I love love. I love the little things like the post-its I use in stats or how I can recognize moon phases thanks to astronomy. I love how drawers close after one push and it’s silent. I love how big my new water bottle is. I also love the big stuff like how my dad texts me every morning or how my grandparents drive up to Ojai on the weekend to pick me up. I love how the earth smells after it rains or when the sun peaks through the clouds. I love when my earbuds are at the perfect volume- not too loud but not too quiet. I love how my family prays to my grandpa every time we eat together because we know he is watching over us. I love how my friends who are miles away send me photos of their days. I love how my family plays hand and foot for hours and we just laugh and shuffle decks of cards. I love my collection of cards from my loved ones that I’ve hoarded since I was younger. I love my summer memories of driving through Ojai with my favorite person. I love listening to a new song and adding it immediately to a playlist. I love my mom, even though we have our troubles, she is there for me even when she cannot be there physically. I love my sister, she is my best friend and greatest rival. I love cats, and how they are so particular about people. I love the feeling of a nice hot shower after a cold day. there is so much to love. I love dancing in the mirror to 2000s pop music. I love flowers and how beautiful they smell. I love my friends. I love reading and crying about the characters. I love talking about love and all there is to love.
A collection of unrelated poems of mine:
to be perfect
i’ve always liked numbers, the way they add up perfectly
with only one answer, one solution. i used to wish all things were as perfectly
organized. i wished i were organized as perfectly,
wish i looked it, dressed it, acted it.
wished all my problems could be solved perfectly.
set equal to zero and isolate the x: a mechanical
procedure taught from a textbook. perfectly
scoring academic tests is easy enough
but answers in life don’t add up as perfectly.
people don’t work like 1, 2, 3, experiences aren’t
scored alphabetically, and i can’t live this perfectly,
because i am not.
i am not perfect or close to it. but i am perfectly –
i take her hand,
bare feet slipping on the soaken grass.
we watch the rain as it falls
and speckles the pool surface.
“one, two, three”
interlaced fingers and shrieks of laughter
as we fall with the raindrops.
two skinny bodies in polka dot underwear
crashing through the water.
together, we tilt our heads towards the clouds
and drink in the summer rain –
nothing has ever tasted so good.
you kept me afloat for so long,
when you drifted away
i forgot how to swim.
i wonder if being
will make me feel any less
i think it’s strange
no one likes a caterpillar
but everyone likes a butterfly.
So far, these past couple of weeks, I’ve been publishing very surface-level (and frankly, boring) writing. One day, I wrote a poem with the intent of posting it, but quickly decided against the idea. There is something so raw, and so vulnerable about poetry, that to share a piece can be both a creative outlet and an absolutely terrifying experience. But no one really reads these anyways, so I might as well.
TW: Eating disorder/self-harm. A couple years ago, my best friend was suffering from a severe eating disorder and almost died. This was the inspiration for a poem:
the bathroom mirror speaks
It tells her she is a slut, to “cover-up.”
or she is a prude, to “show more skin.”
It tells her, with makeup, she’s “trying too hard,”
or without, she should “make an effort.”
It tells her she is too big, too curvy, too small, too flat
– she is too much, not enough
It tells her lies and truth
and truth and lies
until she cannot tell one from the other.
instead of math homework, she’s adding up calories,
instead of breakfast, she’s chewing on the cuticles of her thumbnails,
instead of sleeping, her bedroom is a 24-hour gym,
instead of showering, she’s drying her tears,
instead of living, she just is.
the sight of her reflection in the mirror is enough to make her shatter
and when the voices overwhelm her own,
she drapes a cloth over the frame, gagging their words.
but It claws and crawls its way out from the glass
slithers into her ears and slides down her throat,
spilling into the cavity of her diaphragm.
now the words on the bathroom mirror are her own.
who decided her skin was a sin?
who indicted her bones a cage?
who determined her flesh as a source of release?
you taught the bathroom mirror to speak.
Sometimes I just want to sock someone in the nose. I obviously mean this statement figuratively but sometimes I get so riled up over things so stupid. I don’t mean I’m a little b*!/h that cries over everything, but I feel that a lot of stupid stuff happens to me. These emotions that are evoked from my pissed off self may define who I am to some people, however to me the way I deal with said frustrations defines who I am. Sometimes I eat, other times I try to wack golf balls as hard as possible, but most importantly I “sweep it out the door”. This is my twist on the common phrase of “sweeping it under the rug,” however I changed it for myself. I feel that sweeping the dirt under the rug implies its kept there and can’t be erased or forgotten, however under my rug there is an endless pit. There’s nothing going on back there, its void, null. There is no backstage or backstage party, once I sweep it behind the curtain its gone. I simply forget my emotion and uneasiness, what better coping mechanism could there be? In retrospect this may be destructive and it is obviously stupid to neglect self reflection, but hey at least I’m happy.
There is no right or wrong answer for every decision in life except the test in school, and that’s the problem. Every time I need to decide between two things, it can really take me forever. I just have no idea what to pick. I am really worried about myself at this point. My friends give me some advice that is to analyze the details in the choices, and picking one is beneficial for me. This is interesting. I know drinking too much boba isn’t good for my health, at the same time I can’t live without boba. You might think if I can’t live without boba then why not just buy it? The only concern I have is money. I don’t want to spend too much money. Now, I have to decide whether I should spend money on boba or not. My head is running a political election every time this happens. I just need someone to guide me on what I should do. Why is life so hard for me!
Here is a list of what I hate when someone ask me:
- What do you want to eat for dinner?
- Is the answer B or C?
- Did you like your mom more or your dad?
- What should we do next?
- What college do you really want to go to?
- Do you like Dr. Pepper or Root Beer?
