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little things lately

golden afternoons // sunsets bleeding somewhere in the city // being pulled gently across faded pedestrian lanes // nice old ladies // "you're beautiful" // saying no // sidewalks and conversations // "i'm so glad i met you" // coffee and croissants // "okay" // broken glasses and a little bit of glue // ora et labora // i can see the end from here, are we burning bridges now? // libraries // cold rooms and crowded cafeterias // 3 am and bad dreams // "i'm sorry" // "it's okay" // birthdays and post-its // are you better off now? // dry // silence // strangers and soon-to-be friends, i hope? // worry // sleep // gentle alarms, soft sunlight // waiting // i thought i could fix the broken parts // strasbourg, france // hugs // little wishes // simple dreams // "hope ur doing well<3" // awkward introductions // early lunch breaks // oreos //

hmm

warning: ramblings on life

three days left in this little city. i’m still eating alone in the same old restaurant corners. the old waiters are throwing warm, friendly smiles and small talk my way. they remember me from when i was a little girl. i wish i remembered more. my mother has been dragging me to taebo and yoga classes for the past two weeks. i guess you could say i’ve been on the move. i’ve been twisting and turning my body, sizing myself up then shrinking, feeling the stretch in my spine and floating in endless breathing cycles. i think i’m hoping that i could soften the gentle parts of myself stained with sharp edges and catch a little peace to keep under my pillow. well, namaste, i guess. i’ve been sleeping a lot. long naps in the idle in-betweens. the days have been so empty. i’ve been craving for meaningful conversations, like the one i had with my mother a few days ago when she came into my room at 7 in the morning and stroked my hair like she used to. we talked and laughed in sweet, hushed tones. it sounded like a lullaby but i didn’t want to fall asleep. i wanted to hear it until the last quiet chime. moments like those are so rare and precious, something to be treasured. i have these little pieces of myself i want to turn into stories, but i don’t seem to know how to do so anymore. i wish i knew how to go around the city. it’s exhausting to stay in one place too long. i feel a little dead inside. i’m aching to go back. i remember the day before i left. i spent it sitting by the pond. i wonder how many people have sat in the same spot to clear their minds, throwing thoughts instead of pennies in the water. i bet the fishes are swimming in a small sea of thoughts and fragments of our souls. the day before i left, it was drizzling, and the birds were singing the song they sing every afternoon when the sun is about to set. i remember thinking that i’d file that memory away in my mind so that i wouldn’t find it so difficult to pack my bags and come back. a lovely reminder that i’m returning to a beautiful place. i want to eat books for breakfast, and hmm, maybe your poetry for dinner, please. three more days. i’ll find my way again. i’ll be okay again. for the mean time, i’ll be sighing to my favorite melodies. sigh. sigh. sigh. dear moon river, the days have been so empty. so, so empty. sometimes, i wish i didn’t have to spend so much time alone, but oh well, such is life. hope you're well.

Sleep tight, love.

When you're not your fragile little self, I'm the one you forget.

If I think about it too long, I could almost cry. Like all the little things that crawl their way under my skin, it is keeping me from sleeping. How do you measure time? I am waiting for the moment when the ticking of the pulse in my wrist shall cease to matter to you. Maybe at a certain second, minute, hour. Then I shall tell myself "I told you so." I told you so. I told you so. I told you so. I TOLD YOU SO. I TOLD YOU SO. Scream it out, restless soul. I TOLD YOU SO.

I am happy where I am now, but I have spent most of my time alone. I have found that it does takes courage. Lots and lots and lots.

A year ago, I would have told myself that I loved being alone, but before I came here, I think I never really did. I used to love being lonely, though. It made me bleed words. Silly young writers, most of them are sad and lonely. Just like you and me, maybe. Sometimes.

But such sweet courage. I can now swim along in a crowd of souls who will simply pass me by. Or sit by myself surrounded by bonds of laughter and conversation and noise, connecting everyone else to one another, but me. To love being alone is to walk along the street, collecting glimpses of people’s faces. Wondering what they’re made of. Crafting stories for them and giggling to myself. And knowing that most of them are going to look at me and look away. Maybe look through me like I am part of the air (wouldn’t that be nice?) and knowing that none of them will know my name and none of them will throw me a smile and none of them will wave hello. Knowing very well that none of them will...and well, that’s okay.

Today, though, I think I do feel a little sad. Hungry, even. Hungry for words and comfort and an embrace. I am in my safe little haven now, sinking in deeper into the pink seats outside the chapel, and oh boy, I would do anything right now to have a dose of good conversation.

