identity crisis

michelleLeave a comment

My spirit is heavy.

Expectations and duties hold me down, 

I can’t seem to find the strength. 

Do they even belong to me? 

My foundation has never felt so weak 

With each step, another piece crumbles away

However, there is a beauty that is evolving, a newfound confidence

It assures me that I am going in the right direction,

-but it doesn’t help me carry the weight 

I am hopeful and as lonely as I have ever felt.

My desire to be understood keeps me going. 

I can only hope that I will be alright.

Who can I blame for my troubles? 

Who can I trust to paint the picture? 

I wonder in and out of conversations 

I only ask what can be answered. 

My silence is the only honest thing about me.

I can’t shake the pressure to remain small, so I struggle to communicate my new truth. 

This dead skin no longer fits me. 

Coming out for air is painful, at least I can breathe again 

At least I know where I am going

My self-portrait appears to be a blank canvas.

I wonder whose job it is to paint it.   

Journal Entry #45 

michelleLeave a comment

Am I limited by my ability to see?

The other day, I went to an immersive exhibit. The exhibit was beautiful and thought-provoking. In every room, we were treated to a visual and sensual masterpiece. In the final room, the exhibit incorporated part of a biography, Notes on Blindness, that profiled John M. Hull. John M. Hull was a theologian who famously audio-documented his journey as he progressively lost his sight. The exhibit included excerpts from the audio journal where Hull reflected on how his vision (or deteriorating vision) had impacted his relationship with his children. Hull mentioned that his blindness did not impact it at all and did not believe that it ever could.

He said his relationship with his children was built on the stories they exchanged. He knew them because of what they had shared with him, as opposed to just watching them grow up. 

This moved me. It was a beautiful reflection and touched a part of my heart. For a moment, I sat and realized just how passive watching is. How lazy we become when we can see a person or thing. It made me think about my own relationships with people and how often and how important it is for me to break the barrier from merely being an observer to actually taking time and learning curiosity. Curiosity, my favourite word. I am beginning to see it as a verb rather than a noun. 

This part of the exhibit really made me look inwards. I had to ask myself how many times I took just what I saw and decided that that was enough. Hence, the question: Am I limited by my ability to see? 

How many people have I shut down based primarily on their appearance? How many times has that been the central thought? How many times has what I have seen on the surface level been the beginning and end of a story for me?

I do believe that our physical bodies act as a vessel for the real person that we are. Our bodies can be a physical projection of who we are, but it doesn’t tell the whole story. I mean, it can’t be, that is not how we exist. Additionally, the world that we live in today makes it difficult for us to be fully self-actualized in that way. We know this because societal norms and pressures exist in a way that enforces this and us. 

We are victims, yet we are all complicit as well. 

But curiosity persists and acts as a tool for us to break free from this, from the default. It frees us and allows us to remain unlimited. This was my takeaway from the snippet by John M. Hull. I saw his reflection as a stop sign, a call for me to pause and reflect on how intentional I am in my relationships. It is a profound thing to think about, and I am excited to explore it further.  

I now know what love is.

michelleLeave a comment

On my 24th birthday, my friends told me that they loved me. 

We have said the word love to each other before. I knew that I loved them, that they loved me.

But this time, I knew without a doubt how much my friends cared about me.

they didn’t even say the words, though.

This year has been tough. I often find myself just sitting and reflecting, still trying to process everything that happened over the past few months. I couldn’t believe it had only been 4 months. Deeply grieving, time was flying, and I was being dragged along with it.

Existing was hard, finding joy was harder.

But I was trying. That’s all I had in me, just try.

I’m not sure if I communicated this, I wondered if that was even possible.

My pain was unspeakable. I became it. 

I used to be scared that it showed. That the stench of my miserable life would remain even after I left a room. And the undertone of my discouraged world view was all that people would hear when I spoke. 

So, I decided to keep to myself. 

The fewer people who could smell me, the less there was proof that the pain was real. 

