le donne di Kosova

MARCH 28, 2008 entry taken from my previous blog

The other evening I attended the Vagina Monologues at my old alma mater. This was my second year to attend the event and I have to say I was looking forward to it. My BFF and her sister are truly passionate about women’s rights and how to prevent violence against women, so the Vagina Monologues were right up their alley.

I remembered the majority of monologues, but there was one that made me cry last year and got me bawling this year. As you may have noticed, I have a great respect and interest in Kosova. I have had the great pleasure of meeting people from this now independent country and have been even more fortunate to have these people share their stories. Now this next story is extremely sad in my eyes, but it depicts some of the horrific experiences women have had to experience…especially in times of war.

So this is dedicated to the brave women of Kosova…

My vagina was my village

An extract from Eve Enlser’s Vagina Monologues

My vagina was green, water soft pink fields, cow mooing, sun resting, sweet boyfriend touching lightly with soft piece of blonde straw.

There is something between my legs. I do not know what it is. I do not know where it is. I do not touch. Not now. Not anymore. Not since.

My vagina was chatty, can’t wait, so much, so much saying words talking, can’t quit trying, can’t quit saying, oh yes, oh yes.

Not since I dream there’s a dead animal sewn in down there with thick black fishing line. And the bad dead animal smell cannot be removed. And its throat is slit and it bleeds through all my summer dresses.

My vagina singing all girl songs, all goat bell ringing songs, all wild autumn field songs, vagina songs, vagina home songs.

Not since the soldiers put a long thick rifle inside me. So cold, the steel rod cancelling my heart. Don’t know whether they’re going to fire it or shove it through my spinning brain. Six of them, monstrous doctors with black masks shoving bottles up me too. There were sticks and the end of a broom.

My vagina swimming river water, clean spilling water over sun-baked stones, over stone clit, clit stones over and over.

Not since I heard the skin tear and made lemon screeching sounds, not since a piece of my vagina came off in my hand, a part of the lip, now one side of the lip is completely gone.

My vagina. A live wet water village. My vagina my hometown.

Not since they took turns for seven days smelling like faeces and smoked meat, they left their dirty sperm inside me. I became a river of poison and puss and all the crops died, and the fish.

My vagina a live wet water village.

They invaded it. Butchered it

And burned it down.

I do not touch now.

Do not visit.

I live some place else now.

I don’t know where that is.

nei suoi occhi

SEPTEMBER 11, 2007 entry taken from my previous blog

"Ugh, there's no parking," she sighed. She was wondering why there were so many people, when usually it was rather calm at this time. She drove around the block and eventually found a spot near the library. With picnic and blanket in hand, she proceeded to the park eyeing the perfect spot.

It was one of those moments where you see what you want and hope no one else has noticed your discovery. The kind of moment where the closer you get, the more you envision someone else swooping in and stealing your desire. Okay, maybe that's too psychotic, but someone out there understands that feeling.

Things were going well; low humidity, nice breeze, a sense of excitement in the air. The conductor stepped up to announce the evening's pieces. Today's show consisted of the audience's big band picks. This evening proved to be promising.

The show kicked off with a timeless crowd pleaser, In the Mood as recorded by the Glenn Miller Orchestra followed by String of Pearls.

Still no sign of him.

By now she was trying her hardest to focus on the music; but in the back of her mind she was kicking herself for getting her hopes up. It was too good to be true. Was he really planning on showing up or had he backed out? Did he in fact show up and discover that he wasn't too keen on what he saw?

"He's not coming," she thought to herself. She could feel her level of self confidence quickly diminish as Here's That Rainy Day began to play. What is it about that trumpet that helps put things into perspective? Or maybe it's the sultry voice of the singer, executing each not to perfection. The emotions of that song were so real, one could touch them. And yet, it obviously was interpreted differently by the different groups of people at the park. You have your couples in love, your new families enjoying the classics, your swingin' singles enjoying the people watching, the college kids who need extra credit, and…her.

Niente. Nulla.

Alone, silent and becoming more and more discouraged with each note, she popped open the basket. She sighed, "Well there's no sense in lettin' this go to waste." How else can one enjoy Begin the Beguine than with a salad that would have looked sadder had she waited any longer? But then the music started picking up and the classic 1930's piece filled the air with a fabulous drum beat. Sing, Sing, Sing (With a Swing) by Louis Prima sure helped to pick her spirits up and put a little bounce in her mood. And I just have to say that that's the glory of music…it can pick you up when you're down. A minute and a half into the song, the drums caused her hands to mimic their beat and her shoulders to sway from side to side. For those brief five minutes, she was lost in the past. During days where mostly everything seemed less complicated than today's world.

She envisioned herself in a dimly lit dancehall with paper stars hanging down from the ceiling and Christmas lights decorating every inch. The band was clearly visible on the stage and in hearing the music she couldn't help but get excited. What must it have been like to experience history in the making? She pictured seeing the people around her get up and create a whole new genre of dance and moves to fuel the emotion met through this song. A new era of music was being born and transformed before her eyes. And even if it was just a fantasy, she couldn't help but deny this beautiful scent that enveloped her.

"I must have a truly great imagination," she thought. She was transported to a wonderful time in music. And that's when Tommy Dorsey's I'm Gettin' Sentimental Over You began to play.

In opening her eyes, she discovered the source of the scent and a hand asking for hers.

She was shocked!

She was surprised and in looking for an answer…

she found it in his eyes.

She grabbed his hand, he smiled that familiar smile, and he escorted her to the grassy dance floor. Not a word was said between the pair, but they danced heart to heart with an occasional twirl. They stared into each other's eyes intensely and she could tell he was apologizing for being late.

Come Fly With Me played and the dancing didn't stop there.

"Hi, I'm Albert. I never expected ime zemra to be so beautiful. Forgive me, zemër?"

"Po, Of course. You're finally here, what else could I ask for?"

They didn't need complicated words to fill their conversation. Years of communication had brought them to this point. This was the moment they were waiting for. To finally have the chance to hold on to the one they had been dreaming about. It was pure luck that his work had him visit Austin for the weekend becos Lord knows she had been trying to save for a flight to Lund.

He leaned in and softly sang in her ear:

"…That's why darling, it's incredible

that someone so unforgettable

thinks that I am

unforgettable too."

They kissed and her heart beat so fast, she knew this is what she wanted. The thought of him slipping through her fingers was intangible. How could she go about her normal routine after having introduced him into the equation? It would be near impossible, but these are the sacrifices one sometimes makes.

They continued talking that evening, well into the wee hours of the morning. This dream was near its end, and the mood amongst them grew somber.

"I have to finish packing, zemra."

"e di," she sighed.

After saying their farewells, he reminded her that this was only the beginning and there was definitely more to come. She sensed he spoke the truth becos she saw it in his eyes. But of course you can only imagine that the drive between his hotel and her house was the longest drive ever. Funny, but it seemed to be longer than the trip between Texas and Sweden. Filled with such heaviness, she didn't know what to do but cry.

____________________________

It was difficult to drive through her tears and her heart breaking. But as she drove up, there was a bouquet on her doorstep filled with gerberas, roses, and button mums. And tucked neatly away was an envelope addressed to her. The card simply read…

të dua shumë zemra ime

and behind that a one-way ticket with her name on it.

She frantically dialed the hotel.

"Room 625…please be there, please be there, please be there…" she muttered.

The phone continued to ring in his room.

"Po?"

"edhe unë ty!"