Every once in a while I forget to be all poignant and reflective. Sometimes I just do things for the frivolity of it - thus this blog.
The idea came about today as I was getting ready to go meet new friends. Hopped out of the shower, did the "scent" thing, added the underwear and went into my office to pick out something festive to wear. The closet in my office has those cheesy mirror sliding doors which I hate - they never stay on the track - but today...today I love them.
I've had a lifetime of a love-hate relationship with my body, heavy on the hate - lite on the love. There was always something I wanted to change "before I __________". When I was younger, the "before I ______" was an age. I wanted to be such-and-such weight before I reached whatever age. My mother was always on a diet, always trying something new, looking for some kind of miracle cure for extra-round middles and jiggly thighs.
Part of the reason I waited "so long" to have sex was because I worried about what my boyfriend would see when the clothes came off... Of course, I learned later that when a 17 year-old girl takes her clothes off in front of a 17 year-old boy, he is immediately struck blind, deaf, and dumb, barely coherent, just blissfully grateful. :) Even then though, I wasn't satisfied with how I looked, comparing myself to other fabulous females with the means for personal trainers, personal chefs, plastic surgery, and airbrushing.
That was, of course, 10 years ago. Now, at this crossroads in my life, comes the fear that, somebody else is going to see me naked. Shit.
My body has gone through the traumas of my life. Pregnancy, depression, an eating disorder I don't talk about. Crash diets, fat-burning pills, extreme work-out sessions. Somewhere I got it into my head that all the problems of my life could be solved if I just got to such-and-such weight.
I used to have a recurring dream. Actually, my dreams are more like mini-movies I can manipulate. I write most of the lines, cast the co-stars, that kind of thing. Whenever I was unhappiest, I would retreat into dreams, because there...everybody loved me. So, my recurring dream...my favorite co-star was Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson. Sweet Lord, that man makes me want to praise Jesus that I was born a woman. :) Anyway, I would dream that I was on a late night run to Publix and I met him there, and somehow we embarked upon a friendship that ended up as more...getting off topic. Sorry. The point was that, during one of my dreams I was crying on his shoulder about how very ugly I felt all of the time, that it was because of my weight, my lack of figure, my jiggly thighs that made my husband fall out of love with me. And then he said something like "You're beautiful. Any man who spent 10 minutes with you would know it. The only thing is that you wear your sadness on the outside - but that is not all there is to you..."
Not sure if I got the point of that then, but now, especially tonight, it makes sense to me. It's true that, for years I wore my sadness on the outside. Dark circles under my eyes, watery smiles, hiding behind dark colors that magazine guaranteed would make me look thinner. And, dammit, I was hungry a lot.
When I walked in front of those mirror doors today in my underwear, I was a bit shocked. I know I don't weigh what my doctor thinks I should. I know I have "fall-off-the-wagon" days with my diet. I know that when a man calls me "Thickness" the name still applies.
But it was my face.
I was smiling - grinning really. I did a little twirl in front of the mirror, admiring my ample top and bottom, the tummy that's a bit firmer, the legs that are - well, pretty damn great. The calves, the arms, all of it. I may still be a work in progress, but with a smile on my face, for no reason other than because I didn't feel sad, I felt like myself, my true self.
So there's my story - amazing what a little T & A can do for a girl's ego :).
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Praying...
In the last couple of months, I've had several people take it upon themselves to suggest I pray to God for strength, guidance, for answers and understanding. Reminded me of the last time I stopped speaking to God, what I was going through, how difficult it was for me to understand exactly why those things had happened to me, what lesson I was supposed to have learned.
One of the most annoying and frustrating things to hear when you are in a state of distress and trauma is that "things happen for a reason." Annoying because that really isn't a comforting thing to say to someone in need of comfort. Frustrating because its usually true.
