Ashlee is a 20-year-old writer that's way too into the way life works and the things we do while we're in it. Always trying to figure things out, just like the next kid.
My last physical memory of my grandmother was when she was lying in the intensive care unit of St. Luke’s Medical Center in Makati, a tube stuck to a gaping hole in her chest, her hand in mine. I remember the moments leading up to this last moment together, when we were in the waiting area, my cousins and I being brought into the ICU one by one by my mom and Tita. I remember how cold the alcohol felt on my hands as I entered when it was my turn, and how when I got in her room, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had never seen my Lola so vulnerable and helpless. As I was trying desperately to keep my tears in, she reached out for my eleven-year-old hand, meeting my eyes. I remember the way she looked at me, the life in her eyes betraying her limp body as if to tell me it was going to be okay, that I was going to be okay. I knew then that this was it. When I couldn’t hold in my sob any longer, she squeezed my hand, eyes still in conversation with mine, and I squeezed back. The next morning, when I woke up to an empty space where my mother was supposed to be, I knew.
I knew it when I sat under the cold shower for too long. I knew it when I heard my Tita's car pull up to the garage and I opened the front door to see her, my mom, and my Lolo trailing behind, crying. I knew that this was going to be my first real encounter with grief, and that it was going to be so inexplicably painful, but that it was never going to change the love I had for my Lola and the life I lived with her – that this love was going to live in me forever. Despite knowing the pain of grief, I was still someone who could continue to live and choose love.
After my Lola’s passing, I would wonder when the pain of all this grief would go away, if it would ever stop being so heavy. As a kid encountering grief for the first time, it was hard to understand how painful and persistent it could be. There were times when it would feel so isolating to carry the heaviness of grief then to look around me and see everyone seemingly doing alright; I would wonder how I could possibly be alone in all this, but then my Kuya would mention her in conversation or bring up a memory we made together during our summers with her and Lolo in Baguio, and I would realize I wasn’t. She was on their minds, too, and somehow that made it lighter to carry.
It’s been nine years since she passed, but whenever I hear The Beatles’ Blackbird, I think instantly of my grandmother. The first time I heard it in public, I instantly felt a pull in my heart and wondered if the people around me could see it – if the grief was physically obvious on my face, if it looked as painful as it felt. But then it would happen again; whether it was during a class “jamming session” during break in grade school, in a Grab on the way home in high school, or if it simply came on shuffle in someone’s playlist; as soon as I heard the first few notes, my mind automatically went to her and the ungodly amount of times I played the song the month after she passed. When I finally accepted I would never be able to think of anyone other than my grandmother whenever the song played, I also accepted that I would always, no matter what, have a space for her in my heart. So instead of trying to hide my grief by looking so rigidly put together when the song came on, I would lean in and whisper into the ears of my friends next to me, “this song reminds me of my Lola!” And after hearing back an excited “tell us all about her!” I would do just that – tell them all about her, and the summers we would spend in her beautiful home (or our beautiful home as she’d say) in Baguio surrounded by her beautiful flowers that she never failed to tend to every day. Then to my surprise, my friends would respond with their own intimate stories, about the people in their lives that were no longer around but had played such a big role when they were, about how much they missed them.
Grief can be so incredibly painful. There are times when it comes quietly, like a tugging in my heart or tears forming in my eyes; but there are also times when it arrives like an unwelcome visitor, so sudden and persistent all I can do is let it in. In the frequency of these moments, I came to realize that there was no final knot to grief. No blueprint, formula, or solution. Grief is love staying alive, even if they’re no longer around. And I could see all the forms this love manifested in – in the way my friends would share their own stories of grief during sleepovers, or in the conversations my Kuyas and cousins continue to share about all the memories we made with our Lola; I see it in the way strangers on the internet talk about grief and how much it transformed them, in timeless pieces of literature or podcast episodes that talk about grief and how much they tried to understand it, and even in the letters I write to my Lola telling her how much I still miss and love her, how I always will, but that she has nothing to worry about, because I am doing okay despite.
on my overloaded bookshelf sits an old, kinda-rusty tissue holder from one of your tables. I’m sorry (not really). It has been sitting there for a couple years now, and recently it has been serving not only as a pretty awful book-stopper, but as a testament of the life I used to live before the world quite frankly went to shit.
