* Note that this is a haiku
Mother, talk to me.
I need you so very much.
Why are you silent?
Written by Anne
Haiku: A japanese verse form, consisting of 17 syllables altogether in a 5-7-5 pattern. Usually written about nature.
When I was eight, my grandfather passed away. He had fallen on the slippery bathroom floor and was taken immediately to the hospital. My cousins and I were blissfully unaware of the seriousness of his condition because day after day, our parents assured us that he was fine.
It wasn’t until the adults decided to move my grandfather home from the hospital did I see how truly close to death he was. His skin was stretched taut, a fine white-ash with tiny wisps of wrinkles. Like thin calligraphy strokes, his eyes squeezed shut, spelling the pain of his weakened body. Even after seeing the state that he was in, I did not believe that he was going to die. I was eight, young and invincible. The world was just and fair, and I knew that my grandfather was never going to die.
His final words to me were, “Be good. Listen to your mother.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek, and left his bedroom. I still believed that my grandfather was going to live.
His death brushed past me like the clothes on my skin; I could not grasp the concept of “gone.”
My grandfather’s funeral was a grand weeklong event. The adults moved my cousins and I into my grandparents’ house for the funeral. In the daytime, my cousins and I put on solemn faces to greet mourners who had come to honor my grandfather. But at night, it was a big slumber party. We played silly games and stayed up late, making up ghost stories but stopping before they got too scary. We dared not evoke the memory of our grandfather for fear that his ghost would come visiting. Somehow, I had convinced myself to fast forward the memory of my grandfather from alive to untouchable ghost. There was no time for me to mourn because I was having too much fun with my cousins.
On the seventh and final day of the funeral, my family prepared my grandfather for cremation. They stuffed fancy clothing and precious family artifacts on the sides of his coffin. I suppose it was necessary for his journey, but I thought my grandfather looked uncomfortable.
I peered into his coffin, half-expecting my grandfather to open his eyes and say, “It’s okay, everyone!” But he didn’t, and all I could think was, “Last chance, Grandpa. Come on.”
I felt like I was watching a pen fall, slow motion, to the ground. And when it hit the cold cement, there was a loud clang, a jolt of reality: My grandfather was dead. Once the tears came, I could not stop them. Sobbing and gulping for air like an idiot, I clung to the side of the coffin, regretting every ghost story ever told and every shove-aside I gave to my memories of him.
My mother pulled me close to her and hugged me tight. It looked like she was comforting me, but she was really trying to muffle my wailing. Finally, she pulled me into the kitchen, gave me a glass of water, and left me.
My first encounter with death and it was dealt with a glass of water. I drank the water slowly, unhurried and calm. Looking within myself, I made sure not to rush past the important details of my grandfather’s life. Instead, I rested my head into my open palms and cried, mourning for the loss of my beloved grandfather.
Written by Dene
I feel cold and solemn, and I tear
I miss your kiss
Bewildered in the thoughts of our memories
I earn for your presence, a presence that I no longer deserve
and one day I will wither, away
with a small but delicate scar that reads
‘I love you’
Written by Caffee
At a little corner of a house
Sits a doll.
She is very small.
Bloody tears stain her paper thin glass face,
Outlining the cracks that adorn her cheeks.
Her broken limbs hang by her side
Her head bowed in sorrow.
She is as fragile as the wind.
Having fallen off the mantel so many times,
It’s a wonder how she stays together.
I picked her up and peered inside her.
She had a storm within her.
Worry, Anguish, Regret and Pain fought a war.
They refused to leave her alone.
I stared into her painful eyes
And compared her to the beautiful dolls sitting on the window panel.
They were white and immaculate.
With perfectly painted faces and delicate hands.
But hollow as the porcelain vase.
I held the doll to my face.
And kissed her.
Then I crushed her.
Written by Perr
My mind urged me to leave the house as soon as I heard the loud yelling through the crack of my door. Yet that same fear that swallows me every time, got me again. But this time, I had to fight back. A thousand emotions swept through my mind as I looked back on all the times mom and dad fought. They were countless. In a rush, a surge of energy passed through me and deep down, I found the courage to run out of my protective room, downstairs and into the front hall that never seemed so long. People turned their heads to look at me as I raced out the door like a blur, but I didn’t care. I just needed to get out of there.
I couldn’t tell which was louder—the rhythmic pounding of my heart, or the steady beating of my white sneakers against the pavement. I looked down the path and saw the red, copper and yellow leaves as they swirled around me in a frenzied dance. The leaves seemed to be on a path, a never ending journey without a destination. They went wherever the wind blew. That’s how I wanted to be. Subtle, gentle and free. As I took in the view around me, I closed my eyes and remembered this moment forever.
