Sunday, September 29, 2013

“the year of letting go, 

of understanding loss. 


of the word ‘no’ and also being able to say ‘you are not kind’. 

the year of humanity/humility. 

when the whole world couldn’t get out of bed. 

everyone i’ve met this year, says the same thing ‘you are so easy to be around, how do you do that?’

the year i broke open and dug out all the rot with own hands. 

the year i learnt small talk. 

and how to smile at strangers. 

the year i understood that i am my best when i reach out and ask ‘do you want to be my friend?’ 

the year of sugar, everywhere.



honey honey. 

the year of being alone, and learning how much i like it. 

the year of hugging people i don’t know, because i want to know them. 

the year i made peace and love, right here.”

- Warsan Shire 

“Pain and beauty, our constant bedfellows” ― Nick Bantock

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

She started the fall the night he sang on that old staircase.
Denying thoughts, attempting to keep him just a friend.
He won her heart with notions that it was made of gold.
Hearts racing, knees trembling as their lips finally touched on wheat field hills,
afraid of falling if he didn’t hold her close.
Being wrapped in his arms was to be at home.                                                                               

There was nothing that wasn’t shared between them, keeping each others secretes, coffee foam rising from the cup, laying beneath the stars, sheets that were made into ceilings and walls, heartbeats that pounded across chests.
Two peas, one pod.

Melting one another’s hearts.
Her heart opened up and he rushed in.
Touching places she didn’t realize could be hurt.
Not aware of the consequences of love.
Unaware that two people can fall in love as well as out of love.

He gripped her hand tight as he tried to let her go.
The stripes of her blue and white dress were blurred as her world started to spin.
Wondering if their hearts could take the tear.
Both unable to explain what was taking place.
Wondering why it takes months to build a love that can be taken away in moments.

Something in him made her want to keep him, keep him her friend.
She heard an unfamiliar silence, his voice no longer lingering in her ears.
Overwhelmed by the desire to be there for him, not to hurt him.

Her heart felt put on trial, questioned and doubted by the very person who had once put such a high value on it.
He knew her, what made her smile, laugh, angry and what hurt her, but he was the last person to understand how she felt.

She couldn’t control who she loved, swearing she would solve the formula if there was one to erase the feelings of love.  
The power of her twisting heart at night would draw the tears from her eyes and prayers from a bare soul.
Clinging to prayers that everyone had not let go of her,
prayers that slid into dreams, 
resting eyes, 
resting heart.

Time to time they would meet in dreams, sighing with a sense of relief that the other still existed.
But now he is just a dream, 
a dream that she has abandoned.

Her past continues to form her, teach her, and strengthen her. 

She has loyalty tattooed deeply into each one of her bones.
She knows when to sit with what she is feeling, seizing it entirely.
She no longer waits on the perfect day to start loving herself.
She is stronger than loneliness, but requires a dose of silence.
She knows when to call on ice cream and when to run.
She has a backbone that is flexible but remains fused to who she is.
She is now capable of making her own home. 
She doesn’t believe in love as a noun, only as a verb.
She has an enormous capacity to love, an ability to push flaws to the side.
She knows when to take her portion and when to move forward.
She now rearranges her heart, making new space.
She can see her life changing, and it makes her smile.

Her wounds have become the source of her power.

“It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop.” ― Andy Warhol

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

I went to the beach alone this Saturday.
I had this urge to get out and just surround myself with an unfamiliar place.
I ended up near a pier surrounded by groups of people. 
Boys carrying boogie boards mimicking older surfers, dads taking pictures of their kids playing in shallow waters, shirtless built men running the waters edge, ladies shielded by large umbrellas, surfers sleeping in the sand waiting for the next set of waves.

I laid there listening to the waves, a continuous static sound. 
I read a book, wild, contemplating the quotes it spat out at me.
"Inspired by Greg's faith in me, I didn't give quitting another thought. "

I decided to venture to the water, the one thing I had really come to indulge in.
As I reached hip height in the water I realized this was going to be difficult, something I had not anticipated. 
I found it difficult to completely let go and let the waves toss me around like a Raggedy Ann Doll.

Usually when I am playing in the waves I am with people. We laugh when the waves hits us unexpectedly. We joke about who is losing their swim bottoms as they skid across the sand.

But here I found myself alone. I wanted to wade back in and lay down but a bigger part of me wanted to enjoy these waves.
I thought of the quote I had read earlier, and thought "Don't give quitting another thought "
So, I ended up doing the whole awkward laugh as you look to the people parallel playing next to you. It was a couple about my age and a man who surprisingly resembled Russell Brand, his name was Tom or Jeff, I can't remember anymore. Anyways...

I had to consciously remind myself to let go, eventually we all let go.
The waves took us and drowned us, and we came up gasping for air, and laughing.

