Rhena Writes

Author: Rhena

  • I am the book.

    Daily writing prompt
    What book could you read over and over again?
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    I am a book. My body is a book. My life is a book. My home, my heart, my spirit … all are books. Some of these were tucked away in hidden tomes in the special reserved section or banned altogether. Each day, each moment, I open another volume, a chapter, a paragraph, a sentence, a word, the spaces between the letters and the punctuation. I’m returning to this same book of me over and over but each time, it’s different. The textures, the language, the characters, even the story itself, it’s a slippery something, evolving, endlessly entertaining. A choose your own adventure only better, unbound.

    I am the book that I read over and over again.

    And the novel I am writing is one that I read over and over again.

    And the bound book, Beloved, by Toni Morrison is one I could read over and over again.

    I hope Toni Morrison wouldn’t take offense that her work isn’t first on my list. She did, after all, say, “If there’s a book that you want to read but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.”

    To read me over and over again is to write me over and over again. Each day. Each hour. Each moment. Each breath. Each word.

    And so I begin. Anew.

  • I suffer from main character syndrome.

    Daily writing prompt
    If you could be a character from a book or film, who would you be? Why?
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    I’m living my own book. My life is its own film. I like who I am. I feel no need to become someone else in fantasy or in reality.

    I guess that means the answer to the question of which character from a book or a film I want to be is: me.

    Much of what I have been taught is that to focus on myself to such a degree is egotistical. Much of what I have been taught is wrong. Capitalism, white supremacy, patriarchy: all of that depends on all of us hating ourselves at least a little. Having grown up on a capitalist society, it has been no small feat to overcome these feelings. It’s no small feat to write about them right now.

    Even now, writing this, I keep hesitating. What will they think of me that I choose myself?

    But that is not my real voice. That’s a voice that was put there over many years. It’s a voice of self doubt and self censorship. And the only way to overcome it is to write directly through it, to let go of the hesitation.

    I return to the question, again and again: what needs to be written? What do I need to write?

    I am alive. I am alive. I am me.

  • I don’t know about the animals, but I know what made me the worst pet owner.

    Daily writing prompt
    What animals make the best/worst pets?
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    My sophomore year of college, my three roommates and I went in together on getting a pet. It must have been around thirty or forty bucks each that we each contributed to the tank and the items we thought we needed to keep the chosen animal: a snake.

    I’m not sure what kind it was specifically, just that we named it Oscar and kept it in its tank on a table in the room which was meant to be a dining room.

    In retrospect, I was not well suited to roommate living. Perhaps it’s a by-product of having grown up in a large (my American standards) family of five children or perhaps it’s just who I am, but I later on found that I preferred living by myself. In fact, I enjoy being alone.

    Oscar also would have done better under different circumstances. So much better, that at some point, Oscar took off to be on his own. Was that Oscar 1 or Oscar 2? My memory betrays him. I’m getting ahead of myself.

    At some point, a snake named Oscar grew large enough that he managed to push open the lid of his tank and slither out.

    Where did he go? We had no idea. Even though he was strong enough to push open the lid, he was still quite a small snake. Although, who wants to find a snake, of any size, in their bed? Not me.

    Fortunately, it wasn’t my bed where I found him, some time later. It was under the garbage can when I picked it up to empty it. I screamed. There he was curled up. “Pick him up!” my roommate screamed back at me. Nope. Wasn’t going to be me. This was one of many signs that I was not cracked up to be a keeper of snakes. We learned enough at that point to put a rock on the lid of the cage.

    But now that I’m thinking about it, that must have been Oscar 2 because clearly he had gotten big enough to escape. Oscar 1 (only retroactively named such) didn’t make it to such a size.

    Oscar 1 (and Oscar 2) ate baby mice, called pinkies, which we kept in our freezer. They only at maybe once or twice a week, but part of the appeal (to some of the denizens of our house anyway) of having a snake was watching it unhinge its jaw and then swallow the little pink rodents whole. It was something from a nature program right in our very own living room.

    We kept a heated rock in his tank and it was on this rock where we’d let the frozen mice slowly defrost. The rock was also supposed to provide warmth for this cold blooded animal there in our rental house in frigid Wisconsin. Turns out: one heated surface is not enough for a snake. One day, one of us found in him in his tank, curling himself into an actual knot. We had no idea what to do. It seemed he was sick. Very, very sick. By morning, Oscar was done writhing. He was dead.