I remember being 15, feeling like a zeppo - someone who is a useless waste of space - wondering why it was that, while boys did seem to like me, none of them had the balls to do anything about it. I finally had a heart-to-heart with God. Kind of a "look, okay I get it, I'm supposed to be independent for the rest of my life, own my farm, raise my kids, and basically be a nun. Alright - that's fine for later. But right now? It's New Year's Eve and I wouldn't mind having someone to kiss at midnight...but I can accept that that isn't going to happen. Alright...well, thanks anyway." Because, just like every 15 year-old, you think that the course of your life is set at that age, that anything important to your story will happen right then. I was resigning myself to lonely, and God said "Honey please. Don't even try to think you know the plan - you have no idea."
At 15 I was sent exactly what I needed - after I had put my fate into God's hands. After I stopped trying to control everything in my life. It's funny that way, how it happened. Three years later when I was in that hospital room, looking out a window, wondering how much it would hurt if I just jumped, cause really, how could God care about me when he'd taken my son?, how I started looking at the ring on my finger, and thinking about the boy who had put it there...and I walked away from the window. Accepting that I didn't understand, couldn't begin to understand the path I was on, or how to walk it. But I did stop talking to God. It hurt too much to remember how very hard I prayed, watching the doctors and nurses work fruitlessly, to know that, after everything, there would be no son to teach to walk, to sing to, to kiss goodnight...
I couldn't sing at all for a long time after that. Not in the shower, not along with the radio. Music just left me. I felt like a hollow shell of myself. And I went on like that...until I remembered that the biggest tragedy of my life had not happened to me alone. And that's when I started praying again, asking for forgiveness for my neglect, asking for guidance and strength.
Since then, my praying has been different - especially recently. I tell my family that I am a "heathen", as my ideas on religion and spirituality are no where near conventional. Sometimes my prayers don't have any words - they are just feelings of gratitude. Sometimes they are tears. Sometimes they are love songs sung in the shower. Sometimes I dance my prayers and other times I paint them. Filling in the gaps that simple words leave...
Last night I met a woman who was looking to define prayer in its secular form. We had a fairly long conversation about it, but in the end, I found that I had expanded my own definition of what it meant to pray.
To pray is to love. Seems short, but it means a lot to me. Everytime we wish, we cross our fingers for luck, we kiss a child's forehead, we reach out to hold someone's hand for comfort, we embrace someone who has long been from our life - it is a type of prayer, a thank you to God that our loved one is safe, that the world is going the way it should, a request for a blessing, a sending of energy into someone who needs it more than we do. Sometimes it is accepting that, while God may not physically put in an appearance, we, as vessels, can be stand-ins.
That's kind of a bold statement. Which is okay, I like making bold statements. I know that even in my darkest moments I am blessed, protected, and loved. That if I get hit by a bus tomorrow (knock on wood - another prayer-type thing), I would have fulfilled what I needed to in my life. If I am blessed to live to a ripe old age, I will have that many more chances to make a difference for someone else, to be that vessel.
My prayers are extra short now - direct, to the point, and I say them constantly. When I open my eyes in the morning, when my phone rings and it is someone I love, when I wrap my arms around another, when I meet a beautifully-souled person, when I am hit with the beauty in the world, when I know, without a doubt, that my heart is pointed in the right direction...
Two words....
Thank you.
One of the most annoying and frustrating things to hear when you are in a state of distress and trauma is that "things happen for a reason." Annoying because that really isn't a comforting thing to say to someone in need of comfort. Frustrating because its usually true.
I remember being 15, feeling like a zeppo - someone who is a useless waste of space - wondering why it was that, while boys did seem to like me, none of them had the balls to do anything about it. I finally had a heart-to-heart with God. Kind of a "look, okay I get it, I'm supposed to be independent for the rest of my life, own my farm, raise my kids, and basically be a nun. Alright - that's fine for later. But right now? It's New Year's Eve and I wouldn't mind having someone to kiss at midnight...but I can accept that that isn't going to happen. Alright...well, thanks anyway." Because, just like every 15 year-old, you think that the course of your life is set at that age, that anything important to your story will happen right then. I was resigning myself to lonely, and God said "Honey please. Don't even try to think you know the plan - you have no idea."
