My eyes hurt from crying.
I can only remember one other time I've ever been this hysterical and it was three years ago, when I got dumped by my first love. But even then, the magnitude of my emotions doesn't come close to the way I feel now.
Some nights, you just want to quit.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Monday, April 29, 2013
Blue-green Eyes
The first time she said "love you," she thought I was mad at her and I'm pretty sure that's the only reason she said it. So I wouldn't be. But I was never in the first place because being angry at her isn't something that comes easily, naturally or even something at all possible to begin with. She may have no filter, but she definitely means no harm and her bark--while just as strong as her bite--stays a bark, for the most part. And that's just one of the things that I find special about her.
When we first met, she wouldn't look me in the eye. When prompted by the mutual friend introducing us, she obligingly stuck out her hand to meet the hand I offered and said "Nice to meet you too" as we continued the conversation we were already having. I allowed myself to half-listen, only because I was too caught up in her youthfulness. That's not to say that I'm old--because I'm not--but I was surprised when I found out that she was only in her first year. She carried herself with such an air of quiet defiance; she struck me as the type of person who knew exactly what she was capable of and yet was still afraid of everything that she was. I was mesmerized.
After that, my little one came out of the white noise and straight into the middle of my day. I didn't realize how many times in a given day I could run into her: she was there on Mondays and Thursdays when I tried to eat breakfast before a class and then, I found out that her classroom was next to mine. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays as I dashed to the cafeteria to find something to bring for lunch before my night clinical, she would be sitting with friends and eating her own meals. Some evenings, I would run into her again and more often than not, when I was lurking in student lounges, she'd pull up a couch and bring her laptop, and we'd write papers together. Within the span of a few weeks, we ended up trying (and failing, because of me) to try and have a meal together, I popped her Chipotle cherry and we had one or two wonderful, intimate and meaningful conversations. She even introduced me to her boyfriend! Despite all the time we had for conversation and all the work began to do together, what I began to love most was that it was okay for me to be quiet if that was what I needed.
And boy, were we quiet. That was mostly my fault. She tripped me up, sometimes and made me unsure of myself because I had absolutely no idea whether or not she liked me, pitied me, or just found me irritating. But I, never being one to give up, kept at it because part of me felt the innate need to just love her. Thus began Operation Little One. I began to inundate her with text messages, asking her how her day was, how classes were and how she did at soccer practice that morning. I helped her with homework when she asked, even when I couldn't bear to stay up another minute and while she read sentences out loud to me, I twirled her ponytail around my fingers just like a big sister plays with her little sister's hair just because it's within touching distance.
And then, one day, it happened. She had seemed upset when she said hello to me and when I asked her what was on her mind, she told me that it was something she couldn't discuss in the middle of the cafeteria. I acquiesced and invited her to my room, not thinking for even a moment that she would accept the invitation. But she did. And she sat in the same chair that I am sitting in now and cried. All I could do was be silent. I let her speak and speak and speak and I cried too, long after she had gone because all I could do was listen. But for the first time in my life, that felt like enough. I wanted to hug her, but didn't know if I could so I moved from my bed to the couch and handed her tissue after tissue and let her speak herself into silence. And I was overcome with emotion.
I marveled at the discipline and control she had over her emotions and the way they expressed themselves. I would never have known her to be carrying such a burden and all I wanted to do was shoulder it for her. I did not pity her, nor did I feel any sympathy; it was difficult for me to even empathize given the magnitude of her pain, sorrow and suffering, but my heart did cry out to love her and I didn't know how. I wished her silence away because I know what that's like, suffering in silence, and I wanted her to know that she didn't have to anymore. After that, our friendship was immediately transformed: within the first few weeks of our friendship, she drove to a bus stop to pick me up in the middle of the night, she told me to "toughen up" because seeing me hurt would infuriate her and then another week later she told me she was proud of me and proud to call me her friend and that no matter what course life takes, she would always make sure that she was part of my life, and I, part of hers. And I was honored, not because I had never heard that before, but because it meant so much more coming from my little one than from anyone else, which was terrifyingly beautiful in its own wonderful way.
There are many things that she may never know about me or about the way I love those who are part of my life, but I think that is the beauty that lies within friendship, sisterhood, and the lives of two young women. I may never be able to relate to her hardships and I may never know them, but I know that I would take her place in a heartbeat, if only to never see her cry again. I have been hurt many times and I know that she has also, but I am still afraid that she will hurt me just as she is afraid I will hurt her. My family may not be as difficult as hers, but like many, I have earned my share of battle scars and gaping wounds. There are still many stories to be shared, but according to her, we have a lifetime.
