I come from such a tiny island that, when a plane that I’m on is close enough to allow me to see the ground of wherever it is that I’m about to land, I get completely overwhelmed (and in the case of Dubai, absolutely terrified) at the sight of such a huge area. My silent panic attack has never once been noticed by airline staff or any other passengers around me. Even when I’m traveling with family. This lasts until my flight has landed.
Or for the next six months or so.
But still, I enjoy walking through cities in the middle of the day, just for the joy of getting lost and finding my way back, on my own. While I’m there… Right?
Then one night sometime later, I find my plane approaching the familiar lights of home and I can see the ocean surrounding the little island that I love.
Mona:I still have your DVDs. And Trish ran away from the group home and came knocking on my door. So we watched Girl Interrupted.
Abrit:You watched WHAT?!? With Trish??
Maria:Don't let Trish watch Girl Interrupted, are you on crack?? You let her watch that and she'll think it's autobiographical. Next thing you know you'll find her under her bed with a bunch of chicken carcasses!
Chicken kadu with steel-cut oats and every veggie under the tropical sun - and rice, of course. Lemon china fina’ denne’ even. For Ellie, the fams and me. Every ingredient in the pot had a specific intended nutritional purpose - just because I’m not feeling well today.
And dad even pulled out his super-secret stash of lemon-lime soda for us.
I LOVE these people. Only partly because of how well they love me.
I am awestruck. (From: The Musings of A Lesbian Writer)
“Writing can destroy you.
It can twist your unsuspecting soul around its little wordy fingers, crumple it into a ball, stretch it out and tear it to pieces, flinging the alphabetic remains into the night air…
You give it a bit of love, then ruthlessly shove it out into the world to speak on its own.
Sometimes it lands just right and although you still cry, it’s with joy instead of anguish…
Your soul lives on through your writing and there’s always another project lying in wait.”
From a very inspiring article on writing (‘Writing Can Destroy You’) that I stumbled upon in *whispers* Wordpress.
I feel this. I know exactly how much of a relief it is to get it all out and onto the page, the enormous emotional weight that’s lifted, when it’s finally over. The satisfaction, the contentment (even if it’s fleeting, momentary), the sheerexhaustion that I feel when I’m done pouring into and onto and over. And the love, the pride that I feel in every bit of writing that I produce (except for the ones that are just not right, not good enough, not what I was striving for - those are tossed unceremoniously into the virtual or actual trash bin).
I just can’t express it the way this article does.
Somewhere, someone is searching for me - for everything that I am, despite everything and everyone that I’m not. Someone out there will feel lucky to have my heart. They’ll feel blessed to have me in their life. And I’ll be the reason they come home.
I believe in Someday and (finally) I believe in Love.
ChechaRiaBiaMaria: ”This is ALWAYS going to be your song. You know why? Because of that one night back when I didn’t even know how to drive stick - you tossed your keys to me, hopped into the passenger seat and said “Shut up and drive.” Then you were asleep before I could even ask you how. You know how long it took me to get to Dededo, driving a stick-shift 4x4 truck that I had no idea how to work?”
Abrit: ”Oh yeah? Lemme ask you something…. What kinda trans you got NOW?”
Look, chickie… We met a long time ago. And many times since then. I just looked a little different.
You see, you didn’t see me 25, 35, 55 pounds ago (not that it made any difference to me, one way or the other). You looked right through me, even as introductions were made. You barely managed a mumbled “hey”, as you scanned the room for more “interesting” (that is, thinner) people. I wasn’t ‘worthy’ of a second of eye-contact from the likes of you, much less an even mildly polite “hello.”
And if you didn’t take even a moment’s notice of me then - well, I see no reason for you to see me now. Make sense?
Your brand of shallow doesn’t do a thing for this woman. But have a good night, okay?
There was a poem I read, one night. I was told that it was for me.
But something about the way that it read, something said that it wasn’t. It was written the night before a plane landed, carrying a man who was coming home to the woman that he loved.
That night, I got a call. Just a little after I read the poem, the phone rang. It was her and Heart exploded with happiness and love, ignoring the voice in my head that reminded me that I knew this call was coming, had SAID that this call was coming - when he got home.
And here I am, almost 2 years later, realizing that I’ve been waiting for that same call - from the same woman who wrote the poem, the same woman who blocked me from seeing her, talking to her. Waiting for someone who can ignore me, until she doesn’t want to anymore. Until she wants to come back to me.
Everything she wants - not to see or speak with each other, “space”, “time”…. These are the steps in the stages of grief, to get over the loss of someone. To let go.
I deserve better than being “invisible”, ignored, brushed aside. I deserve to be valued and loved and held. I deserve to be fought for, when times get tough, when the honeymoon is over and real life and all it’s intricacies set in, planting doubt and confusion. And I deserve someone who KNOWS that they love me, that they want me - and is PROUD of it.
She deserves the same - my heart won’t let me not tell her that. And I know she’ll find it. She’ll recognize it, when it comes to her. And she won’t have to fight it, think it through for years - when she recognizes her “ONE”, she’ll never let her go.
If you’re reading this, I’m giving you what you want - whether you know that this is what you want or not. I have loved you through everything, in a way that I’ve never loved anyone before. Thank you for the lessons.
"How lucky I am to have known someone so hard to say goodbye to." ~Unknown.