Ageing

Some things really do get better as they age, and the little old house that sits at the top of a hill is the perfect example.

This little house is strong and mighty, and it has seen its fair share of heartbreaks, makeups, first moments, last goodbyes, tears, smiles, storms, fires, spring rain, and much more.

It sits atop a hill, with a view of the mountains surrounding and a window through the trees to look down into the valley surrounding below it. This little house has aged, but it has a story to tell.

The house has sat atop the same hill for over seventy years, watching multiple families grow, being a safe place for kids to run to after the rain starts, a place that is not just a house, but a home.

Even though the white picket fence with the red fence is tipping over with chipped paint, the porch does not keep the rain out, the wood floors inside are warped and worn, the ceiling leaks, and the doors do not keep the winter chill out, it has aged beautifully.

Although those little details seem off-putting to most, to me they make that little ageing house a home.

Image Credit: https://pixels.com/

peonies

i hate peonies

peonies represent something I wish I could be

they push through the harsh conditions of their life

for me

sometimes its just easier to give up

although,

i hate giving up

it makes me feel less of a person

less of someone who deserves what they have

when someone says im too scared for something

or when I feel scared of something

I try to go farther than I have to

and do more than what was asked

I hate being scared

I hate giving up

I hate turning down a challenge

while some might call it

toxic masculinity

I thinks its different from that

Its not that I dont like being scared because Im a man

its because if Im scared

then i cant move forward.

peonies,

they arent scared

they survive the harshest of enviorments they are given

they are true warriors

thats why i hate them

i hate how a flower is stronger than me

How to Grow Peonies - Sunset Magazine

photo credit: sunset.com

Vision Therapy

I have really bad eyesight, like horrible. I have had to wear glasses since I was four years old, and I could never wear contacts. 

Every time I ask about contacts the optometrist says that my right eye is too weak. Over the years I have had to train my right eye to open.

My left eye used to open and work, but my right eye would always squint. This led to my eyes being different prescriptions. 

When I was younger I had to wear an eye patch over my left eye to make my right eye stronger. It worked a little bit. 

Photo credit: acotv.org

I had many different glasses and prescriptions, but it never felt like my eyesight would get better. 

Then I discovered vision therapy. I was skeptical at first, but I was surely mistaken.

I went twice a week and did eye exercises throughout the week. Over time my eye got stronger and my depth perception was immaculate.

My vision became 20-25 in just under three months. Going to vision therapy was the best decision I have made in a while. 

empty

love is like a shower

when you’re in it

it is warm and nice

it feels better than anything in the world

but once you get out of the shower

its cold

its distasteful

you want more of that shower

some people dont shower

and maybe their on to something

if you dont go in the shower

you dont have the feel the pain of leaving it

love is the same way

if you dont fall in love with her

you dont have to be sad when it goes away

sometimes not showering seems like the right idea

maybe you feel dirty

but you dont have to get your expectation up

and then fall down

with love,

maybe you’re sad and lonely

but if the relationship ends

the pain is way worse

so sometimes

i dont like showering

Medium shot of an old television on a bed at night - Stock Video Footage -  Dissolve

art credit: dissolve.com

Falling?

So I found myself looking deep in the eyes of a green eyed boy with dark hair and an illuminating smile and felt the corners of my moth turn upwards on their own.

What is this feeling? I tend to know what feelings rush through my body, but this human has created a new, different, unusual feeling. There is no sort of nervous fear or butterflies, there is just this comfortable glow surrounding the green eyed boy.

Am I finding myself falling…?

Falling for what you ask? Well simply put, I do not know. The only thing I can relate to the feeling of the green eyed boy is falling.

It is not a bad sort of falling, but rather a floating or soaring, but weightless none the less.

I think I am okay with this new feeling entering my body, but I am still very perplexed by the unknown sense that looking into the green eyes of the boy with the dark brown hair and illuminating smile brings to me.

Image credit: https: //www.shutterstock.com/

18

I’m turning eighteen very soon.

It’s exciting, yet I feel like I am losing the security of youth. This is my last chance to live guilt-free as a dependent before I look upon myself as an adult who must do adult things.

I will be held accountable and have obligations (more so than I already do.)

I can vote.

I can go to prison.

I can adopt a cat.

I will now be one of the “grown-ups” I never thought I’d be. I will still be seen as a “kid,” though the number to my name proves my maturity when people find it convenient. I’m old enough for financial shame. Adults will look at me as a young teenager in the hierarchy of age, yet call me an adult when I make a mistake. I’ll have been alive for eighteen years. I’ll no longer be grouped with the “children” at family Christmas parties.

But I’m still in high school. I’m living at home. The title of “adult” on government documents makes no difference to my level of maturity. I will be a true functioning adult when I move away to college. I will soon become independent, but for now, I am happy where I am – finishing high school with my supportive family.

Turning 18 – The Beginning Of Adulthood – The Paper Cut
Image Credit: Dorian Chase, The Paper Cut

why not to call me a bigot

To whoever called me a bigot on instagram,

I understand where you are coming from, I must seem pretty awful to you. I am sorry you feel that way, I wish it wasn’t so. I wish I didn’t mess up too. But I really want to talk about your point because I feel like we can all benefit from thinking more deeply about what your words mean to people like me. So, I thought maybe I should propose a little thought experiment:

So, lets presume for a second that I am a bigot, that I am intolerant of other cultures, of races that arent white (although I am brown,) of gay people, of transgender folk, and of women. And I was trying to adjust my image so some college would admit me, would it be a good thing to reprimand me for trying to seem less intolerant? Presumably showing me that there is no way I can fit into a society that you live in. Maybe I would feel hurt and I would confide in communities which tell me that my bigotry is okay. Is that what you want?  Or, on the other hand, would it be better to tell me, a bigot, that I had improved and that I am a better person, to offer me acceptance and forgiveness, which would probably encourage me to continue on a path that would eventually lead me to abandon my bigoted views and instead embrace diversity and inclusion. 

