Ebony Goddess

Where have I been you all ask? Out and about and gathering pictures for this very thing! My friend and I happened to be taking pictures along the water. 

I had been seeing this girl for awhile and now we were on a make or break moment of our relationship: the first road trip. We had just arrived, but before we even got to the hotel she demanded we pull over.

“Baby, we’ve been driving all night. Let’s stop to see the ocean!” she said with that thick accent I love so much. It reminded me of my childhood.I really want to keep driving and just check in, but I know I can’t resist her. 

We pull over into a parking lot, there are no free places to park. I look at the parking meter and decide that since we won’t be too long, so it shouldn’t be a big deal. She was already out of the car and walking toward the sand dunes. Pausing in the shade of a palm tree, she looks back at me and her expression portrays happy and questioning. I scramble to catch up to her, I know that I didn’t want to miss a minute. We had had some tense conversations in the car on our way up, so I was pleasantly surprised when I felt her fingers slip into the vacant spot in my palm. I hold her hand tight. I want her to feel how sorry I was for my shortcomings with her parents and how I knew that I spent too much time out with my friends. I need her to know that all I want in life is her.

We walk in silence through the sand dunes, hand in hand, until we reached the end of it. The pristine turquoise water had only small waves that lapped tenderly at the white sandy shore. The sound of bugs chirping was quieted by the shushing of the waves. She let out a sigh that she had been holding the whole car ride. She let the beauty wash her clean of worry. We both start removing our shoes as she whispers, “This is perfect baby, thank you.”

The sand is warm between my exposed toes, I excuse myself to check out the water. I glance back and take in how stunning she looks. The sun glistens off of the deep rich tones in her skin, the little she has showing. Neither of us are dressed for the beach; but never the less, I am amazed how she captivates my attention. Her tee shirt and jeans hug her ample curves and she catches my eye. I quickly turn to face the sea. I know that look in her eye and the meaning, she knows she is beautiful and she accepts that I am drawn to her. I dip my toes in the water and let the slight temperature difference focus my thoughts.


A Day In My Life

To the lovies that read the Daily Post:

He came over early morning. It was close to the end. I had just barely woken up and was clad in only a fleece pair of pajama bottoms and a tank top. The cool summer breeze coming through all of the open windows put my hair on end and covered my skin with goose bumps. My nipples had hardened in the chill; the shape of the shirt accentuated this small detail. Sleep gunk still lingered in my eyes; which, in my mind, drastically reduced the sensuality of the situation. He was wide awake and dressed for day in loose cargo pants suspended by a canvas belt and was wearing a shirt that was tight enough to see that he had been lifting weights. His eyes light up when he saw me.

“Do you want some coffee?” I mumbled still half asleep.

He swept me up in his arms and I inhaled deeply the mixture of cologne, deodorant, and body wash that all melded together and was uniquely him.

“That would be fine sleepyhead,” he said with a giggle.

His face lit up with love and benevolence when he smiled. He always had this faraway look in his eyes; but when he smiled, you could see how much it meant to him. I took brief solace that neither my stepmother nor my siblings were there to rob this moment from us. Everyone in my family was overly fond of him. Him and those gorgeous inky black curls and soft farmers tan that made my heart melt. I hear the slow progression of little feet heading down the hallway leading to the stairs. I release from our embrace and quickly make his coffee the way he likes. Four teaspoons of sugar and healthy splash of milk.

“Good morning Sonya… Justin! You’re here! You’re here to play with us!” My little brother, Evan, nearly shouts in excitement.

“Justin is here! Justin is here!” My sister, Chaeli shouts with the same intensity as her brother.

“Calm down,” I said with authority. “Mommy went out to the store and I am going to look after you while she’s out. Come sit down so we can eat breakfast.”

Everyone listens miraculously and all three of them are seated contently. They have small talk while I serve up glasses of milk to the kids and pop several frozen waffles into the toaster before I make myself a mug of adrenaline in preparation for a day of fun ahead. I stride over and encompass my arms around his shoulders, burying my face into his shoulder to line the side of his neck with kisses.

The sound of gravel crackling under tires alerts me to the need to make a mug of coffee for my stepmother as well. The kids ate their waffles while Justin and I unloaded the groceries from her car. You could see that she was happy for all of Justin’s help and for him being such a good person. As soon as the kids are done eating Justin and I are off playing hide and seek, but rarely did we share a hiding spot. Our size difference made it easier for me to hide, but when we did share the musty confines of an enclosed space our lips met and tingled with desire and excitement. The moment would pass as the patter of feet appeared in front of our spot and with my squeal of disappointment we would relinquish our hiding spot.

I changed from my pajamas right before lunch. The morning had passed by in a flurry of memories made. As I stood brazenly naked, a brief thought of how wonderful it would be to have him waltz in and to feel those rough calloused hands pull me close. Shivering, I rushed the thought out of my head and quickly dressed in my bathing suit under a pair of shorts and a t shirt. I had just finished when I heard my stepmother bellow up the stairs calling me down for lunch.

