Saturday, February 3, 2018

The Journey


A guest post by my beautiful sister, Mahsa Htoo 

  I am from Myanmar, a tropical country north of Thailand. I lived there for seven joyous years of my childhood. I loved to explore the green, refreshing and welcoming jungle with friends from the village. When I was five, I used to go swimming in the river for hours with my friend, Ha Ne Naw. We often lost track of the time playing with the older water buffalos, swimming with them and riding on them like horses in the water. We'd hold onto their horns and dive under the water with them, getting lost in the moment making me feel so alive and free.

  There was a special fig tree that Ha Ne Naw and I would climb. There was a spot in the tree where the branches met at the trunk that made a bed to lay in. We would rest during the hottest part of the day and eat snacks like figs, banana, and mangos. After playing underneath the hot sun, we would eat what seemed like ponds full of figs. We would judge whether they were sour or sweet until we were so full we would feel sick to our stomachs.

  My dad would spend his days farming to feed our family so we could survive. One early, vibrant, spring morning, I lazily strolled to see my dad in the rice fields, and I saw an elephant. I had never seen an animal that big before, and I was shocked by its huge size. My dad was sitting on the elephant which was lifting heavy logs with its trunk to make firewood. The elephant would stack the logs, and then the men from my village would cut and saw the logs, and put them into a wood pile. Daily, the people from our village would come and carry off enough wood for the week.

  In Thailand we'd have celebrations in winter for Christmas, where we'd build a huge bamboo table. It went up to the height of my knees and held bountiful food for the village people. We would soak the bamboo in the river over night to make it pliable. Then we'd collect banana leaves for our plates and would have curved bamboo for utensils and rounded bamboo for cups. Everything we used was from nature. The village people would fill the table with fresh roasted fish cooked over an open fire on bamboo, pigs cooked rotisserie style on a big scour, sweet sticky rice, fried bananas and other delicious foods I can't describe. After we'd killed the boar for the special meal, the kids would fill up the bladder like a balloon and play with it till someone made it explode. The days that I lived there I felt so totally happy and peaceful. I thought to myself, I would never leave this beautiful, wild place. But, my dad couldn't provide for all of us after my mom died, so all of my siblings were separated to different places. Five of us lived in an immigration camp for five years before we could go to America. Since I was considered a refugee I was able to come here for safety, and a better future.

  Today, I am sitting here wondering, who am I? Right now, I live with two brothers, Hai Ku and Say Doe and my sister Catherine. We live in a run down, shabby, three-room apartment that we make beautiful with our Karen traditions and lifestyle. Our place is old and the heater in my room does not work. I have to put four blankets on my bed in the winter season. Right now, one of the burners on the stove does not work. When we first moved in, we felt so disrespected because the apartment was dirty and dingy and all run down. We have put our effort, life and happiness into it. The winters never got cold in Myanmar, like here in the States.

  I never saw snow till I came to Colorado, which was magical when I first saw it! I ate it by the handful. Before we moved here from Myanmar I had only been exposed to American life through movies. In the movies it showed life was easy, and I thought all my needs would be met. Reality is scary. My life is not easy. Our bathtub paint is peeling all over and I see the brown spots where the paint has chipped off. Our neighborhood is not safe. Some nights I wake to the reflection of police lights on my bedroom wall. My older brother Hai Ku takes care of us. He works full-time to pay rent.

  What I love to do outside of school is gymnastics. I go Saturday, Tuesday and Thursday. I attend Holmes Middle School for five more months and then I will attend Coronado High School. I don't know what the future holds for me but I have countless dreams that I want to accomplish. At the top of my list is to wander and explore the world. I want to go back to the land of my childhood. I want to go explore the jungle, roam the rice fields, and pick fresh fruit off of the trees. I hope returning to Myanmar will bring about emotional healing. My mom died when I was an infant and life was full of terror and pain. I hope that my dad is still alive by the time I make it there so I can give him a big hug.

