I used to be soft, my heart bending to a simple please and thank you. I won an award simply by being quiet and smiling. It wasn’t hard to do. Seeing the stars made me dream and I felt like I was spinning endlessly. Yet, my softness allowed me to get sick quite often. I found myself crippled and aching, but I continued smiling. I didn’t think that building a wall would help my case because all around me, people brandished their swords back at anything that appeared sharp.
I’m hard now and I only smile whenever I feel that the world is slowly slipping into a grey zone. I stare straight ahead and keep my thoughts neutral knowing that people would think of me as a bitch. I keep to myself to avoid it back firing onto myself. I watch the stars rotate around me and I quietly allow tears to come to my eyes because they remind me of dreams I’m working towards. Yet, people would tell me that they believed in me and people would tell me that they can understand what I’m going through. They extended their hand while I stared at it like a foreign object.
I guess you live and learn.
Written: 10/29/16 7:00pm
This sidewalk holds too many truths. They’ve felt my soft feet, gently padding to the next destination. The only thing that crosses my mind was not allowing my feet to be star crossed lovers. The sidewalk with the old gum have felt my heavy steps of defeat as I quickly walked away from my failures. I refuse to surrender for my feet will push me far. The only thing that crosses my mind was that my steps always seemed to echo lonely songs to themselves. The sidewalk with the beautiful cobblestones have felt my sturdy feet weaving around crowds and darting around like a small field mouse. I reverberate to myself that my feet will carry me far despite the steps that lead back to my broken steps. And I travel from one place to another, holding open doors until people are forced to run because they didn’t want to appear rude. I walk with my steps echoing loudly in the alleys and sometimes a symphony of steps add to my echo.
Written: 10/24/16 1:34pm
Freshmen are interesting. they make themselves appear as though they know and have experienced everything when it’s the opposite. Personally, I think you have credential after you become an upperclassman. Maybe I’m speaking from an upperclassman perspective.
One rainy day, I was on my regular walk to class. My walk requires me to pass by a freshman dominant dorm. The wind was blowing the rain under our umbrellas, under their orange and blue university umbrellas. I squeeze myself to the front of the pack because I was running late as we waited for traffic to open up when a large gust of wind stunned me and apparently the rest of the pack. “It was the wind, I swear!” a male voice from my left said to his female friend. The cars continued racing by, narrowly avoiding splashing us. He continued to berate the wind to justify whatever happened. Freshmen are interesting.
Written: 10/22/16 2:06pm
“Sometimes, you’ll have friends who hurt you, but most of the time, you’ll have friends who change your life.” I quietly say to my kids. They looked up at me in awe and my youngest, Ben, shouted “If anyone hurt you mom, I’ll punch them in the nuts!” I laughed and tousled his hair. I checked the time and announced, “It’s story time!” My three kids leaped on me with Ben and Lily sitting in my lap and Emery sitting by my side. I smiled at him before starting my story.
“I had good group of friends, but I’ll tell you about this guy I knew.” I said. My thoughts instantly went back to my college years and I found myself walking along my past self. “When we first met, we hated each other because we were going through hard times. I didn’t want to go to school and he lost something important.” Ben and Lily started to squirm, so I let to go. They ran into the playroom squealing about dragons and airplanes. I turned to Emery and sighed. “Should I continue? It might be a long one.” He widened his curious eyes and squeezed closer to me. “No mom! Continue! I want to know more!” I smiled and stared straight ahead, my memories playing before me. “Eventually, we got to know each other a little better and we spent every hour with each other. My friends would always talk behind our backs and thought we liked each other, but we were just good friends. This friend always knew what to say when I was having difficulties, but every once in a while we would have arguments. I remember him telling me that everyone has the right to say whatever we want. In the end, I always knew that we will always good friends because the three years I’ve known him, things have changed for the better.” I finished and looked at Emery, his eyes still wide. “What do you think?” I asked him, I could see the gears working in his head. He stammered, “Mom! Do you still talk to him? What happened after you left school? Is he near you? How come you didn’t marry him?” I laughed and said, “Emery, oh Emery! Thank you for reminding me! Ever since we moved, I knew something was missing and I now know I should talk to this friend because moving was crazy and I forgot!” I leaped off the couch and popped my head into the playroom, seeing Ben and Lily building a city and hurried into my room with Emery following close behind. I dialed my friend’s number, my hand shaking a little and waited for the call to get through. My son, looked from the phone to my face until I heard, “Hello? It’s about time you called.”