Now, presume for just a moment that I am not, in fact, a bigot. That I am someone who genuinely has learned from my mistakes. I am someone who has been educated and now has an understanding of both sides of the story, I am someone who is trying to make a difference in this world, to teach other people that don’t understand the impacts of their actions the importance of forethought and understanding of other peoples. Would it be a good idea to tell this person that they are a bigot? Showing them that maybe despite their 180º that no one will ever accept them within a diverse community. Showing them that they are permanently canceled and they may never be able to rejoin your part of society. Maybe I would internalize this and come to the conclusion that no longer should I try in vain to be a good person and instead sink back into my past. Into the uneducation that led me to make my mistakes in the first place. Is this the impact you want to have with your post?

I think you intend to do good by calling me out. I really do. I think you are trying to do something to benefit communities which I hurt. To defend them in some way, by not letting me return to society easily.  But I think you need to think more deeply about the repercussions of your actions.

Luckily, I know I am not a bigot, I know that the pain I caused my peers at —— was a result of my uneducation, not of prejudice. I know I posted those things in satire. I know that the mistakes I made were not because of hatred but because of stupidity. And I also know that the people in my life who I respect and love are of the same opinion. So I won’t seep into the recesses of hatred and intolerance,  I will continue to do my best to make this world a better place. But that is luck. If I didn’t know any of that, your words could have done real harm. Real harm to communities that you think you are helping by calling me out. So, once again, in the best interest of the communities you think you are defending, don’t call me a bigot.

 I am not one. 

PC: wikimedia commons

P.S. 

I tried to frame this argument as objectively as I could, but I still feel like I need to address my feelings a little bit. You really hurt me by calling me a bigot. I feel like someone who has tried my best to not only try to learn from my mistakes but to actively try to make others not fall into the mistakes that I made. I know that the actions I have taken after ——— have done good in this world and in the communities that I am a part of. And for that to be met with your post and comment really hurts me, I know that is probably not worth much in your eyes but I still felt like my feelings needed to be acknowledged.

Reflecting on the past

Recently I have found myself looking back and reflecting on life before March 13, 2020.

Prior to that date, i was busy being social, going out with people, even sharing drinks from friends waterbottles. But today, that all seems so bizzar.

Its crazy how much seven months can change someone.

I now can’t seem to remember how life was before we had to wear masks or make sure we obsessively washed our hands.

I am now so used to making sure I put my mask on before I enter a building or if I am around people, but why was it so easy to completely re-program the way I live my life.

I do miss the days where I did not have to think twice about approaching someone. I miss long hugs with friends and family that you haven’t seen in a long time. I miss meeting someone for the first time and shaking their hand. I miss being in a room with people all together and seeing smiling faces. I miss it all.

I miss life before March 13, 2020. It was simpler and there seemed to be less evil in the world, even if that was not the case.

Art credit: peakpx.com

Runners High

I set a goal to each day to get outside somehow.

Whether it be sitting and looking around at the scenery, taking in a view somewhere, or simply walking around, I need to do something to clear my head.

But nothing gets the blood rushing and clears my mind like running.

There is nothing like hearing the rhythmic pitter patter of your feet hitting the solid ground.

The only problem with running is actually getting out and working up to the rhythmic sounds of your feet.

Now the easy part is once you get into the rhythm and you start to loose track of time and you feel you worries start to slip away.

Once you loose yourself, you drift into what some would call the “runners high”

That high you feel is numbing and freeing, yet it is full of utter exhaustion and the desire to quit, but something motivates you to push through and experience the moment and loose yourself.

Then in the blink of an eye, you’ve reached your destination, or something snaps you back into reality and you are back to focusing on the rhythmic pitter patter of your feet hitting the solid ground.

Art Credit: Salomon.com

birds in the sycamore tree

“It started a year ago. I lost all awareness of time and the space around me. All I could see was his trembling body aching for help. It was my brother’s fifth seizure, a battle that he was in the midst of conquering for years. The control I took at that moment was beyond my personal relationship with him and the pain coursing through my heart, the control was my ache to heal. Since that day, I have had the ambition to heal, heal the broken, and heal people in dire need. ”

I wrote this a month ago for a scholarship essay. Even though it has become “normal” for my family, it’s not easy for me to talk about.

Three days ago was mothers day. Three days ago was also an anniversary.

May 10th was easily one of the harder days that I faced in my short lifetime despite the loss that I have experienced.

Death was introduced to me at a young age and has been one of the more consistent concepts in my life: my grandmothers, my grandfather, my aunt, a friend.

But this was worse. Grieving loss is one thing but the anxiety that is paired with the potential and fear of death is a much larger burden to bear.

Over the past 6 years, I have internalized many emotions and fears that I have for his life: Once I speak of my fears do they come true? Is his safety my responsibility? When does care cross into obsessive anxiety?

Eventually, I found acceptance. But it wasn’t easy.

Three days ago, we celebrated mother’s day with … peace and gratitude. I held my tongue as we sat under the sycamore trees while the birds sang above us and simply enjoyed what God had given us.

photo credit: fineartamerica.com