My wish for her is that she soars higher than the circumstances that surround and attempt to define her because she is infinite in goodness, in kindness, in worth and in importance. In these past few weeks alone she has already had an incalculable amount of influence on the way I live my life and I call her "little one" because when she looks at me, I see not only my friend but someone who ignites within me the desire to live as a better person from minute to minute, day to day and year to year. And so the first time she ever told me "love you" could very well be the last time I ever hear it, but I am glad I did hear it, just that once because now I can say: love you too, little one.
I love you, too.
When we first met, she wouldn't look me in the eye. When prompted by the mutual friend introducing us, she obligingly stuck out her hand to meet the hand I offered and said "Nice to meet you too" as we continued the conversation we were already having. I allowed myself to half-listen, only because I was too caught up in her youthfulness. That's not to say that I'm old--because I'm not--but I was surprised when I found out that she was only in her first year. She carried herself with such an air of quiet defiance; she struck me as the type of person who knew exactly what she was capable of and yet was still afraid of everything that she was. I was mesmerized.
After that, my little one came out of the white noise and straight into the middle of my day. I didn't realize how many times in a given day I could run into her: she was there on Mondays and Thursdays when I tried to eat breakfast before a class and then, I found out that her classroom was next to mine. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays as I dashed to the cafeteria to find something to bring for lunch before my night clinical, she would be sitting with friends and eating her own meals. Some evenings, I would run into her again and more often than not, when I was lurking in student lounges, she'd pull up a couch and bring her laptop, and we'd write papers together. Within the span of a few weeks, we ended up trying (and failing, because of me) to try and have a meal together, I popped her Chipotle cherry and we had one or two wonderful, intimate and meaningful conversations. She even introduced me to her boyfriend! Despite all the time we had for conversation and all the work began to do together, what I began to love most was that it was okay for me to be quiet if that was what I needed.
And boy, were we quiet. That was mostly my fault. She tripped me up, sometimes and made me unsure of myself because I had absolutely no idea whether or not she liked me, pitied me, or just found me irritating. But I, never being one to give up, kept at it because part of me felt the innate need to just love her. Thus began Operation Little One. I began to inundate her with text messages, asking her how her day was, how classes were and how she did at soccer practice that morning. I helped her with homework when she asked, even when I couldn't bear to stay up another minute and while she read sentences out loud to me, I twirled her ponytail around my fingers just like a big sister plays with her little sister's hair just because it's within touching distance.
And then, one day, it happened. She had seemed upset when she said hello to me and when I asked her what was on her mind, she told me that it was something she couldn't discuss in the middle of the cafeteria. I acquiesced and invited her to my room, not thinking for even a moment that she would accept the invitation. But she did. And she sat in the same chair that I am sitting in now and cried. All I could do was be silent. I let her speak and speak and speak and I cried too, long after she had gone because all I could do was listen. But for the first time in my life, that felt like enough. I wanted to hug her, but didn't know if I could so I moved from my bed to the couch and handed her tissue after tissue and let her speak herself into silence. And I was overcome with emotion.
I marveled at the discipline and control she had over her emotions and the way they expressed themselves. I would never have known her to be carrying such a burden and all I wanted to do was shoulder it for her. I did not pity her, nor did I feel any sympathy; it was difficult for me to even empathize given the magnitude of her pain, sorrow and suffering, but my heart did cry out to love her and I didn't know how. I wished her silence away because I know what that's like, suffering in silence, and I wanted her to know that she didn't have to anymore. After that, our friendship was immediately transformed: within the first few weeks of our friendship, she drove to a bus stop to pick me up in the middle of the night, she told me to "toughen up" because seeing me hurt would infuriate her and then another week later she told me she was proud of me and proud to call me her friend and that no matter what course life takes, she would always make sure that she was part of my life, and I, part of hers. And I was honored, not because I had never heard that before, but because it meant so much more coming from my little one than from anyone else, which was terrifyingly beautiful in its own wonderful way.
There are many things that she may never know about me or about the way I love those who are part of my life, but I think that is the beauty that lies within friendship, sisterhood, and the lives of two young women. I may never be able to relate to her hardships and I may never know them, but I know that I would take her place in a heartbeat, if only to never see her cry again. I have been hurt many times and I know that she has also, but I am still afraid that she will hurt me just as she is afraid I will hurt her. My family may not be as difficult as hers, but like many, I have earned my share of battle scars and gaping wounds. There are still many stories to be shared, but according to her, we have a lifetime.