At 15 I was sent exactly what I needed - after I had put my fate into God's hands. After I stopped trying to control everything in my life. It's funny that way, how it happened. Three years later when I was in that hospital room, looking out a window, wondering how much it would hurt if I just jumped, cause really, how could God care about me when he'd taken my son?, how I started looking at the ring on my finger, and thinking about the boy who had put it there...and I walked away from the window. Accepting that I didn't understand, couldn't begin to understand the path I was on, or how to walk it. But I did stop talking to God. It hurt too much to remember how very hard I prayed, watching the doctors and nurses work fruitlessly, to know that, after everything, there would be no son to teach to walk, to sing to, to kiss goodnight...
I couldn't sing at all for a long time after that. Not in the shower, not along with the radio. Music just left me. I felt like a hollow shell of myself. And I went on like that...until I remembered that the biggest tragedy of my life had not happened to me alone. And that's when I started praying again, asking for forgiveness for my neglect, asking for guidance and strength.
Since then, my praying has been different - especially recently. I tell my family that I am a "heathen", as my ideas on religion and spirituality are no where near conventional. Sometimes my prayers don't have any words - they are just feelings of gratitude. Sometimes they are tears. Sometimes they are love songs sung in the shower. Sometimes I dance my prayers and other times I paint them. Filling in the gaps that simple words leave...
Last night I met a woman who was looking to define prayer in its secular form. We had a fairly long conversation about it, but in the end, I found that I had expanded my own definition of what it meant to pray.
To pray is to love. Seems short, but it means a lot to me. Everytime we wish, we cross our fingers for luck, we kiss a child's forehead, we reach out to hold someone's hand for comfort, we embrace someone who has long been from our life - it is a type of prayer, a thank you to God that our loved one is safe, that the world is going the way it should, a request for a blessing, a sending of energy into someone who needs it more than we do. Sometimes it is accepting that, while God may not physically put in an appearance, we, as vessels, can be stand-ins.
That's kind of a bold statement. Which is okay, I like making bold statements. I know that even in my darkest moments I am blessed, protected, and loved. That if I get hit by a bus tomorrow (knock on wood - another prayer-type thing), I would have fulfilled what I needed to in my life. If I am blessed to live to a ripe old age, I will have that many more chances to make a difference for someone else, to be that vessel.
My prayers are extra short now - direct, to the point, and I say them constantly. When I open my eyes in the morning, when my phone rings and it is someone I love, when I wrap my arms around another, when I meet a beautifully-souled person, when I am hit with the beauty in the world, when I know, without a doubt, that my heart is pointed in the right direction...
Two words....
Thank you.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Space
I took it into my head after yesterday's yoga session that I needed to de-clutter my life. I know that when I'm sad, I don't clean shit, and when I'm happiest I don't see what needs to be cleaned. But what really inspired me to do a bit of "life-cleaning" is my instructor. She told me how, at a pivotal point in her life, feeling lost and unsure of her path, she decided to sell all of her positions and move into a monastery. What hit me most was the freedom she described, to be able to let go of all of one's baggage in order to start fresh...
My counselor tells me that, right now, its normal for me to feel awkward when in social situations, where someone may flirt with me, or be interested, and I automatically shoot out a "I'M TAKEN" vibe. I saw it happen last night - I was literally repelling men with this force-field of mine. And that's when I realized that they were both right. I'm holding on to too much stuff. I should pull a Rose and go all "I'll never let go Jack", and then push that MF in the water...Sorry, silly moment...:).
Seriously though, I'm very much into the keepsakes - first flowers, corsages, every single note my ex and I ever wrote to each other...I have a luggage bag full of cards we exchanged. Pictures, wedding invitations, my vows, all of this stuff that I need to let go of, especially if I want to take that neon sign down off my forehead.
What makes me the saddest I think is reading those old journal entries from the early years of my marriage. I wasn't 100% happy all the time, but you can tell I was still in love. He could do no wrong in my eyes, the whole world could turn away, but as long as we had each other - we had everything... and its hard to remember what was and try to rectify it with what is. But change and growth are to be expected. I mean, I still remember when he had a bald chest and four chin hairs!
