Posted by: alegra22 | April 27, 2012

beginning again

My father sits in front of my laptop, a can of keyboard cleaner in his hand, and says, “You need to start writing again. Also, what the hell did you do to this computer?”

At least this is how I remember it. Was it three weeks ago already?

I sat at the kitchen table, side-eyeing his industrious dismantling of the keys from my laptop. I pretended to ignore his grumbling about all of the crap that had managed to gather beneath letters nearly worn away from hours of typing.

I denied responsibility as I sipped red wine and ate dark chocolate with pockets of tangy cherry sneaking up on the edges of my tongue.

“I crouch on the ground when I write. I have three small children. Stuff gets under keys.” .

He aimed the cleaner at the laptop, “Sure it does.”

I switched tactics, “It was Dan. He has been using my computer. Boys are dirty. It’s a fact.”

I’m sure that Dan was somewhere in the room and he rolled his eyes at me. He might have even said,

“Yes, it was ALL me.” I didn’t argue.

Of course it was.

I can’t be sure of most of this, only the part where my father grumbled and told me I needed to start writing again. I can’t be sure because I fell asleep and woke up on the other side of the planet, three weeks are now a tightly rolled dream nestled somewhere in front of my spine, sighing beneath my heart. It turns in its dreaming and I shift as I sit with my feet on the chair, typing…


We have been a bustle of activity since our luggage emptied across the carpet and our sleep-confused bodies crawled into the beds that should be familiar to us. I’m grumpy in the morning as I pull Zaviera’s hair into a ponytail, as i stumble across several loads of laundry that needed to be folded. I try to gather my breathing against my spine, to hug it, as I navigate the disorientation that I feel at having travelled across the planet in twelve hours.

I wake up expecting the smell of my father’s coffee. I wake up expecting to see my mother emerge from her bedroom, her hair soft against her back. I wake up to this beautiful home and three children scrambling over one another and a stack of bills and a list of things in my mind.

I wake up feeling the great divide of our bodies and distance.

I wake up and begin again.



  1. Writing again. I love it. When it stops for awhile and it comes right back. Writing again.

    • Yes, it never goes away…just hibernates and dreams.

  2. write. You are gifted. :o)

    • Thank you, Nikole. I needed this encouragement right now!

      • Don’t stop. ;o) It’s easy to find other things to do, but that writing bug in us–it won’t stop pestering us–we have to write. It’s who we are.

  3. Reading this made me miss my room at the Mamaku Crib. It reminded me of the solace created in Zaviera’s room for me. I missed it. I miss all our conversations and kai times!

    • I’ve been thinking of you a lot the last few days…and missing you. You always have a home with us at Mamaku, I hope you know that.

  4. sis you always amaze me how you can take something thats floating in the air and everyone can feel it…. but you…… somehow know how to grab all that imagination floating around and put it onto paper for all of us to see and confirm that what we were all feeling is exactly what it was Hapiness, Sadness, Hope, Life, Inspiration, Raw Anger, excitment and most of all LOVE pure pure LOVE!!! Kia kaha taku tuahine ataahua!

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