In The Meantime Hang On

There’s a corner in our brain where all of our darkest thoughts and ill-wishing hang out until they sense it’s the “right time” to come out. But that time is never timely; it is when we feel weaker and most vulnerable that these insecurities and uncertainties threaten to take over us. And sometimes, they succeed.

It’s one of the hardest tests of life: the existential crises, the morbid thoughts, the apathy, the unreliable sense of inadequacy, the misery. You refuse to believe you’re depressed because some things don’t add up. It could be that you’re not because, “why do I only feel this way around certain time or when I’m doing certain things that I don’t want to do but have to?”

I’m no psychologist, but if your behavior and mental state are altered by your environment, it’s time to reconsider it all — work, relationships, situationships, all of it. What are the risks of changing direction and getting these things out of your way? I ask myself the same question. Maybe it’s easier said than done for some or maybe a lack of drive and inspiration are holding you back, or maybe it’s something else, something stronger. But whatever it is, it’s better to push through that barrier and free yourself.

Being stuck in an unpleasant place in life, physically and emotionally, is hell and I know it because I’ve been there. And every now and then my mind wants to take me there again. I know how hard it is to get out of your own mind and it is for that reason that I’m writing this; as a way of saying, you’re not the only one.

Sometimes that’s all we want to hear, that we’re not alone, that we’re not “sick” for having thoughts we shouldn’t, that we can get out of bad situations, that we’ll overcome. So if you don’t have anyone to remind you of it, read it again. Everything is temporary. In the meantime, hang on.

Pride: A Poem

When I think back to all I’ve had and how I blew it and the things they ruined, and how hard it can be to repair a feeling so fleeting but so filling, there’s almost always been this culprit and it’s impulsive and repulsive, and most of all, destructive.

Some of us inherit it and some are lucky enough not to know it or to admit it, that they fit into this description of the egocentric definition.

Pride, it’s called, and you’d be enthralled by the power it has on you and how it’d change your view of a potentially good relationship between you two, or the new ones you want to pursue.

A few times, I’ve bent my ego in the name of love, despite it being a one-sided throe. And I regret days we didn’t address the elephant in the room to confess what for us was best, but decided to protect my heart instead.

Come back to it, I understand it is pride that gets in the way of our best days because we don’t want to be the first to say that it feels good to stay.

Stories that Remain Untold

You miss him?
I tell them not,
can’t miss what you never had.
Never had a father figure,
but never mind, mom was stricter
in my childhood the only victor.

Can’t put him anywhere in the picture
of a now damaged structure
that once could’ve been salvaged
if our relationship hadn’t been ravaged
by neglect and mismanage.

Now I question my mistrust
in love or lust,
can commit but disconnect
because I know I’ll end up crushed.

Can show affection
if a special connection
awakens my elation,
but for my heart protection
shut down at the sense of rejection.

Deep in this black hole
that is my mind and soul
I search for answers
to a stable structure
turned into a million-piece puzzle
of stories that remain untold.

If you enjoyed this poem, take a look at the linked short story below, available on all reading platforms: Daddy is a Foreign Word

Inspiration Killers: Unblock Yourself

Once upon a time (early 2020, to be exact), about two weeks after being forced to strictly work from home, I found the final piece to an almost year-long puzzle: my day job was an inspiration-killer, artistically speaking.

That time when the world around us stopped turning and forced us to do the things that we’d be doing, had there not been a need to get a day job, suddenly felt like breathing again. Who would’ve thought that in the middle of a pandemic I’d be feeling like myself.

I remember it vividly because, well, these are some of the exact words I wrote once I felt the fairy (also known as the muse) come back into my life, sprinkling her magic and positive vibes all over me again. It was such a good feeling to feel alive.

And how weird was it, that although Corona times meant less money I was somewhat…happier?

The thing is I was struggling with staying focused on what it was that I wanted to do with my life on the days, and hours, that I wasn’t working in the morning. I’ve always been a “hoppy,” spontaneous, creative being, so being mentally stuck for months was painful. (By the way, say what you want about writing block, but this gal knows it’s real!)

But it wasn’t just with my writing; it was my whole artistic vein (sketching, dancing, clear thinking, mindfulness…) that just wasn’t pumping enough substance.

The alone time — I always had enough of that. So it wasn’t a lack of solitude. I came to the conclusion that maybe I just didn’t have the drive or the energy anymore, on the months prior to the pandemic, and it was killing me to think that it was it. But was I wrong…

After getting enough sleep and entirely too much time to myself to do whatever I’d been wanting to do, by myself, I concluded that I just needed rest, recharge, new perception, reconnect with my purpose, dive into my old files and remember why I started…and to really work my arse off to do only what I love for the rest of my life.

