New Home

November 1, 1886
“That’s her! It’s her!”
“Kannst du sie sehen?”
“I’ve never seen anything like her.”
“Sehr schön, sie ist sehr schön...”
“Bitte, Papa, I want a look!”
Henry pushed his way to the front of the crowds on the deck of the ship. After weeks on the overcrowded boat, he had finally arrived in New York Harbor, and Henry was impatient to see what all the fuss was about. He had waited for this day for eight long years, ever since he had sent his wife and children to live with his brother in America after the family’s Westphalian farm had been swept away in a flood. For eight long years he had worked odd jobs, roaming every corner of Germany to find employment where he could, writing to his family every week hoping they would finally be able to send for him. They had settled out west in a town called Naperville, a little farming village where they could live by the same ways as they had in Westphalia.

Henry knew his journey was nowhere near over: immigration officers awaited him at the mouth of the harbor, bringing days of paperwork and inspections, and after that a long journey by train to reunite with his family. But Henry did not mind. He knew he would never be a new American again, and more than anything he wanted to view his country for the first time. He shuffled to the railing on the deck of the boat to catch his first glimpse of the country, and as he gazed upon the harbor sparkling in the crisp fall day, what he saw astonished him.

It was a statue of a woman facing outwards from the harbor, hundreds of feet tall and gleaming in the faint November sun. Her enormous copper arm held a torch high above the city, as if lighting the immigrants’ way through the harbor. Some on the boat called her “Lady Liberty”; some wept at the sight of her, while some merely stood in awe. Henry felt a sudden pride for his new country and his new life; after eight long years of waiting and wishing and hoping, Lady Liberty, the sparkling queen of America, was finally welcoming him to a new home.

Instructions for Greatness

Everything you do,
do it to the utmost.
Do it to the very reaches of your ability--
do it covered in cuts and bruises,
gasping for breath,
muscles screaming for release as you forge ahead.

Do it as you would a battle with a mortal enemy--
do it leaving every obstacle bleeding on the ground from a hundred places,
beaten into a quivering Jell-O salad from the force of your effort.

Do it with sweat pouring from your brow,
heart pounding in your ears,
all neurons firing full blast as you race across the finish line,
screaming "Yes! I have done it! I have done it--

Or it is not worth doing.

--Patti

Let's be here.

It's not until you stop to ask yourself if you're really happy that you actually start being sad.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm not sad.
I'm just exaggerating.
~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~
"Smile, honey. Just smile. Really. It could be worse. You've been through harder times. Just smile-"
"Don't tell me to smile."
"Then don't frown."
"Let my mouth do whatever the hell it wants."
"I can't stand to see you sad."
"I'm not sad."
"Then why don't you smile?"
"I'm not happy."
"Doesn't that mean you're sad?"
"It doesn't mean anything."
~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~
She looked at the stars on the the ground
Spread vertically
Up and down

She knew that when the sun came up
The stars would be gone
and in their places would be a favela

But for now
She would just wish upon them
Ignore the truth behind their shine.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"I'll never forgive you if you jump."
"I won't forgive myself if I don't."
"Please, I'm begging you. Don't leave me here alone."
"You don't need me here, it's not doing anything good for you."
"Please. Please. Please, I need you. I can't. I can't stay here without you."
"Then you better jump after me."

She jumped
Into a sea of happiness
Joyful waves crashing into stones of satisfaction
The wind turning over a thousand new leaves.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Take a dive into life.

Nuclear Spring

We stumble out into the sunlight, squinting. After twenty-seven months underground, I've almost forgotten what it felt like. The mayor shouts instructions through her megaphone as mothers try to shepherd their fascinated children and young couples whisper to each other, pointing at the trees and hills in awe. Some of the older women are crying. 

I hear a familiar voice behind me. "Hannah!" 

It's Darryl, stepping uncertainly out of the bunker, listening for the sound of my voice. "Over here!" I shout back, laughing. I grab his hand and lead him out into the field, past the snow-piles slowly shrinking to reveal grass almost afraid to turn green again. Instinctively, he turns his face towards the sun, amazed at the warmth the bunker's fluorescent lightbulbs never gave. 

"What does it look like?" he asks me.

I look around at the melting snow drifts, like clouds too lazy to stay up in the pale blue sky. "It's beautiful," I answer. 

In the distance, I can see the remains of the city, melted and charred in the aftermath of the war like a cake left too long in the oven. I shudder; I can make out the outline of what was once my office building in the mid-morning sun. I notice what remains of the city's residents around me peering over the hill crest, surveying the damage. The mayor says it's probably not safe to go into the city just yet, so we sit on the hilltops instead, sharing the last of our rations and wondering how to put our lives back together. Most of the survivors are women and children; some men stayed behind because of disability like Darryl or old age like the mayor's husband, but most were drafted to fight in the war. Once the bombs started falling, it's not likely that many survived. 

We're refugees now, that much is clear. Nobody knows how many other cities built bunkers; any communication we once had with the outside world has long been cut off. It's scary to think about how empty the rest of the world might be, about the billions of lives gone in a flash of fission and a mushroom cloud. I try not to focus on what's been lost, try to tell myself that we're part of a beginning rather than an end, but it's hard not to think about everything that's gone. They say that the winners of wars write the history books, but it doesn't feel like we won anything. 