However, my fears then revealed themselves to be revelations to me. When people love you, I have now come to realize,

They notice.

I mean, I have, and they did. They may not say anything at first. All they might try to do is distract you from the sinking ship, attempting to offer you a break from the chaos; a gift of momentary ignorance, maybe in the form of a really bad joke. That momentary ignorance that allows you to catch your breath before you inevitably go back to the chaos. 

They may ask you about it, offer a lending hand, or a shoulder to cry on. 

The point is, they notice. 

My friends noticed. Maybe me telling them about some parts made them notice more, but they noticed and then, showed me that they loved me.

My 24th birthday honestly meant nothing to me. My childhood friend had passed away in January this year, so the concept of growing up without her did not interest me. 

I let my feelings be known. “Do not expect anything big, if at all.” 

The intention was to forget. To survive the weekend. Ignore the imposed survivor’s guilt.

I tried to ignore the tiniest part of me, the deviant that wondered maybe we should celebrate? It questioned why we would cross the finish line with our heads down. 

I entertained the thought. 

However, my fatigue was my strongest opponent, and boooyyy I was exhausted. I thought that there was only a tiny piece of me competing against it.

I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone. 

They offered me a weekend of stillness. When the ongoing war was reaching its climax. When my fatigue had gained an ally, when I felt so out of control and alone. They anchored my sinking ship, they granted me the understanding and privacy of my vulnerability, and supported me through it. They simply just showed up. Not passively, with intention, they fought hard to celebrate me.

This was the greatest act of love I have ever received and the most precious gift. It is a moment that pains me but also grounds me. They reminded me that I was loved, that their love for me was not dependent on how I showed up. They carried me into this new year of life. I wonder if they knew that I was kicking and screaming. They were with me from when the clock struck midnight to when it ended. 

They showed me that they loved me. I felt loved, but more importantly, I felt considered.

Sonder

michelleLeave a comment

One of my favourite reminders of my humanity goes like this:

The moment when I just observe.

Those moments when there is nothing in my head, in that silence, I am able to remember where I am. 

The silence allows me to hear people,

As they speak to each other, as they speak through phones, as they take up space in the world

I am only granted snippets, out-of-context moments of their day, afternoon, or evening.

They are talking about something to someone. 

But it’s not to me, it has nothing to do with me. They pass me by, focused on their way to somewhere.

I am aware that I’m not a very significant part (if at all) to their story, I know this just as well as I know that we exist in the same space and moment in time. 

This doesn’t make me insignificant, I realize, it just means that I am sharing.

We all are 

We share this space, feelings, milestones, and hardships, even as we navigate through life, sometimes alone. 

I fear that this may also sound quite cheesy, I know, because it is.

But cheesy never meant untrue. And, I am not a liar.

It’s in these moments that the world doesn’t seem so small, so dire, so urgent. It reminds me that there was a before and there will be an after.

It allows the room to stop spinning.

It grants me the ultimate blessing;

To listen and to hear things with clarity.

No whispers, no other thoughts. True and doubtless.

In those moments, I see clearly, 

Perspective shifts, and I begin to understand.

I breathe deeply

My head rests, shoulders relaxed, free again.

I am sharing 

That means I am not alone.

Loneliness can not envelop me. I know that gravity will not allow me to just fly away, even when I feel like I am, drifting off.

I believe they call this moment: Sonder.

As I step out of myself, as I face outwards, as I observe

I am finally able to empathize with myself, the same way I empathize with others.

Non-judgmental but, more importantly, kind.

It’s in these moments that I find peace, and then, I am happy to be alive.

his instrument

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Who is brave enough?

Who is hungry enough to go first? 

To assess this situation 

To make a judgment, taste this fruit?

He steps up to the plate; first in line. I can tell he needed this.

His eyes never deviated, unblinking.

He can’t stop staring.

Not even as he slowly rises and approaches 

I feel even more naked than I already am.