Ramen noodles. The simplicity of Ramen noodles and grilled cheese had a certain beauty to it. Evan, Chaeli, Justin, and I were all curled up on the couch and his arms were wrapped behind my siblings and me. It was comforting to know he was there for us, all of us. He probably didn’t even know how much he and his family meant to us. It was our first time ever being free to love the life we were building. Togetherness, he was as much a part of our family as I was to his family. Tom and Jerry played on the background of my consciousness accompanied with the cackle of my siblings’ laughter.

As soon as lunch was over, the kids were sprinting outside shouting about a pool. Their boundless energy never ceased to amaze me. Soon we had the kiddie pool inflated and the garden hose was gushing with water from the arctic. Justin pulled his shirt off without feeling my eyes watching his every movement. Slight ridges ran down his stomach and his arms bulged tantalizingly. A thin trail of black glossy curls lead from his belly button to below his shorts. A constellation of freckles coated his back, but were barely noticeable on that light creamy tone of sun kissed olive. His eyes finally met mine and took my breath away with their hues of blue and green. A smile played upon his lips and they curled up despite his attempt to hide it. The water sloshed lazily into the inflated kiddie pool and the excitement was practically radiating off of the kids. I proceeded to pick op Evan and gently plop him into the freezing cold. Shrieking like a tortured soul, he practically combusted out of the water. The afternoon passed with us all climbing into the pool, minus my stepmother who sat in the shade and read, and playing shark.

Bedtime had come faster than anyone had wanted it to come; I proceeded to curl up in his arms as we settled down to a movie before he had to go home. There was little room in my mind for much else besides the love I had for him. Not the fact that it would all end soon, too soon. To truly be happy, one has to suffer. Part of the reason that this was one of the best days of my life was because we had all just immerged from the dark and despair that had been life for the past sixteen years.

Missing a Stitch

I need to do more of these lovely Daily Posts, well here we go on the feels train again choo choo!

Something felt wrong. The entire house was exploding with a hushed intensity and I proceed to skulk up to my room like a dog with its tail between its legs. I figured it had to be something I had done wrong. It seemed every day there was something new that made me a less than worthwhile human. The quiet chatter of my siblings was coming from their room, something about ponies and Transformers. They were five and six years old respectively at this frozen frame in my mind. They were both starting to get into reading and were competitive at everything, despite their distinct personality differences. Both of their faces were splotched with freckles and had remnants of their summer glow achieved from hours of playing in the sun and in the oblong kiddie pool in the back yard. She was becoming a beautiful tyrant with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that upheld her calm assertion in herself. My brother with his mellow pools aqua and amber hair revealed the softer sensitive personality he would grow into. They mean the world to me. Why he wouldn’t allow me to spend any real length of time with them without my stepmother or himself there to supervise was truly beyond me.

I curl up on my bed that was tucked away in one of the many alcoves of my room and replayed my father’s words in my head. Don’t read to them, you’re just a bad influence on them. It was crushing. All I wanted to do is show them the beauty of books like my stepmother had shown me as a kid, except she was always tired after working hard all day to support our family. It was the least I could do to show how much she helped me grow as a person. My mind sifted through all I could have possibly done wrong that would cause such an uproar that raged on in the garage. She took what seemed to be the brunt of his rage most times, diluting it into easier to handle amounts. However much heat she took off of his words, it was still not enough to keep them from killing me just a little bit more on the inside. I would allow the words to mostly roll off besides some of the more intense ones; those festered beneath my skin and occasionally haunt me to this day. I retreat into a state of non-existence in which nothing in the world mattered. There have been many months where I wished it had mattered to me. 

The sun was setting behind the silhouette of the trees outside my window and stress had nearly consumed me. There had to be something I had done that I couldn’t think of. Footsteps creeped up the stairs and the tension in all my muscles increased tenfold. If it had just been my father angry for no real reason, he would have beckoned me down by hollering my name belligerently; but no, this was my stepmother coming to me. Things were serious and possibly beyond all hope of return. I had tucked myself into the fetal position at the edge of my bed and put myself into a near frenzy, so that all outside stimulus was nullified. Her soft knock at the door required me to invite her, which I did so obediently despite my wish for hesitance. Her voice was low and soothing and eased my tears of stress, panic, and fear as she delivered her news.

My little brother had stayed home. What my father had done struck a deep seated chord of hatred which I had feared to play until this day. I needed to be strong. I should have been strong six years ago. Why hadn’t I been able to be the protectorate that this family had needed? Why could I not have saved us? A moderately deep gash was displayed overtop of the banner of freckles that decorated by brothers cheekbones. I saw this when I finally heard the woeful tale that made me rue my performance as the eldest. My stepmother and I had already left for school, seeing as she is a high school English teacher. My father had always targeted my brother once I was gone due to his softer nature. Whenever I see something cowering, I just get the urge to kick it. He saw us as things, second class beings under his authoritarian rule. My sister was normally safe, since she had a fire in her soul that provided her the defiance that earned respect. I had the ability to be a scapegoat and handle whatever he dished out to me. My brother though, he was a creature of docility. My brother had no armor suitable for this battle.

