So long long ago, I had this crazy idea to build up my terrace.
Mainly because of this view...
And now onto the next project.
Rèussir son Habitat Aug/Sept 2008
And so time passed, faster than normal. But alas, Mads' ability to finally connect to the Internet and download the manual for her camera brings us two steps closer to a full reveal...
But Not Quite Yet
Until then, enjoy a few short stories about the guests...
Wine, water or milk. An evening of confusion, diversion, improvisation and laughter.
I remember my life in America.
I remember the looks I would get. You don't belong here.
I remember walking to my friends house in Darien Connecticut and being repeatedly pulled over by the police and being repeatedly asked where I was going and who I worked for.
I remember food shopping when a woman cut in line. I remember my mother pointing it out and the woman responding, “Niggers think they own this place”. I remember wondering what the word Nigger meant but being too afraid to ask.
I remember being encouraged by my hippy English teacher to enter into a Shakespeare recitation contest. I remember preparing and pouring my heart into it. I remember an elderly woman with a sweet smile and silver hair coming up to me at the end and congratulating me on my bravery. I remember her looking me dead in my eyes, hands on both of my shoulders and telling me to go home and tell all of my friends about what I had done. She had assumed I was from the Ghetto. I was raised in private schools in Marin County California and Fairfield County Connecticut. I remember wishing she had just told me I had done a good job and left it at that.
I remember telling everyone my father was dead because I was too embarrassed to be just another Black kid who's father wasn't in her life.
I remember falling in love and being told that it was not suitable for me to be anything other than her son's friend. I then remember her smiling and offering me cookies.
I remember my mother telling me that I would have to work twice as hard as all the others. I remember her saying that while I will always be seen, I will never be recognized or rewarded. I remember her being right on far too many occasions.
I remember the surgeries, the pain, the seizures.
I remember giving up on it all.
I remember my mother by my side.
I cant do this.
Yes You Can.
I remember leaving this earth. It was not like they said. There was no light. It was calm and dark and I could hear the surgeons speaking
I cant stop the bleeding.
I cant control the pressure.
I remember thinking
Yes You Can.
And when I came back, I remember my mother words
You did it. I knew could.
I remember loosing all hope in America. I remember not caring anymore. I remember giving up, never to return home again.
Then I heard the words again...
Yes We Can.
And I heard the song and the speech and for a split second I stood in my stance, with my hands on my hips and head held high...
Because for the 1st time EVER IN MY LIFE...
I was proud to be American. I was proud of my country. I was moved. I was fundamentally part of something that I was so far from. Part of a country I have always felt separated from.
There has been a vast aura of inspiration rotating recently.
People are fighting the odds.
The power to inspire.
Can you feel it?