Two Things You Should Hear

Two things everyone should hear at some point (because they are true for everyone, especially the first), both of which were so well said by Leo Buscaglia:

“Love yourself—accept yourself—forgive yourself—and be good to yourself, because without you the rest of us are without a source of many wonderful things.”

“The easiest thing to be in the world is you. The most difficult thing to be is what other people want you to be. Don’t let them put you in that position.”

–

I had a good weekend in Ft. Lauderdale with old friends. I often found myself talking of my newer friends because I love them so much (not that they’re new friends, but compared to the people I was hanging out with all weekend, they’re newer). And often, I find myself talking of my older friends because I love them so much.

Mostly, I just often find myself telling stories about friends or from friends because I want people to share in the joy or sorrow of that moment that has passed. I guess that’s why I do it anyway.

I think the people in my life are all pretty great and I want you to know that too. But also, I want you to know that you’re pretty great. I don’t tell my friends enough, new or old. I tell other people how great they are. I tell my old friends how funny or encouraging my new friends are. I tell my new friends of how I loved the days with so and so. But I don’t necessarily tell so and so how I loved those days and think of them often and I don’t always tell my friends how funny they are and how greatful I am for them.

I’m very open about the good, the bad, and the ugly. I have no problem telling my friends what they mean to me, whether written or verbally. Yet I don’t. I just don’t. No reason. So why not? I’ll be changing that, I hope.

Things you never forget about people: the particularly good times and the particularly bad.

For instance, I’ll never forget a particular day Danielle and I wandered around Dublin. We picked up some chocolate scones from Queen of Tarts. We tried finding our way on a bus, but when we couldn’t find the right one, I asked a man at a bookstall for help. He didn’t know what bus but he gave some directions that I miraculously remembered. And soon we were laying on the grass in Phoenix Park and enjoying our scones. It was a long walk that gave me a blister, but I didn’t even complain. It was that beautiful of a day.

Or the week my Dad died. Casey, Ben, Scott and I’s friend anniversary was on that Monday, but because I didn’t know when my father would pass, I had to be in Deland. And so Casey, Ben, Lori and Kacie drove up to Deland to have dinner with me. We went to Chili’s and I laughed and had a good meal with friends who have become a family to me. We drove back to my parents’ house afterwards. My brother was in town and he and my sister were asleep. I got blankets from the house and we all laid on the blankets closer to the lake. There was silence and we looked up at the stars. There was a moment where the reality of the week ahead hit me and I cried. And my friends didn’t try and stop me. They just stayed there and comforted me. And when the time was right, they all wrapped their arms around me and prayed for me. It was far from forced. It was, perhaps, one of the most meaningful moments I have ever experienced and it was in the worst of times.

You all matter to me. But saying “you all” may not mean anything to you, because you may be thinking “you all” doesn’t include you. But let me tell you: cousin, friend, best friend, two-hang-out friend, reconnected friend, friend I don’t talk to much, friend I wish I talked to more, friend I perhaps inappropriately play flirt with, friend I annoy, friend who thinks they annoy me, friend who is finding themself, friend who is searching, friend who stole a friend, roommates I talked to a lot or a little, friend I offended, friend I lost… friends, however close or fresh our relationship may be, you matter to me.

Yet, “you all” and a bunch of ambiguous descriptions will not do it. I hope my actions and words will begin to show the way I feel about you and you and you. . .

The Process Of Moving From “Is” To “Was”

I said “is a tall man”
before I remembered
the correct form to use
now.

Past tense:
“My Dad was a tall man.”

Foodie

I had a really good food day on Saturday.

It started, too early, at DeLeon Springs. Everytime I make the drive home to DeLand I think of the days of leaving home around 8:30am to head to Lake Mary for class, then Orlando for work, then back to Lake Mary to spend the rest of my evening at Coffee Cafe or another coffee shop with friends and ending up back home between 1-3am, generally. The drive didn’t seem so long back then.

Saturday was Danielle’s birthday. One of my favorite things about her is how much she loves food. She also makes a great travel partner. Because Danielle loves food, we started the day at DeLeon Springs to make our own pancakes at the Sugar Mill. One of my favorite places for sure. Most of the end of the year field trips at my middle and high school were to DeLeon, mostly because it was cheap and a mile away… and all 100 of us could get there easily.

Lunch usually isn’t necessary after a huge pancake breakfast. However, it was an early morning and we watched Cool Runnings after breakfast. Which brings me to good food of the day numero dos: Tijuana Flats. Because I wasn’t that hungry, I just had chips and queso and a Diet Coke. Still, their chips and queso are the best.

Scott turned 21 yesterday, but we celebrated on Saturday night. Lori, Aaron, and I surprised him and took him to 310 Park South. I hadn’t been. I read they had terrible service, which proved to be true, but their food was great. I was going to go for something cheapish since I planned on paying for Scott’s meal and I knew he would go with the filet mignon. But the server listed the specials and one of them was lamb and it just sounded so good. So I went big before going home. It was worth it.

