Tag: awareness

Journal Entry #45 

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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.  

Sonder

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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.

treasure

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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. 

I do not regret it.

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I do not regret it 

I do not feel bad for you. I do not care to.

I saw clearly after I let go of regret,

It was never my regret anyway.

I think about the fear you must have 

Scared that if they look too close, they will begin to understand 

They will understand, and then they will begin to ask questions,

very quickly, they will realize that it, in fact, does not make any sense 

And it never did.

And then they will ask if you ever knew,

And your face will betray your lie

And your betrayal will go straight to the core 

And they never look at you the same.

I do not regret it. 

I do not regret any time I took a step back 

Any time I responded with silence.

Anytime I decided to retreat.

I do not regret it because every time I left, I saw you clearly, I saw myself, and then I chose myself.

As time goes, I understand more, 

My questions have answers.

I understand it now.

The weight of your betrayal hangs over me.

And I am tired every day.

I watch the ones that have yet to understand; I find solace in the ones that do.

And we hold each other. And we help each other. 

And we never regret it 

Because it was never our regret anyway.

What I realized after I met Clarity.

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Suddenly, I started to see the patterns. When I fell into spells of overthinking, my heart would literally start beating faster. I would start to feel like I was running, like I was out of breath, even as I lay in bed. 

It is a crazy thing to realize that the thing that has been beating you down, the reason why even colors seem to appear faded is because of fear. Because of the vulnerability that you have and the honest desire for reassurance and acceptance. 

It is crazy because in that moment I want to hug myself. I want to hold myself so tightly because I am enough. I am more than enough.

I want to tell myself that it is okay to not always know. It is okay to make a mistake and be corrected. It is okay to use your voice, ask for attention, or need it. It is a crazy thing to realize how much of a burden that realization is. I empathize with myself, the weight I carried, and the hurdles I overcame to be here at this moment. I take in the paths that I forged for myself, with the people that helped me at each step of the way. I revisit the moments that hurt me, and I give myself what I needed in that moment. I create space for sadness, anger, and jealousy to be felt. To be acknowledged and addressed. I become my own person.

My own advocate. 

And so suddenly, I walk with my head higher. I ask more questions. I allow my curiosity to be perceived, and I share my vulnerability in not knowing or understanding. 

I give others the same option. The option to join me or redirect me. 

People have become more peaceful to me. My mind becomes quieter to me.

In some moments, there are doubts and glimmers of uncertainty. In these moments, I also take a deep breath and let myself remember that feeling. It visits for some time. When it’s time, it goes, or when I am ready, I leave. We both are empowered that way. 

I tell myself that the times that I want to go back to, I feel this way because of the wisdom I have now. This encourages me to keep moving forward. It pushes me to smile at others, open my heart, and accept new moments in the now with people who are right in front of me. 

Clarity taught me that to be your champion is to remain grounded. It asks you to accept your surroundings and yourself. It requires you to face the faults and address the fear, anxieties, hurt and anger. It asks you to accept that as part of you and your truth. It champions you to be present. 

A note to self.

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You tend to walk with your head either up or down.

I’m telling you this because as I journey beside you, the moments I want to celebrate are when you leave me behind.

You dismiss me, saying there is nothing to celebrate. You are always only looking ahead when you say this.

And so you never stop. And you are only either looking up at how much is left to go or down as you examine your tired legs and back. And you only ever speak to me when you want us to keep going or when you are hurting.

And I’m telling you this because I stop.

I look around,

I want you to see what I see.

I want you to turn around and look at what we have done, together.

If there is always a beautiful view ahead, then that must surely mean that there are beautiful views behind us as well?

Surely moments of pause and reflection cannot be not time wasted in places we fought so hard to get to?

I guess I wish you smelt the roses more. I wish you inhaled more deeply. I wish you dove more often. 

I understand that a part of wishing involves rejecting a part of reality. But there is a part where it encourages us, too. That’s the part that believes in your greatness. That’s the part that sees what we need to see in ourselves.

You can’t do that without stopping and looking inside. You can’t do that believing that what is now is not enough. If your race to the sky requires all the paths you walk on, then they’re part of an important journey just as important as the finish line.

And now that you are done rolling your eyes. Before you start searching for something else to get your attention before you go. I’ll get to the point:

I want you to rest, because you always say you are tired. 

