this is perhaps one of my favorite photos I have ever taken. I was watching the women in the previous two photos, whom work harder than anyone I have ever witnessed. Cops approached these woman who had heaved large sacks of flowers and food for an unknown amount of miles to try an sell them. It truly amazed me, the resilience each of them encompassed. Then a group of cops came up and started screaming at the woman, scaring their children away. The woman in this picture with the pink skirt was hit and punched multiple times and I had to watch. The female cop started taking her belongings and then I decided to capture it. I looked around my shoulders, my heart beating faster and faster by the moments that stretched to eternity. Time became dough and was crumbling under so much pressure.
I snapped the picture. The moment of injustice. In that moment, that piece of eternity, I was aware of everything. My unsteady breathing, how the button of the camera felt underneath my trembling fingertips, what was at stake. Right as I lowered the lense that would transport the truth, the police officer looked me right in the eye, my heart sank and I quickly began running down the streets crowded with locals looking at me with a mixture of fear and awe. I turned around and saw her screaming at me in Spanish I couldn’t comprehend as she another officer began running after me. I had never run so fast in my life. My bones ached as I pushed them farther and farther. I felt alive. Thinking back, I wasn’t really worried about getting in trouble, or what they would do on those hectic streets of Cusco that tourists don’t visit. I wanted to protect the moment, the moment that I cannot convey with words. The one that was snapped on my lense and had to be shared. The truth. And so I ran for the truth, I ran for the woman who was hit and her possessions were stolen. I ran for the injustices that took place on the streets. I have never been a fast runner, I was always the last kid to finish in TRACK. So I used the streets framework which was an endless maze to my advantage. I slipped through random houses, ran across narrow alleyways, I listened to the sound of my beating heart that was pounding in my ears and the rubble of destroyed streets crumbling underneath my frightened feet. Finally, I found a haven between an empty alley that led to a small shop. I crumbled on the ground, focusing on my breath. I eagerly looked at the moment on my camera, and I was proud of myself. I held camera, that little moment to my heart. It wasn’t the most profound image, the lighting wasn’t perfect and I didn’t really know how to use a camera too well, but it was enough, it captured the essence of injustice.
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It was raining when I left. It kind of felt good, like the sky was crying with me. I looked out my balcony, standing atop it, smoking a cigarette and feeling tears run down my cheeks live rivers. I couldn't move, instead just gazed in wonder across the beautiful city that had embedded itself into my soul.
I closed the door after me, knowing I would never step on that small balcony again. So I cried some more for my sad self and finished folding my clothes neatly into rectangle suitcases. I know that home is relative, and I thought I would never found it, but hell I thought it was here. I found home, my place in the world. The peacefulness of waking in the morning to sun kissed mountains. Carrying our my day in self reliance, picking up some crafts for the kids and humming to songs on the shaking bus. I always picked up fruit on my way to work, a taste so sweet it melted in my mouth. I was comfortable, in my final week. I felt free from the shackles of society and routine. And as I stepped into that taxi, waving my teary eyed host family goodbye, I felt the locks around my wrists starting to tighten. It was hardest to leave the children. I kept looking at the clock in anticipation on my last day, wishing it would turn around, hating that time wasn't on my side and it wouldn't just pause. I needed another moment.. another laugh from them another hug another kiss another memory. But clocks don't stop no matter how hard you scream for them to, and I know that the hug Tatiana is giving me now, how her laugh sounds in my ear, the fact she doesn't understand I won't be back, it will all be a memory. Slipping away like sand in a time glass through time. The harder you struggle to hold on, the easier it slips from you. As I stepped onto the plane, I felt like my throat was going to explode. I looked around at fellow passengers, quietly humming to themselves or tapping on screens. I wanted to scream at them with such anger and passion my throat would surely bleed raw. How could they be so content leaving? We had to get off, we couldn't leave. We needed to yell at the captain. The children were waiting for me. How could I leave them? Those words circulated my mind for 8 hours. I didn't bother watching the film, instead, I put a blanket around my head and stargazed out my window. It was rather a great little set up, actually. I looked at the stars and remembered my dear friend Salvador telling me how they were ancient souls of the sky. His grandfather had said that they shine down to remind you everything is okay, And so, through the dark blanket of the sky, I found the little holes of light and I went gently into that good night. this is supposed to be a reflection of my first week in Cusco, and I have decided to incorporate a poem.
