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.
Wednesday, 28 May 2014
Sunday, 25 May 2014
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.
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.
Monday, 12 May 2014
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.
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.
Friday, 9 May 2014
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
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
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