Chose

Clear the road, it’s an emergency!
I’m in the ambulance, can’t you see?
Don’t you know I need sympathy? 
Don’t correct me, that’s agony.
Me, wrong? Pure fantasy!
Him, wrong? Reality! 

Rush, rush me to the hospital. 
Look, look at my vitals. 
Check, check on my heart. 
Doctor declares I’m not brokenhearted. 
Doctor says I did this to myself. 
Self, self-inflicted. 
Come, come see how I’m complicit. 

This is no melody of melancholy. It is an anomaly of human nature how we can love someone who hurts us and the heart does not undo the attachment. I stuck with the pain for the glimpse of the prince. I knew you, once an angel I felt divinely blessed to be with, and then reality hit as your wings disappeared from my doting eyes. To be human is to be flawed and to be me is to love it all. This is no lovelorn tale, our story was properly shredded and collaboratively torn. And yet, lessons continue to come to light while our story stays dark. Human nature is a never ending lesson and I’m still learning at this age of 31. 


5 years later, history repeats itself in some ways and in other ways, the details and next chapters will read so vastly different. I do not carry the ache of missing you but I remember so much, too much, and it’s more than enough to remind myself that we’re a chapter forever done. So many lessons, so many memories, and now, the space between us is space needed and space best to keep far and wide. Day by day, month by month, I bask in my freedom. But when the sun sets and the light fades, the darkness slowly seeps into the sky and my mind. 

The space between us does us well and proves fruitful for my wild imagination and my wild days. I grow louder and so do my assumptions of what transpired between us. I pave a path for accusations, guesses, and theories to run, take flight, and then burn. My spaceship swiftly meets with flames in the atmosphere; this rocket of thoughts was built upon effete elements of my mental: simply swirls of sickly sentiments I stacked in my psyche. 

I zoom back to the lab. Grab a big beaker and madly mix a concoction of water, wishful thinking, wild thoughts, and weathered daydreams. The sediment that settles at the bottom of the glass stains my fingers. I could point the finger at you but my hands aren’t clean. I gather the data, lessons, and last thoughts. The lab is closed now.

My final thesis is still pending. Maybe I’ll abandon it in a few months’ time and put effort into other projects unrelated to you. If there’s a science to decoding past love, I’m a student in class and looking to drop out. Perhaps, at a higher probability rate, I’ll walk away from this classroom and instead walk to the godforsaken garden in my mind and move on from matters of the heart.

The rose plant you bought me one Valentine’s Day, they bloom in citrus colors, and as the days pass past their bloom, they lose all color and fade to white. Maybe that’s what happened to us; our hues faded into blank slates and blank stares. And I’m no cruel woman, even I know white roses are beautiful, too. Our blank pages leave space for new smiles to be sparked by a new someone.

A few coins for unused party supplies,
my emotions paid the cost. 
I shush my inner self’s screaming cries,
my brain wants the grief to get lost.
I tell myself, “I need to be more busy.”
I find my heartbeat in my stomach.
I find unloving you not so easy.
I’m no saint, I’m no angel,
I can make you both if I shift my mind
to an erroneously tilted angle.
Change my memory, blur the lines,
I’ve got the power all in my head,
history can certainly be redefined!
With all the books I read before bed,
I’ll take the blame this time.

5 years and some odd months, that’s what I chose.
Letting the arrows pierce my shields, that’s what I chose.
Giving it one more day, that’s what I chose.
Hugging you on another new day, that’s what I chose.
Sitting on the fence, that’s what I chose.
Waiting for an earthquake, that’s what I chose.
Choosing you, that’s what I chose.

Writer’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! I am getting closer and closer to 100 posts!!! I’m motivated to reach that goal, sooner rather than in, like, 2030. I had a lot of fun writing this post, particularly my third-grade level poetry. It was inspired by a text conversation with a friend. It takes two to tango and I can admit I’m a terrible dancer and this specific dance ended long after the fun music stopped playing. Yikes. I know this topic will reach its duly end soon. I know the vultures are more than ready. Until next post, take care!

Ephemeral

I had an ephemeral cry on July 10th. Short and not so sweet. It was brought on by a flashback to an episode of Gilmore Girls, where Lorelai tells Christopher she wishes he was the man she wants to want. Two good tears ran down my cheeks as I wilted into the position of a peony past its bloom. I’m not a sunflower, I’ve no seeds to give to the earth for the betterment of us all. My petals are dry beyond saving and they fall to the ground.

Oh, I sighed a quiet breath with the quick wish of how I wished you were the one. The universe pays me dust for that desire and instead sends me signs that expiration dates do exist for relationships. I break my heart, just to feel something awful, wondering if we’ll ever look at the same moon at the same time. 

I question if I could puke all the emotions out. The nausea of it all leaves me wanting to scream it all out. If grief is love with nowhere to go, I find myself pleading to place the love somewhere, just not where it once grew and lived. Nostalgia coats me with pleasantries and for a moment, gone in a heartbeat, I feel your essence. The lessons I gather from life are gifts I continue to find: some small, some hard to swallow, and some I will take into my next relationship. 

