Our Mess

Look at the mess you made.
The tears you caused.
The hearts you broke.
Nothing is the same.
Everything has long since changed.
The weight of sorrow that will forever hang.
If only I could’ve fixed you.
The tears would dry.
No hearts that need mending.
That only works in a dream.
For this is reality.
The harsh reality that brings much sadness.
So we try to clean up the mess you made.
Leaving a trail of tears as we go along.
Forced to glue back the pieces of our own hearts.
Over time the mess will become smaller.
The tears will become less.
The heart will start to heal.
Still there will always be a part of us that will be broken.
Time doesn’t heal all wounds.
It only makes it easier.
This all started with the mess you made.
The mess of this thing called life.
No one gets it right.
None of us emerge unscathed.
Although this is a mess you made.
I wouldn’t change being apart of it.
For a beautiful mess it was.

- Asia Aneka Anderson, Our Mess 2016©


She’s spoiled.
Spoiled with an attitude.
Short fuse.
She doesn’t mean to harm.
But she’ll burn you quicker than the blink of an eye.
Her temper clouds her big heart.
Her anger shrouds every good deed.
She has a frustration that boils underneath.
Spoiled to the core.
Stuck up it would seem.
All of this she doesn’t mean.
She wished her love shined brighter.
She wished her patience was long lasting.
Her mind and heart cut from different cloths.
She’s not spoiled.
She’s only lost.
Lost on how to calm her mind so she can show you her soul.

- Asia Aneka Anderson, Spoiled 2016©
"Reach The Sky", 2016(c)
Photo: Asia Aneka Anderson

Just Trying To Act Naturally

        I had the absolute pleasure, this weekend, to see “Eight Days A Week” in the theater. Anytime something like this comes along I’m reminded how much I love The Beatles. I discovered them when I was about 13 years old when the Anthology DVDs and CDs were being released. I feel like since then I’m always looking for that same feeling I had from the I first time really heard them. I know I’ll never get that *gasp* moment again, but I try so hard to find that feeling again when it comes to these four.
        Nothing reignited my love for this band the way this documentary did. It feels silly to say, but it’s true. I think it may be because of new footage as well as some great interviews included in the film. One thing that really touched me was hearing Whoopi Goldberg talk about being introduced to The Beatles music. Hearing her talk was like hearing my own story. Her speaking about people accusing her of wanting to be white because she loved them was like reliving my youth. I got that so much when I was younger and sometimes even today. I never paid attention to the color of a band. If I liked the rhythm and the lyrics spoke to me that was all I needed. To be accused of wanting to be something that I’m not always made me feel horrible because I never understood how someone would come to that conclusion just based on a musical preference. It was (is) tough being an artsy alternative black woman.  “The Beatles gave me this idea that everybody was welcome.” is something that Whoopi said that really hit home for me. I honestly had to hold back tears. Growing up, before I had even discovered The Beatles, I was in love with bands like U2, Aerosmith, Tears For Fears, Red Hot Chili Peppers, etc, and I kept it to myself. If I overheard a kid say that they liked the music I did I’d light up and say “Me too!”, but for the most part the things that I loved I kept to myself to keep from being teased…. that is until The Beatles came along. They did make me feel welcome. At that point I gave not one damn about being teased. I didn’t care if anyone thought I was trying to be white. No one was going to keep me from falling in love with this band. No one. I attribute The Beatles with helping me find the courage to step into myself. I haven’t looked back since. They helped me become an individual. More than their music I’ll always love them for that.
        When I look at my life and all the creative steps that I have taken it’s all because of this amazing band. I have many story ideas that have come to mind after hearing a certain song, or seeing a certain interview, or watching one of their films. There’s one major story I’m trying to work on that stems from a reoccurring dream I’ve had ever since I was about 15 that places me in the era at the height of their fame and in their circle. Listening to their music takes me places I’ve never been, but that feel so familiar. Not much can spark my creative energy like The Beatles can.
       “Eight Days A Week” is a well put together doc. Ron Howard really did an amazing job. It’s nothing over the top, but he made sure to bring something new and fresh to the story. Yes, if you’re a hardcore Beatles fan a lot of this stuff you will know and have seen before, but this doc is slightly different. I’ve seen tons of Beatle docs and most tell the same story over and over, using the same footage and the same photos. I liked that Ron Howard got insight from people of different walks of life (although there aren’t many) to share their own Beatle stories. Seeing this was a great end to my birthday weekend (the birthday that I also share with John). It helped to remind me to keep being an individual no matter what.

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2016©

We All Don't Live Here Anymore

I hear you in the creaks of this old house.
Your smell still lingers.
I feel your presence.
Yet you are not here.
Empty rooms represent my empty heart.
We all don’t live here anymore.
This house is no longer a home.
That ceased the moment you left.
Nothing is the same.
Nothing makes sense.
I look for you around every corner.
Still all I hear are the creaks.
Shuffles on the floorboards of repeated steps of the past.
That will not be heard in the future.
The silence takes getting used to.
All I hear is your voice in my dreams.
A regular deja vu.
Waking up to be reminded that you’re no longer here.
Grasping at cracked memories.
Desperately wanting to glue back the pieces together.
Anything to make this house a home.

-Asia Aneka Anderson, We All Don’t Live Here Anymore 2016©

Another Year: The Loneliness Yet Peacefulness Of It All

         My birthday was Sunday. This year was definitely different. My dad is no longer here. The past month or so has been a blur, but somehow I’ve been able to go day by day a bit easier. I guess I had convinced myself that I was healed. When I woke Sunday morning and walked into the kitchen to see my mother’s birthday card sitting on the counter I was slapped with the harsh realization that a card was missing. I keep forgetting that my life is forever changed. Still last weekend and this week has been a blur. I went to a party Saturday night and although I had fun something was off. I guess I should accept that this will be my life for a while. I already have social anxiety and depression now we add grief to the mix.
        Overall my birthday weekend was nice and laid back. I got to spend it with awesome people even though a few were missing that I wish weren’t. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t have something to rant about though. Just a little something to get off my chest although I am in no way surprised. That Saturday afternoon I went shopping with my mother and grandmother. The next day my grandmother had forgotten that it was my birthday and my mother had to call her to tell her. Now some might say, “Well, she’s older. Something like that is bound to happen from time to time.” Sure. Yes. I’d go with that if I wasn’t always the forgotten granddaughter. She can tell you when my other two cousin’s birthdays are. Hell my birthday is EXACTLY TO THE DAY two weeks after my youngest cousins. I have always been forgotten. I am the black sheep. My other two cousins are treated as gold and I’m only acknowledged when she wants something. As far as family goes I love her because she is my grandmother, but that love is out of obligation not from the heart. I feel like an asshole when I say that, but it’s true. I have no emotional connection with her. It’s unfortunate, but it’s reality. A lot of my lack of self esteem comes from being a child and being teased or ignored by people who were supposed to love me unconditionally. So naturally, for me, I grow up with this resentment. Her forgetting my birthday actually had no effect on me until my mother mentioned it and even then it didn’t have an effect until I realized that my mother was surprised by it. Really? I’m 34 and for as long as I can remember I’ve always been an afterthought to this family. I’ve always been forgotten about. Why the surprise? She’s falling right in line. It didn’t really put a damper on my day since it’s nothing out of the ordinary.
         As far as everything else I sort of wish I had done something big, but on the other hand I kind of feel like those days are over. I’m getting closer and closer to 40, my group of friends is pretty small, and in all actuality I probably prefer a more mellow celebration. Here’s to hoping that 34 brings more peace to my life and something more magical and complete.

       -Asia Aneka Anderson, 2016©