265/365

did you see that guy in the park today?
running? plodding along carrying eighty kilos,
in his gut with a thin moustache and white goatee?
lost in his thoughts, planning lessons,
reflecting on his understanding of and ability to
talk about race, again, another step, again.
watching the sea, time traveling to nineteen ninety two
raging against the machine. did he raise his fist
in the land of hypocrisy? speed up? skip?
sweat in his growing hair. tanned. tattoos.
feeling stronger but tired. pushing a bit harder.
he’s not fast or young or fit, but he’s here
three times a week.

259/365

doing the things you love
when you don’t want to
show real intention.
the slow grind of devotion:
strap those running shoes on.
pluck the strings.
mix that drink.
consume those pages.
scratch out this poem.
everyday. one. step. at. a. time.

waiting on a book of poetry
i’ve ordered. hoping a few lines
will act like grenades to blow
my limbs apart and shatter my heart.
everyday i wait patiently at the empty
mail box to be obliterated. and they say
poets don’t have any power. 

227/365

this one started in the morning with the
sun already too hot before it was even
fully positioned in the sky. a father. a daughter.
one eager. the other lethargic before
they even began to run. not even a kilometre in
one stops and claims a cramp. they walk for most
of the rest. one finds it hard not to showcase
his despondency. the other mopes behind him
to avoid a lecture on pushing through challenges.
people preach unconditional
love as if it’s easy. but who can be satisfied
when things aren’t how we like. every parental
disappointment is a mirror of missed opportunities
to have taught more clearly. we are chain links in our parents
attempts to be better versions of themselves.

this one ended in the evening with the
a thunderstorm. a father. a daughter.
this time the younger one ready for the first day
of middle school. you know what I don’t get-
he says earnestly and rehearsed- why do think
girls tend to lose confidence as they enter middle school,
even though they are brilliant and boys tend to
gain confidence without much to back it up- silence-
i mean take you for example. you’re the girl who played a set
at hard rock cafe in fourth grade and sang in tent plaza
all by yourself. you are vibrant and smart and loved
and a certifiable bad ass- a smile- what do you have
to be nervous about? channel your inner rebel girl
and own that place tomorrow- i’d get suspended dad!-
not necessarily. just be yourself and have fun doing it-
lights out. tucked in. kiss on the forehead. every parental
win is a mirror of successful opportunities
to get it just right. we are chain links in our parents
attempts to be better versions of themselves.

221/365

they’re running.
the light casting shadows
the color of honey.
a flimsy blonde breeze
cuts the tropical heat,
making the evening bearable.

they’re running.
father and daughter
four point nine eight
kilometers tonight
through the park
on a national holiday.
they dodge babies
in strollers, runners,
and toddlers on bikes.

they’re running.
she begrudgingly at fifteen
he sanguine at middle age.
it’s getting easier.
she walks less.
less defiant.
gives him control
of the music
more often.

they’re running.
passed the flags
the ocean beyond,
littered with wind surfers
and tanker ships.
songs from his youth
and his current band’s set list
push them forward.

they’re running.
some of those that work forces
are the same that burn crosses.
leavin' on a southern train
only yesterday
you lied
promises
of what i seemed to be

they’re running.
almost home.
point two kilometres left.
let’s run this as fast as we can,
he pleads. she starts
to pick up speed.
is this a race? will he catch her?
they awkwardly high five
in the end. something has changed.

they’re
running.
togther.

206/365

isolation and time
make dumplings from scratch,
liquored cherries and spicy pickles.
they clean the car,
encourage midday bloody mary’s
and early evening runs in crowded
parks with your daughter, listening
to true crime podcasts about one
of the worst series killers in history,
the sun bathes the small man-made lake,
as she struggles to keep up, but you listen
to the gruesome tales to bond and stay connected,
worrying that she may need more
joy and inspiration in her life,
later you watch a film about michelle obama,
holding back tears and rubbing away goosebumps,
hoping the daughters felt something akin to hope.
wonder what kinds of stories they’ll tell about you
when you are gone.

latent legacy-
everyday one less chance
to get it right.