When I read, I see the changes in myself - but I also have to accept that, even early on, there was much I wanted. I had plans for my life that included learning to be on my own, to be independent, to cultivate my creative side, to be fulfilled. And it is only now, in this experience, that I am doing those things, actively, every day of my life...
So I can say there is gratitude...that much I can admit to.
But there are days like this when I remember not just who I loved but how much I loved. I wonder how long it will be until my house is full of love again. When there will be someone to dance under the stars with, move gently with on rainy mornings, wink at inappropriately, tell my dirty jokes to... I miss that.
Therefore, I am working on creating space in my apartment, space in my life, and space in my heart - for someone...
Maybe for you.
Rumi Time! :)
www.rumi.org.uk
Oh Beloved,
take me.
Liberate my soul.
Fill me with your love and
release me from the two worlds.
If I set my heart on anything but you
let fire burn me from inside.
-Yours,
Asha
My counselor tells me that, right now, its normal for me to feel awkward when in social situations, where someone may flirt with me, or be interested, and I automatically shoot out a "I'M TAKEN" vibe. I saw it happen last night - I was literally repelling men with this force-field of mine. And that's when I realized that they were both right. I'm holding on to too much stuff. I should pull a Rose and go all "I'll never let go Jack", and then push that MF in the water...Sorry, silly moment...:).
Seriously though, I'm very much into the keepsakes - first flowers, corsages, every single note my ex and I ever wrote to each other...I have a luggage bag full of cards we exchanged. Pictures, wedding invitations, my vows, all of this stuff that I need to let go of, especially if I want to take that neon sign down off my forehead.
What makes me the saddest I think is reading those old journal entries from the early years of my marriage. I wasn't 100% happy all the time, but you can tell I was still in love. He could do no wrong in my eyes, the whole world could turn away, but as long as we had each other - we had everything... and its hard to remember what was and try to rectify it with what is. But change and growth are to be expected. I mean, I still remember when he had a bald chest and four chin hairs!
When I read, I see the changes in myself - but I also have to accept that, even early on, there was much I wanted. I had plans for my life that included learning to be on my own, to be independent, to cultivate my creative side, to be fulfilled. And it is only now, in this experience, that I am doing those things, actively, every day of my life...
So I can say there is gratitude...that much I can admit to.
But there are days like this when I remember not just who I loved but how much I loved. I wonder how long it will be until my house is full of love again. When there will be someone to dance under the stars with, move gently with on rainy mornings, wink at inappropriately, tell my dirty jokes to... I miss that.
Therefore, I am working on creating space in my apartment, space in my life, and space in my heart - for someone...
Maybe for you.
Rumi Time! :)
www.rumi.org.uk
Oh Beloved,
take me.
Liberate my soul.
Fill me with your love and
release me from the two worlds.
If I set my heart on anything but you
let fire burn me from inside.
-Yours,
Asha
Friday, April 9, 2010
Hidden Music
One of my absolute favorite poets is Rumi, who I discovered nearly 7 years ago in a Myths, Rituals, and Mysticism class. The book itself Rumi's Hidden Music was touted as a religious tome, one that spoke of a man's relationship with the divine, his search, not for answers, but respectful acceptance of the universe and all its complexities...
For me, it was the most romantic book I'd ever read. I was moved by the first poem, and in tears by the second. I must have been quite a sight in class - sitting in a far corner, silently blubbering over her text. Someone handed me a kleenex and I have no idea who it was...
What touched me was that this wasn't just about a man's relationship with a divinity - he was head over heels madly in love with God. I had never, until that point, pondered that this was a relationship a rational person could have - without being some kind of zealot. With simple words, heart-tugging, humbling metaphors, Rumi convinced me.
I am re posting a couple - something I have never done on my blog - but yesterday I heard spoken word that reached into my heart, electrifying it, and ever since I've felt a change in me. So I am sharing some of Rumi's words in hopes that your heart may feel the same.
From the website www.rumi.org.uk
I am a sculptor, a molder of form.
In every moment I shape an idol.
But then, in front of you, I melt them down
I can rouse a hundred forms
and fill them with spirit,
but when I look into your face,
I want to throw then in the fire.