I didn’t know where to go, nor did I know where I could go. I reached into the back pocket of my favorite old pair of jeans and pulled out my cell phone. In a dazed manner, I fumbled with the buttons, scrolling through my list of numbers. A part of me wanted to call my friends, but I had bothered them enough with my problems. I didn’t really know who to turn to.
Sometimes I would wonder if anybody really cared about me. It always seemed as if the whole world was too busy with something else, never being able to give me the time of day. Especially my parents. I always thought parents were supposed to be the ones to provide their child with nurture. Growing up, I’ve always watched the other kids with a longing to just be able to feel what it was like to be cared for by the two individuals who gave me the gift of life. I would always watch as the children weaved their hands through their parent’s with a genuinely happy look on their face as they took a stroll through the park or through the shopping mall. I can’t remember the last time I had experienced that kind of joy and love with anything concerning my parents.
I finally snapped back to reality as I realized how long I had been walking, and my hands were beginning to numb in the cold of late November. Wiping my eyes with my sleeve, I reached in my back pocket again and pulled out my cell phone. I began to call up Alex. The phone rang and immediately, he picked up.
“Hello?”
“Hey … it’s me. Can I come over?” I asked, my voice trembling through the tears.
“Sure. Are you okay? Where are you?”
“Don’t worry about it … I’ll tell you when I get there. Just give me five minutes.”
“Okay, then … see you.”
Hastily shoving the phone back in my pocket, I walked in the direction of Alex’s house. I guess he was watching for me through the window, because right when I reached the doorstep, the door swung open, and out stepped one of my very best friends, immediately embracing me in a warm hug. Once again, my emotions took over me and I could feel the tears well up and slide down my already tear-stained cheeks. He pulled away, and tucked the strands of hair that fell into my face behind my ears.
“Come in and tell me what happened,” he said in a gentle voice.
Entering his house, I immediately navigated myself into the living room, where we normally had our talks. This was like my second home. Alex wandered into the kitchen to make me some of his to-die-for hot chocolate. I know, because he always does when I come over. He knows it’s my favorite. I looked around the living room, at the walls that gave me a sense of comfort and security. I inhaled and was able to smell the tempting aroma of Vietnamese food that drifted from the kitchen, even thought his mom wasn’t cooking. I looked up and saw the same painting of the open sea and the sun setting behind it, the same painting that I remember seeing the first time I ever stepped foot into this house. I smiled and knew that I would always have a place here, no matter what.
Alex came back from the kitchen, with the two cups in his hand. Carefully, he handed the cup to me, not letting go until I had closed my hands firmly around the middle of the cup. The smell of his infamous hot chocolate filled my nose and I closed my eyes for a moment to remember this moment with my photographic memory.
“So, tell me … what happened?” he asked, with a look in his eyes that let me know that he was genuinely concerned.
“I …”
And it all came out. Every last detail. Even things that I had never told him before, I finally opened up to say. As I talked, I felt my small, dark cell that I had trapped myself in for so long open up. I could feel every emotion pass through my mind as I spoke of every cry, every fight, and every long night. I paused a moment, making sure he was really listening. At that same moment, for the first time, I looked at him carefully, examining his face. I took in every single feature, from the depth of his soft brown eyes, to the dimple in his right cheek that showed up when he had that attentive look on his face. I could see his brows furrowed, and that let me know he was listening, lingering on my every word.
I then made a decision—a decision to tell a secret so deep, that I was afraid of the truth myself. I had buried that secret deep, deep enough so that nobody would ever suspect anything. I had concealed this so deep within me, that I wasn’t sure I knew how to express it. Slowly, I looked down at my arms that were covered by the long sleeves of my sweatshirt.
“Look,” I said, not really believing that the word had left my mouth.
Hesitantly but slowly, I rolled up my sleeves. I quickly looked away, scared that the tears would start falling again. I didn’t know what Alex’s reaction would be, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know. I heard a gasp, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Cadence … why … why do you do this to yourself?” he asked as he cradled my arm in his hands. “Why didn’t you ever tell someone? Oh, my God …”
I looked at his face and saw true sadness in his eyes. I then looked down at my own arms, the thin red lines that I had created as a reminder of my struggles. Each scar represented a struggle that I had overcome, a battle that I had won. I looked up just in time to see a single tear roll down his cheek—something that I had never seen before. Somehow, I had broken the barrier that had been shielding the part of him that he did not want me to see. I didn’t know what to say.