I AM A DEEP SEA TRENCH As more seconds Curl around the looping clocks in Cusco, I am more aware of my appearance, Wrapping. The patchwork on the visible blanket of my life. As more moments Curl around the looping clocks Of my life I become more and more aware that the first thing everyone sees is The wrapping on the present. And I want to nail the ignorant eyelids closed That truly see nothing. It is though I have ever been a present in the first place, Innocently waiting under a Christmas tree. With a beautiful red, Gently twisting bow, adorning a youthful frame Garnish for a man to TEAR OFF, RIP A P A R T WATCH ME FALL APART. Then discard the empty, Not so young Beautiful Fragments of a once whole box. Eyes paint lust down my body, Drool paving rivers with their hungry tongues. I am looked upon Like a dog LOOKS AT A STEAK. Men, They decide, By the width of my hips And the lustful color in my eyes If I am a T-Bone, Or a file mineon. Labeling off parts of my body, in lustful anticipation, As though I am a car they are debating buying. That I am for purchase. Like An investment, A present. An OBJECT. Though they do not realize money can never Begin to cover the complexity of a human being And the flat line of a dollar bill, Will never do justice to my worth. White skin, Breasts, Hips, Young, Willing. They seem to name off every part of me Except my soul. I am no longer measured by My dignity, strength, intelligence and resilience. These type of men have Humbly decided I am for sale, Before my mouth has even uttered a word. Before pretty pink lips, Spoke a sound. As lips like those, Shouldn’t be used for speaking. Parted tongues whistle, And that vulgar sound Assaults my eardrums in such a way, It’s like injustice begging to be heard, Worthlessness. As they look at my frame, like I am a winding river Up and down Up and down. Licking trembling lips in anticipation For how sweet I taste. But I, And every other woman on this Earth, Are made of so much more. Don’t you see, you naive man? We are deep sea trenches, And all you see is the rippling of Surface waves. A dance of lust between one layer Of water. How sad, it must be, To see but one brushstroke of a painting. You, Yes you, staring at the slope of my breasts, The ones you decided are sexual objects. Yes you, My spanish teacher, my neighbor, My father, my pastor, my boyfriend It doesn’t matter, the relationship, What matters is You hear the droning sound of my voice But not the power to my words Beady eyes watch that pretty little mouth make Little shapes. You will never be able to fathom the complexity of my soul, Women, we are composed of favorite colors, Of hopes and dreams, Precious memories stitched together Through the course of time. We are not objects to claim, And the winding mountain of our hips, Our “trembling” thighs They hold the entire universe. But all your eyes can see is a pavement for your tongue. Even if those Beautiful long legs run away from you, Down winding alleyways. How dare you look at me, Or any other woman with eyes like those? It is like looking at a river in all it’s glory Only wanting to swallow it whole, As you needed a DRINK of water. You will watch an ocean run dry. It is like ripping the stars from the Safety of the night sky because You liked the way they looked, And arrogantly believed they shined for your eyes only? But you do not realize that as you rip a star's body From its home, It will no longer shine. I am not dinner you have bought, And through your hands have yet to reach The framework of skin I am now ashamed of You undress me with those eyes A grip I cannot escape. Strip me of my dignity, Strip me of clothing and skin is all you will see. I am no longer measured by height But beauty and lust. Every time you look at a girl With eyes like those You deepen the wound You stick a bloodied knife deeper Into time as it cries, for all the women Every single one you have unraveled. When you whistle at a girl With a tongue like that, It’s not just her, you are degrading your sister, Your mother, You are degrading every woman in history And to have yet been. So now, As my once silenced tongue speaks for all my Mothers Sisters And aunts Hear the words I am a deep sea trench. It is profound you can only see Beautiful hues of blue surface waves. Trying to understand every level of me, Would leave you drowned. We are not flowers to cut, And have not been placed in a garden for your choosing. We are the entire plant, our roots sink deep. Until you see rose petals blooming from Profound strength & Absolute resilience Until you stop trying to rip me from the earth so you may Rip apart petals in child's play In lustful adrenaline, until The bloodied face in the back of your car Screaming No longer resembles that Simple, beautiful flower at all, Until you understand rose petals bloom from inner beauty, And the sweet smell of spring, Isn’t a call for dinner but a celebration of our power.. Do not fucking look at me I was asked to post a selfie, so that a photograph could explain the equivalence of a thousand words, but I don't really like selfies. I truly believe that this moment encapsulates my heart on the first day. How I was swarmed by the most loving, beautiful souls I have ever encountered. I know that on your screen, these are just different hues of pixels, it's a photograph of three people you don't know. But to me, to me it is printed on my wall. It is what I clasped between trembling, terrified fingertips as I was on my plane home, my tears falling on the photograph. To me it is a memory I will hold in my heart for the rest of my lifetime. It is something I will write about in the safety of journals and speak about to those I care about trying to eloquently describe the bliss in my heart of those few, perfect seconds. Even though it was perfectly imperfect. The rest of the children were fighting, Adrianna was actually pulling my hair quite hard and I couldn't understand much of what their little mouths were speaking to me in soft whispers it is the happiest I have felt. It is a moment synonymous with eutopia. I am unstable, at this point in my life. Of course I am terrified to the depth of my bones to leave the safety of my unhealthy routines and dissolve into a new culture, into freedom and responsibility. I am currently on a plane with other human beings I will probably never meet again, all of us will scatter to different adventures. Are any of their hearts pounding as profoundly loud as mine? I speak little to no Spanish, am clouded with social anxiety and have an addictive personality lenient towards self destruction. My mother is terror-stricken to let her baby be swallowed by a new world. I know for so many of my student counter parts, this is simply a graduation requirement. For them, it's a letter they hope to be a sparkling A plus they can have adorning a perfect resume. If by one of the universes rare coincidences a fellow student of mine stumbles across this page, I mean absolutely no disrespect. I know there are a few other individuals speckled across my class that feel the same way, but I know many do not. But I truly don't give a damn about the percentage, I'm already failing most classes as it is. What I care about is the fact that volunteering, working with children and writing the depths of my soul is my dream. It is what I want to do with the rest of my life.. I'm just scared to knock on the door of poverty, to hear the stories of pain and somehow manage to keep myself and my aura intact (yes I believe in that hippy stuff.) I feel like this is the first day of my lifetime. I am coming face to face with my dreams and am stuck in a storm of self doubt that I will not be able to handle it. I'm crying now and not particularly sure why. Tears stumble down my cheeks carving lines of sadness and fear and my breath shakes and I bury my embarrassed face in the window. I just don't want to disappoint anyone. |
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