Compacted Self

"Dude I got like a stern glare from like three cops!" squeaks some curly haired frat boy.
Oh no not the stern glare!
It's becoming clear that I'm getting too old for partying.
Already becoming the weird loner who looks through a strangers album covers on the couch alone when people are playing a very rowdy game of harsh beer pong in the next room.
It's funny but I'm just kind of satiracal when I go to house partys.
I mean it ridiculous how once the call out of "COPS" used to have me running and giggling with fear and excitment like I was being bad and getting away with it. Like I was really rebellious, I mean I've had like 1 1/2 beers yo!
Now as I see the underage pipsqueak flee from the scene like an overturned hive, I pull out a cigarette and smoke it on the side street. In fact when I'm around cops at these times, I'm more scared of how badly I want to either finger em or moon em. Maybe both? I mean whats more awesome than out running a cop during the Donald duck half waddle as you pull your pants back up.

"Dude I was so looking forward to getting my dick wet tonight." Veronica loudly laments on the bus ride home. I half choke, half snort. I think even granny in the back heard that one
She's like me. Blunt to point of unnerving. Well at least to anyone who isn't like us.

She just recently broke up with her boyfriend Spencer, who from what little I knew about him, could figure he was a pussy. Straight up- "I don't feel like coming out to see you because my mom won't drive me," type of shit guy. Granted he's only 18, so I guess it's in the realm of normalcy or he can get a way with it pass,  but still- ever heard of public transit limpdick?
Poor girl knew her bus stops. Riding out all the way from Vancouver to Shit- i mean Pitt Meadows all the time to see him.
What gets me is he broke up with her.
I mean seriously?
Really?
This beautiful, smart, intelligent, frothy little soul who has so much to offer the world, and he breaks up with her?
And his reason- she didn't dress up enough from him.
Fucking serious.
I want to pound this guy until he's compacted into a frisbee shaped form which I will then throw at pigeons. And then feel more sorry for the pigeons.

"That why you gotta meet real morning after people. I mean you're going meet lots of party people and have crazy fun times and all that krap but then the next day you'll never hear from them again. It's the morning after-wanna-go-get-brunch-or just-chill-at-the beach type of people that are your real friends. The ones that actually last anyways. I mean that's something you'll learn."
She just bobs her head.
I feel old, like I'm preaching.
"I'm sorry I talk like this to you sometimes, it's just I've gone through alot of lame shit and I only want you to experience the good stuff."
She shakes her head, "No! No, man seriously. I like to listen."
I smile. I feel like for once what it must be like to be an older sibling. It feels nice to look out for someone. Have someone who depends on you.

"I just don't know how to meet cool people though."
"Well you're doing it. Visiting unfamiliar house parties. Or like Homeshake. Going to cool indie concerts. I mean if anything you'll have something in common right away.
"Yeah cause you both like the same music. That's a good way of putting it."
I like this girl. She's a smartie. No need to explain. We're both all about the music feels.
As in "if you wanna get with me, get with my music taste." Or at least share some of it.
I mean I'm almost so bias about that, like if you're not into the type of music I listen to, I'm like I don't really like you anymore.
Some say that's superficial.
I say when there are millions out there judging a partner in terms of a fucking very specific and very limited physical body type, income per year status, and trophy worthy showing- off-to-your-buddies looks, I'd say my small stipulation in like the lowest grade on the superficial grading scale.


Again walking home at night. The interspersed light coming from night lamps and the blue grey spotlight of the moon. My small phone speakers playing a soft electric guitar tune, echoing down a small road like it would down the grand canyon. It makes one feel small and large at the same time. I both love and feel sad about that feeling.
"There's a difference between being alone and being lonely," Josue told while we sipped warm lattes last week.

  He's the type of guy who hits spot on certain feelings or issues in life with a simple metaphor or little clever saying. It awesome because it's like wisdom + a little truffle of an image. I like him. I recognize him as a mentor. Or at least I hope he is. Not because I doubt his experience, but because I doubt whether I'm good enough to be his pupil.

