Used to look at the clock like it held any sway
As if the numbers would govern your day
Now you glance at the hands to beg them for more
Not wanting to tear yourself from the shores.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Invisible Chains
“Welcome to The Spa at the Broadmoor, how may I assist you?” –An unending echo that day which shook my very being and wrenched my stomach when it had to resound from my lips. As I straightened my nametag and smoothed the creases in my hideous powder-blue blouse, I thought to myself, “who are these people that I apparently want so badly to assist, and why don’t they have anything better to do today than be at a spa?” A woman in leopard-print spandex and red high heels clacked across the marble floors as she approached my desk for assistance. I knew her type; the “pretty woman” who had been taken in by some poor unsuspecting billionaire and given everything she could hope for, but was severely lacking in class or charisma. “Excuse me, which of these $500 lotions do you think will help me look younger?” I caught control of myself just before my eyes finished their 180 degree roll. I fed her some lines about collagen and the “lifting and rejuvenating effect” that I’m sure the more expensive brand would secure her, and then I went on to successfully sell her $1200 worth of product. I am good at what I do. She played with her platinum blonde hair and began to file her nails at my desk as I tried desperately to suppress the urge I had to throw her black AMEX credit card back in her face. “Thank you for visiting The Spa, and have a lovely day” rolled off my tongue effortlessly as I handed her the bag. “Thanks, you’re a doll- ciao!” she said, as she squinted her Botox-assisted cheeks into a brief smile. And with that she turned and clacked her red heels as she walked away as if to say, there’s no place like the playboy mansion, there’s no place like the playboy mansion…
For five years I had put on the same uniform, to drive up to the same hotel, to park in the same garage, to say hello to the same co-workers, to be slave to the same guests, and to pick up the same paycheck at the end of the day. My whole family seemed to be incarcerated there. My dad was an assistant manager, my mother an executive assistant, my brothers worked in sales and golf, my sister was a secretary, and myself a spa concierge. It seemed like there were invisible chains of expectations keeping me at that desk every day. Working there is just what everybody in my family had always done so I had better not be the weak link in the chain. But today was different; I knew that if someone had placed a revolver in my hand, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I secretly pleaded that at any second two men wearing black trench coats would come up to the desk and say, “Ma’am we’re going to need you to come with us...” or something dramatic to that effect.
My head hit the desk with a thud as I couldn’t mask my boredom any longer, my co-worker looked over and laughed, “How long have you worked here sweetie?” I mumbled, “I transferred to the spa last year.” “Oh that’s nothing, you’ve got at least 2 more years left in you,” I groaned as she continued, “That’s when you start to go through two packs on your smoke break.” Was it wrong for me to hate my job? Was it the irony of the century that every day I walked into one of the most beautiful, luxurious, and blissful places in the world for women and all of the sudden felt like I wanted to shoot myself in the face? I just needed a change of pace.
That night I walked in the door and zipped right past Savvy (12) and Sable(10) sitting and coloring cross-legged on the floor. My nieces are normally some of my favorite people to see, but today I barely saw them- it was like I was in a trance. I was preoccupied wondering when my life was going to start. When would I finally get to make a choice for me? I had come to that significant moment in time; the moment when you close your eyes and all you see is a blur of memories pieced together by the snapshots that others took of you. The moment you realize that you’ve spent the entirety of your life suppressing your desires so that others could have theirs met. When you see clearly that you have never really gotten what you wanted; though everyone thinks you’ve been spoiled. The moment when you finally see that the bottom of the totem pole is not where you were meant to stay. That’s the moment you run. I run out of fear, I run from control- I run from the minds that would govern mine. Everybody makes a plan but me- each of them has some of idea of who I am, and who I’ll be. Each of them fills my heart, my mind, my smile with things that only they find somewhat worthwhile. I craved rebellion, I craved freedom. I craved having memories that were actually mine.
I sat on my computer until the late hours of the night, flipping through my pictures, my journal entries, and my dreams. And I wondered if they would always say the same thing, “I did what I was told.” That’s not always a bad characteristic, but it’s one that keeps you in a glass box. You can see everything going on around you, and live vicariously through others, but there’s always that transparent wall keeping you disconnected from actually living. The household was asleep, and I could hear my dad snoring in the other room. “Would it really be so bad to run away?” I asked myself. “Um, you’re a retard Paris, that’s so juvenile.” My conscience always has the best arguments. Can you see how impossible it is for me to be spontaneous? Nevertheless, by 3am I found myself looking through college brochures. By 5am, I had submitted applications to three schools in Idaho, Utah, and Hawaii. By 8am I was trembling. “What the crap did I just do.” I walked upstairs and sat at the breakfast table with my nieces and nephews, sister and brother-in-law, and my parents, hoping that it wasn’t evident that I hadn’t slept. What was I going to say? I felt like I had just gone against every wish they’d ever had for me by applying to an out-of-state college, and I hadn’t even warned them about it beforehand. I thought it best to remain quiet this time, and our conversation that morning simply consisted of “pass the orange juice.”