Lynn’s Note: I have a longer post that I want to publish soon and I keep reading it over and over again, making small tweaks and other edits along the way, but until then, there’s something to keep the blog fresh and alive. Enjoy!

Portland

Private tears, same old fears,
Nothing new, this is exactly you.
I am who I am,
You are who you are.
Fog is gone; I can see clear and far,
You are who you are.

Mid-December. It was the season to be merry and gather. We should have spent another warm holiday together but my mind was running. I tried to outrun my regret. Day by day, hour by hour, hoping time would do its job and I’d forget the fire in the blur of the past.

When I no longer felt the heat, I thought I could breathe. The air felt clean, calm, and cool.

But when I felt the heat creep up once again, I faced the decision of running or righting the wrong… I ran.

I ran from the evident truth that our relationship had ran its course and I lacked the energy to be on this track with you. I ran in emotional circles, hoping I’d discover new angles to make things right in my mind. The logic was not adding up to the amount of heartache, tears, and nights of secretly wondering if I had made a mistake. In summation, I theorized if we could truly balance each other out? I started to think in order for this to work out, I needed to take myself out of the equation. If there’s a formula to change a man, I never found it. The mental gymnastics left me in last place; there’s no prize for falling into the same cycle again.

Burying my realization with more mental chances, unbeknownst to you, I never had the courage to face the fact sheet in my head. We would no longer share a bed, weekends, and holidays together. The daze I was in, I sought to end it. I no longer wanted to be stunned by disrespect, be called out of my name, and asking myself if your cruelty was my doing. It wasn’t. I latched onto hope for you and us until I remembered that hope can be a dangerous game to play. We don’t win when I cannot escape the thought of wondering if you truly, genuinely, full heartedly loved and respected me. We both lose. They crown you “The Most Respectful Man” and those gold spikes pierced my heart with the cold truth that respect for me was not present. Take your crown and wear it for those who want to see it, for I’ve seen colors of you I no longer want to know. We were grey for a while: losing color, momentum was halting, and our laughter lacked levity. I once ached for more chapters in our love story and now, I no longer want to read the book of us. You said, “And don’t come back.” And I say, thank you, sincerely. I thank you also for teaching me lessons in love for our relationship (being my first ever and oh so serious & committed) as it healed parts of me unexpectedly and opened my heart in ways where it won’t close up again. I thank you for the travel: trips out of the country and always driving safely. Thank you for all the cooking, meals, hugs, and flowers. There is a long list of light moments that make me smile which I appreciate.

As I walk solo on this new path, I think of what’s gone, what’s left behind me, and what’s ahead. The walls I let down for you reconstructed themselves to be taller, wider, and wiser. The city filled with bright memories of us darkened and the lights are turned off forever. It’s quiet, like how you wanted me to be. I turned in the keys and the map to finding us has blown into the wind, swirling away into the atmosphere: never to be seen, found, or touched ever again. I’m searching for the girl I used to be: loud, wild, and proud of it. I’m looking for the little shimmer of light of the girl who unabashedly expressed herself without fear or suppression. As I ponder about the past, I wonder, was I lovesick? Did a fervent fever take over my system and I had become bedridden, stifled by the pressure I put on myself to be this ‘perfect’ person I thought you wanted? Shame was my sickness and I’m still in recovery. Ashamed I stayed a little too long after boundaries were crossed multiple times. Ashamed I pushed down and shut down the core of who I am to placate situations only to be maybe (possibly?!) suitable enough for you. Ashamed I loved you more than I loved myself…

The cure I’ve prescribed myself is grace and forgiveness. Giving myself grace and space to release the pressure, allow my old self to make her return, while venturing into the space of the woman I want to become. I look into the horizon of what’s ahead; I know there’s a version of myself waiting for me to jump, leap, and soar into new heights of happiness. I paint my skies with hues that don’t stem from you and I find peace in my sunsets now. I hope you do, too. Rain falls from my eyes and water the ground below, new greenery sprouts, and just like the terrain of Portland, the aftermath of rain brings forth flora and undiscovered beauty.  

Lynn’s Notes: I thought about this piece during the rainy season in Sacramento and it made me think of the first time I flew to Portland. I sat next to a girl who said it rained in Portland often but in the summer, the greenery was so beautiful. While I visited in the winter, I could envision it. As the rain let up in my neighborhood, the entire area was alive with verdant lawns. I’ve even spotted patches of clovers though I did not go searching for four-leaved clovers. I define my luck in the way I see life and what I can learn from a situation. After all, I am in the business of gathering experiences and feeling it all. Thanks for reading!

Questions

I grow insecure while you grow memories without me. I’m in the dark searching for your light, wondering if I’ll ever see that color of dimpled brown in real life again and not just in my mind. Was our friendship false? Were our memories merely a mirage? Was the bond we had not strong enough to bare the weather of time? I suppose the sands of time swept you away and I sit here, searching for the traces of steps as a path to find you again. While I search to find signs of the silent steps you took to leave me, I think, did I deserve it? I’m still here, right where the last memories of us live. I’ll hold it all as my gold, as one person’s trash is another’s treasure. 