My souls spills into yours and is blended.
Because my soul has absorbed your fragrance,
I cherish it.
Every drop of blood I spill
informs the earth,
I merge with my Beloved
when I participate in love.
In this house of mud and water,
my heart has fallen to ruins.
Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave.
"I am only the house of your beloved,
not the beloved herself:
true love is for the treasure,
not for the coffer that contains it."
The real beloved is that one who is unique,
who is your beginning and your end.
When you find that one,
you'll no longer expect anything else:
that is both the manifest and the mystery.
That one is the lord of states of feeling,
dependent on none;
month and year are slaves to that moon.
When he bids the "state,"
it does His bidding;
when that one wills, bodies become spirit.
Because I cannot sleep
I make music at night.
I am troubled by the one
whose face has the color of spring flowers.
I have neither sleep nor patience,
neither a good reputation nor disgrace.
A thousand robes of wisdom are gone.
All my good manners have moved a thousand miles away.
The heart and the mind are left angry with each other.
The stars and the moon are envious of each other.
Because of this alienation the physical universe
is getting tighter and tighter.
The moon says, "How long will I remain
suspended without a sun?"
Without Love's jewel inside of me,
let the bazaar of my existence be destroyed stone by stone.
O Love, You who have been called by a thousand names.
You who know how to pour the wine
into the chalice of the body,
You who give culture to a thousand cultures,
You who are faceless but have a thousand faces,
O Love, You who shape the faces
of Turks, Europeans, and Zanzibaris,
give me a glass from Your bottle,
or a handful of bheng from Your Branch.
Remove the cork once more.
Then we'll see a thousand chiefs prostrate themselves,
and a circle of ecstatic troubadours will play.
Then the addict will be bred of craving.
and will be resurrected,
and stand in awe til Judgement Day.
Have a wonderful weekend beautiful people!
Kagiso!
For me, it was the most romantic book I'd ever read. I was moved by the first poem, and in tears by the second. I must have been quite a sight in class - sitting in a far corner, silently blubbering over her text. Someone handed me a kleenex and I have no idea who it was...
What touched me was that this wasn't just about a man's relationship with a divinity - he was head over heels madly in love with God. I had never, until that point, pondered that this was a relationship a rational person could have - without being some kind of zealot. With simple words, heart-tugging, humbling metaphors, Rumi convinced me.
I am re posting a couple - something I have never done on my blog - but yesterday I heard spoken word that reached into my heart, electrifying it, and ever since I've felt a change in me. So I am sharing some of Rumi's words in hopes that your heart may feel the same.
From the website www.rumi.org.uk
I am a sculptor, a molder of form.
In every moment I shape an idol.
But then, in front of you, I melt them down
I can rouse a hundred forms
and fill them with spirit,
but when I look into your face,
I want to throw then in the fire.
My souls spills into yours and is blended.
Because my soul has absorbed your fragrance,
I cherish it.
Every drop of blood I spill
informs the earth,
I merge with my Beloved
when I participate in love.
In this house of mud and water,
my heart has fallen to ruins.
Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave.
"I am only the house of your beloved,
not the beloved herself:
true love is for the treasure,
not for the coffer that contains it."
The real beloved is that one who is unique,
who is your beginning and your end.
When you find that one,
you'll no longer expect anything else:
that is both the manifest and the mystery.
That one is the lord of states of feeling,
dependent on none;
month and year are slaves to that moon.
When he bids the "state,"
it does His bidding;
when that one wills, bodies become spirit.
Because I cannot sleep
I make music at night.
I am troubled by the one
whose face has the color of spring flowers.
I have neither sleep nor patience,
neither a good reputation nor disgrace.
A thousand robes of wisdom are gone.
All my good manners have moved a thousand miles away.
The heart and the mind are left angry with each other.
The stars and the moon are envious of each other.
Because of this alienation the physical universe
is getting tighter and tighter.
The moon says, "How long will I remain
suspended without a sun?"
Without Love's jewel inside of me,
let the bazaar of my existence be destroyed stone by stone.
