Don't think twice, it's alright.

the Haitians that I am friends with touch my stomach. they squeeze me and poke me. they pinch and grab. they pat me on the belly and wrap their arms around my waste. they hold on tight

I guess it's a funny thing to talk about.

And I don't.

Over the years, it's become a subconscious masking. Layered tank tops and cardigans. Jeans above my waist, and shirts pulled below my hips.

swimsuits.

We don't talk about that stuff. do we?

We talk about what's hard. we're self deprecating and whiny.

we share the appropriate hardships.

I wish I could lose weight, or I am stressed about this or that.

but what about the real ones.

that people putting their hand on my stomach makes it hard for me to breathe.

that when I ride in a car and look out the window, at the expanses of scenery, at new places, at new life, I look at the window too. My reflection, a whirlwind of trees and roads, blurry, but visible.

I look out the window in Haiti, and I look at myself.

Am I scared that I'm selfish? That I'm self conscious?

And what are the real things. That I'll never be in love again. That I'll never be skinny.

Or that I'll never be content.

The Haitians don't think twice about my stomach. It doesn't cross their minds. They grab me and squeeze me.  They kiss my cheek and run a quick thumb along my cheekbone. Tell me I'm beautiful when I wear a dress. Joke with me and flirt.

Dadi works at St. Joseph's. Happily married, raising a baby, harmless and warm, I hear his voice before I see him most times.

Isabelle, ou belle, wi?

Elizabeth, you're beautiful, yes? Ahhh bonjou belle moun. Beautiful girl.

It's true, or it isn't. It just is.

But I want to be able to breathe when people who love me rest their hands on my stomach.

I want to be able to breathe.

And I don't want to think twice about it, either.

Incomgenuity

Incompetence versus ingenuity.

Doing your laundry while standing in the shower naked.

Not because you planned on taking a shower

But because you were so terrible at hand washing and rinsing laundry.

And hey,

We all arrive somehow.

are you just having

'so, how is it, you know...down there..is it o.k?'

'what an experience, are you just having so much fun?'

'wow, good for you.'

'God bless you. That's just amazing.'

And no, I don't mean to belittle any of these statements. I don't want to sound ungrateful. For the support, or the encouragement. The blessings, in all their forms, have been greatly appreciated, and important.

And yes, I am having fun. But no, nothing about this. is ok. And I'm not amazing.

This. This place.

my being here.

these people. the pain. the difficulties.

life is so difficult here.

and that is not to diminish the joy or the wonder.

it isn't to take away from the splendor of existence,
and the raw and unintelligible feeling of being alive.

But I feel small. I feel selfish. I feel hurt.

That's what it is. My feelings feel hurt. All the time.

That it is happening to them. That this is happening to me.

The questions. The what ifs and the whys. The doubt and the broken.

The unknown.

the witnessed, the experienced, and the felt.

Of working hands. On the occasion of my mother's 39th birthday.

I have known them all my life.

the hands of an artist. strong hands. well muscled, and always gracefully displayed, her hands have been introduced to the best of the best. mozart, schubert, bach. she has met them all.

these hands have known late nights and early mornings. monotonous repetition and spontaneous, instant, virtuosic creation.

her hands are bold. they are of the earth. they are never cautious to reach out to me and never hesitant to hold on tight.

my mother has strong hands.

were i to trace the lines and indentations that crease her fingers i suspect they would weave an intricate and myriad history of loss and effort. of intensity and despondency. of familiarity and doubt.

but the lines in her hands hold more than their literal derivation in my heart.

of battles fought for me. of prayers whispered daily. of a life created for me.

of ferocious tenacity and faith.

and above all else,

of love.

Whether or not

We only have what we have.

Only are who we are.

Whether or not

we are thankful

for it.

Maybe Today

Today I watched the clouds come in. they bellowed and swooned. a thick warm cloak. a dripping garnish. in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of everything.  I thought, what am I afraid of? That this is it? For them? for me? And the order of things- the monotony. of life passing me by? in the clouds? on the ground. And I don't know why.

Today I watched a couple boys run down the gravel path, beating sticks against old tires. they darted and flashed about, making a racket, hollering. skidding and trying not to lose control of their tires. shrieking with glee. And I don't know why.

Today I stretched my aching shoulders. I clung to the iron rail and pulled my limbs against their will. Tears of exhaustion have been loitering under my eyelids all day. When the fog cleared in the evening I saw a kite flying. it was a black plastic bag. And I don't know why.

A life extraordinary

Guys, I did it.

This twenty-five year old has shed the shackles of Facebook.

