Diana Kurniawan

February 14, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Why write to Seth Meyers?

 

Of all the souls in the world, I felt I know you, Sethy. Presumably you will read this, but for now, it will be etched inside the pages of this diary. High school feels like a scar on my face, embarrassing, and irritating for me. Although I am a pupil, but never the crowd. Teachers talk at me, because of my boredom and lack of enthusiasm. Their voice had a ball and chain attached to every syllable and I ignore them, as I ignore every adult in my house. Well….there was only one left.

 

My Dad lacks responsibility and my mother is long gone. She took her baggage to a more handsome man she met at the laundrette. So, Dad bought a set of washing machine and dryer because he didn't want me to run out on him too.

 

My life as a teen feels ominous since the day Mom left us, just a few years back. Sometimes, I feel sad and alone, and I wonder if you would condemn me for writing these love letters to you. I would never send these, at least not to the Rockefeller Building where you work, next to that white tower of Grace. I saw online that no letters or parcels were allowed inside the building, no matter who it was addressed to. Screwed up law, if you want my opinion.

 

Just a precaution, condemnation leads to sorrows and those viruses won't bear fruit, but will lead to painful lives. If I were to send these one day, please don't be sad for me or for these series of love letters. And please don't give me a restraining order, because I write these letters for my relief, of the unspoken love I have for you. I am some random underage teen in the burbs of Jersey, your favorite, but you're a better choice than Jack who screwed me over last year.

 
Jack is the depressive opposite, no pun intended. Don't make fun of me! He lives in Cherry Hills, and from an upper middle class, that means a hundred grand more than what my fragile father earns from his graveyard shift. He works at Target, as the stocker with a man named Sam, who often comes over with a brown bag of vodka. They drink till they sleep because their ladies (my Mom, and his wife) left them. I'm the idiot daughter who can't stay awake in class because I work at T-Bell after school, and it damn pays the bills.

 

My life is lackluster of fun and merriment because it's full of scrap metal of divorce and abandonment.  In case you're wondering what is the 'real' reason for my love letters, it's really up to you to decipher. I won't judge, as long as you won't do it to me.

 

From watching your show and just loving you, I feel joy in this world and love comes after the whole rain of tears is done and over with. I'm always alone on Saturday Nights, and Dad doesn't care. Jack hates me and called me a 'pauper' in front of his friends. I know better than to be there for self-pity.

 

I know, I know these love letters are nothing to you, because you have a million dollars and a hot girlfriend. But, these words are true, and you give me joy, even for a short moment on Saturday Nights.

So yeah, this is why I write to you, and because I just love loving you…

 
 
Loving Seth Meyers,

WishesOoohWishes (aka. Mary).

 

 

 

February 16, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Sam and Dad never took a shower this morning. They slump on the couch, and slept like a baby since Valentine's Day. I wash the laundry and the dishes, and Sethy, you would be so proud to know that I made lasagna all by myself for lunch. I got it out of a box, but it's still lasagna. Dad has all these box lunches and dinners, and that's all there is in the fridge.

 

"Get up, it's morning, Dad," I say to him, shoving his elbow into the couch from hanging over the side arm. His lips smacks and his tongue licks the side of his mouth. He goes back to sleep.

 

"Sam, get up!" I practically scream into his ears. He turns his shoulders to face the other side of the grey cotton recliner. His eyes tight with protein smearing on the corner of his eyelids. Nose hairs protrudes from his nostrils and he sniffs in. He's a tough old man, and my Dad's best pal, but he looks gross.

 

Dad and Sam are two grouchy old men, and more likely, they must have met some bad people in their lives that makes them like this. Dad's name is Bob, and his name backwards is Bob. He says he loves his name because it's friendly, but all he does is sleep and drink, and rarely speaks to me.

 

I don't know how to describe him to you, Sethy. I wish he was a Jewish pediatrician, with an upper class Jewish background, with a confident and sweet demeanor. But, he's not. He's my Dad.

 
Sethy, do you have someone you love, but you never know if they ever love you in the first place? You probably don't because the whole world is at your feet, and they listen to you, especially when you do the Weekend Update with your co-anchor, Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. I wish I can talk to you, about everything. Especially our Dads, because mine is invisible, although he's here with me. 

