behind my eyes

behind every pair of eyes there is a story. a story of laughter, a tale of pain, a triumphant event, a scar of failure, a world of secrets. within a moment we are captivated by the shades of blue, green, hazel and brown, but not once do we peer deep enough into the inner eye. from our perspective eyes sparkle and smiles gleam, but what if inside they're crying and falling apart?

saturday, seven small children came to my pool and played in the hot, humid sun for seven hours. because the children barely spoke english they were treated by my coworkers as if they were not good enough. through my eyes, i watched quietly as one little boy scrapped up a dollar fifty simply to get into the pool to swim. i started to play with them in the water and within seconds they befriended me just as i befriended them. in the blistering sun they played just like every other child and when the time came to leave, the tiredness set in heavy. timid, small and pride less one little boy named christian approached me and asked if i had anything to eat. he said his mother wasn’t home, he didn’t have any money to get into the pool, walked here barefoot and was starving. i asked the others if they were hungry already knowing the answer. a few minutes later with a few dollars well spent, painful eyes transformed into sparkling eyes as i offered pizza to the group. i didn't know their stories when i first met them and to date, i still don't. but behind their eyes i saw poverty, pain, confusion and perhaps uncertainty.

today, eighteen years after the world welcomed them in, my twin cousins have decided to see what the world has to offer. against all odds on the definite path of becoming two more negative statistics, like a proud mother i stood as steven and shayne graduated from high school. on their own they have applied to college and been accepted and within months will be the first of their family to even attend a four-year university. again, they’ll be against all odds -and what will look to them to be insurmountable odds- to even begin, much less complete a higher education. yet it's not the education that will be the obstacle, but the unfortunate stumbling block of an unappreciative support system of a family. today they stood tall in shirts and ties with diplomas in hand and while their faces said “we made it,” their eyes said “we’re scared as hell.” for their family, high school is the end of the road because tuition is inconceivably expensive, college is impossible and higher education is a wasted investment. not only should this day have been one of their most joyous days, but it shouldn’t have turned into the uncomfortable riot it became.

a proud occasion instantaneously became a blood feast with the capulets and montagues slinging rhetoric daggers at one another. the family was ripped at the seams over trite, meaningless situations proving once again flesh can be stronger than blood. from my perspective, a five month old baby cried in his mothers’ arms scared from the screams, a grandmother wiped tears from her eyes as her own children destroyed everything she stood for, daughters sat around her with eyes of hatred, bitterness and rage ready to self-destruct like a bomb, and around me my generation looked on with eyes of embarrassment, confusion and frustration. then, to the front of me and directly to my left sat the two miracle boys so determined to succeed in this world watching the entire scenario unfold through eyes of disappointment.

it’s a shame moments like this even take place although each one of us has to deal with our own inconveniences, embarrassments and disappointments. even though i am only a mere twenty years old, i cannot fathom a world where from two years old to seventeen years old you even consider giving something up because of financial insecurities and not because the finances don’t exist, but because you’re family has convinced you it’s an impossible feat. i cannot imagine a home where walking without tennis shoes is part of your daily routine when all around you are air forces ones of every color. i cannot dream of a place where giving a child something to eat after being alone for an entire day is considered an inappropriate action. granted i never had an unending fountain of finances, my tennis shoes weren’t always new and my food wasn’t always the best, but i’ve never doubted my academic capacity or risked my physical health based on a life philosophy of an non-giving and unreceptive family.

i made a promise to myself a long time ago that if a child needed help, i would always have something to spare. i may not have a lot to offer and many times i don’t, but i will never refuse to allow masked faces conceal broken hearts and tearful eyes. if to one person i can be a blessing, than my money, time and effort are well spent. and if that generosity has to spread from my very own family to the ends of the earth, then i pray God anoints me the opportunity to see intelligence reached, health gained and hearts satisfied.

every baby, every child, every adult has developed a story detailing the good times and the bad. some stories last only for a moment while some we wish would end within a moment. everyday the very people we encounter on the sidewalk, glance at from a distance and come within reach to touch have something buried in them that makes them tick and something that tears them apart. some of us wear makeup to cover our imperfections, some of us use hats or glasses and some of us hide behind pearly whites and the very smiles we’ve learned to perfect. somewhere skin-deep or under the layers remains a tale of pain and disappointment with the world that one day promised us satisfaction and pleasure.

...and hidden behind dark sunglasses tears began to fill my eyes because behind my eyes once again my unbreakable heart has shattered.

o captain, my captain

there are times when we anticipate random moments from our loved ones, but stray miles away from making our own. if i tried to count how many times ive scrolled to a name in my phone book only to find myself staring at the information until the screen faded to black, i would embarrass myself beyond the devastation of falling down a flight of stairs. i seem to always find a way to avoid the phonecall that creates the butterflies deep in my stomach, yet long for the moment caller id welcomes my obstacle. there is always something buried deep in our hearts that stirs our very inner-workings, yet so many times we are too afraid to seize the day and turn our imperfection into action. just like a dripping faucet the wonder never ceases, and with every drift away from carpe diem we find ourselves creating excuses for the reason we never pushed the send button, never took the leap, and without fail declined the risk.

why is it that we always want someone to sweep us off our feet, but we never take the time to realize we could be the one to do the sweeping? now dont get me wrong- im not one for deep romantic events or even pda for that matter, but i cannot help but think that somewhere in all of us there is some pull of spontaneous behavior lurking in each of us. i suppose it could be as simple as an unplanned roadtrip with your buddies or as intricate as a love confession, but i think that with maturity we unfortunately lose childhood faith bit by bit. our dreams become our maybes, our hopes become our not-likelys, our fears become our insecurities.

when i teach swimming lessons, i always love to sit back and watch my toddlers spring into the water. two feet tall and three years into life and they take the four foot ice cold water as if it were a warm bubble bath with a promise to keep them safe for an eternity. knowing they cannot swim, by faith they leap into the water not wondering- but knowing- that either theyre going to figure out the swimming thing immediately or im going to rescue them promptly. and not once has their unpredictable plan failed. i remember when i was that child; when i was the one that you couldnt convince anything bad existed in this world. i remember being the child whose dreams would become realities, hopes would become triumphs and fears would become memories. without realizing, i grew up and put childish things away taking on the endless dream of maturity. now, its a shame to know that these same children that live with abundant faith, freedom and spontaneous joy will one day be the ones standing in their rooms staring at screens debating whether to push the send or the end.

just as i remember my faith as a child, i think its appropriately time to remember to have faith like a child. its not a fool-proof plan and perchance ill fail, but if just one dream can become that reality instead of that maybe- maybe the risk of a broken heart is worth it all. afterall, its just one phonecall-one moment-where with hope, bit by bit will teach us how to dream again. yeah...i think ill dive in.