tiny fire

At the behest of Sean, I've been following therealljidol , and there's time for a free entry, so here's mine...

***

It's a mild November afternoon, and the sun beats down on my sweatered back as I sit Indian style in the grass of the park. I close my eyes briefly and slowly will away the ambient noise of the city, making the horns, engines, and chatter leave my space completely. I lower my back down onto the ground, letting my arms flop up over my head as I imagine myself running carelessly through a field of tulips, and instead of donning a fall-appropriate black sweater, I am now in a periwinkle sundress. In my daydream, I can still feel the sun bathing me, caressing my bare shoulders as I chase after a little girl by the name of Mara. She is wearing a yellow sundress, and she is beautiful.

She calls out to me after she has spotted our destination. Her voice is sweet; it flows like honey as she continues to direct me. "Mommy, Mommy," Mara says, still running ahead of me. "It's this way, follow me!"

I continue after Mara, still several steps behind her. After several more yards, we reach our point of destination -- a clear blue lake. We could see the small ripples in the water, an indication of the breeze that moved across the field and the lake. My daughter and I continued down to the water's edge, and already waiting there for us was the standard red-checkered tablecloth laid out on the ground. There was a picnic basket sitting in the middle of the cloth, and I kneeled down to open it, finding peanut butter and fluff sandwiches and bottles of apple juice, our favorites.

Mara and I sat down on the tablecloth, and before I could reach into the basket, her five-year-old hands were already in the basket, retrieving and distributing the food for the two of us. I looked at her and smiled as she handed me a sandwich, proud of her impeccable manners. I also took a moment to silently and selfishly pat myself on the back, because I had tangible evidence that I was being a good mother to this child, and to this point had raised her well.

Mara was to begin kindergarten in the fall, and it was all that she could talk about. "Mommy, what do *you* think kindergarten will be like?" she asked me after taking a gulp of apple juice.

I chuckled before I responded, because my beautiful daughter did not realize that I too had once been through kindergarten, even if I did not remember much of it eighteen years later.

"Well, baby," I started, turning my head to the lake for a moment. "I think that kindergarten is going to be great. You're gonna learn a lot, and you're gonna make lots of friends. You'll learn to read books with lots of big words in them, so one day, you'll be able to read books to Mommy before bed!" Mara laughed at the visual I gave her -- my five-year-old tucking *me* into bed every night, giving me a kiss on my forehead, and turning on my nightlight before shutting off the main lights and closing my door for the night.

"You're so silly, Mommy," she laughed in response. Leaving her food, she crawled across the blanket and into my lap, and I turned so that the two of us were facing the lake. "Mommy, rub my head, please?" Mara asked softly.

Without a word, I took her light brown hair out of the pigtails I had given her earlier in the day, and began to lightly massage her scalp. Every few minutes, I ran my fingers through her wavy hair, and I continued this pattern until her breathing became deep and even, and her head slumped against my chest. I held Mara tight in my arms as she slept, gazing out over the lake. I thought about how truly blessed I was to have this little girl in my life, and before I could begin to think about my life without her, I heard a dog bark loudly into my ear.

My eyes snapped open, and I was back in the city park, away from the lake and the tulip field. Most importantly, I was away from my beautiful Mara. Instead, there was a dog standing next to my face, poised to lick me, and I cocked my head slightly to find the dog's owner running to me, apologizing profusely.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you," the man kept saying to me as he attached the leash back to his dog's collar. I gave him a small smile and nodded curtly as I got up and headed away from the man and his dog, and back to my apartment.

As I reached the edge that divided the grass from the sidewalk, I dug into my pocket and pulled out a small photo. It was a picture of my daughter, giving the world a wide, toothless smile through the lens of a camera.

The words "Victoria, age 5" were scrawled across the back of the picture.

--

It did not occur to me that I might have been pregnant until after the final exam period was over. I was never any good at paying attention to my body, to the point where I was always a little surprised when my menstrual cycle began each month. It always seemed to come sooner than I expected, and while I would have counted back the days to my last cycle, I always managed to find something else more important to hold my attention.

