I have a thing for a man with black hair, brown eyes, tan skin, and Yup'ik blood. My heart beats more wildly in the presence of any native than it does with any darker or lighter skinned human. Don't ask me why, I really can't explain it. They're not exotic or fascinating or any bit different than the next guy. But my eyes are so accustomed their appearance that out of a line of prince charmings, I would immidiately veer to the native. No questions asked. For some unexplained reason it's just where my heart lies. I couldn't change it's direction even if I wanted it to... and I really don't want to. I like it's odd tendancy to fall for some wild-eyed native boy.
Looking Back on Me
As I look back into myself through the eyes of google, I am completely amazed at myself at sixteen. In fact, I'm rather disgraced. What, oh what, was the younger me thinking? I was ridiculous on a million levels. Immature and caught somewhere between a child and a woman. I was a child, but looked like a woman. I was a child, but was expected to act like a woman. And it caused an identity crisis bigger than the world itself. I look back at pictures and blogs and just wish I could write a letter to that girl and tell her that she doesn't need to try so hard. It's okay to hold onto your innocence. It's okay to not have a boyfriend and only have one best friend. It's okay to play with dolls instead of drugs. It's okay to be you, just you. Don't change for anyone. Don't question your self worth. You're confused and lost and there's no one there to help you, but someday you're going to grow into a strong stubborn woman with dreams bigger than the sky. I wish I could have told her... I wish someone would have...
Not Quite Travel-Worthy
The days are finally growing warmer. Snow is on the horizon. We've barely had any this entire winter. A few inches are keeping the dogsleds from getting stuck on the tundra. But a few inches is not nearly enough to travel by for long. We can't go distant places and most of us are stuck just in the few roaming miles beyond the village. The ice on the Yukon River is bare- which means no traveling across it without slipping paws and sliding sleds. And then of course to the north is an array of paths between the willows that needs a bit more snow to make travel-worthy. So for now I travel upriver a ways and down river a ways. It's a very minimal area to adventure. And quite honestly, I'm getting wrestless. This warming cloudy sky is keeping me with my fingers crossed that a few flakes fall.
Fifth Dream
I had a dream about you last night. Fifth dream I've had this week. I'm not going to deny the fact that I think of you right before I fall asleep at night. Perhaps that's why my subconcious mind drifts to you. I don't remember what happens in the dreams. I just remember that you're in them, and they're so beautiful that even when I wake up, I close my eyes and try to hold onto the image a bit longer. I feel everything so powerfully. The butterflies are inspiring. And they don't leave me until late into the afternoon, when my memory of the dream isn't so clear anymore.
Going Somewhere Else
There are times where I am so preconsumed in thought that everything around me doesn't exist. I leave this world and just transcend into somewhere... else. I just lose everything. All of the sudden the air doesn't have a temperature and the ground doesn't have a shape. My clothes lack texture, gravity starts relieving it's pull on me. And off I drift... somewhere imaginary. I'm still awake, my eyes are still open, my physical self is still performing daily duties. But I'm not there. I'm long gone to a place so far from where I stand...
Late Dreaming
The sun rises slowly, as do I. When mornings are late, I'm late to awake. But I find contentment in warm (not hot) coffee and having a sleepy smile even as the rest of the household has already become bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Someday I'm going to have children, many I hope. And someday my late mornings will be interrupted with the giggles of breakfast and hectic school preparedness. So as for now I'll enjoy the annoyance I cause with my late dreaming- for it may be the last few years I have of it.
Bright Dark Hours
When the ground is officially covered in white, the night turns magical. The moon glows and everything illuminates. It's not like the autumn, when the moon's light is hidden in the shadows of the grass. In winter everything is white, flat, and curved. There are no places for shadows to hide. So everything is clear, easy to see, and almost day-like even in the middle of the darkest hours.