I took this tissue holder (without the tissue, of course. I’m not that rude) on one of the many late movie night trips my family was on; we had just finished watching Bohemian Rhapsody when we agreed to stop for food before heading back home. When I look at your tissue holder, I remember the countless movie nights we would reward ourselves with after really long and tiring days. I remember how on some trips, I would be so exhausted from the day I just had that my eyes started feeling heavier than my feet; but even then I felt so light. So glad that at the end of the day, when everyone was heading back home and the malls were near closing and the streets were pretty empty, my family and I were one of the few that waited ‘til the very last minute to see a movie we’d been waiting on for months. The kind of light I felt was powerful enough for me to muster up the courage to grab a sad little tissue holder from one of your tables and tuck it into a hoodie that I borrowed from a friend.
Following the grand tissue holder theft, every time I would pass your restaurant on the way home came a reminder of the feeling only half-full cinemas yet fuller hearts could give me. I haven’t felt this exact experience in a while, but recently, when I would look over at the old silver of this tissue holder, I would find it again. The sleepiness my siblings and I shared, the music my dad would play in the car as we discussed the movie, the soft laughter as we’d recount the day we individually had. This all comes to me in different forms now, but there are days that I just miss this exact thing. I miss it so much that even after months of staying indoors and barely stepping foot outside, I could never forget the lightness of being.
P.S. Your food was okay; and if given the chance, I wouldn’t return the tissue holder. Don’t worry, it’s safe with me.
Smiles shared with strangers as we waited for our luck to come in the form of an empty space in public transport, a shared commonality that we all just needed to get somewhere and soon, please. The great sigh of relief upon realizing I had succeeded at being early to class despite the circumstances brought about morning traffic. The different versions of greetings with my friends first thing in the morning; sometimes met with the enthusiasm and excitement that came with an intriguing story or simply acknowledged with sleepy eyes and an eyebrow raise.
Hot, humid afternoons in a cramped cafeteria with a dozen other conversations floating alongside my girls and I, or the stifled laughter in the comfort of the insanely cold library as we tried to dodge the ssshhh from our oh-so mysterious, unfailing favorite librarian. The exchanges that fueled the fire — conversations in class that left me thinking twice, thrice; grateful to be where I was meant to be. Even the meetings after class that required the extra effort and energy only my commitment to contributing could magically give.
I miss the journey home; usually with the same people, sometimes with someone new. The successful, spontaneous trips to the most random places after what felt like the most tiring day on earth — swearing that this would be the last time, on God, that we would ever spend this much money on food. The laughter, the stories, the secrets, the inside jokes tucked safely between me and the people I shared my time with. And the conversations, dear God, the cherished conversations that would always leave my heart feeling fuller than I ever thought it could be.
I miss the traffic I used to curse at, the heat I swore I hated, the quiet walks home that saved me money and served my mind well. The drop of my shoulders as I climb up the few steps that led me home, met with the unrepeated views of the sunset signalling me that I was right on time. And then the exhaustion, the determination, upon realizing I had to get up in the morning and do the same thing again.
May 27th, 2020 (shared to my instagram story from a locked note on my iPhone)
A few months back, I read a passage that stressed the idea that life is programmed to get better. And even if that belief has been said on many occasions this was the one time I really sat with the thought and let it transform me. That there have been moments in my life where I genuinely thought it could not get any worse or better, yet time and time again life continued to prove me wrong.
Since then I would continue to come across messages with the same idea, that everything is bound to get devastatingly bad before it gets unbelievably good; that this is simply the way life works. As humans we unconsciously to grasp at anything that gives us hope and reassures us that a bump in the road is literally just that — a bump. That it gets better.
So when I came across messages stressing that the hurt is inevitably going to be replaced by something beautiful when I was going through a pretty tough time personally, I took that shit to heart. Absorbed the belief and made it mine, unconsciously manifesting the abundance of greater things that would eventually come my way (and continue to do so!!).
So if you’re going thru it and begin to grasp at straws here’s one I can hand — there is really nothing else to be but better. When you’re at your lowest point there is no other direction to go but up. Trust, even if it’s the toughest thing to do, that everything you’ve ever visualized and intended for is already yours.
Getting to know yourself more through a social media detox
Sometimes, we never really realize the realities of what we’ve been doing until they’re pointed out to us. Before I even came across Thomas Bragg of Yes Theory’s video on social media cleansing, I hadn’t even realized that I spent an average of six entire hours a day on my phone—doing God knows what. That’s equal to me spending a quarter of an entire day on my phone.
