O's

The is something spiritual about hugs. I don't think I can even encompass how much I love hugs. I love how they are so unique and specific, and yet universal in the way they convey feeling. Like the other night I met up with a close girlfriend of mine who I hadn't seen in awhile. And the easy flow of talk and company was like waking up. When we hugged tight and leaned into eachother, not needing a time limit.  Throughout the night we had our arms loosely linked around eachothers hips as we walked through the city I felt bathed in content sweetness. I realized how far I was making myself into this scary reclusive hermit and that I wanted, no needed this kind of beautiful caring affection of a good friend. One that reminds you how food and late night conversation in an empty restaurant can be the best time in weeks, or even months. How friendship hugs are like coming home, like being welcomed back into a safe place. One where you are you, and you are welcomed. Loved.

My father and I are at this weird precipice in our relationship. I'm still young enough to be still under his care (a little financially and sometimes breakdown emotionally) so yes I am still his little girl. But also I am old enough to speak to him like a friend, asking how he is and really caring. Inquiring about his life before me, and being thrilled and ravenous for all the details that made this person. This amazing, dedicated, and goddamn sacrificing father who I think is just the fucking cats pyjamas and the sweetest heart on the planet. And I think he's recognizing in me my need to become someone, and he sees himself in me. When I'm lost, he remembers, and when I recount how much I'm scared of the future, he agrees. It's like we're both speaking the same language now. He is seeing my life from someone who had already seen the movie. And he wants point out all the good parts. So when he hugs me goodbye now, it's not stilted or a brief pat, it's a squeeze. I curl myself into his big bear arms, the bowl of chest the perfect cave for me to burrow in and my head stands as a perfect rest for his chin. In those moments I feel this thick peace, this safeness. But not the same safeness, this one is primitive, it feels..fierce. And right. Like I am protected. Like I have a grizzly guard over me.

Boys. Ahh boys. What can you do with them? Can't live with them, can't live without them. But I will say this. My first love, and so far my only true love was Johnny. And we had hugs that lasted days. Literally. There was a point where we only left the bed to pee and to grab something to eat. We intertwined ourselves so deeply as we lay in bed, limbs were just obstacles that got in the way of us pressing each other tighter. It was like we were trying to melt into each other. Like I was trying to burn off the skin, oh the beautiful skin, but to burn away our bodies so I could press my heart closer to the burning heat emitting from his chest . Our hugs were not soft. They were grips. Like they were vital. Keeping me alive. I would feel achingly beautiful, exquisite pain of those hugs. For I knew I was in the presence of the fleeting joy of love. But that did not mean I ran from it. I did only what anyone else would. I held on for dear life, for as long as I could, and with as much strength I had in me, even knowing it was doomed. Those hugs were as close to reaffirming life as I can describe. They made me believe I was Eve. And I was placed on the earth to adore and live in this new world with the first man. That we had the whole world as our oyster and that we were going to move forward into that space. Together. That there was nothing to fear or nothing that mattered but us. I felt safe. Again a different kind of safe. A kind of loving net in which we both held each other up without having to actually look back to see if it was there. It was the most comforting feeling in the world.

And then today, working with my workmate. Kylie. This cute fluttery korean girl with soft eyes and cherry cheeks. A perfect little dumpling of a girl. I was feeling sick today. But because its a relatively my first week back I knew I couldn't bail or call in. Everything became laborious. Taking orders. Talking to people. Even bloody standing seemed difficult. And I think she could tell. She did little things, like taking on the bigger tasks like taking out the trash. Or she'd give me a gentle shove away from the front desk if another customer came in, taking over and giving me room to just chill in the back. I think I feel in love with her a bit. Or at least my sick as fuck and dying self did. And even though we've only known each other for a few days, it felt so natural that we were already doing playing bum shoves when we'd pass each other, or give eachother goofy eye brow raises from across the floor. Or, like tonight where every once and awhile she would put her arm around my shoulder and pull me into her side and I'd loop my arms around midriff and we'd just lean back against the table. Those gentle concerned little hugs from her got me through the night like nothing else could or would have.  I felt like I had met another beautiful little soul who I could sit on a rainy night with. Like this tiny butterfly was keeping the demons of my self loathing and pity away, just with the light touch of her arm around me. I felt safe from the harshness of the world.

Again they are all specific feelings, specific relationships, specific ways these hugs were talking to me. But they all were about feelings of comfort, love, and protection. Like shields. So funny to think of it but hugs are like bullet proof vests lined with down feathers. Immensely protective, but incredibly soft things. I've always kinda hated and loved when people signed off a letter with XOXO. But the thing is, I kinda think I love it in the incredibly dorky sense but don't want to admit it. I especially love those O's. And I love that I don't need to explain, because I already have.

The Sensitives

God I wish I knew what or where I wanted to direct my energy. I want to be a dj. I want to be a writer. I want to be a teacher. I want to learn languages. I want to learn how to be a gardner, a farmer, a chef, maybe just a fucking stable person. But I get stuck. In my fears that are like tormentors. Who surround me and circle me and throw me around, pushing me in every direction until I end up falling over and huddling on the floor. Sometimes literally. All I know is I'm never happier than when I falling into the space of a good song, or breathing in the balmy cool air in the space of untouched land. I feel peace in burning coals, the trickle of running water, the feel of falling into your pillow after a long day. How can I make a living from that? Why is life just paying bills until you die? Can there be no time or opportunities for more of the luxeries of experience?

I never needed nor really wanted luxeries that could be bought. Only the ones that can be felt.
Joy, peace, affection, love, excitement, confidence. All of these I have craved since I can remember. As a child when others worried about whether they would get a cookie that night, I worried about who I was going to be. Or if I would ever be the me I wanted to be. At seven years old I was having midlife crisises before I was even midlife. But that is me. When I talked to my step mom about how hard it is for me in this world, how it pains me to feel not only my own self torture, but hating and hurting from the injustices of the world that happen to those I love, she replied in her very no nonsense way, "Well then you've got to grow a thicker skin."

But though that advice contains truth, it doesn't mean it feels good. In fact I kind of hate what it means. It basically means the world will not make room for the sensitives, for the artists, for the philosophers, for those who actually have compassion for others and this planet. Nope. No room. Instead the sensitives must rearrange themselves to fit the twisted dark space that has become society. Am I the only one who finds that wrong? Who wishes the world were more compassionate, honest, and maybe a little more kind for all of us? I don't know. But I do know that although I might have to grow a thicker skin to just at least be able to handle the outside world, I must take this lesson in coping. Thats what my step mom said when I asked how she turned out so normal when she had just as fucked up childhood as mine. "Guess I'm just better at coping. You just do the best with what you've got. That's all anyone can do." Yeah. Guess so. I guess I gotta just do that.

You are your only self

I struggle with life on a daily basis. I switch from intensely loving life to thinking about dying, and even wondering if it will matter if I'm gone, or make myself gone. I'm not stupid. I know my family will mourn, at least for a little while. But I also find that I think it bothers me most because it hurts to think that my life is so insignificant, that I did nothing of importance, that I didn't fulfil any of my dreams, or that I didn't impact anyone's life enough for them to truly miss me. I think those last two especially hold me back from the line of thoughtfully planning and actually committing suicide.

Where do I go from here? I see a counselor who only asks if I'm taking my medication, I see naturopaths who only push the most expensive product at me, I try to connect to my family only to hear back from them months later. I guess what I'm trying to say is I have realized no one can help me. I have to help me. But I don't know how or where or when or if I can start. After what it seems like lifetimes of hating who I am and being ashamed of every mistake, I wonder if I can redeem who I was. Or who I could be. Because I don't know if I can continue with Tina as she is now.

