Sister Soljah
February 29, 2004
SYLVIA...the movie about Sylvia Plath

Lazy afternoon. Snowy outside. Read the Quran, and some of Hussein: The Savior of Islam. Then watched Sylvia. Good movie. I used to read Sylvia Plath right after high school. She spoke in a way that appealed to my teenage angst. I used to carry the Bell Jar as a bible back then. Loved being melancholy. I remember me and my boyfriend used to go to behemianish coffee houses and talk of poetry and darkness and the mad mad world. We were so passionate about poetry and tea. lol. Used to drink tea and speak like Victorian poets. Funny now looking back on those days. Then he asked me to marry him and everything changed. The writer within wouldn't let me give up my freedom. Why is that so many writers and artists in general find marriage so constricting. And why do we tend to enjoy lonliness, melancholy, and longing much more than the fulfillment of longing? Back then (and even now) I would give anything to have been twenty-two in the sixties....behemian lifestyle. Small pad shared by six somewhere on the East Side talking and writing about poetry and revolution. Incense and smoke. Studying Buddhism. I've done all these things but it lacks the purity it did back then. Who would have ever thought I would have become a Muslim. My God, sometimes I am in shock myself. Anyhow...the movie was good. Got me reminiscing of youth and the days when Sylvia was a queen to me. In the movie there is a scene where she is actually happy and in love and this is when she gets writer's block. It's like if we aren't longing we can't create poetry. It's that way for me. It's one of the reasons I think marriage scares me. What would happen to my writing when there is a husband and kids to think about? I pray to God it doesn't zap the creative juice.
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Location: Atlanta, Georgia, United States

A recent convert to Islam...finally found what I was searching for. I am a writer and love to read and learn. I also love travelling and getting to know new cultures and ways of thinking.

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