When you begin to realize the amount of things that could be done in the minutes you spend scrolling mindlessly on Twitter or viewing your friends’ and celebrities’ Instagram stories, you start to question if what you’re really doing with your spare time is good for you. And so, you begin searching for alternatives.
On taking that first step.
Not much people talk about what happens when you begin the journey of a social media detox, like the time you spend sitting with yourself after hitting the delete button, wondering how to turn yourself into that productive member of society you had envisioned in your head. And as someone that went through the exact same thing, I can assure you: it is completely normal. It’s perfectly fine to want to get back to the comfortable routine of opening Facebook, then Twitter, then Instagram until it’s a hole you find difficult to get yourself out of, only to find yourself on your fifth straight Youtube video.
It’s hard to steer yourself away from things that have already begun to be considered normal and acceptable for you and everyone else, even when you know it isn’t doing you any good anymore (this applies to situations offline, too). But that’s why it’s even more important to take this first step and attempt to distance yourself from these types of things.
This isn’t goodbye.
Here’s the secret behind social media detoxing that needs to be said out loud: digital minimalism does not necessarily mean completely eradicating it from your life; it’s learning how to control the way you use what you’ve so conveniently been given to make sure that it isn’t controlling you. When you find yourself unable to prioritize other things because you cannot put your phone down, it might be time for you to develop what is commonly called digital discipline.
Sometimes, digital discipline simply means setting your phone on “Do Not Disturb” while you study or write a paper, or just want to be alone and undisturbed. It could mean permanently turning off your push notifications to stop that habit of constantly checking your phone for a text or a reply to that Tweet you cared so much about.
To detox is to remove whatever it is you found toxic from your life, whether referring to your immediate surroundings or the digital space. So, maybe instead of using social media to view the stories of people you don’t really like anyway, use your platforms to benefit you. Follow your favorite artists, athletes, scientists—people who inspire you. Or, explore other platforms forms of social media that could provide inspiration instead of gossip, generate ideas instead of fill you with complaints.
As I slowly learned to do this over the weeks I spent trying to renew the way I used social media, I began to actively use my social media accounts and channels for things I deeply cared about or even exploring new things I would learn to love, like watching Yes Theory change the world with a bunch of other creative content creators, learning more about things like astrology or the way the brain works with Vox’s 20-minute, graphically extravagant episodes on Netflix, listening to podcasts about love and life as I cleaned my room, or even just browsing Spotify discovering new music to add to my endless list of favorites.
In the moments I found myself falling in love again with the way it felt to intentionally learn things that were always just at my fingertip’s reach, I began to see the beautiful side to the internet and social media. I was reminded of the belief that its power can change the world. Use the unlimited freedom of social media to get to know yourself more. There is so much to learn if you look in the right places; social media isn’t exactly your enemy unless you make it out to be. Just like what you should do offline: keep only what you know can serve you better.
Table for one, please: Why it’s necessary to find peace in solitude
We have heard it before that there is a fine line between being lonely and being alone, as people often mistake the two as one and the same, and that the two are mutually exclusive. Being alone is a state of being, the state of being by yourself. Loneliness, on the other hand, is more of a feeling, a feeling of alienation, of not belonging, of not being understood. The tendency to think that being alone begets being lonely manifests in many ways—mostly in the form of being scared of being alone, such as not wanting to be seen doing anything without someone next to you, or always finding the need to be looking busy or on-the-go when you’re by walking yourself.
What takes a long time to understand, though, is that they are not mutually exclusive. Loneliness could be felt even in a room full of people you’ve known your entire life, in the form a wave of loneliness crashing upon you as you realize you aren’t exactly where you want to be. On the other hand, it is possible to feel loved even as you lay by yourself in bed at night after you made the conscious decision to spend time by yourself instead of going out with your friends.
While it may sound like a scary thing, giving ourselves the space to be alone can be one of the most beautiful things we can give to ourselves. Being comfortable with being alone could help in our long and winding journey towards self-love and maturity.
Loneliness is necessary in order for self-love to take place.
