When my Grandma Crucita passed away I was in New Orleans, Mississippi – the deep south, as deep as I could get, and then flew off to California. Maybe I was running away. Maybe I was afraid to admit that I was losing a huge-huge significant part of myself in losing this woman. I knew she was fading and at times when my sister would call to check in with me I would just turn the phone off. Do I regret the escape? Do I feel sad about the last few days of her life? I’m not sure… It has been awkward when family recalls the days before she passed away, however, I felt like she was with me too. I don’t regret much, but at times I think I should have been there, although… what could I have done?
Boredom is a man only good to a certain extent and at times guaranteed with only a few days of usefulness if you’re lucky.
In my book Running Alone in Photographs I chose to name the chapters in our language and not to number them as is traditionally done in novels. I also chose to write a personal little prose/poem in each chapter which was actually just random stuff I would write as practice before I started with my two-finger typing method. Still I can barely type, but I function due to the very basic desire of my love of the written word. (So… no excuses for those of you who can’t type and only tweet. Hahaha.)
Eeh-Pbah Teh (White Corn – this is the name of the first chapter and the accompanying poem.) Continue reading Running Alone Continued…