    The pet store employee seemed to think that he wasn’t warm enough to properly digest his pinkie, which meant that it rotted inside him.

    So maybe this question, to me, isn’t so much about what makes a good or bad pet, but what makes a good or a bad pet owner.

    I wasn’t a good roommate and this made me a bad snake keeper. I was a go along to get along person, unwilling to say “no” to other people. More importantly, unable to say, “yes” to myself. I would have been much happier living by myself, but I hadn’t yet given myself the self awareness to know that at the time. I was also too worried about being the “weirdo” who lived by herself. And maybe I was also too worried about being the uncool one who said “no” to chipping in to buy a house snake. And then a second. And for that, I’m sorry, Oscar 1.

  • The two jobs I already do for free: parenting and writing

    Daily writing prompt
    What job would you do for free?
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    Would I like to make money from both of these jobs? Sure! Who would say no to money? It’s the strings attached that I haven’t been able to accept.

    I pay to publish my writing here on this blog. Once upon a time, I paid for the privilege of writing in the form of graduate school tuition. (Guess which one costs more?) For brief periods of time I was paid to write. Although I didn’t really get to write what I wanted to. Other times, I’ve tried to get paid to write, but I just never seemed to be able to figure out what, exactly, publishers and editors were looking for in spite of all of the time and energy I put into trying to figure it out. Sometimes I even paid a few dollars for the privilege of having one of these publishers or editors take a look at my writing and decide whether or not it was what they wanted. It never was. My writing suffered for it. And as a result, I suffered for it. Always trying to guess at what these other people wanted meant that I spent very little time considering what I wanted.

    Octavia Butler worked what some would consider “menial” labor (as if there is such a thing) to support her writing. (For more information about Octavia Butler, her work, and her “work”, please read this essay by Dedria Humphries Barker.)

    I try to remember this whenever I taste a little bitterness at the thought that I don’t get paid for my writing, that I pay to publish. The good Lord didn’t bless me with the kind of discipline, the kind of commitment to her work that He bless Octavia Butler. He blessed me with the financial stability that allows me to do both of these jobs for free, few (or at least tolerable) strings attached.

    As for my job as a parent? Sure, it would be nice to be paid for that too. I try to call to mind all the women who weren’t (aren’t) allowed to raise their own kids because they had no choice but to raise other people’s kids.

    A blessing is a blessing no matter the relative size.

  • What Olympic sports do you enjoy watching the most and why is it women’s gymnastics?

    Daily writing prompt
    What Olympic sports do you enjoy watching the most?
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    Last summer, I took a much needed week-long holiday to the beach with my family. The trip was right at the end of an eight week stretch of two types of chemotherapy (administered every other week) and right before I was going to start three months of a second type of treatment (administered weekly). The only thing I really had energy for was a few hours on the beach in the morning. I’d then go to the couch for the hottest parts of the day. Fortunately, the couch had a TV in front of it. Fortunately, this was the week of the 2025 Summer Olympics in Paris. Fortunately, the TV could have four different stations playing simultaneously.

    In the thick of chemo/ cancer brain fog, I didn’t have the focus to be able to read much or paint or write or really do many of the things that bring me joy but involve some attention. I was pretty weak and my tastebuds were completely obliterated so that even eating together with my family was not the most enjoyable. The chemotherapy had also made my skin photosensitive so when I was at the beach, I was under the shade when I could be and usually completely covered up when I couldn’t. Oh, and I was also bald so I was sensitive not only to the sun but I felt chilly at the slightest wind or temperature drop.

    But watching the Olympics, indoors? That I could do. The narratives that emerge feel so fundamentally human that I could pick up on them and even enjoy them through my brain fog. When I mentioned women’s gymnastics in my title, I was really just doing that as an attempt at a cheap laugh. The truth is that this past summer, I enjoyed all the sports. I, too, was wondering, “who is this male gymnast in glasses who seems to be meditating but hasn’t competed yet?”. And was stunned when Steve came out to dominate the pommel horse in the last rotation. I was also smiling along with Snoop Dogg as he c-walked holding the Olympic torch. I also occasionally ended up watching hand ball and wondered, “What on earth is this?”

    At the time, I was too foggy to put it all together but now, I can see that part of me, I think, was really grateful to have a week of being constantly reminded over and over of what human beings are capable of and what, specifically, our bodies can do.