When we begin to see the comfort there is in being alone, we begin to find the beauty there is in ourselves. We begin the journey towards the thinking: I am content and happy with myself. Every day we are surrounded by people who have so much to say and so much to offer to the world and whether we want to admit it or not, it can get tiring. There’s always a facade to maintain, people you want to impress or whose opinions you care about. Only recently have I discovered that it is essential to set aside time for ourselves as much as we set aside time for others—because in the space we allow ourselves to be alone, we allow ourselves to face what we’ve been putting off in the back of our minds. We give ourselves space to really think about who we are and what we are capable of as individuals, without the noise of other people’s opinion and expectations.
There is so much power in solitude that giving this chance to ourselves can change the way we look at life, other people, and even ourselves, entirely. It’s true what they tell you: that mastering self-love isn’t something that just happens overnight (some might even argue that it is a never ending process of learning). But even if it is the longest journey we find ourselves on, even if our minds get tired of analyzing and questioning the same things over and over again, it is necessary and fulfilling when we finally begin to realize that there will be moments that we will be by ourselves, and that these will also be the moments in which we realize that who we are is enough.
Being comfortable with being alone is a sign of personal growth and emotional maturity.
When you are alone, you allow yourself and your feelings the space and opportunity to progress. You reach a certain level of emotional maturity, and maybe even intelligence, when you are able to acknowledge how you feel, why you feel it, what you need to do about why you feel that way. Understanding these emotions and our responsibility on what we decide to do about it will ultimately result into our better understanding of ourselves. There is a weight you don’t even realize you’re carrying when you are so preoccupied trying to seem as if you don’t care, because whether we acknowledge it or not, we are so busy trying to come off as unbothered that we don’t realize the toxicity we bring ourselves when we are desperately trying to seem as if we don’t care. Because we all do. It’s in our nature, we were born to connect and to feel and to make ourselves and others feel alive, to feel like we belong here; and the more we realize that, the more we actively try to do something about it, then maybe, just maybe, those tough conversations we’re always dreading to have won’t have to be so tough at all.
There is strength that only we can find by ourselves in our own solidarity, the strength only self-love and emotional maturity can bring. The world can seem a little less scary – and maybe even lighter – when we are comforted by our own presence. We have to able to face our own snarky thoughts, to find the courage to ask ourselves why we think the way we think and why we see things the way we do; because if we don’t first, then who will? There is no one more important to be in touch with than ourselves, because even if you may hear this time and time again, you control your entire life – the way you feel about things, your relationships and the people you surround yourself with. So the next time you find yourself wanting to distract yourself from the many questions your mind has been begging you to face, or when you find yourself needing to have any form of background noise to keep you from avoiding what your thoughts are bothering you about – know that perhaps behind those hard-to-answer questions and those difficult emotions lies an answer you never knew you needed.
“The thing about ambition is that we never really know when to call ourselves out and say we’re doing too much. When do we draw the line and say we’ve done enough?” — an excerpt from a note on my phone, written on the 6th of June.
I’ve been mentally drawing up a draft of my college application essay for months now. Constantly bringing up new ideas and old memories to try and figure out what would make the perfect formula for the perfect essay. What should I write about? Do I solely focus on myself or do I write about the people I have learned to love unconditionally? A couple of months of thinking to myself and I still haven’t come up with a perfect answer, no physical draft to work with, no final title.
If I were to be known for something it would be for my capability to write; for my ability to make the most horrible or boring people seem other-worldly as long as I decided I loved them. Over time I have realized that my versatility in writing stems from my ability to feel - from the most beautiful, indescribable feelings to the rawest, most ugly truths; this, I have learned, is both a blessing and a curse I carry in the clicking of my keyboard and the tip of my pen. I wish I could tell you how to deal with the subtle power of words, but I must admit that even now, I still don’t know what to do with it except to write and write and
Write. Which is exactly what I’ve been doing my entire life. Yet as soon as I am faced with the subject for my college essay, everything I have ever known about the written word flies out the window and into the hands of the people that will decide if my words are good enough. And because I am one of the most organized, planned-out-to-the-minute-detail person I know, while I’ve been trying to figure out what it is exactly I want to say in that life-changing essay, I have been simultaneously convincing myself that what is meant to be will be.
Slowly I’ve been reminding myself that sure, we can plan everything out to the tiniest of details, and we can make a list to go over until we have it memorized like the back of our hands, but if things just aren’t meant to happen the way we expect or hope for them to - they won’t. Sometimes the things we want most in the world turn out never to be what was meant for us and that’s okay. If there is one thing I know with absolute certainty it is that tomorrows aren’t exactly promised to us but never fail to keep happening anyway. Yes, you can keep things on schedule if it makes you comfortable, yes, you can keep a checklist of what you need, but leave space for the idea of open arms to whatever it is that life or the universe (or God, if you’re into him) wants for us - remember that you’ve done enough and that sometimes the best thing to do for yourself is to just let things be.
