Too much time spent sitting in front of a computer, wanting to write, and not actually doing it. I'm extremely tired, I should be sleeping actually, but I'm not. I'm skyping with my friend Joce right now, and I'm writing this blog for memory's sake.
So yesterday morning....early in the morning....like, the kinda morning time where the sun isn't even out yet, I hopped on a plane at LAX (shout out to Miley) and brought my Baygrown butt back here to the place I call home. That's right: I'm home.
This is what it feels like.
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Papa currently looks like a Santa Claus cowboy. The hair on his head and face are practically the same length, and I love how stubborn he gets every time I ask hiim if he's gonna cut it. He says no. I support that. Mom picked me up from the airport yesteday, and man did she look healthy. This past has been a whirlwind of uncontrollable and misplaced emotions, what with her being in the ICU for a week, then hearing from her doctors that she could've died while unconscious during that time. Seeing her yesterday morning felt like praying. I don't pray anymore and it's becoming intentional, yet I don't have the patience to want to figure out why I've stopped. Can't seem to figure out if it's something that I'm angry over, or if it's something else. Anyhow, my mother is a 2nd chance breathing, and she's the first blessing that I count each time I remember to count them.
Our family runs a kitchen out of our church's bingo hall. It's been a year since we opened up shop. Most of my time was spent helping my parents run the kitchen, and just trying to be near them every chance I got. Daddy looked tired, but too happy to let that stop him from hugging me every 3 seconds. I know he misses me and wishes that I didn't move. I don't want to show how much I miss him and moms though- it hurts and above all, being vulnerable with my parents is just something that is really hard for me to do.
Sunday morning: Oakland Pride Festival. With my mom.
I did not stutter. This is not a joke.
So yeah. I was invited to perform with a queer Pacific Islanders Womyn's group called One Love Oceania (OLO) at the womyn's stage of Oakland Pride on Sunday. We had a 10 minute set, and we decided to perform a fusion of live music, dancing, and spoken word. Shit was bananas. Moms and I got there early enough to avoid the shoulder-to-shoulder, stepping-on-eachother's-feet frenzy. It was quiet and moms wasn't saying much either. Didn't know if asking her how she felt about being there with me would heighten the silence that was already there. maybe it would've opened up a new line of communication that we haven't uncovered yet. either way, i didn't i ask her. on to the womyn's stage....
I'm proud and thankful for OLO. For performing with these incredible womyn. For being Pacific Islander, and queer, and Samoan, and young, and sexy, and never wavering in my faith that I have for my community. There's something about being loved by a Pacific Islander that is vastly different and unique from being loved by anyone else. Not better. Not worse. It's not like that. Who would I be if I wasn't born with these roots under me? I don't even want to know.
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Back in LBC. Lots to think about in regards to my short-term goals for the rest of this year. Few things to comb out and sift through. Pray for me please. I'll do the same once I learn how.
Love,
Risa
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