NEW BLOG
Starting a new chapter in my life, and thus resulting in a new blog.
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Monterey Bay Aquarium

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d e v o n
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Sade Olutola

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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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KIROKAZE
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Jules of Nature

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@wolvesandclaws-blog
NEW BLOG
Starting a new chapter in my life, and thus resulting in a new blog.
https://beneathskins.tumblr.com
Iâm always learning new things about myself. I learned just two days ago that I need to stop focusing on the finer details of broken pasts and remind myself that it makes up a much larger picture. I have also learned to be more concise with my thoughts, that even if I can type as fast as I think, that more words does not necessarily mean Iâm clearer.
Itâs just excessive, chaotic, messy.
I hadnât felt such a wave of astonishment and bafflement rush over me when I figured out why I was best friends with the people in my life. It actually shook me when I was standing there underneath the canopy with two oâem.Â
When you were a child you could have fun anywhere because your imagination was endless, wild, unrestricted by the woes of societyâs standards. As an adult, your imagination is there, but bent at such a strange degree. I realized that I was reliving my childhood feelings through the moments before me.
I was able to make-believe and pretend that I was in a world only video games have shown me. The hood of my jacket caped me from head waist, freely hanging from my shoulder, drawstrings tied; I felt like a little forrest fairy, skipping with my knapsack strung on my back, hidden by my mysterious hood. Revelation came thundering in when I took my jacket off -- I felt like I was losing a part that has become me.
I guess I didnât know who I was anymore. I couldnât even remember that there are billions of other people in the world.Â
For about two hours, it was just the trees, the three of us, and isolation.
Maybe itâs the acid --,
but I canât shake this feeling.
I donât know how it does, Â Â but every time it do, one foot leaves the shoe, one arm out the sleeves, sieves
Skin, property not even mine, my mind?    Fine, for the t i m e ... Choked up, locked up, stuck and forked up --
A dream that I see in songs, f e e l i n g s -- that echoed off leaves, branching, gripping, weaving, the sense of naturalness, of unity
The feeling of being okay,      watching seconds tick away, as long as you listened to your favorite song
It didnât matter if you had time, time is meaningless, a reminder of expiration.
For Christâs sake ... we ate boxed pizzas in the car, enjoying each othersâ company,
Right there in the parking lot.
Another one, another one. Another crutch rolled, and the trees keep coming.
Drags, d r a g s, the ashes flicker, flutter. Remnants of once-weres become now-what, now what?
Do I tell you about the times where it felt like nothing? - about how my fingers lost touch, glazing over keys, or do I tell you about the time that this all happened?
now what.
I guess everyday should feel like this ..
Like iâm being reintroduced to this line of living, being taught what to believe, what to think â
In a space of timeless nothings became a universe of everything; the unknown became known, the fears were faced, the reality of what before us, unreal.
People became trees, personalities, like vines, ⌠and it would rewind. And you felt so small.
Countless ticks became streams of water, emotions, muddy, unbearable â, YET! We crossed it twice, one in each direction = and saw that it is still all one.
I guess a part of us all forget, Moments within moments, Forged with hearts like children, minds unfolded.
âM'dear child, what is it that you seek?â asked the strange man on the side of the street. It was a stormy night and it wasnât unusual to see this women sluggishly trotting down the sidewalk, raincoat and hair drenched in rain water. She would snap her neck up in surprise at the voice and look at this stranger. She couldnât see his face, all she could make out was a silhouette.Â
âSir â Iâm just searching for hope. They told me that if I prayed to God, I would soon find guidance.â She hung her head back down and stood rigid in the freezing downpour, arms huddled closelyÂ
âTsk. Dear child, hope cannot be found through prayer for no one can hear it but yourself. Hope is not found through others but found through understanding yourself first. That hope will lead to faith and you will soon understand that you cannot hope for everything unless you do it yourself. No one can do it for you.â
She looked back up at him but he wasnât there.
She didnât move an inch.