The wind must have blown your footprints away when I laid to rest to reflect on what we once shared. The silence creeps up to me and I fill it up with my noise, annoying those around me with questions as I whine and wonder.

And I ponder, that perhaps the map to find you cannot ever be created. It must be forbidden by your faith and maybe my sins were unforgivable, but I demand a fair trial. Did you prove my crimes already? Who was the judge? Who sat in the jury? Am I to be punished by your silence until you’re rid of fury? Does my voice not matter? Do my thoughts have no value? Is my friendship fruitless? These questions I throw into the atmosphere and I hallucinate hearing howling sounds, only to barely grasp whispers from the wind. It’s freezing and lonely out here. The icy gust hits me in my deepest insecure bones, so I assume I deserve the Titanic treatment. But, would you save me from the cold? 

Carved in my skull, I’ll confess, I feel ghosted. But being haunted by the memory of you feels like a honor and not a horror. But the death, I was unaware of, so please, tell me, when did it die? And could it live again? Or will it all live as memories: moments in pictures of a younger you and I, in videos of a time when the vibes were right, and I was a certainty instead of a casualty. 

And yet, it all seemed so casual, the last time I saw you. But your face spoke to me in a language I wish I did not know. I wish I could forget that image of disappointment. I felt something within me, yet I pushed through, and maybe that pushed you further away. You spoke to me and I wonder now if you hated every second of it. Did you build your guard up with a boundary for me? And is there a bounty out for me? Did I cross a line and did it all burn without me ever seeing the smoke? Was it a misstep that led to a mistake that led to the earthquake, something of a natural disaster set off by my natural vileness? Did you see the worst in me and chose to do the right thing for you and your life? I promise I won’t judge you, for I’m already imprisoned by my self-doubt and the bars of self-criticism go beyond my imagination. It’s suffocating in this cell, but do I deserve to breathe fresh air?

“Air it out”, I plead, but dirty laundry looks good nowhere publicly. And, I cringe as I wonder, am I dirty in your eyes? My ego dies many deaths, too small to be embarrassed by my endless efforts, but finally fragile enough to be broken, and this time, it hurts. I reach out for a response and I get nothing. Perhaps I didn’t feel the slap on the hand, perhaps I’m dumb, naive, and ignorant. But this experience is not bliss. And would it nauseate you if I said I miss…

And if you shouted from the distance, did I miss the sound of our tree falling in the forest? And would you immediately silence the sound of my words if I whisper, “Would you allow me to plant a seed for us to grow again?” And if I planted forget-me-nots, would you crush my seedling dreams? But if I grew an olive tree, could the branches extend successfully?

Maybe I don’t deserve to know the truth, maybe my value is worth ignoring, maybe I’m someone you’d rather forget and wish you never met, and maybe that’s why my forget-me-nots dried up in the garden, the world gave me signs and I chose to ignore them. 

But if I’m forgettable, I’ll accept my fate. And if I’m unforgivable, I’ll never forget you.

Democritus: “Everywhere man blames nature and fate yet his fate is mostly but the echo of his character and passion, his mistakes, and his weaknesses.”

Hindsight

Crunch. False emeralds shatter swiftly. I feign strength and go the length to keep up the act, hiding the fact that I wish I could throw an ax at the green-eyed monster I’ve raised in my mental pasture. I thought I grew past her. But I am her and she is me. I foraged the forest of past memories and “past me” passed me. I saw her and I saw you, I saw us and what once was, but when I think about now, I see you, and I see how I’m not with you.

Oh, jealousy, jealousy, how she gets the best of me. I don’t know where this strange twist of emotion sprouted from but it’s a wild garden overgrown and I lack the strength to trim it. To muster the courage to pluck the greenery of nothing good means facing the truth that these seeds came from a secret somber place I sullenly admit exists…the dark side of my moon in Pisces. I too sulk in and with my shadows. Specks of the tainted moon dust, not meant to be shared or bloomed, I had been throwing at the thoughts of missing you, not knowing that they’d grow into something that seems unmanageable. 

Should I set it ablaze? Set the land on fire with burning painful intentions, set off by sparks of unhappiness, and let the bitter ashes of loneliness surround you as it does me? Knowing sentimental me, I would gather the ashes and encapsulate the residuals of the scorched memories, frame what we once had, and keep it in my museum of regrets and hard lessons. With the nearly white ashes I spot, I round up what I can and put it in a snow globe, forever having a crystal clear view of how my feelings and actions bring disaster to my sense of peace. This is one snow globe I need not shake. 

I rue, I think, I flash potential outcomes in my mind but never placing any expectations as I’m not owed any situations or conversations. Questions fill the room with no answers to set it all free. 

Will I hurt myself? Will I embarrass myself? Do I dare? Do you even care? It’s a glass I dare not break.

I dare not say,
I wish I might,
I wish I may,
be a part of your life again.

