Never Forget

Hi. Long time no see.

Oh, wait. You don’t remember me?

I’m that thing you used to dress up like as a kid. You would run around the house as me. Then proclaim to anyone you could that you were going to grow up just like me. I became your Halloween costume for years. I took over the focus of your art, conversations, and even your daydreams.

Often times when you spoke, I was the only subject to ever leave your mouth. I’ve been changed many times. Some days you weren’t even sure what I was. But you believed in me with all your heart and fought battles in my name. You won and lost so many people over me. I acted as your motivation. Your purpose. I thought you promised? Promised to never be like them. Like this. You really don’t remember me?

I’m your childhood ambition.

Your hopes and dreams. The real ones; not those fed to you by outsiders. How could I have been so easily forgotten? How could you have been so arrogant to forget?

An Open Letter To Anyone Who Has Or Ever Will Mispronounce My Last Name

Dear random person currently in front of my face,

                You Suck.

                Did you really have to do that? Did you truly have to mispronounce my last name? My title. My heritage. Proudly passed down from countless generations, across oceans, through nations, and over centuries of time. Said correctly in all respective languages since its creation. And you just had to screw it up.

                Seriously, you suck.

                You forced me into this position of upmost formality - whatever it may be – and then had the nerve to disgrace my family name. Or maybe you’re just that stupid? You asked me for my name. First and last. First was easy for you because “It’s spelled just like the street sign”. I say my last name aloud. You ask if I could “spell that for [you] please?” So out of the kindness of my heart I did. Ever so slowly. So you couldn’t miss a thing: “B-E-R. K-E-N. P-A-S.” And again I pronounce it for your poor brain: “Berkenpas”.

                Now this is the part when you REALLY suck.

                After spelling, pronouncing, and exaggerating, my tired, beaten down name, you still have to say; “BErkenpawz!”, “BrkInpah…”, “Berkinpiss?” And so on.

                Forget  you, you suck.

                What did I ever do to you? I’m pretty sure I pronounced your name correctly. Oh, were you trying to be fancy? You could tell my last name is foreign couldn’t you? So you thought you should put your fancy-pants on and try to say it like you’re a Duke, eh? I see. Well in that case: You’re a moron. You could’ve said it like every other person in America: ‘Burr-ken-pass’. But no…

Butthead.

My last name is Dutch if you really must know. And if you insist on being fancy in your fancy-pants, then say it correctly: ‘Bear-chken-paw’. Yah, you see that “chken”? You know what that sounds like? FLEM. It sounds like your gonna blow a snot rocket out your face and into a tin pot. Not so fancy anymore is it? It’s rather masculine and demanding of respect, no? That’s what I thought.

Now listen carefully.

I’ve just wasted my precious time giving you a history lesson on my name so I could buy these jeans your hawking at exuberant price. So I expect that the next time we cross paths you‘ll smile at me. I’ll smile back. We’ll exchange respective nods. And then you’ll look away. Because by now you should know better than to try and wrap your tongue around the glorious title of my heritage.

“Thanks! Have a nice day!”

onthouden

I remember my first day at Orangevale Open, where I met a new kind of people. Discovering the children who would become my lifelong friends. And would change my world forever.

I remember the first of what would become many moments spent holding my puppy. His chubby belly rising and setting in my arms. Soft ears warming my cheek as I cuddled his dreaming figure.

My great grandmother’s face has forever burnt its image into my mind. Her mischievous smile flashing as she told me her endless tales. She had become so cultured in her travels. New York. Washington DC. Japan. I know there is more. But she never got the chance to tell me. I can only wish I had known her longer.

I remember tasting durian in New York. Its unexplainable taste was a horribly perfect match to its raw-chicken like feel. We were wandering the streets of Chinatown as a man starts yelling in Chinese. We were soon presented a spiky organic ball.  Within seconds of meeting the strange fruit that came from within I was hurled into dismay.

I recall fondly “The Land of the Rising Sun” and how the darkest of skies became the lightest of blues as its towns began to wake. And how its morning breeze carried the velvet petals of sakura trees down to kiss my face. A sunrise to transcend all.

I remember my first day of high school. Perpetually being mistaken as a senior for my calm and carefree outlook. I had been outgoing and happy all day, while truly wanting to collapse into a ball of terrified emotions.

And I remember this morning. Nothing could distract me from reliving last night; reminiscing with a friend for hours long past an acceptable time. And not giving a care in the world, because I was talking to him.

noi siamo uno, per sempre e sempre il mio amore

               Forever. That’s a long, long while no? Forever spans to a time beyond our own. A time when we are past and all but forgotten. “Per sempre e sempre il mio amore.” It means “forever and always my love”. A phrase I have often heard whispered from the lips of lovers to one another. I will love you forever; to the end of time; I will never stop loving you. This promise of love. I find it to be a sad one. One to cherish and to long. To be with someone always. Till the end of your time. Of theirs. Of all time. To live, love, and grow – in always – with them. “Noi siamo uno, amore mio.” “We are one, my love.” Like telling them they complete you.

                I sit here now, leaning far back against my mountain of pillows. A plush green caressing me entirely; not unlike most days. A sweet serenade of classic piano and strings consume the dimly lit air. This is my haven. Where my mind may wander as it pleases. It ponders the things I’ve learned. The things I wish to learn. Growth does not simply come in a physical form. We grow with knowledge. With practice. With friends. We grow as people. With people. Not unlike the trees of the never ending groves, we grow beside one another. Lean on each other. Rise up from ours and others downfalls.

                                Together. Forever. As one.

We grow.

I love you too.

            Wake up, it’s time for school; grab your things; don’t forget your lunch; make good choices; don’t forget I love you; have a good day; did you finish? Good job, now do this:

       

Tell me about you day; would you get that for me? Grab some water; get my pills; would you cut a peach? Fix the couch; "Ihave homework ”; ok do your homework; come here please; grab my plane and set it there; please make dinner; ask what everyone wants; did you finish? I appreciate it, now do this:

       

Fetch-up the plane; get the tools; sauter here; cut it closer; now shorter; tape it there; good, put it away; open the garage; grab the jack; grab the ratchet; no a different socket; fit it there; jack the car; take off the wheel; check the shoes; there’s no meat? Go tell your grandmother; put it all back; put it all away; come back inside; did you finish? Thank you, now do this:

       

Check the laundry; hang my shirts please; deal with your dog; lemonade please? Sweeter; not that sweet next time; another peach but in fourths please; more water only this much; fix the TV; set up the Xbox; get your brother; "Ineed to finish my homework ”; you still have homework? Go finish, then come back; come here please; check on mom, how about a soda? Grab the pills; tidy this please; did you finish Sweetie? Now do this:

       

Make your lunch for tomorrow; ready your things; shower tonight so your brother won’t complain; Istill have homework  ;go to bed soon; give me a hug; sleep tight and know you are loved.