Tag: positive-thinking

Pretty people die, too.

michelleLeave a comment

Did you know that? That pretty people died, too?

We live in a society. A society hellbent on dividing but not conquering. We live in a time where the perceived sum total of a person is based on what category they fit into and what box they tick. There is an emphasis on all this separation and identification even though, at the very end, no one is exempt from the hand of life and, ultimately, death.

These man-made pedestals do much for the living and nothing for the dead.

And even the most powerful, influential, and beautiful, they, too, remain at the mercy of life itself.

In a world that thrives off on separation and distinction. In a world with occupants that continuously seek to push an agenda that ties our worth, our dignity, and the importance of life itself, based on its ability to meet criteria. Criteria that those who perpetuate don’t and can’t meet themselves,

I urge you to remind yourself that pretty people die, too.

And a statement like this can imply a wealth of ignorance. I am here to inform you that I know the world that we live in (- or at least I am starting to). I see how these categories and divisions create a perceived sense of power and ability to determine another’s worth. This is why many march, many demand, and some ultimately have to beg that other person someone can see beyond the division, beyond the categories. 

It is why empathy is reserved for those who can actualize it as opposed to a universally taught standard.

Despite this, despite all of this, pretty people still die, too. 

Everyone does. A moment, a second, a decision can be the only line separating the living and the dead. We know this, but we can and probably will ignore it. Ignore how simple and how fragile, how precious, human life is.

And so, we continue to polish the pedestals, rejecting those that do not meet the requirements of the pedestal. While others will dehumanize those standing on the pedestals, subjecting them to fates, few understand and speak about. 

A few will fight against the pedestals, and fewer will see actual change.

And the train will keep going. And everyone, including the pretty people, will die. And we will all wonder what the point was and why the pedestals even existed,

And then, slowly but surely, the cycle will continue. 

And when another pretty person dies, we will stand in shock because we will be reminded that pretty people die, too.

I wish I cried on the train.

michelleLeave a comment

I almost cried on the train today. I also almost cried at the bus stop. And I almost cried as I walked home.

I held it in, of course. I focused on something else

But throughout the day, the feeling followed me. A wave of unexpected sadness and a desperate need to release it. To feel it. But I held it in. I focused on something else.

Soon, I was no longer at the bus stop, I wasn’t on the train, and I had finally reached home.

Every step and every push forward was backed by the promise that I would grant myself a moment, a time to cry. “Just not now.” I believed myself. I trusted that I would give myself a chance to feel and an opportunity to express myself. I always trust myself because if I did not, then who can I trust. Who else would let me cry?

But I never did. And the feeling left. At least, I thought so. 

Because I have been wanting to cry, I have been feeling the feeling of wanting to cry. But every time it comes, every time I finally allow it to come, it doesn’t. And I am left here with feelings I can’t express and a weight I can’t let go off. 

And I hope eventually I will cry. And as I hope, I also fear for the moment because I am not sure if I will ever stop once I start. And, instead of being the girl that never cried, I will become the girl that never stopped.

I wish I cried on the train. And at the bus stop and, as I walked home. I wish I cried because that would release me from being anything. It would release me from being the girl who cried or never cried. 

It would release me because I would be feeling. I would be feeling instead of wondering what type of girl I was. Because I would be present, and I would be just a girl who is crying on the train, at the bus stop, and on her way home. 

I wish I cried so that I could just be the girl who cried when she needed to. 

about the revolutionary girl

michelleLeave a comment

Believe it or not, as a woman, loving yourself can often feel like a revolutionary act.

Being alone and being okay with that feels almost ground-breaking.

Eating out, buying something nice, or dancing alone at a party can be indisputably described as insurgent. Revolutionary.

This is because, it is. Unfortunately.

Growing up, I imagined myself going to university and finding the love of my life. It was planned out perfectly. All I needed to do was be in the right place at the right time so that the right boy would see me – like, really see me. Come over and sweep me off my feet. Happily ever after.

Done, simple.

Now, a few situationships, 5 years of education, a complete journal of unsent letters, hopes, and desires, and, importantly, 2 years of celibacy later, I would like to report that maybe if I wanted to experience a movie-like romance, I would need to find and hire and write my male soulmate. Unfortunately for me, I can’t really task all my hopes onto fate.

The revolutionary girl.

