Brandelyn: Lyrical Contradiction

Stream of consciousness… Random rainy day coffee shop thoughts…

*the rules have been thrown out for this one... fyi

            I’m here, reading about the history of my people, sitting at my favorite café across the street from my Alma Mater, UC Berkeley, suddenly aware of how blessed my life is. Reading about the struggles Black people went through, just to get the basics in education and living, makes me keenly aware of how beautiful this moment I am living in is. My ancestors, the generations of my mother and grandmother were brilliant. I am so grateful that they were brave enough to fight, wise enough to know that we as a people, as a community deserved better, that they, their present and future was worth the fight, that their destiny was so much greater than everyone who held the power said it was and it is that tenacity, that belief, that vision and dream that allows me to sit still and acknowledge this moment. Because of them, I am able to sit here, at this quiet café, with pen and paper, staring at my Alma Mater, grateful, content and completely satisfied with who I have been allowed to become.

*There is a father at the next table having a quiet conversation with his son that consists of more smiles and gestures than words. He placed a tiny plastic monkey on the ledge next to where his son was sitting and when the little boy caught sight of it, he squealed and laughed with so much innocence, it made me smile. That moment reminded me of what life is about. Forcing our way through the muck and mire and finding our way to that place that is open enough for us to squeal and laugh as freely and openly as we want to. The older we get, the more rare those moments become, so when they are presented to us like an unexpected gift, we have to savor them, bask in them, treasure their preciousness and etch it into our memory as a reason to continue fighting through that muck and mire, until we can taste it again.

*Today, the opinions of others regarding me and how I look, or what I am doing, or what I have to say, are spoken in fluent Portuguese, and while it may sound beautiful, or angry, or right, I don’t understand it and all I can hear are these words pouring out onto the page like the rain drops tapping on the window. Today I am floating in the quiet of this moment, wearing my favorite bright red rain boots with the small hole on the top, unaware of run-on sentences or sloppy handwriting, simply breathing in the wrinkled, big haired, loveable thickness of me. Today I am prepared for the rain and the cold and have decided to embrace it instead being afraid. Giving up my efforts to translate Portuguese and relishing in this simple, uninhibited language of me.

*I wonder what the girl sharing this table with me is listening to. Every once in a while she will bob her head from side to side, but her facial expression remains stoically the same. She has random letters tattooed on her fingers in pink highlighter and I wonder if she is a Cal student, and I wonder if she is there because her parents want her to be there or if it is a lifelong dream of hers to be a Golden Bear. I wonder what she would do with her life if the word ‘no’ simply did not exist. Heck, I wonder what I would do with my life if that word didn’t exist. But then again, how much sweeter is the victory when you win and move forward in spite of that word. I wonder if the girl sitting across from me is listening to something that makes her believe that someday the world could be hers. I wonder if she realizes that it already is.

            (Sidebar: She is a student a Cal a freshman, contemplating being an English Major. We talked for a while and she picked my brain for all of the knowledge I had as an alumni. It made me realize just exactly how far I’ve come…)

*I sent him a song the other day and told him that it reminded me of him. It was an instrumental electronic piece by an artist I discovered at starbucks of all places, but it made me smile, so I sent it to him because he makes me smile. He listened to it, intently I imagine and asked me if it was supposed to be an instrumental and I laughed. I told him to stop over thinking and just flow with it. He listened to it again and understood the metaphor and that too, made me smile. Our minds create the same kinds of swirly black and white patterns and we are both too complex for our own good sometimes but that is the thing that draws me to him the most. He is my reflection and it looks amazing to me. His song just played on my Ipod  and his face instantly appeared in my imagination. He keeps me warm with his words and helps me breathe past the complications that force us to find ways to see into the depth of each other. The thing between us is thick. And warm. Like the covers I layer on to my bed but only in the winter time when I need to the extra weight to make me feel safe. I whisper these words to him every time we communicate and he understands the metaphor, and that make me smile.

*There is a man sitting next to me on this stone bench waiting for the train. He approached the empty side of this bench just as the loud electronic voice announced that we had eleven minutes to wait. He sat down with a huff, tossed his bag on to the stone bench gruffly and crossed his legs. He began rifling through his messenger bag and pulled out a brand new CD he just bought. I knew it was new because he ripped the plastic off with enough fervor to make me notice and did not start breathing until the glossy stapled booklet was opened in his hand. He is sitting next to me reading this inlay with as much intensity as I feel when I have a Paulo Coelho book in my hand and I wonder when the last time was that music made me feel that way. His facial expression is surly, but I feel compelled to ask him what captured his attention like that. His face broke into a sarcastic grin as he responded “Radiohead. I sat there and asked myself why I was reading it. It was just something to do while I waited for the train.” We got off at the same stop and he bolted from the station while I paused, resting my notebook on a railing that hovered above the platform that rested flights of stairs below me and I realized that conversation is necessary to the discovery of the truth. And reality is truly in the eye of the observer. I’m glad I asked him because at least I know he got one smile in today (even though it was charmingly sarcastic) and now I know I have a mission to find music who’s lyrics alone inspire me to sit down and read them like a Paulo Coelho book.

Photo Credit: http://southwestjes.files.wordpress.com/2009/04/rain.jpg