56/365

crammed full of a gluttonous grilled cheese sandwich and boiled unbuttered corn…i lurk in the tabs of the internet looking for inspiration…so much stale futility…this idle vacancy lulling us to inertia…where does one even begin to look…all search engines stalled…earlier i had forced a run…slow and plodding… habit for the sake of it… no intention for growth…an evening home alone with a book…the open d string and the second fret… the stability of routine both comforting and tedious…the work at school felt important…growing up is scary for some and how they lose their childhood and the innocence that goes with it…would you give up aspects of your freedoms in order to ensure accountability, transparency, and justice…in the name of peace, they waged the wars...ain’t they got no shame…i somehow found nikki giovanni in the vacuum…how did i miss her before…where will she take me next.

21/365

my watch coach told me to run
nineteen kilometres after school today—
so i did.

i didn’t have the heart to tell it
i only had 4 hours of sleep
after staying awake to
watch the poet
read at the inauguration.

or that i had been conferencing
with kids about their poems all day—
one kid’s work was so spectacular,
i couldn’t control myself
teary eyed and goose bumped,
“fuck! that’s so good.
where did you learn to see the world like that?”

the swear-word
like a lightening bolt
illuminating
what we both knew
lay in the darkness between us.

i didn’t have the heart to tell the watch
that we continued our anti-racism work
in my global concern group at lunch,
or that we workshopped stories
in the writing club after school.

i just came home
put on the shoes
and headed toward the quays.

i didn’t have the heart to tell it
that i was cold and bleary eyed
when the rain started
and the hamstrings started cramping up.

i breathed
put one foot in front of the other
and peeled off the kilometres
at a slow steady pace.

in the end
i arrived at a restaurant.
foolishly ordered
and devoured fries and nachos
and an india pale ale.

my watch coach told me to run
nineteen kilometres after school today—
so i did.

16/365

long: run
bookstore: visit
fancy: lunch
calm: read
great: book
deep: nap
fun: game
quick: dinner
lazy: film
early: bed
good: day

14/365

gluttony and sloth
only feel sinful
before and after.

during- they
feels pretty
spot on.

canceled the speed repeat run
after school
to eat an enchilada and a half
and take a nap.

had to feed and shut down
the machine
so it wouldn’t leave me stranded.

the guilt rings like an echo
I try to capture
with these words,
but will soon forget.

12/365

I had a whole poem planned
about the minutia of the day.

Even wrote the first half-
a play-by-play of the morning.

Got bored of it.
Hit delete.

A series of words
woven with the minutes
of the day.

Little snapshots
of each pedantic act.
Crisp details about
the teaching,
the meetings,
the emails.

Then home for a run
through the puddles
and an aching ankle.

Help with Math homework,
some guitar,
a book;

and a whimpering decrescendo
into sleep.  

People complained
it was a hard one,
I didn’t think so.

I was grateful to have it.

The poem?
Probably
should have
thrown it
away.

8/365

i didn’t want to play music.

lurking around the house:
taking down decorations,
fighting allergies or a cold.
keeping tabs on the news.

a quick run in the rain
up and down a few hills.

but I grabbed a few left over beers
and a half a bottle of wine.

I wore the fat cords I bought on
Haight street
and worked up a leading man swagger.

drums. bass, guitar.
change every mood.

by the end….screaming;

“some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses.”

felt like the truest thing in my whole life.

got lost in little india walking home
trying to find a cab.

cold pizza.
safe bed.
ringing in the ears.

6/365

hard time sleeping
weird dreams,
woke up later than I wanted
already too hot.

16km run
slow and steady
Raider podcast
The Decemberist’s
concept album.

bookstore, coffeeshop,
tea, reading with kids.

home, too late to nap.
Jonny Be Good and Just on the guitar.

Georgia. Georgia. Georgia.

jeans, cologne, beer, pizza, and
catching up with friends.

early to bed.
Seinfeld re-runs.

rest. sleep. another day.

5/365

We had some friends over tonight for
deep dish greek pizza
and IPAs.

It was a tame night
of middle aged conversations about
books, TV shows, worst school trips,
and other mundane things I cannot recall.

I tempered my drinking
because I have a long run tomorrow
and the hangovers hurt more than they used to.

“What’s your poem going to be about tonight,”
Sarah asks.