Don't forget. Please don't. You are creative, and passionate. You are driven and strong, and a survivor. You are smart, and intelligent and no test can prove that wrong. You are funny and kind and good to others, you are worth knowing. You have genius and soul in you worth staying alive for. Worth bringing out, worth coaxing back from in you, worth sharing, and worth feeling proud of. You have a voice that no one else has no is replaceable. You can see into the universe and bring back the light of its heart. You have long enough arms to reach into center, and pull it back out. But more importantly you have gentle enough hands to cradle it and to contain it, like a small firefly, who glows within you palms, fanning out a glow between the cracks of this fucked up world. You have to stay alive. Even if its just to deliver that piece unto the world. You already died before you could write your story. Don't make the same mistake again.

You have potential. And there is nothing more worse than wasted potential. Become the stuff your dreams are made of.

And for god sakes start loving yourself. You are your only self. And that matters.

A chance to have Pride

When does perservering become stupid? What is the difference between knowing when to push farther for that last lap, or when it might mean a heart attack. When does a choice to quit become a smart choice instead a cowardly fold?

I recently have joined a publishing program that is all about deadlines. Projects piles ontop of each other in a ridiculous way like a slanted pile of flapjacks, only these fuckers aren't sweet at all. Its all about stress. And looking at others. And looking over your shoulder. Or at least it is for me now

I started out as one of the pack in the beginning, as a potential friend and ally. But as the weeks progressed and my skills diminished as well as my dignity, I began to see myself like the fat kid at gym as everyone watches with quiet disgust and yet determined ignorance as he stares helplessly up at that rope. Like a pack, they noticed the weakest link, and like what is natural they left me behind. They stopped trying to include, and treated my feeble attempts to keep the pace as pathetic and often with a formal and cold formality like doctor who knows his patient is going to die but doesn't want to get emotionally involved. Maybe I'm being dramatic, maybe I'm not. All I know is being the one left behind is never fun. And it also always shows you how really devastatingly cruel the human kind can be to anyone who does not "fit".

Whether its physical appearance and attire, learning capabilities, a lacking aptitude for money, anything, it's all the same. You keep up, or you get left behind. What is it about that fact that hurts so fucking much to a sensitive kid like me? Is it the fact that I usually had most of those?

In high school, I had a wealth of friends. I wasn't "popular" in the Mean Girls sense, but I was in the sense that I was friends with basically everyone and anyone. I could hang out with the jocks, the nerds, the stoners, the preps, and it was never weird for me or never felt like I was pegged nor was odd for eating with a very obvious different group each week.  I also took ridiculous amounts of time on appearance, like 2 hours worth of straightening my hair,  and spending time fretting over clothes when I usually ended up wearing pretty much the same thing anyways.

I'm going off topic- Basically what I'm trying to say is I was at my prettiest, and smartest. But I didn't get it served to me either. I worked my ass off but I was also a keener. I studied and agonized over even 1 page quizes. I was known as maybe not THE smartest kid, but definitely in the top five.

Fast forward 5 years, and I am asking yet another question in Digital design that is 5 steps behind what everyone else has already moved onto. I am wearing glasses with thick rims. I wear no makeup, and my skin is both raw in and out. I have so much worry in my gut it actually is physically coming up as ulcers.

But I keep going to class...why? Because I keep hearing my father's voice, "West's aren't quiters." and my dying persevering need not to be the one who breaks that standard that has lasted until now. But when does this vigor actually start to kill me? Because when I'm sipping mint tea to try and cool my aching gut while my eyes are hurting to even have these last 10 minutes of the day for myself outside of school to write down my true feelings...does going on really seem like courage or just stupidity?

And when can I stop feeling so bad about the fact that no one cares. I care about the careless. The ones who close doors in faces, or cut ropes, or turn away when someone screams. What is it about that that hurts so goddamn much? I don't know. I guess because I care, and because I know what it feels like to the runt, and that everyone deserves a chance to have pride...

Never Fucking Forget that.

Attention. And Affection. That is all we all want. That is all we all need. But there is a purity to both which HAS to exclude the ego. Which does not allow for it to participate. That is, if you want the good stuff, and not the tainted from- a -third- party- which- needs -to- be- checked- for - additives-kind of thing.

Everything, and I mean everything that drives us as humans boils down to that- attention, and affection. It's when we try and involve the ego that everything becomes tangles, tortured, twisted, painful, instead of open, loving, giving, pure, and well....raw.

Let me clarify, when I say attention, I mean more than that whiney voice we all hear, "Pay attention to me!" (and for some reason its always some drunk blonde white girl voice). I mean recognition. Recognition of who you are, what you have to offer, and mostly just your, for lack of a better word- Spirit. We all want to feel like we matter. In a world full of meaningless drives and empty promises we want to feel like we still are worth something. That we deserve to be more than a number in a statistic, or a grade on a paper, or story in someone's joke. That as an individual like no other, we should, no deserve the recognition of being like no other. That we have substance, and that we have gumption, and that we have damn heart and its worth seeing. It's worth sharing. It's worth being recognized. So when I say attention, I really mean recognition. Because lets be honest, as a social being, we want to feel special, and also to acknowledge that in others. I mean, that's what friendship really is after all.

That brings me to number two. Affection. And when I say affection most will immediately think lovers, sex, cuddle. etc. which of course is part of it. But in reality, its so SO much bigger than that. Affection is just the expression for what we can only really narrow down to the word "Love".  But there are so many forms of in which we hold people in a light of affection, from parent to child, from sibling to sibling, from friends to friends, from counselors to those that hurt, from student to teachers, from devotees to mentors, and yes from lovers to lovers. Affection though isn't even really a separate entity from attention, because they both seed and stem from each other. They are both the mother and the daughter.

Take the lovers example. What is it that makes us attract to another person? That makes us go after them rather than another? We first- whether is physical appeal, or a personal trait, or emotional link- just we recognize SOMETHING in that person. Whether it's their ridiculous laugh, their quirky way of dancing, or just the way they fidget knowing your eyes are on them.

But you recognize that spark. That fire. That substance in them, that makes them, to you- completely unique. And beautiful. And in that awareness that you've found that, that you've found this amazing person that for some reason goddamn reason every stupid person on the planet hasn't fully appreciated, stems affection. From there comes the need to protect, and cherish, and just freaking be a part of that beauty which this person has.
Is.
And when you find that someone who thinks the same way about you, feels the same way in general, wants to adore you just as much as you them, then the world just clicks. Everything jagged fades, because you have aligned. And when it's raw, its raw. But if its two open hearts, then thats just two stronger beats. And there is nothing that can break that. Nor drown it out. Nor make it waver.

I recently heard a break up story from a buddy of mine, who from the outside shell or spark notes of what he told me, it sounded like a very painful and tortured experience. But when he went more into details, when he really started from start to finish, I really understood. It was fast and thick love, the kind where people are so open that they are saying I love you's after a few weeks and planning on moving in after a month. And he was such a sweet, dear, genuine person, with all the right intentions, and a wide open heart, and well- she filled that need. But like I said it takes TWO open hearts. For although she may have rushed into his open arms, she was not ready to open her own. And when someone curls in, the more you try to pry them open, the tighter they will retract. And that is pretty much what happened in their relationship. But I asked. I had to.
"When you finally found her, after searching that whole 3 days at the festival, what happened?"
"I mean when I finally found her campsite and she saw me coming, man....."

