There is a need to write about Mami – my grandmother. I feel writing about her now perhaps because these are also the days that my spirit seems to have been slowly, but undeniably, vaporizing into an assured nothingness that doesn’t give back what it has taken or leave a little piece behind of what it has snatched. I need to write about Mami because I need to remember. I need to be fully alive again what is slowly dying. I need to write about Mami because I am afraid. And I want to cry and melt and dissolve into my basic substance but I cannot. Not right now. Not for now. I need to write about Mami because I am feeling a little lost and I need to find my way back before I disappear completely.
I’ve always said that the reason for a big part of my being today is because I grew up with her. I will always say that I am feminist even though the label is open to so much argument and opens myself up to utmost questioning and excoriation. I will always say that I am feminist for the simple reason that whatever happens, my view of women will always be different (oppositional at times) to how the current world constructs a woman to be. I will always say that I am feminist because of Mami.
But this is no news to people around me.
Still, another expression of my indebtedness to my grandmother has something to do with how I am able to do things. I need to write about Mami because I need to remember. I need to remember that the days I spent with her as a child were the most fruitful and amazing and creative days of my life. And I need to write this down to be able to see my way back. I’ve been getting myself lost in this sinuous present. Most of the time I just wander aimlessly though with a tenacious feeling that I have a goal. Many times the ability to feel that I am still here is weakened by the necessity to live. All too often, that need to live softly snuffs the fire out of me.
The spirit is like fire, I guess. It is the fire that enables one to create. It is the fire that enables one to go on. It is what makes happiness a possibility. It makes me…fireless then to not even have the courage to cry and create tears and go on being happy by feeling sadness.
I needed to write about Mami because I suddenly remembered her. And with that remembrance of her, I also saw myself as a child. Lying on my stomach on the floor, deep in thought and with a pen in hand, constructing the unimaginable on paper. It was way past midnight and all was quiet. Mami was there sound asleep. I am pretty sure that the next day, when she awakes and goes about her daily routine, part of it would be to ready more scratch papers and pens for me. Urging me to do more without imposing. Telling me to create endlessly without reason.
I suddenly remembered Mami tonight and managed to sneak a few words that are officially owned by that which defines me at present – almost lost, almost nothing, almost the disappeared.
I remembered Mami and I am still here. For now.
(QC June 28, 2010 122am)
