kazatasupa: (Default)
It rained last night as the longest winter I can remember continues to roll through spring. I was fortunate to get out on my mountain bike late yesterday afternoon and ride for 15 miles. I helped relieve some of the feelings I have been reliving while reading Scott Abbott's, “Immortal for Quite Some Time.” The book is a “meditation” on his relationship with his brother who passed away at the age of 40. The recollection of his journey to Boise to collect his brother's belongings was not too different from the story of my traveling to Salt Lake City in order to receive my brother's ashes and his belongings. I am not opposed to revisiting the memory of losing my brother, but I was shocked at how Scott's book weighed on me as I began crying only two pages in. The book is personal on a couple of levels. I know Scott, though we are not “friends,” he had always been kind to me. I have not seen him for over a decade, but I recall him as a thoughtful and observant academic. His prose is beautiful and reminds me of the Utah I love and miss. Scott's book has contributed to the rousing of vivid memories of my brother and dreams I had of him in the past. I look forward to finishing the book (I am half way through). I miss being young. I miss Utah. I miss my brother.

I have my own story to tell; adoption, fear of abandonment, love lost and the death of my brother. I punished myself for 15 years by abusing alcohol and abandoning the part of me I loved most. I found redemption and a metaphorical resurrection through an old love rekindled and the birth of a son. I wish I had the time, resources and ability to write my own book. This journal is a poor man's substitute. Memories are not etched in stone, but woven into the tattered fabric of subjectivity.
kazatasupa: (fatherson)
I'm ready for the Bombay House...

Oh, man am I ready for that tasty Indian cuisine! My aunt and a couple of wonderful cousins are taking me out tonight... another celebration of my 30 years.
kazatasupa: (fatherson)
30... aint so bad.

people i am thankful for (in no particular order):

jared, megan, al, hav, willie, thorn, ryn (i'm glad you're staying), mom and dad, janice and jamie (morning coffee shop girls), nicole, cousin chris, aunt joyce, jeremy, marsha, shelby and cameron, jason... and there are others.

i am thankful for the above people, because they have made my life interestingly beautiful and continue to do so. in quiet contemplation intertwined with outward conversation, i have realized that i am blessed to have people touch me every day... and these are the people who touch me. Whether through a kind cup of joe, playful banter in the hot tub, or a phone call reminding me that i am cared for, i am surrounded by people whom care for me, and who i also care for...

i am blessed.

My Cousin

Apr. 5th, 2002 06:10 pm
kazatasupa: (fatherson)
My cousin just left a message on my voice mail. Apparently my parents, who were visiting my aunt and uncle, told them that I was not active in the Mormon church. It is a secret I've hidden from them for years, for various reasons I'm not willing to get into at this point (perhaps a later post). I was suspiciously aware that both cousins who live locally were calling me much more frequently than usual. Over the weekend I called my mother to see if she had, indeed, broken the vow of silence (I swore them to). She had.

I'm going to call my cousin now, well aware of the fact that he will be asking me if I want to go to church with him on Sunday.
kazatasupa: (burney mountain)
I'm losing my white-trash desk to chaos and entropy. It's an interesting phenomenon, and my head is just spaced-out and tired enough to think that art is actually trying to express itself through my things. I feel special.

I still want to cry when I think about it. It's strange for me, because I've never been emotional. I told my pops that this somehow feels healthy, like I've finally learned to mourn. I told him not to worry about me, because I know I am handling this the right way...

I gained some valuable insight into who my father is last night. I love it when he is honestly open and emotionally available to me. For most of my life I denied myself the right to feel that I belonged in any relationship, including that of a son. I fight that now... it's a terrible way to feel about yourself. It's disabling to feel that you are not capable of being loved.

It took me 25 years to appreciate who I am. I have had to teach myself to love me. I am just learning to let others love me as well.

I am thankful for my family, particularly my brother. I could never properly express my gratitude and love for him... but he should know. I think he is absolute and pure and amazing and beautiful. I also think he can be an asshole sometimes... but, I wouldn't have him any other way.

Life is worth celebrating.


kazatasupa: (Default)

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