Pouring rain causes me to have the same excitement a child has when they see a brand new toy with amazing features is in stores. The child would beg their mother if they could have it and the most satisfying response would be “I’ll think about it.” Meanwhile, if it starts to rain. I’ll longingly gaze out of the window for a chance to run out in the midst of it and to reappear in the dry lands, completely saturated as a foreign testament because in my head, I am a hero. I conquered the rain. Nevertheless, I always end wet. Sometimes, rain falls slowly and from the dry lands, it appears calming, luring people to stay in their beds until their dreams intertwine with their memories, making a bittersweet reality that never existed. Upon leaving the house because of an obligation, it ceases to be an adventure and ends up being an inconvenience. Cyclists end up covered in mud mixed with the grime of the road while walkers slowly trek their way through the rain, their only shelter an umbrella so the drumming resounds like a military march, reminding them of things to do and things incomplete as well as lost dreams. The business man would say that their dreams would be finished after the rain stops, but in some places, the rain never stops. The drivers never learn the technique of whether or not they should walk or run because in their car sits their temporary shelter. When you follow a driver closely, you’ll hear the sigh of relief with the windshield wipers after the sputter of the engine, like a utterance of gratitude for technology. Rain is the physical entity of sadness. I see no true metaphor besides everything is flowing away and picking up debris covered in everything else. Dead and lost leaves slowly drift through small rivers, never existing until the weather shifted. Garbage piles up on the street corner and new shoes splash in the mixture. No one truly rejoices for the rain because it is an inconvenience that follows you around and not something you can truly admire from a distance.
Written: 10/16/16 12:35am
My dear friend, there’s something that’s bothering me. It’s not the usual question that I ask of if I’m worthy enough for you or if I am good enough. No, it’s a recent thought because of recent events. When I reveal my most human side, the side where I slip up, the side where I let my rawness show too much and it rubs you the wrong way and it forces you to stand up on the defensive, I am taken aback and then I am ashamed. I’m shocked of how I could possibly make a mistake. How could I when I’ve paid attention to make sure there are no faults in our friendship. I wanted it to be pure. I wanted it to be carefree as well. How could I have risked a chance in increasing the reasons for you to never speak to me again. I’ve always wanted someone to protect me. I’ve wanted a friend like you for a long time. And now, it appears that I may have opened the door destined to be shut.
My dear friend, there’s something that’s bothering me. There are usual points in our friendship when our limps are supported by each other’s gait . There are usual points when we laugh and the harsh edges of the world disappears and I hold those moments dear to my heart just as much as I hold my screw ups close. They reverberate in my head until they’re magnified and all I can do is stop and stare in horror as I continue to fail. What can I do? Isn’t it clear that I obsess over perfection – someone who is friends with you, someone who makes no mistakes. I long for perfection because I’m filled with the opposite.
Written: 10/16/16 12:12am
Have you ever went back into your songs, scrolled all the way down and listened to it again? The first note plays and you’re brought back to a time when you could never stop playing the song. Why did you stop anyways? There’s a song I listened to that I repeated as I got ready for my junior prom. There was a ton of anticipation and anxiousness that would mostly fill the head of a sixteen year old. I couldn’t decide if I was in love with the idea or if I was actually in love or if I was simply obsessed. There’s a song that I listen to now that secures me of good times and good people. When it becomes a relic, I’ll smile upon listening to it. Instead of fear and loneliness that fills my music, I fill them with joy. My soul can take a sigh, one where it sounds like you’ve been holding on to it for too long and it would mix with the deep undertones of the bass and I’ll feel whole again. Have you ever thought about how much of your life was structured around music? I didn’t either until I could feel again because of music.
Written: 10/7/16 8:53am – completed 10/16/16 12:00am