In hindsight, I’d know all the procedures and steps to take us back to where we were once upon a time. 
In hindsight, I’d know how to rewrite history so that we may have a happily ever after. 

But when I think back to those past moments, in our last moments, I followed my heart and now my mind reeks of desperation, yearning for a friendship that has gone sour. I followed my heart and then you unfollowed me. Failed birthday texts showed me a new kind of misery.

I watch your life in screens, a contrast to when we used to scream to songs I no longer play. I tap to see more. I wonder when and if I’d ever get to tap into your mind and life as I once was so solid in your thoughts and heart. Now, I sit wondering if I’m see-through to you. Is anything getting through to you? I ask as I do no more than what an acquaintance does: casual, superficial, low effort attempts of scratching for something more. I should know better than to stand at a sealed door. I put my hand in a fist, not to fight, but to knock on what I once closed. Isn’t it embarrassing to want what you once pushed away so adamantly? Inches away from pounding, in preparation of asking, I drop my fist. I turn, with my back to the door, look down, and cower in worry and low self-esteem. Everything is not what it seems.

I wonder what I’ll think in 3 years as it’ll be 10 years since my anxiety and disappointment got the best and worst of me, that fated formal night. 

Since then, I got comfortable in the distance, the sight of you in my mind is what I had. 

Since then, that sight devolved into only the thought of you, slowly shifting to the back of my mind, simply out of sight. Out of sight and out of mind, I forget us like I had to prove a point. Somehow, somewhere, memories flash as reminders of where we used to be. I suppose I never did truly forget us. Not after all this time. Time passes and we’re far from where we once were, so does this give me a pass? Am I excused? Am I forgiven?

It’s a pity that the pithy and painful truth is something I’ve always known: there are consequences to my actions. I didn’t remember that truth when I spewed my true feelings at you. Consequences, consequences. Some are immediate, some are delayed, and then some come crashing years later, with twice the regret and thrice the sorrow. In a private trice, will you grant me a truce?

Consequences, consequences. The impact lingers and the regret never stopped haunting me. A mere modicum of modesty would lead me to stop my intrusive thoughts and settle on the one where I shall never regret following my heart, ever, and I don’t, and I also regret the way I went about it.

The garden of envy and jealousy seems unmanageable on the days I feel too down to look up. In May 2019, I wrote this for you.

I watered areas of my mind I had let dry up. I embraced the warmth and love of my closest friends. I planted small seeds of hope though I wasn’t sure what would bloom, or if anything would sprout. I plucked petals of daisies, wondering, “Will they forgive me? Will they not?”

Days turn into months.

I revisited the garden of my mind, pleasantly surprised at what I planted had now bloomed. Bushes I had left in a mess became fuller and greener, for I had changed my perspective of what had happened and who you were into a brighter and softer picture.

Our memories are dependent on our moods. On my bad days, I resented you. On my better days, I missed you. These days, I have more good days than not. Even on the days I’m not feeling my best, I now reminisce on our best days as best friends.

Reminiscing softly has turned into ruminating sorely. Now, all I wish is that we could share more than mutual friends. I’m 29 and still growing up, I am not where I’ve been, for I have not been with you in such a long time. I wish I was innocent. I wish the guilt gone and that I would move on. I carry the nostalgia like a warning note for I fear repeating the same action as I fear my character rusting and letting everyone down. Maybe because it’s fall and the cold has seeped deeper into my bones. My mind changed like the weather and I wonder whether or not I’m deserving of your friendship ever again. Maybe not, maybe not.

Seasons come and go and change is all I know for certain, but what I don’t know for certain is what rank of your mind and heart I’m in. Please don’t clarify that curiosity. I know it’s low and it’s low of me to ponder such placement. It’s all very plainly embarrassing. I’m 29 and still growing up, still wishing you love, still wishing you and your mom great health, still wishing you happiness, and…I’ll be still here, rueing in hindsight.

Last question, can you pick me up like the old times and can we pick up from where we last left off?

Sincerely, me.

Human

My birthday never fails to remind me of how human I am and how invincible I am not. I prefer feeling untouchable, unbothered, and unaffected. Most days are that: a blur of events not worth remembering or sharing as a story. The days I find myself bothered are when I must manually maneuver my mind to stop the daydreams. Daydreams of what once was, a fantasy of what could be, and the illusion that I am “there”, too.

“There” could be anywhere: on the couch of which I no longer remember the texture, in the booth of a romantic restaurant facing someone in a wishful way, or vacationing with friends where sunscreen is the highest priority.

Some daydreams are innocent and I let myself get lost in those images of sunshine and happiness. Some daydreams make me incensed because I know the falsehood of fantasy and I curse the cruel reality of what is actually happening! These are the daydreams I know not to linger and entertain as it only further makes me delusional and devoid of the fact that I am not living that life.

But other times, I drink the juice of the fool, and I stay in that sphere of wishful thinking, unjaded untruths, and temporarily, my heart warms and sings the sweet old tune of naivety. A glass of daydreams keeps the blues away, I say. Swiftly, my vision blurs and the dance of deciphering the desires of my heart and mind begin. I stumble between the flashes of the long gone romance.