“Sorry …” I managed to mumble, not knowing why I said it. “I don’t know why. Please don’t ask. It was the only thing I could do that wouldn’t harm anyone else.”
There was an awkward pause, a lull in the conversation.
He didn’t say anything in what felt like hours, but he broke the loudest silence by pulling me into a strong embrace, one that assured me that one day, everything would be alright.
“You know I would’ve been there.”
That night, he walked me home. For the first time of the day, I wondered if my parents had noticed I was gone. Were they looking for me? But then I realized that it didn’t matter. I wanted this walk to last forever, but I knew I could only cherish it while it lasted.
When we arrived at my doorstep, we looked at each other, not knowing what to say. I went on my tip-toes, giving him a peck on the cheek, keeping it short and sweet. I then looked up at his height, and a weak smile spread across my chapped lips. “Thank you … you know … for everything.”
“You know that’s not necessary. Best friends are best friends for a reason, you know,” he replied to my gratitude.
With a single smile, I slipped into the house, not having a single clue what would happen the moment I stepped into the house.
And nothing happened. The feuding continued, and I stormed up to my room. It wouldn’t matter how much noise I made, they wouldn’t hear me. It was so typical of them to not notice at all that their only daughter had been missing for more than half the day. I went up to my room, my sanctuary. I sighed, flopping onto my bed, and began staring at the bumpy ceiling, secretly wishing it would just fall on me and end my misery.
I didn’t notice it at first, but I suddenly realized that the shouting had stopped abruptly. I walked to the door of my room and peered out to the hallway tentatively, listening for any sign of the war being waged only five minutes earlier. I then heard footsteps making way up the stairs, and I knew it was mom and dad. I frantically scrambled back into my room, my back facing the door.
“Cadence, honey …” I heard my mom begin.
I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to hear what she had to say.
“Your father and I have been talking and making some decisions.”
Yeah, more like having screaming matches, I thought to myself, a smirk forming at the corner of my lips. I wished with all my might that they would just disappear.
My dad spoke now.
“You know how your mother and I have been having some hard times lately, and problems have been arising left and right. I don’t know how to put this, but love doesn’t last forever. And in this case, love ceases to exist between your mother and I. We think the only way to resolve this is for us to separate. Now, this doesn’t mean that you won’t still see both of us regularly. It’s just that—Cadence? Honey?”
“I think she’s asleep,” I heard my mom whisper.
They didn’t even bother coming around to the other side of the room to see if I was really sleeping. The tears were staining my pillow, but I couldn’t care less. Mom and dad left my room, and I couldn’t help but think negative thoughts. I decided that tomorrow would be the last day of my suffering. I couldn’t let this go on to be the rest of my life. I wasn’t sure why I did it, but for the first time ever, I prayed to God, or whoever was up there, to let me be remembered. And I then let the whirring of the heater lull me to sleep.
5:00 A.M., my eyes fluttered open. I lay there, letting the scenes of the saddest and happiest times of my life flash before my eyes. Then, with a determination I never before experienced, I rose out of bed and into my parent’s bathroom. There in the medicine cabinet, I knew sat my destiny, my fate, in a tiny bottle. Silently, I opened the cabinet and removed the bottle of sleeping pills that I know my dad used. I filled two glasses of water, and carried it all back into my room.
Never looking back once nor hesitating, I sat on my bed. Opening the bottle and removing the tiny tablets from the bottle never seemed so difficult. I closed my eyes, taking in as many as possible and gulped down every last one of them.
I then lay back in bed, covering myself with the blanket. I looked around my room, trying to remember every last detail, every sign of comfort that I had wrapped myself within for the past sixteen years of my life. I thought of Alex and everything he had ever done for me. It was then that I realized I couldn’t have even lasted this long had it not been for his comforting words. I know he’d understand why I was doing this. He had to.
I closed my eyes, ending the book that I called my life.
—–
The flowers were white. Everything was—from the pews to the coffin, down to the very last detail. After all, it was her favorite color. Not only that, but it also symbolized purity, something that Cadence possessed. Row after row of pews were filled by family and friends, all with a solemn look on their faces, all afraid to cry. They knew she wouldn’t want that.
“Hi, for those of you who don’t know me, my name is Alex Pham. I didn’t come here with a speech written out on a piece of paper, because I know that Cadence would have wanted me to be original and creative, and have the words come straight from my heart. Cadence would call me her best friend, but after I found out what happened, I felt nothing close to that. I had talked to her only the night before the tragedy, she came running to me in a state of mixed emotions. I devoted my entire day to her, just talking about how she felt. She left happy, or so I thought.” Tears began to stream down his face as he tried to fight them and struggled to continue. “I began to blame myself for her loss, not having said enough the night before to save her. But then I realized that letting her go would be the most important thing.”
