Overdue

It's been awhile. I feel the urge to share, to wear my heart on my sleeve and let the whole world see what I am going through. During times like these, I would not hesitate to cry on a bus, or sing in the grocery store, or burst into my apartment screaming but there are also those times I cling to my privacy. I enjoy the personal bubble I live in, and I let others exist in their own bubbles. Occasionally I write something worth reading, and feel prompted to share it. But to simply post it on this blog is not enough. The print is to small to contain the voice I harbor. My secret wish is for a small poetry cafe packed with people like me, who write to cope and read to feel. I have not found a place here like this. I think for now I will stick to my personal bubble.

Finish Line

The internal motivation, the driving force within all of us is the view of the finish line. Somehow, even with how sometimes I hate school, and how much I ache to run, and boys that are dumb, and the simple fact that life is hard I remember there is a goal in sight. There is this dream I have, one that has flashed across my mind as an idea, and unbreakable idea, over and over again, like lightning hitting the same place in the sand, it has now become a solid and real object, fixated in my mind as the finish line.
And from now on, whenever I feel discouraged or disheartened, whenever the testing center gets the best of me(which is bound to happen within the next week), I will reflect on this unbreakable idea and instead of weeping....I will leap!

Quote of the Day

When you're young the story is who am I? Who will I love? Or more importantly, more incessantly, who will love me? But as you grow older the story becomes witness, watching. Seeing each other for who you really are, can be, and will be.


--Brian Doyle, editor of Portland Magazine

Fear of Emptiness

Sometimes I worry that I will wake up one day, and all the inspiration I have will be dried up. That somehow, all of it will disappear into thin air. My thoughts, my dreams, my reality.
Much of my poetry is based upon experiences I have, and without those experiences the poetry never would have come to be. I am afraid that I will stop having experiences that compel me to write. Honestly, and this is more frank than I usually am on this blog, I write more during times of pain or suffering in my life. Being compelled to write because of a need for a coping mechanism is much easier than just sitting down and writing when my life is great. I am not sure that the pieces I produce are better when I am emotionally distraught, but the volume of work produced is much greater when I am having a tough time. I guess it could be that it is just easier to be reminded to write when it is an absolute need rather than a pastime. Luckily, I know by now, even though I have not lived for very long(relatively speaking) that life is always hard. Always. That doesn't mean there isn't happiness or sunshine, it just means there are constantly battles to be won and fights to be fought. Which means my silly concern that I will lack inspiration is really just that: silly.

Inspired

scour the world
for metaphor
The greatest inspiration
is a life well lived.
If your home is where your heart is, go to it.
The place you love most will surely inspire.
Perhaps, you carry it with you
the singular beating
source of your every emotion.
Cast outward to the world
She will show you the well loved
colors of painters gone before.
Whatever you are
searching for, continue:
the blank page is waiting.

Forcing Words

leaping out
of mouth
before they even form,
these words I extract
from some crevice of my brain
that creaks from misuse.
creativity manufactured
is particularly uninspired.
put away the pen,
shred the evidence
You cannot force my words.

Stay Away

One thing, simple request.
Easy enough, if you actually put your mind to it.
We boxed it up, and left it.
I actually ran, pushing off just to get further.
There it remained, forbidden and dark.
Until today, I thought it was completely out of my path.
And then I tripped, and looking down, there it was:
the very thing I ran from.
I have a sneaky suspicion you brought it there.
Is that an accusation?
Perhaps.
All I asked for was no interference.

Metaphorically Speaking

My dad has a saying that sounds kinda simple, but is actually a really great life policy if you think about it:
He always says, "It doesn't hurt to submit an application."
Especially during the time when I was looking for a job, or when I was applying for college this made literal sense, though it works metaphorically speaking as well. Now, I think about it in a figurative sense, and to put it even simpler, it relays the old adage that it never hurt to try.
So lately, I have been applying for a couple jobs. It was difficult for me to fill out that first application and submit it. I didn't think there was any chance I would be the chosen applicant, never mind getting an interview. There was even a possibility that the position had already been filled. But then I realized, I don't want to have any regrets, I don't want to miss out on something great just because it was also difficult. So I have been putting myself out there, so to speak. And maybe its true that it doesn't hurt to try, it does get tiring, but the amount of harm done outweighs the possibility for reward. I still don't regret submitting those applications even though I didn't even get a call back after the interview.
I put my best foot forward, and I am proud of that. When you submit a job application you don't leave out the fact that you have a college degree or hide your best skill. You have to flaunt your strengths and downplay your weaknesses so that you always appear to the best advantage. So I put it all out there, and if that makes it so its just a little more difficult to choose between me and the competition, I am perfectly satisfied with that.

posted from Bloggeroid

Interference

wake up late
rise slowly
and step to
solid ground
grey carpets, piles of clothes.
no more--luxury linens or peeled grapes.
you, with your soft gaze
and earnest touch,
only permitted
in Neverland.
Presently, a slim chance,
all a very unlikely probability,
defying every risk assessment--
exists, just barely.
Possibility.
The ultimate hopeful word,
and the seizing of it leads
to a much worse outcome:
Disappointment.
You tell me which it will be.
Truth is: you never left my
unconscious thought.
Sneaking into dreams
and drifting mind days.
I want to say--
so much.
But I swallow the words,
pushing you back to illusion
and clinging to the inevitability
of disappointment.
All I ask is that you let it sink in.
No more interference.