I wonder who he is really looking at; the person he stares at must be made of glory. But I know that even pure gold is at the mercy of wear and tear.

Yet his confidence prevails.

And he begins his expedition, 

I am both a passenger and his destination. 

His fingers talk to me 

They tell me what he wants, 

I respond, they already have it.

Draught now only a distant memory 

He has reached his destination.

I am confused 

I thought I was his salvation 

Yet here I lay, him guiding me to paradise, 

To a feeling I never felt.

Our eyes, locked together, transported to a place only we understand

They are comfortable there, what else is there to look at here 

He speaks to me in my language 

I experience the joy of being understood 

His fingers are an instrument 

For harmony and understanding 

I let him play his music for a long time 

Him and his instrument 

Me and him. 

treasure

michelleLeave a comment

Picture this: you finally met them.

There is a feeling: its easy, its quiet, it fully hits you one day in the morning as you are brushing your teeth and planning your day with them – oh shit I love them– 

Or maybe it’s not .. love? Maybe it’s something else 

–I care if this person lives or dies, I care about another person, I care– 

It whispers this quietly, but you hear this clearly; it’s not so much this profound feeling but rather a routine that you found yourself in.

They are a part of your routine. Loving them is a routine. 

Your mind does not go to prison guards or jail cells; it hasn’t had its guard up like that in such a long time. You grew so accustomed to being safe that you forgot you ever had guards in the first place.

It’s deep, it’s consuming, maybe it’s even rare, 

For you, it is everything. 

three bubbles indicating that another person is typing a text message

.. no need to respond, I just wanted you to know that I was thinking 

michelleLeave a comment

Well, if I’m being honest, there are moments when I do… miss you

There are days when I think about us.

It wasn’t all bad, you know.

You aren’t the easiest person to know; that doesn’t mean you aren’t worth knowing, though.

You were worth getting to know.

If you were ever to decide to open up and let people see you, they too would see that you were soft, as gentle as they come.

You cared about me, and you let me know this

so I never doubted it; funny, I don’t think I ever even wondered.

 Still, I confidently know that we were not meant to be— we would be, if that were the case.

It’s just that,

There are some moments when I just can’t help but wonder

What could have been?

What if one of us decided that they weren’t as right as they thought? 

What if one of us held up the white flag and finally said,” Fine, you win.”

What then? 

Lonely,

michelleLeave a comment

There is no one to choose despite this or that,

So it becomes easier to judge others for enduring.

There is no one to fight for, 

So giving up is easy.

There are a few you go out of your way for,

But most times, you really don’t have anything to do.

And while your music taste is quite exquisite, you wish someone could show you something new.

Lonely.

phone rings often, plans get made,

But you long to not always have to make plans.

You wonder what it’s like to just roll out of bed and face the day with someone.

Lonely.

You pack your things quickly, leaving is easy.

break-up texts get written in under a minute. 

There is no second-guessing, 

Not when there wasn’t anything to guess in the first place.

You embody casualness like you made the word.

Only strangers know you intimately. 

Those closest pretend to have an idea of what you are like. 

Small talk becomes the only type of talk; you forget that not all arguments are bad.

You never fight, so you call yourself peaceful.

It is quiet; it has always been quiet.

You tell yourself you never liked noise anyway.

Lonely.

the us. being in love- an experience by me,

michelleLeave a comment

Raw by Looney plays in the background. 

I think about the fear, the nervousness, and the excitement that we experience. 

A moment, every moment thereafter, the spark and electricity that illuminates and guides us for the rest of our lives. 

It’s the feeling, the part when your chest fills up as your stomach drops, and 

Gravity becomes more of a suggestion than 

–a world-renowned phenomenon. 

It’s staring at an orbiting sky and realizing you are in orbit too. 

And, letting it be.

It’s swimming through clouds, turning to your left, and seeing that face, 

That perfect face, for the first time- on the millionth day.