I let it simmer for 3 weeks. I didn’t even think any of the universities would accept me, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up or break my parents’ hearts for no reason. And then I got a letter. Then another letter. Then a third. “Oh CRAP.” I thought… okay maybe I said it out loud this time. I did a little victory dance as I read my acceptance letters, and finally let Savvy and Sable in on the secret so I wouldn’t look like an idiot dancing by myself. This was it- it was down to Hawaii, Idaho, or keeping my parents happy. Or Hawaii. I said a quiet prayer that I would be strong as I told my parents, and that I could make the decision that was best for me. I marched into their room with the kiddos following quick on my heels. “You guys, I’m going to study at BYU-Hawaii in January.” Nothing. Not a word. After a long pause, they said in unison, “Why?” I guess I hadn’t really thought about that… Dang it, I knew I should’ve prepared better for that moment. “Well, it’s far away from Colorado, and they have a great Business program, and maybe I got accepted already...” I don’t remember anything they said after that, or anything I felt either- I was just determined to get on that Hawaiian airliner and fly away.
It was New Years Eve in Colorado, and the snow not only blanketed the ground, it blew and twirled and pelted and sleeted. “Today’s the day” I whispered to my dad, and as soon as he awoke he wrapped his arms around me for what seemed like an hour in the warmest, most frightening hug I could have imagined. I guess I really didn’t know what it would feel like to leave him. I kissed my dear mom goodbye and just Dad and I drove to the airport. We walked together as far as they would let us up to the security gates, then he gave me a gentle kiss on my forehead and let go of my hand. My heart broke a little bit as I looked back and saw him getting smaller and smaller as I walked away. Needless to say, I let a lot of tears fall that morning. I waved what I thought was my last goodbye for a while, and walked down the terminal alone. “Boarding pass please” was the scariest phrase I had ever heard as the flight attendant showed me to my seat. She asked me to turn off my phone, and just as I went to do so I felt it vibrate. The flashing screen that said, “New message from: Daddio” was the most comforting thing that could have happened as I boarded my plane.
I got off that plane in Seattle, and had a layover for about six hours. I got some dinner at one of the café’s and watched Much Ado about Nothing as I tried to distract myself from the fact that I had just broken one invisible chain; my dad’s. I’ve always been the one to follow him around and try to act as tough and faithful as he does. That was a chain I had forged myself, and one I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to let go of. But I left, and chased after something that I had hoped would one day make him proud.
My parents had friends in Hawaii, and they came to get me from the airport. It was now 11:55 on New Year’s Eve, and the sky was preparing to catch fire. It was an odd feeling to wait on a sidewalk for a stranger to come find me. “Now you’ve GOT to be a Spillane” came a voice from behind me. A tall slender white haired man with the most reassuring smile scooped me up into a big hug and placed a beautiful purple lei around my neck. As we drove through a dark but beautiful city, a loud burst startled me. I rolled down the window and let the moist night air whip through my hair as I saw the entire valley light up with hundreds of fireworks welcoming me to my new adventure...Or maybe just signaling the new year. When we got to their home, the hostess had prepared a lovely little holiday feast of potato cheese soup, French bread, Martinelli’s, and fresh pineapple with Li Hing Muy powder on it. My first taste of this new culture, and my first taste of freedom.
I awoke bright and early because of the jet lag, and was antsy to explore the island. I put on my running shoes and snuck out of the house. I ran through the neighborhood and met some of the ladies sitting out on their front lawn, playing with their children (keiki). Their long jet black hair and beautifully browned skin made the island seem that much more graceful. They welcomed me to their island with a sweet sincere, “Aloha” and told me all about how to make myself at home here. It was such a beautiful sight, nothing but crystal clear ocean, lush forest, and mountains that looked like they jumped out of Jurassic Park surrounding me. The sweet smell of the flowers in the trees was almost overwhelming.
That morning my new friends took me out on kayaks for the first time in my life. “You’re not true local kine until you've made friends with the turtles” he shouted from his kayak a few feet away. Turtles? How did I feel about turtles…were they huge? Were they scary? Did I even feel like touching the water yet? They don’t have this blue stuff in Colorado, let alone creatures like Sea Turtles! “I think I’ll pass,” came my uneasy reply. Just as I turned back to look down into the water, I saw three dark shadows swimming just under the surface a few feet away from my kayak. They looked like some of the most gentle and graceful creatures I had ever seen, nothing to be afraid of. Once my heartbeat settled, I determined that we were going to become acquaintances, because I desperately wanted to be true Local Kine...Whatever that meant.
