Tag: growth

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.

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.

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. 

I do not regret it.

michelle1 Comment

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.

michelleLeave a comment

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.

michelleLeave a comment

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.