Words Unspoken

An aspiring author in love with words. Hope to someday write something so beautiful and powerful that it becomes forever remembered.

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A Conversation With God, on Childhood and Amnesia;

You were there,

from the beginning, and till now.

Every picture, every video, every memento that glances before me dances, aligned in the same beat; do you remember? do you remember this place, this day, this feeling?

But I cannot answer, not to all of their expectant eyes. I can say I remember the big things, the bright colors: I remember the afternoon I wore my denim jacket and my sister was born, the trip to the botanical garden where I skipped about in my pretty red polka dot dress; I can say I remember the way the wind had tugged at my stainless white skirt as we had all stood by the cobalt neighborhood lake, and the way we had flashed a smile as the camera listened to our young and chorused, CHEESE!

I can say I remember roaming the dusty sierra desert, keeping close watch for hidden beasts with poisonous tongues; I can say I remember the yellow summer holidays, the periwinkle winter night family discussions, feeling pretty in new dresses for parties in the verdant spring. but these are not the only days captured, left here in these untouched photographs -- there were the quieter moments, the gentle and soft times belonging to twilight; yes, what of the times I held my brother in my arms, his left eye swollen from his illness, his hair rising straight in the air with static, his lips curled upwards as I kissed his forehead; what of the times I fell asleep on the ground, my arms wrapped around my two-week old sister, whose tiny hands had ensconced themselves under the base of my stomach as she slept soundly, as if I was her protector and the only one she could feel safe with? What of the times I waited under the kitchen table, knowing I’d be the first thing my father would see when he walked through the front door when he returned home each day; what of the sensation of my stomach jumping from the exhilaration of riding the subway with my parents or of the wet grass blades tickling my toes as I played with my friends; what of the times I ran up to my mother and pressed my lips on her cheek, making her nose scrunch up as she laughed, not bothering to wipe away the trail of slobber I left on her skin;

These were all the real moments, with lovely significance obvious to any passerby, any witness from the outside, but I cannot remember them. I know that they have happened and I know that I must have felt something during these moments, and that whoever was with me must have felt something too, but I remember nothing. I was too young to know these memories were the ones I needed to hold on to, to capture, to grasp as if my life depended on it -- with age, it seems, comes amnesia, unconscious forgetfulness, for better, and for worse. But you were there, every step of the way, and now I ask you, not out of anger or frustration or resentment, but out of innocent curiosity, a simple desire for an explanation: if I have been blessed with such a beautiful life, why have you let me forget so much of it?

I look at these photographs and listen to these stories, with a nostalgic smile plastered on my face accompanied with a deeply unsettled feeling tugging in my stomach. I want to say I remember this moment, that I remember the warmth that spread from my head to my toes as I held my brother’s hand as we both laughed so hard our cheeks turned red --

-- but of course I can’t. I haven’t forgotten everything, but of some memories, I know nothing. I was a child, so naturally I have come to forget -- this is a truth of life, the way things were always designed to be, and I ought to accept it, and mostly I do, but I would be lying if I said that these sweet captures of my past does not bring me nothing but sorrow. I’ve discovered within me a yearning that burns so intently that my own heart has surprised myself, and as I turn page after page of this taunting photobook, I find myself sinking deeper into this pathetically hopeless sensation of sad. you can feel it, can’t you, the paradoxical storm whirling within me -- you can feel the longing, the nostalgia coursing through me, and still, you can feel the strange hollowness slowly settling in like an unannounced guest. it’s so terribly confusing to miss something you managed to cease to remember, but I suppose that once a heart is shown something worthy of love, it can not help but ache to love that thing. and so I miss the past, feel profoundly grateful for being blessed so abundantly, and yet I feel as if I am reaching out for a life that is not mine, that does not belong to me. and perhaps it doesn’t, anymore, for I am a new heart and a new soul and a new person entirely (the world has shaped and molded me quite differently) but I once was someone else, entirely happy and so incredibly loved, and I do not want to let go. so please, I plead with you, make this awful feeling of melancholy and emptiness fade away. remind me again of the past -- don’t you worry, I will not disregard the present, nor the future -- because I know that the life I have now is enthrallingly wonderful, but I also know that what I used to have was beautiful. and I do not want to let it go.

Dear God, is this what it feels like to know I am not living a childhood anymore?

- Red

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At Crossroads

I believe in love. I also believe in the power it holds -- and how beautiful, and how dangerous it can be.

I have seen love in its purest forms. Innocent, simple, sweet, plain white. Passionate, adventurous, enthralling, deep red. I have seen those in love completely transform to someone stronger, happier, and far more complete. I have seen personal universes recolored by the brushstrokes of adoration, eyes relit by the embrace of the deepest affection. I have seen why love keeps the world going, I have witnessed its magic and I have been blown away by it. I continue to fall in love with love everyday.

But with power, comes danger. Risk. Potential Destruction. When you have something good -- something real good -- and you become hooked, what happens when that something good is taken away? I have seen what comes in the absence of love. What ends. What transforms. What becomes. I have seen the loveliest families turn to broken homes, I have seen high-school sweethearts become eternal adversaries, I have seen hopeful love stories become star-crossed tragedies. And it is terrifying. When love turns into something less, when it turns to hate or fear or jealousy, or when love slips away and fades to someplace that cannot be found, the earth shifts. The stars realign. And we are different.