"Well, in the first place girls never marry the men they flirt with." - Oscar Wilde

Sunday, September 8, 2013

There are those things in life that we miss the lesson for.
For me it was flirting.
I blame my parents for homeschooling me 2nd and 3rd grade. I blame homeschool a lot but that's besides the point... 
I think those are probably the grades when those skills were being ingrained, spit wad wars, pushing on the playground, name calling, all those tricks.
2nd and 3rd graders probably have more game than I do when it comes to flirting.
I am just an awkward turtle when it comes to flirting.
And how are turtles even awkward? Is that even the right saying?
I am not clever enough for innuendos, my mind thinks frankly.
How do people my age flirt now? Do we still push? Do we still tease?
Should I even be asking these questions at this point?
I feel like I am pretty easy to read and don’t leave a whole lot of mystery, which flirting has to some extent.
Of course I’m exaggerating this a bit, but my point is flirting is somewhat of innate trait. 

Saturday, September 7, 2013

I love the words to this song.
I love these two precious girls voices.
I love seeing talents combine.

“The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter - often an unconscious but still a faithful interpreter - in the eye.” ― Charlotte Brontë

Friday, September 6, 2013

I sit listening to the coffee shop chatter, for some odd reason its one of my favorite sounds.
Two older men properly dressed for casual Friday, just like my dad use to with his jeans and nice button up shirt but with no tie, sit with stacked books and laptops open, just checking their inboxes chatting over their jammed toast. 
They are brave men for talking politics over breakfast, stating their views and experiences of how the government is affecting them. Eyes shift down while the head shakes in disapproval, biting their lips to hold back their responses.
But they always wait patiently, never raising their voices, smiling all at the same time explaining their position.

This is strange for me because any experience I have had with two people talking politics, especially with different views, always ends up in a heated argument.
Lets say my parents are passionate when it comes to politics. Sometimes their passion makes me take the opposite side or just have no interest in the topic at all.
My friends hold different views, my family believes in different things, I feel like the whole world sees things differently on the same topics. Does anyone fully agree? 
No, and I think that’s a good thing.

Just the other day I was out to lunch with some friends and one of my friends attempted to get me all riled up on the latest politics. I felt like he was pushing, egging me on and I tried to stay calm. I told him “I haven’t been following politics and I don’t want to argue.”  Why would I want to engage in a conversation that I already feel attacked and that feels hostile? Your right, I don’t.

I sit listening to these two older gentlemen and wonder how it is that they hold different view but yet talk calmly. Has their older age and experiences opened them to different views to actually listen and accept what the other person is saying? I have tried many times going into a conversation like this, but whenever it is a touchy subject, like politics, I usually strap on my gear ready for battle.
I feel like a lot of the heated arguments and burning judging eyes comes from the inability to listen and accept that someone else holds a different view from you, and that it is ok.
We have this desire in us to be understood that if someone could see our perspective then they would understand, be able to connect and accept our way. But the problem is two people come into that scenario thinking the same way, wanting their way to be understood and adopted.
I try but I often feel like I am not being understood in return, when really I am probably not sending off the vibes that I am trying.
The point is that you don’t have to accept what the other person is saying, but understand that there is two sides, maybe your right, maybe your wrong.
Understand that you are not the victim in the situation but you are just like any other participant. 

They don’t have to see eye to eye, but they are still able to connect simply through their different experiences. 
To these two gentlemen it is what it is.

"Most people do not listen with the intent to understand; they listen with the intent to reply." — Stephen R. Covey

Thursday, September 5, 2013

"When speechless, let the body do the talk." — Toba Beta

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

I love to think that I am able to read peoples body language, like I am an expert in the field.
I make up scenarios in my head of what I think people are saying through their bodies.
Their movements mimicking each other, closed posture, gentle touches, they all seem to be conveying some message that words can't.

In return to "being an expert"  I often think that everyone else does the same.
That I too am being observed, read, and judged for my body movements.

When I am studying in a coffee shop, naturally drinking coffee, I naturally have to go to the bathroom.
I will start the journey to the bathroom, winding through the tables and I will catch myself thinking, "Am I walking to fast?" "People are probably thinking I am too eager to get to the bathroom."
I'm naturally a fast walker, but other people don't know that!

So I try to slow my stride, trying to appear like I am taking a casual trip to the bathroom.
No biggie, no body language to read here people.
But sometimes I do really have to go!
And what if I have to go multiple times?!
And what if I am clumsy on the way hitting a table with my hip or my foot knocks a chair leg?!
Then I really seem desperate to get to the bathroom.

These thoughts rush in but I remind myself, "Everyone does it, especially if your at a coffee shop."

"All right, I'll take a chance. I will fall in love with you. If i'm a fool you can have the night, you can have the morning too. Can you cook and sew. make flowers grow. Do you understand my pain? Are you willing to risk it all or is your love in vain?" — Bob Dylan

Monday, September 2, 2013

I am no expert with a needle and thread, but I try. 
These shorts have been sitting on my shelf for months, waiting
to be made into the skirt they were designed for... at least in my mind. 
I believe every holiday should be celebrated and so today I sewed. 
A trick of the trade that I am trying to slowly acquire. 

Parachute Shorts

Open Crotch

My Cheerleader


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