january 2 2009

Every place I ever lived
(A writing exercise)
By Adriana Silva


Well. I was born in 1981. In Chino California, it use to be a small farming and dairy community. Over the years it has grown to a little orange county.
I know I lived a lot of places or visited a lot of places. I think at one time I was actually homeless with my mother. I don’t know if it really counts. Since my mother could always take us to my grandparents house. However the one place I felt the closet to home is were ever my grandmother is.
After I was born I lived with my mother and father in some small apartment in either Chino or Pomona. I lived with them in a nuclear family until I was one or two. The story changes from time to time. Then depending who you ask, I was either taken away or saved for a better life. I sometimes feel that the whole situation could have ended differently. I could never understand why my mother was a good at saving and paying things off, but not good at following through on things that could help her get her children back.
I lived with my grandparents in Chino on a dairy road behind the Men’s prison. Now that I live out of the state of California people will ask in passing were I am from. I’ll respond with California. People will then ask what part. Saying Southern California won’t do. They want specifics. I say Chino. Blank stares. But wait. Chino’s Men’s Prison comes to their mind. Or they ask is it by Disneyland, San Diego, or Los Angeles. And that is how the conversation starts or ends.
Living with my grandparents are my most happiest and saddest memories. There was a lot of love because there was a lot of heartache.
When I was ten I went to live with my mother. I really didn’t want to leave my grandparents. I was just so obsessed with wanting to know what it felt like to live with my mother. I wanted her to love me the way I love her. She moved to Hesperia. First lets briefly go through my mothers living history, because although I lived with my grandparents for a good part of my life, I visited my mother and all the places she lived in. Rancho Cucamonga, Pomona, Ontario, Santa Anna Downy and Rose Mead, with or with out boyfriends. A good chunk of my life I was either an outsider in my mothers home or my grandparents.
My mother moved to Hesperia to get away from my grandparents I’m guessing. We moved into my mothers cousins house. We stayed in a bedroom with all our stuff. Our clothes were always on the floor. I remember hating it but I never cleaned up. I think shortly moving there my brother moved with my uncle in my grandparent’s house. I took a babysitting job. I was 10. The mother a newly separated women thought I was 16. I took care of her two younger children for one hundred dollars a week. She had a nineteen-year-old son. Who was always one step from sexually crossing the line with me. After a short stay with our cousin and his family my mother got a two-bedroom apartment in the next down. I don’t have many memories of that place. Since we didn’t stay there long. I do remember we did not have refrigerator. Instead, we had a Styrofoam ice-chest that always smelled stale. Our milk was always going bad. I remember always being alone with my sister. . I remember being hungry. I used a knife once to open a can of yummy gunk. I made a friend on the school bus and I think our hunger lead us to stay the night at her house. I didn’t ask our mom, because she hadn’t been home for a couple of days. Some how my mom and uncle knocked on my friend’s door. I don’t know how they knew were to look, nonetheless they found us. After that we moved to a duplex in Ontario. A lot of misshappens went on. I think I had my first sloppy kiss at that house. We didn’t stay there long either.
At twelve I got into some adolescent argument with my grandfather. I felt at the mature age of twelve that I needed to leave. What did I really know? I look back on it know and I feel like such a selfish brat. I moved with my mother, sister, and my mother’s pervert boyfriend Johnny. They lived in a back house with one bedroom, one bathroom, and no refrigerator. Because of my grades I was moved from the 7th grade to the 9th grade. Life was fast and miserable for a few months. I became my mothers care giver, my sisters mother, and Johnny’s infatuation. I was beat and humiliated. Like a scene out of Mommy Dearest. Except her house was much nicer. That year a monster came out of me for the first of the two times it came out. I hit my mother after being punched in the face. It makes me sad that that ever happened. I would die if I drove my daughter to such lengths.
Of course I went back to my grandparents house. Until 11th grade I moved with my aunt to finish high school. My grandparents were bought out. So they moved to the mountains.
Two weeks after graduation I moved into a room for three hundred dollars a month, then became pregnant. I moved in with my boyfriend and his father thinking it was the right thing to do. We lost the baby. I was secretly sad about that for along time. I was ready to move on. Find a small apartment by myself. Work and go to school. I was ready to break up with him. Then I became pregnant with my son. I felt that I had to stay. I was happy about my baby but again secretly sad that I had to stay in the relationship. We moved to an apartment in Rialto. I had my son there. I was alone in that apartment. That was fine, because I had my son. One day I came home and half of our stuff was packed and gone. My boyfriend had decided it was time to move. So I did. We moved to his mother’s house. I felt like such an outsider. If I ever doubted how American I was, living with his family proved that I was just as American as the white kids I went to school.
I had my daughter sixteen months later. We moved into an apartment in Chino on Riverside Drive. We only lasted as a couple there 2 months. Shortly after my daughters first birthday we split up and I realized didn’t love him. I
I lived in that apartment alone with my two babies for four years. Working and going to school. I tried hard to be a good mom and keep a clean house. Instead it was picked up and there were bugs from all the different neighbors that moved in and out. I would have my apartment fumigated and the bugs just went to the bottom floor. Then when the bottom apartment had their apartment fumigated the roach bastards came back up to my place. Back and forth those nasty little things went. Now I am married to a man I actually love. I live now in Texas. And the size, style and comfort tone of our house and life is a writing exercise for another time.
These are the entire place’s I’ve lived. Mostly.

july 16th 2009

Had a lot to write about, now the morning has come and my writers block is back. Let see what did I want to write about, Depression, kids, husband, the lake, no more pills....... I don't even know right now. I am just rambling on. The only thing I can think of right now is should i drink water first then coffee or the other way around? And I hear Enso fussing in babytopia. the clothes are calling and the dishes, the fat is looking straight back at me! Time to be a house wife