I have watched collisions of the absence of love on people who once had hearts that were only honest. I have seen love transform; husband and wives losing their fire, college sweethearts cheating on one another, lovers who were once written about suddenly turning up on the news with the headlines: their story is over! It’s scary. Once love fades away, people seem to forget the feeling they had when they were initially in love -- they forget why they were in love, and what it felt like. If they remembered how the feeling felt, I swear the world would be happier. And everyday, I notice more broken love stories than complete ones, and it saddens me. It scares me.

You must understand that I’ve got a heart that only wants to love. That wants to love, and be loved. And I am determined to find love. To have my own love story. But everytime I begin to daydream about the future I hope for, I hesitate. I falter. And I wonder; what if I get a sad ending? What if the one I love loses interest in me; what if we become too caught up in our own lives that we have no time left for each other; what if he wakes up one day and realize his heart isn’t completely for me; what if he finds love somewhere else; what if I begin to look for love somewhere else; what if the fire we once had slowly dies away; what if time chars away at our love; what if we forget the feeling we had in the beginning? What if...?

And so my heart is at a crossroads. How do we love? Should we love with our eyes shut closed or should we brace ourselves for any possible impact from when love decides to disappear? 

I’d like to trust love. I’d like to believe in it. Why worry about the future? Wouldn’t it be best to simply live in the moment, to the fullest, and love as deeply as we can?

But we are only human. We are bound to be at least a little afraid of losing the ones we love. But I’d like to remain optimistic. Hopeful. Trusting.

Always musing on about love,

Red.

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2016

Hello, greetings, hi, how are you? Sixteen days of January has already passed so I’m late when I say; Happy New Year. I hope 2016 treats you better than 2015 did and I hope Time and Life treat you well. I hope your stories become even more beautiful this year.

Time has been acting recklessly and has been running so quickly that I’m struggling to keep up with it. Half a month of 2016 has come and gone, and I haven’t yet stopped to pause and reflect on 2015; but I think tonight, I will.

2015 was, in simple terms, a good year. It wasn’t perfect, but when has Perfection and Time ever teamed up? 2015 had its hardships, but it had its beauty as well. And I’m forever thankful for the journey 2015 presented me with.

2015 was good to me. I fell in and out of love, lost friends and gained new ones, strengthened bonds with people I love, traveled across the world, pursued my love for writing, overcame battles I hope to never fight in again, and created memories that will forever be engraved into my heart. As a writer, I think I’ve grown a little, too; I wrote a short story, discovered my love for poetry, collaborated with others, but began to neglect projects on Wattpad and sadly, here. I think that’s why I love poetry so much; it’s so much of emotion with so little commitment.

So it’s 2016 now, and also the last semester of high school for me. I’ve made so many memories with the people I consider family over the past few years; I can’t begin to fathom what life will be like when high school ends and the next chapter of my life begins: college. 2016, I know, will be different. In my story, there’ll be new characters, new places, new challenges, new moments to write down. My story will take a turn. It will change. It will be so different -- and I’m praying, with everything that I have, that it’s beautiful. Legendary. Breathtaking.

My goals for this year is this; to make the most out of this last semester of high school, go on more adventures, create story-worthy memories, capture moments with more pictures, learn to love deeper without being afraid, and write more.

I hope that you, my dear reader, have a beautiful year. I hope you laugh until your stomach hurts, fall in love so deeply that you see the world in whole new colors, create and capture memories that a writer would be jealous of, and discover how beautiful this world can be. I hope you listen to relatable songs that make you want to laugh, cry, dance, and I hope you watch movies that hold so much meaning they wake you up at night, and I hope you read something that saves your heart and makes your day a little bit brighter. I hope you’re happy, and I hope you remember how beautiful you are. How beautiful your life is. How beautiful this world is.

Time is relative so I end this rambling with this final thought; we don’t ever need to wait for a new year for a “new beginning.” If we ever want to change our story, start over, create a clean slate, we can do it whenever we want. Time and Perfection has never teamed up, but I promise you, Time won’t interfere with your Happiness if you don’t let it.

Have a good year,

Red

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I feel so lost and stuck in life and I just don't know how to move forward. I believe that I am not good enough for anything... or anyone. But at the same time, I am happy that I have the privilage to wake up everyday and that God has given me another chance. What are your views on these feelings?

I think you’re an incredibly strong individual to acknowledge the blessings you have despite the pain you feel. Your words resonate with many individuals, I believe, as there are, unfortunately, a large amount of people who feel just as you do.

It’s not uncommon to lose our ways sometimes. It’s a part of life; there will be times when we lose ourselves and any confidence or happiness or hope we may have begins to slowly fade away, leaving our souls battered and exhausted. This is one of the most difficult things a person must overcome, because the feeling of helplessness is a heavy burden. 

I could list a number of cliches to you and tell you that you’re perfect the way you are, that you’re good enough for anything so long as you work for it, but I won’t tell you what you’ve already heard before. What I’ll tell you is that everyone loses their way sometimes, but we always find our way back. We do it all in different ways, and I know you’ll find your own. You didn’t ask me for advice, anon, but for my views on your feelings, and here are mine: you feel this way because you’re only human, and at the end of the day, we all have our own types of poison running through our veins, demons haunting us time and time again, and battles we must face to continue moving forward. And sometimes we get so caught up in the pain that we forget about the blessings bestowed upon us but you are one of the few strong individuals who stay thankful for what you have. And I suggest that you carry on, never quit the fight no matter how difficult it will seem, and continue to remember the things you have rather than the things you don’t have.

