A letter to those whom I’ve lost along the way…
I am 24-years-old.
When we met, I was just turning 14…
When we met, I was just turning 18…
When we met, I was just turning 22…
We are so old now lol…well, older. It’s surreal how different we’ve become, how sure of ourselves we are now, and how we are still trying to figure out who we really are. And for most of us, still trying to figure out how we can be better than who we were. I think at this point in our lives, we played a role in losing each other simultaneously, mutually, and unhappily. There are so many ways we really fucked up our relationships with each other, no one more wrong than the other right. But I truly believe it was meant to be this way. It was meant to be that we no longer communicate in the ways we once did.
I loved you…
And I loved you…
And I cared about you….
From afar, like stars in the sky, I only hope the best for you all, I only hope you are still shining. I pray for your happiness, for your health, for your endearing souls that are unfailingly confident in pit of all this bullshit and negativity in the world. From afar, I look out from the window as if I see your shadows walking one by one, and I think to myself, “I am so glad you are a part of my life.” I never stop thinking about any of you. And I won’t.
You were my best friend…
You were my best friend…
You were my best friend…
I have never been more blessed and happier in my life in these last 24 years. I love where I am. I see where I can be. And I fight, first and foremost, for myself. To protect myself. To better myself. To treat myself. But you all are all of me. I am blessed I have new people in my life now that will take me from here to another place that will only be brighter than the darkness I’ve trekked. And I do pray that you all find special people to share the rest of your journey with; whether it be new friends or a soulmate, I know it’s going to be beautiful. Just as beautiful as I would imagine. Just as beautiful as it is for me now.
Memories are just memories. Traceable, irreplaceable, and forever.
You probably think this song is about you, don’t you, don’t you?
I find it quite amusing that when we check up on — I mean, stalk — our exes, whether it be former friends or lovers (or strangers), we like to believe their words were meant for us. That the grief they express should daunt us, or that the euphoria they speak of should soothe us. We wired our brains to believe that we should feel something from their words simply because there was a point in time we meant something to them, and a time when they meant something to us.
These faces locked in our memory bank are treasures we bury and unbury. Could we ever restore them?
I don’t know. But it will be ok.
hey, how are you?
This made me smile. An anonymous “how are you” is v sweet. And to answer your q: I’m doing great, and striving to do even greater every day. I’ve learned a lot about life (mine, at least) this past year in 2013 and more so in the new year. More or less, these are my realizations: Mistakes and hardships are really just opportunities and challenges; Happiness is surrounding yourself with people who love you and better you; Embarrassing yourself and accepting it is liberating; Kindness and motivation will get you far, very far; Forgiveness is a beautiful weight off your shoulders; Paying off your debt…also a weight off your shoulders; “Success” is what you make of it, under your own terms and defined only by yourself and no one else, because if you’re not grateful for where you stand in life, no one else can convince you otherwise; Lastly, love yourself and own up to your missteps, you were brought into this world to touch many lives, and trust that you have.
Short answer: Life is poppin’!!! Only got one life, better make sure I’m happy every day! I’m a merry ass lady y’all.
How is everyone else doing these days?
Good Souls, Good Friends
A good friend, they say, is hard to come by. And it’s because those who seek are damaged in the soul; those who seek are, unfortunately, their worst example of a good friend. I mean, how does one become a friend? Let alone a good one.
There’s a pressure that comes with wanting to become “someone.”
Have I asked how he’s feeling today? Am I remembering her birthday each year that passes? Am I “keeping in touch”? Did I finally “catch up” with his life? Do I really care about her? Have I followed-up with the conversation we had last week? All these questions appear as if to be markers of a relationship one week, one month, one year, three years, ten years down the line. These bullshit markers that are supposed to be some kind of strategy on how humans become good friends, and thus try to serve as some gateway on how to find good friends. Here’s what I learned: There is no way to know you are a good friend; just be a good person.
My boss told me one thing that will always ring true to my, sometimes, desolated mind: “Don’t try, do.” Just be you, do what you do, be where you have to be. I lose track of being myself sometimes because I try too hard to be a good friend for far too long in a day’s end. I’m scared. And it’s largely due to the friends I’ve lost whom I naively believed were good people. Those are just people I’ve cut out now. It’s a lonely journey to find good friends, but you just need to be you. Friends, the good ones, take and accept you fully; and they do so in your utmost fucked up and best of times. They better you. They tell you things you don’t want to hear, but will still fully respect you and the decisions your make in your life. Those are the good souls. Those are the reflection of your soul. I’m finding a friend in myself nowadays. And that’s my first step in finding others out there, those who will eventually become my good friends. It’s a beautiful realization.