My first and only sexual experience at that point had taken place just before I went home for Thanksgiving break. His name was Jacob, and he lived in an off-campus apartment; I often went to his home to study chemistry with him, and he was a very nice boy. He was extremely intelligent, and he always helped me with the difficult homework problems. In return, I made flashcards for the two of us, because I had much neater handwriting than he.

That night, we were studying for our second midterm, and because the two of us had stayed relatively ahead with respect to homework, our cramming process was not as bad as I expected that it would be. Jacob suggested that we take a break to watch television, and I gladly accepted the distraction. We sat together on his couch, flipping through the channels, looking for something to watch at three in the morning. We eventually settled on bad late-night stand up on Comedy Central, and he snuggled in close to me on his living room sofa.

Before I knew it, he was turned to face me, and his hands were on my face. Jacob moved in to kiss me, and it was no big deal to me -- I had kissed a few boys before, and besides that, he was kind of cute. I didn't pull away from him, and looking back, I see that that was my first mistake. Next thing I knew, he was on top of me, and I did not stop him.

I was concentrating so hard on the mixture of pain and arousal that radiated through my body that I did not notice when Jacob said, "Shit!" under his breath after he pulled out of me.

A month later, I stood in the bathroom holding a home pregnancy test, whispering "Shit," under my own breath when the positive indicator appeared on the pink stick.

--

I made the appointment when I found out that Jacob had transferred to another school on the other side of the country after the fall semester had completed. I knew that I would not be able to make this journey of being a mother alone, and it was unfair for me to ask my own mother, who was happily enjoying her retirement, to help raise yet another child. I also was aware that I did not have the means to do this on my own, and who was I to bring a child into a life where she couldn't have everything that she could ever want or need?

I had endless butterflies occupying my stomach as I approached the mean-looking building. It seemed appropriate though -- as I observed it, this building was the end to life before it even began.

Terrified of going inside and therefore sealing the fate of the child growing inside of me, I sat down on a bench next to the main entrance, and watched as people walked in and out of the building. I watched five women and one couple enter the building's threshold. Three of the women looked to be about my age, and two were noticeably pregnant. Based on how swiftly the other two older women walked in, I assumed that they worked in the building. The expressions on their faces seemed too knowing and too fearless for them to be walking into the office for the first time.

I watched the couple earnestly, the two of them proving to be most interesting. The woman, who looked to be about twenty-five, had glassy and bloodshot eyes and an expression of defeat on her face. The man, who was the same age, appeared to be sad, but there was a touch of another emotion in his face that I could not immediately pinpoint. It was softer, less stressed, almost an expression of... relief.

I met the woman's eyes as she walked into the building, and she returned my glance with a knowing look. She tried to give me a small smile, but her face crumpled almost immediately, more tears flowing from her eyes. She turned her face away from me, embarrassed at the sudden unexpected display of emotion. The man held her hand and rubbed her back, purposefully looking away from me.

My breath caught in my chest; this woman's reaction had given substance to every shade of emotion that I had been feeling up to this point. My nervous butterflies threatened to come up in the form of vomit, and it was at that point that I realized I could not enter this building again and follow through with this appointment.

--

There was one mother and two mothers-to-be in the labor room.

My mother, supportive as ever, held my hand and rubbed the top of my head as a contraction coursed through my body. She whispered sweet, reassuring nothings into my ear, trying with all of her might to ensure that no more unneeded pain would afflict her child.

As the doctors and the nurses talked me through my breathing and my pain, I laid my head back on the hospital-issue pillow, and looked to the other mother-to-be, Sandra, standing in the corner of the room. I smiled at her, and she smiled back at me, her eyes filled with hope. She winced as I breathed in sharply, another contraction coming. At this point, I heard the doctor yell, "Push!"