He does not even have to finish the sentence. In fact I don't really remember how he did. The point is, he didn't have to. Because even as outsider, I can feel that wave of perfection from here. I can feel that beauty, that affection, that click, that gaze, that explosion of love from this far beyond time and space. And but god does it feel overwhelmingly......good. And even if things turned sour, for reasons that may be obvious in this, or obscure in others,  just to taste that, just to experience that level of joy, even for a bit...its worth everything.

There is a soul pleasing satisfaction in both the knowing, understanding, and mutual sharing of an open heart. The knowing being that we all want, we all need those two things. Attention. And Affection. And when you find those amongst us who feel the same way, who know this secret, well I tell ya, you fucking hold on to them. For they are both your protector and protected at the same time my friend. Never fucking forget that.

An Open heart is an Open heart.

"Gosh that makes me feel weird. Like I wonder what I sound like to you guys."
"You sound...excited."
"Well yeah."
"Yeah what?"
"I'm in a room full of boys, how can I not be."
He smiles.
That's Mark #1.

I am on molly and we are all sitting on the floor, the bed, the desk even. Talking. And laughing. At 4 am we are still wide awake and enjoying just the comfortable enjoyment of honest conversation and good company.

We just have come back from Lazy rich set where the gritty music demanded all of us to give it all. We are tired as fuck, sweaty and sticky, and have gone through a bowl or two, sitting in the living room is various positions, and playing vicious foozeball games which are so involved that we actually have to make RULES and stipulations on what guarantees a win.

In that time Joel has taken off his shirt. He is tall and slender, and the skull and wings chest tattoo is spread like an open heart over his skin. His slick back bangs are like a straight wave but curl at the end, like the Greaser style. Very ponyboy. In fact he is pony boy. Excitable, honest, sensitive, and very passionate. He's all about feel, he gestures with his hands when he talks. He gets so into stories that he bounces on the balls of his feet. His slim body is animated in every sense. And he is so fucking sexy. He's got so much rawness to him, even his woodsy caramel skin and his hazel eyes kill me to look at.  He also is very touchy and flirty. He is one of the main boys who danced with me at the rave. To the point he was digging his hands into my hips and I would roll them extra deep so he can really feel my, well sex appeal.  He skirted his hands over my backside and I laughed,
"Wow you're a frisky one aren't you?"
He laughs good naturedly. Not embarrassed at all.
"Yeah I guess so. But I don't hear you complaining."
And I have to bite my lip to that, because honestly I want his hands everywhere.


Back at the house Joel tells me in raw detail the last harsh breakup he went through. Because like a girl I overheard him telling Max, and I immediately needed details and to hear it for myself. Max is vaguely annoyed, laughing when I ask to be caught up.
"This is why we don't talk about this stuff with girls. It's too much story and you come in the middle."
But like a gentleman I could tell, Joel obliging gives me the spark notes to what was a very tumultuous relationship. He said within 2 weeks they both confessed to loving each other, and that within 3 weeks he had her key and they were planning to move in together. He said he had previously spent a year working on himself and his demons. That by the end of it he was finally in a place to date again and with the right intentions and an open heart. And he met her. Julia. A girl who he said was both as intense and open as him. And boom I understand. She filled the need.

We have now all migrated to the bedroom. And Joel just says, "I need a neckrub, can you give me one please?" and just plops himself in front of me. The rest of the boys look. I kind of laugh it off complaining about the cockiness of men to just expect women to do the work, but in reality I'm kind of nervous as hell. I want to touch this boy so bad it hurts. But Max is also here. And he's also asked me out a few days earlier. And although I turned him down gently this can't be a good situation and I don't want to even mildy hurt the sweet and trusting boy Max has shown to me. He is a true friend, yet I don't think I can force a relationship with someone I'm not attracted to, or to someone who feels so like kin.

But dutifully I begin to rub deep circles into the hard lines of Joel's neck and shoulders. I have to keep my libido under check because even just tracing his sinew makes me want to lick them. But I play it easy, asking formal questions like "Which parts hurt?" or "What part is tense?" and the boys stop watching and just go back to conversation.  When I'm done he offers to reciprocate for me but I'm way too in the spotlight as the only girl that I shake my head and vigorously say no even as he keeps offering. Damn this shit.

The conversation turns funny now. I'm on the floor to give myself distance from Joel who lies back on the bed beside Max, further fuelling my confusion. Molly gives me the confidence to ask the group with honest boldness about what it's like to be the other sex. And they literally hold open the door for me into the other side.
Everything from wanting to know what is feels like to get a hand job..
"Nah you'd much rather want a blow job" Ryan says matter of factly
"Yeah..." We all agree.
To what its like going to the bathroom, and well HOW can you feel comfortable with another dude whipping it out beside you. They explain the one urnal apart guy code, and the never look at all rule. All mutually understood and known without ever having to talk about it. But I'm still confused how thats possible if you have to at least look to see which one is open and to walk to it without crashing into someone.
So no joke they give me a skit. 3 of them walk out the door and close it, like this is for legit. They walk in like the direction has snapped the scene, and they mock wait in line, mock go up to the invisible mirror and check their hair and push it back. Mock staring off into nothing while the others go. And then the VERY direct walk to their own urnal and the stare ahead at all times rule. I feel like I literally got the experience of being in the boys bathroom and weirdly it feels so interesting and well...cool.

I then realize how uncomfortable I am trying to sit up, on the floor. "Damn I'm uncomfortable, think I can come up on the bed?" Then both openly motion and move for me. Still though I take a playful dig,
"Jezz whatever happened to chivalry? Gentleman are a dying breed. I mean having me sit on the floor with no pillow or nothing while you guys lie all comfy." They protest
"Hey you decided to sit on the floor,"
"You could've asked for something."
"Oh yeah totally like I have to be like 'Hey guys with ALL the comfy shit possible, think you could throw me at least one.' "
"Hey you wanted the full bro experience, that mean fend for yourself man," Joel grins at me. I chuckle. I guess I did ask for it all. Even the sucky stuff.

Then it goes on, to asking what its like to know know, when you like a girl. Apparently it really just all is, erection? Yupp she's good. Well maybe not that pop up and go, I mean they're not 15 year olds with no control of the inflate button, but it really all is all about feeling that primal attraction. Here I am, and women in general, thinking their is some kind of formula or science behind figuring out a guy is really into you, and its just really as simple as "attraction" for them. Makes me realize really how we complicate things we should just leave as is. So much simpler. Literally.

I ask for a sip of water and Max reaches out for the bottle and hands it to me. I pass it Joel.
"I swear I don't have koodies." He just raises his eyebrow and his lips twitch. Like he's not even going to touch that.
The other boys pass it round after. Ryan asks with casual voice, "Did she have a sip of it?"
Mark # 1 nods. Then in hilarious show, Ryan basically fucks the water bottle with his mouth, while he's drinking from it secondarily.
I can't help it. He is so cocky and goofy at the same time. I hold my sides and I giggle like crazy.
"Nice Ryan, nice. All your moves are like schwooop..., " and I throw an air ball over the room up into sky, "just like a ring shot. Right into the hoop." He just bobs his head in a, "well obviously" agreement.

