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24 February 2007

My Street

I live at the end of a street which is at the end of another street. Sometimes when I give people direction to be my house they claim that they did not realize that anyone lives "bak deh".
The house there is not really mine. I rent it from my good friend. Her husband built it for her. When they first got married 12 years ago,he built the house, even though he had neither skill nor money to do so. The house is his love offering to her, as incomplete and awkward as is it.
The street to my house is a little more then a path. Most people park their vehicles at the corner and walk to my house. I, though, like to drive it. I can reverse Mom's Tracker the whole length of the street now, and dodge the ruts and holes, all while talking to a passenger. The road is always either mud, when it is rainy, or a fine firm dust. It is brown, not white like most of the road around here. The road is quiet and still in the evenings; only the parrots' chatter disrupts it.
I have a garden. It is more then slightly neglected and is sort of bushy. I have lots of beautiful plants. Roses of different kinds, rare purple bells and common yellow bells, bougainvillea, a sour sop tree, variety of bananas, spinach and, my favourite, a little African violet. I love my yard, even though it is usually unkempt. If I get home from school on time, I just sit in it and read. If not I lay in the tall grass and think. I wrote a love poem in that yard, but it is a poem that is not meant for the world to meet just yet.
I find it funny how my house, my road, and my yard are a part of me. They define me. I don't despite the dirt, the rough unfinishness, or the wild bush. Rather, I love it. It makes me sing. The sun was on my back today. And as it burned my pale skin to mahogany, I was full. I walked the street barefooted, and toed the dust. If I was who I used to be, I would say that the dirt gives me strength. I know better but it still feels like it does. I am unfinished love story, a hodgepodge of plants and styles. I am the road silently unrealized by many people.

9 comments:

Leonardo Melendez said...

This is some deep stuff you got here Beth, very deep. I felt like I was reading a J.R.R. Tolkein book. That is to say, I like fantasy writing with hidden, real life messages. I come to realize now that you've been to far more 'places' than anyone else I know (for now). This makes you very unique among all my friends.

Leal said...

Words are meant to have more than one meaning, just as they are meant to reveal those roads silently unrealized by many...

Leonardo Melendez said...

The big guns have come out to play.
Meet Leal: writer, poet, dreamer.

Beth said...

exactly! What "road" do you think I am talking about?

Beth said...

Step aside Guru.... I am making my own friends :)

Leal said...

The road that leads to your life. The road that connects life and people. The road that leads to dreams. The roads that leads to friendship. The roads that leads to the answers to the question we all ask.

Beth said...

Leal, Exactly, but you are missing one more....

Tolkein, Leo? Really?

Leonardo Melendez said...

Now that you question it, maybe not.

Beth said...

What is wrong with questioning yourself? I have always wondered. If you stop yourself from letting your heart sing because of doubt then something is wrong. Insecurity vs reflection....

One reason I asked is not because I wanted your confirmation or I doubted you, but rather, in a sort of childish awe..."Oh wow he compared be to Tolkien" in a giddy sort of voice. The truth is, you can try but you can't take it back.