October 2009

clock is ticking

Enso is finally a sleep, well kinda of....I decided to take some time before I am off to to the same place and doing the same thing I was doing this time yesterday. Their are two things that are constantly going through my mind lately. 1. What's wrong with me and 2. I need to snap out of it and get myself and things into order by the time our new baby comes long. The last thing I need is to be unorganized, wound up, and unhappy when our little number four comes along. A very huge goal of mine is not to fall into a depression like I did with Enso. I admit, I had shame and a sense of failure admitting that I was or might be depressed, but I kinda got over that. Just a little. I'm have a small nugget of guilt, fear, and shame about the whole thing... but really what was their to ashamed about. I ask my self always and sometimes I have the answer and other times I don't... And just to let you know, NO... Enso is no longer half a sleep. Instead he is ripping an old book I had on my dresser. And I will will let him do that. Reasons being I've read the Yaya sister hood several different times and I always feel the same after reading it. Also he is using is fine motor skills, and were gonna see how well his digestive track works if by chance he ate a piece of chapter 27. Big reason is it's gonna give me about 15 minutes of quiet.

I need to be positive. Do something that makes me feel validated. Out side of cooking and cleaning. (Don't like cooking....I really don't even like to eat. Unless well I'm starving then I'll of course stuff my face. But I want to set a good example for Zen and Wednesday, and of course Enso. But he has no trouble eating anything. I'm giving my self one week to snap out of this....let's call it funk. Shake some things up. Make myself happy. Add some color. Like my chaos. Find that bright side to every thing. And most of all make time to leave my house. If your not careful it can consume you.

Last weekend my husband got plastered. and thank gwad no one reads my post and most importantly my in-laws don't even know that I have one. IF they did of course somehow they would get upset with me.. as in face book. What ever I post becomes so damn important, and instead of asking me about a "post" it has to be talk amongst then my husband has to be interrogated....instead of just asking me. YES.......I'm going back to school! ugh.....this is so childish.

my mother

I was looking through some of my older writings and this is what I came across.

10/26/2006
My mother sat outside on her mother's porch. In the dark. In the night. Smoking a cigarette. Then another. Then another. Smoking staring in the sky.

I sat next to her to smell the leather from her jacket, the cheap make-up on her face, and the cigarette in her hand. I took it all in. Who knew I would be setting my self up for second hand lung cancer or a lifetime of smoking cigarette's.

I sat next to her to see the smoke float from her hand and her mouth and her noise. It looked like hand writing. The thoughts from her mind hand written with her exhaled smoke. Then disappeared in the air. Much like everything else she did or said. They just went away. I never did get those shinny tap shoes.

I sat next her. I wasn't noticed.

I sit in my patio. In the night. In the dark. smoking my cigarette. Just like my mother did. I don't smell like leather or make-up. And I couldn't bare for my daughter to sit next to smoke, being hypnotized by my handwriting. Being unnoticed.

Yet, still I sit alone in the night in the dark. smoking like my mother did. Still watching the handwriting disappear in the sky.

Dear Talulah

Dear Talulah,

I am sorry that you dealt with stress last night. I wish you were born so I could hold you and put you in your bassinet if there was any loud noise in our house. I hope that as you and your sister get older, we never have the relationship that my mother and I have or my aunt and her daughter have for that moment. I promise to always to try to understand you and what you are going through. And just know that even if you feel like I don't understand what your going through or where your coming from...trust me I know. I love you more then you will ever know. You are my daughter. I will always love you.

Mom

I'm just a home for Talulah

Day Gazillion and four. Translation, eight days passed my due date. I truly have to say I hate being pregnant right now. And I really don't care what any one else has to say about that. My kids are driving me crazy, the oldest to the youngest. My husband, my mother, cousin....and even the dog are driving me crazy. Right now in our three bed room house we have our family, which consist of My husband, Ramon, my self, evil pregnant lady, Zen, our oldest son, Wednesday, who will be our oldest daughter as soon as Talulah decides to come out, Enso, our youngest son, and Wasabi, our very horny dog who is constantly licking him self and humping the stuff animals. In addition to us we have my cousin aka niece living with us, and my mother is visiting for a month from Utah. Little info on that, it was suppose to be a week!

I believe I'm on the verge of an anxiety attack. My baby, Talulah... is in position, her head is down and her butt is up...and her cute little feet or some part of her body are stuck in my ribs or hips. I feel immobile. I can not drive any where. It's to uncomfortable, so it's not safe. I defiantly can't drive leaning like a cholo. I feel like a oopa loopa. REALLY! I am 5 foot 1 and all this weight is.....well weighing me down. I am out of breath just walking down the street. I am having irregular contractions. But man, weeks of contractions is tiring. and YES I know the difference between Braxton Hicks!

Not to mention my family. I am constantly being yelled at to rest. Ya, that's real calming. Also I have the pressure of giving birth. I have my husband home for the rest of the week, after Friday he goes back to work and won't be home or able to be their with me when the time comes to deliver. My mom is leaving back to Utah Wednesday my grandmother comes in Tuesday and someone has to stay with the kiddo's while I'm in labor. Plus all the friends I have who were not working when I first got pregnant, now all have jobs. First I thought I could give birth all by my self. However the closer the time gets (or not) I'm getting anxious and scared to be by my self. I never thought I would be afraid to do this by myself. I've given birth three times before. I really don't want to be alone during labor. I was alone a lot during this pregnancy.

My mom asked me when I thought the baby is coming. I had to tell her honestly I really don't know. She just cried. "The baby is not coming out because of me". That's what she said. Every one around me is an emotional wreck and I have to be the calm during the storm to keep them all together, when all I really want to do is sit in my room and cry until Talulah come out.