Then I ask about flirting, and wondering how it feels to have that nervous rush trying to pick up a girl. Mark #1 gets me into that experience in one story.
He says he was at a club with his buds once and like boys will be boys, they make a bet.
He has to pick up one of the hottest club dancers in 7 words or less.
He tells me he takes a good look at her. She's a smooth dancer, obviously sexy and exudes confidence. She's wearing a leopard print costume of shorts and bustier.
He walks up to her on the platform and asks,
 "Did you kill that leopard by yourself?"
OHHHHHH MYYYYYY. Panty dropper.
Needless to say he won the bet.
In that one liner, he has both been clever, cheeky, complimenting, and suave. It's like with that one liner he's slid a tumbler of whisky smoothly down the bar and has it land perfectly into her hands. Smack. Satisfying.

I'm not even a guy but that saturation of victory is so well laid out, I feel again the experience of being in someone else's skin. And it feels fantastic.
"Oh my god Mark, Thank you. Thank you. I'm not even a guy and yet I totally got to feel how good that must have felt."
He gives me his satisfied half grin, like he knows he's done his job. He has that smooth confidence. The behind scenes assurance. He never has to assert it or prove it. With his closely shaved head, arm length tats, punch hole earrings, and thick rings, he is very much who he is. And he works it. And I love him for that.

Mark #2 now becomes more vocal.
"Ughh don't even get me started on girls. Like don't even let me think about it." he groans with such heavy irritation.  He start rubbing his head roughly, pulling it back and forth.
I ask why. He fills in the blanks. And the other boys fill what he's left out. Basically he's be hooked and then dropped by a consecutive amount of girls.

"Like they get all excited about me. And then one day they just say they can't hang, and I never hear from them again. Like OKAYYYY..... Just UGH! UGHHH!"

He mimics wrangling a brain with such a manic face I can't help but laugh. It's good to know I'm not the only one who feels that way about the other sex. Guess we are all frustrated in one way or another.
I want to hug the shit out of him cause I know. I know

"Awhnn Mark..." I say that's all I can say and I look him straight in the eyes.
"NO! No. Seriously no." He's reading it as pity.
"I'm not pitying you. It just sucks I know. But you are such a cutie. It's just the wrong girls. Wrong choices."
Apparently I confirmed what is already know cause all the other guys pipe in with the same sentiment.
"I know, I know. But it's not even the wrong women. It's just that I fall too hard. Too easily. And then its like welll fuckkkk."

The room goes quiet for a bit.
"Well it's good to know you guys feel the same way about break ups. I always felt like guys are so whatever about them."
"No! No Man!"
"Guys go on benders man, thats their version of crying."
"I always have to spend like a few months before I can even feel like looking at another girl."
Again the egg has cracked, and that soft yolk of truth is revealed to me. We all hurt. We just all process differently. And an open hear is an open heart, regardless of which gender it's in.

My dear, My darling

Hearing that your dog has died two weeks ago, is like being told your son has been killed in drunk car accident when you didnt even know he was at a party.
I feel a bit betrayed. I know I'm being irrational because as my dad said it's not something you tell over the phone, it has to be in person. And he waited to do that for me.
But all I can feel is guilt. That I wasn't there for him when he took his last breath. For not being at his ceremony, but most of all for not being around more often.
Me and my baby where both sort of orphans when we were introduced to each other. I had come from a recently broke up family and was with an emotionally shutdown father. Darby was a shipped puppy who was rejected and sent back by the ass of a purchaser I will never know. All he knew for his first months of his life this was darkness, rejection, and isolation. Funny. Kind of like me...

Anyways we were both awkward beginner bonders. Trying to figure out where we both fit into each other lives and when we needed affection most. In my depression though I feel he pulled me out. Just by being him. A soul that was so pure, he would never hurt even if he was attacked. Who openly loved, and snuggled, and waggled his ass over to anyone worth willing a smile or second of attention.

He would proudly and fearlessly would run to other dogs, and I mean huge dobermans who would give him a look like "Are you fucking kidding? I could give you a stare that would kill you" and yet his playful butt waggle and perky ears would melt them all into docile lambs that pranced together. He had this fat little loaf body and teeny legs that are character of Cairn terriers. But that never stopped him from sneaky sweeps of toys under other dogs noses or snarky yaps at the dogs who were outrunning him when I would throw a toy, basically saying, "it's mine bitch!" and the other dog would instantly back away. Even my dad's dog Indra backed off. And just for reference Indra is literally 100 pounds, has the head the size of a soccer ball, and is tall enough to literally walk right over darby without so much as his dinkle slapping his face.

I love the way he would chase the cascading tide on the sand, like is was a running rabbit and he would try and snatch it even as the last lap hit the side.
I love that he could go up to ANYONE, and because he knew he was that cute, he'd roll on his belly instantly, with no fear, and more importantly with the certainty of getting his expectations met.
I love that he ate an entire apple. Like a human. As a I rotated it for him to eat.
I love that for some reason dog treats came second to cheese for him.
I love his scratchy rasta hair which gladly wore and refused to sit still for brushes.
I love how scared, and innocent, and just so dependant he'd look with those big worried eyes when I'd have to put him in the bath, and he'd scramble on his nails to get out but the porcelain wouldn't give him the grounding he wanted. Those moments his big black button eyes were like huge moons on his now skinny rat frame without all his hair to make him chubby.

 I think I loved that the most, the first bath. Becuase he made himself vulnerable to me, and I felt deeply responsible and not only priveleged to reassure him, to coo and gently soap him down as he held my gaze the entire time, latching his eye into me like a lifeline hooks in a storm, terrified if he looked away he'd by lost.

I love that he wasn't smart about somethings. and too smart for others. He would actually look at my hand before performing a trick. If there was something (treat obvs) he would huff then dutifully perform. If nothing, he'd  take one look at the empty hand, at me, and then turn and run in the other direction. Yes this was my dog.

I love that in the center of my depression era as a weird and confused teenager, he became my pal, my baby, my soother, and my comfort blanket. He could make me laugh by being himself, or just by doing something obviously silly when he'd notice I was down.

In alot of ways he was like me, small, compact, but fiesty and full of zest for life, and sometimes too trusting and too sensitive, getting him into a few bad situations. Mostly I love how goddamn happy he was with who he was. He didn't give a damn about his size, or his limitations, or his shitty upbringing. He would always be counted on to want to run with the other dogs even if it meant he'd be hacking and falling over from exertion at the end. To introduce himself to another dog and walkers a field away. Get to the ball first in a game, and to always come running with his ears perked and his pink palm frond long tongue sticking out, ready and awake for the next thing; with just the call of his name. He had joi de vivre. Positive outlook. A open and fearless heart.

And I love you my dear baby for loving me as best you could like I hopefully did for you. And I'm sorry for all the times I hid the ball so I wouldn't have to continue playing catch, or when I wouldn't let you snuggle with me after you dreads were particularly smelly. Or when I didn't visit as often as I should have when I moved to the city for school. Or because I didn't ever really give you a birthday present because we didn't even know when it was. Or because I couldn't have been the one to coo and talk you down as my beautiful stepmom did for you I hear, as you heaved from too much action, and into your death.

I'm so sorry. And I'll always love you my little bubba. I hope your next life is smooth sailing my dear, my darling, my good natured friend.

Chillax

Going Going. Always running. Always rushed. Always in a hurry. To finish a task. To get out of work as early as I can. To finish a school project. To meet someone and still have time to get ready for school.

I got so stuck, get so stuck, in the rushing, the run to the finish line, that I missed the entire route. I forget the point, I miss out on the details, I blank out on any of the joy. Please stop tina. It''s not good for you. Being busy does not equal being productive, nor does it mean it will make you happy.

