I know you’re feeling out of place right now. I know you’re feeling like you just recovered from an earth quake. Something that shook you to your core. It make your life fall apart around you and you feel stuck sitting on the floor with the pieces all around you. You weren’t sure if you were going to make it, but you did and I am so proud of you. It’s not only you, but God and circumstance that saved you.
I know my words may read like they were stolen from some poster of a man on a mountain. But I write from knowing what it’s like feeling completely desolate. Right now I can’t even think of what that feels like, but only two days ago I was there. I was in the dark. We’re not protected from it happening again, but now is the time for us to mend to hole we feel in our hearts. After it happened I felt the physical presence of a wound. Deep and gaping in the center of my chest. Just because others can’t see it, doesn’t it’s not there. I know you feel incredibly weak right now. You’re tired and so sore from the world falling around you. From the words of others. From the words inside your head. But you are so strong. You are here right now and I cannot stress how important that is.
You are cared for.
The world is better with your breath still in it.
Be honest with those around you.
Remember I love you.
A night like its own
Boots over the threshold,
spects from the outside trapped indoors,
fleeing to get out,
only to disappear with one touch.
A brew warming on the pilot light,
Yesterday’s dishes alone in the sink
With the unraveling of layers,
Her day’s weight is undone.
Only her shoulders carry it
Alone in thought and under the cold covers.
The hills framed by panes,
The night illuminated with reflections
A night like this, like its own
Like many others,
filled with minimalistic comfort and solitude.
October 4, 2017
One foot, then the other
Bare shoulders, the weight
Of her soul
Do not measure in pounds,
Not kilos or stones
Measure it by care
How much is given
How much she takes
Ribs like a cage
What use for a flightless bird?
Measure it not in stones
Measure it by laughter and grief
By her voice at the night’s
By thoughts in her private meditations
Measure it not in stones
Measure it in the weight of love,
Pathetic fallacy: the attribution of human feelings and responses to inanimate things.
In film and literature this can be witnessed as the portrayal of the character’s emotions in the weather and their surroundings. It rains on the day of his beloved’s funeral. The sun shines when our characters finally achieve happiness. The chaos of the party around the romantic pair echoes the ongoing destruction of their relationship.
“Pray don’t talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing. Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that they mean something else. And that makes me quite nervous.”
And I do mean something else.
It seems the patterns of weather in these stories are easy to decipher. Bad weather follows melancholy. Clear weather follows joy. Whenever I have looked out and seen the skies blanketed with grey and the rain cascading down, others express it to be a depressing nuisance. But why? I’ve never understood this. Living in a place that has suffered drought for years (Metaphorical? Perhaps). I enjoy the cool damp smell of the earth and the chance of renewal the rain brings. It is the only time where the chatter in my head is quiet. The only time when I don’t feel I have to constantly validate my existence. I am at peace to do the things I like.
To take a rainy day off from my anxious mind.
If there is anything I’ve learned since moving to Dallas is that when it rains, it pours and I do mean that literally.
March 07, 2017: The day we finished packing up our TWO moving vans, walked through our house one last time (an empty house is so echo-y,) locked our front door for the very last time, drove off into the sunset and said hello to a new beginning.
The first month was weird. I suppose as are most new things. There were boxes upon boxes, nothing seemed to look right, and the place was always a mess. But I’m pretty sure that was bound to happen.
Mentally speaking the first month was so HARD. Like there were days where I just didn’t get out of bed. It wasn’t just the stress of moving but the past year in general and it all sorta hit me at once and rendered me incapable. This second month as been much more gracious to me. I’m getting some things accomplished. Like finally getting around to editing videos from last summer that should have been done a loooooong time ago.
We found a really great church which we became members of on April 26. And we’ve made a few acquaintances through that which has been nice.
Sophie, my older sister, has gotten a job, which will be good for her. I can’t even imagine working right now. The stress. Boy, do I sound lazy. *ahem, sara, it’s because you are*
I HAVE been looking into colleges. There are a handful of community colleges here in the Metro Plex that seem interesting. So I plan on going this fall and then after two years transfer to a bigger university. Although, I have no idea what I want to major in. The application process is stressful enough.
As for the upcoming months, I’m not sure what it holds. There is an internship at this refugee outreach that in connected to our church and I’m exciting at the idea of possibly working there is summer. (……I should probably go fill out the application for that now.)
I came across the book Century Girl. I wanted it for my coffee table, but five dollars seemed like a careless expense. I held it under my arm, I put it back.
Besides, I don’t own a coffee table.
Technically I don’t possess a living room or apartment that usually go with such a thing.
I wish I did.
I want to sit on a couch at dusk with my floral shirt unbuttoned. A steaming cup of coffee on my knee and a hand in my hair.
I want to take objects from the places I’ve been, from the people I’ve loved and put them in a place that I have made for myself.
I want to share this space with others. I can tell them to leave by nine P.M, or stay til three A.M.
I want warm lights and house plants.
March 2nd, 2017
Writing jams: Etta James
Missed my deadline with this one.
It feels odd to break the flow of all the somber imagery of my previous posts. I thought the first week in California would have me spilling out pages worth of profound thoughts and feelings. Of moving away from home for the first time. Of feeling as if I were in a film. Of all the emotions that come with trying to figure out all this coming of age shit. But so far there isn’t much to tell? My head has been pretty blank.
My friends keep asking me of all of my adventures. Well, I haven’t scaled any mountains or met any dashing strangers yet. And to my own disappointment I haven’t hit up any of the jazz clubs yet .
(if there are any in San Diego.)
I did go to the aquarium.
Saw a little bit of Balboa Park, but I must see more.
I also went to the Thursday Market in Oceanside. I was told that the one they set up in the evening is far more exciting. I will remember that for next time.
I’ve had a lot of free time. I thought I would utilize it by focusing on writing and sitting in coffee shops. Zero coffee shops. And minimal writing. That will change soon though. So until next time.
Thanks for reading. Bye guys.