These two articles make me grateful for my mom. Her whole life, even before she met my dad and had us kids she was always recording her life and her families lives through film. Her obsession has only progressed with the progression of electronics. She hasn’t missed a photo opp. at a family get together, birthdays, weddings, If you can think it she’s recording or taking pictures of it. I remember one time asking her why she takes so many pictures and she could only smile and tell me I’ll appreciate them one day when I’m a grandmother and want to see my mothers face and remember those precious moments when my babies aren’t so precious anymore. I laughed and didn’t think about it, but now she creates projects for herself. She goes through old pictures of my grandparents, scanning them and saving them to a drive. This habit comes in handy especially since my grandparents passed away. We’ve used her photos at their memorials and many have complimented on the photos. I would be able to lay out family photos from where it all started to now. I’m sure the nostalgia of time will bring tears of all types of emotions.
Author: torres#3 (Page 3 of 3)
Music & Memory:
The other day in seminar we were talking about music and memory. Specifically Swann’s “true feelings” towards Odette and if he only loves her because the memory of Vinteuil’s sonata is associated with her. This conversation struck a quick thought about pregnancy and music. I remember being in my first trimester with my son, and being told to play classical music close to my belly for him to hear because it will stimulate his brain and he’ll be “smarter”. Another time in Seminar, I think it was Kekoa that mentioned that liking classical music is something that you have to learn to enjoy. Well from experience, I have always loved music. My parents exposed me to all types of music from womb, to birth and so on. I am doing the same thing for Roman. I think because I played music for him since before he was born and play it when he goes to sleep, in the car etc. is why he relates to it so well. He will hear the bass, or the repetitive lyrics and begin singing and dancing. I don’t think he necessarily knows what the song is saying, but its something he remembers from when he’s asleep.
Just a thought-
From class the other day, the concept of everyone wearing glass’ that all view the world differently stood out to me the most. Especially when Stacy gave us an example of this concept through the Emerald City from the Wizard of Oz. This just reminded me of what the media is currently trying to portray what “beauty” is particularly towards young women. This message is through a lot of popular pop songs such as Meagan Trainor’s “All about that bass” where she sings about loving yourself because no matter what size you are, you’re perfect. There has always been artists who support this notion and are recognized for being the voice for women. But its more popular to portray your feelings about being different for this current generation of young adults.
In today Lecture when Stacy was talking about “Social Status” and the “individual” how in some cultures that the focus isn’t on the “individual,” reminded me of my own culture and how it depends on the community and what is best for the family. I was taught through my parents words and actions that everything I do affects the image of my family, particularly my father who was a MSG. His high status in the military affected our family more than his, when i look at it. I wasn’t the probably though, it was my middle sister who was being irresponsible. She went through a rebellious stage when my dad was deployed to Iraq. While he was over seas he was promoted to MSG and that was when her actions were being held against my dads abilities to work as a MSG. (Master Sergeant) She was stealing from Walmart, getting speeding tickets, acting out in class (but it wasn’t intentional). Either way, my mom wasn’t the only one being punished for my sisters actions. The commanding officers or the officers higher than my dad were questioning, “If you don’t know how to keep your children in line how do we know you’ll be accountable for over a hundred soldiers and also be able to focus on your duties as these soldiers “mentor” when you have your children gallivanting and causing havoc? So my point is, the way the military is set up is the same as the views of the 1700′s about “Social Status” but in army terms “Ranking Status”
4-6-15
Before I found out I was pregnant I considered myself responsible, but I always did things the “easy way out” just so I can go party with my friends. My priorities were school over anything but that got blurry once I got a taste of “freedom.” The only reason I thought going out to parties was considered freedom was because I felt apart of something. I made friends with people who I barely even knew and who supposedly had my back. Now that I think of it, I never had a group of real friends who I called my own and was able to keep them because I was an Army brat and because I was too shy to warm up to them. When I did get the chance, it was in high school and too late because those friends were always a year older than me, graduating and moving on with their lives. The only people who I thought had my back at that time and road with me to parties was my cousin Callie, and a few other slutty girls who, I know now weren’t very good people to associate myself with in the first place. Callie was the wild one and the moocher, Kacey was the slut that slept with everyone for everything, and Kate was the alcoholic. Each of these girls would text me asking to hang out but had ulterior motives. “Let’s go to the RAC and pick up,” which meant I was buying and needed cash to pull out. Or “There’s a party at the peak, lets go,” was code for can you drive? I never declined because I felt important to them.