 

100% in attention of you,

WishesOoohWishes (Or you can call me Mary if you want).

 

 

February 17, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

I feel so pretty, and I am having a Diet Coke moment at 2:00 a.m. on a Wednesday. It is two days before Saturday, and I think heaven is smiling down on me.

 

It's deep and dark at night, like the abyss, but at this moment, it is all about love, in the wee hours of the morning!

 

I am forever into you, Seth Meyers, and I don't mind it, at all. I ask God all the time, "Do you think Seth Meyers knows me, even in telepathy?"

 

I swear the Diet Coke speaks in bubbles and shouts, "Yes, Seth Meyers does know you!"

 

Seth, I expect you to read with the eyes of love, for every single page of this letter.

Every page is of truth, and I type each word with the most loving thoughts in my heart.

I am on adrenaline love, circulating in my blood at this time. You will be proud that I even have a goal, to train for life for every dream I wish and hope for, because I have love through you.

Yes, this is so real to me, and it is NOT CRAZY or DEPRESSIVE at all!

Besides, these letters are in the secret safe under my bed at this time, in the pages of my diary, so you will not have anything to worry about. ?

 

I believe love is so near to my life, and I wish for you, Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live to meet me, when you can and you would. I love being in this state of mind, when every word I write on each page are tender and real. I am so happy for me, and I am so in love with you. I believe, there is nothing wrong with professing how much you admire and love a star, especially from someone like me. I have no one, and Dad is always at work and high school is full of Jack asses.

 

I only get excited about lunch at school. I have a lot of opinions about it, and it's not just about veggie pizza, it's more about steak and lots of peppers. My opinions are all about love, full of flavors, and the ardent tastes of life. For instance, don't you think every high school, or even middle school, should come with a food bank for less unfortunate kids like me? So, in case we don't have food at home, we can shop for free for veggies and even meat and chicken at the food bank? But, that's probably too stupid for people to understand how bored I am with boxed lasagnas.

 

I need to tell you something else, Sethy. Today, Jack asked me if I want to go out to the movies and do our 'thing.' It means making out while he fingers me. It's the in thing to do at school, but I don't feel like it. Dad doesn't care, but I just don't want to get in trouble with the movie attendant. We got kicked out once, a year ago, and it was just for putting our feet on the chairs in front of us.

 

Okay, yes, there was another time when Jack and I made out near the bathroom and we went inside the stalls and got caught. I don't want to do that again. My pants were so tight that I had to pull it back up like a pair of jeggings. Jack just put on his hoodie and walked out without me. He looked back to me, and said, "if you tell anyone, you're a slut!"

 

But, don't worry, my feeling right now is all about you, and IT IS REAL. I am not the type who would make superficial love. Sethy, I am not afraid of loving you, and I am not afraid if people can read my love letters to you. Why should I? Just because I am miles away, does not imply that I would ever need to repress my emotions at all. Until tomorrow, love me.

 

Adrenaline love,

WishesOoohWishes (Okay, don't tell anyone I'm Mary or I'll never SNL again!)

My head submerged underwater and my lungs breathed out the condense air as tiny bubbles floated over my face. The evening news showed deaths of Asian women in Atlanta a few days ago, but I refused to listen to the thought and immersed myself in the bath water relaxing my mind. 

Two days ago, an active shooter murdered 10 innocent people at the King Soopers Grocery Store, in Boulder, Colorado, nearby a cafe I frequently spent time in to write. There was a clearing force injecting my heart, to clean nonsense and only give space to those who loved me and no one else.

 

The rest of the world no longer mattered, and I felt forced to shelter in the comfort of stable friendships, critical people only, because those were my community. I didn't want to speak or process my grief to anyone around me. I wanted to close the door to the friends I have yet to meet or develop relationships with, and focus only on the current and immediate close circle of families and friends.

 

Those violence almost closed the door to a future filled with harmony, new friendships with beautiful lives and souls, and almost impeded my growth as a human being.