The Resource of Creativity

All great artists draw from the same resource: the human heart, which tells us we are all more alike than we are unalike.
-Maya Angelou
I have certainly noticed for myself that as my heart becomes more involved in the way that I am living, I become more inspired to write. Write and write, and pour everything about my experience onto the page. And if I have no experiences, than I have nothing to write about.
The best teacher is experience. I have certainly had plenty of experiences in the last year. Sometimes people talk about how thankful they are for their struggles, and how they have learned so much, and how the suffering they have experienced is really for the better, and honestly, I kinda get annoyed by those people. With that said, I promise I am not becoming one of those people. But it is true that a lot can be learned through experience. It's the primary reason my grandmother is wiser than me.
So I guess the bottom line is: Don't ever stop living life to the fullest. Because when you do live life with your whole heart, you will be inspired, and you will have a greater potential to connect with others, since our struggles are what connect us.

Onward and Upward

dove flutters in my chest,

shed the deep slumber

and wake to joy

every moment

a renewed chance

for gratitude,

the priorities of my heart

shining through

as steps onward,

upward

are taken, at last.

At last:

peace.

There are no rest stops

on the road of life,

but this I carry with me:

Peace be unto you.

And also with you.

This morning, I woke up happy. It's almost silly that I would be grateful for such a simple thing. For most of my life, I have been pretty happy when I wake up. When I was little, I loved to set my alarm and wake up right at 7:15 so I would have time to get completely ready before school. I have lost some of that excitement to wake up in the mornings, and perhaps that has something to do with the fact that I no longer have anyone to enforce my bedtime. Sunday is quickly becoming my favorite day of the week partly due to the fact that it is the only day I don't have to wake up before 9. Sometimes in life, it is a difficult choice to be happy, and other times it is an easy one. Today, it is easy.

Cause Today I Don't Feel Like Doin Anything

Ummm, so maybe I feel like that everyday...It's a rainy grey day, the water pitter pats on the roof outside my window, and Jack Johnson singing about mango trees and banana pancakes plays in the background. I have had a very successful laid back day, with about 2 hours of shopping at Savers. Best store ever.
4 shirts, 1 sweater, 1 pair of jeans, a watch, and a gift for someone. All for just over 20 bucks.
Seriously? Seriously.
That's the way to shop on a college student budget on Memorial Day. Yay for being Mormon and Filipino, or in other words doubly cheap.
Plus I woke up to about 20 doormats outside our door, love notes, TP, and an invitation to brunch. The prank war begins!
And now for planning out the rest of my chillax day....I think I will build a fort with my best friend Leisie, make some mexican hot cocoa, and watch a movie in our new fort.
Maybe I will do some laundry so I feel somewhat productive.
But sometimes it is perfectly productive to take a break and be unproductive. Does that even make sense?


Playing Pretend


Step into the snow globe
perfect world of warmth and happiness,
float to the top and--
Drink the pink water.
Snuggle up and listen,
rain hitting the window outside.
Forget--
leave behind regret.
Set aside this day
to remember the home inside the soul.
Warmth, content,
no more contention
Let's shed convention!
wear our big shirts
and sing softly as we play.
To grow up is impossible
every day, we just get older,
but our hearts: they stay the same.
Hold my hand,
let's play pretend.

Waiting for Darcy

I am currently snuggled up in my little living room watching my favorite movie, piles of blankets on my lap and the rainy grey day unthreatening from my comfy couch. I love this story. It is perhaps, in my opinion, one of the greatest love stories of all time.
However, it has one fault. Mr. Darcy sets the standard for men far too high. Sure, he has his faults, but the bottom line is that he changes his ways for Elizabeth. In the end, he becomes the man she needs him to be. Until I see this miracle for myself, I have a difficult time believing that real men have this ability to change. The romantic fairytale world that these kinds of stories build give all of us girls too much hope. We end up believing that real world relationships can be like fairytale romances but without the fairytale setting. It doesn't work.
And still, knowing all this, I continue to believe that my Mr. Darcy is somewhere out there, waiting to meet me. One of these days I will come upon this dream man, handsome and conveniently rich. Until then, I will continue to read and reread Pride and Prejudice and nurture my unrealistic romantic notions. I just hope I don't have to deal with too many Wickhams before my Darcy comes along.

