In a Name

I was named at least 3 1/2 years before my birth. Awaited with bated breath. And then my brother popped out and he went nameless for two weeks.

Funny story, this compulsion to name a human being with the most perfect of names, heedful of the potential implications of such a decision.

I was relatively luckier than other people. My nickname was refered to at the end of a conversation and they couldn't really turn it bad. I've heard this joke for at least 25 years and new people never cease to enjoy the sound it makes, like a compulsion to rhyme for rhyming's sake.

"See you later, Leita!" And I would look upon them and laugh, and say "I've never heard that before, very good", all the while completely bored by something they found so utterly refreshing. And also cognizant of the fact that they pronounced my name wrong...again. But such are the little joys in life. People need to find some joy and if my name can bring them that, well, I'm happy to help!

I was told I was named after a South-African singer, Leita Mbulu, that my parents had once seen in concert. I never questioned their story, though I did have issue with the name. Most people couldn't get it right and I just felt like I didn't belong. I wanted a normal, everyday name like Christine or Caroline.

I gradually learned to like my name, even love it, appreciating its uniqueness. I also learned not to care when people massacred it. It wasn't always worth correcting them.

When I was in university, a girl I met in class asked me about the background of my name. I told her the story I had told a hundred times before and this time I received a different answer:

"I know that singer. Her name is not Leita, it's Letta."

Below, a song from Letta Mbulu. About 2 weeks ago,I finally decided to look her up and it was a revelation to meet my namesake.

I stood there in disbelief. Could my parents not even get that right? They named me by accident? So I called up my mom and laid it down on her. I could hear the shrug in her voice. Oh well, we got it wrong, no big deal.

Funny how important a name is, to the extent that you hold on to it until you have a girl and then when you're told you misunderstood the name, there is abject disinterest. I guess when they appropriated the name, it was more for the sound of it. Letta Mbulu's name triggered something in them and the name they chose was then an extrapolation on that. Like taking something and improving upon it.

So from then on I had decided to attach my own meaning to my name. Like making my own definition in a baby book. What does your name mean?...it took me a while to find something that I thought would fit.

Eventually I settled for: She Who Travels ...as good as any other definition. It is who I am, what I'm driven by, who I accept to be. She Who Travels.

About 4 months ago, while working in a 4-star hotel with many Samoan women, I found another meaning to my name. As I told them my name, many would look at me with questioning eyes and ask whether I was Samoan. Eventually I was to learn that Le - Ita means Not Angry.

It was an exciting discovery. Finally, I had found meaning to my name in the least obvious of places and with the most obscure of cultures.

A few months later, surfing the internet and looking through Baby Names' databases I found my name again: Leita, Spanish for Strong Woman. It was perfect timing. A culmination of images and thoughts and feelings of 30 years on this earth.

So today I celebrate Leita, with two dots on the "i".

I am a strong woman who travels with no anger. This is me. This is who I embrace. And there is no other.

How to Disappear Completely

How to Disappear Completely- Radiohead

It is time. I have spent enough time doing things for others, trying to make things work, trying to repay debts, trying to keep relationships alive and well. Now is my time and I know what to do.

Now, it is time for me. I embark upon a journey unknown, a future unknown, a life unplanned, without expectation, except to find myself.

One day, perhaps, I will return. Perhaps I will be stronger. Perhaps I will have a sense of self that will not fade or hide or die. Perhaps I will be what I've always wanted.

Now, it is time. Time to disappear completely.

13 Angels Standing Guard at the Foot of Your Bed

13 Angels Standing Guard at the Foot of Your Bed- A Silver Mt. Zion
I don't know if I believe in Angels, but if they do exist and if there are some good ones around us, spirits who watch over us and send vibrations of peace and calm, I wish they would stand over my bed and bless me with their presence.

In a world full of death, inflicted upon us by humans lost in despair or by Mother Nature herself, we could all use some indication that it is not all for naught.

I lay down in a dark room and close my eyes. I let myself absorb the energy and it restores me.

This is how I would want them to sound.

Sorrow

I rise in the morning and stumble off to take a shower. The water is scorching hot. I cringe and pull back from the pain.

I chop vegetables and injure myself on the index finger. Blood seeps through. I place my lips on the wound.

I hike up a mountain and two days later I can feel the soreness in my glutes and my shins. It hurts.