  I had to say good bye to him when I was a seven-year-old. He could not come to the United States, I came with my three siblings. After I graduate from high school I want to go to college. I want to go to college for nursing. Once I complete my studies I will be a registered nurse. What I want to do with my nursing skills is to travel the world as a missionary. The countries that I want to visit are Nepal, South Africa, Thailand, New Zealand, Pakistan, Haiti, Brazil, and Peru. As a missionary nurse I want to work with sick children. Because of my mother's death which was due to a lack of proper medical care, I want to help improve medical conditions in third world countries.

  Along with nursing, I also want to travel to see famous architecture such as the Leaning Tower of Pizza, the Roman Coliseum, Venice, and French castles. I want to try the delicious pastries and exotic meals that I see on the food channels. I dream of experiencing the lifestyle and culture of other countries. I feel so blessed by my childhood experience back in Burma because I got to live free and wild out in the open rice fields and alluring jungle. I look forward to the future with anxiety, fear, but excitement and joy.

 1/24/18

Friday, December 22, 2017

an honest reflection

There seems to be a misconception
that the roughly-edited, cell phone-taken photos I've posted
provide an accurate representation
of my time away from home.
They don't even come close.
The pictures don't capture
the way I avoided eye contact with TSA
after a weepy goodbye with a boy
that my heart felt so confused about.
There are no good angles
for snapping what facing your biggest fear
and asking the questions plaguing your heart for years
looks like.
And the lighting is never right
for meeting your dad's new girlfriend
for the first time.
If I could've snagged a selfie
of what telling your best friend
they're not a good friend looks like,
I wouldn't have.
And the loneliness that hits
when you're on your own in a foreign land
just wouldn't have brightened your news feed.
Don't think that I'm saying it's been all bad,
just don't think it's all perfect either.
I guess sometimes, when it comes to photography,
smiles look better than honesty.

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

To Become Real

To be perfect
is to be a porcelain doll
made of a thousand fractured pieces
who wakes up every morning
and pierces the foil on a new tube
of superglue
expending every drop
on mending the fragmented shards
of herself
filling in every gap
ensuring no crack is left open,
no light can enter
illuminating the dark emptiness
that is within.
It is tedious and strenuous work,
the act of being flawless.

But to become real
is far more painful indeed.
For as you let the thick layer of glue
which has become your second skin
disintegrate before you,
piece by piece,
you fall to the ground
and are broken again
and again.
And the brilliance of the sunlight blinds you,
painfully piercing through your very soul
exposing all that still stands
of your splintered, shattered self.
And you reach for that familiar, comfortable dress
that you’ve always worn,
but it doesn’t fit,
it won’t cover you anymore
and so you lay in naked fragments on the ground
unable to speak
only able to weep.
Until finally,
your vision clears
your eyes adjust
and at last, you’re able to see
that the light you were so afraid of,
the illumination that haunted your dreams,
keeping you hidden in a life-long masquerade
is not the light of a burning star
or a hallogen bulb.
When the superglue cracks,
the masks fall away,
and the porcelain shatters,
only then will you truly see
that the illumination comes from within.
BELOVED,
YOU
ARE
THE

LIGHT.

Thursday, March 2, 2017

Hide-and-Seek Heart

They told me Love is provision
Why waste time with emotions
When I can buy your love with cash money
I love you, therefore, I provide
I don't have time for your heart, besides
Your heart is wicked and completely deceitful
Crying is manipulation, feelings mislead you.
So shut off your heart and do as I say
Hide your fears, run from pain
Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show

...till my heart had nowhere to go

and I didn't know
that my heart was still there
still crying
still bleeding inside
an internal hemorrhage
no one could see
till I couldn't feel Love
it was a clogged artery.
But I wanted to feel it, whatever it was
Oh, so badly I longed to experience Love
Love is provision, provision is earned
Pay your rent, do your chores
get straight A's, know "The Word"
In exchange, you'll get 3 square meals and a bed
2 "I love you's", 1 hug, and a roof over your head
Fuck it up and you're screwed
(DON'T say THOSE words out loud!
You'll get spankings for sure,
and you'll likely get grounded.)
So I worked my ass tush off
to be
Mary Poppins (without the fun):
Practically perfect in every way,
God's poster child,
teacher's pet
mom and dad's favourite.