I just ended a photography course, a fun and playful colour print course. But being so beginner in a class full of advanced students, I felt and pushed myself to be my normal perfectionist. No border was ever good enough, no contrast was punchy enough. Prints that should have taken me 2 hours took 2 days.

Needless to say the final project I finished THE last class, when it was due. The only one in the darkroom hearing the others laugh and converse and look at each others work, I felt my heart sink yet again. I am so caught up in being as good, if not BETTER than others, judging myself against them that  forget to even please myself. I could have been okay with being slower and less knowledgeable about the subject. Being forgiving of shots that were perfectly fine to most, but not to my ruthless unmerciful inner critic. I had missed the fun of the course, the room for experimenting, exchanging it for exactness. I missed the whole course or soaking in learning, because I was so nervous and anxious about just finishing the final project. And now its over. Done. And here I am still. Crying from another opportunity I should have enjoyed for once.

Lesson: Slow down. Make a meal and do nothing but savour it. Make time for friends. Put aside responsibilities if you are making them everything. Find balance. Find play. Enjoy THE PROCESS. Stop worrying about the end result. And if you are learning, be forgiving of yourself. I mean come on, even Beethoven had to practice to get good. And last, CHILLLLLAX once and awhile. Its cheaper than therapy.

As in

Its funny how the smallest things can keep you alive.
A swim in the pool after the sun has set and no one is around.
An old movie clip of a family celebration
An email from a your kin
A funny text from an old love
An accomplishment for another of which you are proud of and not jealous (which is an accomplishment for yourself)
I need to be more okay and more thankful for the beautiful small things.
If I consistently look at life as to do lists or bad wake ups, then I will never be happy.

I read a mantra someone posted online the other day
it says:

I choose to happy
within myself
exactly as my life is today

I thought that was pretty powerful. I mean so simple. But the actual meaning, and the emphasis on believing what you are saying, when you say that mantra, is probably going to be the most difficult challenge of my life. But if I want to live, and I want to live long enough to enjoy it, I should choose to be happy. As in I have a choice. As in I can have that attitude. As in its possible. As is today, right now, I am choosing. To be happy.

Sometimes I have a hard time deciphering when I'm being kind, and when I'm breaking my back.
My sister is my heart. I love her and care for her deeply.
At the same time she can be one of the most airhead, flippity, unreliable people on the planet to me. Just to get this one acupuncture session arranged for her, a ride for her, and an appropriate time took an entire day of calling a friend back and forth for a ride, calling the doc to reschedule, and calling her to figure out when she could go.
Not to mention I just spent an entire pay check to get her the session. I love her but the heaviness of giving away a weeks worth of pay kills me a little. Does giving mean always sacrificing? Because lately that is how it has felt to me. Is it my shitty attitude that wreaks the giving? Or is it the fact that the giving has gone too far?
Who knows. I'm trying really hard to be okay with relearning a lot about myself. Particularly my intuition, my boundaries, and what I want and need from relationships, or more specifically friends.
All's I figured out in that department is that I want considerate, honest, unselfish, and playful people in my life. So far I haven't really met any, hence the drawing of my social circle is more like in the beginning dot of ink to paper phase. Not really there. But ready. Full of potential.
Don't lose heart I keep telling myself. God will attract the right people to me when I'm ready, and if not, again just take that time to focus on myself. What better excuse to be self caring, then having no one but yourself to care for. Just wish certain days I didn't feel so lonely..or pathetic…or lost. Dunno. Dunno. Just keep swimming at Dori would say.
Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming…..

This Truth

I was a dj.
I made music so thick it was like cream.
I made music that people made babies to.
That men fell in love
That women stopped worrying.

I was a dancer
with a kick so high
I folded my body in half
with rhythm so ingrained in my sinew
it was impossible not move
not to be noticed
not to be spellbound

I was an artist
who painted vivid dreams
so as all the dreamers could smile
so that i mimed life
and yet made it more beautiful at the same time
I could paint hope, and fear, and absolute wrath
and it was all
it was all fucking beautiful.

I was a writer
I wrote stories that were so extraordinary
they became ordinary
they were perfect reminders
of feelings understood
that they wept at ever having forgot
but they loved the pain
oh the exquisite pain
of my magic in bringing it back to them

I was a lover
of man
of animal
of plant
of space
I was open heart
bleeding connection
and gratitude
and joy
endless joy.
I was so big
I could not be contained
nor did I have to
because all was contained
in me

I was this. I was that. I was all of these things
and yet I never was any of it.
Because they were tricks of mind
dreams of imagination
in which i lived
and was so thoroughly
soaked
in satisfaction
of which I have none
And with this knowledge
this truth
I die
for never having lived
any of it
at all.

For in this truth of fantasy, I find my glory. I find my beauty.
But in that knowledge,
in that knowing,
of finding beauty only in fantasy-
that's my tragedy.

In and Of

The world becomes bearable with friends. It becomes playful again. It becomes fresh. And yet familiar. Safe. Okay to screw up. Well, as long as you know you fall back on them.

This last year has been the most difficult in my life. Health issues so horrible I could not get out of bed. Mentally and physically I've been sick, and sick of myself.

I've also is a way moulted. In the sense that I've shed a lot of past sadnesses and past relationships. Friends have flaked out like old scales, and boys have trespassed in and then ran out.

I'm not complaining anymore though. That's it. I'm just learning to know that it is not all me. If my health is bad, then I have to look for the root. If friends are too self involved and too uncaring to care about who I am, then I don't or shouldn't even care.  If the boys are still boys, then I have to be okay knowing that one day I'll find a man.

Today I had my first training session at work. With 7 other newbies ranging from 16- 50 it was an awkward group. No one was really talking or making conversation in between the quiet moment. SO of course I compensated. I made a general goof of myself. Made lots jokes, and lots of questions. Several crass ones actually. And it worked like it used to.
I made them laugh, and I could sense my craziness broke down the barriers, and they relaxed into getting to know each other. Maybe even to allow them to tease each other now, like playful otters as we each stood up to the plate for our training.

Afterwards one of the girls and I stayed back in the lounge and bought a few snacks to eat. Conversation flowed easy. This girl basically told me her whole life story, and I listened. In less than an hour I felt already proud of her, and also protective. Let's just say she had a hard life, and seeing that kindred fire in her to want a better life, had me hooked as a friend from the get go.

We ended up walking down to the marina and the sky was just turing pink and orange. The world became beautiful again. I just enjoyed being a observer again. We sat down and to our right was a bubbly group of salsa dancers practicing moves along with their cute spanish songs. An older chinese guy dancing with a young student with glasses, a dark haired woman being led by a tall curvy blond , a 6 foot guy in sandals and socks spinning a petite little puerto rican girl. They were all so different yet their laughter and energy was the same. And damn they were good!

To my left was a small group of college kids lying back on each other on the bench, and even right on the dockside. They were all fancy dressed, and with black cap and tassel on it was obvious they were recent graduates. And judging by fat cigars in their mouths, they were happy graduates.
The happy bliss of breathing out, and being free, was emanating from them. It was like I was feeling giddy. Like I could relive that experience of being young and carefree again just from being around them. And there is something just so awesome and funny when girls are doing such, well…"unlady like" things. Like when a chick can throw back a whole whiskey with out so much as making a face. Or when that delicate framed girl knocks a home run ball with such incredible and yet unexpected force. Or when like now, when this pretty brunette, with perfect straightened hair, and in her unwrinkled fancy dress, hold a sausage wide cigar in her mouth and puff so smoothly she was like the next damn Godfather.