  He has gone through so much its ridiculous. It should be a movie plot. He had an abusive drunk of a father who used to wail on his mom. When he hit teens he begged his mom to get away with him, search for a better life. She wanted to stay. She chose a beating alcoholic shell of a person over her only son. At 15 he was living on streets and sleeping in dorms with hookers and drug addicts. He managed to work enough to survive, get an education, and now works as an independant and modestly successful graphic designer and graphics teacher at a nearby college. When I think of what success means- I think of him.
      Not because of money or status or popularity as most define the idea of what it means to be successful. But because he lives his life as he wants to. He chooses his projects- and has the creative ability and independence to do it. He grows his own food, builds his own porch, and draws comics in his spare time. He is so infinitely his own person and he needs nothing more to be happy than a pen and sketchbook.
He said it quite simply- "You've just got to see who you and do an inventory. Here are my awesome qualities. And here are the bad ones. Then look over the bad ones and just see which ones you can do without or stop stressing over. I mean I can say to myself hey you know what I truly like myself. I mean I don't think I could ever say I love myself, I'm too fucked up for that- (heart breaking a little at that) but I can honestly say, 'yeah you know what Josue, you are pretty cool dude.' "
It may sound a little kooky, but really, how many people do you know who honestly can say they like themselves?
You'd be surprised how little.


In fact I noticed, even from random conversations with different people, people most often faced with that proposition 'Do I like who I am?' would answer with something negative first.
"I could be skinnier"
"I wish I was more disciplined or focused."
"I wish I was more ballsy or outgoing."
"I'm okay, but....
Notice there's always a 'but' or 'I wish'. Both regret or longing for something else. Stuck in past or the future. Self hate becomes so strong it's almost physical. For me, it becomes painful to even look in the mirror sometimes. Because I hate what I see. Even in my thoughts.

I want to learn to like myself again. Even if it means maybe being alone for awhile. Or maybe learning to be contented to be alone for a long while. In fact it's the ones who can sit alone with themselves who are the bravest and coolest in the pack. Because they are compacted. They have all they need in themselves.

No more No's

Pushing boundaries. That is my lesson today.
Hermit life thus far has only served me in that I've watched way too many hours of tv.
Today I knew there was going to be a outdoor yoga class in the park, and though I hadn't literally been out of my house for a week, I felt the pull to stay in my sweats more fiercely than ever.
Not only was it strong but it felt natural to decline. But I felt I had to do this. Not only because it felt uncomfortable but because I realized when you are in a shlump (slum + shit dump) of a situation, you've got to push yourself out. Staying home would have been just digging deeper into the hole and that certainly won't get me out to the top.
So I went.
And it was awesome.

Not only physically challenging and tiring, but thoroughly mind diverting. I mean you can't really worry about how you're going to pay rent, what your life's mission is, or what to eat for dinner when you are in a pose that is basically throwing your legs over your head and your body is screaming in places you didn't know existed until that point. Basically by the end Savasana ( a convenient pose which is basically an excuse to be comatose on your back) I felt relaxed and limber.
The park marina was bathed in gold as the sun set and we sat in a group and ate our fruit offerings like kids, passing around strawberries and sucking on melon pieces.
I was going to head back home but a few guys a field over were playing night frisbee with a light up disc that looked freakishly awesome in the night, like a hovering alien spaceship floating directly at you. They asked if I wanted to join. Being shy I felt I should decline, but again why? Why is saying no my natural answer?
So I said yes.

And I played for a good while, running and diving for hard throws and squealing with delight when they caught my badly aimed ones. All with the ocean and the twinkling lights of lolling boats glimmering in glassy surface of the calm water behind me like this big beautiful backdrop.
I'm reminded how sometimes you have to take a chance, push yourself out of comfort, and sometimes literally throw off the sweats to really experience a good night.
Pushing boundaries. My new goal. Hope I can stick to it.
No more no's for me.