I didn’t have an answer when she asked,
and I don’t have one
as it nears midnight,
and I scratch these few words before bed.

It was another day
in a new year,
I drove the kids round,
thought my little thoughts
and this is all I have to show for it.

You tell me what this poem is about.

Running Goals

I’m not much of a goal setter. Whenever I have had had success in the past, I have usually chalked it up to good luck or “things just working out.” I can’t think of too many times when I have had an expected outcome for something and deliberately planned it out.

So I wasn’t over thinking things in January, when I decided to start running again after a few years after breaking my ankle. My goals, if I had to make them explicit, at the time, were to feel less lazy and to feel strong.

A quick trip down memory lane- in 2016 I started running and things got more and more serious as I got to feeling better and better. I started by barely being able to run for more than three minutes, to running a few 10kms races and even a half marathon. Then in November of that year I broke my ankle and hadn’t really done any meaningful exercise since.

Fast forward back to January of 2020 and I was determined to get back into a routine. I had my old worn out shoes, a running watch that barely kept time and had to have the strap held together with electric tape and Skyelar’s old headphones that left foam residue all over my sweaty ear and face.

On my first run, I could barely reach 5kms and it took me 36:22 min. Running a plodding 7.5km pace. But it felt good to be back. Three times a week, each run making me feel less lazy and stronger. Goals achieved. I was also listening to podcast and filling my mind with lots of great thoughts and questions.

A few weeks later, I got some new shoes and finally a new Garmin watch. Things were getting a bit more serious and I was trying to get my time closer to a 30min 5km. My friend Lee, told me about the Garmin coach. Which is basically an algorithm that helps you achieve a….wait for it….goal! You tell the app your weight, current pace, how many times a week you want to run and your ideal race time.

I told Coach Amy (she is the fictional coach in my watch) that I wanted to run a 29.30 5Km by running four times a week for sixteen weeks. Felt simple, easy and totally doable. This was in May.

In June, Mairin got me some great Air Pods and I was cooking. Amy had me running hills, different distances and tracking my progress- bit by bit and step by step. 13km here, 8km there, I never missed a run. If I knew I was going out on Friday night, I would wake up in the morning and clock a 7km run. If I was a bit hungover, I would stomp through a short Saturday evening run.

Sometime in August, I achieved my goal of 29:30 so I changed it to 29, then 28:30, then I bought some new proper Under Armor running clothes. So here I am in September, decked out in proper gear, cranking tunes these days and getting ready for my last session with Coach Amy with the goal of a 27:30 5km.

Woke up Saturday morning fresh, put on Vs by Pearl Jam and hit the concrete. I felt great. I was running fast and furious and didn’t feel lazy or tired, but strong. I was not pushing myself too hard and kept a stay pace throughout. When it was all over I came in at 26:21 with a 5:15 a km pace. I never dreamed I would be running at that pace in January.

I’m not sure if that is a good time, but that’s the beauty of running, you are always trying to beat your own personal best and here I had blown myself out of the water. Although shout out to Martin for always making me want to go a bit faster to keep up with him.

Maybe setting deliberate goals, with feedback and adjustments really does work. I wonder what other areas of my life could benefit from this type of explicit goal setting?

My time with Coach Amy is over and I wasn’t sure what would come next- below an hour 10km, or a faster five. The 10 km goal will have to wait. For the next eleven weeks, Coach Greg and I will be trying to get my 5km time to 25 mins. Who knows maybe in a few weeks, I will be looking at getting below twenty five mins.

Resolution. Routine. Ritual.

What a day.
What a week.
Month.
Year so far.

After a subpar and underwhelming year of personal growth in 2017, I decided to try and make this year about resolutions, routines and rituals. I’ve already written about the effects that my broken ankle, the Trump debacle, and my absence from social media, had on my life last year. I have also mentioned my newly found love of Podcast. (Done with Dirty John and S-Town by the way and loving The Moth)So in this post I wanted to highlight my new habits.