So there I was, swimming with the sea turtles on the East Shore of Oahu. Oh how far I've come since the days of those marble halls and the smell of fabricated lavender. I dove from monotony to autonomy in the blink of an eye, and I was never going back. I had unchained myself from fear of the unknown and quickly started to like the perpetual stream of decisions I now found myself in complete control of.
I am now addicted to the taste of freedom- it so wonderfully mingles with the salty ocean mist arising from the vast blue that I now drown my invisible chains in.
For five years I had put on the same uniform, to drive up to the same hotel, to park in the same garage, to say hello to the same co-workers, to be slave to the same guests, and to pick up the same paycheck at the end of the day. My whole family seemed to be incarcerated there. My dad was an assistant manager, my mother an executive assistant, my brothers worked in sales and golf, my sister was a secretary, and myself a spa concierge. It seemed like there were invisible chains of expectations keeping me at that desk every day. Working there is just what everybody in my family had always done so I had better not be the weak link in the chain. But today was different; I knew that if someone had placed a revolver in my hand, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I secretly pleaded that at any second two men wearing black trench coats would come up to the desk and say, “Ma’am we’re going to need you to come with us...” or something dramatic to that effect.
My head hit the desk with a thud as I couldn’t mask my boredom any longer, my co-worker looked over and laughed, “How long have you worked here sweetie?” I mumbled, “I transferred to the spa last year.” “Oh that’s nothing, you’ve got at least 2 more years left in you,” I groaned as she continued, “That’s when you start to go through two packs on your smoke break.” Was it wrong for me to hate my job? Was it the irony of the century that every day I walked into one of the most beautiful, luxurious, and blissful places in the world for women and all of the sudden felt like I wanted to shoot myself in the face? I just needed a change of pace.
That night I walked in the door and zipped right past Savvy (12) and Sable(10) sitting and coloring cross-legged on the floor. My nieces are normally some of my favorite people to see, but today I barely saw them- it was like I was in a trance. I was preoccupied wondering when my life was going to start. When would I finally get to make a choice for me? I had come to that significant moment in time; the moment when you close your eyes and all you see is a blur of memories pieced together by the snapshots that others took of you. The moment you realize that you’ve spent the entirety of your life suppressing your desires so that others could have theirs met. When you see clearly that you have never really gotten what you wanted; though everyone thinks you’ve been spoiled. The moment when you finally see that the bottom of the totem pole is not where you were meant to stay. That’s the moment you run. I run out of fear, I run from control- I run from the minds that would govern mine. Everybody makes a plan but me- each of them has some of idea of who I am, and who I’ll be. Each of them fills my heart, my mind, my smile with things that only they find somewhat worthwhile. I craved rebellion, I craved freedom. I craved having memories that were actually mine.
I sat on my computer until the late hours of the night, flipping through my pictures, my journal entries, and my dreams. And I wondered if they would always say the same thing, “I did what I was told.” That’s not always a bad characteristic, but it’s one that keeps you in a glass box. You can see everything going on around you, and live vicariously through others, but there’s always that transparent wall keeping you disconnected from actually living. The household was asleep, and I could hear my dad snoring in the other room. “Would it really be so bad to run away?” I asked myself. “Um, you’re a retard Paris, that’s so juvenile.” My conscience always has the best arguments. Can you see how impossible it is for me to be spontaneous? Nevertheless, by 3am I found myself looking through college brochures. By 5am, I had submitted applications to three schools in Idaho, Utah, and Hawaii. By 8am I was trembling. “What the crap did I just do.” I walked upstairs and sat at the breakfast table with my nieces and nephews, sister and brother-in-law, and my parents, hoping that it wasn’t evident that I hadn’t slept. What was I going to say? I felt like I had just gone against every wish they’d ever had for me by applying to an out-of-state college, and I hadn’t even warned them about it beforehand. I thought it best to remain quiet this time, and our conversation that morning simply consisted of “pass the orange juice.”