My dearest anon, hope is on the way. As difficult as it may be to believe, there will be a future in which you are no longer a lost and inadequate wanderer. You will realize someday that you are the best that you can be, and I pray that that is enough for you. You say that you are not good enough for anything but I know, and you know (deep down inside), that this is false. If you give up on yourself, then you will continue to feel lost, and you will continue to feel as if you cannot move forward. And so I urge you to keep one goal in mind, to be a better person today than you were tomorrow. To motivate yourself in this way will make things clearer, and the path you’re meant to tread on will appear.

Darling, it’s okay to be lost sometimes; sometimes we must lose ourselves in order to find out who we are, who we should be, and who we are meant to be. 

I hope that somehow answers the question you asked -- and the questions you didn’t. 

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Where does your inspiration lie?

“I write only because there is a voice within me that will not be still.” -- Sylvia Plath

Every writer has their own different reason behind why they write, but the very common, simple reason that we write is because we must. You’ll find that almost every writer suffers from a mind that constantly dances in a storm of thoughts and a heart that beats too fast and too hard; simply put, we write because if we didn’t, we’d go insane. As Isaac Asimov perfectly put it, “I write for the same reason I breathe -- because if I didn’t, I would die.” 

My inspiration comes from nowhere but inside myself. I write because I feel driven to, and it is the way I prefer to get through my life. I’ve always been fascinated by words and the power and beauty they hold, and I’ve found that words are the best way to express what I can’t bring myself to say aloud.

When I write, I write because I am at the peak of my emotions. I write when I am lost, when I am exhilarated, when I am heartbroken beyond relief, when I am feeling infinite; what I am trying to say is, my inspiration lies in my emotions. I personally am someone who feels too deeply but tends to speak my mind too rarely, so writing is, in some sense, the therapy for my soul. I write for pleasure and I write for necessity -- I write because I like to, I want to, and I need to.

I also write to inspire; sometimes the most troubled souls cannot find solace in writing, so I write in hope that those hearts will find solace in reading instead. I write to not only keep myself sane but to keep others sane as well; no matter how amateur or plain my writing may be, I write in hopes that my words are powerful enough to save someone’s soul.

The bottom line is this: I write because I must, and because words are what keep me moving forward. I write for myself and I write for others; I write to live a little more deeply, love a little more strongly, and feel a little more powerfully.

I hope that answers your question. 

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Ephemeral

As I’m living my last year of high school, harsh realities and bitter truths are slowly sinking in, causing me to feel a wide range of conflicting emotions that have been tugging at my heart. I’m scared and happy and heartbroken and relieved all at the same time, all because of this concept we call temporary.

It was about two weeks ago when I felt my first burst of bittersweet sadness. It was a Friday night, and all my friends and I were sitting in a small room together, with smiles and laughs being shared everywhere. 

Two of the boys of our class, one of which was my best friend, were performing that night. They took out a guitar and a microphone and sang to us, and it was beautiful.

It was beautiful, absolutely perfect. We were quiet but together, and the people that sat next to me were people who I’d lived the past couple of years with. With them, I’d made unforgettable memories, legendary stories, and wonderful relationships, and I felt so blessed in that moment that I’d had the honor of being with them for so long. I wasn’t with friends in that moment, I was with family, and I found myself smiling at the notion that we were creating such a beautiful memory right then and there.

But the smile on my face quickly disappeared as I realized that this memory would be one of the last that I would create with these people; in just a matter of months I would be exchanging goodbyes with so many of these familiar faces, and everything and everyone that I held dear would move on and start anew. I myself had no idea where I’d be a year from then, but I knew that I wouldn’t be somewhere with these same people near me. 

So quickly this beautiful memory turned to a bittersweet one, and I found myself aching for a moment that I was currently living. I found myself nostalgic despite having everyone I missed right next to me, and I found myself heartbroken in the midst of a sea of happy souls. Suddenly I felt misplaced and completely out of the family, rather than a part of it. And that just completely shattered my heart.

That moment became significant as it began to influence my acts from that moment forward. I found myself unconsciously pushing myself away from others and creating distances with people who I’d been so close to for so long. I suppose I did it so that I’d be ready to say goodbye to them; I wanted to make it easier for myself to leave these people I’d loved for so long. I guess I just wanted to be the one saying goodbye rather than the one hearing goodbye.

But of course that was a terrible idea; now I find myself in the middle of the day, staring out at the windows of the classroom, feeling lost and afraid and sad that everything seems to be so ephemeral. And deep down I know that I ought to fight for the people I love, but somehow I can never find the strength or the willingness to. I’m so tired, so tired of losing, that for once I want to figure out a way that I can win -- but so far, I’m failing.

And I don’t know what to do -- how to fix this issue I seem to always have. I push people away far too easily and I fight for the ones I love far too rarely. I’m terrible at dealing with loss, and I really wish that heartbreak didn’t come so easily to me.

I suppose the only day I’ll ever be completely happy is the day I realize that people are ephemeral and nothing -- nothing ever lasts, but that I must continue and I must keep moving forward; because love will falter and love will fade, but in the end, love must continue.

Trying to remain sane,

Red

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Holding On

“You can’t hold on to people forever.” 

The words come out of your mother’s mouth over and over again, like she’s a broken record that’ll never stop playing. You say nothing in response, just smile and pick up the red roses he left at your front door. 

A week later he comes to your front door, wearing a suit and tie and a smile that says he couldn’t be happier. He gives you flowers the shade of pink that match the exact color of the dress you wore on the day you two first met. He says hello to your mother, who tells him to take care of her girl, and she whispers in your ear that “you can’t hold on to people forever.” You just kiss her forehead and take his hand, ignoring the look of worry in your mother’s eyes. 