Why and how does the mind conjure a vision so vivid and visceral yet I find myself hugging no one? I force myself to be in that lavender haze. It is a lie I furnish for myself, ever so fleetingly, to escape the empty reality. Is this a dishonor I do to myself?

Reliving the fairytale beginning,
Relishing in the hope I stowed away, and
reveling in a face I hope to forgo then forget.

Once again, nostalgia lied to me. Maybe my mind notices this so it takes me for a spin.

Silly enough, on one strange afternoon, I took a sip of insanity and asked myself if you ever loved me at all. I questioned your intentions and wondered what was real. Too many sessions in solitude to count, I privately had doubts about you and our relationship. Those thoughts aren’t so private now.  I wondered if loving another was ever meant to be this confusing, cruel, or exhausting.

Was I a fool to love you?

…

It is embarrassing to mull over such a notion.

What a putrid and sobering imagination. I reject and eject whatever nonsense I had in my mind and vow to myself to not get drunk off memories ever again, a vow I often break.

Geez. I need to find a hobby.

To close off this piece, I’ll share this last bit.

One particular and unusual night, I stayed up to nearly 3 a.m., already in bed and my mind would not rest. It was strange as I find sleep easily mostly every night. Maybe it was because I was working on this post. Maybe it was because I thought about the paradox of feeling lonely even when I was in a relationship. That is one part of the daydream that I never include. So then, I did something when I feel worried or overwhelmed. I prayed to my grandmother.

When I woke the next morning, nearly afternoon, the emotional hangover I predicted for myself was not present. I was not drunk the night before. I was sober and I was bothered. In hindsight, I’d rather be bothered than bottle my emotions.

Here, I let my thoughts scatter and feelings fun free. Here, I allow myself to be vulnerable. Here, I am human.

Thanks for reading! As I reflect on my daydreams and visions, I think of the past and the present. Presently, the freedom I have is so strikingly different from what I once lacked in a past life. When I share a post, it can take weeks for me to conjure up all my thoughts and fully flesh them out. I started this piece after my birthday and it is now December. Numerous draft savings and rewrites are part of the process and what I find is that by the time I publish a post, whatever state I was originally in, is one I am able to accept and let go. While my posts often are somber and not the most delightful, I can promise you I am not always depressed, friends! lol.

Humans are visual creatures. We can close our eyes and imagine a place elsewhere than where we currently lay. A new latitude and longitude on this ever spinning globe that we can pin on the map, mark it for memories, and check it off the list. But these days, I do not have to daydream of my travels, I simply pack and go.

As I reflect upon this post, I have my mind on the truth; I have something I didn’t before: freedom. And that is no daydream, babe. Tell me, what’s the price of freedom?

28: Self-Interview

Hello! I’ve decided to conduct a self-interview with questions I’ve conjured at random on days I can’t recall specifically. By the way, I turn 28 today!

Why do you like “ratchet music” so much? Examples of songs you’re keen on?
Ha! First off, shout out to all the producers and lyricists who have created many of my favorites such as Freek-A-Leek, Candy Shop, Taste, Big Bank… it’s the momentum of the beats that instantly put me in a good mood and sometimes, the vulgar lyrics make me pop out a smile when I’m not in the best mood. This music pumps me up during gym sessions, makes me excited and then I sway to the rhythm, oh, it’s a wonder how music can lift our spirits. Music is an undeniable art and I appreciate the musical artists who are embedded in the routines of girls while we get ready to go out, while we drive in our cars, while we pump iron, and while we make memories with friends. I hope I never tire of this sound.

What are your favorite words?
Kerfuffle: it’s a string of silly sounds that is informal slang for commotion, but I often use it in place of squabble. I do like the word squabble, but since I discovered kerfuffle, squabble remains in my mind and not by the tongue. The word blossom comes to mind because one, I love flowers, and two, it reminds me of the beauty and progression of nature. Flowers blossom when they’ve been planted, watered, nourished, and have the will and strength to open and showcase their beauty to the world. When I think of myself, I hope to blossom, especially after a chaotic and madly painful period of circumstances.

List your insecurities: physical and characteristic. 
My physical insecurities are endless!! The size of my hands, the bunions on my feet, the pores of my nose, my acne scars, the oiliness of my skin, and all the details of my face. One thing I have noticed is that, in comparison to my younger years, the intensity of my insecurities seem to be subdued. They are still there and creep around in my mind but I take a more proactive approach these days. I’ve been consuming more protein and putting actual effort in the gym, pushing myself to run and lift more.

In terms of characteristic insecurities, I know I have much to work on when it comes to my ego, my spending habits, and my haste. I love instant gratification. Sometimes, I think I lack hope for the far future and what’s in the unknown space of tomorrow, next week, and the coming months. Despite how much I plan, I don’t know what the next day of my life will be like. I have had my faith be tested and disappointment hurts and is not a beat one can become numb to, regardless of how many repetitions of the somber sound I hear.

When was the last time you felt proud of yourself?
When I was able to do a shoulder press with 30-pound dumbbells on each arm.