I let it simmer for 3 weeks. I didn’t even think any of the universities would accept me, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up or break my parents’ hearts for no reason. And then I got a letter. Then another letter. Then a third. “Oh CRAP.” I thought… okay maybe I said it out loud this time. I did a little victory dance as I read my acceptance letters, and finally let Savvy and Sable in on the secret so I wouldn’t look like an idiot dancing by myself. This was it- it was down to Hawaii, Idaho, or keeping my parents happy. Or Hawaii. I said a quiet prayer that I would be strong as I told my parents, and that I could make the decision that was best for me. I marched into their room with the kiddos following quick on my heels. “You guys, I’m going to study at BYU-Hawaii in January.” Nothing. Not a word. After a long pause, they said in unison, “Why?” I guess I hadn’t really thought about that… Dang it, I knew I should’ve prepared better for that moment. “Well, it’s far away from Colorado, and they have a great Business program, and maybe I got accepted already...” I don’t remember anything they said after that, or anything I felt either- I was just determined to get on that Hawaiian airliner and fly away.
It was New Years Eve in Colorado, and the snow not only blanketed the ground, it blew and twirled and pelted and sleeted. “Today’s the day” I whispered to my dad, and as soon as he awoke he wrapped his arms around me for what seemed like an hour in the warmest, most frightening hug I could have imagined. I guess I really didn’t know what it would feel like to leave him. I kissed my dear mom goodbye and just Dad and I drove to the airport. We walked together as far as they would let us up to the security gates, then he gave me a gentle kiss on my forehead and let go of my hand. My heart broke a little bit as I looked back and saw him getting smaller and smaller as I walked away. Needless to say, I let a lot of tears fall that morning. I waved what I thought was my last goodbye for a while, and walked down the terminal alone. “Boarding pass please” was the scariest phrase I had ever heard as the flight attendant showed me to my seat. She asked me to turn off my phone, and just as I went to do so I felt it vibrate. The flashing screen that said, “New message from: Daddio” was the most comforting thing that could have happened as I boarded my plane.
I got off that plane in Seattle, and had a layover for about six hours. I got some dinner at one of the café’s and watched Much Ado about Nothing as I tried to distract myself from the fact that I had just broken one invisible chain; my dad’s. I’ve always been the one to follow him around and try to act as tough and faithful as he does. That was a chain I had forged myself, and one I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to let go of. But I left, and chased after something that I had hoped would one day make him proud.
My parents had friends in Hawaii, and they came to get me from the airport. It was now 11:55 on New Year’s Eve, and the sky was preparing to catch fire. It was an odd feeling to wait on a sidewalk for a stranger to come find me. “Now you’ve GOT to be a Spillane” came a voice from behind me. A tall slender white haired man with the most reassuring smile scooped me up into a big hug and placed a beautiful purple lei around my neck. As we drove through a dark but beautiful city, a loud burst startled me. I rolled down the window and let the moist night air whip through my hair as I saw the entire valley light up with hundreds of fireworks welcoming me to my new adventure...Or maybe just signaling the new year. When we got to their home, the hostess had prepared a lovely little holiday feast of potato cheese soup, French bread, Martinelli’s, and fresh pineapple with Li Hing Muy powder on it. My first taste of this new culture, and my first taste of freedom.
I awoke bright and early because of the jet lag, and was antsy to explore the island. I put on my running shoes and snuck out of the house. I ran through the neighborhood and met some of the ladies sitting out on their front lawn, playing with their children (keiki). Their long jet black hair and beautifully browned skin made the island seem that much more graceful. They welcomed me to their island with a sweet sincere, “Aloha” and told me all about how to make myself at home here. It was such a beautiful sight, nothing but crystal clear ocean, lush forest, and mountains that looked like they jumped out of Jurassic Park surrounding me. The sweet smell of the flowers in the trees was almost overwhelming.
That morning my new friends took me out on kayaks for the first time in my life. “You’re not true local kine until you've made friends with the turtles” he shouted from his kayak a few feet away. Turtles? How did I feel about turtles…were they huge? Were they scary? Did I even feel like touching the water yet? They don’t have this blue stuff in Colorado, let alone creatures like Sea Turtles! “I think I’ll pass,” came my uneasy reply. Just as I turned back to look down into the water, I saw three dark shadows swimming just under the surface a few feet away from my kayak. They looked like some of the most gentle and graceful creatures I had ever seen, nothing to be afraid of. Once my heartbeat settled, I determined that we were going to become acquaintances, because I desperately wanted to be true Local Kine...Whatever that meant.
So there I was, swimming with the sea turtles on the East Shore of Oahu. Oh how far I've come since the days of those marble halls and the smell of fabricated lavender. I dove from monotony to autonomy in the blink of an eye, and I was never going back. I had unchained myself from fear of the unknown and quickly started to like the perpetual stream of decisions I now found myself in complete control of.
I am now addicted to the taste of freedom- it so wonderfully mingles with the salty ocean mist arising from the vast blue that I now drown my invisible chains in.
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