"Observe in silence, but be vocal in curiosity."
Quick wit of the tip.
#i am my worst enemy
I miss this thing. The quick wit of the tip.
Signs drawn by sighs. Angry because of the way it lay lifeless. The only flicker came from my eyes but my mind too weak to see. What made of it? The image I wouldn’t let be. Not that I couldn’t.
I’ve conquered sleepless nights. Joyously.
I was a slave. But freedom never was this bitter, no betrayal ever this foul. Though, here I am watching my own hands feed me nothing. Until I starve.
You’re not going to tell me who I am, I’m going to tell you who I am.
I think there is a misunderstanding between first impressions and irrelevance.
That I should be judged for the skin I chose to be in which unfaithfully denies me an entry to the norm, where billions of people strive to be a part of (sadly). That I am missed of opportunities because, all this time, who I struggled to become is now being used against me: to be different, to be smart, to be me/creative/weird/lost/and so forth.
When people mix first impressions with premature assumptions, damn am I going to lose.
So don’t tell me I need to dye my hair back to its “natural roots.” Don’t tell me I can’t have ink on my skin, all over my body, any part of my body. Don’t tell me I can’t have my nose ring. Don’t tell me I can’t talk the way I talk. Don’t tell me to strap on a pair of heels when all I want to do is chill in my Raptors 7s.
And don’t tell me I can’t get a job unless I fit this pretty little Asian girl mold, spewing sweet words with a big grin on my face, eyes sparkling. I have a degree from a top communications program, and I sure as hell know my stacking experiences and developing skills will get me somewhere far. But before I go on ranting more, let me get back to being me.
Rumor has it
Accidental vengeance decided to hurt more than it’d heal
Shatter more than it’d break
And the perpetual fear instilled
Now in many souls
The many nights you lay wide awake
Wake the broken hearts
Of those who hope for a new day
"Live it up, responsibly. To an extent that our mistakes are semi-reversible."
#i love you mom
I woke up half an hour past my alarm this morning, as usual.
Next to me was my dog Bebe snuggled in the crevice of my armpit. I dragged my ass, literally, up from bed and failed to wake my little sister up for school. She turned off her third alarm eventually and murmured, with eyes half closed, “I hate you, you never remember to wake me up.” Then she proceeds to urinate in the bathroom as I brush my teeth, as if it was some kind of punishment for my, albeit unintentional, forgetfulness.
I wore the outfit I contrived in last night’s pre-sleep ritual. I was deciding between my Hunter rain boots or beat-up suede ankle booties (for the sake of fashion) and asked my little sister for a second opinion; she asks me what she should wear today in return. I walked out of my room in my shiny burgundy Hunter boots; she’s still in her racerback tank and jeans.
In the kitchen, I see my mom wrapped up the Cajun-marinated chicken breasts she grilled this morning in aluminum foil; next to it was a ziplock bag of steamed broccoli and cherry tomatoes, both laying on the island. I grabbed my lunch for the day. My mom also made a breakfast sandwich for me and my little sister. It was layered as so: toasted Italian bread, two slices of muenster cheese, a fried egg, and…15 slices of ham. I was running late for work so I quickly grabbed my breakfast for the day. “Bye Haw Ga Yun!” I yelled as I jotted out the house. It’s pouring out, but warm. And I just received a flood warning on my iPhone. Hunter boots were a good choice.
I made my bus today, not my usual luck since I almost always miss it by one minute. I sat down toward the back and texted my two sisters: “Why does mom always stack like 15 slices of ham in sandwiches…” The thought made me nauseous. And my older sister, who no longer lives with us, texted us back: “Lol I miss mom’s sandwiches.” To which I promptly put down my phone, smiled immensely, and ate my mom’s meaty sandwich.
Because one day, I will miss how she stacks 15 slices of ham in her warm sandwiches.
I love you mom.
WORDS ARE EMPTY.
Everyone is the same.
Until you meet someone different.
And he’ll be a keeper.
For the sake of patience.
Still dead inside.
Hoping to wake up,
"We accept the love we think we deserve."
I’ve been studying the past,
though the present is a test in itself.
You were right to believe words became somewhat empty,
and so there wasn’t much left to say.
You pulled away,
and I willingly pushed.
You were quick to retrieve all senses,
and mine still intertwined.
one by one.
I am fine.