Mess of Emotions
What is love? Truly, what is it? Can you love someone and spend your nights sleeping beside them, dreaming of another? Can you carry someone in your heart and yet yearn someone else was in their place? Is that love? I feel as if most would answer no. And yet, as we all know, my wild heart claims the heart of one while unfortunately wanting another. I can't help it really. My admiration for something different is instilled in my gypsy soul. And it breaks me, causes me grief, and often leaves me in a confused mess of emotions.
A Village Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving in my home never leaves space for an empty stomach. My kitchen was filled and my table was too. And now I sit exhausted. Two days straight of labor in the kitchen and one large meal to finish it off. Now I'm tired. Admiring the thankful letters of a few generous neighbors. Remembering the kind exchanges of smiles from children and loved ones. My family is very far this holiday season- as they have been for the past three. I haven't spent a Yule or Thanksgiving with my parents since I was eighteen. And I often miss them. Often wish I could find a love here who would share his family with me in an intimate, true way. But for now the village is my family, a friendly family, and one that I take in with all my heart.
Day Before Thanksgiving
It's the day before perhaps the very biggest meal in the world. I prepare of course. For thanksgiving, to a white girl in a native village may be the very most significant day in the world. I share a feast like it was in the very first days of my people's immigration- with friendly souls who appreciate my residence on their homeland. So today I prepared my rolls. Picked the fruit from my pumpkin, mashed it, and made a pie worth eating immidiately. And set the table for a day that is one of the most sentimental and truly heartwarming of the year.
Ballerina Dreams
I like to think I could be a ballerina. I point my toes and prance around daintily. Bow my head, extend my arms, let my wrists click in and out with each movement. I am by no means as graceful as a true Swan Princess. I have awkward footing and trips. But I do enjoy jumping into the air and landing as softly as I can. Feeling things slowly let beautifully. Letting my body move, extend, and twist. It's a beautiful art really. Like the yoga of the free-spirit's world.
Sledding Too Fast
The hill beside my house is filled with sledders. Adorable miniature ones. They all wear fur ruffs, puffy mittens, and boots with seal skin soles. Every time I peer beyond my window they wave frantically and race to the top of the hill to show me how fast they can slide down. And they can slide quickly... ohhh so quickly. The mother in me screams for them to stop. But the mother in me is silenced by the child in me that remembers such fond memories that they are making that very instant.
Silent Sun, Vocal Moon
The sun is fading now. I live on the side of a hill on the north side of my village. To the south, west, and east of my house lie homes. And those homes are now creating shadows- shadows from the sun. The sun is a man who I haven't seen in a while. He likes to hide low on the horizon and escape beyond the hill in the afternoon. I see him late in the morning as he peers through my lace curtains. But shortly after he will be off, and not visit again for the remainer of the day. The moon is more vocal now. She's happy, bright, cheery, and oh so confident. She's a big part of my life. And I can't deny the fact that I'm fascinated with her conversation.
Touching Flying Planes
I love when something happens that forces me to stop and realize I am living in a place so far from stereotypical America. My darling and I traveled up river yesterday to bring home a new (used) snow machine we had flown into the airport at a nearby village. As we neared the runway- which is merely a dirt road that is now a snow-covered dirt road, a tiny plane flew not five feet above us. I could have stood up and touched it. Of course, I did not do that. And I realize that the safety of such a thing is probably not a story to be proud of. But to me, the fact I live in a place where rules barely exist and a freedom still lives on, is really a magnificant thing. A truly magnificant thing.
Sad in the Air
My heart has been a tender subject. I have not scribbled a word for two weeks. Not sure why. We finally had our lovely dusting of thick fluffy snow (the kind in which I adore so much that I instantly play out in it). Coho and Rascal are as playful and loving as ever. My darling and I have finally found this sort of contentment that was missing through the summer. I've settled in for the winter- and yet, there's this uneasy sort of emotion running in my viens. I'm saddened. The village has been stricken with three deaths in two weeks. An unfortunate energy has overtaken us all. Fall is still clinging to much of the landscape- as the thick snow is running late this year. There's just something sad in the air. I can't explain it. But my facial expression and lack of written creativity shows it all.
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