I drink water and then continue with my Taekwondo. I get a stitch in my side. I have to stop.

I am alive. I feel, I experience, I continue everyday, moving past those pangs, pricks, stings and aches. They are testaments to the fragility and strength of our bodies. I welcome those sensations.

Everyday, I wake up in the same bed and everything resurfaces. The aches and twinges go away with time as the body heals from the inside out. And you can feel your body healing and it's a daily little miracle.

But memory, memory is not a flesh wound. It jump starts the anguish that grows, not fades away.

They say pain heals with time; all pain. But with me and with time, the hurt, the torment, the torture, the agony, the woe, the grief...they grow. And now I have a full-blown tree inside me, black with misery.

Each day, each branch grows an inch and I can feel myself stretch from exertion. I am becoming misshapen, distorted, a mutated form of what was.

I have tried several doors. They are locked. I have no keys.

I have no tools, I cannot pick them.

I have no strength, I cannot break them down.

I have no love, I cannot sweet-talk them.

I am here, in this windowless room, my body taking root in the ashy ground of despair, staring at impenetrable barriers.

And I know. I know what I must do.


Pneumonia - Bjork

Get over the sorrow, girl

The world is always going
To be made of this

You can trust in it
Unless you breathe in
Bravely

I adore how you

Simply

Surrender to high

High

And your lungs

They're mourning
T-b style

All the still-born love
That could have happened
All the moments
You should have embraced
All the moments
You should have not locked up

Understand so clearly
To shut yourself up
Would be the hugest crime of them all

Hugest crime

Of them all
You're just crying

After all

Do not want them

Humans around

Anymore

Get over that sorrow, girl

Get over it

Real Men?

What does it mean to be a man? Societies in the west, and the east for that matter, have shaped the essence of what a man should be. It used to be that gentleman who opened the door for you, that person who held the small of your back as you walked. Even in present day some people think a man is someone who will stand on the edge of the sidewalk when with a woman, to protect her from any potential accidents off the streets.

A man was a provider, a protector, a person of substance that could be counted on.

A man was not supposed to cry, a man was not supposed to play with dolls. A man was supposed to fight to protect, he was supposed to die for the good of others. He was supposed to bask in the glory of that sacrifice.

He was to take on the burden of feeding his family and yet not get too involved in his childrens' lives. He was to be the discipliner, the strength of the family, the one that all looked up to.

A man was described as the strong, silent type. The tall, dark, handsome type. The Heathcliffs, Edward Rochesters and Darcys of this world... the James Bonds, Supermans and Batmans...

He was impenetrable and it was the woman's job to break through that barrier and find the human beneath the shell. The Catherines, the Janes, the Elizabeths... they were the strengths behind the strengths.

All my life, all I wanted was honesty and respect. I didn't need that uncrying, unfeeling gentleman of a person. I wanted truth, spelled out for me to see.

The honesty to be weak, if that were the case. The respect that meant that if things could not be realized, if my needs could not be met, that I would be told as a person who deserved to be told; without pressure, without cajolery, without anger aimed.

Very few people have done that for me. Those are the real men, in my mind. The Matts, the Wissams... I never expected to go through this world without being hurt. Though I tend to be on the naive side, I never expected to live a life unscathed.

But I did expect honesty, I did expect respect.

There is no greater pain in this world than the actions from others which imply you are not worthy of those things.

So where are those real men? The men who are, first and foremost, human?

I do not deny that pride is a necessity. I have lived much of my little life clinging to that concept. But there are greater things in this life than pride.

As I inch towards death, each day progressing towards that inevitable fate, I realize the futility of pride. It only serves to separate yourself. Pride is what separates those that condemn themselves to a life lived alone, from those who keep trying to live a life. Not free of pain, that seems more impossible as time edges on, but a life that includes possibilities.

I am stripped of pride. I stripped myself. I have done things that I can never take back, perhaps out of desperation (yes, most definitely), but also out of hope that some good can come out of mistakes.

We will never be free of mistakes; the key is to acknowledge them and try to move forward. I used to be incapable of forgiveness and I have to work, daily to forgive others for the pain they cause. But of all the forgiveness I must learn, it is forgiveness for my mistakes and my weaknesses that I must try to achieve.