I'll Take What I Can Get

Faith. I've been hearing that word alot lately.
"You've got to have faith. The only thing keeping us from God is us."
I've noticed when you really listen to what people have to say, there's usually some pretty good wisdom in there that's usually pretty relevant to your situation at the time. Scary coincidence or intentional...I don't know. Maybe I have to even take that on faith.

I've been in quite a scary rut the past week. Getting up from my bed only to pee and occasionally to grab a cup of water. The rest is TV series marathons and adjusting the sheet over the window to block any sort of sunlight from disrupting my captivating man cave of wonder. Seriously I even say man cave because I have not shaved, showered, or eaten anything that isn't prepackaged in well..awhile. I'm seriously making caveman look well groomed.
All this to say I've pretty much lost faith in myself this year. And if you didn't notice God too.
Even the word faith is hard for me to hear. It's not that I want to have this strong aversion to it, but even saying the word is hard for me since it is such a delicate heartwarming flower concept that is so easily beaten, battered, and broken into shards by the vicious hammer of my pessimistic intellect.
The concept is so cliche: the heart vs. the mind, but sometimes I can literally hear two sides fighting within me.
"Get out of bed! Go enjoy the sunshine!"
"Fuck off who needs daylight hours. Sitting and watching the 100th episode of Friends is soooo much better"
"You know you won't amount to anything if you just sit here. You've got to put yourself into action! Get moving!"
"Okay. I'll move. I'm going to move to the living room so I can be closer to the fridge"
Yupp. That's the way my inner dialogue is going lately. Really riveting stuff eh?

I'm sarcastic about it because if I wasn't sarcastic I'd be slitting wrists instead.
It is scary how scared I've become of the outside world and how hopeless I feel.
I do not care about my future, who I could be, or what I have to offer the world anymore. I don't even care about washing my hair and that for a girl is kind of a big deal.
There I am making jokes again....

I guess what I'm getting at is since I'm no good at praying or meditating, maybe writing it can help.
So universe, God, Divine mother, if you hear me at all...please let me break down this wall in which I've built so carefully around myself.
The wall with a fort, a moat, and those spikey spears from Braveheart around myself. The one I use to hide from people, my family, the world, from you. From faith.
I don't want to die angry. I don't want to die young. Please bring me back to hope. Please guide me back to safety. To love. To feeling loved. Even if it's just a small voice inside my head that isn't such a bitch and maybe says things like:
"It'll be better today,"
I promise I'll take what I can get.

Things will get better.
Okay.
Things will get better.
Okay.

Tomorrow, Today..

I used to think when I was a kid I was special. It wasn't an arrogance, it was just this kind innate feeling I had about myself. It wasn't cause I thought I was pretty, or talented, or for whatever tangible reason people are rightly felt special...it was more like an odd special. It might have something to do with the fact that even at six years old I felt more engaged and had better conversations with 60 year olds, or that when most children were playing with barbie dolls or wondering what dessert they'd get that night I was worrying over my place in the world and wondering what the meaning of life is and ultimately how I fit into that scheme of things. I was curious about everything and anything and I desperately wanted to prove myself to the world. You know MAKE something of this wonderings, become the person I was destined to be. I could not have this kind of intense observation about the world without sharing it, without bringing my unique view to the table. Still...kind of a bit much to handle for a pre-pubescent kid you know what I mean?

  But it didn't stop me. I couldn't help the way I was. Or am I guess I should clarify. Here I am a 2 decades later and still scared and wondering about the meaning of life. I'm sad to say though, that feeling of wonder, and that feeling of "specialness" is gone. After too many squashed attempts at my dreams, too many discouraging words, and too many loved ones bailing without a word, you start to not expect anything from life. From the world. From yourself.

