Mayumi II

Dearest Mayumi,

For the first time in nearly a decade 
I was unable to breathe life into you. 
In that moment, you felt so sacred, so
incredibly fragile and precious and ornate,
a Faberge egg encrusted in jewels...
rubies like the color of my love for you, 
deep sapphires that scarred my soul 
when I lost you, and emerald greens
that sporadically ground me to a halt. 

How did it all start? With a ruse, one
that tricked me into unlocking 
my pearly white gates to usher them in. 
How did it all end? With a muse, one
that could destroy me from the inside out.
It has never ceased to amaze me how
the ones we care for, tend to the most
are the ones that cause our own death. 

I built a wall and hid it under a Cheshire grin,
it's covered in nightfall and physical affection
with strangers who confuse intimacy with 
something that I refuse to relinquish.
And within all of this, I just want them to 
know that they are loved, cherished, visible. 
Because, that's all I ever wanted for you. 
I would trade anything in the world for 
that day he called and everything shattered. 

Your actions taught me to say "I love you,"
loudly, with fervor, and emphatically... 
to the people who need to know as often 
as I can possibly commit to saying it and
even then it may never be often enough. 
What I am still learning how to do is to
love myself with the same energy I distribute.

I miss you. Everyday, I miss you. 
Goodbyes float like whispers trapped 
in caskets in churches where sinners 
and saints and the like request mercy. 

Dearest Clarissa

You would have been 24 today,

and in all likelihood we probably 
would have drifted apart, two kayaks 
in the rapid white waters of this world.

You would have been 24 today, 
and maybe we would have laughed 
about our lives and the decisions
we made at night underneath the sheets.

You would have been 24 today, 
and I would have called you Mayumi 
through a not so smart cellular device while 
you sang that one sweet song of yours. 

You would have been 24 today,
and I should have made sure that you
always knew how much you were treasured.
(Ironically) it kills me that you felt so alone. 

But you would have been 24 today,
And I would have bought you flowers, 
the kind that bloom ever so slowly, 
just to see your beautiful smile. 

Mayumi

I recently engaged in a series of hypothetical questions with someone in between bites of some of the best dishes I have ever consumed, all enhanced by amazing company. Some questions were trivial, while others forced me to choose between letting down walls and revealing myself or redirecting the focus to the distracting way in which my armor gleams in the moonlight. There are as many, if not more, benefits to floating through this world like the balloon you lost hold of that strained to reach the sun as there are to the balloon tied down by feelings and strings. 

I constructed a followup hypothetical question, but rather than asking I let it rest on the tip of my tongue... savoring it's flavor, curiosity growing which each passing thought of the potential aftertaste. 

"If you could relive any moment in time from your past, which moment would you choose?"

I never asked the question, it seemed unfair to request an answer when I wasn't ready to share mine. That being said, everything feels safer and further removed when you're behind a computer screen. When your eyes are strained and your fingers are resting on asdf jkl;, when the city is asleep and everything stops spinning in dizzying pirouettes... you feel empowered. 

I can envision the moment so clearly in my mind's eye and hope my loose command of the English language can do it justice. 

I don't remember the day or the date, 
now wishing somehow I would have known
the importance of capturing that moment in time.
I stumbled into those church pews between
philosophy and math and awkward encounters
where across the room an ethereal spirit
sat on a smooth, ebony piano bench.

She loved to sing and when she closed her eyes, 
when her fingers floated across the keys, 
when she put her head back ever so slightly
exposing and elongating the curve of her neck,
and shared not the notes from our courses
but the more tender notes from her heart
it was as if the heavens allowed mere mortals 
a glimpse into something profound and pure.

It was uncomfortable and unbearable to be
in the presence of such beauty, such grace. 
The magic was followed by that shy smile,
by that look seeking validation and truth, 
by an introversion that only drew you in further,
inciting an intense desire to protect someone 
so special from the terrifying demons that 
knocked, beckoned so persistently at her door. 

She radiated warmth, empathy, and passion
and yet... in that viewing she was frozen, 
An angel trapped within a hardened shell.
Buried six feet under an ocean of salty tears,
I can still hear the way she said my name
and on the days when I can quiet my mind
I can still hear her song in the midnight breeze.

S.Z.H.

You told me not to cry, not to worry,

and yet we both knew it was the end.
It's cruel the way the universe seems 
to place those I love so far away...

It was not really unexpected, and yet
if my reality is my own social construct
can I construct one with you still in it?
Because I do not think I am in a place 
where I can even begin to comprehend.

There are what, five stages of grieving?
Denial, anger, bargaining, depression,
and an acceptance I am struggling with. 
It feels like Novocain's dull, gray numbness 
coating the world one dose at a time. 

Continents apart, I see your legacy in your
children, grandchildren, great grandchildren. 
It's in the intelligence, compassion, and mirth;
It's in the stubbornness, empathy, and love
of my aunts, uncles, cousins, and nephews. 

All I can hope for, all I can dream of
is that my life is as full of love and laughter. 
That I find a partner who I will rest beside
when I enter my final, eternal slumber. 
That I find a way to leave more than I take, 
And that I am remembered by the ripples I created. 

I missed you yesterday. I miss you today.  
And I will miss you tomorrow.

Rest in peace, Baba. 

Sam Oliver

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" - Edgar Allan Poe

I am not quite sure how this is supposed to go, and when I was first asked to write this an intense wave of panic swept through me... While I have known loss, tragic loss, throughout my life, I do not know if anyone is ever prepared to write a dedication. I do not know if anyone is ever prepared for this moment, the moment when you are forced to acknowledge that seemingly overnight the world became a different and unfamiliar place. In fact, I even tried Googling "how to write a dedication" in an attempt to find a how to guide that could lend me some sort, any sort of structure. I have no idea what I am supposed to say to offer comfort or how I am supposed to say it because I do not know what I am supposed to tell myself. 

There are many people who pass through this life without leaving a mark; by far, Sam was not one of them. I do not remember the first time I met Sam, but I do remember the energy he brought into a room. I remember his smile, his bear hugs, and that confused, or perhaps befuddled, look he would get when he could not understand why my largely female staff was being ridiculous. I remember his willingness to throw himself into new opportunities, his willingness to take on new challenges. I remember learning how well he could do the robot during dance battles at staff retreats and late night conversations about relationships. I remember a Halloween where we all fell in love with the joy he brought to the party. I remember the days where his smile alone was able to lift the weight off of my shoulders. I remember feeling great pride in his accomplishments on behalf of the Community Service Commission (CSC) and feeling comfortable with him representing 2,000+ students to administrators and entities across campus. I remember feeling great sorrow when I realized that I had failed him as a leader and as a friend, that I had failed to protect him from the painful words of fellow members of our CSC family. And I remember letting him go on the roof of Kerckhoff Hall, knowing in my heart that no matter where the wind took him next he would be off on some new, exciting adventure as I had known from the beginning that there was something truly special about him. Having Sam Oliver, the man with two first names, on my staff was a privilege. He left a mark on my mind and on my heart, and he pushed so many of us to be better than we were. 

There has been an outpouring of love and grief from many communities following his passing, a testament to the impact he had on so many people. He was... he was adored. There is no other way to put it. He was adored. I adored him, my staff adored him, his roommates adored him, his friends adored him, his family adored him, UCLA adored him. I can only hope that in his heart, then and now in his eternal sleep, he is cognizant of the sparkle he brought to all of our lives. I hope he understands that his magic was tangible, palpable, and electrifying. 

Rest in peace, Sam Oliver. You are already truly missed. 

Sending you my love,
Thor