 

My drive and purpose in life came knocking on the gates of my brain, and asked it to open and relent compassion for my well being; through trauma processing and making connections with my fellow coworkers and customers I met on a daily basis.

 

I realized, my purpose was to send out beautiful energy and to help others in words, action, and love, more than I received. It was my calling to fulfill as a fateful destiny, for which I never chose but it chose me and happened accordingly. 

After witnessing those tragedies via social media and television, I almost lost my sparks. It stunted my creativity for a couple of days, from fearful thoughts that I might pose as a threat for a senseless and irrational human being. People who committed mass shooting, racism, rapes, violence, terrorisms at all levels, including stalking and gang banging, have no purpose in life, their souls full of egos. They felt the existence of good prevents them from their freedom to release the erratic behavior to oppress those who pose as revolutionary. They felt threatened in their subconscious by good lives, opportunities, diversity, tolerance, harmony, and peace. The crazies almost had their statements fulfilled, but that would only suppress growth of our future and ridicule our youth. 

Came back my thoughts to the knocking of my own heart beats pumping my subconscious. It asked me to write out my thoughts and gave me a newfound freedom of expression. It was my right to be Asian because I was born with it, and my right to want gun safety, and my right to grieve for my beloved Father, who died a month ago.

 

I had the right to process it, to not fear it, to be angered by it, but not to be negatively moved or provoked by it. I was the strong tower who had the right to sunshine, and it was an ordained future. Those vile acts and the death shan't lead me to captivity. I was free to express my emotion, because it was sane and creative, not vehemence of ghore. 

Submerged underwater, my brain cooled down, the door to my mind and heart opened for a life of adventurous journey, running with beating pulse pacing my life to enjoy it once again. The tiny bubbles kept floating over my face and I rose up exposing my shoulders over the bath water.

 

This was a thought processed, after a few dismal days.

 

Just write.

~This romance of oranges was written in Honor of Matt De La Pena and Caroline Sun, and my friends, Derek and Renata Garcia.~

 

Love came to me during a sunny day with nothing but the glory of the skies above. The skin on my body was rippled with sweat as the water from the grove sprinklers sprayed over us, rooting the soils and splattered on my skin. Atop the second lowest branch, where I lived, the Earth was at peace and the wind breezed through the leaves with a soft gentleness upon my whole body, round, supple and naturally orange. 

 

My name was Pomelo, but others called me Junior, because I was a medium sized gent with a penchant for water drops. At times I screamed to the top most branch where Old Pomelo was and he always said, "Son, there will come a time when your worth will enhance human kind. Think of all the many oranges in the world and the vitamins we preserve. We are giants of lineages of fruits!" I believed him, no matter how low I was to the ground and how much rotting days approached. I was sure I would one day be picked for something great.

 

My buds came early last Winter, and the grovesman planted a special fertilizer upon Mother to feed her nutrients. She sighed of relief as her branches drooped and she breathed out "growth" from the eye of her bark and kissed each Pomelo with a drop of liquid love. Pomelos lived hundreds of years and at times, thousands, depending on the grovesman and purveyor. We were their birthed inheritance, and treasured investments, so we all trusted on their kindness for foods, lodging, births of new buds and fertlization.

 But,...all dreams of family and love plucked out of me when a grovesman came and poked me. He took his syringe, as large as 50 mililiters, and sucked out the spirit and vitamins into his tubes. The orange fluid flowed into the plastic bottle, and I wiggled out of fear. "Please pluck me and have me with a decadent joy. Instead of taking my life this way. Please, spare me the suffering and bitterness of a rotting body over Summer and Fall. Please...," I pleaded and pleaded. He was ignorant and kept depleting my vitamins and body fluids. I wanted him to peel me off, and I felt I was sacrificed as a useless scrab. Uneaten waste was my destiny. He left with those plastic tubes of my juices as I wept. 

 

"Don't worry, my dear," I heard a voice. Her soft motherly voice came to my leaves and I heard her next to me. It must be the next tree nearby. I looked up, and I saw her, another orange, with a different life, different trait, different beauty. She was the most gorgeous species I've ever seen. Her skin brighter than my dark orange, with her peels matched the sunshine above us.

