A few weeks ago I had dinner with a few friends, most of whom I haven’t seen in a long while. To put into context: I used to see them at least once a week, and this time around I haven’t seen them in a couple of months. I missed them very much. They were practically my family when I was in college.
The idea of what a family means has always been interesting, in the sense that it implies so much: love and responsibility, affection towards one another. Parents. Perhaps children. And we hold the ideal of a family like a shield against everything else; that is to say, we assume that family members are not capable of hating one another, or not be responsible, or that it requires two parents instead of just one, right along a lot of other notions that we associate with the word “family”. So many people are surprised, or even angry, when a family does not resemble their ideals. A family is supposed to look like this you say, because families just are supposed to be like this. People say this as if all families are supposed to be cut from the same cloth. People say this like families cannot be as different as the people who make them.
Continue reading “Family”
I don’t remember how we met. It was definitely in elementary school, but other than faded memories of you running around at school, but other than that, I don’t remember much else. You had long golden hair, much longer than it is now, which always seemed to get in your face when you ran from one classroom to the next. From what I remember, you were a bit arrogant. Even at five years old, you knew your self worth.
I don’t think we were friends back then, though we would tell people we were because our parents told us to be nice. I was extremely reserved, and you were extremely outgoing. Sure, we talked to each other occasionally, and probably played together, but we were never “friends”. At the time, I don’t think it could have worked anyway, we were too different.
Continue reading “Open Letter to a Friend”
As many of you may know, I’ve been visiting a lot of blogs lately. To be honest this experience has been both interesting and harrowing in its own way. I see people who are depressed, happy, or more often a bit of both. Most of these posts are boring, mainly because I can somehow feel that this person was not being true to the audience. That they were somehow lying to their audience.
With the year (about) that I have been blog-hopping, I have discovered something cool. Every blog is different in its own special way, but there is one main ideology behind each successful one. The way to really connect with someone is to really be honest in how you feel. The more you connect to the reader, the more they will enjoy reading your post, no matter what.
Continue reading “My Philosophy”
“Why would I date a writer?”, you ask. You should date a writer because she will write about everything. She’ll write about the things that you did together, or the things that she wishes you’ve done. She will write about the time you held her hand at Starbucks, and how warm she felt for the rest of the day. She will write about how, during a mellow summer evening when the two of you just started dating, you asked her to reach for something in the cabinet, and when she gave it to you, you looked at her with such intensity. And that’s when she realized she had already fallen in love with you.
Continue reading “Why You Should Date a Writer”
One morning I was sitting alone in a Starbucks, eating a doughnut with a frappuccino with too much whipped cream on it (just as I liked it). I watched cars move on the street, my eyes passing over the top of my drink and onto the parking lot. Pretty soon, my mind wanders to random thoughts, and my mental direction goes to places that are usually reserved for when I’m engaged with people I enjoy talking to. Tired after finishing finals but at the same time buzzing with the energy provided by caffeine, my thoughts were allowed to roam freely, and the end result usually happen to be both unusual and surprising.
It is at times like these where I don’t understand why most people are afraid to be alone. It’s in moments like these, perhaps, when they are forced to confront themselves in conversation, that they also have to confront something in their lives that they do not want to face. Believe me, I have several parts of my life that I would not like to confront, but that does not stop me from enjoying moments like these. For others, maybe loneliness is an emotion that they feel like they must overcome by making scheduled appointments with everyone else in their life, faked enthusiasm for events they have no interest in, all in the name of trying not to be alone. Maybe they are afraid because they equate loneliness with darkness.
But in my experience, this darkness can also be a friend. It’s not always like that, sometimes this darkness can try to bury you and it can be very hard to find your way back to the light. But I’m always grateful for the moments where I can engage in moments with myself that usually cannot happen until we have dealt with our loneliness. Through this feeling, I’ve discovered so much of myself that I would not have discovered otherwise.
It was 5 years ago when I found myself staring at my phone at a contact that I both did and did not want to reach out to. I was lying in bed in my dorm room, with the only light coming from my phone shining on my face. I remember my gut clenching and my heart racing, and the small voice in my head telling me that I should just turn off my phone, and that a conversation would not end well for either one of us.
I should have listened to myself. But against my better judgement, I didn’t. I didn’t know what I was feeling, just that I wanted to be with you more than I wanted anything. In the back of my mind, I knew that I couldn’t have you, no matter how hard I tried. But I had hoped that I was wrong, that somehow, we would work out.
Continue reading “Heartbreak”
The first time Steph told me she loved me, I told her that she didn’t know what she was saying. It was too soon to say things like that, I thought, and I was afraid that she didn’t realize the full extent of what she said, or of the commitment that this implied. I told her that maybe she made a mistake, and that she didn’t really mean it. I gave her an opening to take back her words.
The next day, I told her I loved her too. I truly loved her then, and whether or not she felt the same wasn’t the problem. It was the truth for me and I had to say it. I thought she loved me, but more than that, I realized that my feelings were a small price to pay for the love that I thought I had.
Continue reading “Musings”
Sometime a few weeks ago, I woke up and realized that I couldn’t recognize who I was.
It was just how I looked in the mirror. Something had shifted internally. I then flipped over in my notebook to entries written a few months ago, and it was as if my attitude towards the world, how I formed relationships or processed emotions — it was as if I was a completely different person. It seems like I’m only now realizing how large that change was.
Continue reading “Changes”
I was a freshman in high school when my friend Barbara was accepted into a college in Canada. She took up political science, under the impression that she would pursue a law degree. She had a boyfriend here in California before she left, but they broke up because she didn’t feel like he could be faithful during a long distance relationship.
We had been close friends ever since I started high school, so we kept in touch, mostly through Facebook chat. We talked to each other about three-four times a week, and talked about everything there was to talk about. Barbara was usually buzzed, if not fully intoxicated. It was in college where she discovered her weakness for red wine, the cheapest kind with the highest alcohol concentration.
Continue reading “Getting Through the Day”
It was a Wednesday afternoon when she first messaged me, through the Tumblr messaging app. She wasn’t exactly my type, not someone I really found attractive. My friend Natalie pointed out that I should take a chance with her. I typed out a quick reply and left it at that. When I got out of my class, I had already forgotten about this interaction, and was ready to move on with my day. Little did I know, she had already written a reply back, so we kept talking. Eventually, I gave her my number, because why not. She also seemed like a decent person, which was hard to come by.
Continue reading “Love: A Tragedy”