Candy Knowledge

Carrying the books
bundled like a small child
I sing softly
the years spread
before me now
like a patient etherized
upon a table
I heard that once
And knew not what it meant
Revelations often appear
at the oddest of times.
These books speak for me now.
Reading, I relive
all that could have been.
Set free the imagination
of that same Free Spirit
I once encountered
long ago.
Silently I scream:
Carpe Diem!

Romper

Broken pieces
lying under my bed
shattered and stolen
piece upon piece.
No longer haunting
my everyday existence,
yet still ever present
waiting in that locked box
for the day of total amnesia.
Neverending reminders--
scars battle hard
and aching.
Now sing
with the Triumph of
a fight hard won.
No more.

Do I?

My tears fall,
soul full
crying
From each beauty--
heartbreaking.
Each day, a gift of freedom
grace returns to unstretched legs.
A new chance to prove
the impossibilities wrong.
Dream again
hope fuller in my heart.
The butterfly that once rested
on my shoulder returns.
Rip the pages from my diary
hidden sadness extinguished.
Only the fire of true love burns now.
Pure and sweet
reach for the fruit,
finally conquering the simple.
Dare to eat a peach.

What about Everything?

I walked along this road, casual and carefree

and then I stopped to think. 

Where am I going?

Where does it lead?

And why have I not been asking these questions enough?

I think about time for fun

I think about time for play

And then I think about being done.

With no resume.

I am scared.

That everything will stop, and I won't be holding anything. 

Or anyone.

In search of some rest

in search of a break

from a life of tests, but something's always at stake.

Every spring, an ache starts in my chest.

It's a feeling that I can't quite explain, 

but I do know it tells me to run.

What about my life so far?

What about everything?

There are no answers, 

only thoughts that lead to new questions.

Living on Sunshine

Floating

time does not stop

Even as I try to

The ache in

my bones for

something new

continues to grow.

Burst the bubble

surrounding my clouded

heart

step through

to golden light

dream world

aquamarine seas

crepes for breakfast

sunshine for lunch

shed obligations

night falls

dive naked

emerge

in morning light

reality snaps

hitting my head

with the force

of a locomotive

bruised and dazed

my aching bones

creak

viscous blood pumps rythmically

I trudge on.

Apartment Playlist

If we are what we eat...is it also true that: We are what we listen to?

I kinda hope not.

Last year, it was all about Lady Gaga and The Veronicas. I am sure my ex-roommate, and still best friend Jodes can attest to that...She was commonly referred to as "Gaga" by the end of the year.

And this year its all about Taylor Swift aka TayTay, T. Swift, or Baby Girl Taylor. Well, for 90% of the time anyway. If I got a quarter for every time I have heard this song in the last couple months, I would be rich enough to buy myself a new laptop. Or at least have enough money to go get a Beto's burrito.

That other 10% is taken up with some real quality music choices.

Let me demonstrate:

There's a reason I didn't post the official music video for that one.

Definitely another quality choice.

And maybe, just maybe, we occasionally listen to something genuinely worthwhile.

Every Day is a New Day.

The ever lovely Meg Fee offered this gem of a quote on her blog, and I believe it deserves some reflection:

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy, for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves, we must die to one life before we can enter another.

                                                                                                   -Anotole Frances

I am sure most would agree that everyone goes through life changes almost on a daily basis. But what this quote speaks of is the complete surrender of the old in order to usher in the new. Certainly a feeling of loss is inherent within leaving behind what was once familiar, and just as certainly there is the accompanying feeling of jubilance in accepting a new way, a new life. Opposition in all things. Right?

Happiness is a choice.

This is the simple principle I live my life by. Over this last year or so, I have learned how to be happy even when it is difficult to make that choice. Sometimes crap just seems to rain down on your head, and sometimes it is easy to get buried in that crap, but you really can choose to stand up in the air, shake your fist at the world and scream: "I am happy, dang it!"
And while I have discovered this simple principle to be true, again and again, I have also noticed something else. While happiness is still a choice, it is also a process. More than a single choice, it could be more accurate to say that happiness is a series of choices. Decisions define us. Daily, everyday little decisions. Deciding to choose the right has the power to make us infinitely happy if we so choose. On the other hand, deciding to go against what is right has the power to make us sad, unfortunate souls.
Truly, I have learned that each little decision matters, because the whole may be greater than the sum of its parts, but each part still constitutes the whole.

