The heart, the mind, and the soul

Time passes and I’m completely unsure now at this point what I want.

The head convinces me I haven’t matured,

Girls just want to have fun

The heart yearns for a meaningful companionship.

It’s time to open yourself up 

The war between the two is at a standstill however eventually one stronghold should have bent to the other.

But, whom is deemed victorious?

The head proclaims out of silence, “Patience child. The time will come and enlightenment will arrive.”

Then the heart steps forward and pleads, “Dearest one, understand prospects will show but what if he’s been here the whole time? Why not give it a chance? How many prospects will pass by before you realize you’re now bewildered by options that only confound what is actually right?”

Soul eventually breaks the dichotomy.

It says it’s piece and vanishes back in search.

What the fuck are you holding out for?

 

 

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Is there truth behind my words?

If you stopped loving me, would you ever tell me?

Would you tell me as easily and boldly as the way you proclaimed you loved me?

Words are so easily spoken without action, we tend to use them for granted.

We swing between “never” & “always” on a pendulum without ever fully meaning both.

“I’ll never drink again,” says the girl hungover on a Sunday. But we all know she’ll grab a bottle the upcoming Friday surely after a long week at the office.

“I’ll always love you and cherish you,” says the lovesick boy on his wedding day. But a decade down the line, his eyes will wander as the candle he once held for his partner flickers and dies out.

We say so many things without conviction, it becomes hard to value the words we hear from others.

Where is the underlying truth? How do we learn to trust in a world where everything is accessible and nothing is valued anymore?

So before we dive into the next bold statement we carelessly spew, think:

“Will I ever so freely speak the opposite once I stop feeling this way?”

“Will I so openly tell her I’m over her, just as quickly I’ve promised I’ll love her?”

SATC: the friends I’ve always wanted

In my quest to live alone in my late twenties while I sort out my life, I’ve come to realize there’s quite a bit of down time between getting off from work and sleep.

Thanks to streaming services like Netflix & Hulu, it’s fostered a new routine: binge watch old shows and reconnect with some of my favorite heroines.

Time & time again though, I find myself harkening back to SATC. Yup, Sex & the City with Carrie’s unrequited love for Big, Samantha’s unwavering demand for her individuality, Miranda’s unforgiving nature to put work always first, and Charlotte’s undying hunt for the model husband.

Samantha struts strength in her Louboutins and brings independence towards every relationship in her life. It’s always about Samantha. It’s about putting her wants and needs first and never compromising or sacrificing that for anyone or anything. Going through a breakup? Samantha would be the first you’d text and by 7PM you’re already 3 scotches deep, eyeing the 6 foot 3 beachy manbun AND his best friend with the perfect jawline. She’ll catch on and give her nod of approval and say, “Options girl, you now got options instead of the loser you were tied to three hours ago.”

Miranda’s climbed the glass ceiling and fully smashed it when she became a partner at her firm. What an inspiration as she juggled being a single mom while she continued to be a top lawyer in NYC. The days we feel we can’t have it all, we all channel a little inner Miranda and remember we can do it and to keep going.

I want nothing more than to have the positivity Charlotte shines in all her endeavors. She’s able to find the most radiant flower in the darkest nook and cranny. Imagine going through a rough day and calling her up to come over with wine. You know she’ll have your apartment smelling like fresh baked chocolate chip cookies & buttery popcorn evenly salted to perfection while she sits with you on your loveseat listening to your problems.

Last but certainly not least, Carrie. We all learn through her mistakes. We all carry a little piece of her as we go through our own adulthood and trials in love. She taught us that in a way, we tend to always fall for the same person because we gravitate towards what we like. She gave us the hall pass to go back to the ex because sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants. She documented her pain the way we type love into words on pages. We bleed suffering onto this blog holding on to memories the way she did in her column.

These four forces have been such role models in my upbringing. I guess they’ve always been my friend as I made my own mistakes and confronted my own failures.

What’s pride worth if we all lose

I lie awake unable to sleep
head and heart thrown asunder
losing my mind thinking about you
this isnt love I tell myself.
this is defeat.
it’s not a battle for affection
but a game of cat and mouse

The worst part is, my heart’s pleading to spare you
yet my head is chanting conquer
so which do I feed?
one on it’s knees…
or the one shouting to break free…?

You’ve seen enough pain.
I promised myself not to hurt you.
I don’t want you.
I just want victory.
so I keep playing.

At night I lose sleep.
plotting and fabricating.
your move,
then mine.

We’re in an infinite loop.
eventually, my pride wins.
I withhold from telling you how much I care
So you leave without opening up your feelings
both our egos walk way feeling triumphant.
but somehow we both lose.

Loving you is like opening a fridge door

I open the refrigerator door knowing there’s nothing good inside save for leftovers and uncooked groceries.

10 minutes go by and I find myself insatiable for something delicious. So I open the refrigerator door once more hoping there’s something worth eating yet knowing it’s the same as I left it the last time I opened it.

Being with you makes me feel like this damned fridge with nothing good inside. I’m hopeful that each time I open it, something will change, but nothing ever does. I can’t seem to learn and go back for more each time.