My wish for her is that she soars higher than the circumstances that surround and attempt to define her because she is infinite in goodness, in kindness, in worth and in importance. In these past few weeks alone she has already had an incalculable amount of influence on the way I live my life and I call her "little one" because when she looks at me, I see not only my friend but someone who ignites within me the desire to live as a better person from minute to minute, day to day and year to year. And so the first time she ever told me "love you" could very well be the last time I ever hear it, but I am glad I did hear it, just that once because now I can say: love you too, little one.
I love you, too.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Curl Up Into a Ball, Let It Pass and Try Again
It's dark in my room right now. It's because I'm trying to go to bed and I can't because every time I close my eyes, I feel like I'm falling. And it's not the natural kind of in-between state that we all feel once in a while...it's falling for real, as if not even the wind could stop me.
There are times where terminal velocity sounds enjoyable. That single moment at the top where you feel absolutely nothing. That is what I want. Life has been hitting so hard and fast that it's like I don't even know where to turn or what to do or how fast to react. It just won't stop. And I don't know what to say to make it better. Or make it go away.
In these moments where your lives seem to take your days by force, fetal position is your most protective measure. But when you curl up, hug yourself. Let it pass.
And at the moment when all truly seems lost, rise only to try again.
There are times where terminal velocity sounds enjoyable. That single moment at the top where you feel absolutely nothing. That is what I want. Life has been hitting so hard and fast that it's like I don't even know where to turn or what to do or how fast to react. It just won't stop. And I don't know what to say to make it better. Or make it go away.
In these moments where your lives seem to take your days by force, fetal position is your most protective measure. But when you curl up, hug yourself. Let it pass.
And at the moment when all truly seems lost, rise only to try again.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
No Te Preocupes
Right now, I'm being the worst student ever sitting in a core literature class and half paying attention and half writing to all of you.
This is a new beginning. This blog. And I think that's evident in the intense level of personal growth that I've been through in the past few months. I mean, many who know me may not think I've grown at all. Maybe they believe that I've become worse as time has moved past, but overall, I believe that the decisions I have made are more for myself rather than those around me and for me, that's something scary, new and altogether unusual.
One of my favorite friends texted me saying, "no te preocupes" after I had apologized for a misunderstanding that happened at one point this semester. He and I are close, I would like to think, and I love him very much. But him texting me that single sentence, coupled with the word "hermana" (sister), made me feel like fears, doubts and anxiety had lifted from my mind and I don't think he will ever know how much those simple words have changed my outlook on this semester.
Another friend of mine is distraught about an emotional breakup with a friend. And just because no titles and labels were publIcized, doesn't mean her heart was not within rights to love. And something that she said to me the other day surprised me. She, my big sister, told me that love didn't exist. But I know it does. It is inevitable. If it did not exist, neither would her pain or hurt. If it did not exist, neither would her power to be healed by those around her. She is the strongest person I know.
I met a new friend who is so thirsty and hungry for love that she hides behind a wall of her own making. I thought she hated me until she needed to speak to me one day and sat in my room here at school, crying about the pain that had grown in her heart as a result of years of having to grow up on her own. And all I want to do is hug her and yet, I can't even do that because she shies away from public displays save for the young man who has always loved her and always will. She is a testament to her own strength and a testament to who I wish to be. Heroes can be anyone who affects you life. And she has affected mine in wonderful ways.
I have new old friends! They have taught me more than I ever wanted to know about real friendship and what a true, virtuous friendship means. They call me out when I'm not studying, they make sure I'm okay, they ask me how my day is going and actually listen to my response. They look out for me. And that's something I'm still not used to, and I love that they continue to do it despite my protests. They found out when my birthday is and remember it. Sometimes, I am pleasantly surprised by happiness they bring me because it is something I am so unaccustomed to.
No te preocupes. Do not worry.
Easier said than done, I know. But that's something that I've learned these past few months that not worrying is not the same as not having any worries. And the difference is simple.
Everyone worries. It is inevitable in the span of a human life because we are made to care. But those worries should never be your inner drive. They should not keep you awake at night or make you cry during your lecture periods or come to find you when you're alone at bedtime. What you worry about should note the definition and the culmination of who you are and who you wish to be.
So allow yourself the indulgence of having those worries, but do not worry.
And never stand still.
This is a new beginning. This blog. And I think that's evident in the intense level of personal growth that I've been through in the past few months. I mean, many who know me may not think I've grown at all. Maybe they believe that I've become worse as time has moved past, but overall, I believe that the decisions I have made are more for myself rather than those around me and for me, that's something scary, new and altogether unusual.
One of my favorite friends texted me saying, "no te preocupes" after I had apologized for a misunderstanding that happened at one point this semester. He and I are close, I would like to think, and I love him very much. But him texting me that single sentence, coupled with the word "hermana" (sister), made me feel like fears, doubts and anxiety had lifted from my mind and I don't think he will ever know how much those simple words have changed my outlook on this semester.