I knew something was wrong with me, but I never thought the signs out thoroughly. My period usually came late, but I was more moody than usual. My sex drive was so off the charts. I felt like every time I was taking lines and smoking trees my body rejected the substances by making me three times sicker by throwing up and have outrageous migraines and body aches. I was constantly tired, gained weight and felt sluggish. I couldn’t come to the conclusion that I was pregnant and my friends helped me stay in denial, “I think you’re just dehydrated and hung over from the other night. Can you go to the bedroom please,” Mark and Callie would beg me as I curled up next to the toilet bowl, praying to the porcelain gods. I nodded thinking of nothing better than to dive under our thousand count sheets and bury my face into the pillows that I remember smelled of cigarettes, lavender and Mark’s musky-greatness. Thinking of the stench of cigarettes caused a tension of saliva that built up in the back of my throat. I remember gulping the puddle of saliva in my mouth back, attempting to resist the urge to throw up and got up to my feet. My hands remained on my stomach as I proceeded into the bedroom. I can imagine our cluttered hallway, clothes outlining the walkway, and dog toys sporadic in the living room. I forgot that night that we had company and I was too lazy to put on more clothes. So as I passed through the living room in nothing but a tee shirt and my underwear I remember hearing the whispers from soft female voices that, “She’s looking bigger than usual.” I don’t know why I didn’t look over my shoulder or at least say something smart ass to them like, “Who the hell are you to monitor my weight?” or “Mind your own damn business!” To help the situation along a picture of Callie, my other cousins and I were hung up next to the bedroom door. The ten of us was performing a hula dance to Pau Hana’s “Island girls” back in 2004 for my sister’s graduation party. My flat stomach and bronze abs glittered with the flash peeking out between a coconut shell bra and a grass skirt. I guess that was the moment when I actually thought about the weight I’ve been gaining and why I felt so sick and only for short periods of times? I made it a habit to remind myself to go to the store and buy a pregnancy test but Callie, Iz and Brandon encouraged me to spend all my money on thizz (for those who aren’t from the bay, thizz is ecstasy pills) trees and alcohol. I didn’t care until I was broke and couldn’t even afford putting gas in my tank to go to work-study and class. The moment I climbed into the bed a heavy dark entity rests upon my chest putting me to sleep. That night I remember dreaming that I was in a weird random house, laying in bed with an elephant size belly moaning in pain and yelling towards a door frame in what looked like an empty room, at my baby daddy (who ever that was) to “GET IT OUT!” Abruptly, I woke up in a cold sweat I could only imagine Mark walking through the doorframe in which I screamed through, in my dream. From that moment on, I couldn’t stop stressing about needing to sell my things in order to afford a few pregnancy tests. I knew in the back of my mind that those grocery store tests weren’t the real deal, but I wasn’t ready to face my consequences quite yet. I wanted to live longer with Mark because I knew he’s my baby’s dad. Plus, Mark was too young and not accountable of anyone (not even himself) so I felt like I didn’t want to put this burden on him nonetheless, since he has his whole life still ahead of him. I finally took two different pregnancy tests and they both read negative. To celebrate the “in denial news” I went out with my friends to the Peak party. I remember getting into the biggest fistfights of my life at that party. This random guy was a good six-foot something and began yelling in my face (obviously because he was too drunk to realize what he was doing) about how stupid it was that young people like Mark were at the party. I took offense because he was my boyfriend and I started yelling back at him to not disrespect the people I come with. He pushed me away, I think for getting up in his face. So I pushed him back and clocked him right in the nose, starting the domino affect of fights. Everyone I came with grabbed someone and began fighting their way towards that six-foot something guy. I don’t remember much after that.
