There are times I wonder what if the day was flipped. What if we slept for 16 hours and stayed awake for the remaining 8. Because all the things that cause us pain, hurt us, could slip away as we stray away from reality. I could be breaking into a million pieces right now but it would all be taken away. I could be breaking into a million pieces again and everything would be whisked away, as if a dream. Lull me to sleep, won’t you?
Sorry it took me this long to come here. I was in NYC, 5th grade, when 9/11 happened. I still remember to this day how teachers got us together and told us we were having an early dismissal. Confused, we asked why. The day had barely even started. My teacher said that the twin towers have been attacked. I couldn’t tell you the so many questions I had running through my mind. In the meanwhile, my dad was in Manhattan, seeing with his eyes, in disbelief, how the people on the rooftops screamed for help but the helicopters could not get close and then ultimately called back because all aircrafts were ordered down, how the towers were engulfed in flames, how many jumped off and took their own lives when they saw that no help was coming, and ultimately how, one after the other, the towers fell. Phone lines cut off, no communication. My dad just called my mom once and told her to stay inside the house, there had been a terrorist attack by Muslim terrorists , and people out of rage could be targeting us, Muslims, who were just as angry as they were. I could go on and on. But I’ll put this to rest.
I’ve finally made it. And I pray for all these individuals who lost their life here on 9/11.
I recently submitted a poem to Robi, an online literary journal, by Bangladeshi Identity Project. As it says on its introduction page, this journal in intended for the Bengali diaspora by the Bengali diaspora. It’s for us Bengalis that belong there, in our native country, but call this place our home too. Despite speaking our foreign tongue, we keep our mother tongue close to our heart, interchanging words consistently, their meanings translucent. My poem was accepted and published. If you’d like to read the journal, please do. I chose to submit my poem, Immigrant.
” I think for awhile. It’s hard to put into words. Gorillas are not complainers. We’re dreamers, poets, philosophers, nap takers.”
– The One and Only Ivan
Finally, I took it upon myself to read this book. Despite it being a quick read, it was an emotional journey. The emotions itself were raw and powerful. They shook me. I cried for Julia. I felt Ivan’s rage as he beated his chest, over and over again. Inspired by a true story of a gorilla in captivity, this story explores the power of friendship, identity, and creativity.
Poem by Juansen Dizon
i over love.
i over feel.
i am the sea
or i am nothing.
Your serenade makes the leaves twirl about,
Twirling and twirling and twirling
As if their feet just can’t stop dancing,
The blades of grass running across the ground,
In mindful chatter,
As if time is of the essence.
Where are you all off to?
With outstretched arms, trees reach up to be caressed,
Their fingers barely clasping around your tresses,
Their brittle branches falling off here and there,
You move on.
You move on, your voice bellowing,
Brushing up against windows, tapping on wooded floors,
Knocking over garbage cans and garden swings,
Whipping up hair, hats, and people.
They barely stood a chance.
Is this finally the start of Spring?
Hardly. Snow is on its way.
people say that laughter is the best medicine but
why does it hurt so when you use it to push all our problems away