Iâm only reposting this because it brings me back to a few months ago from when I got lost in SF, in the thunderstorm, alone, with no wallet, no phone.Â
And somehow, an uber driver found me and took me back to my friends.
Iâve never hoped so much in my life until that night.
Thereâs something sentimental when the sun comes peering out after days of a debilitating storm. I guess it just feels like everything is renewed. I read somewhere today that everyday is a reincarnation, and everything is a reincarnation of something.Â
I donât feel like getting into it, I guess I donât really feel like I want to write for that reason.
A part of me has been taking a break from a lot of things, like working, like going out on the weekly because I just needed to escape. When my best friend and I walked to the water fountain today, I felt as if I had just taken my first steps into life -- I noticed everything around me, like how the trees swayed with the birds, or how our feet walked in sync across the pavement. I took a fresh breath of air, but it wasnât like how it would be when I took walks at the nearby trail. But still, it felt somewhat reinvented. New. Untouched.Â
Also, I donât know what kind of situation I got myself into recently, (but mind you, it isnât anything bad), but a part of me is doing that one thing where I start thinking too much and too far ahead. I guess Iâm still learning how to go with the flow. Iâm just still caught up in my head with being vulnerable, especially because I think Iâve hit that spot in my life where Iâm transitioning.Â
Itâs okay, really, itâs ... okay.
The storm came down this past weekend; we were sure it would only be until it released its full potential on Monday, but it overstayed its welcome for a full week. Sometimes, the sun would peer through the hazy clouds, revealing hope that we all so long for. Yesterday, we stepped outside to feel the gift of life, only to be ridden into more jackets and sweat pants because we mistook its invitation.
But that is okay, too. We must realize that everything in life is balanced, one cannot be without the other.Â
Like people, we cannot exist without each other. We cannot know the joy that we live in every day without reminders from ourselves, and from the people around us. We cannot know the pain it is to lose someone until we have someone first. But why does any of this matter?
Because ...
Because we live in a world where our logic redefines us as a human. But that isnât right, is it? We canât assume that we are unemotional creatures.Â
Thereâs a reason why your favorite song always takes you back to the first moment in time where you felt ... SOMETHING, ANYTHING.
Thereâs a reason why sometimes, you just want your friends to be there, even if you donât speak a word. Sometimes, you just need something to look at.
But sometimes, you donât even need to think. You just really have to tell yourself that you KNOW.
The Becoming of the Perpetual Rotation of Earth.
This is my âcreation mythâ for AP English class.Â
What was the becoming of the Earth in its simplest format? In which case, itâs rather hard to explain but the practicality of such event is often misleading. You see, it was the conjoining of two hands that touched clay and somehow molded into a giant sphere. It seems rather silly but nothing is impossible. The hands of the Child were large, soft and smooth with lines that ran deep. It reached for clay here and clay there, green and blue, white and black, red, brown, purple, the entire rainbow. Smashing the arrays of colors together, the hands twisted and started with the red, making the core of the Earth a cardinal-fire red.Â
 The brown then came next, layering around the red and represented the dirt in which the feet of the soon-to-be habitants would tread. Next, the blue clay came and that was to be the salty seas and pure rivers that ran across the green clay in which was land where we would live. The hands rested forever, no longer adding onto the sphere of clay. It was placed gently on a table, by a lamp to dry, but never was it to be touched again.
So how did animals come to exist on this small, clay planet? More or rather, they are just microbes that grow on this clay Earth and evolve with each passing day and night. Day and night, how did that even come to be? There are so many questions but each has their own answers that will make sense in dues time. The animals, men and women, Children, we are nothing different. We are all growing bacteria, nano-scopic and invisible to the naked eye. The animals, though bacteria, had their own sense of leadership, role-action, and dividing up amongst their group and so that is exactly what happened. They divided and became their own species, no longer falling under the general category of âbacteria.â
The sky was nothing but the atmosphere of the Childâs room in which the Earth was placed so gently above the surface underneath a lamp that was left to dry. The atmosphere of the room would be sometimes cold due to the AC that would be turned on. The heat would be from the insulator and cloudy days would be from the blockage of the lamp. The rain is too hard to explain, not even I can tell where it comes from. The winds are from the breathing of the nearby Child or movements of bodies walking by the small Earth. It all seems too simple, is it not? I suppose that there could be more to it if the boundaries of knowledge for if it werenât limited.