Squeezing my mother's hand with my right hand, and gripping the bed handle with my left, I pulled my upper body forward, pushing with every bit of strength I still had and pulling a scream from deep within me. I felt hot tears come out of my eyes and flow down my face, mixing with the sweat of childbirth. I cried out as my child crowned, and I heard the doctor tell me to keep pushing. The pain was nearly unbearable, but I kept pushing until I heard the healthy screams of my daughter, asking us in her own language what she was doing outside of the warmth of her mother's body.

After another contraction and vaguely feeling the doctor working in between my legs, one of the nurses came over to me, handing me my daughter, swathed in a pink, blue, and yellow cotton blanket. Sandra stayed back, giving me my space with my baby.

I pulled this beautiful creature into my bosom as she cooed at me, and whispered into the top of her head, "I'm going to call you Mara Elise. Welcome to the world, baby girl." I breathed in her essence, my head spinning at the surrealness of it all. I was now somebody's mother, and it was my job to ensure that she had access to the best life possible. It was my responsibility to make sure that my Mara did not want or need for anything in this world, and that she had every one of life's opportunities available to her.

I held Mara tightly for nearly an hour, not ready to give her up. It was not like I had not already made my decision at that point, but holding the actual life in your arms has a way of making any previously-made level-headed decision seem like nothing but a mere detail.

For an hour's time, Mara was my world. As I clutched my baby, I imagined running through tulip fields with her on a breezy summer day. I imagined mother-daughter picnics where we would eat sandwiches containing peanut butter and marshmallow fluff. We would read to each other and play in each other's hair before tiring of the day's excitement, then going back to the carpeted quiet of our home.

After that hour, I looked up and saw that Sandra's husband, Jeff, had joined her. They waited hopefully and patiently for me to say good-bye to my daughter, so that they could be formally introduced to the newest member of their about-to-be-three-person family. Sensing that it was okay for her to do, Sandra walked over to where I was still laying in the hospital bed, and I extended my arms so that she could pick up her daughter. As Jeff moved in to her side, ready to meet Mara as well, Sandra looked back at me with tear-filled eyes, smiling widely.

"Thank you," she choked out. "Thank you so much."

I smiled weakly back at her, feeling cold now that Mara was no longer in my arms. I brought the blanket up to my chin as Jeff and Sandra turned away from me, getting acquainted with their new daughter. Once again, I laid my head back down on the pillow, and turned to face my right, where my mother was no longer sitting.

Deep down inside, I knew that Mara would have a much better life with Jeff and Sandra than I could ever give her. However, that thought did not stop the crocodile tears that rolled down my face and the silent cries that continued for the next six hours.

--

When I arrived back at my apartment, I made a beeline to my bed where the opened envelope was already sitting. Next to it was a brown construction paper hand turkey that read "I am thankful for... my bio-mommy" in five-year-old scrawl. I smiled at the ridiculous label that Mara's family had come up with for me, but I was even more pleased that this little girl was aware of her origins and seemed to embrace them, even at such a young age.

I picked up the more conventional white eight-by-eleven piece of paper that arrived in the envelope too, and began to re-read it. The note was written out in Sandra's familiar cursive handwriting.

"Victoria is growing up quickly and learning really well in school," the letter read. "She just started kindergarten in the fall, and she loves it. She's a star student, and she has lots of friends in her class. They were recently making hand turkeys in class, and as you can see, she really wanted to make a hand turkey for you too." I smiled at how considerate my child already was. "Maybe one day soon you two will be able to really meet each other."

I breathed in deeply after reading that last line, trying to hold back my tears. I've already met Mara, and I knew on the day she was born that she was destined for great things. I continued reading, even though I already knew what the letter was going to say.

"On a more personal note, thank you, so much. Victoria has brought so much joy to me and Jeff, and we are truly blessed to have a little girl like her in our lives. Thank you, again.

-Sandra"

After re-reading the letter in its entirety, I could no longer stave away my tears. It has been over five years since I gave Mara up, but the pain is still fresh each and every day. I still feel it in my chest, the lack of air in my lungs, whenever I think about my little girl.

