Tag: life

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.

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.

my final remark

michelleLeave a comment

“I am so sorry for your loss.”

“Thinking about u x”

“Let me know if you ever want to talk” 

I am cared for. I appreciate it. 

However, this feeling is hard to describe. It’s hard to feel. 

I talk to you. I talk to you often. You are the only person I want to talk to.

But today I didn’t talk to you. My mind uncemented itself for the first time since I heard. Since you left us. I existed without you, and it wasn’t horrible. I survived.

And then I thought about you. I remembered, and I broke. For the first time, I felt it. Realizing this was the moment when I really spoke to you. I was ready to say my last remarks. 

I now know what heartbreak feels like.

I felt a crack. I literally heard it as it worked its way down my heart. I now walk with my chest throbbing, two broken pieces on my left side.

I never regretted where we left off. It didn’t mean anything to me. I watched you from a distance, I saw you fall in love, and I saw you graduate and travel. I congratulated you when you got your first job. We kept tabs on each other. You checked in, too. That is why I never doubted; I knew you knew it, too. There was still love. There would always be love. 

So I’m not broken because we hadn’t spoken in a while. Not because I hadn’t seen you. 

I struggled through memories and emotions, none of them quite fit. I remembered moments and in some instances, I was stuck in space, literally. I could not move because I’d think of something else that you would miss, laughing at jokes we shared.

An avalanche of feelings and then it hit me, and then broke me. That moment I realized that we would never get to meet again. 

I would never bump into you at the grocery store. We would never see each other at an airport somewhere somehow. There would be no more coincidences between us. Our physical story ended here, and for as long as it will take for us to meet somehow in the afterlife coffee shop,

This is heartbreak. I have never been so sad. 

This is why I always got excited when you posted something new.

It’s the reason I immediately became friends with someone who knew you, too. I was getting little previews. Things that you would finally tell me when I saw you again. I knew our story wasn’t over. I loved where we left it off. I was so excited to see you again one day so you could finally pick up where you left off.

You would tell me what happened and I would tell you what happened, too. 

And we would tell each other how we truly felt. And we would laugh at each other, and then scold each other for accepting that. But eventually, we will have caught up and maybe exchanged numbers, and maybe we would see each other, no date forcing our hands. 

But I sit here with harsh reality, and I’m cold.

And my heart is in pieces. 

You are not here anymore. You are not experiencing life anymore. You did what was needed and what enough for you. Your journey in this part was through.

I remain. Trying to make sense in a word so senseless. Forcing and then taking one step at a time. 

And it’s heavy. I didn’t expect this load, this weight. But I carry it for you. And I feel despair for you.

I feel despair for myself and things I have always wanted to tell you, songs I wanted to show you, and moments I wanted to know more about. My curiosity remains. My love remains.

And I am going to miss you. So so much.

I’m going to think about you, and I will laugh at the good parts and smile at the moments when we helped each other and held each other. And for the little girls that we were.

And I’ll cry a lot not to make you feel bad. But to let you know that you were loved. 

And I will love you forever.

And one last thing, before I go

michelleLeave a comment

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 

michelleLeave a comment

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

them

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We hurt together.

She hurts. I watch 

But I am not welcome as a viewer,

My presence is not enough. 

I, too, must join

I ask to help carry it instead,

But that is not enough.

Helping is not enough

Nothing is enough. 

The pain becomes an infection, 

It is vicious and consuming. 

But I can’t carry it, and I can’t view it,

I must become it as well.

I am frozen. Unknowingly so, I begin to hurt.

And so we sit in it 

And her pain becomes ours 

And nobody watches because nobody knows. 

And no one asks to carry it and nobody wants to.

And we remain 

Hurt. Together.

about the temporary,

michelleLeave a comment

Justice for the temporary.

Justice for the temporary, although my voice has significantly lowered and I have looked around to see exactly who has heard me, heard this declaration.

A truth I am slowly but surely starting to believe and embody.

Justice for the temporary, appreciation for the temporary! 

The temporary situation, person, and feeling.