I read something today, which I had heard before, and it was: “Eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, and dinner like a beggar.” This and the fact that I need to save money prompted me to do a more exciting grocery shop than just buying more English muffins and lettuce. Kacie and I took a walk to Publix and with a more purposeful list I bought:

Eggs
Cheese
Turkey bacon
Spinach
Light ranch
Wraps
Wheat bread
Bananas

I made some cheese toasties for dinner. Just mixed two eggs, salt, pepper, deli style mustard, and shredded cheese then buttered one side of whole wheat toast. Put the buttered side down in a pan. Put the egg/cheese mixture on top. Oven at 450 for 15 minutes. That, spinach with ranch, and Arrested Development were good to me this evening.
Tomorrow: coffee, orange juice, and an omelette… and maybe some oatmeal. And probably a spinach, turkey bacon, and ranch wrap for lunch. And I’m sure a Nerds Rope thrown in there somewhere.

I could talk about food all night long…

Possibilities

At least a year ago my dear friend Harry sent me a link to this video. I recently was trying to remember what it was called or if I had bookmarked it. Thankfully, he’s going to see them soonish and posted a tweet about it and I was able to remember that it was Yeasayer. I love the video. It makes me excited for life and thankful for the people in it. Maybe it’s just me.

I feel like all of these possiblities are out there again. I think, after this semester, that I have two classes or maybe three left. And then: ANYTHING. How weird is that? It brings me back to my Philosophy class at SCC. I kept realizing, on an almost daily basis, that the possiblities were endless. They always are but I forget that anything can happen.

I wrote in a journal on Monday night. Just wrote some thoughts out as they had overflowing all weekend. It felt good to just write… Not for an assignment or anything to be seen. The act of writing. I hadn’t done it in awhile.

I’ve been wanting to reconnect with who I was, but… that sounds like I’m going backwards. I want to reconnect with who I was in the sense of the love and connectedness to Love and the writing and loving life and yet be even better — but not “better” just moreso — in all of those areas. I’m not sure if it makes much sense.

I used to write on here a lot. And I sort of want to get back to that. Not for anyone to read (especially since it’s probably just Casey and he has to hear all of my thoughts in person) but because there’s something about putting your thoughts/ideas/fears/loves/etc out there for anyone or no one to see. Again, maybe it’s just me.

I keep replaying the video in the background. It brings me joy:

I’m so blessed to have spent the time with my family and the friends I love.
In my short life I have met so many people I deeply care for.

A Poem Not By Me

There’s a lot I could say. There’s a lot I want to share. But I need sleep. And I need to print out these poems and notes for class. But I do want to share this poem which I have fallen in love with. Exquisite.

The Dead (by Billy Collins)

The dead are always looking down on us, they say,
while we are putting on our shoes or making a sandwich,
they are looking down through the glass-bottom boats of heaven
as they row themselves slowly through eternity.

They watch the tops of our heads moving below on earth,
and when we lie down in a field or on a couch,
drugged perhaps by the hum of a warm afternoon,
they think we are looking back at them,

which makes them lift their oars and fall silent
and wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.

Trust Me

I’m listening to a song that once upon a time expressed how small and tiny I felt. If my age expressed how I felt then, I was 17 centimeters of other’s thoughts on who I should be.

“You need me less than I need you.”

It was true then. I needed you. I needed the idea of you. I needed the concept of you. But you, the actual person you were to me, I did not need. The person I now know I am did not need your inconsiderateness. Because I would have done, and did do, anything for you. They said I’m not that typical girl. They said I’m gross and they said I don’t know what I’m doing. But you knew who I was and that they were wrong.

I gave it a hell of a go. …but I should have let go much earlier.

And everytime I see you I feel this overwhelming confidence in who I am now. You weren’t good to me, but in that way that one learns from the terrible moments maybe more than the good: you were good for me. It was a bad start. And it led to another failed attempt where I needed someone more than they needed me.

And still, I fight it off.
I give in.
Fight off.
In.
Off.

I used to think I was tough. That physically I was too sturdy to be emotionally fragile. If I could collide and take down a boy on the soccer field, then surely I could take little ol’ you down when our emotions collided.

But my feelings and emotions and thoughts — come to find out — aren’t as tough as I thought. And these days I’m fighting off thoughts of much more than a silly relationship or two or, well, that’s it.

If third time’s a charm,
then this is a charming ending.

Reconnect

Sweat pants and an old, striped teal and pink long sleaved shirt. The shirt has a hood and because wearing a hood sometimes makes me feel like a kid or a bit silly, I put it on. I have Irish breakfast tea, which I did buy because it was Irish breakfast tea, and in it is some milk and sugar. Two slices of toast with jam and peanut butter sit on a paper towel to my right. A pile of magazines lay on the floor in front of me. A blank canvas, still wrapped in plastic, is there behind them. Music is on and it’s pointing my thoughts towards You. My floor is comfortable for now. Soon enough my back will get tired of leaning against my bed or my legs will fall asleep from sitting Indian style. But for now – this is how I am.

This is my start. This is how I’m reconnecting myself to myself and, more importantly, how I’m reconnecting myself to You.

It’s a start. The start I’ve been putting off for weeks.