So, are the real men out there? Who are you? Where do you hide? Can you survive in the world of superheros and expectations? Can you survive in the face of disappointment? Can you survive?

There are some women out there, some women who are looking for those pure things: honesty, respect.

Simple words...but so difficult to live up to.


Real Men - Tori Amos (cover)


Take your mind back
I don’t know when
Sometime when it always seemed
To be just us and them

Girls that wore pink
Boys that wore blue
Boys that always grew up better men
Than me and you

What’s a man now, what’s a man mean
Is he rough or is he rugged
Cultural and clean

Now it’s all changed, it’s got to change more
We think it’s getting better
But nobody’s really sure

And so it goes, go round again
But now and then we wonder who the real men are

See the nice boys, dancing in pairs
Golden earring, golden tan
Blow-waving the hair

Sure they’re all straight, straight as a line
All the guys are macho
See the leather shine

You don’t want to sound dumb, don’t want to offend
So don’t call me a faggot
Not unless you are a friend

Then if you’re tall, handsome, and strong
You can wear the uniform and I could play along

And so it goes, go round again
But now and then we wonder who the real men are

Time to get scared, time to change plan
Don’t know how to treat a lady
Don’t know how to be a man

Time to admit what you call defeat
Cause there’s women running past you now
And you just drag your feet

Man makes a gun, man goes to war
Man can kill and man can drink
And man can take a whore

Kill all the blacks, kill all the reds
If there’s war between the sexes
Then there’ll be no people left

And so it goes, go round again
But now and then we wonder who the real men are

And so it goes, go round again
But now and then we wonder who the real men are

And so it goes, go round again
But now and then we wonder who the real men are

The Wind Shall Carry Everything Away

When I first moved to France, I didn't think (being the somewhat more judgemental person that I was at that time) I would like any French music. The only music I had known was from the likes of Charles Asznavour and Edith Piaf, music that I felt were somewhat outdated. But my lover at that time, the one for whom I moved to France, introduced me to many different bands and I discovered new worlds. This is the beauty of travel.

Students often ask me, of all the places I have visited, which countries have I loved the most, and which have I hated. I can never answer that question and it's not for fear of being unfair. In truth, I do not know. Every country has given to me and taken away from me. In every place, I have learned something and I have appreciated something. Every culture is an opportunity for growth and knowledge and every place, a place of beauty.

While still living in Canada, he introduced me to Noir Desir, one of the most popular French bands. I could not describe the style of music, probably in the pop-rock genre, but it sounds too hollow to categorize in such a way. One of their songs spoke to me then and I have never forgotten it. It is called "Le Vent Nous Portera" or "The Wind Will Carry Us."

It inspired me to write a poem the summer after he and I had been separated by the Atlantic Ocean and a year before I was to pack up my bags and follow him into an uncertain future.


Le Vent L’emportera July 14, 2002


Managing to take the pleasures out of summer.
Gentle breeze of the fan on medium,
Passionate music
Quiet evening
Mood lighting
And yet

Headache and heartache
And bodyaches
For a far away being
A remembered sight seen
Only in the mind’s eye
Only in the pictures lying
Across the apartment floor


I do not know
I can not know
I will not know when he’ll return

Shall I be tough and go away,
Away in my heart, from my heart
Smothered in blood, sullied with tears
Salty seas of a sadness so deep
The swim-less should beware

Some say the wind will blow it away
And hearts can be won back,
scarred but free of inundation

I do not know what to believe
When the sun has gone and doesn’t want to rise

When sleep sits just out of reach and pillows become hard
When the gentle breeze of that fan blows heat from the depths of the earth


Will the wind blow it out of the way
Will I not feel like I’m spinning out of control

Will my heart harden
Making strength from softness

Will I hear that beautiful voice whisper in my ear again
As I am slowly falling asleep

Whisper dreams of the future
In a country far away with a studio for him
And an office for me
With three horse-sized dogs and two kids
With an ocean as our back yard
All in the language of love

Will he ever do as he’s said and paint portraits of me
Naked on an unmade bed,
Portraits of a woman in love and loved
By the man who paints her

Will he return and entice her to move in with him
In an apartment full of light and life
Where they can start living like neither of them has ever experienced

Or will the dream die before his return
Will it drown in her salty sea
In the bottomless depth of self-pity
A sort of sanctuary.