And every day you fall asleep next to a bouquet of fresh roses and the thought of him is ingrained into your heart; you wear his sweater that smells like him and plan your future with him over the phone. And your mother -- she’s in the other room wishing you’d understand that you can’t hold on to people forever.

Six months later it’s 3 a.m. and you’re laying in bed with a bouquet of withering flowers that he gave you two weeks ago. His sweater is starting to smell too much like linen and he won’t answer your calls anymore. When he picks you up for a date, he wears old jeans and a faded gray t-shirt. His smile seems fabricated and the distracted look in his eyes makes you fall apart. The distance between you and him becomes harder and harder to deal with, but neither of you say a word to end it because as unhappy you two are, you don’t want to let go. 

So it gets worse by the day, and you begin to fight over all the little things - you argue about the unwashed dishes and whose turn it is to walk the dog and why they kept their ex’s love letter from years ago. But none of it matters because the real reason behind the anger, behind the madness, behind the frustration is that you’re both falling apart but unsure of how to let go. But one night he finally decides to ask you if you think he’s the one. And you think to yourself how much you want him to be, but know you’d be lying if you said yes. Tears fall from your eyes and no words escape your lips, but your silence is enough to answer his question and he tells you it’s time to end this. 

So you go home that night, curled up in your room, drowning in your tears and wearing a shirt that you doused in your own perfume.Your mother comes to hug your pain away, fighting tears of her own. And you look up at her and whisper over and over again that she was right, that now you know why daddy left and why the love of your life is gone now, too. 

You tell your mother you get it now, that maybe people aren’t meant to stay; but your mother doesn’t agree with you this time and tells you she’ll never leave you alone. You cry even more and wish you could believe her but know that even she’ll be gone someday too. The truth is everything you wish you didn’t have to believe, everything that you were running from: that you simply can’t hold on to people forever. 

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Yours Truly,

Red

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Dad and Me

“When you were a baby, hardly 2, 3 years old, the first words that came out of your mouth wasn’t ‘mommy’ or ‘daddy’ -- no, your first words were ‘I want to go outside.’

Mommy was always too tired to go anywhere, so at exactly 4 p.m. every day of the week, you’d go to your front door and sit on the ground, waiting for daddy to come home. When he came he’d greet you with open arms, hug you, tickle you, and promise you that he’d take you out in ten minutes. You’d let out an excited giggle and would follow him around the house, waiting until he was ready to go.

He’d take you everywhere; to the parks, to the drive-in car washes (you always laughed at the way the brushes would sweep against the windows), to the parking lots of your daddy’s office, to the local food stops, to the metro station. Daddy took you everywhere, everyday, loving that you loved to go on adventures so often; but the problem was, he created memories that only he remembers and you’ve forgotten.

See, now it’s 15 years into the future and things have completely shifted. You’re 17 now, holed up in your room trying to figure your world out, trying to figure your own heart out. You don’t ask daddy to take you anywhere now -- in fact, you hardly talk to him anymore. You and him have both changed more than you wish you had; most days you like to stay inside, hiding from the world out there - and most days, daddy never seems to want to do much more than work and sleep. That connection you and daddy had, it’s gone now, and this doesn’t break your heart until you hear him telling your little sister all the stories of how he showed you the world when you were a baby. 

He tells your baby sister all the stories with a tone of nostalgia, wistfulness, happiness, and sadness, and you have to excuse yourself from the room because you don’t want him to see you cry. You miss the days that you don’t even remember living; you miss being happy and adventurous and lively, and oh my, you miss your dad... And as you cry, you wonder to yourself what on earth happened to you.

And you know, deep down inside, that daddy’s just as broken as you are. Now that mommy’s gone, he isn’t the same anymore. He won’t admit to his sadness but you’ve noticed the way he doesn’t eat dinner anymore or the way his smile never quite reaches up to his eyes or the way he steps out of the house at 4 a.m. on nights he can’t fall asleep. You’ve noticed the way he fights tears when your little sister gets hurt or when she mentions mommy again, and you’ve noticed the way he chokes on his words when he tells his friends you’re all grown up now. And you want to help him, tell him he’s not alone, but you never know what to say.

But the final straw -- oh dear god, the final straw is when you see your little sister sitting at the door, waiting for him to come home. When daddy returns, she tells him she wants to go outside but daddy only shakes his head, his eyes tired and his smile forever gone; he tells her he’ll take her out another day and walks away.”

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Just another little something I wrote on a whim. I know my previous few posts are written in a bit of a different style compared to what I usually post here, but I’m finding myself wanting to try different takes on writing. I might continue to write pieces like these or revert to my standard blog posts; I’m not quite sure yet. For now I’m just allowing my emotions to guide me through my words, so bear with me, and I hope some of my writing will reach out to your souls.

With love,

Red

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A Typical Night

“So it’s 2:47 a.m. and you’re sitting on your bed, staring at the blank wall in front of you. The lights are all turned on and the windows are open, letting in the cold wind from outside. Your hair is tied in a tight bun and there’s a hole on the right sleeve of your sweater. There’s a soft melody humming in the background from your iPod, and you find yourself singing along.

There’s a plate half full of cookies next to you and as you grab another cookie, you almost feel guilty for stress-eating this way. But you push away your thoughts of insecurity for your body and take another sip of the dark, bitter coffee you made and wish you’d put more sugar.

You’ve written about seven different poems by now, none of them any good, and you decide to give up on writing for the moment and instead listen to the rain’s downpour. There are moments when you realize your cheeks are wet and you wonder how the storm sneaked inside your home.

