Tag: writing

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 

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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.  

I now know what love is.

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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

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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

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.

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.