That's why there is a difference of being "in" the world and "of" the world. And you need both to truly experience happiness. And having that new friend there with me, as we watched the sun go behind the light up city, and listening to romantic spanish music, and hearing hearing the giggles of the graduates, I felt like I was both in and of it all.

Lesson of the day: enjoy life. Don't rush. And lastly good friends are needed. And if they aren't good, keep looking. And if they are, cherish them.

Loving Self Discipline

What do I like? What makes me happy still?
Those questions have come up a lot lately. Mostly because I think part of piecing yourself back together, or scrapping together parts of your self esteem, you have to start doing what you love again, doing what makes you feel competent and creative and collaborative. Like you want to plan and are excited even, just to organize or plan an idea.

I think music, (well sometimes) is good. It's challenging as fuck and takes so much discipline, which I have to admit is both the hook and the turnoff for me. I want to be Hendrix every time I pick up the guitar and when I'm still struggling on "Hot Cross Buns" I'm like fuck this shit, but then I remind myself, when I'm finally playing Zeppelin, or Beatles, or Marley, I'll be that much more satisfied knowing how hard I worked to get there.

Photography definitely. But the raw stuff. Not the high techie gizmos and lens, or the fancy photoshop tricks, but the idea and real life design of a creative theatrical shoot and using my old beat up 55mml manual camera to shoot it. Yes manual I said. Like with actual film. And actually having to wait a few days for the pictures to develop. I know scary to remember right?
Wrong.
I love the grain of my pictures. The fact it takes such precise dedication and eye to create an image that you know is 100% designed, shot, developed, and crafted from your own expertise. No special gizmos. No fancy photoshop. No masking thing in. It's all real.
I think thats why I like it so much. Its a tangible recreation of your mind, and you have the satisfaction of building from the bones up. Kind of like a baby. A "creative baby" if you will.

And writing. Even though often it hurts to write (for many reasons) whether it be the difficulty creatively, or the rawness of an experience is too painful to out down, or the fact that like any art there is a struggle to feel good about what you are doing (the inner bitch board I call it) which basically tells you are shit even before you've gotten going.

And dancing. God dancing. Any kind. Freestyle, hip hop. flamenco, salsa, ballet, contemporary, living room kitchen thrashing sesh, every kind has a special place in my heart for their uniqueness and also for their connections, like a mother who adores her brood of children differently and all a whole. I would love to choreograph just one dance. Just one Tina. You can do it.

Just takes again that old thing called discipline. HEY that might be the link between all my loves. But LOVING SELF DISCIPLINE! Remember. You are not born knowledgeable and infinitely talented. You learn it.

Goal for the week. Loving self discipline in my creative outlets. And maybe just in general.

Relearn to Love

It is so funny the way drugs play on our emotions. Or maybe it's just for me. But they are like a hand that reaches down into my body, past the tissues, and rips feelings out of me, sometimes violently.

Last night it was my friend Max's birthday and since I wasn't really in the mood for drinking, but still wanted to be on the milky way comfort of being relaxed with the other soon to be inebriated people, I ate some hash. At first it was good. I was dressed up and feeling good. My fav snug jeans. Check. My low lacy blood red top. Check. Dangley earrings. Check.

Heading to the bar I was already feeling the effects. My mind felt slow and dreamy. The city became beautiful. The nightlife energy seductive.

Once I arrived, and my best friend Patty and I caught up, I was immediately next determined to finally make a move on this cute acquaintance that I had been sorta crushing on for awhile. I sat close to his side on the long bar stool at the table, made the usual cute banter, indulged in some playful tickles and slaps. I also unfortunately let me friend Bernardo fill up my cup a couple times with beer so that rule went out the window.

By midnight my friend Patty, her boyfriend, and my crush all were suddenly leaving. Seeing as I only arrived an hour earlier I felt annoyed and scared. I couldn't help but feel disappointment, frustration, and a little crushed. I really had wanted this to be a good night with my buds that I very much needed, and also maybe embarrassingly an ego boost if I could get my crush to show interest. Niether happened.

I didn't really know or hang out with anyone else in the group much, and the ones who I did like Diego  and his brother Bernardo and of course Max where already way passed hammered and not exactly in the mood to socialize unless cursing and shouting profanities to the ceiling counted. But because I felt like I should at least celebrate for bit since I was already dressed up, I went outside with them eagerly when i heard one of the mention they had a blunt. Weaving through the crowd to get through the door, Diego came behind me and slid his hands over my hips in a way that made me both cringe and surprised.
 Diego is really usually this sweet and shy, and very innocent guy. But I guess by the way his eyes looked like melting soft suns, he was definitely drunk. I laughed his move off and pulled out, trying to defuse the situation by just pretending I needed to walk ahead with the other boys.

While we smoked outside I felt at least a little better. A little weirded out since I seemed to be the most sober and I watched while the rest hollered and joked around. But after a few puffs I could join in the jokes, make a few at their expense and generally be one of the boys which felt nice.
Bernardo sat down with me against the concrete circle that surrounded a few randomly placed trees in the city. We talked for a bit, mostly about his family since he had 4 brothers, all spanish, big, and loud, and they were all outside together. I felt a little jealously now. Here were 4 brothers, maybe a bit too loud, and a bit too tipsy, but together and all hanging out like a unit. I couldn't remember the last time my siblings had been together. The last time were had even hung out. It felt terribly wrong and terribly sad.

For awhile it was nice to be outside. With the cool clear sky, a crisp ice wind, and the stars so damn clear you want to grab them. Eventually though it felt a bit like I was juggling. Whether because I was the only girl or at least the only only who seemed friendly to them at the bar, a few of guys were getting too familiar and touchy with me. I also was having a hard time, maybe from loneliness, knowing if or who I wanted to flirt. I decided to leave when Max and Patrick left. Diego and his brothers were heading inside when I announced I was gonna leave too. A few protests, but mostly they just stumbled back inside. While I was saying my goodbyes Diego looked at me like he was considering something.
"What?" I said
"I dunno. You going home. I thought you were more fun than that."
I sort of did wonder when I was on the bus whether I was no fun anymore. But after feeling the crash of my high coming down, the fact I had to piss like crazy and it was hurting, and the fact that yet again "going out" was a lot less glamourous and fun than I think it will be, I decided it was smart to have left.

Another "perk" of going out is that the night bus only runs every 45mins and if you miss it you are screwed, and if you catch it it only goes on main streets so you have to walk the rest of the way. I had to walk 16 blocks before I got home. Thankfully or maybe not so thankfully an old friend from the US called me to keep me busy. We have this kind of messed up background of bad and good times. Sometimes the bad was so bad it still feels painful to even bring it up.
Anyways, we ended up having this gigantic mess of confessions and recriminations and crying (on my part) and apologies about the past. He kept saying he loved me. And the worst part is I wanted to believe him so bad, but after the way things had happened, I don't think I can ever trust him.

I don't know why or what this world is about. But I honestly am constantly battling between two strong urges. To run and run and run until I am as far away from civilization as possible. Find a small piece of land, live alone, and commune only with God and nature. The other is to "make" something of myself in the society sense. Make money, impress my family, do something big and recognizable, and find security.

The thing is I don't really recognize myself much anymore or enough to make that decision. I feel both like I am withering away with each day I don't focus on some direction. That I am so fragile, that just because a crush won't make a move on me, that I am worthless and ugly and boring, and maybe like Diego said, "No fun"anymore. And it's funny how only a few crumbles of hash and a beer will make me go through an entire lifetime of worries and thoughts and beliefs in one night.