I flip the magazines. I carve out words, and phrases come together like “adventures in new stories” and “P.S. Live life in colour.” The magazine pile is four deep, but I get through two and can’t keep looking at the pefect shapes of bodies or the piled on makeup. It’s phrases I pick out, it’s photos of fields and food that grab my eye. I feel less and less with each pouty, skinny face staring back at me.

And then… I love You, I need You, though my world may fall I’ll never let You go.

I lay there and all I want is You. I don’t want the fake perfection. I don’t want the fleeting attention. I want You to hold me. I want what I used to want, but more. I sit here and listen and write like I once did, I know I used to do this because I sometimes read what I used to write and wonder what happened. When did the slight disconnect of love and trust and longing for You happen? Today it is reminiscent of those times, but it feels new. More than anything, I want You to come close as a Father and hold me. Because even though I’ll be turning 21 next week, and I haven’t been held by my father in years, it’s all I want right now… to be held by You.

There’s so much to come. So much to learn about myself. About You. About others. This is where I start: on the dirty carpet, drying tears with dirty laundry, being held by You.

I know… You’ll never let me go.
So hold me now.

And Tomorrow It Will Be a New Decade

For me, 2009 will be remembered as the year my Dad died. It’s just how that sort of things goes. I’ll remember that meeting with my pastor, going to Deland to make my peace with my bedridden Dad, and speaking out about the pain of it all in front of my community. I still think about how strange it is to enter a new year in which my father will not be alive.

It will be the year I entered my 20s and moved twice. This year held Cheesecake Tuesdays with three of my best friends and Tuesday night dinners that opened up to all. I’ll look back at photos and remember how I loved those three weeks in Ireland and what an experience that week in France was. Maybe I’ll go back to the Lake Mary Starbucks sometime and remember the day I met my sister there and my two cousins came around the corner singing “We Are Family” to surprise us and be with us as we waited for my Dad to pass. I’ll still be sad about Coffee Cafe closing in 2010, but I’ll remember talking to Math Guy at my new favorite Starbucks. It’ll be the year I met and got closer to some of the greatest people I know. I’ll keep point leading in 2010, but remember starting out in May of 2009. I got baptized this year too.

These past two months (and sometimes I just think these past few years) have been a whirlwind. I could hate 2009 for some valid reasons. But I loved it far more than I hated it. Even in these last few days, I’ve met or reconnected with some quality people.

And to think, last year I went to some party with my roommates for Old Year’s Night. And the year before that I think I saw Juno and just came back to my apartment. In 2004 I counted down at my brother’s wedding reception in Barbados and watched several firework shows from the cliff where Uncle Dave lives. And in 2005 I probably went to church. And here I am, living in downtown Orlando looking forward to a good night of food, friends, and fire here at our house. I think, more than anything else, I am thankful for the friends I made or grew closer to in 2009. Quality people. Quality ending to the year.

It’s 4:10 and I haven’t eaten lunch. Time to make that happen.

So this is Christmas?

I’m sitting at the dining room table (or kitchen table? table for gathering and food consumption?). The blinds to the two windows I’m facing are open. The parking lot of the school across the street is empty and the only car I can see is my own. The house is empty, except for the rats that have found a home in our attic (but they should be dead and/or gone soon). This is Christmas Eve. It appears lonely but I have been craving this alone time. Sometimes you forget what good company you are to yourself.

Last week I went on a cruise with my family — Mum, Sarah, Antie Sara, Melissa, and Liz. I love those people and the “family time” of Christmas was spent then on that boat

Today I head south for Christmas Eve and Christmas with other family. It’s not that I’m not looking forward to it. I’ve just enjoyed the no pressure of being here on my own.

“How are you doing with the holidays?” they ask. What they’re really saying is, “How are you doing with the holidays since your Dad passed in November?” But they forget that he hadn’t been himself in years. And I want to say it’s not greatest situation in the world, but it’s not the worst. We won’t be opening a few gifts from couches and a hospital bed in our living room in Deland. And that part is good.

Something else I’ve been thinking: Don’t ignore someone’s pain because you don’t know what to say. Acknowledge it, be honest, say that you have no words if you must… But don’t act like it doesn’t exist.

The Lane is quiet today. I haven’t packed yet, nor have I showered. It’s time to get moving.

Happy Christmas.

Time

It’s December 13th. I remember earlier this year, before Ireland or the fall semester, thinking that soon enough it would be the year’s end I would wonder where the time went.

Where has the time gone?

It’s been a month since it really happened. Yesterday it was a month, today it’s a month and a day. I’m not counting, but you remember when it’s a month — two months, three — and soon enough it’ll be a year and I’ll wonder where the time went.

I threw away the rest of the flowers. They should have been thrown out sooner, but I couldn’t do it. It was a mix of putting it off and just not wanting to. It moved the events further into the past. But my feelings and emotions don’t feel like they’ve been moved into the past and so I left the flowers in their waterless vases. And I wrote a poem about how “watching the flowers slowly fade away reminded me of watching you slowly fade away” and the poetry class seemed to like that one, or at least they pretended because maybe they felt bad. My professor liked it. And I really liked it. Those last two matter more I guess.

A month.

And yet… it still feels strange some days.