And I was! 
....but that's all that I was.

A heartless, perfection-producing machine.
That was me.

Until one day, something inside me
made me remember
A whisper told me, I must have a heart,
because, doesn't everyone?

So I started a heartless search
for the me that once was,
that must have been,
once beating and pumping
and crying and feeling
and living
now merely
existing.

In the search for the hidden heart,
I've mostly found pain,
sadness, anger, fears,
and a lifetime supply of suppressed tears.
Layer on layer,
wall after wall,
I break down
I peel back
I conquer them all.
As I dig through this pile
of rubble and pain
I hold onto Hope that,
one day,
I will see her again:
My Heart.
The Beautiful one.
The one with Courage like a warrior
and Faith like a child
the one that's unreserved,
untamed,
W I L D .
The glittering, glimmering, glorious one
Aged with wisdom, yet eternally young.

No longer seeking acceptance
No longer working for worth
No longer looking for Love.

Because the brave little heart knows she is buried treasure
The hidden heart sees she's been sought after
The lost heart has finally been

                                                    FOUND.




Monday, February 27, 2017

you loved me well in summer

you loved me well in summer
when the sun was hot and the grass was green
and we hunted treasures behind waterfalls
and sunbathed by the stream
and you picked flowers for my hair
and your shoulder was soft when my eyes were heavy
and your heart was ready

but mine was not
it wasn’t time
you wrote me poetry but I couldn’t rhyme
so I left words unsaid and poems unwritten
your heart was open but I kept mine hidden
you didn’t hide but I didn’t seek
for my heart was distracted by other things
and I couldn’t see

but I loved you in autumn
when the rains came, and leaves began to fall
you were the same my heart needed
when everything changed, and the days became short
and the nights became long
but your heart moved on
and green became yellow
and red became dead
and goodbyes were said
and your eyes looked away when my heart was heavy
and now, my heart’s ready
now that you’re gone

and now I must tell my heart to move on
for though we both loved, we both lost
time wasn’t a friend, nor luck a lady
but still my heart whispers
maybe

and I learn to trust the tides,
trust the seasons, trust that in time
whatever becomes of you and me

whatever is meant to be will be



Wednesday, September 14, 2016

To the misunderstood daughter:

Love,
Daughter,
Beloved,

You are free. I release your heart from its captivity. You are no longer slave to expectations. Fear doesn’t own you anymore. You past doesn’t get to define your future. Let your heart forget the hurts that have broken the childlike trust you once had. I’m setting your heart free to be a child again. Trust. The hardest thing to do right now is the one thing you need the most. Trust in Love. Trust Me. Let my Love heal every arrow-pierced scar and bullet wound. I’ll carry you home on my shoulders, pull out the shrapnel, stitch your open wounds, bandage what’s bloody and broken, and kiss you and tell you it’s all better until it actually is.

Beautiful, you are so much more than the names they’ve called you and labels they’ve placed on you. You are SO MUCH MORE. Daughter, I see you. I see your heart. I see the you that you’re afraid to let anyone see. And all I see is Love, Beauty, Perfection. Your heart is perfect, my love.
You
are
perfect.
Remember who you are. It’s time to come out of hiding, dear one. It’s time to let your beautiful heart be seen. This world needs what you carry, for you carry my Love.
Let your heart be seen. You are safe here with me. You are safe now.

I see you.
I know you.
I love you
through and through.

Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Out of Hiding

I've been hiding behind the mask of my fears and insecurities for far too long.
I've found my salvation in my own attempts at perfection rather than trusting my imperfections to Love himself.
I've lived in intimate relationship with religious practices and performance, never getting to know the One they speak of for myself.
I've hidden my fear of intimacy behind "boundaries" and my embarrassment over physical imperfections behind the veil of "modesty."
I've shut every female I've known out of the deepest places of my heart because I'm afraid of them. Afraid of their judgment, afraid of being misunderstood, afraid of their labels...
Slut.
Player.
Heartbreaker.
I've shut Love down. I've shut my heart up.
I've perfected the confident smile and having-my-shit-together exterior so that no one will see the war waging within. The battle between being my true self and filling the stereotypes placed on me; between letting my heart love the way it was created versus letting society define who I can love and how much and how it must be expressed.
I am torn by the constant paradox of being a people-pleaser who hates making others uncomfortable, yet knowing that I was born to break stereotypes, rebel against expectations, shatter false suppositions, and combat cultural norms.

I'm terrified of being unveiled. I'm so afraid of letting my heart be truly seen. I'm so convinced that if I take my mask down and show you who I really am, you won't like what you see.

But Dad is calling me out of hiding. He's whispering sweet nothings to my heart, telling me that my heart is good and can be trusted. Promising me that I am already deeply known and deeply loved. He is so patient, yet I hear a slight urgency in his gentle voice, as if people need to hear the words I have to say, as if it's time to finally say them.

There is so much fear.
But there is no opportunity for bravery without the presence of fear.
And I am Courage.
So I look Fear in the face and say,
"Do your worst. For I shall do mine."


My heart was made to be in love.
And I'm not saving it for one person.

I was created for deep intimacy.
And I'm not waiting for marriage.

My heart craves the opportunity to be vulnerable and real and completely honest.
And I'm not placing limits.

The language of my love is deep, raw, meaningful conversation and physical connection.
And I'm breaking my own boundaries.

I'm done. I'm fed up. I'm so fucking sick of letting Love be limited by labels and expectations. And I'm so exhausted of running everything I say and do through the filter of "What will society think?" and "What will church people say?", because I don't fit in to either place and I don't give a shit anymore.
I'm coming out of hiding.
I'm taking off the mask.
I'm being me.
Real, raw, unfiltered, unapologetically me.
Take it or leave it.

I believe in Love.
I believe that Love is why we're here, Love is our purpose. Love is what created us, and Love is where we're going. If I don't have Love, I am NOTHING.
So I'm throwing off everything else. I'm done caring what people think. I'm done with religious bullshit telling me that I can separate myself from God, who is Love. I'm done believing that Love can be wasted.
I'm all in. I'm recklessly pursuing Love at any cost, because I believe that, ultimately,
LOVE ALWAYS WINS.

Now I know that this sounds all idealistic and unrealistic. What does it actually mean? What does reckless love look like?
Maybe it looks like holding your best friend in your arms until he believes that not all touch is sexual and not everyone wants to take advantage of him.
Maybe it's letting your heart fall in love with someone you know will never love you back, just to let him know he's worth it.
Maybe it means giving your dad one more chance, opening your heart just one more time, even after he's been emotionally vacant your entire life.
Maybe it's breaking past social barriers and praying for your employer's shattered leg day after day until Dad finally brings complete healing.
Maybe it's buying the beggar on the street Chick-fil-A so you can hear her story and pray for her and give her a hug and tell her it's going to be okay.
Maybe it's letting your 35-year-old friend hold your hand so he will believe that someone accepts him as he is.
Maybe it even looks like throwing off your religious presuppositions and supporting your gay friend's relationship choices because you know that it's the only way he can receive love right now.

There are so many implications. There are so many unknowns. Yes, I know, so many things could go terribly wrong. But what if I trust my heart, what if I trust them, what if I trust GOD enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, if we fight hard enough for Love.... things will somehow go terribly right, and we will find healing and wholeness and the true heart of God. Maybe, at the end of the day... Love will truly win.