I hear you say how tired you are of being tired. I hear you say this every day.

I want to offer a moment, a period of reflection. If that is all it can be now 

I hope these periods offer a perspective that carries some of the weight as you continue the journey. I hope this allows it to then stop feeling like a race.

I hope this then relaxes your shoulders, 

And releases your jaw.

I hope then you can finally stop walking with your head either looking down or up. I hope you start to look around. And maybe one day, you can appreciate the journey, the parts, and the season where you stand in moments of time. 

With all my love,

Yours truly.

And one last thing, before I go

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Today marked one year. One year since Mark had packed up nothing and finally walked out of Sylvie’s life. She sat at the same booth in the same cafe where, a year ago, she watched as Mark tried to care and tried to explain why, even though he said he was not ready for a relationship, he now was, and it was not with her. 

She sat on the same side of the booth but ordered a different drink. Recently, she realized that she quite liked lattes; not only that, she actually hated green tea. She didn’t know why she drank it for almost 3 years. 

Everything in the cafe was the same. The barista was the same. Only Sylvie now had a blonde pixie cut. It suited her. She also dressed differently now. A lot was the same, and a lot was also different. The most significant thing was that she was sitting here alone. A year ago, you would never have caught Sylvie alone. She hated it. Over the past year, however, she has grown a fondness for solitude. It was great she had time to think about herself and what she wanted. 

Anyways.

In front of Sylvie was a blank piece of paper. After a morning well spent crying and remembering, she devised a brilliant idea to put pen to paper. Fortunately for her, she no longer had Mark’s number. She had nothing of Mark at all, just the memories. She wondered how she could get rid of those too.

The plan was to write a letter. It would be an unsent letter because, as we know, she did not know where Mark was. But the letter would be her final remarks and well wishes as she celebrated the anniversary of her rebirth and emancipation. There were still a few things she needed to get off her chest.

And so she wrote: 

Maybe I am not supposed to understand 

Maybe it’s not supposed to make sense to me. How you can treat someone one way, and they treat you another. 

For so long, this reality was difficult to accept. We are raised according to universal standards, at least that is what they say. “This is what is right. And this is what is wrong,” they said knowing this is gonna take you far. 

However, it didn’t take me anywhere with you. 

I have always been a rule follower. Rules make sense to me, I am often too lazy to go against them. You are not lazy at all. I guess there might be something good in that. At least there is something good. 

I still think about you, about us, and what we never were.

For so long, I replayed it over and over. Like seasons I moved from blaming myself to blaming you, to hating you. It was active, and I found myself suspended in my memories, still picking apart moments. Only this time, I wasn’t picking myself apart too. I would feel waves of sadness as I now understood how little you cared. How careless you were with me, with my heart. It breaks me to remember how little I knew, how beautifully I opened myself up to you, how I welcomed you to my place, my safe space. I now see the strength behind my vulnerability: the cowardliness behind your walls. It never made sense how I could approach you with such care, and you showed me the opposite 

Time has been proven to be nothing but a social construct. And while there was little time between us, I created a lot of space for you. And I kept the space for you despite the fact that you never made space for me. It never made sense to me. I now realize that it never will.

I can’t comprehend how you can treat someone the way you treated me because I would never treat someone like that. This is simple, but I needed to realize one thing before I came to this conclusion.

You did this to me. 

I did not hurt myself. I did not set myself up to be misled and lied to. I never gave you permission. Your actions were your own, and so is the responsibility. 

I prosecuted myself for the treatment you inflicted. I put myself at the stake when really I was the victim. What I needed was protection. What I needed was to be so far away from you.

Not redemption. 

How greedy must one be to allow a hungry man to give you food when you know you just ate? How selfish, how unkind.

Your actions provide an overview of your character. There is nothing more to investigate, nothing to discover. The proof is in the way that others feel once you have left a room, and I felt horrible. We operate on different playing fields; I am here, and you are somewhere. Our paths were never meant to cross. You stayed because you had never seen the sun so bright, I stayed because I thought I would see stars in that kind of darkness 

Our exchange was not even. But I have since returned what was never mine, a desire for acceptance that I have never needed. 

I can run now, that burden is off my chest. I can breathe even deeper than I have ever done. 