- What is your favorite subject?
- If me and your mom fall into the water, who would you save first?
- Do you want to hangout?
- How are you?
Nerdy Fun Fact of why you shouldn’t drink too much boba
The fructose in boba will be converted into “purines” during metabolism , and uric acid will be produced after decomposition. Under normal circumstances, uric acid will be excreted in urine. Once the drainage problem occurs, the crystallization will accumulate in the joints and bone tissue, causing inflammation, swelling pain. The more sugar intake and more , the level of uric acid can also be increased accordingly.
There are moments when I find myself caught in the cross fire between my heart and my head. I often cant decided weather or not I should listen to the voices in my head telling me what to do, or my heart guiding me in in the direction of possible heart break. I want to follow the direction of my heart, but my head always stops me and poses the question of “what if”
So now when my mind is blank, the thought of the matter at hand will cross my previously calm mind. And suddenly, there’s a sense of panic that overtakes me and I feel uneasy. As if I am stuck with a decision that for one reason or another, my mind can not physically comprehend because my heart will still get in the way.
One way or another, my heart and mind play tricks on each other, but both only have the best of intensions for my own happiness. So there lies the conflict, when is it that I listen to my head, and when do I listen to my heart?
Is it worth the minor lapses of fear and judgment for potential happiness? Or is it that I should disregard both and simply try and play it safe.
Even that question is too grand to answer for myself. So I still remain to question decisions, or simply protect myself from a risk just to avoid the confusion of my heart. I consistently bombard myself with the age old question of “what if?”
But maybe someday, I will listen to the deep feelings being stirred in my heart and follow that, for it could lead me to my greatest potential happiness. Maybe I will rebut the question of “what if?” with “why not?”.
Why is it so hard to let myself fully fall into a relationship.
I may be passionate about the person and they hold a deep place of significance in my heart, yet I still struggle to let them in and take the walls surrounding my heart down.
I remain guarded, in order to protect the innocence and intensity of love from reaching me. Is it that I am not capable of feeling and accepting it? Or is it I’d rather stay safe and remain living a simple life of independence.
There are many times of questioned that. Where I think, could he be the one I decide to try and dive into love once again with?
But instead, I sabotage it, I turn the passionate feelings off, I shut down…
So why is it that my mind must do this to my heart which longs so deeply for human connection?
Why must there be something that reminds me of the joy I feel when I am a free spirit?
Maybe it is simply that I have not met the person that can match my sense of adventure and unwavering free spirit that can be overwhelming to some.
The problem is, I hurt people with this self destructive behavior of mine even though that is far from my goal.
Do you know this feeling, when your heart drops and it feels like someone just dug a knife through it. That feeling that shivers down your spine and makes the hair on your arms crawl up. You’re pumped with adrenaline. Your heart is beating out your chest. And then, just silence. You don’t know what you feel anymore, it’s too much. Tears start rolling down your face. Your breath gets faster and faster.
Thinking about it, emotions are a fascinating and scary thing. One moment they make you feel like you are on top of the world, the next they crush you down to the floor. But I am not saying that that’s a bad thing. They help us learn, they help us communicate with other people without using words. People can connect, solely through their emotions. It helps us understand each other more.
For the longest time, I tried to suppress my emotions. I feel weak showing my flaws and I don’t want people to see me cry. It is still something I am struggling with to this day. But I have found ways to deal with it by myself. Running, singing, playing tennis, are all things that help me burn off stress. But camping is probably the thing that has helped me most throughout my life.
When I am outside camping with friends, I just forget all my worries for a while. Everything is ok and I just feel free and relaxed. Its like I’m in a completely different state of mind, like bad things can’t even get close to me. And at night when I look up at the stars, I just feel thankful for the life I have. How lucky I am to have such great friends and memories of traveling around the planet. How supportive my family is, and how excited I am for my future.
Feelings are a important part of who we are as a person. They define us. And we shouldn’t be ashamed of them. even though I still struggle, I know there are people out there who care for me and who support me in anything I do.
As time went on, my emotions started to grow into something not so pretty. My thoughts and feelings followed me everywhere, even when I wanted nothing to do with them. I was trapped and claustrophobic. I would come home from school and sit in silence, and do nothing. My motivation was gone, my happiness was fake, and my mental health was non existent. Sometimes it would hurt to cry because the mental pain I was in.
I was getting better. I wanted, no I needed to get better. I talked with someone, a couple someones, and I worked on my mental health. I started feeling bursts of happiness and motivation. These feelings that I have not felt in a long time. I thought I was getting better, I thought life was treating me well. Until it was not.
This time I understood what I was feeling, and I wanted it to stop. I did everything I could to get better, and I knew it was going to be a long process with setbacks. I was kind to myself, as well as patient. It took a while, and I still have ups and downs, but I am getting better. It is a day-by- day process.
I am finally able to say that I’m truly happy with life.
Often at night, I find myself just laying in bed and not being able to shut off my thoughts. There are so many things just racing through my mind. While I lay there, listening to the rain hit the roof of my room, I think about how funny life sometimes is. It can be amazing, you are happy and everything is perfect, and then the next day everything just comes crashing down on you. And when one thing goes wrong suddenly everything starts going wrong and it feels like you are drowning. But then there are those people that just pull you out of that hole. It might take a while to get out, but these people make it so much easier.
Honestly, sometimes you just need someone to listen to you. They don’t even need to say anything. It can feel amazing to just get everything off your chest without being judged for it. And once you make it through rough times you have so much to be proud of. You can reflect back to the times where you were at you lowest and look at yourself and say “I made it through this” and it proves how strong we are as a person.
So I lay in bed, and think about all the things of the past weeks, and I just think about how lucky I am to have people that support me in anything I do.