I wish it wasn’t under those circumstances — isolation due to a pandemic — that I’d finally reunite with my focus and myself, but life is unpredictable. So, just flow. I learned that you have to go with the wind, adapt, and adjust. Never stop blooming.

The reason I remembered this post today is because I feel like I’m back in that place again. And I’m only sharing it so that if there’s anybody out there who feels like you’ve hit a dead-end, please know that there’s always a way out. The solution could be so simple if only you stopped looking outside of yourself.

Focus on the one thing(s) you really love the most and happiness will follow. I’m still working my way there, too. It’ll be worth it in the end.

Let’s not get stuck living in misery in the only life that we know we have. Let’s not be the killer of our own dreams and potentials.

Fetal is Home — a Poem

Be it the time of flowers
Days of snow,
When too much sunshine
Darkens my glow

Rain on my shoulders
A punch in the gut
Pulls my weight down
My airways are shut

No safe haven found in seasons
No comfort for an aching soul
My bed holds me in all positions
But it knows fetal is home, I feel whole.

Women’s Day All Day Every Day

What can I say about women, on International Women’s Day, that hasn’t been said already? Oh, how about simply, a woman can carry another living thing in her womb and keep it alive for nine months — show her some respect. Boom! [mic drop]

Okay, it’s not a new “flex” but isn’t it just insane? I must say. And don’t even get me started on our lunar phases (it is quite the monthly bill). I think about our feminine nature often now that I’m getting older and have become more curious about aging, and I am just in complete awe of our strength; of how much we can endure physically and emotionally.

Add all that to the social struggles that some women face every day: domestic violence, racial discrimination, the gender pay gap… I mean, you name it. To quote Lily Allen, “it’s hard out here for a b*tch!” Women are an extraordinary force that should be celebrated every day.

I hope you feel empowered just knowing that you are a woman, women! The strength within you is immeasurable. No need to act small; use your power. You’re another star of the universe, deserving of and entitled to all of our human rights.

Happy Women’s Day, every day!

And Just Like That March

One morning, I blinked and reality wasn’t any longer. “Fourteen days,” I was told. An early Spring break…I couldn’t be mad about that. But just a little over the due Spring break and we’d all be back. Would it be like going back to normal? I was sure of that.

Looking at a room full of confused little gazes and wobbly little hands waving on their way out, I wondered, too, “Is this how we say goodbye?

I missed them not. Sleeping in for days, it was the life.

Mid-March led the way. Waking up alone every day soon made no sense. And so was a new calendar that had no beginning and no end. Reaching for absence that didn’t want to be present turned into discontent. The world kept spinning, but there was no change…

Or was it?

Lost business, lost hope, lost…friends. Drastic change. Tensions were high. I didn’t understand why. Suddenly, it was July. And again I wondered, “Is this how we say goodbye?

A year went by and just like that, March. My head I hold up high, but my spine is scarred. Still learning not to live by expectations, but can’t help but wonder, “Was I not worth a conversation?”

What kind of person couldn’t see the intentions in my glistening eyes in the depth of the night? Perhaps the problem is, not everybody can read poetry; perhaps, we should use our words instead of coquetry.

Learning is an ongoing process. And it’s in the same school of life that I realize those wobbly little arms can be warmer than all the wrong things I missed when it was March.

A Clearer View

Honestly, have you ever seen her get mad?

In my head, I’ve been true to myself. In my head, I smiled only when I meant it. In my head, I saw no reason why I wouldn’t be able to show you the path leading to the real me, and that the view to my little glass house was HD.

But while the mind fools us by showing us only what we want to see, the eyes wink and say, “Oh well, I still have a clearer view.” But then again, those eyes — they usually don’t belong to you. It’s someone else’s view.

And for some reason, they can’t see your Charlie Brown shoulders; that the struggle to keep your back straight and your head up is millennial-real; that you’re tricking your eyes to stop looking into the distance because you know you’ll drift away to a place where only you, your heart and your thoughts know how far you can go and never return.

And when you hyperbole every word that comes out of your mouth, they can’t tell that you’d actually rather be lying on your mat or in bed with your mouth shut and your eyes closed, because they’re better at carrying your weight, that load that gets heavier by the day.

Tangled up in your sheets, listening to moving tunes and lyrics by some people you’ve never met, and probably never will, because somehow their music speaks to you and finally there’s somebody who understands your human sorrows and needs.

That smile on your face; that constant need to prove to everyone (who relies on you for their sanity) that you’ve got everything under control; that put-on energy that every morning you might enhance with a little dose of caffeine; that social media post screaming “happiness” from every angle you look — others could fall for it, but behind closed doors there’s no else you can fool.

So when you say to me, “You look so happy, I would’ve never guessed your misery,” it proves two things: how remarkably (wonderfully) oblivious people can be OR /AND what a great job I’m doing at keeping it all bottled in.