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.