I intend to be brave on this blog and to use it to finally open up and let my stories out, even if my audience is no one in particular. As much as the stories from my past are grind-your-face-in-the-gutter terrible (or just plain ridiculous), so my musings on my present and future will be all the more positive and curious in their nature. To this I am committed.
To start, I’ll tell you who I am, to me.
First it must be acknowledged that I absolutely love to eat. This is important only as it provides the only through-line of my life. Food was given and Food was taken away. Food caused illness and Food inspired health. Food existed when family did, and when family fell apart Food went with it. Food is my means of communication when I just can’t muster the courage for actual words. With food comes tea. I’ve measured out my life in increments of 3-5 minutes, the time it takes to steep a perfect cup of Earl Grey.
I’m 19 1/2, and when I look in the mirror I know I’m weathered. I’m worn. Worst, I’m wrinkled– the deep-set Russian eyes that have been in my family for hundreds of years start developing crows feet before 20. It’s as though they come pre-aged, like a fine cheese.
I am a genuine paste-eating weirdo. I’ve worn bright blue eye shadow from lashes to brow, feather boas were once a daily fashion staple, and I can apply a perfect mime-white face faster than anyone I know. I’m a registered libertarian and I keep up on politics, though I keep my mouth shut because I’m right and you’re wrong and I’m no fun to debate with. (While we’re here, can someone PLEASE tell the Occupy movement that they’re embarrassing me?) When you ask me where I feel most at home the image that comes to my head is a nude Haley lounging by some rocky mountain stream, spliff in one hand and a book in the other. Or it’s an impeccably dressed Haley floating through the streets of downtown Chicago, a smile on her face and light in her eyes as she searches for the little Russian Tea House where she’ll have lunch and a vodka flight. Or it’s Haley in her kitchen sweating over her wok as she prepares dinner, Haley pretending she’s a robot while dancing to Michael Jackson wearing nothing but a pair of socks, Haley sitting on a trapeze, Haley swimming like a mermaid in the Pacific Ocean, Haley singing opera during her LA commute, Haley secretly plotting a boarding school revolution, Haley on a stage.
I like to maintain my own definitions of “home” and “family”. They are ever changing, and in this way I can find contentment wherever I am. Though we are distant, I have incredible respect for most of the members of my immediate family. Somehow we were all gifted with an outstanding ability to discover, store, use and abuse information. We all seem to crave knowledge, power and recognition, and lately it has become obvious that we will stop at nothing to achieve them—even betraying each other in the process. And so we lead very separate lives with months of space in between out meetings. My eldest sister is a music teacher and a lofty dreamer who deserves no space other than this sentence on my blog because she recently plagiarized some of my work (Not cool, Skye.) My elder brother is a computer whiz kid who excels in cyber security. I’m a trained actor who recently ran away to join the circus. My little sister is a 16-year-old college sophomore aspiring librarian genius with one novel under her belt and another on the way. My little brother tap dances like a fiend and has more spunk than anyone I know. I am the middle of five children, and my need to consistently be adored (and to adore others) reflects this.
I am an artist and I believe that the label refers to not only one who creates art, but also to one who lives life in an artistic manner. That said, I consider myself a work of art and use my body as a canvas for beauty. I prefer to add value to the aesthetic nature of this world and do so through the use of dresses, tiny waistlines, and high heels. Elegance is always the goal , but be aware that elegance comes not from material positions or flawless manners but from genuine generosity of the heart and honest simplicity. This sort of innate purity is something I lack; that is to say, I was born into ugliness and do not possess a natural habit towards kindness. Instead I am a bully, an angry and wicked queen who spent childhood fighting for survival, not practicing her manners. My transgressions are numerous and I have spent a better part of my life lying, cheating, stealing and manipulating others because I felt I had to in order to endure… and if I may expose myself more, I’l admit that I took great pleasure in the mental prowess of it all. I am a wretched girl and am so very jealous of those who can go about with unending lightness in their heart as though they’ve never seen the evils of the world. Often, they haven’t– and I start to forgive myself for the chip in my shoulder. Admittance is the first part of any healing process, so in acknowledging my misfortunes I might take a step toward fixing them. In fact, many steps have already been taken and I am almost ready to take on the world, a full and complete human bean (not being, but bean) full of love. I can forgive my own transgressions fully only if I look to love as my guiding force in every action, word, and meal.
And yet, I enjoy myself. My conversation becomes witty and delightful as the nights wear on. Microwaves have no place in my kitchen and TV’s no place in my living room. Behind my little home you’ll find a well-loved garden fully of herbs and a few onions—it’s barren for winter but come spring it shall flourish. Lately I’ve come into some new friendships that I hope will be long-lived, and I’ve rekindled old friendships that begged to live on. The circus and I are getting along swimmingly and my dedication to the training is surprising even myself.
So there I am, and here’s to being a freak for the rest of my life. Onward!
whathaleymade 