Yesterday.
Today.
Tomorrow.
Embrace and soothe the scars while accepting the past for what it is and what it isn’t. I call this reconciliation.
I do my best to bridge the gap between the past and the future. Life’s balancing act reminds me to work towards the future while embracing the past.
Vowing to be better, I promise myself to do. Do no harm. Do some good. Do stand up. Do speak up. Do what scares me, at least once daily.
The past.
The present.
The future.
Wake up early to produce a fruitful 10-hour work day. Feeling a bit of magic inside, and it feels good to get things done. It’s just who I am. I hate the mediocrity. Aristotle said mediocrity is nothing but a habit. I am trying my best to not fall into the mass’s mess.
Row 9km at the gym before running into a friend which delayed my wrap up by half an hour, but welcome interruptions into another productive activity. It’s a symptom of my long stay here, which I appreciate.
News of someone close to my heart. Another reminder to be grateful for our life and to be careful with others.
Then a soccer match. A flat tire. Then a bit of rest.
One of the best days of April, if not the best.
Two years ago, I tried and failed to create a blueprint for my life. It’s time to dig it back up.
I feel less antsy. More at ease. I learned once again (how easily do I forget) that I’m responsible for my own feelings. My happiness. I am self-sufficient. I am independent. I am autonomous.
The difference between a man and woman is their opposing coping mechanisms. He withdraws into his silent cave. She speaks and seeks empathy. Men are better at keeping their independence. The cave is a safe space to drown out the noise to find himself. Women are socially conditioned to be nice (most often, at the cost of self). It does not bode well to be around others when women should be drawing into themselves. Because if we don’t know how to be alone, we’ll only know how to be lonely.
Despite the opposing coping mechanisms, both hate to be told what to do unless explicitly asked. No one wants to be reminded of their imperfections. We want to be seen, heard, and accepted for who we are.
Few days ago, I came across an article written by a woman in her 50s. Her epiphany: she wasn’t afraid of abandonment. She had been suffering from engulfment. Over the years, she had lost herself by doing nice things unasked and unappreciated. It was like pouring water into a strainer. Totally unnecessary and completely draining. Without water, we’ll shrivel up into nothing. Why do we pour without restraint? Too much will kill a cactus. Too little is also deadly.
Personal boundaries don’t apply only to strangers, colleagues, friends and family. For two people to be truly happy in a loving relationship, each must be able to add to the pot of joy. There will be times when one will be up and the other, down. On average, however, there should be a steady balance through this roller-coaster of life.
I tend to write when I’m sad.
Well, today is not that kind of day!
A thoughtful and well-timed package came from a lifelong friend. Pillow was indeed my best friend last week. How did you know…?
I worked from home after a half day conference.
I saw my coach, and she recommended a book that every woman should read.
I had an awesome upper body workout… a few weeks or months away from doing a real pull up without weight assistance.
I got the recommended book!
“Women who run with the wolves” by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. I couldn’t wait to rip into the pages after seeing Maya Angelou’s recommendation on the front page: “Everyone who can read should read this book” I read up to 55 pages until I couldn’t hold my pee in anymore.
I just happened to walk across a book (Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern) that I had been searching for but had forgotten about. I will be gifting it to a very special person to enjoy while on a beach holiday. (Isn’t it funny how we find the things we lost when we’re not looking?)
I received a kind compliment on my outfit! Thanks Beast!
Too many exclamation marks, I know. I could probably contain myself but I won’t because I don’t want to.
I found myself surrounded by books, books, and more books. It is the closet thing to my heaven. It’s just one of those blissful days full of life’s small reminders to be grateful to be alive.
My magic is alive and well. Now, let’s keep it that way before the next cycle.
Asked a blonde lady at the counter. So bold and brash. I would have been too ashamed to ask for such a thing.
My best self-help book is written by myself for myself. Because who knows better than self to make things better…?
Brother called to solicit feedback on his project. He said he wanted my frank opinion. He said everyone tells him it’s great.
I had given him honest feedback last year but it wasn’t welcome then. Funny how when people want to improve, they want to hear the truth. I’m grateful to be part of his journey. Thanks for asking me for my opinion. You came to the right place, bro.
“Love does not begin and end the way we think it does. Love is a battle. Love is a war. Love is a growing up” – James Baldwin.
I do not fear the past. I fear the loss of time to do nice things before the scheduled departure.
The way I give. The way I hesitate. The way I hold on. The way I finally let go. This is the way I love. This is me. I have grown with yearning for her love and longing for the departed. Every parting reminds me of the too soon and too abrupt. So why am I surprised to hold on too tight and way too soon?
What I thought was extinguished is burning inside the very same person shivering from the cold. The flame glows inside of her own beating heart.
And so, perhaps and quite possibly, her love had not ended the way I thought. It continues inside. It lives on. I pick myself up to take a small step forward to light the way.
Just read the 21 pages of what I wrote this past year. A majority of them connects me to my younger self. The professional stuff does not resonate.
In the blue notebook, I unearth forgotten words from seven months ago. It didn’t make sense then, and it still doesn’t. At least it isn’t as rubbish as I once thought it was.
The blue dancer flickers to steady itself as the orange flame tries to escape the black ink. Why are you trying so hard to part ways? You can’t survive without the wick dipped in wax, you wicked flame!
The moon is cradling the ball tonight, and I wonder what you are up to. I just want to see you momentarily. For a kiss and a hug. To feel you next to my skin, but only briefly before it consumes me and extinguishes time. Time, time, time, time. The giver of life. The father of ions, sorrows, beginnings and all ends.
My freedom is not the same as yours.
Seven days for, with, and by myself. No distractions. No friends. No family. No boyfriend. Reality called work interferes, but I’ve learned to compartmentalize this sacred process.
The mind tries the usual escape route of consumption. Not this time! I’ve been on a digital diet for a month already. I had already primed myself for this cleansing process. This time, I consume my words and nothing else.
After furious typing, 7000 words appear. After relentless handwriting, I fill ten pages. After careful conversations with myself, I can hear myself think again.
Have I been here before?
Yes, you have, replies the younger me from two years ago living in the small notebook covered in blue. And I’m proud of your progress. At least your recordings of the past allows you to draw the intersection with your present.
My writing serves as a mental compass to guide myself back to the deepest part of me. I am grateful for the gift of words.