Here’s to figuring out our place in life & letting whatever happens, happen. Happiness is anywhere we want it to be.
The perpetual search for the soundtrack of your life
From the entire plot of Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist by David Levithan, the relationship of Mia and Adam in Gayle Forman’s heart wrenching If I Stay, to the very desire of attending once in a lifetime concerts and music festivals – music, I have found, plays a very beautiful, very important role in our natural crave for human connection. Music has a magical way of making the world seem like a better place to live in.
Think of the hardest life experience you’ve ever hard to live through – the exact moment you found yourself thrown into a room made of four walls with no way out except to sit in your own silence, with your never-ending questions and surprisingly, tears. So many tears you didn’t think were humanly possible. And then think of how you got through it, the day you realized you were finally getting better and seeing clearer, the day you realized this was going to be a story worth telling. What, other than you, helped you get through it?
When I think of the role music plays in my life, I first think of that particular situation I’ve been droning on and on about, and how I had never felt so powerless as the time I realized there was nothing I could do except accept what life decided put me through. I remember realizing there was no way out except to get through it, even if I didn’t want to; I remember feeling my heart physically hurt and the soreness of my eyes as I lived through every day. And then I think of the countless songs that became the antidotes to that part of my life, the relief I felt when I felt my heart healing to the rhythm of albums like Lorde’s Melodrama playing in my mind, or Rex Orange County telling me that loving is easy. Maybe it was the pain that was constantly demanding to be felt, the determined path to healing, or maybe it was the undeniable feel good sound of the way those drums went with the bass. Maybe it was all those elements put together. Either way, the artists in this playlist-turned-antidote will forever hold a spot in my heart – a spot so solid that as soon as these songs play, I am instantly reminded of the nights I spent crying on my bedroom floor, trying my hardest to calm myself down with the sound of these songs that unintentionally became the background music of the hardest point in my life, and how even after all that, I managed to live.
I remember the satisfying, beautiful reoccurring moments I found my answer to the question: “Am I ever going to get through this?” in between the lyrics of my favorite song. It could be in the hustle of public transport, with strangers surrounding me and the sun glaring at my back, and even though my current circumstances weren’t looking so great, with a good song like “Stay” by Mac Ayres blasting from my earphones I decided I was okay, simply because this song was playing. Or it could be alone in my bedroom, trying desperately to feel okay again, and then a beautiful song plays, and my heart begins to flutter.
Another one of my favorite moments, though, is when I am on my short walk home and the sunset is the first to welcome me back. All that natural beauty combined with my favorite song rests every last ounce of my soul, no matter how bad my day could have been.
Moments like these are moments that make my favorite music so unforgettable, so significantly beautiful that I believe I can tell anyone— from my closest friend to a complete stranger—that if you are under the impression that you have lost your soul, you just might be able to find it in between the lyrics of a good song.
There are different types of love you feel for different type of people. The only way you truly know that your love for someone knows no bounds is when even after proving you wrong time and time again, at the end of the day you still remain their shoulder to cry on. When even after hurting you over and over again, your faith in them to be a better person never wavers.
This faith is hard to let go of. Especially when it was something you stood by, something you firmly believed in to be true because it just had to be, right? Because anyone can be a better person. Anyone can change.
But sometimes you have to let that faith go. Sometimes life really is shit and sometimes people really are just toxic. And this is not your fault, this is not your responsibility. It isn’t your responsibility to have so much faith in someone to be better that you end up black and blue in the process. Cut yourself some slack. Save yourself the hurt. You can only love someone so much.
I believe that everyone has to go through some sort of life changing experience to mature and become the person they're truly meant to be. Let me give you some context.
For about a year and I half, I found myself experiencing this one type of bliss with someone; and when you're stuck feeling only one type of happiness with only one person, you forget how other types of happiness feels like. And while that may seem safe and enough, it isn’t. It won’t be.
I stayed grounded to only one constant I thought I would never lose, and that is one of the biggest lessons I learned not to do. Before you rely on anyone else to give you happiness, you have to be sure of yourself first. You have to love and prioritize yourself first. So that if this one constant you thought you'd never lose does leave, you can always come back to yourself. Because you're always going to be all you've got. No one knows you better than you, and that is your power.
