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.
Wednesday, 4 June 2014
Wednesday, 28 May 2014
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.
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.
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
Saturday, 26 April 2014
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.
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.
Monday, 31 March 2014
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.
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.
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