May 1994

It's Tuesday and I'm at a restaurant in Santa Rosa, the town we lived in when mom and dad divorced. Bob Marley sings, "No woman no cry…" Borrowed Jackie's old Nissan and drove up here by myself. I've just been to my junior high school and visited with a couple of my favorite teachers. I drove past our home that was painted a different color, which I appreciated. The new color placed a sense of distance between those memories and myself. I thought of mom and dad and their awful fights. I also drove by Jamie's house, someone I went to school with and used to mess around with. One time at school he actually said to me, "I'm scared because every time I see you I want you." That was when we used to meet at a shed by the side of the school football field where I used to suck his dick. I'm smiling as I write this. I'm told that Jamie's now engaged to be married. I found Marcy, with whom I hung out once in a while. We sat on the sidewalk in front of her parent's house and talked. "I regret a lot from those days," she said, "I was mean." 'You were a bitch!' I agreed laughingly. Now she was older, earthy. Visiting my grandmother and Jackie in Novato has been wonderful. We laugh a lot, mainly at ourselves. It seems all we do is eat, drink tea, eat, drink Turkish coffee, eat, and talk.

Yesterday Jackie's "friend" Sean drove us out to Napa Valley in his convertible. We took a boring tour through a winery and giggled. Sean is younger than Jackie and just as silly as she. We laughed a great deal. We had dinner at a very nice restaurant. Boy, did I want to come out to them, or what! I think Jackie suspects anyway.

Dyed mom's hair, then made pastries together. Does this all mean she has accepted my sexuality? I wish for perfection in our relationship. Last night, as mom and I drove back to Modesto, she asked if I just want to stay here and not take my flight back. But I've decided to give Chicago one more year. I've noticed that in my family no mention is made of living an emotionally rich life. All the emphasis is on material success, an immigrant mentality. Sure, I too want security and stability, but I also want more. Every day I prepare myself.

Reading Alice Walker's "Possessing The Secret Of Joy". I'm speechless. The story moves me. I especially love the part when Lara's inner voice tells her to lie in the moonlight so that the moon may make love to her. The moon has always played an erotic role in my poetry. To me the moon is male and I am attracted to him. I have always desired the moon.

Finished Alice Walker's book. Somehow I feel that I might have missed something. All books should be read over and over in a lifetime. In fact, I found some of the books I read when I came to visit mom after graduating high school. I guess she took them with her when she and Beluse divorced. Something mom and I have never discussed. For Mother's Day I went to the Assyrian church with mom and Mom-Suzie. A man stood up and read an Assyrian poem about mothers, their devotion, their strength, their instinct. He spoke of God. It was beautiful and moving. It was a lovely day of eating, drinking tea and Turkish coffee with many relatives. Laughing. Assyrians. Such ancient people, now vagabonds, scattered about the world. Like Jackie says, we should be kinder to each other instead of gossiping about one another and causing so much heartache. My little cousin wore a peach bow in her hair. "We used to put bows in your hair when you were little, Emil," Jackie said chuckling. 'Maybe that's why I turned out the way I did,' I joked. We laughed, not nervously but freely. After everyone left mom and I went for a walk around the quiet neighborhood where all the homes are pink and peach. It was dark. I felt very alone in mom's sorrow. I know her too well, her troubles, struggles, and loneliness. Her life. My parents fascinate me. All this leaves me to let myself be open to losing, to failing, to being willing to give up parts of myself in order to learn, to grow, to become better, stronger.

Mom might have an attack when she discovers I have opened the red wine. I couldn't help it. I'm up late with another Rita Mae Brown book, "Venus Envy". It reminds me that it's great to be alive. Alive and passionate. To pay attention to every detail, to soak up the sun and the moon. I think of mom and I walking through the mall today, just being comfortable together for the first time in years. I see her smile even now. Her occasional silliness. One more year in Chicago and I'm coming back.

When mom was pregnant with me she had a dream one night in which the Virgin Mary came to her and told her she'd give birth to a girl. Then dad woke mom up because she was muttering the name, "Paula". Say hello to Paula! Bought three more books.

I wish dad good things. I've spent so much time doubting and hating him that I've forgotten to ask for good things for him. It's just that I've learned , with quite a lot of heartache, that in life you rescue yourself. You have to fight to make things better for yourself. True, there are catastrophes larger than I've ever experienced, but no matter what you have to conduct yourself with courage and strength. Tonight I pray for him.

My despair is not good enough for me. There's no way I will continue to live like this. I'm not about to whine about this. I will deal with it. Maybe now that I've gotten that off my chest I can go out there and try to be decent company to mom.

I don't mind if mom looks through this notebook. I have nothing to hide. I'm not worried about the private things I've said and felt. There's no shame. But I also know that she doesn't dare. She sometimes watches me write from a distance, but always from a distance. I think she fears my writing.

Jackie, Mom-Suzie, and I went to Chinatown before they dropped me off at S.F.O. Mom stayed behind at the rest home, and cried when we said goodbye. I kissed them on both cheeks and thanked them before rushing off to catch my flight. Now I'm sipping a chardonnay on the plane. I feel fine. The guy sitting one seat over from me is very tall and hot. But I hope his vision isn't that great!

Home and feeling fine. Marcelo's about to pick me up on his new motorcycle. And the hot guy on the plane? I gave him my number. He'd said, "Oh, you live in Chicago?" With a German accent. 'Yes. I just visit California once a year,' I said swooning over beautiful blue eyes. "What is there to see in Chicago?" asked the beautiful German. 'Oh, so much. What are you looking to do?' "I only have the evenings free. I would like to go to a quiet bar and talk to a student." He seemed to glance over at my notebook and books. I thought I was gonna die when he said this.

Somehow I feel safe. I think God is there. I don't know exactly of whom I speak when I say God.

Taking it one day at a time. Visualizing a good future. But, more importantly, experiencing a good present.

I won't be apprehensive about tomorrow. I'm not lost and confused like I used to be. I have the smarts, the courage, the voice within to help me better myself.