But the simplest and easily explainable of all is day and night. For you see, it was with a simple click of the Childâs hand that the lamp would gradually dim out and the Earth would be casted with a dark shadow and it would be night. What had seemed to be a matter of seconds to the Child would be hours for the inhabitants of Earth and when night came, things slowed down. I couldnât find another way to describe the becoming of the perpetual rotation of Earth because honestly, there isnât much I can say. They limited us to only knowing such a few things because we were forbidden to know anymore than that the Earth was created by a Child.Â
However, legend does explain a few things at hand:
¡         Earthquakes results in the rotation of the Earth. We assume that the Earth rotates because the Child has moved the Earth.
¡         The mass death from diseases and natural disasters are all the Childâs doing. The tornados would be the swirling of Childâs finger, the thunder from loud noises created by the childâs hands, and even lightning from the flickering of lamp. The diseases from the Childâs hand that holds refuge to many other bacteria that tries to invade our Earth.
¡         There is no heaven, there is no hell but once you do die, you just rot in the ground of the clay.
¡         Finally, legend says that one day, there will be a new generation of bacteria that will do better than the last. When the new layer of the Earth is renewed, the new civilization will carry forth and produce more than the last. You know the fossils they find in the Earth? Previous generations of decay.
But the source of pain was almost impossible to articulate because pain is universal.
Pain wasnât taught by Child; it came from the inhabitants of Earth itself. We were never taught to hate but in order to know what itâs like to be loved, we need to know hate. Child taught us to love, to care, to protect, serve and live but weâve taken these learning skills and twisted them into something sick and demented. Pain came from understanding comfort but also knowing that sometimes when things donât go with the way we intendedwe lose hope. Pain is the source of motivation and negativity; two which are completely opposite but in a contrasting effect, it all just works out.
So, the Earth is created by Child whom lives in their own room which is part of another world. Is Earth just another planet atop another which is planted above another in a never-ending loop? If legend tells me so, then I will tell it back how Iâve been told.Â
Itâs the fucking nostalgia that gets to me.Â
âSometimes, it takes a lot of time for you to heal, because over time, you realize things you didnât before, ...,â and you just learn to grow with it.
Sometimes, you sit there and face your monsters straight on, only to find that they have been on your side all along. Sometimes, you have to just wait, and breathe, and remember why you are here again.Â
Sometimes, it feels like youâre repeating yourself.Â
---
The birds are echoing, but it feels so surreal. In one corner of my vision, I see the clouds aimlessly roll by, but to the left, the chirps chime and the trees are still.Â
I want to say that Iâve grown so much, but I feel as if Iâm barely budding. Lately, I havenât been sure about how I feel. I find myself getting caught up in conversations that reveal how I feel, yet I still canât comprehend.Â
I donât know how I feel.
All thatâs really left to be asked is, âwhy?â
You know, for a long time, I thought that maybe I was just insane for getting caught up in my feelings. I mean, how could I still be in love with the one person who distorted my reality for years? How was it that I am able to still feel, still hurt, still be latched onto the idea that love was supposed endure all my ups and downs? It didnât make sense at first, how your eyes would tell me that you loved me, but your hands felt rigid, loveless.
Then over time, things started to become less obvious, but yet, I was so painfully blinded by the blatant misuse of my heart, making myself my worst enemy. I allowed myself to be weak; I showed my back to the world and was returned with gashes. Foolishness washed over my heart, bewilderment drove me into a ditch.Â
I canât even fucking cry for you anymore.Â
MAYBE Iâll be healing for awhile, but I am okay with that. I am okay with growing up, understanding what is deserving of my time, and severing things that serve me no purpose. I am okay with hurting, and knowing that some days Iâm going to want to revisit my cell.Â
My heart aches, every day, but it aches less.