 

"I am Mandarin," she whispered, and giggled. She was smaller in size, but so beautiful, with perhaps a nectar sweeter than I could ever imagine. "We will meet again, but for now, let's dive deep our souls into our buds and branches for the sake of life. Our buds will regrow, and a new progeny will come," she explained.

 

"Mandarin, you've gotta tell me your nickname," I said. "Mine is Junior."

 

"Mei-Mei," she said. "I was planted when Mother was just a small three feet high."

 

"Your Mother was an immigrant? I was native here, but Mother has been here for decades." I told her.

 

"I know. We were planted here next door, for a new life," she said. "The Grovesman worked inside the plantation for a study. We are their main focus."

 

I, Junior, never understood "studies." I hoped it won't left my soul rotting away in the heat that my peels grew fungus.

 

"Stay quiet, they're back," said Mei-Mei.

 

Mandarins were beautiful, with a gentle tartness on the palate that was small and meshed with the taste buds as desserts for men and women. Their kind were loved by Mother's ancestors. We were long lived friends and the descendants of their friendships. My heart on the buds of the branches breathed in a subtle pink hue of romance and love. I was mezmerized by Mei-Mei. 

 

The grovesman came back, this time with more empty plastic tubes, yet, the searched for Mei-Mei, and palmed her in his hand. He kissed Mei-Mei, and inserted the syringe inside her body, and took a seed from her Mother, out of the top most branch, where another Mandarin had died out of the extreme heat in the Redlands Orange Groves.

 

Mei-Mei cried as her peels moistened, and I felt her spirit crept up the branch and stayed there. I did the same, leaving my body and peels at its place, as I crept up my branch to stay solemn upon the sympathy of the Mandarin carcass before me. 

 

We grieved together, and often, we came out to the tip of our branch and cried together. Remininiscing the long gone friends who were plucked as we stayed in spirit in our branches and Mother caressed our souls with songs and melodies harmonizing with the wind.

 

Mei-Mei and I, Junior, bonded over Summer and over the dead carcass of friends unplucked and over-ripened. We didn't get plucked instead our bodies were preserved inside a covered plastic, and it was kept there as Specimen A and Specimen B. 

 

Fall came and our souls sang together, in baby blue romance, bringing our hearts melodies of ripened red hues of love.

 

"We join us here, as souls to be. Our bodies lives on.....We gifted them with our harmony, and our hearts lives as one."

 

Mei-Mei and I sang all the time, and over Autumn, when our leaves fell as we grieved our barrenness and lifted our words of hope and faith to the Earth, for a harvest next season, in fortuitiy. 

 

A month before Winter, a grovesman came and dug a deep hole nearby, and Mei-Mei noticed a seed was planted before us. I, Junior, didn't want to witness another Mother came to the grove without a welcome, therefore, I summoned the dead leaves to cover her on the Earthen soil, protecting her soul.

 

"Another Mother tree, Junior," Mei-Mei screamed. "Another family."

 

"We must wait, and we must warn them of the grovesman and the impending deaths and plucking seasons," I told her.

 

Rain poured, and the muddy ground almost covered the new Mother. She must struggle through it, but came a leaf, sprouting up. Not all seasons were meant to break you, because some were meant to strengthen you and birth a new life.

 

The grovesman chaffed the planted Mother, and fertilized her, letting her grew speedily over the soil. A month flew by, and the new Mother, stood tall, about a foot, with growing tendrils of leaves teasing me of new souls inside her core.

 

"We will have an extension of us, Junior," said Mandarin Mei-Mei. "I overhead the grovesman, researching of its budding season, and sending more water to splash over it. We will have some, too."

 

"What breed?" I asked Mei-Mei.

 

Uncontained of my joy, I perched over the tip of Mother's branches, and saw the new Mother grew. Months flew by, and a tiny flower came bursting out into the nothingness of the grove, bombastically exploding with colors of white and tiny buds surrounding it. 

 

"Heeelllllooooooo SUNSHINE!" the little voice said. "Hello Mother, Hello Father!" The tiny flowers cracked the barriers of sounds between me, Junior, and my Mei-Mei, Mandarin romance. 