We are not the same, and we will never make sense to each other. What a blessing that is, what a blessing.

Sylvie

“Excuse me, ma’am, would you like another latte?”

“Oh no, thank you, I’ll take the bill”

Sylvie never returned to that cafe; she found one down the street that she liked more, and they had freshly baked croissants, too.

Far from home 

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I am far from home 

Except I am not even sure where that is. 

I watch those I have grown up with 

My heart aches 

Nostalgia confuses me, and I reminisce only the good parts 

I forget the sadness, the moments when I did not enjoy 

I feel a sense of missing out

But it’s funny because I was never a part of their lives to begin with 

It’s a lonely season for me 

Regret wants to be felt

But I am fighting back 

What is there to regret?

I force myself to remember the other moments, the moments of isolation, when the truth was apparent. 

I force myself to keep going 

And going 

And going 

I look online and suddenly want things 

It’s funny that  

I didn’t think about everything I lacked until I looked at a screen. 

There is nothing I lack 

Only things I can attain 

Only potential that is untapped or unrealized 

I come as I am.

Far from a home I used to know 

A place that serves as a refuge, 

Except it has not been that for a while, 

And I have been in transit for a while 

And I am not far from home at all 

Home is within me, and I am home.

I take a deep breath 

I make new goals 

I try to find acceptance in myself 

I remain present 

I am living a life that I daydreamed about 

I am here now 

And in this moment, this is where I reside 

In a place far from a former home.

A place that is inviting me to make it its home 

Time is on my side 

Abundance is on my side.

a reminder

Somewhere, over the rainbow

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I exist in a place before and after the rainbow.

A place where colours do not exist

Darkness is not personified. 

It’s a state of being: 

I am darkness, I exist without light.

I long to be where the colours exist. 

I know that there are people that stay there,

I even know a few that are there, I visit them often. 

But no one seems to know how to be there

They tell me colour is not personified. 

They exist with colour. They have light.

They talk about light and brightness. 

They say that it sometimes exists in excess, I’m not sure if I believe them.

I can’t comprehend how anything good could ever be in excess.

My starvation is blatant,

There is no colour in my eyes, It is clear where I reside.

I walk with my head down, a final attempt not to make it obvious that I am trying to fit into a place I don’t belong.

I hope no one notices 

Eventually, they willingly turn off their lights 

And find comfort in temporary, peaceful solitude 

I remain indifferent. In darkness, my only truth, my state of being. 

about pressure, my unwelcome guest 

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Pressure

Pressure

I can feel every second 

I can see each minute float away

My heart beats, we look at each other. She is tired, she beats all day. 

What’s wrong?

I look around for the problem, I can’t find it. I search for words, there are none.

It feels so dark, but I’m still blinded by flashing lights. This makes no sense. A sharp, high-pitched sound clouds my mind. Who is screaming? 

I think I would know if it was me. Right?

Pressure.

Pressure.

I don’t say stop. I don’t say enough. 

I don’t deserve it. 

I can’t move. I am stuck. 

I am alone. There is no one in here but me. But then again, who else could access my thoughts? Who else could access my mind?

Besides, Pressure. My uninvited guest. My captor. Trapping me inside my mind. 

I can’t smell the roses anymore. I don’t want to.

Pausing is a privilege granted to those who deserve it. Pressure reminds me. Do you deserve it ?– they question me.

Taunting me

Laughing as I beg. I reason I try to escape my solitary confinement.

I look for distractions. I look for short obstacles, I want to keep them happy, I want to be myself. I need to learn what that even looks like. 

Pressure.

It chips pieces of me from myself. Now I walk around feeling exposed, I walk with my head down, my eyes say too much. 

I walk alone, but I’m begging for a shadow. I am begging for a shoulder. 

I do not want to be alone. 

But the only way that you will find people is if you are something and do something. 

This is not enough. You are not enough. 

Pressure is harsh. My wounds are not healing. Excessive friction. Everything is out of sync. 

I am spiraling. While the minutes continue to float away, I circle down the drain. 

Finally, I am free. I think I am. Hours can’t haunt me anymore. Time is finished with me.

But Pressure remains. It becomes the soundtrack of my life, whispering and reminding me. My wounds never heal.

Pressure