Even when I thought you were loving me for me, but you loved me for yourself, You were loveless, You were bound to your own demons, and I no longer wanted to loathe you, -- I just simply wanted you gone forever.
And again, my heart aches, just a little. How do you just give someone all of you, and realize that youâll never leave with all of yourself ever again?
Sometimes, I watch the rain spill from my rooftop, gazing into the near distant as the birds play, hoping that the next time I close my eyes and open them that the rain may have cleansed the gloom hovering over the horizon. But most times, it wasnât like this and I was still okay.Â
But my demons came back to me this week, tormenting me into a state of confusion, plunging my heart into the pit of my stomach, making me hurl for 20 minutes straight. My hands shook, my breath stopped. I stared and blankly thought about nothing, and everything.Â
I took a moment to stand, cupping my hand beneath the rain, splashing it against my face, reminding myself to be alive. The rain drops were remarkable, clean, running inside the crevices of my palm, reflecting a world between droplets.Â
The tears were unreal. The way I hung my head beneath the rain, expelling stomach acid and nasty, volatile monsters from my chest. Through the shattering rain drops, the howling of winds through the trees, a voice reaching to me and latching, said, âyou are beautiful, and we are so proud of who you are. so please, love and appreciate everything that you have become. embrace yourself, please.âÂ
And the tears came down heavy, syncing with the rhythms, pit-patting to the thump of my heart, drowning the silence of my scream, ....
and I felt so alive.Â
and i was so sad.
Some scars just donât disappear, just like how some memories just donât fade away.Â
âItâs about telling them that you feel something with them that you donât feel with someone else.â
Y-Lai (via following-sirius)
What happens when your worst fears become your most desired outcome? Itâs a little too predictable. One day, you find a box full of memories and things that only seemed to make you cry, and the next second ⌠you find it burned and turned into ashes over the fire pit. One day, you find things that only existed 10 years ago, and the next second, it is as if 10 years ago never happened. You find pairs of worn shoes, and the next day they are thrown into a trash bin for someone to come along and recover. Hide and seek has gotten a lot easier, simpler, almost downright boring to its very core when the only place you seem to hide is the place you wish to keep revisiting. The memories. The memories that served the places of empty seats at the dining table, the memories that replaced the seats on the couches, the memories that masked the vile yard where children used to play, and the memories that reminded us that we were not sleeping, we were not dreaming.
Itâs a shame, donât you believe? Thinking back, I remember misplacing several pieces of binder paper to proses and stories that were never complete, losing too much time and ink on worthless aspects that only left more things misplaced. Telling a person you love them would be like you tearing yourself apart and giving it to them piece by piece. In a somewhat sick sense, it was always so beautiful and elegant. I had a lot of trouble trying to partake in a such a harmonious celebration between two people, but that was probably only because I was frightened of the idea of ripping myself apart. I didnât realize it was metaphorical â I always tend to be too literal.
Iâve tried my best to avoid speaking about my life in third-person, it always just seemed to bring my life a lot more color and character than that of what I can provide as myself. A lot of things are never forgotten, all of our memories live on and on and on, even when they have passed their limitations. We keep them alive, us writers, but sometimes, extinguishing these things are a lot tougher than just having them live on through some words and paper. It seems that some days are just not meant for affection, some days werenât meant for disruption, and some days are really just not meant to be recalled. I guess not a lot of people care anymore. It all just becomes one large, surreal stressful blur.
When you fall in love with someone, you fall in love with someone who hits home base for you all the time. Someone who hits you harder than your favorite movies, someone who makes you feel things in your stomach that you thought impossible; that is something very vague to describe what it feels like. Youâre constantly scrambling, piecing things together, trying to make sense of it.