There’s this hole inside of you, a certain brokenness you’ve never felt before, and you’re dying to tell someone about it but you’ve got no place to go. Earlier today somebody asked if you were okay, and instead of telling them all that you’ve been through you nodded your head and told them you were just tired from the night before. 

You want to tell someone, tell them how much the aching is destroying you, but you can’t seem to do so. It’s ironic to you, how you’re a writer yet you struggle all the time with words. 

Your phone buzzes and you see your friend asking for someone to talk to. She’s broken and bruised, just like you, but the difference is, she has the courage to beg you to fix her. 

So you heal her wounds, one word at a time, and once you know she’s gone off to sleep peacefully and happily, you grab another cookie and take another sip of your acrid coffee. You get up from your bed and close the windows, turn off the lights, and continue to sing softly to the words on the stereo. 

You write one more poem, this time in your head instead of on paper. You use words that will comfort yourself and the storm that’s been in your room slowly fades to an end. 

When you wake up a few hours later, you catch the sunrise and think to yourself that maybe someday, you’ll have a fresh start of your own.”

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Yours Truly,

Red

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A Letter to the Future

“Dear 22-year-old me,

The date is June 27th and the weather is unusually cold. You’ve just drank your fifth cup of coffee and things are beginning to look a bit fuzzy around you. 

It’s been three days since you’ve slept. You've been sitting on the ground listening to the same song you’ve had on repeat all morning and there’s a pile of crumpled pieces of papers next to your feet. Your eyes are tired but your mind is awake; there’s a stream of thoughts and emotions that refuse to let you sleep.

Dad’s not home and mom’s been in bed all week, her eyes never leaving the blank walls. Your sister is quietly playing on her own, occasionally coming to your room when she feels lonely or bored.

The house is empty but you feel so suffocated. You’re panicking and you’re worrying about the past and about the present and most definitely about the future. You’re scared about what’s happened, and what’s yet to come - you’re worried about your future husband, and your kids, and your career. You’re terrified, petrified, of what’s to come, because you don’t have your future planned and can’t even figure out your present. And as you drink your sixth cup of coffee you wonder to yourself if it’s common to be so lost.

As the song on your iPod repeats for the seventy-third time today, you close your eyes and breathe and you pray to yourself that things will be okay. 

Dear 22-year-old me, when you read this will everything be okay? Will the date be June 27th again and will the weather be warm or cool? Will you be on your first cup of coffee or your second or your third?

Dear 22-year-old me, will your surroundings still be blurry? Or will your vision be clear, refined, sharp? Will you have been awake for one night or two or three or more?

Dear 22-year-old me, will your iPod be playing the same sad song that speaks the words you can’t seem to say aloud? Or will the tune be different, will it be new, happy, fresh?

Dear 22-year-old me, you’ll be alone, won’t you? Daddy and mommy and baby sister won’t be in the house with you anymore. Will they be together in their own homes or will they be broken apart like they are in your nightmares?

Dear 22-year-old me, you ought to be happy. By now you must’ve realized that the boy with the green eyes and scarred skin wasn’t worth losing yourself to. By now you must’ve realized that love doesn’t always win, and that love doesn’t always lose. By now you must’ve realized that a marriage doesn’t always mean a happy family, and parents don’t always know how to stitch you up.

And dear 22-year-old me, you should know that if you haven’t put your life together yet, it’s okay. Because see, someone once said that the thing that’ll destroy you in your twenties is thinking you need to have your life all figured out. Dear 22-year-old me, please don’t be as scared of tomorrow as present-day me is. Be wiser and stronger than that.

Dear 22-year-old me, I hope you made it.”

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Yours Truly,

Red

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Family

“It’s eight p.m. and the skies are turning to rust, the winds are whispering to the tired trees, and silence fills the house like an unwelcome guest.

It’s eight thirty p.m. and momma’s not eating anything. Daddy’s feeding your baby sister but he doesn’t smile when she burps and giggles afterwards, and the food on his plate remains untouched. You don’t have much of an appetite, either.

It’s nine p.m. and the lack of life is driving you insane. Your heart is full of worry for your momma, so you bring her a plate of dinner and a cup of her favorite tea. She looks up at you and screams; she doesn’t want to eat.

It’s nine oh five p.m. and you put the food away. You ask your momma why she won’t say a word, and she begins to break you apart one syllable at a time. She spits and screams and defines your worth as nothing, and you stand there trying to argue and defend yourself, but the only thing that manages to escape you are tears.

It’s nine oh nine p.m. and your daddy runs up the stairs, finding you standing in a pool of tears. He asks what happened and you tell him that momma doesn’t want you anymore; you sob and hiccup and struggle to find air to breathe.

It’s nine twenty p.m. and momma and daddy are screaming again. Caustic words of hatred and anger fill the air, and you curl up in a corner drowning in your tears. Your baby sister watches you fall apart and you hate yourself for letting her see you this way.

It’s nine forty five p.m. and momma says to daddy that the marriage isn’t working anymore. Daddy tells her to leave and get the papers, so she storms out of the house while daddy leaves the room to catch some fresh air. You haven’t stopped crying yet.

It’s one oh three a.m. and momma still hasn’t returned home. Your eyes are growing weary but you refuse to fall asleep until she comes back. Your baby sister is sound asleep in the next room and your daddy is drinking away his troubles. He doesn’t know you’re still struggling to breathe.

It’s two fifteen a.m. and momma isn’t back yet. You fall to your knees and pray for the hundredth time this night to save this family, and your prayers end in screams and desperation. Daddy’s fallen asleep by now.