I, too, was thankful that Mara was having a good life, but that still didn't stop me from closing my eyes and envisioning our beloved tulip fields as I cried myself to sleep.

I can't believe that I'm going through this again. I suppose I should have seen it coming -- this level of introspection that I'm currently doing. This time around though, the trigger for all of this at least makes a little bit of sense. My last phase of trying to "find myself" was prompted by a comment that my boss at the time had made about my hair. For the rest of that summer, I toyed with the idea of growing dreadlocks and I got a bit more immersed in Myers-Briggs typology that I really care to admit.

That summer, I found out that I was an ESFJ. At the very least, it did help me figure out why the previous summer was such a bad one for me.

My trigger now is NaNoWriMo. It begins in fifteen days, and I'm trying to begin by doing a few character sketches and making a few plot outlines.

I'm *really* good at making outlines when I actually have an idea off of which to base it. Right now, I've got absolutely nothing. ... Maybe that's not entirely true. I've got a few ideas, a few "good" lines here and there rolling around in my head, but again, I don't know how I'm going to turn *any* of that into 50,000 words.

I visited the NaNoWriMo forums, hoping to find some inspiration. I didn't get anywhere that would help me develop a few plot bunnies, BUT there are people who are in the same boat as me. That makes me feel a *little* bit better about this. But I can be type-A when I want to be, and that requires that I have some idea of who and what I want to write about as I go into the month of November.

Some people on the forums like to write about sci-fi, others like historical fiction. After reading a few of those posts, I began to think about what I know and what I'm good at. I've found, from writing fanfiction way back when, that I'm more likely to write when the subject matter is something on which I'm somewhat knowledgable. I found this out when I was trying to write Mulder/Scully smut at age 16.

I mean, doesn't everybody fall into that category? Nah... some people are better at taking plunges into unknown territories. Either that, or they are much faster learners than I am.

Anyway, getting away from what other people are good at, I decided to catalog in my head what subjects I'm knowledgable on. I know a decent amount about computers. I am an engineering major, which means I should know a lot about math. I *like* to think that I know people and their predilictions.

But what can I actually write about? At this juncture, I feel like I can only write about what I know and the people that I know. But the last thing I want to do is write about myself and the people around me. I already live my life... is it odd to say that I sort of want to live somebody else's life right now by writing it out?

I have to know where I'm going, though. I think this is why I refuse to let myself rely on a GPS in my car -- I'd much rather memorize the directions before I go. It's an odd sort of metaphor, but I think it fits. .... I think. ... I also know there will be some points during November when I will get off course and will need to the GPS to figure out where the hell I'm going again. *sigh*

I need to have more confidence in myself. I swear I do.

I also have no idea where I'm going with this. I wish I knew...

I'm not finished... I'll come back to this later.

hmmm, so i knew more about myself at age 16 than i feel like i do now. see the following excerpt, written 9/2003, for english class (lol):

In my case, when change occurs, I often find myself resisting initially as Hem did in the story. For example, this school year, the fashion in which the scheduling took place resulting in me being upset that I did not have classes with the people whom I was already used to. At first, I was upset about it, but I knew there was nothing I could do in that particular situation, much less rearranging my entire schedule. However, like Haw, I did eventually realize how much energy I was wasting by being disappointed over this predicament, and I simply got over it. For me, overcoming change is a gradual process; I don’t solely react as Sniff and Scurry did. I often go through the following steps when change is directed at me: anger, sadness, or resentment; a desire to return to my old ways; gradual acceptance that the situation will not revert to what it once was; and reassurance that the situation could be worse, or it may very possibly get better in the future.