 

"Father?" I asked. "There was never one."

 

"Mother?" Mei-Mei asked. "I was just a few buds amongst the many."

 

"Oh, not so fast with those self-deprecating thoughts! My name is Clementine! I am YOUR SON!" the tiny voice called out loud. It was vivacious and with a strong personality, and outburst of optimism inside him. 

 

Mei-Mei and I, Junior, sighed and embraced the sound of the gentle wind as Spring kept on, and Clementine budded into small oranges, smaller than Mandarin, with peels as dark and smooth as me. 

 

A grovesman approached, and plucked me first, then Mei-Mei, and our souls crept into the branches, but our bodies were to be the delight of man. 

 

"Should I creep up to Mother," asked Clementine.

 

"My son, there are many things, we must say to you," I told him, as Fatherly as I could. "First, my name is Junior, and I am a Pomelo."

 

"My name is Mei-Mei, and I am a Mandarin," she said. "Echo. We must name him."

 

"Yes, I agree," I said. "Clementine is your family name, and your soul is ECHO!" 

 

"That means.....I AM ECHO and I am a CLEMENTINE! I AM THE BRIGHTNESS OF THE NEW DAY!" said my son, Echo, the Clementine.

 

Our family stayed at the Redlands Grove since then, and new souls came and by, but life kept on, as fruits blossomed, and seasons never faltered, but families stayed together.

 

The End. Just Write.

My hands were deep underneath the Earth, fingers searching for roots to pull up as I knelt to soil level over the green sprouts of my carrots. There were no rabbits, just my soul in joie de vivre inside the life I earned for the writing I composed. I was a local author in provincial Loveland, Colorado, not quite suburbia, but countryside with a few lovely families nearby and a farm to tend. Snow melted months before and butterflies ? flew by beside me beyond the trails to run in early morning. I pulled the elongated carrots and placed it in my basket next to me, and stood up to water the other vegetables on the plot of land. 

 

My house was not the biggest in the block, but it was good enough to hold me in peace and I made enough to sustain a living. A life I filled with the love of literature and the joy of writing and best of all, he made breakfast to enjoy it with me. Perhaps, the family was asleep, and I was a mother, a true gift I never knew I could have. The love of my life held me close and kissed me, and we enjoyed the eggs over-easy on toast, and hopefully, my Mom was still alive.

 

The dream I once knew made me lagged behind as I clenched it, and stubbornly dwelled upon it, over and over again. It caused jibberish and prayers to utter upon days and moments of my life, without a wholesome truth behind it and it was full of the fears that I was a prey by the devil who wanted otherwise. But, the butterfly kept flying near and so did the blue jays, finches, red-tailed hawks, and several eagles. It was pregnancy of faith that I needed to unleash, because I kept on the dream of that quaint house with a plot of land and the love of my life with a life of literature.

 

Truth was, I was on a journey only God knew of the plan. I could pray and pray and hope and hope, to thwart the enemy's curses and prayers upon me, but it only built these walls of fears over me, and it closed in to my life. 

 

So, I had to let go. No more dreams, because I had to work. I was always working, but my soul was complacent. My mind was focused on the dream, not the now. It looked ahead and hoped for a future, a plan unshakeable and unbreakable, but I realized now, it was God's plan that was worth my days and nights. I had to surrender everything, even my dreams, and the hope I had, everything to embrace what may come. The butterflies kept flying nearby, and this time, the eagle perched on a tree, the finches hopped on the ground near my feet, and phaenopeplas flew all around the fields in the farms nearby my house. These beautiful birds entertained me and kept me in love with nature, life, my heart and God. It landed near me, always, and the caterpilar made its cocoon in my tomato plants last Summer. It was a sign, to enjoy it, one step at a time.

 

Dei Gratia. Just write.

Immersed in the golden ray as I stood underneath the sun, my spirit soaked in the goodness of the will. The will of one I won't name but took my dearest who built me up. No more apologies, instead live on to the fullest to make him proud, my Father. No clues or compass to guide me, just persistence and drive, that kept me on with his plan each day, one at a time. 

