20-20
Romance began quickly with the deafening silence of the Hopi reservation. It rings in your ears as you slowly realize the reason your mind is frantically searching for something, searching for sound. For a southern girl used to the chaos of cicadas, crickets, buzzing fireflies, the wind ticking the leaves providing a rustling laughter, and creaking rocking chairs, the desert waits for me to make the noise. It allows me freedom. I allows me to make a difference, even one so small as noise.
Romance ended quickly as well. Shower uno's soft water, hours of trying to get less slimy, and lessons about hot water amounts will haunt my nightmares for years. Week one's dust storm taught me that the headscarf is a must.
Week two's meetings with students taught me to hope. They live everyday as though it is their last. In some ways, I LOVE that part of them that allows them to reject the norm, pave their own paths, and excert creativity over anything they touch. I also HATE it. I hate that they choose dead-ends even though they suspect it to be so. I hate that they choose to ignore wisdom of their elders, families, and teachers. I hate that I have seen more lives go down in spiraling flames than up for acclaim. Yet... so simple a word, so filled with meaning. Yet, my students prove that they can succeed, they can dream, and they can love deeply beyond instructions everyday. They teach me to take a breath and remember: "It's just another day. Try again tomorrow."
The mesas watch over me like grandmothers (so-ohs as they say in Hopi). They allow me to make my own choices while still providing a stability and accountability. I climb them every day now. I used to be afraid of their edges and curves. They perturbed my deep-set sense of laziness. Then I began to run.
Previous mantras:
In some ways, Hopi will always be a part of me. The place that allowed me to become an adult of 25 years without crying or bloodshed, the place that made me get off my but and run, the place that lulls me to sleep with silence, and the first place that lent me significance will never leave me. Though I'm moving to an Island in the next few months, I will not forget you.
Romance ended quickly as well. Shower uno's soft water, hours of trying to get less slimy, and lessons about hot water amounts will haunt my nightmares for years. Week one's dust storm taught me that the headscarf is a must.
Week two's meetings with students taught me to hope. They live everyday as though it is their last. In some ways, I LOVE that part of them that allows them to reject the norm, pave their own paths, and excert creativity over anything they touch. I also HATE it. I hate that they choose dead-ends even though they suspect it to be so. I hate that they choose to ignore wisdom of their elders, families, and teachers. I hate that I have seen more lives go down in spiraling flames than up for acclaim. Yet... so simple a word, so filled with meaning. Yet, my students prove that they can succeed, they can dream, and they can love deeply beyond instructions everyday. They teach me to take a breath and remember: "It's just another day. Try again tomorrow."
The mesas watch over me like grandmothers (so-ohs as they say in Hopi). They allow me to make my own choices while still providing a stability and accountability. I climb them every day now. I used to be afraid of their edges and curves. They perturbed my deep-set sense of laziness. Then I began to run.
Previous mantras:
- Have fun, don't run
- Only run if there is a creepervan speeding behind you
- If you must move quickly, dance
In some ways, Hopi will always be a part of me. The place that allowed me to become an adult of 25 years without crying or bloodshed, the place that made me get off my but and run, the place that lulls me to sleep with silence, and the first place that lent me significance will never leave me. Though I'm moving to an Island in the next few months, I will not forget you.
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