Through examining these characters in a more detailed fashion, I have found that I am, in fact, not me. I am not myself. Instead, my being is a collage of the people in my life at that particular time. For example, I frequently find myself picking up the mannerisms of others or adopting others’ ideas. As the people around me change, my being changes. I begin to say another’s phrase less and less while acquiring somebody else’s (as I spent less time with Diana*, I stopped saying “Uh-huh” as much, but as I began to talk to Leslie* and Keith* more, I simultaneously picked up “Daw” and “Yeah, pretty much,” respectively). However, the characters of Hem and Haw do apply to two different parts of my being. Haw represents the stubbornness in me; his immovableness is the part of my being that will not change. Because the people in my life determine my ideas and outlook at any given time, Hem symbolizes the people in my life that I am confident will not change. For instance, I am quite sure that my best friend since fourth grade, Janay*, is not going anywhere anytime soon. I also will not give up without a fight another close friend of mine, Kay*, whom I talk to several hours each day. Haw, on the other hand, illustrates the people in my life who do change. Sometimes, these changes in people and friends are for the better; other times, they are for the worse. When changes in people around me happen enough, my being simply accepts it, and keeps moving on, much like Sniff and Scurry’s reaction to their depleted supply of cheese. Therefore, me, myself, my being can be explained through these characters, and they, as a result, gave me a clearer insight to myself.

soooo, i wish i knew this paper still existed electronically over the past few years. it would have saved me a lot of soul-searching.

i know there's more... i'll come back to this.
 

So I told myself that I'm going to participate in NaNaWriMo this year. I'm writing it down here, and I told Sean so I wouldn't ditch the idea and commitment entirely.

I have a few ideas rolling around in my head already, but even now, I'm wondering how in the world I'm going to turn that into 50,000 words. I talk a lot -- you'd think that writing would come just as easily. NOT.

I've got 21 days to get my mind right for it, and so I'm trying to make a better effort of posting in my LJ, if only to prime myself and finally stretch out those writing muscles of mine. I suppose it's like training for a marathon -- I've been looking through the different "Writer's Block" prompts that LJ provides, and trying to answer them when and where I can. Granted, I've only completed one, but I have plans to complete more.

Although I'm sure most people take more than 21 days to prepare for a marathon, whether it is a running marathon or a writing marathon. But I'm thinking that I want to take that plunge anyway and simply see what happens. I really want to see if I can pull it off, depsite the pressure of classes, work, and the measly thing I call my life.

I'd ask whomever is reading this to wish me luck, but I'm relatively sure that most of my LJ friends have grown up and moved on to other things. Therefore, this entry is here for myself, and I will wish myself luck and tell myself that I will not cop out of NaNoWriMo.

That's all.

I like my current job a lot. I'm a student worker for computing services at my university, and it's a pretty decent job. I'm a student supervisor, meaning that I keep track of consultants' performance and training, deal with user issues that require second-level technical support, and do pretty much anything that full-timers ask us to do.

My favorite aspects of the job are the relaxed environment and the interactions I get to have with the rest of the staff. My favorite duties are maintaining open communications with all staff (consultants, my co-supervisors, full-time, and other groups) and planning and implementing group and (sometimes) one-on-one trainings.

I'm graduating from college this year, and at some point, I will have to begin my "real" job search. It would be nice to stay with NBCS forever, but I don't know if I can stay with that organization OR in New Brunswick, NJ forever. As kind of an aside, I feel like Brooklyn is calling my name. If I do end up going there, which is looking like a very strong possibility right now, I'll need something to do up there that will bring in the money.

I will be graduating with degrees in engineering and information technology, with minors in math and history (yes, I'm showing off now), and I still haven't a clue of what I want to do with myself when I "grow up." It's not even like I have a starting point at the moment. Therefore, what I'm trying to do is figure out all of the things I like about this job and my job at the Aquarium and my co-op at Kohler, as well as all the things I didn't or don't like about those positions, and try and draw my starting point there.

What I have so far:

- I like to talk to people
- I like to train and teach
- I like to share my experiences, both technically and personally
- I like carrying out clear, concrete tasks

Based on what I have above, I would make a very friendly accountant. Too bad I'm not a finance major or something.

I want to teach. That may be my dream job. However, while I'm constantly amazed by the shortcomings of so many local school systems, my former district, Pennsauken, NJ included, and want to do everything in my power to change the conditions of public schools, I'm not sure I'm equipped with those skills. I'm not sure that I have the will or the power to actually try and initiate such a task, let alone try and carry it out to completion.