   That last part is the hardest to come to terms with. You think as a kid you invincible, that "you can do anything you put your mind to" like all the bullshit Walt Disney funded classic family krap movies they produce, trying to pretend like everyone gets their fairytale ending. Well it's not like that. The truth is life is about disappointments, and paying bills, and trying to motivate yourself to get out of the bed in the morning for a job you don't like. It's putting makeup on a Friday night to go out with people who don't really care about you but like to look flashy and get trashy for a website which publishes the glitz like you are part of the celebrity life. It's walking home at night too tired and exhausted to exercise like you know you should, where you nuke a easy dinner when you know you shouldn't, and watch that next episode of the series when you know you should be doing something productive but ah fuck it I'll do THAT tomorrow. Life is saying tomorrow during today because carpe diem only applies to the rich and beautiful who have the luxury of choosing what their day will be. Life is hurting. Wondering why after 2 decades of trying to get to know people, they still only want the surface of you and you have to pretend to be okay with that. Life is giving yourself entirely to someone else believing they love you back as fiercely, but they pack their bags and leave anyways, your love a nice vitamin booster for their future successful life. Life is having a mother who calls only twice a year to ask where she can buy face cream and asking how your friends are doing, because that's what really matters...Life is gargling salt and smiling as it goes down because "smile! Be happy!"is society's social norm while most people going home thinking about slitting their wrists.

Sigh. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just tired. And sick. Physically and in reality yes for only 2 days, but also emotionally...mentally....since birth? Wow. Scared for me tonight. Maybe better day tomorrow...right?

So. Damn. Scary

Scariest dream ever.
And probably grossest.
And makes no sense but at the same time made so much scary sense during the dream....

So basically I made up that these people named the "Hanoi" who were people from Western Africa were the oldest living culture and people (been around for thousands and thousands of years). Anywho I met one, and at this like reallllyy cool vintage shop by the way (again still a dream but damn they had some wicked stuff) while I was shopping and deciding if I wanted this particular 70's marble orange and white skirt and shirt set.

This woman I met was pregnant, very late in her pregnancy if the massive bulge was anything to go by under her long plain brown maxi dress. I got to talking with her, asking her about her pregnancy and preparation for a child and stuff. I guess I've just always been fascinated (in reality too) about people who decide to be mothers, wondering what actually motivates them to have a child and whether its really deep down for the right reasons. Unlike my mother who had children for lack of focus and defaulting, going back to having a child was her way of temporary happiness emotionally and chemically- it's a real thing- thats why mothers have hormonal withdrawl after giving birth because you aren't being pumped with all that happy juice that was there during your time to create life. Anyways the girl seemed like she was happy, a little bit "in love" with her baby, rubbing her womb every once and awhile and looking at the swelling fondly when talking about it, like she was already looking at her baby.

At the same time, and for whatever reason people feel more comfortable with strangers, she also told me her fears. Saying she was nervous and scared she wasn't going to be a good mother, that there was no man in the picture, that she'd fuck it up and that being "Hanoi" having a baby out of wedlock was sin (apparently like alot of cultures- until very recently in their history they had become mostly Catholic during the Misssionary times and thus inherited alot of the good old fashioned Catholic guilt.) I tried to find a way to ease her worries, say something to make her relieved, but looking and my past and the type of mother my mom was to me, I couldn't very well quote any good lessons or truth about good motherhood.

It was at that same time that Pastor Mike came into the shop (the newest character in my dream). He was apparently a classmate in highschool and apparently I thought very highly of him. I met with him and his mother for tea the day earlier and he recounted how he was giving up everything, ambitions, sex, etc all to become a full time pastor and eventually priest of the church. He had been a wild and drunk teenager during our youth and to her him speak with such conviction and dedication about his faith and newfound path in life- I was in awe, and to be honest- jealous. He had focus where I certainly (in both reality and the dream) do not. Anywho he walked into the shop and saw me and we smiled and exchanged pleasantries. And because I am a polite girl, I introduced the Hanoi girl to Mike. It seemed harmless enough but for some reason I saw them exchange a glance between them, something unspoken was going on. After all she was a proper Hanoi and here was man dressed in black with his small white collar- trademark of the Catholic priests. I didn't think much of it at the time other than it was a coincidence they were so different in idealism, but still followed the same God. And that in a way she was inferior to him because of that faith.

