hesitation and defeat
my father told me once- when after floundering in the seas of self-discovery i found that i could twist words to mirror my emotions, to tell of my pain, to make someone happy-that in addition to knowing how to say things, for the most part, i know exactly WHAT to say.
at the time he said it i was in the midst of a sparring match with my second sister, who unfortunately for her had not progressed much in the way of throwing words around. and even then i understood that particular rebuke as a compliment to my skill with words and even more as a warning that i had the capacity to cause pain in a way more hurtful and unforgivable than any punch i could throw or any other move i learned from my male cousins at the height of my tomboy days.
i have always, everywhere i have been, with everyone i have come into contact with, heeded my father's words.
i use my words to write stories, to engage in banter with my more pikon sisters and my father, i use them to work, to trade insults, to throw the verbal warning punches whenever someone strikes too close for me to ignore.
but i have always heeded my father's words. and i have always held back.
even when i knew that i had this weapon to inflict pain with, even when i knew that victory was mine for the taking should i choose to use what i had. even if only to defend myself.
even at the height of my greatest pain, even at the height of the most hurtful of goodbyes.
maybe being on the receiving end of unbelievable pain an unnatural number of times has, instead of making me eager to inflict pain, made me unwilling to deal that final blow. or unleash a barrage of killer blows.
maybe at nineteen watching my love drive away from me and spending the night and the nights that followed listening to the saddest of songs, knowing i loved him too much to hurt him and not forgive him. maybe finding out that since then he has been happy with his love.
maybe at twenty when almost bleeding to death and pretending i was okay for the benefit of a worried father i spent a night walking through the rain trying in vain to look for a working phone and a way to not feel abandoned in the aftermath of what was then, and what is still, the biggest decision i have ever made in my life.
so many other maybes. so many other nights. so many other words that over and over i know i should've said if only to not seem defenseless.
how many battles have i lost because i chose to hesitate. how many times have i sought refuge in the thought, the consuelo de bobo, that i heeded my father's words yet again.
to that count, add one more.
at the time he said it i was in the midst of a sparring match with my second sister, who unfortunately for her had not progressed much in the way of throwing words around. and even then i understood that particular rebuke as a compliment to my skill with words and even more as a warning that i had the capacity to cause pain in a way more hurtful and unforgivable than any punch i could throw or any other move i learned from my male cousins at the height of my tomboy days.
i have always, everywhere i have been, with everyone i have come into contact with, heeded my father's words.
i use my words to write stories, to engage in banter with my more pikon sisters and my father, i use them to work, to trade insults, to throw the verbal warning punches whenever someone strikes too close for me to ignore.
but i have always heeded my father's words. and i have always held back.
even when i knew that i had this weapon to inflict pain with, even when i knew that victory was mine for the taking should i choose to use what i had. even if only to defend myself.
even at the height of my greatest pain, even at the height of the most hurtful of goodbyes.
maybe being on the receiving end of unbelievable pain an unnatural number of times has, instead of making me eager to inflict pain, made me unwilling to deal that final blow. or unleash a barrage of killer blows.
maybe at nineteen watching my love drive away from me and spending the night and the nights that followed listening to the saddest of songs, knowing i loved him too much to hurt him and not forgive him. maybe finding out that since then he has been happy with his love.
maybe at twenty when almost bleeding to death and pretending i was okay for the benefit of a worried father i spent a night walking through the rain trying in vain to look for a working phone and a way to not feel abandoned in the aftermath of what was then, and what is still, the biggest decision i have ever made in my life.
so many other maybes. so many other nights. so many other words that over and over i know i should've said if only to not seem defenseless.
how many battles have i lost because i chose to hesitate. how many times have i sought refuge in the thought, the consuelo de bobo, that i heeded my father's words yet again.
to that count, add one more.
posted by peach at 9:17 PM
1 Comments:
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