Skip to main content

FALL'S MELANCHOLY

Fall speaks the most to me. It is a season when the weather is mild, nature's transformations are particularly visual and beautiful, and it marks the beginnings of the school year and the fiscal year. A routine for the next year will be set.

These are all things I love, but in the last few years I've begun to feel a little sad when the fall sets in. I wasn't sure why or how. I hate the summer, so it's not that the end of summer makes me sad; it is something inherent about fall that gnaws at me.

Today, when my office was relatively empty, I noticed how sad the place felt. As I paid closer and closer attention I realized that the sadness came from sounds that were continuous, but that I had not noticed before. These sounds came from outside. They were made by trucks as they traverse the country on our roads. These trucks howl sadly. They sound like souls trapped somewhere yearning to go free. Ironic considering how our cars have become icons for our freedom.

The reality is probably that with the absence of leaves, came a new acoustic design to the world. These sounds that were once buffered are now alive and in the open. But they are still sad sounds. I wonder what they are trying to convey. Does the fall know that with serious climate change, it may no longer continue to exist? Are the trees sad that this might be their last year to survive at this latitude? I don't know. Whatever it is though, I am feeling it.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

THOUGHTS ON MOTHERS, FASHION AND BODY IMAGE

It wasn't until I was 13 years old that I learned I was fat. That was the year I moved to the United States and began to have a difficult time finding clothes that fit appropriately. I never really thought about that change until much later when I would look back on childhood photos and was surprised by how well my clothes fit, and how well-dressed I mostly was. As someone who is very fashionably challenged, I was surprised that at some point in time, I knew how to dress well...and I seemed to have lost the skill once I had many clothing options. When did I lose that skill? I began to explore that phenomena and quickly came to an odd realization. In the U.S. I clearly always had more clothing options that I ever did in Venezuela. Ready-made clothes in the U.S. were affordable so everyone could buy them. That was the key, in Venezuela, ready-made clothes were very expensive, so not too many people purchased them. In fact, I don't remember my mom buying anything ready-mad...

I CAN'T PASS JUDGMENT ANYMORE

I know all of my friends are loving the ease and convenience of carrying books around on a Kindle, or whatever the gadget of the day is, but this move to electronic reading is really affecting my ability to judge others, yes, you heard me right-judging others is now difficult. It used to be that I could sit on the train and just by watching book covers, and their respective readers, I would get an idea of what books I might like. Now, everyone has a kindle and I can't really derive reading recommendations without appearing to be a stalker. But worse than that, new friendships are severely affected. I used to be able to walk into someone's house and look at their bookcase and know whether I should run the other way-now, the non-visibility of books makes identifying incompatibility so much more difficult. For example, if someone were to walk into my house, this is what they might see:   You would be correct in making quite a few assumptions about me based on this ...

MOTHERHOOD: A SITE OF VICIOUS NEGOTIATION

I woke up this morning to a baby puking on me while smiling unapologetically. For the first time her lack of inhibition worried me. This Mother's Day, I thought I'd be reflecting on being a mother for the first time and jot down some mushy words, instead, I think back to the day I walked in on my mom having greater aspirations for my daughter than she did for me.   My dad raised me to thrive in the world I deserved, my mom raised me to survive in the world I was born into. Needles to say, my dad's parenting was liberating and empowering, my mom's was stifling and suffocating, so of the two parents I always rebelled against HER. She would often say that I was created fighting her given how difficult her pregnancy was with me. She was right, my earliest memories with my mom are of our arguments. We fought like the swords of two warriors: I was driven by a desire to be free and capable, her by fear that I might suffer consequences the patriarchy metes out to misbehaving wo...