fromthemouthofmoi

Nil has encouraged me to come back here. I haven't felt like writing here for ages. In some ways, I guess, I know that some of what I might write will be some of the last things I write and that sort of tangles me up a bit because it creates a type of writers stage fright. I think these remaining posts will just be less focused.  There are things I want to write to my brothers, final things, that I'm not looking for a response to. It's just what I wish for them. I feel like I'm leaving them in a mess, not my mess mind you, but a mess created by our mother, that once learned as children, they can't seem to unlearn the dynamic. My family behaves like that television series Succession. A quagmire of competition, resentment and secrets. My eldest brother once filmed our mother, and asked her why she had so many kids. On film her reply was that she wanted us to have someone to talk to. Her example given, if I remember correctly, was something along the lines of: You know...

Everyone was in their place. Everything had a place. Then my biological father died. I am not going to tell you anything that smells of manure. I am going to tell you how I feel. I don't feel much about my father's death, and when my mother goes, I will feel even less. I can already feel some of you cringing and see some of you falling to knees to say a quick prayer for me; don't bother. Myself doesn't need your prayers, myself needs all of you to ask me what my boundaries are and when I tell you, myself needs you to abide by them. Leave your packet of platitudes for the hour after my death when I will finally be out of earshot. If you would like to know why I feel this way, just ask. What's the point of wonder when you don't use your tongue? And don't be asking any questions to pass judgment. Be asking to understand me. I was not raised by either parent after the age of eleven. At the age of eleven, this is when the heroes, heroines, and those that ...

Traveling anywhere for the first time is often exciting and right after my father died in November 2010 my brother invited me to go to Merida, Mexico in the Yucatan. It was my first time to Mexico and I was most certainly full of anticipation. I really can't say that I had any particular notion or fantasy about Mexico other than as a child my mother often purchased for me, from the East Village in New York City, Mexican blouses that I adored. So if I associated Mexico with anything it was embroidery and colourful things. We landed in Cancun and rented a car and almost immediately began our 4 hour drive west to Merida. Our group consisted of my aunt Charlotte, my father's sister, my sister in-law Elaine and her husband, my brother, Stephen. The road to Merida from Cancun is a rather boring one with nothing that I am able to recall other than stop points along the way by officials just making sure all is well with travelers. My personality is such that unless I have a direc...