    I’m in the radiation portion of my treatment. It’s exhausting. But I’m walking and exercising everyday. I’m sticking to my routines which allows me to have moments of spontaneity and growth. And I can feel myself getting stronger each day. I’m not saying that I’m ever going to be an Olympic athlete. I’m middle aged. Even without cancer, I’m far past my physical prime. But it’s not Olympic gold that I’m working towards here. It’s being able to get back in the ocean, swimming and battling the surf with my kids. It’s being able to walk my son to school. It’s being able to enjoy a few sun salutations. It’s having the energy to be able to say yes when one of the kids wants to dance. Or even when I want to.

    In fact, you know, that one Australian breakdancer’s routine doesn’t seem all that out of reach…

  • How do you improve a community that was someone else’s dream?

    Daily writing prompt
    How would you improve your community?
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    I live next a six lane highway.  I am deeply resentful of it. The county I live in is one of the wealthiest in the country. My neighbors are mostly working and middle class and immigrants. The highway is maintained by the state (of Maryland) but the sidewalks on either side are the responsibility of the county. Except for when it snows, when it’s the responsibility of the individual home owners. Except for the bus stops, which might fall under the Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority. Or maybe the county. It’s unclear. 

    I’m an average homeowner and resident but I know more about those inner workings of the roads because living at the intersection of a county road and a state highway necessitates it. When we first moved in here, there was no sidewalk in front of our house in spite of the fact that it’s right next to a bus stop. I spend a lot of time emailing and on the phone with various people trying to get a sidewalk installed. Representatives of the county tried very hard to dissuade me. I kept sending pictures of elderly people walking in the road to get to the bus stop. One of my neighbors was a wheelchair user at the time and I told anyone who would listen about the time that he called for a ride share because the medical building he needed to go to was inaccessible to him in spite of the fact that he can see said facility from his front porch. 

    A man was killed when he was struck by a driver crossing the highway (at a crosswalk) about a mile up the road. The audit of the intersection resulted in removing a small section of fence that stood between the sidewalk and the crosswalk button. 

    A driver ran her car off the road and hit the fence around my property. My children were playing on the other side at the time. Needless to say, a sidewalk with an appropriate curb would have stopped her. 

    Eventually they installed the sidewalk. It was one of my greatest victories. A few more crosswalks were put in where neighbors and I had requested them, mostly near the parks and schools. But not much was done to actually slow drivers on the highway on our surrounding residential streets. 

    But I was still emailing and calling and tweeting (this was back in the days when I was still using that site), trying to get the speed limit lowered on the highway or at least some speed cameras and enforcement. On many nights, I could lie in my bed and all I would hear was cars (many with modified mufflers) drag racing up and down the highway outside my house. I’d call the non emergency police number many nights. Little changed. 

    The highway we live on connects outer ring suburbs to downtown Washington, DC where the streets are largely laid out on a grid, except for these wider roads, which shoot out from the center of the city likes spokes on a wheel. The highway I live next to is one of these spokes. The next spoke over would potentially be just as inviting to drag racers, but the residents along that spoke are wealthy enough that they have their own private security force replete with speed cameras. So the drag racers converge on spokes like ours where the residents rely on the county and state for safety and security. 

    A little girl died two blocks from my house in a car crash that was a result of this drag racing. 

    Some time after that, the speed limit was lowered. Some time after that, speed cameras were installed. 

    Too late. 

    Once upon a time, this place might have been the American dream of the suburbs. Single family homes, green lawns all the way from the front door to the street. No need for sidewalks when Dad can just hop into the car and drive into the city for work! Hey! The developers even left out the curbs so that homeowners can decide where exactly to place the driveway! No need to think about the messiness of women and children or oh, I don’t know, poor people? (You know the people who build and care and clean to maintain these beautiful homes and offices and the roads that connect them?)

    My six year old loves nothing more than to punt a ball as hard and as high as he can. (Ok, maybe he loves lego slightly more.) The problem is that the ball often ends up over the fence and in the street. We take him to the park a few blocks away from time to time. It’s just a big open field and a large parking lot. There’s no playground (in spite of promises made by the county that one would be coming). Sometimes there are a few neighborhood kids there  but mostly it seems that people use it as a spot to pull off from the highway. I see people eating or sleeping in there cars there. Sometimes people are working on their cars. Once after a recent snow, three pick up truck drivers used the parking lot to film themselves spinning doughnuts. That was nice (/s). 