For so long, temporary has been a dirty word. It signifies insecurity; it implies that there is more work and more uncertainty until, eventually, you can get to the point of finality. In a world that only feels livable once everything is secure, the temporary feels like a fate that the unlucky, the less fortunate succumb to. It is not permanent (of course), but it will inspire a look of pity and words of encouragement that are more successful in reminding you just how bad your current state is than, I guess, uplift. 

It’s understandable, though.

It makes sense why the temporary isn’t seen with the highest regard. Why the minute you discover that a situation, person, or feeling is temporary, you quickly begin the journey of finding the situation, person, or feeling that isn’t. 

The temporary can be seen as a waste. A waste of time, a waste of effort, and a waste of energy. We barely have enough to begin with, right? We don’t have enough emotional capacity to love someone who isn’t your forever, right? We don’t have enough time or money to waste on a job that is not aligned with our divine purpose, right? We don’t have enough energy to be in a situation any longer than we need to be, right? 

Once you find out you are in the temporary, the only option is to escape quickly. 

But what happens when you are stuck? What happens when you decide to go against the status quo, against the rule, and befriend the temporary. What if we sat and enjoyed the view instead of watching the coastline – waiting and pleading for the boat to finally reach its destination? Isn’t this what the “enlightened” have been telling us this whole time? 

I mean, I get it now.

However, as we know, practice has always been harder than preaching. 

It is uncomfortable to sit in a situation with a feeling or a person who is not really supposed to be there. I believe that is the point. It serves as a reminder that this is not it. You are not finished.  My argument is that we can never know for certain if anything or anyone is forever, and attempting to find out is how it becomes a negative experience.

What if it became, just an experience. 

The temporary. A moment in time. 

Also, about time. 

The final boss. The other enemy. Time, always running and never enough.

To enjoy the temporary is to seemingly go against time. And even though time is seen as a scarcity, it has been there and will be there after us, and the temporary.

So what does this mean? 

Honestly, I’m not sure. The enlightened tell us to take a breath. They encourage us to be present. to exist in a space where time passes, and we let it. They challenge us to be comfortable in a situation not wondering or worrying if it is temporary. 

And so I accept. I create a space that is comfortable and productive, in the temporary. I’m aware that in each moment time passes. It is uncomfortable, but then again, I remember, it is supposed to be. It is a challenge, after all.

Justice for the temporary and its friend time. I now see beauty in the temporary situation, person, and feeling. I treat them kindly, I sit with them, and I learn what I can. What is a temporary situation, person, and feeling if not an opportunity to learn, for growth, and a memory? 

What is the temporary, if not life itself?

It’s not perfect, but it’s better.

michelleLeave a comment

One year ago, I couldn’t wash my own hair. 

I texted my mom and asked if someone could wash my hair for me once I got home. I lay in bed tears streaming down my face, I stared at the ceiling, I looked around my dark room. I was tired; I was so tired. 

A year later and, on Thursday, I woke up and realized that I wanted to wash my hair, so I did. I also made my own homemade pizza, and I watched my favorite movie. 

It’s funny cause I wouldn’t say that I’m downing so much better on paper, that is. In January, I walked into the new year small. I chose to have very little expectations, my fear of dreaming big was backed by the belief that the world would remind me that I was too small to dream. That last year was tough. I was just happy to have made it, beaten, broken, and all. 

In this past year, I was not spared of the curveballs. Disappointment, failure, and redirection remained prominent figures in my life. At almost every turn, there seemed to be block after block. Hell, even right now, there are several things that could be going right. But, tonight I made some delicious homemade pizza and I watched my favorite movie. Did I mention that my laundry is fresh and neatly folded in my room? 

It’s not perfect, but it’s better. 

And sometimes that is enough.

I looked at the wallpaper on my laptop. I made it myself. It’s my mood board for the next year. I have dreams, hopes and wishes, they are big ones. I remain humble in the complex, ambiguous beauty that is the human experience, but there is hope and excitement that accompanies it. 

My perspective has shown that it desires change. It no longer wants to remain complacent and as accepting of the world, it craves experience and growth. It is curious and naive. It has relinquished control. It does not desire to be passive. It moves with intention. Intention that is not pretentious. It is, as I mentioned, humble too. 

A year ago, I was tired. I am still tired. Some things don’t change as quickly, but I am learning that that is okay, too.