That was until the next week. I was eating lunch with some friend (faceless and nameless since they weren't all that important), but the key role of the nameless was to scream as she was reading the newspaper. I looked up from my meal in curiousity as she shoved the newspaper at me.  There on the front cover was a large picture of the same Hanoi girl, alongside a much smaller picture of Pastor Mike and of all things...my mother. And in bold words read : "Catholic Minister trades Mother to Mother: Saviour or Savage?"- which really caught my attention.
I read on:
" Pastor Mike, a known Catholic minister of the city of Vancouver has attempted the first womb to womb surgery. Last Thursday at 10 pm Mike performed an unorthodox and unlicensed surgery on a pregnant Hanoi woman ( 8 months into her pregnancy) and attempted to reinsurt the fetus into the womb of 55 year old Yvette West, a devout and older Catholic mother."

O. My. God.
I had introduced them!
The next page there was a bloody image of the carved out body of the Hanoi girl, her face twisted in pain and her belly hacked up and bloody as she was rushed into the emergency room. Of course the article kept going about how she was out of wedlock and the baby was fatherless, how my mother was more experienced to have a child having already had 4 children and devout Christian. It was clear there was a bias going on. And of course like all fucking news it left out the most important pieces, if the Hanoi girl was still alive, whether Pastor Mike was even charged, and most important of all- how unbelievable fucked up this whole situation was and yet they were whitewashing it.

All I can remember is that this dream is like a jumbled mess of everything I am worried about in my life right now. My lack of focus or path (shown by Mike), my doubts about motherhood and if its for me ( the Hanoi girl), the scary consequences and unknown actions resulting from my decisions (introducing the two people) and the unbelievable messedupness of my mother and my fear I will become a savage person like her ( her savage decision to steal the child in order to feel something again).

All's I can say is it makes complete sense and no sense. And all of it- is So. Damn. Scary.

Make Sure Your Hands are Clean

He says I'm selfish.
And for a second I was at the precipice of self loathing and another downward spiral, when I stepped back and thought, "wait a minute, no I'm not."
I looked into who I am.
I am the type of girl who even though I've know this girlfriend for a couple weeks, during a random house party I will hide and put a candle on a cheesecake I've conveniently hidden and get the whole crowd to shut the hell up and sing "Happy Birthday" because even if they are strangers, she still deserves to be special. To be celebrated.
I am the type of girl who even after a guy I really liked and was dating went behind my back and hooked up with my best friend, the first thing I ask when I bump into his best friend, is to ask how he's doing.
I am the type of girl who cheerleads for anyone's dreams, even no matter how small or delicate they are, always putting the spotlight on where it needs it most because I'm more comfortable and natural at being the one backstage.

I think if anything I haven't been selfish enough. Or self loving anyways. Every mistake, every intentional hurt from another, every chance I don't take,  its always another reason to mentally flagellate myself. If I had physical proof of the rape and massacre of my mental thoughts, my body would have already peeled back from itself, inside out.

The only way I have ever been selfish is wanting someone who loved me. Unconditionally. That's the catch, the second part. Whenever I stop becoming useful, or entertaining, or people are buoyed enough by my stepping up my back to the next rung on the ladder, they leave. I cannot count or even put a statistic to this but it is a problem that is a running rampant virus that I see not only in my life but even through heartbreaking stories of strangers, when they are just tipsy enough to let out the pains they keep so tightly confined in Monday morning suits.

And I say fuck it. So be it. Be alone then Tina. Own it. Until you find those people who really love and encourage and inspire you, and just plain stick by who you are as much as you can for them...
Don't bother.
And for that man who called me selfish, you know who you are, as Bob Marley once wisely said,

Who are you to judge the life I live?
I know I'm not perfect
-and I don't live to be-
but before you start pointing fingers...
make sure you hands are clean!”