 

I won't know what happened unless I invest my whole gut into it. Each page, each word, each sentence, and what became of it on the friendly empty pages of my documents. I won't know the ending until I wrote it down and I won't predict the future with my work for it metamorphosized into art in its own time. My job was to fulfill its destiny and mine, through passion, worth, and effort. 

 

My Father, my cloud of witnesses, had gone just a month ago, yet I felt his smile with each creation I made. Behest, the will of God, upon my life, I shall keep. It was for me to live and to work for. It was my destiny and with a promise to my Father, who had gone before me, I shall keep going. 

 

Just write. 

February 27, 2010

 

To the Forever Gorgeous Seth Meyers of Saturday Night Live,

 

Have I told you my love for you just hit its formative years? 

 

When I was little, I thought you were most likely that brave soul who wasn't afraid to hold my hand to play in the sand box. You whispered to me, inside my dreams, "It's okay to be shy. I still know who you are."  Then, you said in my dreams, "I have a huge monster in my backyard, wanna see him?" and I would be silly enough to believe that monsters really scared me at all. 

 

Times when the skies were grey made me wish you were my sand box buddy, because you would be the cutest sand box buddy I would ever have (and the oldest);and it would be completely fun to have you as my friend. 

 

Maybe if I was your sandbox buddy you'd be my best friend, although I never grew up with sand boxes or monsters in my back yard.  I grew up with lots of mud and rain that I played outside all the time, to watch the ground turned slimy and muddy. In the springtime, I would run outside in the fields of flowers where their buds bloomed and somehow, there was an ocean nearby, where I soaked my feet in the sand, and looked up to the sky and said, "Thank you for loving me."

 

I prayed for those wishes and prayers to be worthwhile for God, or for another soul like ours, to meet one day, from across the world. That perhaps a little girl and a little boy with the same wishes like mine, would meet and their hearts would take form, and they fall in love.

 

I know there were more important issues in the world than wishing for you to be my play mate. Like the fate of a little boy who carried a basket of rocks in India, or the little girls fighting assaults from the Rwandan militia; that my wishes of having you as my sand box buddy seemed like hop-scotch to God.

 

I prayed for those children too, that maybe they will have such a loving sand box buddy like me or you.  But today, I just wanted to love you very much, and maybe my wishes to meet you will one day come true.  I knew we live under the smile of heaven under the same moon and stars, with angels watching over us. Maybe they would notice that I was in love, and praised my wishes to God, to send you one day to be my friend.

 

For every letter I wrote, I prayed for every heart to be lifted up, and immersed inside that happily ever after I wished for everyone.  I also hoped for you to appreciate these series of love letters to God that I wrote for you. I raised them to heaven as a protest for love to conquer all.  For every child to grow up and experience true love as I wished in that vision of you and me, as sand box buddies. For the happy childhood and loving memories of all children to withstood the test of time. 

 

This sand-box buddy wishes might come true one day, maybe if not for you and me, then for two little children who God saw as a pair of doves, meant for true love.  If not, these wishes were still true, as I prayed dreams to come true, hearts to mend, and my heart to manifest to life!  In hope of you, Seth Meyers, that maybe one day, I would meet you.

 

Because I love you,

WishesOoohWishes

Yousseff and Ezekiel are two brothers from different families, with different dreams, and different everything. 

 

On the first day of first grade in the playground, Ezekiel meets Yousseff for the very first time.  

 

"I'm the nicest boy in the class," Ezekiel says to his new friend. "I am also the smartest, because my Dad told me so."

 

"I can drink a gallon of milk, without cookies," Yousseff boasts. 

 

"I can read without saying a word," says Ezekiel, lifting his chin as he turns his head away from Yousseff. 

 

"My mom said, if I don't eat my vegetables, I'll get nightmares," Yousseff whispers.

 

"But, if you live in another planet, you'd have different vegetables," Ezekiel replies, because he notices Yousseff's face and believes he must be from a different world.

 

"I know how to make GOOBERSNICKERS!!" Yousseff says to Ezekiel, with both of his palms open. "It's Poof, Puff, Goobers, Bake, and Slice! I just need a lot of grapes."

 

Yousseff writes down his recipe for fruit pizza for Ezekiel with a crayon and paper pad, always inside his pocket. 