Last embarrassing moment.
I have had many. I try to not get embarrassed these days because life is short and the world does not revolve around me, but this is a tough task for me. So… I was last embarrassed when I was done speaking with someone in the office, I looked down and saw that my fly was open. I zipped it up and told myself to not wear those pants anymore and also not overstuff myself with free lunch!

What experiences are you looking forward to?
Moving back to Southern California, in due time, when the moment is right, and when I am financially ready. It is a goal I cannot give up on.

Going to Korea and Japan.

Running a 5K. I’ve yet to sign up but as someone who once hated running and any form of cardio, this is a big deal for me! I was looking into one after I finally did 3 miles on a treadmill. Took me an hour, but hey! We all start somewhere.

List 2 interests of yours:
Death. It is so permanent yet it’s an ending that never ends. When people we know, loved ones we once shared space with, people we once saw with our bare eyes, become a name on a stone, I wonder. When a breath of their name can still be blown into the wind, was death truly the final blow?

I do not fear death
For when it is my time, it shall be
When it is meant for me, it is called destiny 

Fate does not wait. Fate runs the film of our worlds endlessly without hesitation and suspension. Fate cannot be stopped or fought as no one’s next breath is guaranteed. When I accepted this, I was freed. Life lives through me and I live life through this magnificent manifestation mixture of my mind, body, and soul. Our bodies are merely containers for our unnamed souls. When the vessel that shelters my spirit unwinds, only then shall I find myself twisted with the winds, mixing with the air, swaying with the spirits whom I know not their names, but only the energy they omit. 

I think my version of death is when one is forgotten, with no story attached to our name, and our name has no significance. Now, that is truly the end.

Theatre. I love watching live talent! It amazes me what people can do, and do well at that, and in front of an audience multiple times with the same consistency. The way they sing, prance and dance around, deliver lines with care and passion, and how people give their all into a character and the story, plot, and message. I saw a local play recently in person. I need to go to more plays. I would love to see Hamilton and Wicked live.

Describe the person you miss.
One lesson I have learned is that the bridges I burned, in the past, kept me warm but only temporarily.

In my early 20’s, cutting people out of my life was the only protection I knew well. I ran away often, crying victim and blaming the other party, clearing my name of guilt and wrong actions. I trusted my cold emotions, poured fluid on friendships, and set a fire to offset my winter heart. There were flames in my eyes. Looking back, it was a heat fueled by anger and anxiety. As I approach my 30’s, I revisit the bridges that now lead to nowhere, and I gaze at the debris of my destructive past.

The ashes of what once was has long floated away with the winds, the rain and snow, for time has done its job. The memories now dust, paid no mind, and solely mine to sweep away, as the distance grows between what I once shared with people who once were in my life. I often wonder where the line between a mistake and a regret lies and how often the two lands feel like the same city to me. The person I miss? SVG.

What’s something you wish you knew 3 years ago?
I wish I knew that love isn’t enough. Love is beautiful, poetic, grand, and all the romantic words but it does not save a relationship. It takes more than love for a relationship to blossom.

Past Life, Passed Like

It is October. Autumn shares her cooler evenings and the sun gives us less of his light. Three years ago, I was starting a new job. Two years ago, I was in love. One year ago, I was again starting a new job. This year, at this moment, I think of a passed time, a past life, I’d like to call it. I am reminded of that life more times than I can count–at the fault of none.

Seeing a life I once undeniably lived, watching it go on without me, without a moment’s care or second thought…is strange, difficult, and almost feels unreal. It feels like I’m in a field watching something 380-feet away, and the view is familiar yet strange at the same time. The distance grows a foot more as each day passes and I admit (red-faced), I ache for what once was my situation. The attempts of getting closer only make the distance more apparent. When will I find the courage to look away? When will I end my envy of the view?

I’m embarrassed. I visit those gates of my past often. The visits have reduced as of late but I return and sneak a peek into what I did two years ago, who I communicated with, and the nights where I felt more than I do now. I haven’t forgotten. And I haven’t forgiven, either. 

I’ll also admit I feel weak. I resent my ego. I resent my selfishness. I resent the loneliness that hovers over me and feels like a secret room that is allowing me entry again. Wishing I belonged somewhere, anywhere, as I once did. I daydream to a time and space when I knew very well where and with whom I belonged. But those daydreams stem from memories of the past, the moments have long passed, and yet I remain stuck.

I struggle to close the doors of the past. I don’t want to leave behind a happiness that I know existed. But, I lock the gate, with tears in my eyes, knowing this won’t be the last time I cry about what no longer is, and each step away breaks my heart once more. The routine is long gone. The structure of my weeks stand shakily. Unpredictability is the only valid prediction now. 

I’ve long toted the nonphysical banner stating that I never lose as I always learn. And while I’ve learned plenty about relationships and myself in this period of eleven months, this is a solid loss. 

I have no genuine idea if there is a lesson that will liberate me of wanting what no longer is. What great lesson will free me from this foreign grief? What thought will make my emotions less painful and more positive? Will time allow me to win this unspoken battle?