When you fall in love with someone, your lips flutter at the mere touch of their lips, the corner of your mouth twitches with a curve, and your mind tells you that itâs the first kiss â over and over again. You fall so deep; all the romantic movies, the chick flicks, the kind of movies that makes you sit there and wish you had something like so becomes reality. Your head finds their shoulder, your fingers fidget into the crevices of theirâs, your eyes fixed on every perfect detail of their eyes, to their nose, to even their ears.Â
When you fall in love with someone, you hurt at the thought of them being with someone else, you are agonized when you think that they are looking at someone else in the same way they look at you. You become protective, insecure, self-ridden with the same taunting negativity that theyâre too good to be true.Â
Stop lying to yourself.
When you fall in love with someone, you know, you just know, that they are the best thing that has ever happened to you.Â
When you fall in love with someone, they donât blind you, they guide you. They donât belittle you, they encourage you. They donât fight against you, they fight for you. They are everything to you, and they donât boast, they donât brag, they donât treat it like a trophy.Â
The person you fall in love with, who becomes the person who also fell in love with you, who loves you with every bit of energy they have, and loves all the things you hate about yourself. They love the belly fat that you hate so dearly. They love how messy and ridiculous you look in the morning more than how you wish you could wake up looking perfect.Â
You arenât an obligation, you arenât the next thing on a list. They donât find a purpose to do the things they do, like spending time with you. They do it because they love to be with you just as much as you love being with them.
Their company completes you, it makes things brighter, you feel wonderful, and youâre consumed by optimism.Â
Youâre cared for, youâre loved, youâre what helps them get up in the morning.
And they are exactly that to you.
Nothing portrays the moments of when exactly you fall in love with someone, nor do anything I say, or anyone says, can be exactly the wholesome truth.
But these words, they are my words of my love, and damn, I am in love.
sit quietly, think quietly. smoke in silence and listen to the world around you. reminisce about how the summer days when you were in middle school suddenly feel like they were the best. laugh silently, wonder why youâre crying soundlessly. soak in the midnight sun, the moon lingering behind shadows of waterless clouds; breathe hushed noises, scan the invisible horizon, hoping the line would become apparent, and that everything else does too.
bruise softly, hurt robustly, feel pain deep within the tissue of your muscles, to the tubes called veins, to the core of your bones. shrivel up like grapes in the sun of nowhere, forgotten, thrown away, a life of fear.Â
I donât know how to handle shit, I donât know how to deal with certain things the first time around because with no type of experience â well, it just puts me into a very bad position that calls for more precise and conscious decisions. Then again, without the experience, I guess I wouldnât really know what to expect.Â
And itâs not heartbreak Iâm talking about, Iâm talking about failing yourself in the worst way possible.
You wake up in the morning feeling tired and exhausted no matter how many hours you have slept for. You wake up feeling like youâre buried 6 feet beneath the sky with no hope or expectations left in you. All the blood in you body has left, leaving you feel frozen and rigid, you feel as if everything in the damn world no longer exists, and that you no longer become a presence to anyone. You spend a few minutes of your morning in the living room on the couch realizing how uncomfortable you are, you spend a few minutes looking through the fridge only to realize everything makes you sick, you spend a few minutes looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror only to realize that you feel disgusting, and you spend the rest of your morning in your bed staring at the same ceiling and walls only to realize that youâll repeat the whole cycle over again.
In the afternoon, you sit outside in the sun only to realize you hate it, so you hope and wish that the rain would come crashing down so you can have the thunderous sounds drown out your cries. You wait until the winds come violently across your face so you can feel the chills run throughout your body until you become numb because you no longer want to feel anything. You sit outside for minutes that feel like hours, but you wished that every waking moment of your life was like this. You leave the outside only to find yourself yet again, curled up in your bed, wishing that everything in the world vanishes. You no longer have any desire to talk to anyone, to see anyone, â or to do anything.
When the night falls, you thank the heavens because you are no longer allowed to see anything, and thatâs what you want. You donât want to be associated with anyone or anything. You lay in bed with meaningless thoughts about everything else but your failure because you donât want to remember all the reasons why you cannot look at yourself. At night, everything makes you lose yourself, and you like that. Nothing makes you happy at this point. You let yourself lose sleep, you prefer it that way.
And the next day, everything repeats.
Kina Grannis - In Your Arms