Tag Archives: Memories

The GHP: Goodbye Yesterdays! Hello Today!

5 Mar

We’ve all seen the same scenario in the movies before, an old man balding sporting a protruding beer belly and holding onto a can of glory sitting back in a chair. He scratches his hairy once built stomach as he watches the football game on the tube and then it happens, he begins to talk about his days of former excellence. He sputters on about how he won the highschool game and he’d give anything to be back there again, then hiccups.

I feel like that bald old fat guy.

I musn’t be the only one who is only quarter of a century and gets the sneaking fearful suspicion that their prime has already passed. Of course I know it’s not true on some deeper level but I’m stuck in yesterdays a lot. This has to change.

So here are some snap shots of what I’m stuck in:

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My first ever fund raiser, full of punk rock and a lot of “I don’t know hows but I’m naive enough to try and lucky enough to pull it off anyway”. Glorious. I’ve done a lot of fund raisers since then, but there’s something about the first.

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My first school build trip to Nicaragua that was full of such hope and light and bad broken spanish, little kids who make you smile, and sipping juice from plastic baggies.

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The Indigenous run group I formed at their first ever marathon run. No one ran the marathon. Three of us (including myself) did the half, and the others did their first ever 10km. It was amazing, I was running anywhere from 7-14 km every morning. Now, I can’t even run down the block. Yes, I’ve tried.

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My second school build trip to Nicaragua with my rambunctious group of Bella Vista. They went to school in the shifting shade, with out a physical school and we helped change that.

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Lunging in Switzerland. I went to Geneva as an Indigenous Youth Ambassador to speak at a presession in the UN on the Convention of the Rights of the Child. It was amazing.

There are some other highlights of the past years, winning a national scholarship and going to a program in Nova Scotia, training in Toronto, etc, etc.

Current me, feels like an inadequate ass compared to past me. I’m overweight, I smoke, I’m quasi depressed. Well, this is current me saying, NO MORE! My prime has not passed me by and I am grateful for these memories and events of the past I will not compare myself to them. That is not what they are meant for.

I am not the bald fat guy. I refuse to be him damn it.

Affirmation for the day: I am moving towards bigger and brighter things and I accept the best that life has to offer now.

(This is me vowing to repeat the above and believe it)

Helen K

Writing is Hell

1 Mar

Writing is easy, you just sit down at the type writer and bleed.”¬†– Ernest Hemmingway

Writing is hell.” – William Styron

These two quotes were pondered and discussed in my English Literature class. One person said that the first made it sound almost enjoyable, and the second should be discarded as nonsense. I believe both quotes to be relevant and I have written a response to them.

*

Writing is nothing more than a painful extraction

of what can consist of tragic, beautiful, damning, heart wrenching

or heart warming qualities.

Firstly, one begins to rifle to through the file folder in the mind

labeled “prominent memories.”

You position yourself in front of a blank page,

with pen in hand and attempt to mentally prepare,

because in the next moments you will re-experience

all festering wounds, long living laughter,

and the sweet beginnings and sorrowful ends of all love affairs.

*

You might even feel the sensations of the moment where you

scored the winning points for your high school basketball team..

or feel the sensations of the moment where you

missed the winning shot for your highschool basketball team.

*

You are searching,

plunging your pen deep and harshly into the inkwell of the Earth.

Pulling out diamonds to be buffed and shaped

To be seen by other human eyes so they may confirm it’s worth.

A blood diamond.

You better believe there was sweat, pain, and tears

spent in its’ retrieval.

Common Sense refused to start digging and Pride & Ego

took up arms in upheaval.

They screamed,

“we don’t want to go back there…”

*

I can understand when the author stated

writing was hell.

Those of us who have lived hard lives

bareknuckled our way through darkness till it bled out light.

We come from the bottom of the barrel,

from dirty linoleum and unchosen sacrifice.

We break from molds of monochromatic childhoods

and home lives riddled with strife.

We are surrounded by a congregation of the inhumane

and vile ghosts of our pasts,

each time we sit down to write.

We are then faced with two choices,

to ignore these experiences

or pick up the pen and fight.

*

So yes you may bleed

and the process may burn like hell,

but sometimes writing is the only way

we can redeem ourselves.

*

With love,

Helen K

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