Listen, I can't lie to you. I can't say I was truly satisfied feeling just one kind of happiness because I wasn't. And I missed being happy by myself, I missed being happy with my friends. I knew I was going down a path I didn't want to take and despite always having one foot out the door, I never made the last push I needed to put myself first, to just get up and leave.
I don't blame anyone for ultimately ending up hurt in the end. I was going to learn and it was going to be the hard way.
I read a tweet once that said, "If I were given the chance to go back to the past to give my old self advice, I wouldn't. She'll live." and while at first I couldn't understand how you wouldn't be willing to save yourself from being hurt, I see what she meant now and I agree. If I could go back to the past to give my old self advice, I wouldn't. Because without all the past hurt and sadness I felt and experienced, I wouldn't be the person I am now. I had to go through all these messy feelings of anger and hurt and betrayal to learn to love myself like how I do now.
A few months ago, the universe gave me a lesson in the form of hurt and heartbreak. And even though for awhile it really didn't seem clear to me where to go from there, I accepted my diamonds wrapped in barbed wire with grace. I nurtured it, hugged the wires and cared for it as much as it hurt. And slowly, after letting myself bleed from the hurt, the wire fell away and showed me the beautiful, irreplaceable gift the universe gave me — the art of self love.
I see it now, universe. I've never been so thankful to have felt so hurt and broken if it meant it would lead to this. If being hurt would mean leading to the art of self love and reliance, happiness with myself and my solidarity, I would go through it again and again if it meant leading to becoming this better version of myself.
To you, reading this: If the universe gives you hurt, take it with grace. Let it change you. Even if the reason may still seem a bit blurry and unclear, believe that bad days will always lead you to better days.
Here's to taking loss and change in stride. Write you again soon.
I am no longer in denial of the fact that I haven’t been writing. Neither am I in denial that writing is the only thing I have to offer to the world/worlds, universe/universes.
And I can’t deny either how wretched it has made me feel. Worthless, stuck, frustrated. I’ve got to get over this hump. I have something I want to tell you.
I can count on one hand the amount of entries I have written in the past year. When I came to this realization, I tried to make my brain work. I tried to make her put together words that just didn’t seem to go together. I had started to feel helpless and desperate, as if I had forgotten how it felt like to feel and to make other people feel through my words. It’s what I was supposed to be good at. So I gave up. I was clueless and distraught, and maybe I still am. I have yet to find inspiration in someplace other than the four corners of my room.
But I have something to say. I’ve been trying to push this to the back of my mind, as far as it can go, just so I could seem unbothered. But you can only go so long when you push something you clearly need to talk about to the back of your mind. It’s going to get to you, and it’s going to eat at your mind until you finally talk about it. In my case, write about it.
I have always been a firm believer in the term “forgive, but do not forget.” When I first read about that I had thought to myself just how right it sounded, how easy it seemed. Because it is easy, right? Find it in your heart to forgive for we are all humans, anyway. We all make mistakes. Yet as you forgive, you must remember you must not forget. Mistakes committed are lessons learned, after all. Right?
When I had realized that perhaps I had forgotten how it was like to feel, the gods came to my despair; though not in the way I wanted. Months ago, I was hurt by the last person I thought would ever want to hurt me or cause me pain. Yet I found myself in a situation I couldn’t run from like every other difficult situation I was faced with, and there was nothing I could do but face the sun. I never wanted it to happen to me, but it did.
Although in “the end”, it didn’t turn out to be as bad as everyone made it out to be, it still left a scar in my mind, my being. A month later, I set off to find peace. I set off to find forgiveness. I set off to find peace in my heart that had space for forgiveness, because even after all that, faith held me up and even now she still is.
I thought I had found it, that peace in my heart. I thought I had found it, a place in my heart to forgive. But 5 months after, the memories return to me clear as day and the same feeling of disappointment and despair and confusion and hurt is clear as day, too. And it hurts, I tell you. To feel all that over and over and over again, because you’re a good person, you have forgiven, yet you don’t have to forget what was done to you. But it’s not that easy, I promise you. It’s not as easy as it is for the words “forgive, but do not forget” to roll off your tongue, it’s not as easy as the saying makes it out to be. It hurts and it stings and it replays again, over and over. On good days it’s in black and white, but on the nights when I’m alone and confused, it’s in full living color.