Below, the original lyrics of the song followed by a translation that I found online and tweaked a little bit. It's very hard to translate from French to English because French is such a powerfully poetic language that often gets lost in English.



Le Vent Nous Portera - Noir DesirOriginal LyricsJe n'ai pas peur de la route
Faudrait voir, faut qu'on y goûte
Des méandres au creux des reins
Et tout ira bien là
Le vent nous portera.

Ton message à la Grande Ourse
Et la trajectoire de la course
Un instantané de velours
Même s'il ne sert à rien va
Le vent l'emportera.

Tout disparaîtra mais
Le vent nous portera.

La caresse et la mitraille
Et cette plaie qui nous tiraille
Le palais des autres jours
D'hier et demain
Le vent les portera.

Génétique en bandoulière
Des chromosomes dans l'atmosphère
Des taxis pour les galaxies
Et mon tapis volant dis ?
Le vent l'emportera.

Tout disparaîtra mais
Le vent nous portera.

Ce parfum de nos années mortes
Ce qui peut frapper à ta porte
Infinité de destins
On en pose un et qu'est-ce qu'on en retient?
Le vent l'emportera.

Pendant que la marée monte
Et que chacun refait ses comptes
J'emmène au creux de mon ombre
Des poussières de toi
Le vent les portera.

Tout disparaîtra mais
Le vent nous portera.


English Translation

I do not fear the journey,
I'll have to see,
I'll have to taste it,
Meanderings through the loins,
And everything will go well there,
The wind will carry us.

Your message to the Big Bear
And the trajectory of the path,
A velvet moment,
And even if it has no purpose,
The wind will carry it away.

All will disappear but
The wind will carry us.

The caress and the shellfire
And this wound that gnaws
A palace of former days
Of yesterday and tomorrow
The wind will carry them away.

Genetics slung across the shoulder
Chromosomes in the air
Taxis for the galaxies
And my flying carpet says?
The wind will carry it away

All will disappear but
The wind will carry us.

This perfume of our dead years
That which may knock at your door
The infinity of destinies
We set one down and what remains?
The wind will carry it away

While the tide is rising
And everyone reviews their accounts
I bring into the hollow of my shadow
Particles of you
The wind will carry them away.

And all will disappear but
The wind will carry us.

I Really Want You - A Performer's Words

Last night I went to see James Blunt in concert. I was expecting a pretty low key affair. When I've seen him in videos he always seemed sad, depressed. I was really shocked to see him live in Seoul with an energy and an intensity way beyond my expectations. He smiled a lot, he was in his element; not only a composer and singer, but also an entertainer.

He was really enjoying himself and I could almost see how he was absorbing the energy from the audience, even surprising us by jumping into the crowd and running through, letting everyone touch him. I was up in the rafters, but that was okay. Running up to touch an artist is not really my thing. I don't need to touch, I don't need an autograph, I just want to experience.

I went alone and sat next to some Americans, one of whom was an interesting woman from California. It was an awesome concert. I'm really happy I got to see the pleasure on his face, a smile like a five-year old child's, lighting up the stage.

The more morose songs were sung with every fiber of his being and I felt a connection there, like we had experienced similar things. I had downloaded songs from his "All the Lost Souls" album, since I hadn't had a chance to buy it yet. There was a song there called "I Really Want You." I guess I must have downloaded a shortened version. It was not among my favorites. But last night, I heard a different version and I was carried away by his words. Words that reflected my own heart. I absorbed the energy of it all and wished he could hear it.

After the show, they were selling his albums. I bought it and when I listened to it at home, it was missing something. During the concert, James Blunt added some verses of his own. The original lyrics:


I Really Want You - James Blunt

Many prophets preach on bended knee Many clerics wasted wine.
Do the bloodied sheets on those cobbled streets mean I have wasted time?
Are there silver shores on paradise? Can I come in from the cold?
I killed a man in a far away land, my enemy I'm told.

I really want you to really want me, but I really don't know if you can do that.
I know you want to know what's right, but I know it's so hard for you to do that.
And time's running out as often it does, and often dictates that you can't do that.
But fate can't break this feeling inside that's burning up through my veins.

I really want you.
I really want you.
I really want you- now.
No matter what I say or do, the message isn't getting through,
And you're listening to the sound of my breaking heart.
I really want you.
I really want you.