 

"Do you bake?" Ezekiel asks, wondering how Yousseff knows how to make pizza, one of his favorite foods. 

 

"It will take about two hours to explain, but I won't do that to you," Yousseff says, embarrassed. 

 

"It's okay, I collect stickers," Ezekiel confesses.

 

"I have super powers!" Yousseff says, because imagination is his best friend.

 

"How did you get it?" Ezekiel asks, his eyebrows scrunching.  

 

"I'll explain it to you, but you'd have to be sworn to secrecy," Yousseff whispers into Ezekiel's ears and looks around the play ground. 

 

"What did you eat?" Ezekiel asks. "Besides GOOBERSNICKERS."

 

"It's not the GOOBERSNICKERS. I can make anything," Yousseff says to Ezekiel.

 

"Can you make grapes?" Ezekiel wonders, because anything means a lot of things.

 

"No," says Yousseff, as he shows Ezekiel a piece of paper from his pocket and points to a little drawing.

 

"I can build this! I just need your help," Yousseff whispers to his new friend. "It's my secret."

 

"That's a tree house! I'll ask my mom! She's six feet and two inches tall!" Ezekiel shouts out loud in excitement, because he may have a new adventure ahead.

 

Yousseff tries to calm Ezekiel and soothes himself and breathes in and out.

 

"I think you will be taller than your mom, Ezekiel," Yousseff says, still breathing.

 

"I'll just aim higher!" Ezekiel shouts again, smiling.

 

"We have nothing in common, but I think we're best friends," Yousseff says, as they walk towards the monkey bars.

 

"Yup, we can talk about anything!" Ezekiel says, nodding, as he calmly places his hands inside his pants pockets.

 

They continue to be friends, talking with each other about first grade with an open heart as they dialogue about everything inside their minds, together.

 

This was the story of Yousseff and Ezekiel, two brothers from different families with different dreams and different everything.  They never knew they would be able to talk about anything, for no reason at all, every time, every day.

 

 

The end. Just write.

Today, Mommy and I bought some turtles at the pet store.

 

Right now, I'm on my bed, and I am hungry.

 

I want crackers and cheese, yet it is the middle of the night.

 

BOOM, KRAK, SHOCK, there are loud sounds coming from the kitchen.

 

"Is there a fight downstairs?" I wonder, jolting out of bed. "Did my turtles become monsters?"

 

I want to tip-toe outside my room to see what's going on with the turtles. 

 

The pet store clerk told me and Mommy, earlier today, "These turtles grow to only one pound." 

 

"Maybe, they are breaking out of their shells? How could they grow so fast, when they only eat peaches?" I say to myself.

 

I close my eyes, and count to one hundred again, and hide under my blanket.

 

Five year old kids can be superheroes, but I don't know if those noises are bigger than me.

 

"I hope those turtles are not dangerous," I say in the dark.   

 

When Mommy is here, there is always crackers and cheese, and fairies are flying around my room. Mommy tells me, fairies look like me, and she always hugs me and kisses me. With Mommy, fights rarely happens, and turtles don't turn into monsters.   

 

Mommy tells me to wear my red glittery shoes. She says they make me shine. 

 

On Spring days, Mommy and I will collect dandelions and try to make a "fuzz pile" out of its thistles.  Dandelions fuzz is Mommy's favorite trick, because fuzz flies in the wind like feathers. 

 

We usually run near a flower trail nearby our house, and I can see Mommy water the sunflowers and hope those flowers will grow towards the sky, taller than me. 

 

Mommy says, "Seeds grow into trees, when you water it everyday."

 

On Summer days, Mommy and I escape to paradise island in our dreams and pretend we are near the ocean.  I would close my eyes, and swim in the blue water, and those turtles we bought at the pet store will be perfect for our daydream. 

Mommy and I always have mango cola and let it fizz in our mouths to make our lips tingle.  Tiny bubbles remind me of Mommy's sparkly laugh. 

 

On Halloween, Mommy always makes me wear something cute.

I think this year, I will ask to be an animal expert and carry my new turtles inside a basket.