The eyes that move mountains and make problems disappear 

It’s a smile that ejects me into the stars, 

It’s the beauty mark, the scar, the dimple 

It’s their proof of life. The experience that has a story and is forever a part of them, told to me.

It’s knowing that they trust you with that context.

It’s actualizing the tapestry of their face. Each feature provides a moment for you to exhale–freely.

Suddenly, you have never breathed so deeply, you have never been so… full.

It’s them and their presence that makes you feel so light, like a clover being propelled by breaths of wishes and hopes for good luck 

It’s witnessing while experiencing the good luck and knowing it’s yours and for you alone 

It’s like the sunset that you can only watch 

The first sip of my favourite drink 

That is what the fear, the nervousness, the excitement, feels like.

It’s the crescendo of Japanese Denim by Daniel Caesar before he lullabies us to ease. 

It’s them, it’s you, it’s falling into

the us.

Grief is weird.

michelleLeave a comment

Sometimes I wonder if it belongs to me 

It comes with a lot of responsibility 

My pain is something I no longer desire to feel, but the memories are everything to me.

I wish they didn’t have to coexist all the time. 

I carry the memories for both of us, which feels like a lot of responsibility. It’s like I am the only living proof of a love that existed. 

It makes me feel like I have to defend it more, like I have to prove that it existed. 

I have never enjoyed having to prove myself, especially with something like this.

But then again, I remind myself that there is nothing to prove. The memories are memories because they happened, once upon a time, that was my current reality.

But this realization also makes me sick to my stomach because I remember that this was, at a time, my reality. This was what life was like, a painful reminder that this is no more.

My memories carry everything and the weight of all the emotions. The picture shows us smiling, but my memories go beyond the smiles.

It remembers the insecurity, the questioning of whether I was enough, if the connection was enough, and so it becomes difficult again.

It becomes difficult to feel the pain, the weight, and the grief again. It becomes difficult, and I find myself in the same cycle, waiting, waiting, and wondering if the grief belongs to me. 

Waiting for someone to give me the green light, the go-ahead to feel this pain. This loss. To break down at the reality that I hate to accept. 

I hate that the person I find myself waiting for permission from is gone.

I wish I could have talked to you one last time. If I could, I would tell you this: 

I wish we could have caught up and just sat together.

I would have told you everything; I have no doubt that you would have done the same. 

I hate that I hesitate to miss you. I wish I could ask you how much our friendship meant to you. Is it selfish for me to want to hear you say that you loved me? 

I wish I could remember every single moment we shared, even the insignificant ones.

I wish I had a recording of all the nights we spent talking and sharing things we were too scared to say in the daylight.

I hate that we never closed the gap and distance between us. I really wish we could have seen each other one last time. 

It doesn’t hurt as much as it did before. It doesn’t catch my breath and break my stance. 

But my heart throbs softly every day. Any time I remember, I feel it more 

The shock of realizing that you are gone and knowing what that means 

Knowing that you don’t walk around anymore, knowing that there are so many of us who think about you and miss you every day 

I just can’t believe it. This was not how it was supposed to go 

I love life, but I hate it at the same time. I hate that this is it. I hate that I have to just keep going 

I hate that it doesn’t stop or give us a break 

Even when you really, truly, deserve it. 

I find myself wondering what it is all for, what is the reason 

I wonder if there is any

I understand why people pray, 

why some look at crystals, 

and, why others just numb it away 

I wonder if, now knowing this, you would grant me my grief.

I am realizing that some things don’t have answers, not because there aren’t any, but maybe because the purpose is not to be understood. 

Maybe we are not meant to know; all we are meant to do is wake up and do what needs to be done. Until one day we don’t wake up.

I guess that is what it is 

I wonder if it all makes sense when we get to the end. When our timer runs out, our curtains close. Is there a moment when it all makes sense? 

I hope it all made sense to you when your curtains closed. I hope that all that felt unfinished was complete for you.