Since the start of the year and the entirety of January, I…
…wake up every Monday and Wednesday morning at 5:10am to go for a thirty minute 4km run. I am hoping to get up 5km, but my body is still out of shape and my ankle feels sore. I listen to my podcasts and enjoy the quite solitude of the early morning darkness. There is no one around. I know that I will be too tired in the afternoons, so I pull myself from bed and erase the choice from this act. No matter what my fatigue level or mood, I am up and dressed and hitting the pavement by 5:15.

…alternately I write every Tuesday and Thursday night. I’ve been dedicating time to write 1000-1500 words at each session. I am hoping to finally get my YA novel to 50,000 so I can start to think about re-writes and a plan forward. (I reached 48,000 words tonight, but I have started writing in the first person from the POV of secondary characters, and now I realize I have more to say, so I might hold off on the plotting and re-writes for a while longer.) I’m also hoping to churn out a few poems and extended posts like this one every month.

…with guidance from Cindy at school, I am tying to revitalize my mindfulness practice. I started off great for the first few days, but when work got crazy, it was the first thing to go. February will be about stabilizing this practice and easing it into my routines and making it part of my life-flow. Been trying to eat more mindfully and spending time throughout the day to stop and breath. But the body scans and 20 mins meditations put me to sleep. Do you meditate? How? When? Where?

…have been involved with Ari's push-up plan for me. In November he started me on a regiment he swears by. Simply do 5 push ups a day. The idea was to make it so easy that I wanted to do more. The next month I doubled to 10 a day. January had me at 20 a day and today I did my first round of 40. The idea is that, it doesn’t even feel like exercise. It is simply something I do and am aware of. Along with the writing and the running it has become a sustainable routine of my life. I am trying to bring mindfulness to these push-ups.

Now let’s move from routine to ritual. I feel a bit embarrassed to admit to this one, but I can’t express how much I enjoy my beard grooming ritual. Every morning, after my shower, I rub Dear Barber beard oil into my recently dried beard and use my wooden comb to brush out any tangles and direct the hairs where to grow. But more importantly, I repeat this act as soon as I get home from school. There is something inexpressible about the scent of the oil that helps me relax after a long day.
I’m not sure how long I can maintain these routines, but the shift in the way I see myself when I look in the mirror has been spectacular. 2018 is off to a great start. I feel more focused, productive and like myself.

What resolutions did you make? How are they going? How do you transform resolutions into rituals?
Side note, I am on my second glass of wine listening to Atom Heart Mother by Pink Floyd thinking about how sad I am that I haven’t see my dad (Mehran) in six years...

And if you sit,
Don't make a sound.
Pick your feet up off the ground.
And if you hear as the warm night falls
The silver sound from a time so strange,
Sing to me, sing to me.
When that fat old sun in the sky is falling,
Summer evening birds are calling.
Children's laughter in my ears,
The last sunlight disappears.

The Porsche

It occurred to me pre-dawn

after I had put on my running shoes

and shlepped outside pushing one aging knee past the next

that I had seen the guy in the Porsche twice this week.

Alone on the sidewalk,

desperate to quiet my thoughts

or ignoring the crackling of my joints-

I saw him shooting off the highway:

convertible roof down,

gunning his engine.

What a douchebag

was my first thought.

This guy gets up early every morning

to drive his fancy car

fast on empty roads.

It occurred to me that there must be

hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands

of men, around the world, who must do this.

After turning the corner and entering the tunnel-

the glaring neon lights buzzing

in the growing humid heat-

my judgment weighed me down.

Short of breath

and sweating into my beard-

I saw myself in a cockpit

of a cherry red Porsche:

The music cranked to deafening decibels,

probably early 2000s Strokes.

The smell of the leather seats

conflicting with my loosening vegan commitments.

The twinkling lights of the dash

crafted by exquisite German design

take me back to 1983…

I’m nine and my parents no longer live in the same house,

technically we are no longer a family

and to make up for this fact

my dad takes me to movies.

Last Saturday we saw one

about a young entrepreneur

who starts a small time brothel in his house

to pay off his debt to a prostitute.

Not sure how we are allowed to watch this film,

but there we were

the two of us bonding

awkwardly in the darkness

as I watched a sex scene on a train.

These days those images are only

brought to life in abstractions

and vagaries.

But I clearly remember the Porsche.

Thirty four years later,

I’ve never even sat in one.