O Love, You who have been called by a thousand names.
You who know how to pour the wine
into the chalice of the body,
You who give culture to a thousand cultures,
You who are faceless but have a thousand faces,
O Love, You who shape the faces
of Turks, Europeans, and Zanzibaris,
give me a glass from Your bottle,
or a handful of bheng from Your Branch.
Remove the cork once more.
Then we'll see a thousand chiefs prostrate themselves,
and a circle of ecstatic troubadours will play.
Then the addict will be bred of craving.
and will be resurrected,
and stand in awe til Judgement Day.
Have a wonderful weekend beautiful people!
Kagiso!
Memory Book
I got it into my mind this week that, when I think about my life, I end up thinking about negatives, bad things that have happened, experiences that I wish I could take back... But then I started thinking, why am I torturing myself? My life hasn't been that damn bad, and it could have been a whole lot worse. So, I felt the need to remind myself of the good memories, because when you are contemplating your life, those are the things you should reminisce on anyway.
I'm going to use initials for privacy reasons, but if you know who I'm talking about, the initials won't fool anybody :).
I remember in fourth grade, I had a mini-crush on my next-door neighbor. I didn't think he was cute, I just noticed that he was nicer to me than he was to anyone else. We'd hung out daily for years, even before I started kindergarten, and I think he liked the fact that I would punch him in the gut if he tried to pull any sexist shit with me (yes, even at 7, I knew my rights). Somewhere around fourth grade, after we'd had a confrontation where he pointedly reminded me that I was a girl, and that if I swung a bat too hard, I would pop one of my boobs (yeah, you read that right), and I'd swung that bat at his head and hopped the fence back home, our relationship changed. It was like we couldn't look at each other anymore, his face always red, my cheeks always burning... it didn't make sense at the time. Somehow, we ended up "talking" to each other, rushing outside to stand awkwardly in the grass, sitting close on the pavement, leaning over the fence. And then, one day, he told me he'd left something for me in the tree in my front yard. So I climbed it...and found one of those fake diamond paper weight things. It had to have been a decoration or something, but I couldn't get past the fact that he'd given me a "diamond".... It's a sweet memory for me, especially as nothing ever came of the "relationship". But he was the first boy I ever looked at with "potential", and I will never forget T.T.
In middle school, a friend of mine and I shared a boyfriend for about a week. He was like a junior version of Overton from that show "Living Single" - he was even bald! But he was adorable, easy going, and wonderful to talk to, so because he didn't want to choose between us, we all decided to be in a relationship. It was weird - I'm smiling as I'm writing this because, in mature terms, this has all the makings of a Penthouse Letter - but in truth, it was all very innocent. And I know it made P.T.'s year to be able to walk down the hall with, not one, but two smiling girls on his arm - at least for a week...
The night of my high school prom could have been a disaster - it had all the makings of one. If not for E.S., one of the loveliest people I know, it would have been. I went to her house literally at the eleventh hour, with a broken dress, falling hair, no idea how to put on makeup, and tears rolling down my eyes from a fight with my mother. I was 17, pregnant, and desperately afraid that the whole night would be lost. But she wouldn't let me sink the night. She plucked my eyebrows, had her mom fix my dress, stuffed me into a corset, re-did my hair, gave me a makeover, and just showered me with so much love that by the time my date arrived, I literally felt like Cinderella...and that night was absolutely magical...
For my 26th birthday I decided that I wanted to actually DO something, as opposed to a half-hearted birthday drink, store-bought cake, and maybe a movie of my choice. So I took a dry-erase marker and wrote down 26 things I wanted to do on my birthday. My goal was to try my best to get them all done, but my partner in crime D.R. jumped on the bandwagon ready to go. With his help, not only did we get all of them accomplished, but we ended up having a wonderful time in the process. From the spa to the mall to the movies to a nature hike, it was the best birthday I ever had.
Writing these things out serves two purposes. One, it makes me remember that my life has had sparkle, so it makes sense that it will continue to do so and, two, it will serve as a concrete reminder for me on those dark days I have. It will make me laugh and reminisce and remember even more moments...