It’s three a.m. and momma finally comes home. There aren’t any papers in her hand but there’s a look in her eyes that makes you know that she won’t ever be the same again.

It’s three oh three a.m. and momma’s telling daddy it’s over. She tells him she’ll only stay for your baby sister. Your heart sinks to the ground when you realize she refuses to speak your name, anymore.

It’s four thirteen a.m. and momma and daddy are sleeping in different rooms. The skies are now a merciless shade of onyx, the winds are no longer whispering to the trees, and the silence in the air is almost as sharp as the pain inside your heart. You’re exhausted and you’re weary, but you can’t fall asleep.

Someone once told you that nothing could ever break family, and now you curse them for being wrong. And you curse yourself - you curse yourself for letting the ones around you fall apart.

See, it’s six a.m. now and it’s a new day, but watching the sun rise doesn’t make you feel any better. Because everything is different now and the ones you loved – they’ve broken apart.

And you wonder to yourself that if family doesn’t last, then what does?”

——————————————————————— Just a little something I wrote while the sun was setting into the sky and my heart felt as if it was on a tightrope.

Yours Truly, Red

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Short Ramblings

“You and I were, you and I were, fire, fire, fireworks ...”

Have you ever listened to a song that just stirs something within you, some type of emotion or passion that changes your mood entirely? It’s a strange thing, what music can do to a soul; it can make you feel broken, ecstatic, calm, infinite, hopeful, excited, etc, etc. I love the effects music has on my state of mind -- I suppose that’s why I almost always have my iPod on.

But, I’m not talking about music today. Instead, I want to talk about adventure. Have you ever wanted or longed for something so much that it drives you absolutely crazy? That’s how I feel about traveling -- I want to see the world so badly that it frustrates me to no end that I’m still sitting in my room while others are adventuring the world with the ones they love.

Okay, I get it -- it’s a cliche notion to want to “see the world.” But is that really such a bad thing? The world is so big and we’re so small, and there are so many beauties that we’ve yet to see and yet to explore. Not seeing the world we live in doesn’t quite do justice to ourselves and to the world, does it? 

I always get a bit carried away when it comes to dreaming about these things. I have so many plans that I’d like to do in the future, maybe with a significant other, maybe with friends, or maybe just with myself. I want to go on a cross-country road-trip and film it, I want to run to the airport and catch the next available flight without knowing where it takes me, I want to volunteer in third world countries and intern abroad, I want to tour the cities of Europe and drink tea in England, I want to go to concerts and world festivals, I want to visit the islands of Mykonos and Santorini and write all about it; I just want to see it all, experience it all, do it all.

Of course, for any of that to happen I’m going to need two essential things: time and money. And well, those two things aren’t quite easy to come by.

But those are my dreams, and those are things I hope to someday do. I want to watch the infinite skies and write about the verdant trees and the empty long roads, the busy cities and the high skylines; there’s a lot I’m missing out on.

What are your dreams? Where do you wish to be in the future, what do you wish to accomplish, who do you wish to be with?

Always dreaming,

Red

** This post was a bit more of a rambling session than anything else; I suppose every writer needs to ramble on about nonsense every now and then :) **

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Tomorrow

One of my friends the other day posed a question that has been nagging at me ever since:

“Which do we choose: doing what makes us happy, or doing what’s best for us?”

At first, I immediately thought that the former was the obvious answer. Why do something if it doesn’t make us happy? Shouldn’t our own happiness be our priority? 

But as I thought about it, I decided to put things into perspective. Sure, fulfilling our dreams leads to happiness, but on the other hand, doing what’s best for us leads to security. So which is more crucial, fulfilling dreams or being secure in this life?

Let’s create a scenario. We’re in our early twenties and have just graduated from college. We’re searching for a job and are offered two different jobs: Job A offers low pay, but is the job we know we’d be happy doing, whereas Job B is the job that doesn’t really fulfil our dreams but has a high and tempting salary. Which do we choose? Higher pay or higher levels of happiness?

At this point, for me, I’d still choose happiness over high salaries. But this is the real world we’re talking about, so we need to flash forward a few years and enter a completely different scenario.

Say we’re in our late twenties/early thirties, and we now have a family. We’re married, with kids, and we’ve been offered two jobs. Job A is our dream job, and it’s everything we could ever ask for -- except, it offers a low salary. On the other hand, Job B offers a very good and adequate salary -- but it’s a job that we dislike, or even hate.

Now what?

While it’s true that we still don’t want to go to a job that we don’t enjoy doing, we also know that we need to provide for our family and for ourselves. Without adequate financial security, without doing what’s best for us, we’d be miserable. So at this point, I personally would say to go for the higher salary and disregard the job that makes us happier.

Some may argue that money brings happiness, and that doing the job with a higher salary would ultimately bring us happiness. But is that necessarily true all the time? Happiness would be limited; with a higher salary, we’d get the happy and fun weekends with trips to nice restaurants and frequent shopping and movie-going, etc., etc., --- with a dream job with a lower salary, however, we’d be happy during the days we go to work, and maybe even when we’re *not* at work. It all depends, doesn’t it? On the person, on the situation, on the context of the issue -- all variables are changeable. Nothing is constant, nothing is the same, nothing is as we expect it to be.

Why am I rambling on about all this, you ask? Well, I’ve entered my senior year of high school. For a few days, I began to stress about college applications and career paths; I went crazy, trying to figure out what exactly it was that I wanted to do with my life.

