2015.
This is it tina. This is you life. No more put downs or unbelievable expectations. But you do have to pull yourself together. No harshness my love. I want this for you. Only goodness and strength. That is what you deserve, but remember nothing good ever is easy, you have to work at it. Small steps my love, small steps in this life.
Start reading more delightful things
Practice some yoga
Learn a few songs on the guitar (or at least play around on it)
Write. Write. Write. Even if it sucks like Arjuna told me, its not the idea, it's the commitment. Thats what drives you. And the hardest part is having the inspiration when you have none. But if you push past that, when you do get inspiration you can go back and change it. She was talking about writing novels, but I was also thinking she was more talking about life.
And for got sakes tina, pray. Connect to God. To your core. Whatever what you want to call it. Find the rootness in who you are. Nothing else matters. I want to be able to say with confidence in this year, "At the center of life's storms I stand serene." my emotions are in conflict with my identity Apparently. That pretty much sums me up. But that is an outline of what I can work on. Be less hard on yourself, but learn to distance yourself from emotions. Let them go. Don't hold onto sadness like it's the only consistent friend. You deserve better than wallowing. You are better than wallowing. You have greatness within you. And its worth staying alive to burn that fire up, to burn that blaze until the wee hours of the morning, that nothing can put it out.
And it's okay to speak to yourself as a self help person. If thats what it takes to get out of this rut, then you fucking speak to yourself in self help talk :) And its okay to feel love again. Feel safe to love. But be smart about it. Attract and adore the right people tina. Learnt to do that.
Love you love you Love you
Thursday, 1 January 2015
Friday, 12 December 2014
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.
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.
Saturday, 6 December 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, 26 October 2014
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.
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.
Friday, 26 September 2014
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...
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...
Sunday, 14 September 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, 7 September 2014
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.
"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.
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