Darryl and I are sitting on the ground now, his arm around my shoulder and his other hand trailing absentmindedly through the grass. Suddenly his thin, able fingers run into an unusual shape in the grass; he plucks it and presents it to me. "Is this what I think it is?" he murmurs. 

"It's a snowdrop," I answer in awe. I gently take it from him, marveling at the perfect white bloom. "I'm surprised one survived." I remember back to before the war, looking for snowdrops peeking through cracks in the ice as soon as it started to melt. Finding them was always like finding a new beginning; the little flowers seemed to reassure me that winter was finally over, that life could finally come out of hibernation and start living again. 

I turn back to Darryl. "It's beautiful."

"You're beatiful," he answers, although I know he can't see me. He brushes my bangs out of my face and tucks the snowdrop behind my ear, and we sit at the top of the hill in the sun as the world rubs its eyes and crawls out of hibernation, ready to start anew. 

--Patti

Rebuttal to the Pessimist

You say society's going to hell in a handbasket. You say humanity's causing problems it will never solve. I think you're forgetting that we're humanity; we invented handbaskets, hell, and the problem, and we've never met any of either we couldn't eventually tear apart.

You say our social mentality's full of sexuality and drugs today, which according to you means we're rapidly degenerating as a society. Has our species not had alcohol ever since we could farm? Did kings of ancient cultures not have harems? Did the ancient soldiers not rape the women of conquered enemy tribes? Have we not had lust and drink and highs for all of the human race? 

You say we glorify slaughter and violence and death. Did not our forefathers judge each other by how many of their enemies' heads they had taken? Were the highest ranked nobles not also the fiercest warriors? Did men not once rule by the sword rather than the ballot?

The human race is inherently flawed. We are naturally ignorant, we are naturally quick to violence, we are naturally fearful of that which we do not know (all fear is technically fear of the unknown). It is simply the way we were made or the way we evolved or the way the Flying Spaghetti Monster threw us here or any and all of these things you may choose to believe. Some people nurture these flaws, while some consciously avoid them, but either way they are all present in each of us in at least a small quantity.

However, this does not make the human race inherently bad. In fact, the human race IS inherently good. Why? Simply put, our naturally good qualities outweigh our naturally bad ones. 

We're naturally inclined to defend what we believe is right. This has led to so many wars and so many conflicts and so many struggles, it's hard to believe this is a blessing and not a curse. However, deep down there are beliefs shared almost completely throughout the human race. If given two choices, both equal in end consequence to us and others, except one saves a life, who would not choose to save? If given the option of starving the world or feeding it, with the end consequence to ourselves the same, who would not choose to feed? Maybe you don't believe in love, but few of us would kill without any sort of motive. Maybe you don't believe in God, but few of us would do something we know and feel is unjust. 

We're all naturally curious; though it's been many a man's downfall, it's also what brought us to the moon and under the ocean and to all the four corners of the Earth. It's what cured smallpox and is curing malaria and WILL cure cancer. It's why we have stories and why we have poems and why we have religions and why we have rants. In fact, curiosity is the reason you in your present form are sitting here today reading this rant (or, more likely, skimming it). Think about it-- your ancestors wouldn't have been in America, and (if you're of anything but 100% one particular ethnic origin) wouldn't have even met. You-- EXACT you-- would be in pieces spread across Europe or Asia or Africa or the world. And you-- EXACT you-- wouldn't even truly exist, because what is a concept of self without a mind, and what is a mind but a collection of thoughts, and what are thoughts but a lovely and delicious stew of beliefs and morals and memories and experiences all bouncing off various synapses, coordinating at the speed of light? I think, therefore I am; I am, therefore... who knows? Let's find out. I know I'm curious.

We all naturally love; maybe you don't believe this, but I do. Maybe it won't always be romantic. Maybe it won't always be requited. Maybe-- definitely-- it won't always be pain-free... but if a man does not love, it is not because he CAN'T love. It's because he won't let himself love. Deep down in all of us, somewhere, there is someone who needs love and gives love. Even the most atrocious gang-banger joins to protect the things he loves: his family. His neighborhood. His freedom. His life. His chance for a way out. His pride... 

What a word that is: pride.

Above anything else, we're all naturally prideful. Above all else, this is what makes us human, and above all else, this is what gives us the ability to redeem ourselves. Look around, and you'll see pride in each and every person you encounter. Maybe it's not even the "boastful" ones... Look at the boy with no friends, and see his pride in his math skills. Look at the jobless construction worker, and see his pride in his family. Look at the angry, lonely old woman at the DMV, and see her pride in her cats. Look at the fat, ugly, perpetually single girl in the baggy man-clothes who nobody wants to partner up with flopping about ineffectively during gym class, and see her pride in her music, her language, her mind. We have ten synchronized organ systems that keep our bodies alive, but it's our pride that keeps us LIVING. To some, pride is a bad word; pride is a vice; pride is what's going to destroy the human race. In reality, pride is the sweetest of blessings; pride is the greatest of virtues; pride is what makes us screw ourselves over, but pride is what gets us back on our feet again. 

We're intrinsically flawed, but we're naturally good; we might screw each other over, but we'll help ourselves back up. 

We're human beings. We can make it work.


--Patti