I’m not telling you not to forgive or not to do either. I do encourage you to forgive, because your heart is never a good place to store anger and sadness. But I also encourage you to give yourself time as I am myself. Hopefully, you and I find what we’re looking for.
An attempt to reflect on life so far, here’s TSC volume three.
C U R R E N T L Y …
R E A D I N G the princess saves herself in this one by amanda lovelace; a poetry book about self love and redemption.
W R I T I N G nothing at the moment. I admit this in shame and disappointment. I hope I can keep myself up writing about all kinds of wonders again soon.
L I S T E N I N G to Freudian by Daniel Caesar. Released just two days ago, this album makes my heart flutter.
T H I N K I N G about that mindset I almost let go of: to hope, but never to expect. The past two months consisted of heartbreak, disappointment, and even after all that - hope.
W I S H I N G I could just let go of all this unnecessary overthinking. God damn it, the only person that can save me is me, after all.
W E A R I N G what I can only hope passes off as Unbothered.
L O V I N G the people who stick with me through thick and thin. God only knowns how lucky I am for these people.
W A N T I N G to restart. Senior year of jhs has been nothing but messy for me.
N E E D I N G time alone. Time to think. Time to wonder and to reflect. Peace of mind. School and so many other people are always asking things of me, expecting things of me. I can only give so much, life.
F E E L I N G distracted, confused, exhausted. My brain is always thinking of this or that. I am longing for peace of mind.
E N C O U R A G I N G you to always put yourself first.
When you take time to see how you were doing a year or even a couple of months from now, there is always that moment of realization that so many things have changed; whether you wanted them to or not. Sometimes, it’s even you that changes.
Alas, it’s always up to you to choose good change or bad.
Here I will say this: it is never time that changes things, it will always be you. If you don’t allow yourself to progress, you will remain stuck where you are. So unless you can give yourself time to step out of the little comfort zone you’ve made for yourself, time isn’t going to do anything for you.
This July, I start my last year of junior high. And this summer (*cue Kylie Jenner meme about realizing things*), I let myself look back. I mean, like really look back.
In my first year of junior high, I was angry at everyone. In my mind, I and a select few, were the only ones doing it right. When really, no one was.
I was mad at this and that, and because of all that time and energy wasted on being angry and sad and confused, I didn’t allow myself to progress the way I wanted to. Mid-second year, I realized that wasting the last bits of energy you have on being so angry and hateful is never the way to do it. Nothing comes out of it except that you end up becoming so tired.
Third year, I was in a new environment. Equipped only with nervousness and the knowledge that this year, god damn it, we’re going to get it right.
Last year, I learned not to care so much of what other people think. God, if you spent the first two years of high school with me you would know how much I cared what people think. Speaking in front of a class would sometimes leave me teared up and shaking, damn it. But last year, last year was a good one. I do admit that deep down, I still tend to feel self concious and scared and confused, but last year I was happy just letting people do their own thing and letting myself do what would make me happy. Meeting amazing people and learning from them and what they’ve been through.
On the subject of relationships, though? I really only have one thing to say about them: Never, for your sake, stay with people that make you question your worth. Don’t let yourself be second choice, and if you find yourself second guessing what to say or how to act around him/her/them, get out. Find better people. Know your worth.
Let yourself be happy. Let yourself learn. So much can come out of your happiness alone. Always remember that there will never not be sad days. Just when you think you’ve got it all together, you find yourself scared and crying. That’s okay too. What would the world be without a little tears?
I didn’t realize how deeply I’d fallen with you until I found that you were always on my mind. Stay, love, you are more than welcome.
I didn’t realize how deeply I had fallen in love with you, my love, until I listened to you tell me you loved me without expecting me to say it back. Until you kept saying it even if I was scared to say it back. Until I finally did and your eyes looked so bright and your smile took my breath away and you asked me if, “really?” because really, love, really I do.
I didn’t realize how damned in love I was with you until I got close enough to really look at your eyes and realize they were my favorite color, the best damn pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. Until we held hands and I realized how I only felt this safe with you. Until we told each other things we’ve never thought to say aloud.
I didn’t realize how happy I was that I was falling in love with you until we touched foreheads and we kissed and I felt as if the entire damn world - all 7 billion of it - was on my side.
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