And maybe it will inspire you to create your own memory book :).
Shanti Bengali!
I'm going to use initials for privacy reasons, but if you know who I'm talking about, the initials won't fool anybody :).
I remember in fourth grade, I had a mini-crush on my next-door neighbor. I didn't think he was cute, I just noticed that he was nicer to me than he was to anyone else. We'd hung out daily for years, even before I started kindergarten, and I think he liked the fact that I would punch him in the gut if he tried to pull any sexist shit with me (yes, even at 7, I knew my rights). Somewhere around fourth grade, after we'd had a confrontation where he pointedly reminded me that I was a girl, and that if I swung a bat too hard, I would pop one of my boobs (yeah, you read that right), and I'd swung that bat at his head and hopped the fence back home, our relationship changed. It was like we couldn't look at each other anymore, his face always red, my cheeks always burning... it didn't make sense at the time. Somehow, we ended up "talking" to each other, rushing outside to stand awkwardly in the grass, sitting close on the pavement, leaning over the fence. And then, one day, he told me he'd left something for me in the tree in my front yard. So I climbed it...and found one of those fake diamond paper weight things. It had to have been a decoration or something, but I couldn't get past the fact that he'd given me a "diamond".... It's a sweet memory for me, especially as nothing ever came of the "relationship". But he was the first boy I ever looked at with "potential", and I will never forget T.T.
In middle school, a friend of mine and I shared a boyfriend for about a week. He was like a junior version of Overton from that show "Living Single" - he was even bald! But he was adorable, easy going, and wonderful to talk to, so because he didn't want to choose between us, we all decided to be in a relationship. It was weird - I'm smiling as I'm writing this because, in mature terms, this has all the makings of a Penthouse Letter - but in truth, it was all very innocent. And I know it made P.T.'s year to be able to walk down the hall with, not one, but two smiling girls on his arm - at least for a week...
The night of my high school prom could have been a disaster - it had all the makings of one. If not for E.S., one of the loveliest people I know, it would have been. I went to her house literally at the eleventh hour, with a broken dress, falling hair, no idea how to put on makeup, and tears rolling down my eyes from a fight with my mother. I was 17, pregnant, and desperately afraid that the whole night would be lost. But she wouldn't let me sink the night. She plucked my eyebrows, had her mom fix my dress, stuffed me into a corset, re-did my hair, gave me a makeover, and just showered me with so much love that by the time my date arrived, I literally felt like Cinderella...and that night was absolutely magical...
For my 26th birthday I decided that I wanted to actually DO something, as opposed to a half-hearted birthday drink, store-bought cake, and maybe a movie of my choice. So I took a dry-erase marker and wrote down 26 things I wanted to do on my birthday. My goal was to try my best to get them all done, but my partner in crime D.R. jumped on the bandwagon ready to go. With his help, not only did we get all of them accomplished, but we ended up having a wonderful time in the process. From the spa to the mall to the movies to a nature hike, it was the best birthday I ever had.
Writing these things out serves two purposes. One, it makes me remember that my life has had sparkle, so it makes sense that it will continue to do so and, two, it will serve as a concrete reminder for me on those dark days I have. It will make me laugh and reminisce and remember even more moments...
And maybe it will inspire you to create your own memory book :).
Shanti Bengali!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
The Right Choice
Last week, probably Thursday, I had an idea for a blog. It was something that has bounced around my head for years, as for a very long time I made it my mission - to make someone happy, to make their days joyful, to let them know every second that they were loved unconditionally by another person. It was a humongous undertaking, being 100% responsible for anothers happiness - and requires giving up completely on your own.
For a long time I thought that was what made a relationship last - making your partner happy, making sure that they lacked nothing. I ruined my credit, nearly dropped out of school, took jobs that left me unfulfilled and unhappy, overlooked a multitude of sins, all in my quest to be "the best wife" possible.
I have since learned that I should have been trying to be my own best self - for myself.
It's hard being on my own, with no one to care for. Thirteen years of self-denial is a lot to get over. I meet new people, smile, and immediately wonder if I'm "coming on too strong". I can accept that I am one of those people who needs to care for others, but what I can no longer accept is that, when I look at my list of who is important, I'm not number one. That much selfishness I think is necessary...