Is a poor man rich in solitude, or will Mother Earth complain?
Did the beggar pray for a sunny day, but Lady luck for rain?
They say a million people bow and scrape to an effigy of gold.
I saw life begin and the ship we're in and history unfold.

I really want you to really want me but I really don't know if you can do that.
I know you want to know what's right but I know it's so hard for you to do that.
And time's running out as often it does and often dictates that you can't do that.
But fate can't break this feeling inside that's burning up through my veins.

I really want you.
I really want you.
I really want you- now.
No matter what I say or do, the message isn't getting through,
And you're listening to the sound of my breaking heart.
No matter what I say or do, the message isn't getting through,
And you're listening to the sound of my breaking heart.

During the concert he added words to this effect:I killed a man in a far away land, my enemy I'm told. So I went to see him and I saw that he looked just like me...
We are our biggest enemies. The doubts, insecurities and pain we feel are always greater when we inflict them upon ourselves. I can say this intellectually, I can understand it logically, but it is my heart dictating my every cell and I have not been able to turn it off. Will I wake up one day with a heart cast in stone? Is it possible? I struggle between wishing for it and rejecting it. One day, I will wake up and the decision will have been made. I will wait and see what happens.

I Do Not Want This

I discovered Nine Inch Nails in high school. I'm not sure who introduced me to them or whether I found out about them on my own, but there was something about Trent Reznor's lyrics that spoke to me. He was able to convey to me a feeling that I could relate to even then and I can feel that sense of desperation, anger and hopelessness even today. He speaks to me still; it's as though he understands what I've felt, what I feel and how futile life seems at times. There is a comfort in knowing that thoughts and feelings can be conveyed to others in such different forms of art. An homage to Nine Inch Nails.

Thanks for your words, your music.

I Do Not Want This - Nine Inch Nails


I'm losing ground
You know how this world can beat you down
And I'm made of clay
I fear I'm the only one who thinks this way

I'm always falling down the same hill
Bamboo puncturing this skin
And nothing comes bleeding out of me just like a waterfall I'm drowning in
2 feet below the surface I can still make out your wavy face
And if I could just reach you maybe I could leave this place

I do not want this
I do not want this
I do not want this
I do not want this

Don't you tell me how I feel
Don't you tell me how I feel
Don't you tell me how I feel
You don't know just how I feel

I stay inside my bed
I have lived so many lives all in my head
Don't tell me that you care
There really isn't anything now, is there?

You would know, wouldn't you?
You extend your hand to those who suffer
To those who know what it really feels like
To those who've had a taste
Like that means something
And oh so sick I am
And maybe I don't have a choice
And maybe that is all I have
And maybe this is a cry for help

I do not want this
I do not want this
I do not want this
I do not want this

Don't you tell me how I feel
Don't you tell me how I feel
Don't you tell me how I feel
You don't know just how I feel

I want to know everything
I want to be everywhere
I want to fuck everyone in the world
I want to do something that matters

Questions

Tonight, as I sat in class with my students, we discussed excerpts from "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus". I had re-read this book while in India in December and on until January, upon my return, but oh, how we forget!

As we read the excerpts in class I saw the errors of my ways. I see now that I should have been more understanding, more patient, more open-minded towards you.

I was hurting and each person reacts differently to pain. Some back away and hide, as you did, and others confront this issue and perhaps, at times, beat it over the head. That's me. That's always been me and though I have tried to curb my natural tendancies, I suppose those few months of insecurity lead to my impatience. And for that I'm sorry.

I wonder, daily, whether things could have turned out differently. Was it really out of my hands? Would you have left me regardless of my support? Or did I drive you away? I want to talk to you, find a common ground, clear the air, but you have escaped and I am left here, questions photocopying in a never-ending loop.

My attempts to reconnect have gone unanswered and it tears me apart to feel as though I am the only one who wants this.

I go through the multitude of emotions in a 24 hour period: pain, sadness, anger, desperation, hope. But none of them matter because they start all over again the next day and I never get any answers.

I sometimes question my decisions, I question my person and see a continuous pattern in my relationships in the past four years. In all, they have left, given up, run away. What is it that I project? Did I push you away first? If so, how? Is it all my fault? Are you using me as a scapegoat for the wrong that has happened in your life? Is is fair? Is it true?

Will I ever get answers, or will I be forever in question?