One day, after I spent my morning crying over a guy, I saw a post on Pinterest describing a girl who wasn’t afraid to enjoy life alone. I am not joking; that was the first pin on my “for you” page.

The post described this act as revolutionary because, as we know, society hates to see a girl that is young, fun,and happy – and also alone. The quote was uplifting and encouraging, yet it only made me angry. I am happy, and I am alone. These are not mutually exclusive. However, it seems like these are often placed on opposing teams, and when a woman chooses both, she is seen as revolutionary.

but when will it okay to also admit that I want love? can I ever admit it?

It almost feels as if I am being forced to be okay with independence, and any indication that I feel the opposite would be setting back women 500 years. It is complex. I saved the quote. I agree with it, but for a moment, I had to ask myself if a world exists in which women can be strong and independent and have our independence not solely judged and compared to men and love.

takes a deep breath. You can be a strong, independent woman who wants a man.

To me, a revolutionary girl can still dance around to music in her room; she can still have ownership and autonomy for herself and her body. But (and scandalously), she can also express the desire to be loved. It’s okay, it’s an emotion.

I am tired of being an evolutionary woman. I want to just be a woman. I have no desire to break the status quo. I do not desire to be asked “how I make it work.” I am gentle. I want help. I want love, and I want care.

To admit this desire is revolutionary to me

  • idk this should be a journal entry

On starting again

michelle1 Comment

Back again!

It only took me four years, lol.

I recently graduated from university. I did the thing, I put in the work, and sure enough, I walked across a stage and got my (very much deserved) 5 minutes of fame. And while I am incredibly proud and grateful that I was able to achieve such an achievement, the end of my undergrad journey was filled with the underlying feeling of unfulfillment, confusion, and frustration.

This trifecta of bad vibes was because what I had imagined I would feel at the end of this journey versus my reality was completely different. I had envisioned myself being more grounded and secure, energized for the next chapter. Instead, I had a liberal arts degree and zero clue about where and how to begin the next step. One thing I did know was that I was exhausted and burnt out to a crisp.

In conclusion, I felt deceived. I did the work! There were countless sleepless nights, overconsumption and reliance on coffee, emails … oh, all the emails begging class instructors for extensions, clarifications, and mercy. I happily found myself on my knees because I was motivated because this was necessary. It was a degrading means to a prideful end.

Yet here I was, confused as ever my only companion being the burning question: What is next?

Now, this was three months ago. I have since spent all my available energy on relaxing and regrouping. No one ever said how difficult it is to relax, you know. I have had to force myself to be okay with not having plans, reminding myself that the difference between me and the bummy men that my friends and I make fun of is that I am me, and they are them. Simple. This period of rest was not only so so deserved but also a moment in which I allowed myself to really just think. Think about what I wanted and where I wanted to be.

This was the beginning of me opening my Pandora’s box (I hope I am using that term correctly).

It’s shocking, really, how when you decide to dedicate time to pursuing your hobbies and finding your purpose, that is when you discover that you really have zero idea who you are.

In these past few months, I have learned so much about myself. Not even in a deep, Oprah Winfrey crying type of way, but in an interesting non-psychoanalytical way! It’s been fun! But I will say that before it was fun, it was lonely and depressing.

It did take me being so stressed out that both my eyes would twitch uncontrollably, a serious lack of emotional regulation, and almost breaking down because I missed a bus to get here. After I had a sit-down moment with myself and realized all this was doing more harm than good, I decided to take the time and just … be.

On starting again.

I wish I could say life has been just dandy since I made this choice, however we live in a society, and life will do what life does. But it has become more bearable and dare I say it – enjoyable?

I came to the conclusion that in order for me to begin this journey of the what is next, I needed to accept my current reality. The truth was that I did not know. I knew what I did not want, but ultimately I did not know anything else. I was starting from scratch and I that meant I needed to be okay with that. I needed to be okay with that because I needed to be okay with all that comes with starting again.

The vulnerability of learning. Of not knowing. Being taught, making mistakes, and trying again.

Starting again.

And so I am here. Back again! I learned that in all the moments that I have been through in life, one thing has always stayed the same, I am a writer. I love it. My mind and body exist to write and tell stories. I am more comfortable with a pen, but I could get used to typing. So here we are, with a self-promise to remain consistent. Granting myself a space to express and grow. Enjoy the ride