Effective as of 12:01 a.m., March 1st, 2013, I am no longer a member of the virtual book of faces.

*disclaimer*

This announcement is not intended as a jab to those of us who have faces in the book. I do not present the matter as a better decision than others who are members of the Facebook community. Rather, it was the best decision, for me, and I'll tell you why.

I don't know if this happens to you, it probably doesn't as most households I know have entered the 21st century, and this does not pertain to them.

In the Whitmire household, however, things run a little differently, folks! We run a disengaged ship! And while the term ship is used figuratively, it would also be an apt literal description, as I imagine that those on ships have a similar relationship with technology:

Non existent.

We don't even have a toaster, people!

Growing up, we had dial-up Internet, which slowly segued into DSL, using my sister's college computer from the Stone Age, and that died off into no computer at all.

My mother also was one of the 197 people , worldwide, to ask the government to get her that little black box, that was free, and advertised/endorsed when regular channels were on the way out, this making the box necessary if you were not, (which we were not, dammit), going to upgrade to cable/other forms of television watching.

In fact, Verizon once came to our house, informing us that we were the last (and only) house in the neighborhood not to have switched to at least basic cable.

You can imagine how smoothly that conversation went...

So we have 4 channels. Sometimes 7. We get weird stand up comedy from the 80s and Russian soap operas.

And I read a lot of books. I mean, a lot.

But in all seriousness, I've never been that worse for wear. We rent movies. I like picking movies. I like watching movies that my folks pick, that I would never have otherwise watched.

But I diverge.

I'm that 25 year old, that when I babysat or house sat. The adults would give me the tour, finally rounding on their entertainment system and say something flip like, but you know all about this, I don't even need to tell you what goes on here.

Sweat beading on my temples, was the room getting smaller? I would glance down. Speakers. Tv. Some black box. Apple TV. Netflix. blu-ray. cable. FIOS tv. 6 remotes. Panic would set in.

Um. Actually, we don't have a remote. I'm going to need a talk through...twice...

Nope, write it down. (Shout out to Ryon and Carrie Acey who have directions of how to segue to and from and in between all of their various television interfaces). I graduated from college, I can follow directions!

And no matter how many times we went through it. Inevitably. I would hit some button, get lost, and not knowing how to return, be forced into watching the entire DVD collection of a 9 year old, as I couldn't get back to the cable television.

Fortunately, I happen to like Pixar.

That said. When the opportunity did arise to house sit, I would find myself on the couch on a Friday night, wrapped up in the television. So many options. So many things I needed to watch.
I'd flip between 7 programs
Like I needed them to breathe.

But inevitably, on the second or third night.

My attention would wane.

I'd think. This isn't real.

I'm not doing anything.

I am watching those characters.

Loving.
Pursuing their dreams.
Succeeding.

And I'm drinking wine on a couch flipping between animal planet and how to lose a guy in 10 days.

Um...

and nothing against a good romantic comedy, or nature documentary.

But I would grow antsy. I think it's that I didn't grow up with that stimulation.

Also my father has the energy of a teenager and the ability to sit still of, well, a teenager.

Within five minutes of walking in the house, maybe going downstairs to get a beer,

I would hear the inevitable call, DIZZY, what the heck are you doing?

And where,even, would I have found the time for television?

Between the pinball and the scrabble. The ping pong and bike rides. The field hockey in the backyard, me versus my dad and his golf club.

But I diverge again, back to Facebook.

It's not that I don't like it. Seeing my college and high school friends. Seeing my sweet baby cousins. Keeping up with people.

But, I know who I love. And whether or not I see what they did last Friday night. I'm not going to forget. I'm not going to forget them, and I'm not going to stop loving them.

I've been digging into the Word lately. I'm reading a devotional called Jesus Calling. (Thank you Aunt Suzanne), and it is urging me to be present. To be faithful. And to put my faith in today. Not to be anxious for tomorrow, for the future, and not to be stuck in the past.

If you keep up with my blog you know that both of these, the past, and the future, are weights I carry on my heart.

that said, for me. Right now.

I can't think about babies and engagements and weddings. I can't think about anniversary photos. I don't need to be trolling through albums from my 22nd birthday. Of friends I love dearly that I've known for 18 years. I'm not 22, nor will I ever be again.

That year happened. It happened, it came and it went, and I turn 26 in a month.

It's time to be in the present. It's time to be living, right now. I'm not engaged. Not married. Not in college. Not dating him. Not 22.

I'm 25. I live in Haiti. And I don't have Facebook.

Now.

I'll worry about the future, when it gets here.