Showing posts with label injustice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label injustice. Show all posts

11 September 2011

dieci anni fa

10 years ago I was a junior at UT.  I was living in my very first apartment with 2 sorority sisters at Riverside Place with a great view of the Texas-shaped pool.  

10 years ago I was getting ready for my Texas History class with Dr. Neil Foley.  I had just gotten out of the shower and turned on the TV to watch the Today show.  The images on included the World Trade Center with smoke billowing out.  I didn't think anything of it and there weren't really any captions, so I went about my business and got dressed.  I noticed that the image hadn't changed in a couple of minutes and stopped what I was doing to watch.  I didn't understand what was happening.  Was there a fire?  There's was tons of smoke.  

10 years ago I called to my roommates, who for some odd reason didn't have a TV in the living room, and told them the tower was on fire.  It was a definitely a must watch moment.  I don't know if they were ignoring me or had other things to do, but as I sat in front of the TV on my bed I watched as the other tower was hit by a plane.  For a surprise attack, it was definitely well-documented.  The images of people falling and the towers crashing down are something you can't forget, no matter how hard you try.

Did you ever watch Signs with Mel Gibson and Joaquin Phoenix?  There's a part where Phoenix is watching the alien sighting from Brazil being broadcast over the news and he's taken aback by the images.  I imagine that's what I did when I saw the tower get hit.  It was definitely surreal.

10 years ago I remember hearing a report that the Pentagon had been hit.  
I immediately busted out my cellphone and dialed Zora.  
No answer. 
I left a message and then called Gina.  
No answer.  
Last resort, I called Lil Chris.  
No answer.  
My sorority sisters and ex had gotten fabulous internships in DC and decided to room together.  Their house was located a couple blocks from the Pentagon.  Eventually, someone called back and let us know that everyone was okay and a little shaken up.

10 years ago after what felt like hours, it was said that all air traffic was halted and people were to proceed with caution.  I didn't want to get an absence, so I decided to head to class.  I was worried that Austin would be a target considering that President Bush had recently taken office and was the former Governor of Texas. I don't know why I thought Austin would be a worthy target, but I did.  I jumped on the bus and kept an eye on the sky in case I saw any activity.  Nothing.  In passing by the Capitol, the gates were barricaded by state troopers.  No one was getting in or out.  I finally got to class at Garrison Hall and Dr. Foley announced that due to the events of that morning class would be cancelled.  I don't think I attended any of my other classes that day, either.  The rest of the day is  a blur, but I do remember feeling uneasy, unsettled, and scared.


After those events, stuff changed. 
People changed.
The country changed.
And in a way, intelligence changed.
I don't mean reconnaissance; well it definitely did.
I mean ignorance skyrocketed. 



I remember being able to drive through the Capitol grounds to get to class.  Especially, if I was in a hurry, it helped to shave off a good five minutes.  Since September 11, 2001, only senators and representatives are able to drive on to the property.  I've also heard from photographers that taking pictures has become slightly more constricted due to worries of military and government intelligence.  

I remember there was a radio ban on certain songs.  o.O you ask?  The one that sticks out in my mind is Drowning Pool.  They had a pretty popular song the year before called "Bodies" and it was banned becos the song starts out:

     Let the bodies hit the floor.
     Let the bodies hit the floor.

     Let the bodies hit the floor.
     Let the bodies hit the...FLOOR!

Why is it that the Arts have to suffer in times of tragedy? If anything, it's a means of healing and coping. It's medicine for the soul. It just seems really backwards to me.

So what am I doing 10 years later?

September 11, 2011, at midnight, Maund and I, George and Kiera, and Maund's parents were huddled around the kitchen table talking about random things and enjoying BBQ, sweets, and drinks.  Earlier, my brother-in-law, Isaac, had passed out in his chair at the table.  As a drunk he has kick ass balance.  My sister-in-law was sprawled out in all her pregnant glory on the couch dozing in and out of sleep.  My kids were surrounding the table waiting for food scraps.

This morning I slept in till 09:00.  Once downstairs and connected to the internet, I realized that I had missed all the 9/11 coverage from the early morning.  I honestly forgot how early I would wake up for the class and that these events all happened before 10:00 10 years ago.

I think Maund and I are finally gonna tell his folks what's been going on with us and our losses.  Not to make them sad, but to include them more in our lives.  I already had the chance to tell  my parents the day after my birthday party, and honestly, a little weight was lifted off my shoulders when I did.  Maybe this is what we need for some closure.

For those who spent the night, we feasted on breakfast fare and no one mentioned 9/11.  I don't think anyone remembered and I didn't feel like bringing it up, either.  For the rest of the day I may read and write.  Also, no memory could be complete without talking to you. That's one thing that I'd like to remember when someone asks me, "So, what did you do 10 years after the tragedy of 9/11?" 

I talked to you. <3

17 August 2008

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.