I think I'm just scared of failure, which is pretty self-centered of me. But it's a fear that has plagued for as long as I knew what it meant to be a high achiever, and it's a fear that is not going to leave me anytime soon.

Still, I want to teach. I'm thinking of going to grad school anyway, so perhaps I can get my feet wet in a classroom as a TA at some school. Actually, I really want to go to grad school, but not right now. I'm sort of sick of school right now, and I'm not even sure what I want to study in graduate school. I KNOW that I don't want to go to graduate school for engineering. I don't even want to be an engineer when I grow up -- I just know that the credential of a BS in engineering will allow me to get my foot in the door to whatever I want.

I'm thinking an MPP or MPA or something along those lines.

If I can manage to become a full-time staff member at Rutgers, I can go to graduate school for free. Perhaps NBCS will see me return as a full-timer... who knows.

But right, back to the question at hand: what is my dream job? I want to be in a position where I can teach everything I know to a participative audience. I want to gain knowledge from those I am teaching, and I want to push knowledge like... like a dealer pushes weed. (Ha). I guess I just don't know the proper venue for such a discourse.

Maybe I will end up teaching high school. Math or physics or something...

And once again, I'm coming back to this journal after years of abandonment. I have a blogger account floating around somewhere that I also recently recalled, but I haven't moved to post in that one yet.

Before I move any further with this entry, I must mention that fact that Michael Jackson is dead. I am very, very saddened by this news. Even two days after hearing the news on NBC Nightly News, I'm still shocked, and I still feel like my breath has been taken away. At the moment, I'm streaming WKTU out of NYC, and they are playing all of MJ's hits this weekend, and yes, I am listening. There are other things happening in the world right now, yes. There are events that are taking place around the world that are much more upsetting and disheartening. But there is something to be said about the fact that the entire world took a second (or a weekend, in this case) to mourn this man and revel in his music. Music makes us happy, MJ produced good music, and we've all listened to it in some way or another. He made all of us happy, whether we know it or not. When I worked on my programming homework last fall, I usually kept a few songs from Dangerous on repeat, and hearing those songs calmed me when I became frustrated with the assignment at hand and they kept me from completely pulling my hair out.

Rest in peace, MJ. You will be missed.

Now that I have gotten that off my chest...

I miss my online haunts. My life on the internet has devolved into daily visits to Facebook, Twitter, and Failblog. I don't do anything outside of that anymore, and... that doesn't sit well with me. I know I have said this before, but I miss the days of flash-chats on the X-Files message boards and the private communities that spawned as a result of a few fanfic threads posted on "the boards." I miss being a validator on the SVU Fiction site and waiting for new posts on svucc, just to see if somebody else felt the same way I did about some particularly bad pieces posted on ff.net. I miss that.

I should probably make time for fan fiction again, even if it is just reading XF fanfic on Gossamer. Ahhh, The X-Files, my first love and fandom. I want to make time for fanfic and LJ and blogging again. I've been able to talk about it and open up about it to some degree without feeling any real embarrassment about it. Granted, I've only been able to talk about participation in fandoms and such with only one person, one co-worker of mine, but fortunately, it has been enough for me to take a look back and decide now that this is something I want to get back into. Perhaps soon, I'll be back to my LJ habit; perhaps it will give me back my balance, especially where school is concerned. Maybe if I take a little bit of to write... write anything at all... it will make me a little more sane with regard to school and work.

This brings me back to wanting to write again. Granted, I was never any good at writing and story-telling, but it is something I would like to revisit, even if it is for my own personal enjoyment and edification.

I used to gossip like no other on my deadjournal (oh man, talk about taking it back) and this LJ. I still gossip like no other, but it is usually directed at the people around me, and I feel like it's becoming somewhat unhealthy. Will writing, another outlet and medium of communication ameliorate my need to gossip out loud? I certainly hope so.

Maybe this journal will see me back sometime soon. Maybe it won't. We'll have to see.