    I’m always tense walking there. In spite of the crosswalk, I still worry about drivers coming off the highway too fast. We have strict rules about where the kids can and cannot bounce the ball to minimize them ending up in the middle of one of the more dangerous streets. 

    The other evening, as we approached, we could hear music. Soon, a man sitting at one of the benches playing a saxophone came into view. 

    My son turned to me. “How does he play so good?” he asked. I didn’t know. 

    The sky was moody above us. We could see dark clouds gathering next to the field. And the man kept playing. The wind was picking up a bit. And the kept playing. And my son booted the ball to himself and kept chasing after it. And I tried to pause to listen to the music but also my son kept asking me to play with him, to kick the ball or throw it to him. And so sometimes I did. And the man kept playing his saxophone. And the clouds kept clustering. And the wind kept doing its thing. And it was a maybe a jazzy tune but maybe all saxophone sounds like jazz to me. And my son kept playing. And the wind blew the man’s sheet music about and he got up to collect it and we started to leave. And he shouted something at us. And I couldn’t hear him and maybe he said “Rhena!” But he smiled. So I did too. And the traffic didn’t slow. No one came back to life. The drivers didn’t stop and exit their cars and pick up litter or even stop to listen. And he kept playing even as we walked away and even through the first drops of rain. 

  • Has anything changed?

    Daily writing prompt
    How have you adapted to the changes brought on by the Covid-19 pandemic?
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    A few weeks ago, I had the bizarre experience of being in a very, very bougie place in DC. I’ve mentioned before here that I grew up in DC and many of my life experiences have been shaped by having observed power; by having spent a lot of time in close proximity to the very center of empire but not being a part of it. Being, rather, apart from it. In any case, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve had fewer and fewer occasions to experience that world again. Which is all to say that it had been a while (and definitely since before the pandemic) that I had been in one of these “finer” corners of the DMV. It was very surreal. It was as if the pandemic never happened in that world. At least, it had that veneer. No one was in masks. There were no written signs about safety protocols. No containers of hand sanitizer out. Of course, if I had poked the surface, I’m sure I would have found changes and adaptations. Probably many of the staff lost loved ones or livelihoods or ways of life but they are probably also trained how to maintain appearances as if nothing changed. 

    I remember in the thick of the pandemic and lock-downs, watching movies or TV shows from before the pandemic and having to take a moment to remember, “Oh, yeah, we didn’t always wear masks everywhere, we didn’t always not shake hands.” I remember just watching old footage of crowded places made me feel a little uneasy. I read recently that even today, studios follow strict protocols to keep the actors from getting sick. So while they are presenting worlds and stories where the characters show no signs of there ever having been a pandemic, the key grips and food services and hair and makeup are still masked up. 

    Being in high-end DC had that feeling. I was being presented a world in which everything was care-free and easy. But behind the scenes, the people creating this world were not enjoying its ease. 

    It was head spinning when the next day, I went to take my girls to get their hair cut. I cut their hair (and my son’s and my husband’s and my parent’s) for the first year or so of the pandemic. It’s not easy work. So I was grateful when I was able to bring them back to the woman who’d been cutting their hair before the pandemic. She has her own salon attached to her house just outside the beltway in a largely immigrant community. It’s very small and worn down a bit, but we like it. During their haircuts, she was masked the whole time and when I checked in with her at the beginning, she mentioned how business hasn’t been good. It seemed to never have picked up to what it was like before the pandemic. 

    This is why I say that it feels like nothing has changed and everything has changed. Many have had no choice but to adapt in order to maintain an illusion so that others don’t have to adapt at all. 

  • The first hour of my day.

    Daily writing prompt
    What are your morning rituals? What does the first hour of your day look like?
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    My alarm goes off at 6 am. I should probably move that back to 5:55 to give myself five minutes of lazing and stretching. The soles of my feet and heels always ache and burn when I place them on the floor and take my first few steps. I’m trying to figure out what stretches or movements I can do before getting out of bed so that there’s less pain. Or else maybe just to give myself a few more moments of being awake and not suffering. I know. I know. All life is suffering. I cannot delay these moments.

    I change from my shorts into pants and then use the bathroom, clean my night guard, scrape my tongue, and brush my teeth. I check my phone to see how many hours I slept the night before. I realize now, typing this that this is a silly habit, born of a distrust of myself and my own body. I know, for example, that I did not sleep well for one long stretch last night. Yes, my watch confirmed it, but so did my body and my memory. Does the idea of my watch monitoring me in my sleep in fact disrupt my sleep? Would my sleeplessness bother me less if my phone hadn’t confirmed it? Is the technology helping or hindering me in my quest for rest? Do I need more data to answer these questions? Or do I need to trust myself more?