I pray each and everyday in my own way that I recover what little self esteem I have left. That I can relearn to love and be the person I was. Even if now I wear glasses, or have few friends, or don't have money, or don't have a focus, I can still be that kooky crazy and entertaining girl who loved to make other laugh and laugh at herself.
Live and laugh. Thats all I should focus on now.

Unreality to explain Reality

Goals. Goals. I need to try one of those things every happy person keeps raving about. I think I want to write a book. Or a screenplay.
Just some form of living art.
A way of presenting love, thoughts, and questions that bother me.
I think thats why books for me, even movies (well the really good ones) are so inspiring to me. They act sort of as experiments where we get to try on realities and thoughts that may be familiar, life affirming, or new and different. Like a way of acting without changing, or jumping off and into something without any risk. I can't decide whether I want to write a love story, or maybe just the story of my life and the people in it. The first could be a liberating way of expressing the hurts and happinesses I've felt in relationships, and kind of building the beauty of the connection I've always wanted. And the second kind of will be like a very angry, gut wrenching, and heart releasing affirmation of how hard life can be and yet how perseverance is that much more astounding and admirable when people keep going.
Dunno. Dunno.
Maybe I just want to write because school seems boring right now, and responsibilities piling up.


I often wish I could enter into my stories and vanish. Never come back. Live in the bodies of characters that have a hold on my heart from the first page….
oh well. Sorry for the rant. Just wonder sometimes if I am the only one who is unsatisfied with reality. But maybe I need to focus on building the reality I want.
Goals. Happiness. Perseverance. Hope
It's just kind of ironic that my first goal is to write an unreality to explain my reality.

22

I am 22 and I don't know what to do

I am 22 and I don't know what to do
my friends are fools
boyfriends are tools
and the loneliness is everywhere

I got not genuine friends
no money and no benz
and i'm still learning to be okay with the quiet

For in stillness is noise
of inner turmoil and rage
a place of no poise
I am a mess of tangled thoughts
which judge each other like high schoolers.

It is sad to think I believe that they are who I am
when all I want is to tell them to shut the fuck up and leave me alone with some good ones

How can I do that?
I need community
This is the first era where people have gone off to live separately, and isolate themselves in separate places in separate areas. I mean theres no connection left. Between people. Or to our past generations. Or to what once was.
Industrial revolution man.
Beginning of everything and the end of everything.
Beginning of plenty yet emptiness
Beginning of production, but not creation.
Beginning of saving time, but not relishing it
Beginning of security, and yet uncertainty
Beginning of choice, and yet paralysis
Beginning of order, yet chaos

Where and why did we go wrong? All the lonely people? Suicides? Depression? Drugs? both legal and illegal? It's all symptoms of something wrong. The wrongness of what this planet has become. We have to fight to get back to the original. Get back to roots and righteousness, and family, and bonds, and support, and faith, and goodness, and kindnesses, and community!

How can I be more a part of that?
How can I further beauty on this planet, for both me and the world?
That is what I want to focus on this coming year. That is all I want to aim for this new year of my life. Because if I just go along with it any longer, go along with being sad, and hopeless, and unsatisfied, and just bloody miserable with circumstances…I don't think I'll make it to my next birthday with any soul left intact. Lord guide me and send me where I need to be sent. I want to serve. And learn. And do something worthwhile with my small life. Please come to me. Please Please guide me

But Thriving

I just came back from a week visit to see me sister and her new baby. And boy was it both not what I expected and what I needed at the same time.

First off her little guy was absolutely gorgeous. With colour changing eyes and a giggly smile that can squeeze your heart. I felt absolutely overjoyed when he would dain to smile at my stupid made up sing songs or my shake the rattle skills.  And I also felt extremely sensitive and anxious every time he groaned or whined, or even looked like he was about to cry.

It was a joy to meet and adore this little one. But at the same time, sometimes it really really felt like I wish he wouldn't be there so I could at least talk to connect with my sister one on one. I know its horrible to say let alone think that I wanted to treat a baby like a pet who could be put in another room and left there for a bit. But yes that thought did cross my mind.

I came there expecting that the sun would shine in sunny Cali, that delicious home cooked meals would be served to me, and that me and the family could sit at the river and swim and play all day.

What really happened is that is rained the entire week. Those meals had to be made by me (and also cleaned immediately after) and then by the time I finished I would have to start preparing the next meal (no joke). Or otherwise I was helping prepare orders alongside her husband Ty who runs a catering business as well as his regular day job.

Days were spend inside and it was like I was in constant library mode (as in SHHH) and when the sun did shine outside for a brief period I'd prepare to go out but then would be detained by some odd job or task or holding the baby which "would just take one sec". Invariably it'd take long enough for the sun to be gone and squash my will to go out.

I'm not saying it was all hard. But sometimes I actually felt so run down and overwhelmed I had to go into my room, lie on the floor, and just well, cry. With my insomnia, depression, and the needs of a baby…things can kinda get out of control.

But as a gift friday night my sis had some of my old friends Jaiya and Chris over for dinner. Ty cooked a beautiful dinner. And when our bellies were full from too much food and too much laughter we retired to the couch. Ty and Chris picked up some acoustic guitars and played together, plucking beautiful soft harmonies off each other. Ahhh music…. And because I was in that place of absolute satiety and peace I lay down in the crook in between Jaiya's belly as she gently played with my hair in a gesture so familiar and so comforting as only family can know. In that moment of closing my eyes I felt bliss.

My last day I decided a few hours before we had to leave to go for a walk on my own. I went to the ridge. The ridge. Sounds so plain but I cannot fully explain its beauty. It looks like a mother fucking post card picture. Its the highest hill in the Nevada city foothills. In one direction you see layers upon layers of evergreen mountains. They finally lead up to ice cap peaks in the far distance which hover like small triangles amongst storm clouds.

 In the other direction there are the dry sand hills of the desert and the horizon which displays a 180 degree view of the most intensely pink and orange sunset of your life. I lay on the hills facing the mountain, lying in grass that even smells green. Watching pillowing white clouds mixed with storm edges pass the hills that flash sunlight and darkness like the shutter of a camera. In that moment I was again overwhelmed by sadness to leave and the beauty of trying to soak every last goddamn drop of this as I can. A few tears did manage to slip out.

I realized as I sat staring in the sky, that I am mourning the loss of my family. Not in the sense of physical death but of the attachment of the original ties. As the youngest of 4 kids I was always intensely dependant and enamoured of my brother and sisters. I loved them fiercely and always strived to matter to them. We were a team who played, wrestled, and yes fought, but always had each others back.

Now as an young adult I see that cannot be anymore. The eldest is a traveler, a roamer finding her place in and of the world as her family. My brother moved across the globe to be with his partner and is focused on building his career. And now my other sister has truly moved forward. She has a family of her own. Her affections and energy now must be to the little one and to her partner. I had to figure that out the rough way, but yes it finally clicked.

I can no longer be the baby or seek attention from my family. I must forge my own life now and depend on myself. That thought to some may be liberating, but honestly for me it has been a painful journey in which I am constantly relearning to let go. Let go Tina. Let go.

Sitting now at the train station I feel I would give up anything just to be back there at the house washing dishes or even changing diapers just to be part of that sweet home and the environment again. I wish I had cherished more the peace and routine of looking after my sister and her baby who really do deserve to be waited on dammit. Sometimes its hard to see what you should be doing until the moment has passed.

I am trying with all my might to be okay with who and where I am in this period of my life. I also hoping eventually to make it out of this tunnel of depression in which I am constantly running towards the small hole of light up ahead, yet which I never get any closer to.