I wonder if time is enough, if ever, for such a situation like this.

I say no. Time is no magic trick. Time does not heal all wounds. Distractions, duties, vices, vacations… no matter where I am on this Earth, there is nary a spot where a storm cannot touch. Grey skies, a sprinkle of tear drops, the threat of thunder’s sound, and just like that, sadness falls upon me as I cannot outrun my overdue rain. It is now cold.

And yet, sadness coats me with a comforting warmth, a feeling I avoid as I know this space all too well. Heh. Sadness is my forte, I tell my friend, A. It is where I write the most. It is real. It is human. For I am only a mortal and this midnight sky is opposite of the passion-evoking red that glowed a few years ago. I think my past life passed like a hazy blink. It’s the space of fuzzy vision and wondering if I’m in a dream still. I’ll confess, I don’t want to wake up from my dream just yet. But I must. I loved my life back then and while I love life still, it is a different love. Oh, to be human on this ride we call life!

Being human is conflicting, confusing, and consistently unpredictable. Wanting something and never again able to obtain it…is a strange and swift pull from the dreams of our minds. It is a thrust into the dirt of reality. It’s humbling, to say the least. 

As an almost 28-year-old, I aim to still have fun to nurture the child within me. The fun part is that I know sadness is a storm that will pass. With watered dirt, I can grow roses of strength, tulips of kindness, and daisies of simplicity. The truth can be simple but complicated to accept, I tell myself. My past life passed like an encounter with a hummingbird: beautiful yet brief, an excitement that’s gone within a flash, and a lingering disappointment when it’s all over.

In a world lacking honesty and transparency, why does the truth hurt when it is undeniably the whole fact? Why does rejection hurt? The truth can come at you quick and it could take months to swallow the damn pill. Yet, somehow, I find it beautiful. The truth is power. Honesty is power. And honesty moves us, more so than we think not. My past life passed like it was meant to be; it happened, it was true, and…it is over.

Each blog post of mine is a time capsule of my current emotions, thoughts, and aspirations. Today and tonight, this is what I’m experiencing and thinking. One aspect I enjoy of life is that a few things are permanent. Change is a constant. Change is a friend I can depend on. Change has never failed to show up in my life. While change is almost always scary and uncomfortable, I must float with the waves and not swim against it. I don’t care if I’m crying while my life changes, I would never want my life to stay the same. I know I won’t ever stay the same—so why would I dare expect that out of life, friends, or anything else from the universe? 

Thank you for reading!

Egos & Expectations

What in life can we truly control? There seem to be some definitive answers such as our schedule, the money we spend, and the amount of spicy salsa on our tamales. But when it comes to aspects of life we cannot control, such as the weather, traffic, and relationships ending…when does it become our duty to let go and let life exist as it does?

I have begun to tell my friends, “Expectations are a form of control.” And it’s interesting as I type this because let me ask your opinion, is the word control a negative or a positive word? That’s the first of many questions in this post.

There’s this popular quote floating across the internet: Expect nothing, receive everything. Maybe you’ve seen it once or twice, I know I have seen it plenty. At first, years ago, I perceived this to be a silly quote because having standards and setting expectations are good things, right? Maybe not?

Here’s the array of questions I have for you. Do you personally have expectations for friends or a significant other? Have you verbally communicated those wishes clearly? Is it ok to assume what others want from us and not ask for confirmation? On the other hand, why does it hurt so tragically when someone doesn’t meet the unspoken expectations we set for them? And, strangely, why does it hurt your ego to ask someone you’d like something from them?

Allow me to share an embarrassing story. I recall a moment when I donated the most minuscule and laughable amount of money to multiple people and I was miffed that not all said, “Thank you.” To put it simply, I was a bitch. As I look back, I cringe at my ego for being so loud. Instead of being disappointed in them, I now shamefully shift my disappointment onto myself. Why did I then shamelessly showcase such an ugly characteristic? Sadly, that was not the only moment where I grossly displayed my ego. I’ve held multifarious shows that not one person wanted tickets for and the crowd (rightfully so) booed. I regularly question who did I think I was then. Hah. Lesson: Thank-yous are nice, however, don’t expect everyone to say it and don’t take it personal if you never get any for whatever it is you have done. Give because you want to and not because you expect something back. True altruism does not seek repayment, appreciation, or acknowledgement.

I have another story for you. A few months back, I had an odd experience which led me to comparing myself to someone, and I became more upset than necessary because of my ego. Comparison is a treacherous and tricky game where there is no true winner. Comparing myself to someone in order to feel “better than” is a display of low self-esteem. On the other hand, when I compare myself to someone else and I end up feeling “less than”—I essentially tormented myself willingly due to my thoughts and insecurities. Lesson: When one door closes for you, don’t judge or demonize those before who were able to walk through them. The door may open for a thousand people and it may be locked for you. Don’t take it personal and keep it moving. Do not get stuck in the past. Destiny did not say no, she’s saying, “Look elsewhere.”