But here’s the thing that I realized a little down the road: the future will always be uncertain. No matter how hard we try to prepare for it, we’ll never quite be ready for what’s to come. Things rarely happen as we expect them to, and where we’ll be years from now might be somewhere we’d never even dream of today.

The thing is, there’s no point in beating ourselves about tomorrow. Sure, we should be good today and hope to be better tomorrow, but I think that’s the best we can do when it comes to the future: hope to keep improving as the road goes along. But as for everything else, we can’t expect anything from the future, because life will always be full of surprises, and we’ll never know what’s in store for us until we live through tomorrow.

Maybe today we say with utmost confidence that we’d pick the job that makes us happier. But maybe in the future, we’ll find ourselves picking the job with the higher pay; maybe we’ll realize something tomorrow that we didn’t realize today, maybe -- no, certainly -- we’ll change and so will our lives, drastically. 

Still, our decisions today will always affect our lives tomorrow. And for me, the decision I want to make today is finding an answer to the question I posed above: happiness, or security?

Which would you pick?

Here’s to a better tomorrow,

Red

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Superman, Come Save Me Now

“Not all heroes wear capes.”

Here’s a confession: I’m obsessed with the concept of superheroes and supervillains. I’m incredibly fascinated by the stories and worlds created around these heroes and villains that are portrayed in various different media: comics, movies, shows, stories, etc. Who doesn’t love a good Batman movie? Who doesn’t love a fun-to-read Avengers comic? It’s exciting to watch the good guys beat all odds to defeat the bad guys and save the world -- it’s just a nice idea to display in our world.

Every now and again, I’m asked the common question: Who do I prefer, Superman or Batman? And everytime, I say without hesitation that I prefer Batman.

Why?

As cool and awesome Superman is with his heat vision, super strength, near invulnerability, and few other powers, let’s be real: none of us are born with the ability to fly or freeze our opponents with our breath. 

Now, when we’re talking superheroes, we can’t really call them relatable, because let’s be honest: none of us are going to be battling an Asgardian God of Mischief anytime soon. But when we look at Batman in comparison to Superman -- well, he definitely feels more real. See, while I love all the superheroes out there including The Flash, Green Lantern, Spiderman, The Atom, and others, I like the ones without powers more. 

Batman has no super powers; just a sharp mind with the right equipment and the need to protect his city. Him and superheroes like him, such as the Green Arrow, Black Canary, Daredevil, Hawkeye, and others, can save the world without incredible and unearthly superpowers, and that, to me, is incredibly inspiring.

See, there’s just something about the concept of being able to save the world without being unique or specially blessed with powers that makes me smile. Any of us, any single one of us, could help save this world. Because the thing is, saving the world isn’t just about preventing mass destruction by a psychopathic robot; it’s about helping the people and making their lives better. It’s making the people here happy, it’s making this world a better place to live in.

That woman who buys lunch for the homeless man on the streets everyday? She’s a hero. That teacher who reminds his students that perfect scores aren’t worth damaging their mental or physical health? He’s a hero. That college student who spends her evenings and weekends at rallies and protests, trying to make changes in her area? She’s a hero, too.

I read somewhere a thing that always stuck in my head, something that always inspires me: “It’s okay to save yourself before saving the world.” So to the ones battling their day to day heartaches, to the ones who keep fighting and get back up after being knocked down to the ground, to the ones who refuse to let the world strip away their souls, to the ones who are determined to stay STRONG, you all are heroes too. And I want to thank you for taking the time and effort to save yourself. 

My dear readers, save someone today. Whether it be yourself, or a friend, or a mere stranger, save them. Save people through art, through words, through music, through actions. A simple smile and compliment could save a life, a simple kind gesture could fix a heart, a simple action could mend the world. You don’t have to go big to be a hero; the little things count, too. Though you could even save the masses, if you work hard. Fight for justice, fight for peace, make your voice heard, make other voices be heard, too. In the end, there are infinite ways to be your own version of Superman, or Batman, or any other superhero, for that matter. Be your own hero, or be somebody else’s hero. Just remember, you don’t need superpowers or a cape to be as amazing as Superman. You just need to care for this world.

Yours Truly,

Red

** Sidenotes -- Two things: One, I know it’s been quite a while since I last wrote, and I want to apologize for that, hopefully from here on out I’ll be a bit more consistent with my updating. Two, I recently entered a writing contest on powerpoetry‘s website, and the link to my submission is in my last post on here. It’d mean the world to me if you could go check it out and hit the “share” button to help support my submission. Thank you! **

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A Warrior’s Reminder

Prompt: “Things may happen to bring us down but there is a positive side to every situation and poets are especially great at finding that silver lining. What is it about yourself, a friend, or life in general that you find awesome? Share your thoughts with us in a poem and bring some positivity into someone's life.”

Response: What is awesome? To me, it’s the way the world works, and how our lives are constructed. There’s a certain darkness in the world, but there’s also light -- the secret to understanding just exactly how “awesome” the world can be is to know that things, in the end, will be okay.

Poem response in the link below, powerpoetry, check it out! 

http://www.powerpoetry.org/poems/warriors-reminder

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A Short Motivational Speech (To Those Who Might Need It Today)

You know what? The world is so goddamn beautiful. It is so absolutely wonderful and mesmerizing and extraordinary. And so are you.

I know life gets a little difficult to deal with sometimes. I know times get rough and things seem to crash down on us, leaving us hopeless and absolutely scared; but you know what? That’s the reality of life. Pain is inevitable. We’re all going to get our hearts broken. We’re all going to get saddened to the point where we think we’ve got nowhere to go. We’re all going to cry tears that could form waterfalls. We’re all going to drown, one point or another.