Another friend of mine is distraught about an emotional breakup with a friend. And just because no titles and labels were publIcized, doesn't mean her heart was not within rights to love. And something that she said to me the other day surprised me. She, my big sister, told me that love didn't exist. But I know it does. It is inevitable. If it did not exist, neither would her pain or hurt. If it did not exist, neither would her power to be healed by those around her. She is the strongest person I know.
I met a new friend who is so thirsty and hungry for love that she hides behind a wall of her own making. I thought she hated me until she needed to speak to me one day and sat in my room here at school, crying about the pain that had grown in her heart as a result of years of having to grow up on her own. And all I want to do is hug her and yet, I can't even do that because she shies away from public displays save for the young man who has always loved her and always will. She is a testament to her own strength and a testament to who I wish to be. Heroes can be anyone who affects you life. And she has affected mine in wonderful ways.
I have new old friends! They have taught me more than I ever wanted to know about real friendship and what a true, virtuous friendship means. They call me out when I'm not studying, they make sure I'm okay, they ask me how my day is going and actually listen to my response. They look out for me. And that's something I'm still not used to, and I love that they continue to do it despite my protests. They found out when my birthday is and remember it. Sometimes, I am pleasantly surprised by happiness they bring me because it is something I am so unaccustomed to.
No te preocupes. Do not worry.
Easier said than done, I know. But that's something that I've learned these past few months that not worrying is not the same as not having any worries. And the difference is simple.
Everyone worries. It is inevitable in the span of a human life because we are made to care. But those worries should never be your inner drive. They should not keep you awake at night or make you cry during your lecture periods or come to find you when you're alone at bedtime. What you worry about should note the definition and the culmination of who you are and who you wish to be.
So allow yourself the indulgence of having those worries, but do not worry.
And never stand still.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Wingmen
So, tonight I had a great night.
I wasn't really stressed. I only had one assignment due and submitted it. I had written my research papers in advance so all I had to do was submit them. I only had to print out one of my papers no submit in person tomorrow. I went to Chipotle. I had a green tea latte from Starbucks and, I met a boy.
Well, "met" isn't really accurate here. It's more like I saw a boy. And by "saw" I mean really seeing someone. And it was great and terrible, but it was wonderful. And you know what?
I'm really excited.
I'm actually talking to a friend right now and I was honest in saying that I always feel like I'm the one that's been slighted. I have friends that go off in pairs all the time. I have friends who are always capturing someone's heart or attention and I usually just get to hear the stories of fantastic (or not-so-fantastic) dates and evenings. I'm the one waiting for everyone to come home. And that's how I feel I've spent most of my life thus far. Just waiting.
I wait to hear back from nursing.
I wait to hear back from grad schools.
I wait on applications, recommendations, interviews...
I wait for people.
I wait for scores on tests, final grades and transcripts.
It just never ends! And at the end of the day, all I really want is someone who's waiting for me.
And my wingmen tell me that it's okay to be kept waiting. Because I deserve more than that.
And part of me wants to believe that, so bad.
And part of me thinks they're making it up because they're biased.
And part of me just loves them.
All of me loves them.
Wingmen, they always have your back.
I wasn't really stressed. I only had one assignment due and submitted it. I had written my research papers in advance so all I had to do was submit them. I only had to print out one of my papers no submit in person tomorrow. I went to Chipotle. I had a green tea latte from Starbucks and, I met a boy.
Well, "met" isn't really accurate here. It's more like I saw a boy. And by "saw" I mean really seeing someone. And it was great and terrible, but it was wonderful. And you know what?
I'm really excited.
I'm actually talking to a friend right now and I was honest in saying that I always feel like I'm the one that's been slighted. I have friends that go off in pairs all the time. I have friends who are always capturing someone's heart or attention and I usually just get to hear the stories of fantastic (or not-so-fantastic) dates and evenings. I'm the one waiting for everyone to come home. And that's how I feel I've spent most of my life thus far. Just waiting.
I wait to hear back from nursing.
I wait to hear back from grad schools.
I wait on applications, recommendations, interviews...
I wait for people.
I wait for scores on tests, final grades and transcripts.
It just never ends! And at the end of the day, all I really want is someone who's waiting for me.
And my wingmen tell me that it's okay to be kept waiting. Because I deserve more than that.
And part of me wants to believe that, so bad.
And part of me thinks they're making it up because they're biased.
And part of me just loves them.
All of me loves them.
Wingmen, they always have your back.
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