Here’s another instance: I was not invited somewhere. Somewhere lively, luxurious, and a place where I knew I would have had so much fun, get to dress up, and indulge in all the glitz, glamour, and giggles. As I halt and step back, analyze my emotions and thoughts, I become less disheartened at the invite that never arrived. I realize that my emotional pain is coming directly only from myself. I was making myself feel lonely when it was not the other party’s intention to isolate or upset me. Our friendship remains the same, before and after the event, as it was only my ego that was wounded in this imaginary battle I set up. Lesson: Finding where I lack stability means I have the opportunity to fix my fragility. Happiness cannot ever be dependent on anything external. Happiness comes from within. Also, no one owes me happiness and my joy is no one’s responsibility. Jealousy and envy can make one quite ill and those are diseases of the mind I have no intentions of developing today or tomorrow.

Why do we, as humans, take other people’s lives and actions and make it about ourselves and hurt our own feelings? Maybe that is a silly question and I answered it in the fifth word of the question. Because we are human. Because life is a journey of lessons, growth, and expanding our mindset. Back then, my ego was a huge glass of fragility. Now, I’m working on shrinking it to be less loud and apparent. I am certain history will repeat itself again as I am not guaranteed an invitation to every event on Earth. However, these silent battles end quicker than not these days as I remove my ego from the situation and understand that I am not an emotional victim of any circumstances. Life goes on, earnestly and endearingly so.

At 27, here’s what I’ve learned:
Emotions are temporary. Feel them, understand them, and let them go.
Egos and expectations go hand-in-hand. Unlink them.
My perceptions of people are not their duties to fulfill.
Likewise, it is not my job to maintain the image people have of me.
My happiness is my responsibility and mine only.

Ego, Let Go

I would like to think that I am resourceful and always aspiring to do more in my career and advancing my skillset. I have played around with the idea of being a Project Manager in the future when my career progresses further. I think it suits my personality of being particular and organized, creating task lists, and making sure plans execute accordingly and beautifully. I also would like to think that I am someone who doesn’t have a huge ego and ultimately, eventually, I would like to abandon my ego. That’s my goal.

In previous posts, I’ve talked about how my ego got in the way of my former friendships and this time around, I’d like to discover how to let go of my ego. I believe enlightenment occurs when we let go of entitlements and our egos.

Let me ask you something. Does anyone truly owe us anything? Time? Loyalty? Friendship? A text back? What about a thank you? Why do we feel entitled to these things? Are these expectations harmful, healthy, or both? Do certain mannerisms exist to merely satisfy a person of society’s ego? Is the ego naturally occurring or is it a result of our environment? These are the questions currently floating in my mind.

In the professional space, we need Project Managers. But in my personal life, I saw myself attempting to be a Project Manager and as I look back, I was heavily devoted and invested in someone’s life, actions, mental health, and vernacular that I set myself up to receive a heavenly high return only to receive a heartbreaking ROI. People are not projects. Yes, I, myself, am a work in progress but that is my work to do—not anyone else’s—so why was I trying to do the work for another person? My former therapist wrote to me, “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink.”

One of the bittersweet aftereffects of a relationship ending is that I learn things I wish I knew when the relationship was ongoing. I wish I knew then that expecting someone to change into the exact image I had in my mind is one, unrealistic. Second, it was a dream with just one purpose: to please my ego. Notice how I said “is unrealistic” and not “was unrealistic” because it remains true. To this day, I cannot latch onto this hope and dream of someone, even if it is a non-toxic version of themselves, because the reality is…not all wishes come true, even if they are rooted in the most pure intentions. Hope can be a treacherous place if you are looking for the way out as hope sticks you in the space of potential, what-ifs, and endless positive sparkling possibilities. Oh, let me tell you, basking in someone’s potential can feel like a warm euphoria, but truly, it’s a false euphoria.

It was a mentality that served as nothing more than a naive attempt to control how my life should play out. As I explore this topic, I realize…I was not fully comfortable or happy with who I was dating and where my life was headed. Ultimately, I didn’t feel secure in the relationship. So, I started daydreaming and not dealing with the actual person who was once in front of me. The daydreams were an escape. The daydreams were what I selfishly wished for and even though I expected my ex to be more this and less that…I, myself, in my own ways, was controlling him as well. The yearning for him to behave a certain way was me trying to change reality, trying to dictate our futures, trying to preserve a love that was nearing its expiration date…I was trying to the fight the reality that we were no longer compatible. My ego could not handle the facts presented.

By no means am I a perfect human being and I do not strive to be flawless. As I take this time to meticulously assess my flaws and areas where I can improve as a partner, I plan on making it a goal to gingerly guide myself to step out of my emotions and ego. The world does not revolve around me and another person’s actions will never diminish the value I have for myself. I pledge to ask these questions when a not-so-sweet situation occurs, “Do I allow this person to hurt me? Do I allow my ego to be loud and on display? Am I genuinely upset or is my ego just injured because events did not turn out as expected?”

One notion I’ve been saying out loud is, “Expectations are a form of control.” Do you agree? To be continued on my next post… thanks for reading! Happy New Year.