Once upon a time...
I woke up and realized that in order to love someone else, I needed to learn how to love myself.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
For You
The significance of a close friend’s advice can sometimes be underestimated
Its lasting impression on your heart tends to remain hidden, until one day, you realize that their words have settled down comfortably within your spirit and they were right all along
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
Certain Thoughts
In the Past
I am misled to believe that warmth exists where the cold heart lies
See it is my belief that a fire is powerful enough to thaw away wounds so deeply penetrated within the soul
But a fire can only do so much with twigs for fuel rather than the presence of dependable logs
I assumed that I would have become familiar enough with these complexities by now
It’s like I’ve drawn the map over and over again, only to find myself stuck in the same latitude of despair..
The Solution
The process is a little tricky to explain,
but one day you’ll just wake up when
yesterday’s pain no longer has an
impact on your stomach.
Monday, July 12, 2010
What I Found In My Pocket
I find inspiration in odd moments of my life
I'm either caught completely unaware or sometimes against my own will
If I choose to lose myself in the moment, I'm pulled away from the mundane practices of my life..
But sometimes I like to stick to the norm. I pretend that life is less complicating and I'm more comfortable in my skin.
But I guess that's an illusion. I think people who are stuck in the comforts of routine may be even crazier than the homeless person down the street who's yelling out nonsensical verbatim...
So I'm giving in to my little "moments."
This post may not make sense to anyone but myself, but that's ok.
Today I sat in Peets in front of the large window that overlooks Telegraph. As I was sitting there, trying to get some Econ studying done, this old man taps on the window to get my attention. I look up and he smiles so I naturally smile back.. He then points between his eyes and then begins waving his hand in front of his face (still smiling btw) Unsure of what to do, I put my head down, hoping that he'll leave.. Instead, he taps on the window again, and the same thing happens. After staring uncomfortably for another 10 seconds, I look down again. Same thing happens. Again. About the 4th time this happens, I decide that it's ok to be rude so I keep my head down the entire time as he persistently raps the window to grab my attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that he begins to wave both his arms around his head. When this fails, he moves slowly towards the left and taps the window as he leaves out of my view. Fortunately, he gives up and leaves.. Probably 40 minutes later, my eyes get bored and I look out the window. To my right, I see a homeless man being arrested by two policemen. He's handcuffed and the officers are patting him down to check for drugs.. and succeed in finding a little ziplock bag filled with white powder. I think I see something interesting and feel slightly uncomfortable at least once a day while I'm here in Berkeley.
I'm either caught completely unaware or sometimes against my own will
If I choose to lose myself in the moment, I'm pulled away from the mundane practices of my life..
But sometimes I like to stick to the norm. I pretend that life is less complicating and I'm more comfortable in my skin.
But I guess that's an illusion. I think people who are stuck in the comforts of routine may be even crazier than the homeless person down the street who's yelling out nonsensical verbatim...
So I'm giving in to my little "moments."
This post may not make sense to anyone but myself, but that's ok.
Today I sat in Peets in front of the large window that overlooks Telegraph. As I was sitting there, trying to get some Econ studying done, this old man taps on the window to get my attention. I look up and he smiles so I naturally smile back.. He then points between his eyes and then begins waving his hand in front of his face (still smiling btw) Unsure of what to do, I put my head down, hoping that he'll leave.. Instead, he taps on the window again, and the same thing happens. After staring uncomfortably for another 10 seconds, I look down again. Same thing happens. Again. About the 4th time this happens, I decide that it's ok to be rude so I keep my head down the entire time as he persistently raps the window to grab my attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that he begins to wave both his arms around his head. When this fails, he moves slowly towards the left and taps the window as he leaves out of my view. Fortunately, he gives up and leaves.. Probably 40 minutes later, my eyes get bored and I look out the window. To my right, I see a homeless man being arrested by two policemen. He's handcuffed and the officers are patting him down to check for drugs.. and succeed in finding a little ziplock bag filled with white powder. I think I see something interesting and feel slightly uncomfortable at least once a day while I'm here in Berkeley.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
..
