July 11: It was my father's birthday. And our 30th monthsary :)
As with the past six years since Papa passed away, I found myself deliberately keeping busy on that day. I remember planning to write a blog entry the other evening but for some reason didn't. This evening I realized that, ever since putting up this blog two years ago, that I have never written at length about events deeply personal since 2005: coping with events, getting married, watching my mother-in-law pass away, starting with a new slate, being with my grandmother when she died last January. Maybe someday I'll be able to patch all these memories together into a cohesive whole.
I used to think that the power of writing encompassed everything. Language is a wonderful intervention on consciousness, a means of defining the world. Through it one is empowered to find significance in the mundane, humor in coldness and chaos, nobleness in the humble. Because of it, there are infinite ways to converse about comfort, ways to articulate elation and celebration. Even things which we often wish to turn away from can be confronted through language. Truths are woven and unravelled in the turn of a phrase. Dissent will always have its way of spelling itself out on the page. Anger is fluid: in the absence of restraint it shall surely spill and stain everything in its path. But for sadness? Sometimes there are just no words.
As with the past six years since Papa passed away, I found myself deliberately keeping busy on that day. I remember planning to write a blog entry the other evening but for some reason didn't. This evening I realized that, ever since putting up this blog two years ago, that I have never written at length about events deeply personal since 2005: coping with events, getting married, watching my mother-in-law pass away, starting with a new slate, being with my grandmother when she died last January. Maybe someday I'll be able to patch all these memories together into a cohesive whole.I used to think that the power of writing encompassed everything. Language is a wonderful intervention on consciousness, a means of defining the world. Through it one is empowered to find significance in the mundane, humor in coldness and chaos, nobleness in the humble. Because of it, there are infinite ways to converse about comfort, ways to articulate elation and celebration. Even things which we often wish to turn away from can be confronted through language. Truths are woven and unravelled in the turn of a phrase. Dissent will always have its way of spelling itself out on the page. Anger is fluid: in the absence of restraint it shall surely spill and stain everything in its path. But for sadness? Sometimes there are just no words.
1 comment:
love you lisa. call me if you're sad. i miss you.
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