    I retrieve my glass of water from my nightstand and my yoga mat from the closet. I roll out the mat on whichever floor space near windows is available and set the timer for ten minutes for some meditation, light stretching, and sun salutations. I am unnecessarily attached to the idea of doing this part of my routine near the windows where I can peer out at the trees and, on some mornings, see the moon. It seems so picturesque, like something from IG accounts that I have scrolled. But the truth is that all of that is a distraction from my attempts to use this time to listen to my body and to give it what it needs. As for the moon? I do not think she cares one way or the other whether I am near a window to greet her, to admire her beauty. She is there, somewhere. And that is enough.

    I roll up my mat and set my tea to steep before I: take my medicine (trying to remember to be grateful that my morning dose is one tiny pill these days), let the dog out (and check to make sure the older children are awake and getting reading for school at the same time), and return my mat to its place in the closet. I finish making the tea (you can see my more in-depth take on this central morning ritual at this blog post: The Doctrine of Chai) and settle into my morning spot on the couch. I’ll alternate between writing and chatting with the kids and my husband and seeing them all off for the day. I’ll feed the dog at some point in there, but otherwise I’ll use that time to sip my tea and water and, most importantly, to write.

  • The aspects that make me unique is the specific combinations of what I have considered googling*.

    Daily writing prompt
    Which aspects do you think makes a person unique?
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    Sun salutation variations.

    Who’s the one actor? on that one show?

    Are the seeds in my smoothie the same ones as chia pets?

    Where are my keys?

    How many daily sun salutations for maximum health benefits?

    New Yorker article Bangkok flooding

    How to draw a monkey

    under desk foot massager

    Where are my glasses?

    How many sun salutations is too many?

    What does arthritis feel like?

    How old kids start baseball?

    optimal number of hours of sleep

    Phife Dawg how old passed away

    National pencil day?

    Are chia pets still a thing?

    Can sun salutations cause injury?

    Octavia Butler journals

    beginner collage

    “oh oh oh oh oh” song lyrics

    What’s the name of that one small yellow flower, the one that seemed to pop up overnight in the stand of trees near my house to that it looks like there’s a bright carpet laid out to greet me on my walk?

    Where is my phone?

    Smithsonian timed entry tickets

    synthetic marijuana side effect constipation?

    How to celebrate Cheng Meng?

    unproblematic young adult authors

    how to do more sun salutations?

    Dave Coulier and Alannis Morisette: what was the deal there?

    Oatmeal raisin cookie recipe

    facial sunscreen for women of color

    Did Donald Glover’s Atlanta get canceled?

    Benefits of daily sun salutations and chia seeds

    ***

    ***

    ***

    * But did not.

  • All the things that cannot be named.

    Daily writing prompt
    If you could have something named after you, what would it be?
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    If I could have something named after me, it would be all the things that we do not have names for, the things we cannot name.

    When your friend asks, “How are you?” and you feel a mixture of contentment lined with a soupçon of ennui and something else which you eludes you, you will say, “Rhena” and your friend will know.

    And when your friend is at a loss for how to console you, comfort you, and give you space, she will say, “Rhena” and you will know.

    When put your earbuds in, you will say, “Hey Siri, play Rhena,” she will play the music you need to hear and it will always be Nina Simone or Lauryn Hill or Salt-n-Pepa or Tracy Chapman or Aretha Franklin or or or or…

    When you see a man pushing his baby in a stroller at a great distance and want to shout “Thank you for bringing your baby out on this beautiful day. I was feeling a little down and then I saw her beautiful black hair, like ravens feathers on that sweet head bobbling on top of her neck while she peered around, trying to take in all the world with her new eyes and isn’t God good?” but he is too far and there isn’t enough time you will whisper “Rhena” and he will know. And he will whisper “Rhena” and you will know that yes, God is good.

    And when you cannot choose what to eat for dinner, you will say, “Rhena” and the server will nod, knowingly.

    And when you want someone to see you but you are so, so tired of speaking and explaining and justifying, you will say, “Rhena” and they will know.

    Until all the people say,

    Rhena!

    Rhena?

    Rhena. Rhena. Rhena.

    rhenarhenarhenarhenarhena.

    Until there comes a day when there is no longer need

    to speak my name.