The people in the chapel now began to sob silently, but Alex knew the spotlight was still on him.
“Anyone who knew Cadence, closely or not, knew that she was such a joy to be around. To us, she was a light that shone evidently in the dark. Seeing her smile each day was just a gift that no other could bring. Spending time with her brought laughter and something more that we could not help but cherish. The air around her was easier to breathe in, and she was truly an innocent victim of her own conscience. But what could we have done to have made it better for her? I’ll leave that question unanswered. I’ll leave it to all of you to think about. Cadence is now truly an angel, and I know she is watching over us from above. Now we need to live our lives differently, in a way that she can smile upon. Cadence, on behalf of all the people here, I miss you and love you lots. I’ll never forget you.”
The young boy sat down, and one by one, friends and family came up to speak.
“Cadence meant a lot to me … and I regret that I never took the time to let her know.”
“Cadence … thanks for all the advice you ever gave me. There was a time when I was almost in your place. But I’m here and you’re gone … I’m sorry for never begin able to return the favor.”
“Cadence, you have touched so many lives in your time here on earth. Our precious time was unfairly cut off, but we know you’re in a better place now. The memories will never be forgotten, I’ll remember every last moment spent with you. We love you.”
Written by Dee
She had fallen hard for him – hopelessly and helplessly in love. Yet she never said a word. She knows that it will never be; she had known the day she liked him, the day he wrote about love and shared it to her. Reading what he wrote struck her hard in her beating heart. This rush of emotions surprised her; she did not recognize it, refused to recognize it.
They laughed, hugged, flirted – they even came close to kissing. But she always held herself back. She was afraid of getting too close, too emotionally attached. After all, she was waiting for him to turn her away, to realize that she was not good enough for him. There were nights when she would lay in bed thinking, I wonder if he’d tell me tomorrow. She hoped that day would never come.
Hope. No matter how despairing a situation becomes, there would always be a glimmer of hope floating around, enough to fuel dreams and make them soar. Or crush them. She clung on to this ambiguous life saver, knowing in her heart that she might get hurt. But to her, he was worth it.
I guess I should tell you about him. He had the gift to weave words into beauty, writing stories that brought tears to her eyes. She was deeply enamored by his honesty. He would write about all his problems, fears, and flaws. Then he would show it to the world. She thought that to be extremely brave; she would never have the courage to be so shamelessly open. Extremely passionate about God, he would raise his arms to the sky, proclaiming His greatness, and then proceed with life as if that was the most ordinary thing anyone could ever do. He was a truly devout Christian. Sometimes it annoyed her that she did not have the same beliefs as he did, that she could not understand his love for something so completely foreign to her. But perhaps it was this passion she fell for as it embodies everything he is.
And her. She was a girl who would love to believe in everything, but also maintain just enough cynicism to be able to live in reality. She was always seen with a smile on her face, cheery and perky. He called her a cheerleader. She had so much energy, jumping, dancing, singing – trying her very best to make him smile. Because seeing him happy was her high. Rarely would she expose her vulnerable side to the world; rarely would she cry because she believed it represented weakness and frailty. She kept her fears and worries inside of her, locked up until the key could be given to the right person. And she wished dearly that she could have handed him the key.
But he loved God, and she did not. She knew that no matter how strongly he felt for her, it would never ever surpass his love for God. They could never be. Still, she held on tightly to that shred of hope. Would it be her savior or her destroyer? She began to fear rejection. And it came. Boy, did it come.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” she said, bracing herself for it.
“Whatever we have right now, this relationship, thing, whatever it is–I need it to stop right now. I cannot be more than friends with you, even though I dearly want to. I have been on the phone for a long time today talking to all my Christian friends. And I’ve been talking to God.”
She swallowed her tears. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Right now, at this moment in my life, I cannot be in a relationship with anyone but God. He is my priority. I need to give myself – wholly and entirely – to him. I have been too busy dancing, too busy falling in love with you, to see that God should be who I am serving. And I know this is going to sound cliche, but I just want to be friends with you. It’s not that I no longer care for you; I still absolutely do. But right now, God has to be my priority.”
She smiled and said, “I understand.” He seemed relieved by her reaction. I suppose he had expected tears, anger, disappointment from her. I suppose he was glad that he did not have to deal with her despair. He now lives for God, unburdened by any emotional baggage. Thank God she understands.
