teacher here (read: Macarthur fellow, Oprah's angel, respected speaker and lecturer and Black) that not even his city has acknowledged." In fact they cut funding for his popular forensic's program. and interestingly, two days before the funeral he called me and ended the conversation with, "they won't even listen to me."

Someone fucking tell this people-their racism (negligence, inciting violence) is killing the kids.

5 more months, but until then I am going to count on my breath and hope my students will be patient with themselves, me and others as I teach, inspire and others organize.