I am so sick and tired of my parents dictating my life. How much longer do I have to assume this role of obedience to every single ridiculous decree of theirs? I fit that mold my entire life, and I assumed that I would be guaranteed freedom once I left for college. But it's not even enough to them that through my independence, I've been able to establish better than average grades, make friends with amazing and life-lasting people, and still stick to respectable morals. No, I'm still consumed by their stubbornness to exaggerate any sense of hold they have over me. And the question always remains the same: "Why?" And their answer, "Because, I said so." And there's the end of that. You would think that this is some mindless rant from the average teenager who just wants to go out and conduct in meaningless crap with her other significantly unintelligent friends. Not even close. All I wanted to do was to come home this weekend and attend a prayer meeting so that I could come relatively closer to answers I can't find on my own. Trudging through the days of schoolwork and club meetings clouds my thoughts and burdens my heart. I just wanted to release everything inside of me and also just consume myself with the Holy Spirit so that I could just be that much closer to being with God. I want to relax in His Spirit, and I'm not saying I can't do that in the comforts of my own room, but just the atmosphere of VHOP would have been so much better than here. And to be surrounded by others who are just as desperate.. I wanted things to be confirmed, to fuel up, to figure myself out. I want to hear God. I just hate so much that I encounter the same problems over and over again every time I come home. What can I do to solve this ongoing cycle in my life? I can't even look at the situation without placing blame onto myself. Somewhere along the way, I have to be at fault. Why else would this be continuing? I'm in the wrong. According to them, I have no sense of responsibility. I am completely ignorant and wrong in all my actions. All I can do is talk back, and I'm not even strong enough to hold back tears. Sometimes my weakness sickens me.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Reminisce
In my childhood years, I absolutely loved to play these games of "pretend." Selling newspapers on a street corner, serving as the cashier at a supermarket, cutting hair for a living, anything and everything amused me.
One day, my next door neighbor, this sweet middle-aged Japanese woman known as "Mrs. Edie" invited me and brother over to make mud pies. Of course, Jason and I immediately ran over, overwhelmed at the fact that we were going to "make" something without the help of our mother.
Mrs. Edie led us to her backyard, hose poised in its position over a dirt patch. We watched as the water sputtered out, colliding with the dust to form this chocolate-colored mush. Mrs. Edie then instructed us to search through her plants, encouraging us to pick out various leaves and flowers to decorate our pies.
We then proceeded to place our hands in the mad, grabbing fistfuls and shaping them into what we imagined pies would resemble.
Afterwards, we laid them out to dry, and Jason and I impatiently sat and stared, eager to take our creations home to our mother. At that moment, I remember vaguely thinking to myself how appetizing a real chocolate pie would taste in my mouth. And then, I reasoned with myself that the mud pies had to be edible, it just made sense. I then turned my head from left to right, checking to see that no one would see me in the act. And with both Mrs. Edie and Jason preoccupied in their own worlds, I snatched my mud pie and immediately took a bite.
Ugh. Blech. Sigh. I spat out the disgusting mixture of gravel and dirt. As the pie touched my tongue, it disintegrated back into its original form, and I could not stand it. My brother, who had previously wandered to the other side of the yard, slowly ambled back. Upon seeing the half-bitten pie, my brother looked at me accusingly. I on the other hand pointed silently at the flying crow above our heads and my brother, in awe, nodded his head.
I just wanted the mud pie to be real damnit.
One day, my next door neighbor, this sweet middle-aged Japanese woman known as "Mrs. Edie" invited me and brother over to make mud pies. Of course, Jason and I immediately ran over, overwhelmed at the fact that we were going to "make" something without the help of our mother.
Mrs. Edie led us to her backyard, hose poised in its position over a dirt patch. We watched as the water sputtered out, colliding with the dust to form this chocolate-colored mush. Mrs. Edie then instructed us to search through her plants, encouraging us to pick out various leaves and flowers to decorate our pies.
We then proceeded to place our hands in the mad, grabbing fistfuls and shaping them into what we imagined pies would resemble.
Afterwards, we laid them out to dry, and Jason and I impatiently sat and stared, eager to take our creations home to our mother. At that moment, I remember vaguely thinking to myself how appetizing a real chocolate pie would taste in my mouth. And then, I reasoned with myself that the mud pies had to be edible, it just made sense. I then turned my head from left to right, checking to see that no one would see me in the act. And with both Mrs. Edie and Jason preoccupied in their own worlds, I snatched my mud pie and immediately took a bite.
Ugh. Blech. Sigh. I spat out the disgusting mixture of gravel and dirt. As the pie touched my tongue, it disintegrated back into its original form, and I could not stand it. My brother, who had previously wandered to the other side of the yard, slowly ambled back. Upon seeing the half-bitten pie, my brother looked at me accusingly. I on the other hand pointed silently at the flying crow above our heads and my brother, in awe, nodded his head.
I just wanted the mud pie to be real damnit.
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