Southern Comfort Part 2

The wind blows in my face… there is this odd mixture of old and new in this aged town. Between the parts of trees are old shacks; lakes and swamps with trees sprouting from them. Homes that look like the purple Polly pocket house my uncle bought me when I was six. Even the the clouds and sun seem brighter. Plantation land. Homes that are aged seem to want to fall apart, but they tell a story of the past.

My family owns property that stretches a mile and half long. The land and trees try to talk to you. The trees are a deep forest green with golden yellow sparkled leaves and have magnificent animal like shapes. Butterflies of all colors dance at their feet. Something deep burns in me. A passion, a determination. This moment can not be forgotten. Roads that stretch as far as the eye can see. I was meant to be here to see this aged world. In the past, my motivation seemed to be running on low. I’ve been recharged in some spiritual way.

Our family history is as old as the land. I have a dream that brings me to tears. Something, someone, God, my ancestors are telling me to achieve more. I met a man, Preal Frye, today. My family and I went and visited his famous garden that people from around the country travel to see. And as most say, he believes that you have to work hard in order to achieve your dreams. It takes blood, sweat, tears, and more than eight hours a day to achieve them. “I can do this”, I think to my self. It’s not coincidence I heard this man speak today.

My family believes in me and because of that I have to believe in myself. Fear can no longer be apart of my vocabulary. I sit here contemplating what all this means, knowing that when I come home, life can not go on as it once did. I can easily shrug my experiences here; I can come home and do the same old things, but now, I have found new meaning.

I didn’t expect for all this to happen. I had hoped for a second that my paradigm would shift but it was over-ran by my immature feelings about coming out here in the first place. I was adopted. But I have been very blessed and fortunate to be a apart of this family. Regardless of who I am, I know that I have a family that loves me as if I were there own flesh and blood. Something that may be irrelevant to many of you is something that makes me different and unconventional. Through them and the life I’ve lived, to this day, has shaped me into who I am now.

I am strong: I am capable of tremendous creativity. I am able to achieve my every dream. I can not be scared , I can not forget once I get back home, that all of my beautifully odd dreams can be achieved. I am somebody. I am Olisa Rachele and I will give my 127% in all of my future endeavors.

love me, Olisa Rachele
My past can no longer hold me down…

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Southern Comfort

At first I was dreading the idea of coming out here to South Carolina. Sumter, South Carolina that is. I couldn’t remember the last time I was out here. And that was seven years ago. I had graduated from high school and was in my first year of college. But now, as an adult, a grown woman, I can appreciate the finer things of life. Family and lets not forget, food. There is nothing like my grandmas black eye peas and rice. Fried pork chops, green beans, and to finish it off, lemon meringue pie. I would have never tired lemon meringue pie or grits with stewed tomato sauce unless my grandmother made it. Questioning the tast of food is of no concern.

The crickets and birds chirping, the wind blowing in the trees makes this feel like home. The sad thing is, how much longer will it be. I need to learn how to cook my grandma’s food, it’s the only thing I can take back with me… Besides my memories and photos. White plush carpets and the smell of grandma lingers around the house. It’s a smell that I can’t truely describe; maybe its, perfume, food, and flowers. Stories of the past fill the air at the dining room table. Though there is laughter, what scares me is that death, wants to make its presence. I shut down at the idea of it. My grandfather was diagnosed with bone cancer and is suffering with mild dimensia. My grandmother hopelessly checks on him in the afternoon; making sure that he is still breathing. I’m scared to myself. It’s noon time and he still hasn’t awaken. One o’clock in the afternoon the music plays from the clock. The house is silent. And so am I.

Filled with complaints yesterday and the week leading up to this. I seem to be as silent as the house righ now. Everyone is gone, but the moment is right. I think she is ready. I think my grandmother is holding this last extravaganza, a huge party, with a commedian, music and dancing as a farewell. A life well lived. I look at her, her hands tired, I think she has to be ready because her husband may be. But as I look around the house, it’s well lived, it’s home. Photos of every family member, some I don’t even know. Maybe she isn’t ready, maybe she’s willing to keep fighting.

love me… olisa rachele
a woman changing for the better