So, my blog idea was when you're young you think happiness is a gift. You can be blessed with it or someone can give it to you. But when you get older you realize the truth: happiness is a choice. It must be consciously made every day until it becomes second-nature. Like breathing.
And there I can see where my problem was. I was constantly giving what I thought would bring my partner happiness, not realizing that it was impossible. I made concessions that still hurt my heart to think of. No person should ever treat themselves thus, and here I stand before you, guilty as hell.
When I was in middle school, I would "hide" in the room I shared with my siblings, listening to music, drowning in it. A line, a solo, a repeated refrain would touch the inner parts of my heart, where I held my secrets, my worries, my hopes and dreams. One song that I still love to this day was by P.M. Dawn. The line that has haunted me: "What's the easiest way to hurt a man? Give him all he's ever wanted". Because that's what I did, or at least that's what I tried to do. Imagine doing that for ten years...then imagine trying to be that person, doing those things, with a broken heart.
I'm glad I am learning my lesson now, and yes the present tense is on purpose. I have my days where I just don't have it in me to make that choice for myself. Sometimes I look at my alarm clock and launch that sucker right into the wall. Sometimes I walk my apartment in a blanket, too low to even look to see if the sun is shining...
And sometimes I have a miracle day. Where every person I talk to, every experience I have, every plan I start, seems like a blessing. The sun feels like the comforting hand of the divine. My phone rings and every single time it is someone I love on the other hand, reaffirming me, building me up.
Those miracle days are gonna be more frequent for me. As much as I can, for every day that I am blessed with, I am going to make the choice to be happy, and know without any doubt that it is the right one.
Love Yourself.
-Asha
For a long time I thought that was what made a relationship last - making your partner happy, making sure that they lacked nothing. I ruined my credit, nearly dropped out of school, took jobs that left me unfulfilled and unhappy, overlooked a multitude of sins, all in my quest to be "the best wife" possible.
I have since learned that I should have been trying to be my own best self - for myself.
It's hard being on my own, with no one to care for. Thirteen years of self-denial is a lot to get over. I meet new people, smile, and immediately wonder if I'm "coming on too strong". I can accept that I am one of those people who needs to care for others, but what I can no longer accept is that, when I look at my list of who is important, I'm not number one. That much selfishness I think is necessary...
So, my blog idea was when you're young you think happiness is a gift. You can be blessed with it or someone can give it to you. But when you get older you realize the truth: happiness is a choice. It must be consciously made every day until it becomes second-nature. Like breathing.
And there I can see where my problem was. I was constantly giving what I thought would bring my partner happiness, not realizing that it was impossible. I made concessions that still hurt my heart to think of. No person should ever treat themselves thus, and here I stand before you, guilty as hell.
When I was in middle school, I would "hide" in the room I shared with my siblings, listening to music, drowning in it. A line, a solo, a repeated refrain would touch the inner parts of my heart, where I held my secrets, my worries, my hopes and dreams. One song that I still love to this day was by P.M. Dawn. The line that has haunted me: "What's the easiest way to hurt a man? Give him all he's ever wanted". Because that's what I did, or at least that's what I tried to do. Imagine doing that for ten years...then imagine trying to be that person, doing those things, with a broken heart.
I'm glad I am learning my lesson now, and yes the present tense is on purpose. I have my days where I just don't have it in me to make that choice for myself. Sometimes I look at my alarm clock and launch that sucker right into the wall. Sometimes I walk my apartment in a blanket, too low to even look to see if the sun is shining...
And sometimes I have a miracle day. Where every person I talk to, every experience I have, every plan I start, seems like a blessing. The sun feels like the comforting hand of the divine. My phone rings and every single time it is someone I love on the other hand, reaffirming me, building me up.
Those miracle days are gonna be more frequent for me. As much as I can, for every day that I am blessed with, I am going to make the choice to be happy, and know without any doubt that it is the right one.
Love Yourself.
-Asha
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