 

On Christmas Eve, Mommy will be with me at home with warm milk and folktales. 

We usually sit next to the Christmas tree and her smile reminds me of a beautiful angel. 

 

The noises I hear now would have different sounds with Mommy near me.

 

BOOM becomes Tap-Tap, the sounds of my new tap dance shoes!

 

KRAK becomes Kring-Kring, the sound of a bicycle ring.

 

SHOCK becomes Squih-Squish, the sound of a plush toy.

 

Right now, I don't know what's going on downstairs.

 

I will just think of Mommy some more.

 

Mommy will make heart shaped signs on my foggy windows on winter nights.

 

Mommy will knit out of woolen yarns and my hair will be curled up like funny macaroni. 

 

Mommy bought those turtles downstairs because they look like little dinosaurs that eats the little critters from the backyard.

 

Their names are "SMUSH" and "CATCH," because that's what I hear when  Mommy screams, because of the little monsters from the backyard.

 

But, right now there are noises downstairs, and BOOM, KRAK, SHOCK, like there is a fight!

 

"Please, let Mommy be here in the morning," I say to myself, still thinking of Mommy.

 

I decide, I am not afraid of noise!

 

I get out of my bed and take my blanket to make sure I'm safe.

 

Where is Mommy, is she fighting the noises downstairs?

 

I use my blanket to slide down the stairs, because monsters don't like fairies who make little tip-toe noises.

 

It's time to be very careful, because I have a little brother now.

 

On my tip-toes, I see the kitchen with the light on!

 

It is very scary because with all the noises because at night, even turtles go to sleep. 

 

But, what are these noises?

 

"Please, let Mommy be here in the morning!" I say to myself.

 

I peek into the kitchen, and I see, "DADDY!" He is rummaging into the refrigerator.

 

Now that Daddy is here, I remember when…

 

 

The End. Just write.

 

 

 

~ For every kid who ever felt strange or different than the rest. You are a genius! Be excited about your life! You're something special. ~

 

Play, play, platypi

Wake up, wake up

Don't let the sun go!

The day is short,

get out from the hole!

 

Play, play, platypi

Come in the water,

Swim across the river!

Look at this marsupial

Rare as a big, huge moose!

 

Play, play, platypi

Run like the squirrels!

Eat a ton of yappies.

Wiggle your short body

Flat foot and duck-bill, too!

 

Play, play, platypi

See the moon and stars

With your pretty little eyes.

Burrow into the Earth,

With your hind legs below!

 

Play, play, platypi

Send the toxic poison!

For protection from the fox.

Growl against the enemy,

Keep your fur intact!

Play, play, platypi

Keep your young near

Let your wife rear the clutch.

Your eggs will fully hatch,

For this mammal brainiac! 

~ Dedicated to all of the children and young adults I met in my life. You are my bright shining Sun. ~

I'm a good kid

Because I know how to love

I know I care

About me and my heart

 

I'm a good kid

Because I can smile

When the sun shines bright

Or when the moon hides behind the clouds

 

I'm a good kid

Because I know I can fly

Even through the storm

And when the sky turns grey up above

 

I'm a good kid

Because I have courage

To stand, run, and dance

Even when the world will not give me a chance

 

I'm a good kid

Because I am strong

Even when I am weak

Or when the Earth turns upside down

 

I'm a good kid

Because I care enough to make it

Although the valleys are deep and wide

 

I'm a good kid

And I am on my way

To become good people

 

Because good people laugh

through the cries of sorrow

 

Because good people hug

to embrace another

 

Because good people speak

of lovely words with uplifting voices

 

Because good people live

and keep on breathing, through and through

 

 

Because good people are honest

taking lies away further from the truth

 

Because good people shine

living with pure light inside their minds

 

I am on my way

To become good people

 

Taking each step

One at a time

 

I am on my way

To become good people

 

Loving my life

Living with love

 

I am on my way, to become …

 

Everything I am meant to be

 

Precious

 

Beautiful

 

Wonderful

 

Honorable

 

I am a good kid

 

I love me

 

I love all I will be

 

Good people, I am meant to be

 

Good people, that's me

 

 

The end. Just write.