Happy Chinese New Year

It's the year of the rabbit, and about the time that I actually start trying to do my New Year's Resolutions. I have been okay about exercising lately, although not that great at eating healthy(there are currently 4 peanut butter cookies in my backpack for a library snack...don't ask if I have already eaten several), and my other goals are either non-existent or should be since I am not working at them.
I actually really like Chinese New Year, even though I am not Chinese, nor have I ever really taken the time to celebrate it. It reminds me of a childhood friend of mine named Linda (name change) who would always bring these really yummy white rabbit candies to school and share them with me. Linda would also get a bunch of little red envelopes from her family members with money in them. I was always slightly jealous of those little red envelopes, and I could definitely use a couple of those sent to me right now. Anyhow, one of these days I will have my own little celebration of Chinese New Year and everybody can bring me a little red envelope filled with cash, and we can dance in the street and launch firecrackers in the backyard. But this year, I will just have to live with reevaluating my New Year Goals, make a few more, and actually work towards accomplishing them.
To conclude, a quote my Physics teacher shared with the class from our prophet Thomas Monson:


"Success is contingent upon our effective use of the time given us. When we cease peering backwards into the mists of our past and craning forward into the fog that shrouds the future and simply concentrate upon doing what lies clearly at hand, then we are making the best and happiest use of our time. Success is the ratio of your accomplishments to your capabilities."


Gung Hay Fat Choy!


Miss M

Coffee Break Friends

you know

exactly who you are,

catching up

faraway lives,

simple courtesy check

cordial,

occasionally animated,

rarely

in the conversation

for the other,

rather:

ready and steaming

to spill.

the tedious story

that is life.

Caution!

Contents may be hot.

The Weight of an Instant

grew up

sheltered life

a bubble girl

in a big world

finally walked out

onto a tightrope.

And that worked—

tightroping the line—

for awhile…

So I figured walking worked

and never,

never had to run

At least not until:

One day,

tightroping

I felt the sharp grip

of razor teeth

grasping my ankle,

I made the mistake

of looking down,

down into the eyes

of a ravaged beast.

Locking eyes

for

just a moment

there was a time

where I forgot to run.

But when

the pull of that

death grip

began to make me

fall.

I woke up.

The pull of gravity hit me.

No longer a deer in the headlights.

Woke up.

And ran.

ran away

back towards the bubble,

But when I reached home

the bubble had already popped.

So now I stand here

at the edge of the cliff,

the remains of my safe home at my feet.

Where do I go now?

I know not.

But I do know this

Next Time:

there will be no hesitation.

I will Run.

What does it mean to care?

The gardener who whispers kind words

as he carefully waters each individual.

The mother who kneels down

taking her crying child in her arms.

The tired worker who

gives up her seat on the bus.

The lover who admires his beloved

before he wakes her with gentle kisses.

Each person taking the time

to tend. gather. open.

Is there a difference between all these actions and love?

No.

Those who say they care, talk.

Those who love, don’t.

Granite and Glass

You are granite.

I am an empty wine glass.

You know what happens when we touch.

You laugh like the sun coming up laughs

at a star that disappears into it.

Love opens my chest,

and thought returns to its confines.

Patience and rational considerations leave.

Only passion stays, whimpering and feverish.

Some men fall down in the road like dregs thrown out.

Then totally reckless the next morning

they gallop out with new purposes.

Love is the reality,

and poetry is the drum that calls us to that.

Do not keep complaining about loneliness.

Let the fear-language of that theme

crack open and float away.

Let the priest come down from his tower, and not go back up.

-Rumi

from The Big Red Book

My dear and wonderful grandmother, Nanni, got me the most wonderful present for Christmas, that is perhaps my most cherished gift of all. The Big Red Book by Coleman Barks with poetry by Rumi, an Islamic poet from the 1200s is my new Bible. It is filled with some of the most beautiful words ever written, and such wisdom and purity is contained in the pages that it nearly brought me to tears as I sat reading it on the plane for the first time.

I just finished the first section of the book, and this particular poem stood out to me, especially the second to last stanza. “Do not keep complaining about loneliness/Let the fear-language of that theme/crack open and float away.” This is the reason I write poetry. To me, it is what cracks open my fear, my loneliness, it is truly the drum that calls us to the purity of love. When I pour my words from deep inside the place we call a heart, I cannot complain or fear, I can only open myself to the emotion that runs through me. And this is what Rumi demands of his audience through his poetry: to open. If I can aspire to a grain of the greatness that is carried through his poetry, I will be satisfied.

I live in a snow globe
a swirling protected bubble
nothing ever moves
forward backward
The empty yesterdays
and frightened tomorrows
shock me into scared silence
no guarantee that
I will feel
the same
when I wake up to reality
for now
let's just lie here
and keep pretending
that the bubble will never pop
and the snow globe will never drop.