My stepmother had made him leave that night and we clutched at each other like drowning men to shore as we unleashed the pain and fear we had harbored for years in smooth rivulets down our faces. She was terrified of losing the family she had built, seeing as she had no legal custody over me. I was terrified that the nightmare would never end. We watched his truck roll out of sight down the driveway and I prayed in my heart for him to never harm our family again. My prayer must have fell short however, for we all bear our battle scars hidden in our hearts. We clung together and lasted the tempest, but how does one rebuild after the storm? The blame I ladled onto my plate weighed down my heart for years to come.

The questions swirl in my head and make me nauseous from self-hatred. If I had stood up to him earlier, even just three years earlier, I can’t help but wonder if everything would have been better. My siblings would have grown up without recollection of a father figure and would be less burdened by this mysterious figure at the edge of their memory. They wouldn’t have to wonder if he had left because he didn’t love them like I had, spending year chasing the answer to the same question regarding my mother. If I had stood up sooner, maybe my stepmother wouldn’t have memories laced with pain. Maybe if I stood up to my mother maybe I would still have my family intact. My siblings wouldn’t have to wonder when they are going to see their sister again. Maybe I wouldn’t have to shoulder all this pain for years to come. Our lives would be so much different if only I had been stronger.

We would still be home and our family as one. We would all be healing together, because as one we stand stronger against the nightmares of our past. There wouldn’t be a rift dividing all of our lives. If only I had been stronger…

Good Riddance

In response to the ever lovely Daily Blog

Sadly nothing is permanent, each life is about the length of a grain of rice in comparison to eternity. Very few people have the ability that will last past the fourth or fifth generation. So, what we stain onto skin hardly seems close to permanent. However, today’s post is inquiring what I would mark onto my skin. Since I have no great accomplishments or children, I would be left picking from things that are important to my life now. I would most likely get a white ink tattoo. The absence of color on the base tone of my skin would make the fact that it is tinted a light mix of yellow and beige stand out. I am proud of my Filipino American heritage even though I take after my father and have blanched features compared to the rest of my family. The white ink will also most likely show up like scars, that way my other scars from where the doctors removed my portacath won’t look out of place anymore. A pattern of torn antiquated lace would flow from the edge of my collar bone down to the middle of my forearm on my right side. Both the color and the placement I have carefully thought out. My arm can easily be covered for work purposes and the color is unobtrusive. The lace pattern would cover the exterior portion of my arm due to the sensitivity of the interior section of  my elbow and be have the edges of the lace be tattered to represent struggles that have worn me down, yet it should still be whole to show there is so much farther I can go. So I guess the real question is whether or not I shall actually ink it? Not anytime soon if ever would be the answer to that.


To the ever lovely Daily Blog


There are times where you have to wonder why thing ended up in your favor, even though impending doom seemed more probable. Things in my childhood home seeing as my parents were divorced and separately remarried. My father’s temper was a force not to be reckoned with, it seemed to be amplified by any change of events. This was especially true when the court summons appeared in our mailbox. This alone awoke the demon within him, to have some lady who he didn’t feel was a significant part of my life waltz in and question his authority. For the next several weeks he had managed to shift the blame in his head onto me and like time and time before, I bore the load without faltering. Those couple weeks I had feared for my spirit and my sanity. It was a waiting game to see which would break first. I can tell you all about the humility I felt when held pressed against a wall with only my collar holding me up, spittle flying off of his lips along with the hate filled monologues. I can also tell you the self loathing he introduced by secluding me from the rest of our family. However, none of that really matters in the grand scheme of things. There were times I almost broke. Many of them and each one was a bullet. Reviewing the events; each moment of weakness looks like a bullet in slow motion, something I could have easily dodged. In the moment, they had been the morning sun. They seemed that they would catch up to me in time and time is something we can never stop. All we can do is get back up and dust ourselves off so we can keep traveling onward.

Living the Quiet Life

In response to the daily post

I love the idea of confidence, it is something so many people lack and what I feel is a driving factor in the current work force. The only problem is, I am a part of the legions of people that really lack it in some way or another. I grew up hearing “it’s not good enough”. I could be the top of my class, excelling at everything I put my mind to. It never was going to be good enough. This definitely transferred into the way I live my life now. I am a pretty shy person and will remain silent and take everything in, gaining information about everyone by listening to the waves of people. I am a wall flower in full bloom. The only real time I exude confidence is when I know that I either am the best or when I need to pretend to be the best. I know that probably confuses the people that know me, especially since I love to sing and debate. This is why I have no videos up of me singing on YouTube, even though I would really like to showcase my meager talents. So maybe one day I will have the inner peace necessary to display such an act of bravery. Maybe. One day.