I am full of self-loathing. What am I good for?

I am home, finally. My heart is in a familiar place, it is no longer racing nor is it tired. It is simply there, pumping life throughout all of me. There are friends to meet, conversations to make, papers to write, pieces to play, but right now, it is 12:37 am on a Monday and my eyes are about to close. All I really want to do is talk to the walls and tell them stories about how I have changed since I last saw them three months ago. I want to tell them how I rode the plane alone last Sunday, how I learned how to cross roads, how I found God again and how I am holding on. I want to whisper them my questions. How many fights and curses and stinging voices and sharp tones have pierced through you? Look, there are saints on the altar I've never seen before. What are they praying for? Tell me. I want to hold up a finger and trace someone's smile for them to wear until I leave again. These walls they've seen all of me, every hidden part, every silent curse, every aching prayer. I wonder if they're surprised with the person I am now, or if they even noticed that I've changed, but for what it's worth, I think I'm ready to whisper them the words I've been scared to say. I think I'm ready to tell them that they can stop holding me in now. I think I'm ready to ask them to set me free.

How are you, sunflower?

*pats* Hello there :) I don’t think I deserve to be called a sunflower. It is so much more lovely than I am, but I am well. I am trying to be. I hope you are too.

Maybe if you look at me long and hard, you'll see me clenching my fists and gritting my teeth. Maybe if you wrap your fingers around my wrist, you'll feel my heartbeat trying to crawl out of my skin. Maybe you'll feel the steady rhythm, whispering I don't want to get hurt I don't want to get hurt I don't want to get hurt.

Doesn't the Humanities appeal to your heart?

I am a little scared to say that it does.

observando

Are you happy?

Ray Bradbury (via observando)

Notes to self

1. You have to start doing things for yourself. It's when you push yourself to the things that you love for someone else that you feel yourself rotting away. You are young and your skin is a fresh layer of paint, so easy to peel off and carve blemishes on. It's only when you've seen how the world really is that you shed off your skin and trade it in for walls too high for you to climb. See? You are not ready to do the saving yet. It's someone else's job for now, little one.

2. Break down those walls and build a picket fence with gaps just enough for you to fit in, so that you can slip in and out when you hear the world calling out your name. A picket fence just high enough so the world can leap from its orbit and into your arms when you begin to feel that your life is going nowhere. You are going somewhere. The world is going to lead you there. Trust that it will. The world does not lie. Only people do.

3. Is it because you are so young that it is the easiest thing in the world to forget where you left those pieces of yourself that you've lost? The pieces of a broken heart, darling, is not for you to give away. They are yours to keep. The souls who broke them are not charities. Keep them in your pocket. They are safer there than in the grip of human hands. You don't need sweet words and bandages to heal. You only need time. You only need time.

4. Write, write, write. Write and be honest. What do you feel? There are only a few people you can trust to see beneath what you choose to show. I don't want you to coat your words with sweeteners. You're going to be the first one to gulp them down and too much sugar has always made your head spin, hasn't it?

5. Listen to your favorite song because they kiss your wounds like your mother used to do; because they smooth out the storms that are coming; not because it is 3 am and there is a boy on the other end telling you that he likes them too.

6. I am teaching you to be selfish now because I know what you want. You want to love someone broken. You want to be the one who looks at them like they are the gentle sky. You want to be the one who catches them like they are the falling rain. You want to be the one who kisses them in the dead of the night when it is quiet and lonely. I am teaching you to be the selfish, little one. You need some loving, too.

#j #thoughts #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #prose #poetry

You used to look like flowers to me and in your heart, I've seen something that shines like gold. I still could tell you all the good things I find in you, but all those mornings I spent waking up before the sunrise shook my nerves. Now, I feel your flowers weaving their roots through my pores, feeding off the sunlight in my eyes and I've learned the hard way that all that glitters isn't always gold. My body is 60 percent water and you are an apology I have tried to drown, but I can't. I can't. I can drown myself but I can't drown you. Although somewhere in my hollow corners, my soul is gasping for breath, you can still hear it utter a faint "I'm sorry" if you listen hard enough. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It took a lot of courage to uproot what you grew on me. The flowers have wilted, I smell decay. It will take even more to walk away.

it's my first night in my dorm. i feel kind of lonely and i'm already missing home. i have nice roommates. it's orientation day tomorrow. that's all for now.

I just had a really good day. My heart is starting to hurt.

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