And she really did. After all she saw it coming. She had put herself in a situation where she could have never won; she knew that from the very beginning. Yet she had allowed herself to invest her feelings, allowed their gazes to linger and their touches to mean more. She had allowed herself to fall in love. And now, she walked away from him, her face carrying a touch of a smile. She held her head high and looked the world in the face. She did not cry.
That night, she laid in bed. His words ran through her head. She decided to take a shower. Standing naked, she felt the hot water trickle down her face.
Don’t cry. Not over a boy.
A boy? He wasn’t just a boy. He was the boy she had fallen in love with.
As her body heaved with each shuddering sob, it seemed as though she would never stop. Tears coursed slowly down her cheeks, immediately washed away by the shower. She mourned for the loss of a beautiful future.
And I mourned for her loss.
Written by Dene
Alex was living in a pretend world. Aged eight, with dark hair and a heart-shaped face, she wasn’t pretty, nor was she hideous. To her classmates, she was the cheery, over-active girl who was cool with everything. She was liked by her peers and her teachers. No one bothered to look past her wide smile; no one saw the hell she was going through.
At home, Alex got into regular fights with her mother. Their tantrums were heard clearly by their neighbors; Alex’s cries when beaten by her mother were never mentioned. The next day, she would be greeted with sympathetic smiles. She was just a little girl, the neighbors thought. Yet they never said a word. Alex just smiled brightly and greeted them. Such a young girl.
I’m not exactly sure when it happened. Slowly, Alex began to hate her mother. She hated her for giving her the ugly welts on her arm that must be hidden. She hated her for the slaps, the hateful words that could never be taken back. At night, her screams of frustration and anger would be muffled by her pillow.
And then she snapped. Alex packed her bags. She stuffed her favorite outfits into her Barbie bag pack. She remembered to take her money from her piggy bank (all $5.43) and make extra sandwiches for the journey. She didn’t know where she was going, just as long as it was away. She stepped out of house, and started walking. Alex walked til her legs were sore, and she rested on a bench. She took a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and chewed on it thoughtfully. She felt so tired. All she wanted was a soft bed and a stuffed animal to hug.
“I don’t want to leave my mommy,” she said out loud. So she started back, crying all the way home. She knew that hell would be awaiting her when she returned; she knew that people were going to be worried. When her mother saw her, she gave a cry of anger and frustration. Alex recognized it. She had often done the same.
All done in love. Alex may hate her mother. But without hate, love would be worthless. And love within hate is the most challenged, most daunted, and most feared. But Alex and her mother were strong. They listened more, shared more, and lived. There are still problems within their relationship; there are still times when “I hate you” is thrown angrily across the room to each other. But Alex would never walk away from her mother. She hates her too much.
Written by Dene
Victoria’s brother, Ken, was driving me home one summer night. His girlfriend, May, was sitting in the passenger seat, while Victoria and I were in the back. We were having a little trouble getting to my house because I had just recently moved and was not exactly sure about directions. All I knew was that I lived off of Rainbow Drive, in some townhouse place. Since that wasn’t exactly helpful, we got lost pretty soon.
After fifteen minutes of aimless driving, Ken started going uphill towards the richer areas. “I definitely don’t live around here,” I said. He just shrugged and continued driving. We looked, with mouths open in awe, at the houses that seemed to glare threateningly at us. Our only source of light came from the car’s headlights as there were no street lights up in the hills. Darting shadows and shifting winds were starting to make me nervous. But Ken continued driving uphill.
When we finally reached the top, he turned the car around. I gasped, for I had received the most delightful gift. There, in front of us, was the most breathtaking view. Golden lights winked brightly, dotting the entire town. They flirted with their brilliance and luster, coaxing even the most ill-tempered person to feel joy. Woven between these lights were shapes of houses and buildings. They changed and moved, fitting together despite of their differences. Looking up, I could see the horizon, an infinite line blurring to become one with the sky. The sky stretched endlessly. Its color was a magnificent fusion of pinkish-purple, and Midas-gold. To capture that view would be impossible, but that moment left a trace of hope.
Each time we are overwhelmed with problems, we feel that there is no meaning in our lives. Blaming ourselves seems to be a natural outlet for our frustrations. We get so caught up in the misery, the self-pity, and the I’m-in-hell feeling, that we forget about the good things. It’s no secret that we live in a world of depravity and hate. But pay attention to the little details, and it really isn’t quite as hopeless. The blooming daisy, the sincere smile, the crying new-born; beauty is right in front of us. It isn’t until we take a step out of our world that we are able to see the bigger picture. And it is beautiful.
That’s when I knew for sure. On that hot muggy summer night, as I gazed in wonder, my mind was clear of all doubts. We are all okay.