But here’s the thing. There’s another truth of life that many of us seem to ignore and forget. Happiness is a choice.

See, we’re all going to be sad. Okay. Makes sense, right? It’s just how the world works. It’s just how life works. But what about being happy? We get to decide if we want to get back up when we fall. We get to decide if we want to wipe our tears and put a smile on our face while facing our demons. We get to decide if we choose to make more out of life than what we get. We get to decide on happiness or on pain.

And I’m telling you -- I’m reminding you -- to make the right choice. Choosing happiness seems like the obvious decision, yet so many of us forget to make this choice. So here I am, telling you to be happy. I know, harder than it sounds. But you know what? It isn’t impossible, either.

To those of you who have fallen down, to those of you who feel as if you are drowning in a sea of sadness, listen to me when I say to get back up. Get back up and look at the world around you. Look at your life, and when I say look, I mean take a really close and good look at what you’ve got. Count the people who love you. Count the people who you love. Look at your past. How many tough times did you get through? How many times in the past had you thought you wouldn’t be able to survive the war you were fighting in? How many times have you proven yourself wrong?

Look at how far you’ve made it. Look at how many tears you’ve shed and look at how many battles you’ve won. Look at how many things you’ve endured and survived and look at how strong you’ve become. You are a fighter, you are a soldier who is winning the war of life. And you can’t give up now. I know there are days when you just want to give it all up, when all you can do is cry and scream into the air of emptiness and oblivion, but what hurts now probably won’t even matter in months from now, years from now. So look at how much you’ve gotten through in the past, and look forwards to the future. Imagine a beautiful future for yourself. Dare yourself to dream of a happy ending to this story of yours, dare yourself to believe that you find the happiness you are desperately seeking. 

Listen, I get it. You go through things during the day that eat at you, you feel things that gnaw at your heart and make you feel as if you’re breaking over and over again. But take a quick moment and just press PAUSE. What are you crying about? What are you sad about? Is what you’re so hyped up about really important? In some cases, the answer is yes. Maybe you’ve lost a loved one, maybe you’ve suffered a great loss. You can mourn, I understand. But make sure that you don’t stop living. And to those who become emotional over the small things and let these small things ruin your whole day, I’m telling you, I’m begging you, please stop. Stop torturing yourself. Stop getting caught up in things that won’t even matter in 24 hours. Stop getting caught up in emotions that unnecessarily tear you apart. YOU DESERVE TO BE HAPPY.

Look at this world. Look at all the opportunities that are around you. Look at all that you can do, all that you can feel, all that you can be. The world is so much bigger than you realize, life is so much more than it seems like it is to you right now. So don’t you understand? You’ve got to smile. You’ve got to laugh. Listen to good music. Read a moving book. Watch a fantastic movie. Go out with your friends. Spend time with your family. Indulge yourself in your passions and your hobbies. Dance. Sing. Paint. Write. Live life the way it ought to be lived. Love yourself and love the ones around you; block out the negative emotions and let the positive vibes in only. And when you get sad, it’s okay -- you’re only human. But remember, in the words of the wise Alfred and Bruce Wayne: “why do we fall? To learn to pick ourselves back up again.” So fall, but make sure to get back up. Never give up. Because this world is beautiful and this life is wonderful and there are so many reasons and ways to laugh and smile and be happy -- and you deserve all of it. You deserve the world. Never forget that.

Just thought that this might be something people ought to remember on their bad days.

In Love With This World,

Red

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I wanted to ask something that doesn't get answered in society, or talked about. Let's say there's a person who's pretty much seen as negative. Let's call him A. A is rude to people, selfish, etc. Now he does nice things occasionally, but they are overshadowed by the negative things he does. One day, A dies. People are now saying how he shouldn't have died young, he was a good person,etc. This change of attitude happens everywhere. Why does death equal sainthood? (not experiencing, just curious)

This one is a hard question to respond to, very honestly. But I'll do my best to answer you.

I believe that the problem with us humans is this: we find flaws in others incredibly easily. We pick up on each other's faults immediately, and we tend to see the worst in people and fail to see the good in each other. We see people in their worst light and it's very difficult to try and forgive them of their flaws and believe in their goodness. Because the truth of the matter is this: everyone has good in them, but at the same time, they have darkness inside of them as well. And typically, we notice whichever weighs more, so for this person A, obviously his bad outweighs the good. And so we forget that despite all his darkness, he too is a good person to some extent, in some degree. 

But when he dies, the darkness fades away. His death is like an epiphany to us all, and at that moment, we realize that even in all that darkness, there was light inside of him. When he passes away, we all feel obligated to see the good in him, and so we do. Of course this isn't the ideal thing to do; we shouldn't have to wait for someone to die before we discover the good in them. But this is just another flaw of society: we see the good in others when it's too late. 

So death equals sainthood because to die is to cleanse oneself of all toxins, all bad, all darkness. We are obligated to excuse people's flaws when they pass away from this world because no human deserves to be remembered as a monster. Of course, there are exceptions, such as people like Adolf Hitler, but for the general people, this is how it is. We forgive each other and we allow people to disappear from the world while leaving a good legacy, and every flaw we ever saw while they were alive simply disappear the way they do.

I wish death was not required to see the light in some people, but I suppose that's just how the world works. So anon, remember this. No person is completely full of light, and no person is completely full of darkness. We are all imperfect, some more than others, and we all deserve to be remembered for the light inside of us.