I pray that I make it out. That I make it out. Not just alive, but thriving.

Look Up

I realize its not purpose I'm so obsessed with but communication. Communication in the broadest sense of the word. The way we communicate information. The way a stranger communicates an idea to another in a way that outlines his thoughts to become a clear imprint in theirs. The way a mother communicates through touch to her baby. The way lovers can understand each others gestures like their own language. The way the digital system teaches and withholds to convince of certain attitudes which are not our own. The way the old communicate to the young. The way stories, books, plays, music, art, dance, and healing all tell stories that are both specific and personal, yet universally understood at the same time. The way emotion is communicated through the body, or art, or speech, or even just gestures. Communication does not = connection. But, Connection= the purpose of communication. Whether we notice it or not, its there every day in every way, nudging and waving, and smiling and yes sometime flipping us off, yet at the same time trying to open us up to the new. Or maybe its the old. Things we know but must must relearn, or be made aware of again. Like walking. We did have to learn that remember? But somehow the beauty of it got lost in the casual ordinary use of it everyday. But then all you have to do is look at a person in a wheelchair and BOOM. You remember, yes I have it good, I am lucky, I can walk, I should be more thankful, I should realize some have it rougher. All from the image, the sight, the communication of seeing a person pushing their wheelchair past you.

Just the other day I realized how simple communication is if you are willing to receive it, or at least paying attention to the beauty of its simple forms. It's sad to say but in the technology age, I find people actually more concerned with the communicating part, but less about the connection part of it. We email, text, yes even blog, but do we talk to people on the bus who sit right beside us? Do we smile at strangers? Do we even make the time to wave anymore? That last one especially.

It hit me like a hot bullet the other day how pleasing a wave and a smile can be between two people. Because honestly i am guilty of being caught up in my own world and forgetting to do it myself. Preoccupied and busy to consider looking up from the vortex which usually surrounds my head wherever i go. Remember those cartoons that had those storm or raining clouds above them to show that they were troubled? Well mine in a tornado.

Anywho, I was biking up the residential streets on my home from school awhile back and as usually i was in one of my preoccupied moods. Not even noticing cars much (almost got run over by some tard who came fast up behind me). And then for some reason I looked over to my right and there was this little old man about to cross the street. Classic grandpa with funny golf pants and tucked in shirt, little cabbie hat and big half moon glasses. And as I passed him, I literally heard in my head, "Turn back," as if he had spoken aloud. I thought it would look strange if I did, but hell the pull of those words and this feeling like he was emanating, I turned my head over me shoulder. And he smiled. And I smiled. And I waved. And he waved. And in that one second I turned the corner, and he was gone from sight. But in the one second, we had transpired. We had connected. Yes sounds like an overstatement or me making a mountain out of a mole hill, but I that second I remembered what it is to feel weightless in my heart. To know that we are all here. We all have problems. And the world is always going to be hard and rough. But that shared appreciation of us remembering we are all together, that we all know what it is to keep going, and that acknowledgement of each other in that one wave. That one gesture of appreciated kindness in a way gives me hope for the next month even, to try that much harder to love life. And to love others.

Sufficient to say, its proven, a wave can save a life. A smile can boost a persons day. A conversation can make a friend. An apology can change a future. A hug can deepen a relationship. A compliment can start one. Telling a joke can make history. None of these things can happen via text. None of these things happen when you're looking down. So look up. If not to save your mood, than to to save connection.

Meditation Magic

Visualize. Unwavering and undoubting. And then let it go.

Something I learned today from a small, yet significantly big moment.

Last night I went out with a friend from a late night Cabaret show and some drinks. Walking home at about 2 am and freezing out, my legs bare and the temperatures below freezing. But a soul quenching cold, the kind that sucks the blood to the surface of your skin, so that everything outside is that much more clear, that much more focused by the acid trails of ice that burn themselves to the brain, making the outlines of tree and the outline of the moon that much more defined, that much more beautiful.

That's besides the point. When I got home I was doing the lazy getting ready for bed wind down, and was reaching to my numb earlobes for my earrings. My favourite yellow and red feather earrings which had a special soft spot in my attachment section of heart. They were the first gift I had ever given to myself without feeling guilty or withholding myself from something pretty that I wanted. I know it sounds like a petty attachment, but I guess I can't word their meaning properly. What I mean to say is I never, never allow myself treats or little pleasures, always tight on money or low on self esteem I chain myself back from so many things. But one day I saw those pretty exotic looking earrings, and holding them up to my ear and seeing the way the tips dangled against my neck, I felt beautiful for once. I felt what it must feel like for those gorgeous woman who collect stares in bulk.  So I bought them because it was a small token for the goddess in me who wanted to feel like she deserved to be given some beauty, but also a reason to show off her own dusty, packed away beauty.

So as I reached to delicately pull them off I noticed there was nothing there on my right earlobe. Looking in the mirror I had a moments panic. Fuck.
I lost one. Probably on that walk that I had so much enjoyed a few moments ago.

I usually give into anger when things screw up. Or sadness. But for some reason I just decided to give up this attachment. To not let it bother me tonight. I had made up my mind, tomorrow I would go looking for it, and if I found it fantastic, and if not, I tried. That reaction itself was a gift in that it is sooo not me to let things go. But either way that night I had a deep and effortless sleep.

The next afternoon, by the time I woke up, I was a bit nervous about feeling hopeful that I could find it. I mean not only was I drunk the other night, but it was dark, my earring was only a couple of inches big, and I couldn't remember the route I had taken home, what chance would I have to actually find this thing? But I visualized myself looking down and seeing it on a sidewalk, and picking it up in my hands. I felt sure that I would find it, not even doubting the possibility that I wouldn't, and then gave up my worries to the universe, content with whatever happened. So when I took my bike out, going in an direction chosen by random, I rode past 5 blocks, trying to recognize something from my route last night. Nothing seemed familiar, but I kept going. And then by chance I looked down at just the right second and there, hardly visible at all, was my earring in a crack in the crosswalk. It seems like such a small thing, but it gave me so much pleasure and thanks. I looked up to the sky and said thank you, making sure to pay respects to where its due.

So this power of positive thinking might have something to it. Not in "The Secret" way where you just visualize ways of accruing a BMW so you'll automatically get it or a means of pulling filthy wealth towards oneself. I mean in the way that visualization, trust, and giving up expectations knowing that life will be fine either way, equals success. Success in the sense of a sense of security and peace in yourself. You might ask how such a small thing could actually solidify this notion in my head? I don't know actually. What I do know is that that feeling was foreign to me, and yet felt so familiar, like a effortless calming magic trick I had learned but forgotten. All I know is from now on I am going to practice this meditation "magic" more often.

Better and Better

Have not written in awhile. Life is a whirlwind in which I am caught and yet aware of myself spinning. A endless array of doubts and fears, and small happinesses and fleeting joys. I cannot explain how hard I am battling right now. My health problems, my emotional storms, my disintegrating ability to socialize, my loss of security literally and figuratively, and my unyielding desires to make something of my future and yet still enjoy this present moment. Contradiction. Stress Infliction. All bleeding into each other until I cannot even differentiate any of it from the massive ball of tangled weeds that it has become. I am not complaining, I am just so confused as to how to make it out, or why I seem to attract problems all at once. Please Please. I want to come out of this, a blazing unstoppable force, more alive more bright and more beautiful than I ever was. This is my opportunity. Every day in Every Way I am getting better and better. Or as the Beatles say it so well,  "it's getting better all the time…."