So many things I want no one to know, but I want everyone to know at the same time. I want to scream them out into the void and have someone find my words and listen. A complete stranger, one who won’t judge me, though, I wouldn’t really care if they did.
I have so many things I want to write out. Emotions, frustrations… life. But, I can’t formulate the words to say to the people I want to listen, nor can I figure out how to write them on here.
So, I bought a journal. A small, leather journal that I write all my thoughts into.
I tried journaling a number of times in the past, but it only lasted two days maximum. Now, I can’t put my journal down. I write and write, sometimes words of gibberish, but they fill pages of my thoughts, pouring out of the pencil and onto the lined pages.
Now, I make sure to grab my journal and pen every night before I go to bed and I write. I write until my fingers feel numb and the lead wears down.
I guess it feels nice having an outlet to express myself. One that feels like I’m talking to many, when, in reality, I’m the only one who gets to read it. It makes me feel safe and exposed all at once, a type of feeling I never thought would be so rejuvenating.
I love the ocean. But I’m reaaaallllyyy lazy when it comes to actually getting into the water.
Today it was hot and sunny and absolutely beautiful outside. But I had no motivation to get in the ocean.
My mom probably asked me 7 times to go paddle-boarding with her. I think I just took a nap instead, I can’t actually remember.
But when I finally stopped being so sluggish, I agreed and we got in the water.
We paddled out and I absent-mindedly started singing “Starlight” by Muse.
All of the sudden, I heard a strange whooshing noise to my left. I turned and saw a baby gray whale, staring at me. I freaked out and almost fell off my board into a kelp bed I was so excited.
“MMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!” I screamed, I yelled so loud some of the surfers nearby gave me a sideways look.
“Loookkkeeeyyy!” I exclaimed, pointing frantically at the foamy white water where the whale has just disappeared.
She turned just in time to see the whale poke his head up at us. He seemed to wink, one large eye closing just before he went back under.
“Follow that whale!”
We tailed him long enough to see there were two adults with him. They each let out a happy spout as they traveled up the coast.
No doubt they were heading for the food-rich waters of Alaska. They gray whales pass up the California coast each year, an annual migration from Baja, Mexico up where they breed to Alaska, where the feed.
After a while, we lost them in the blinding reflection of the late afternoon sun.
We waved goodbye and started paddling back home. But after about 5 minutes, I saw a shining black flash peeking out from within a cresting wave.
“MMMMOOOOOOOMMMMM!” I yelled again, pointing and bouncing up and down on my board.
She looked, only to see the bubbles of its disappearing shape, as it dove deep beneath the surface.
We started back again, seeing another pair of whales as we got closer to the beach. They were far out in the distance, surfacing and playing in the middle of a swarm of seabirds, their dark backs glistening in the sun.
We got so excited about seeing them that we watched a documentary on gray whales after dinner. It was truly an amazing day.
Starlight. Better than sunlight, moonlight, candlelight, or any other kind of light.
A scientist would tell you the stars are balls of hydrogen and helium gas burning millions of light years away.
An astrologer would tell you their position determines certain aspects about the world and that they have traditional meanings.
A romantic would tell you they are beauty incarnate.
A poet would call them inspiration.
What are they to me?
They are everything beautiful, ethereal, untouchable and divine.
The stars represent dreams, aspirations and hopes that are unachievable, but always there.
Ever fancied someone you shouldn’t?
It hurts doesn’t it?
But it’s kind of a good hurt.
When I look at the stars, I feel that good hurt. It’s like watching someone you shouldn’t love. They are so exquisite, so alluring and magical.
Everlasting, always just above my head, but I can never touch them.
They twinkle because of the constant shifting of the atmosphere.
Their light takes billions of years to reach Earth. Many stars may have supernova-ed and gone millions, even billions, of years ago. But their light will remain until time catches up with their destruction. And by then, maybe a new star has formed.
They make me feel lonely and surrounded at the same time.
So insignificant, but so honored to be able to see them.
I like to think their twinkling reflects humanity, always changing, moving.
We have existed less than an instant in the scope of space and time, a meaningless fraction in the endless span of the universe.
In that blink of time, we have charged ahead, shedding our light and exploring the stars. We question everything, longing to know the secrets and mysteries, the enigma and irresistible pull that surrounds creation.
They make me want to know impossible beauty.
Sometimes when I look up at them I feel something like a physical pull, something yanking me upwards towards the night sky.