B-Ball and Beer

I was supposed to run a half-marathon today. Somewhere in a warehouse or garbage bin sits my number bib and tank top. Run might be a tad too optimistic of a verb, I was not ready for this run even before I fractured my ankle. My plan was to have a pre-dawn walk-about to clear my head and sort my thoughts. A slow jog here. A comfortable walk there, beneath the slowly rising sun, through the streets of Singapore, to help me think about and plan my litany of new year’s resolutions. I was looking forward to three hours alone to align my priorities. But that was before the fall. The break. The bed rest.


There would be no dawn. No walk. No run. No need for any of that contemplative malarkey. I have been in bed for over a week. That is enough time to overthink everything and than think about it again.


I was out today. Twice. The sun was out too. I wore sunglasses and watched the girls play basketball. So fun watching them ratchet up their intensity and start to grasp the basic skills. Then home and rest and some work. Read a few grade 6 stories and began the grade 6 weekly mentor presentation.


Later Kaia and I did a home share with her writing and it’s so cool seeing her progress. I can’t help but compare her to the grade 6 kids I teach. I know she still has half a year to go, but every time I talk to her, or every time I teach my kids, I think about whether she would like the assignment, or think about whether or not she will be okay in grade 6. Today’s share put my heart at ease. The girl is starting to learn to write.


We finished Captain Fantastic and then outing number two- met friends at Brewerkz for an early evening dinner. Nice chat with friends. Good food. Setting sun. Cold beer.


My ankle is throbbing something fierce, but it was worth it being out in the world and interacting with people again. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow and I am hoping that the open surgery wound will be closed and water-proof, and I am looking forward to a half day at work.

Guilty Good

Today was about doctor referrals. Spent the morning setting up appointments for me, Mairin and Kaia. Life is so busy throughout the school year that part of our staycation must be dedicated to maintaining our health. It’s not exciting my any means but necessary. At one point, however, driving to and fro, I couldn’t help to think how distant the stress of school felt, even a few days removed from it. The days are slow and lethargic and absolutely perfect. After a decent lunch out, we were home and ready for naps.


The late afternoon took us swimming at Miles and Keri-Lee’s. We had a few drinks, some wine, played Star Wars Battlefront (to make sure the Teen rating was okay for the kids) and then home for an early bedtime for the kids and a wide open night without much to do. Maybe a movie with Mairin, definitely the latest episode of Atlanta is on deck.


Earlier in the day, we also made a quick stop to the book store where I bought the Amy Schumer bio and the latest by Jonathan Saffron Foer. I am still bogged down in a mediocre YA book, but I hope to power through that in the next few days, so I can get back into my reading groove. It has been forever and that is not acceptable.


Speaking of bad habits. I was meant to run today, but the swim date and early evening cocktails nixed that idea. The fact that I am still hungry and actually ordered McDonald’s delivery is enough to make me feel pretty shitty, that is until the sweet salty goodness hits my mouth. I have somehow convinced myself that I deserve the things that make me feel guilty.


At some point soon, I hope to tightened things up a bit- more running, back to a more hardline vegan approach, reading every night, but in the meantime- it is Wednesday night, I have another week and a half off. Nothing to do tonight or tomorrow, the McCrunch veggie burger is on the way and if things get super crazy, I might have a glass of wine while we watch Atlanta.


Side note, we don’t currently have Netflix for a variety of reasons, but I really want to watch 13th, but having a hard time finding it anywhere other that Netflix.

Kids

What a day to spend with kids today. It’s days like this that I feel so lucky to do what I do. Started the day at 7:30 in the Sports Hall where we organized a Nuke’m Ball tournament for 201 sixth graders. The game is like a stripped down version of volleyball with giant balls. We blasted music, laughed, cheered, and had a great time bonding with our mentor groups. They were excited, but listened to instruction when they needed to.


Then I attended to some administrative stuff, meetings and emails mostly before my Daraja meeting at lunch. Twenty plus kids, mostly girls and three boys. Mostly sixth graders ready to work toward achieving the UN sustainability goals and learning about Daraja, Kenya and Gender Equality issues. Light conversations, collaboration and food. We have only met three times, but it is already starting to feel like a family. We are brought together for a common cause and that is awesome.