I stopped going to parties from that point on because that stage of denial passed and I knew why my body was rejecting everything I put in it, even food. My cousin Callie helped me set up my health insurance and we made an appointment at the doctor to give me a piece of mind about the entire situation. The drive to Sea-Mar with Sam, Tony and Callie felt like I was driving for hours. I kept praying that all of this was just some mistake. The ironic part is, it was Valentines Day. I only remember that because I had made cupcakes for Callie my Valentine and was wearing a purple floral quarter sleeved dress with my floral acid washed jeans jacket. She held my hand walking in. The receptionist led me into the back room Lab for a urinalysis.
“It will take a few minutes to read but the doctor will be in with you if you can fill out these papers please.” My stomach dropped, by the way she said this as if the paper work was a pre-determined answer that I was pregnant. I squeezed tighter to her hand and held my breath in prayer accepting the fact that I can no longer run away from this and asking god to give me strength and motivation to change my life for the sake of my unborn child.
“Whenever he spoke of something whose beauty had until then remained hidden from me, of pine-forrests or of hailstorms, of Notre-Dame Cathedral, of Athalie or of Phedre, by some piece of imagery he would make their beauty explode into my consciousness. And so, realizing that the universe contained innumerable elements which my feeble senses would be powerless to discern did he not bring them within my reach…” (p. 131)
When the narrator explains what Bergotte’s words does to him, which i think his words inspires him and invokes feelings and images he wouldn’t be capable of in the first place. Reminds me of artists in my life that have performed so well and have written lyrics that touches my heart leaving a significant impression of them in my life, causing me to look at them in a whole new way (but in a good way.) Such as Veronica Bozeman and Jussie Smollett. When Veronica starts singing the first notes of “What is love” her soft soulful, bluesy voice gives me goosebumps. But what makes my stomach ache in pain and want to cry and ask, “what is love if you’re not here no more.” Is exactly what her words are saying, they evoke emotions that I didn’t even know that I had stiffened inside me wanting to come out. When I have moments when I hear a unique voice or a lyric that speaks to me, it makes me think how capable music is to trigger any type of memory.
(p. 96) “Arabian Nights plates”
I’m sure these plates he’s referring to are may be fancy engraved heavy plates but when the narrator mentions them, it reminds me of the different types of “eat wear” my grandma and mom collected. We had a lot of pretty china plates that we only used on special occasions like Easter or Mother’s Day but we also had my mom’s Disney Movie Collectable plates too. She has at least six of them, she got them from McDonald’s and each one has the movie cover to a classic Disney movie like Bambi, Dumbo, Cinderella and Hercules. I think we had oe more but I think it broke when we moved from Louisiana to Washington back in 1999. Now that i think about it, i remember my mom making a fuss about one of the movers packing it funky in a box and how it snapped some how. I always imagined that i snapped like a wish bone between my moms even larger collection of M&M’s and the box it was packed in. The only reason I remember these plates so well is because us girls and even my dad was never aloud to eat off them, but I always wanted to because I as a little girl I always wanted to pretend I was spearing Hercules face with a triton as if I were apart of the movie, like a villain. I thought a lot about things like this, pretending I was a tricky villain or a man-eating giant dog. My imagination is still active, this is why I still write. I dabble in writing non-fiction but my strengths are in writing fiction. Particularly, science fiction, horror and fantasy. The only reason I wrote stories about such fantastical subjects is because I felt my life was boring and the stories I wrote were outlets to do and say things that I wouldn’t usually say in “real life.” But now as I begin to write non-fiction/ autobiographical works, my passion for it is growing because I actually have stories I want to share that I know are worth sharing about my life as a proud single mother. It’s as if i have an entire new audience that can either learn with me from my mistakes, triumphs and struggles but also relate to me as a person