I tell myself it’s not worth it. I’ll just leave feeling frustrated and disappointed each time. But like an old habit, I’ll open that door again soon enough and see the emptiness of our relationship filled with rotten leftovers.

Alcohol Provokes not Numbs

why does our mind stray to the insecurities

the pain

the suffering

when we’re uninhibited.

“uninhibited”

what does it mean anyway? each time we learn and we know we’ll drift back to these upsetting thoughts and yet still we sip, drink and spiral to where we are once again.

contemplating what makes us happy then in self realization wondering if we ARE happy…

we know alcohol does this yet we sip, drink and spiral back to this place.

sip

chug

and next thing we know, here we are again hugging our insecurities, lying with our pain and spiraling down a path of misery.

Destined to be the other woman

I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer.
At night I fell asleep with visions of myself, dancing and laughing and crying with them.
Three years down the line of being on an endless world tour, and my memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times.
I was a singer. Not a very popular one,
I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet, but upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken.
But I didn’t really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it to know what true freedom is.
When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I’d been living, they asked me “Why?”, but there’s no use in talking to people who have home.
They have no idea what it’s like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lay your head.
I was always an unusual girl.
My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean…
And if I said I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way I’d be lying…
Because I was born to be the other woman.
Who belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone.
Who had nothing, who wanted everything, with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about it, and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me.

Lana Del Rey.

Ride

What if I’m destined to be the other woman? It breaks me to even have to question this but for the longest time I’ve asked myself why. Why is it that I’m not with him? Picking up groceries holding hands, planning long lead vacations on a crisp Sunday morning, and even sitting down each night with the same person breaking bread? I don’t mean that I’m the other woman to a man who’s married or even in another relationship. I just mean that I’m not the woman he spends his life with. I’m the phase. I’m the adventure until he wants steady.

It’s like I’m fucking diseased with a big fat scarlet letter slapped across my forehead that I’m not perceived as someone good enough. Someone that’s priority. Someone that he sees valuable enough to dedicated a meaningful friendship. Aside from my name, does he even know how I like my coffee? Or which way I always turn to sleep?

I don’t belong to anyone which made me belong to everyone.

Drink after drink, mistake after mistake. I reflect on the patterns and see nothing’s ever right. Bad decisions follow me like the plague, and I ride each of those waves only for a momentary gratification. The high from an addiction, telling myself I’ll be good after this one last hit.

Morning comes and he’s still in my bed; sleeping away without a care in the universe. He wakes up, holds me for a minute and walks out the door with his things.

The text doesn’t come for a few weeks, but then one night when I think I’m back on my routine, my phone beeps and I’m back here again asking myself why.

You’re not ready if you’re comparing him to your ex

4 months post breakup, and I’ve found the secret to evaluating whether or not you are ready to date again.

*DISCLAIMER: Post exodus from my 2 and half year relationship, I second guessed if I’ll ever trust my brain to make a right decision again. The relationship wasn’t horrible, my ex wasn’t a piece of dirt, and the breakup rated rather high in the amicable category. Yet still, it was 2.5 years of my life and there were major phases when I was unhappy. Therefore, the looming question stands:  if I gravitate towards a certain type and this is what I am attracted to, doesn’t that just mean I’ll be dating the same person over and over again?

Many people think it’ll be hard to meet new people or even find someone you like. I made that mistake of semi starting to crush on someone without realizing until it was too late that his personality, though coupled with some differences, were all red flags I had for my ex.

I pondered some more and felt that if these were the issues I couldn’t fix with my previous significant other, what confidence would I have that this man would be any different?

Dating someone similar to your ex is like being given the forbidden apple. It looks tasty, new, crisp on the outside with a hint of familiarity as though you know exactly how sweet and delicious it will be. However, would you want to go down the same road and bite into an apple knowing it’s poisonous for you?

More and more I thought, I came to the conclusion I wasn’t ready to date quite yet. I saw my ex in him no matter what. Then I started fantasizing what ifs before anything even started. In my silly imaginations, I already fought with this new guy exactly how I fought with my ex. I grew cognizant that this unhealthy comparison meant I just wasn’t ready. I needed more time to heal, and not to jump on the first thing that filled a void I had.

So, doctor’s orders: stay away from the apple. You’re not quite ready if these new prospects are just fillers for your ex.

 

 

The kind of person you need to be with

I can be a carefree child.

A heartbroken, doe-eyed teenager.

A jaded successful professional.

With you I’m 6 and running wild with inappropriate jokes, giggling til my abs hurt and cheeks burn.

With you I’m 15 and crying about why boys don’t value my attention, listening to your wisdom til my eyes dry and frown wavers.

With you I’m 29 and distilling what it takes to break the glass ceiling, discussing goals for the future til we gulp down single malt misery that we’re losing time as it catches up faster and faster year over year.

With you I’m 6, 15, and 29.

With you I am every age of myself and every facade of who I am. You’ve peeled every layer, knocked down the sturdiest walls, and embraced every molecule that is my being.

With you is who I choose to turn 72 with. This is where I want to be, because only with you am I all these ages and more.

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