Then I taught two classes. We talked about reading habits and self-assessment. The power of a great reading partner and critical thinking. They worked hard with focus and determination. I spoke openly and honestly with some kids having relationship issues. We shook hands and spoke about how to move forward. I reminded myself how hard it is to be 12 years old or 42 years old. The path to a better world starts and ends with these kids.


Then after school it was Off Tangent- our literary magazine. Again another group of twenty plus kids. Mostly girls. Three boys. Working together to create a magazine that showcases art and writing. We wrote at the start and then Paula and I watched our student leaders take over and run the show. We already have a design team working on our new look. An editing team preparing for submissions and the social media team finding ways to hype the project. The time flew by and the kids did most of the work. Looking forward to sharing their story next week at Learning 2.0.


Came home for a mediocre run, a tea party with the girls, some more work and time on The Cyber watching youtube.


Tomorrow is Friday. A two week break is looming and I am off to Vietnam in less than a week. Life is good. Life is really good.

Potty Mouth

Set Scene: Morning. Early. Still dark outside. Two kids in their pajamas sit at the breakfast table barely awake. Their hair is a mess and their eyes barely open. They will eat some veggie sausage, fruit, toast and a calcium supplement. Chocolate flavoured. Their dad is sitting at the table making sure that they are able to eat this simple meal in the 30 mins that have been allotted to the eating of breakfast. Some mornings this is a battle. Some days it is fine.


The dad holds a guitar and fiddles with some chords. A little riff from some Pearl jam song. It is soft and in the background. After several minutes of quiet and chewing, the girls are more awake. They younger one, aged six, begins to talk. Her name is Skye. The father will be known as dad.


S- You know the songs you put on my bedtime playlist have bad words in them.
D- Not all of them only a few.
S- Well one of them says the F-word. I heard it last night.


The child is referring to the a Spotify playlist called Mellow Breakfast Tunes that the family has now begun to use as lullaby music for the younger child. It includes such artists as Ben Harper, Gillian Welch, Cloud Cult and more. The song to which is she is referring is called Broadripple is Burning by Margot and The Nuclear So and Sos. The lines in questions are:

And don't fucking move,
'Cause everything you thought you had will go to shit.
We've got a lot.
Don't you dare forget that.

D- Well there are really no such things as “bad words.” There are words that are inappropriate at certain times by certain people, but no word is bad just by itself. For example if I use a harsh word to make someone feel bad or if I use it to attack someone, then this is a bad word and should not be used. Or if I do not know what a word means, and I do not know its power and by using it might really hurt someone’s feelings than it is probably a pretty bad word.


That is why kids shouldn’t use these words, because you don’t know what they mean and can’t understand their power. So you can really hurt people. Beside it sounds rude to use inappropriate language in front of others.


Adults know what the words mean and we know when to use them, so for us they are not ever really bad words. I love those words. I use them quite often in the right settings.


S- But is it okay for me to hear them in songs?


D- I don’t think it is bad. You will grow into them. I don’t want you to use them until you are ready, but I don't think it will kill you to hear them. I don’t want you to use them at school, in front of your friends or teachers, for all the reasons we talked about, because I want you to respect their power.


The older child is slowly eating, just listening, which is rare for her. She considers how she is on the threshold of this new power and wonders when she might begin to grow out of the S-Word and into shit.


D- Sometimes kids Kaia's age feel special or rebellious when they use these words on the playground or among their friends, but really they too should wait for a few years before they can really use them correctly and understand their full meaning and power.


The dad looks to see if his little side note was received. The older child looks up and acknowledges his words.


The family finishes breakfast, takes their showers and make it to school on time.

…

For the record, I have a post about #blacklivesmatter, the national anthem fiascos, #terrycutcher and more, but I am waiting for my anger to subside a bit so I am not writing from a reactionary point of view.


Oh and that whole Skittles thing is so insanely infuriating it makes you want to swear your head off.

…

Had a healthy run today. Got up to about 8km and felt pretty good for the first half. Still walking a lot, but feeling fresher than before. I am almost didn’t go, but I am so glad I did. Running is always better then not running.