The Heart on the Pavement/ 2am

The year is coming to a close and I must say 2011 was chock full of life lessons. Most of which incorporated some form of my ass getting kicked. Read back, remember conversations we've had, remind yourself. "Oh yes, I remember! This happened...and then that other...and...well shit. You need a hug girl."

I was walking to the bus stop this morning after a nightmare of sorts. It wasn't scary "per se". More like a recap of what could happen if I allowed it to.

So I pretty much woke up patting myself, making sure all my parts were still attached, and then breathing a sigh of relief. Holy shit balls. None of that can happen.

So I walked down the street, eyes to the ground, mind on my dreams, and I nearly stepped on a heart on the sidewalk. I thought perhaps it was something I could pick up, and I definitely didn't want to kick it - that would be taking the metaphor too far...but I couldn't. It had fused into the cement and I couldn't get it free...ha. Okay. Got it.

Had a conversation yesterday with an older friend of mine. He tends to know a lot about everything - having lived a good 20 years longer than me. He told me that I need to straighten my shit out. "And for God's sake - stop just throwing your heart out there! You're giving me a headache!" I laughed...and then I went home and cried a bit. Fucker was right. Dammit.

I do want to love and be loved. I don't want to settle for less than I deserve. I deserve a hell of a lot. To be loved in the light, not the dark, not by those too scared of my intensity to love the all of me.

And yes there's a lot of me...and if you make it that far, far enough to see into this heart of mine you will be in for a surprise. My heart is like the lotus - an infinite amount of petals unfolding and unfurling and opening up to better.

I don't think I've met that person yet. I do tend to go with the "safe". The ones who will never reach that point. The ones too tied up in outside things to get too deep with me...

But I have to wonder what I'm waiting for. Given my track record, what I want for myself, I'm a bit behind.

I don't know what form love is coming for me in. I don't really care about the "form".

On my Countdown to Thirty bucket list - a grand love affair is towards the top of my list. And not this weak shit that has been coming my way...and not the kind that flashes hot and beautiful and then disappears, apologizing all the way. I want to feel all of that - every second of it.

In love? I am magnificent. In love - I believe wholeheartedly in everything. In love... I sing in the shower with an open heart.

So let's pry it up off the pavement. Let's stop walking over it.

Let's get this love-party going.

Yours,
-Asha

Who am I to say...

It's a different thing to have your heart-broken by someone whose heart seems to be breaking along with you. There is fear - but then there was fear before, wasn't there? I remember looking over at you and thinking "okay Universe...wtf. Seriously wtf." It was like, by taking that leap with you, somehow, thru love, all my negativity got unblocked...along with all my bad luck...and finally all my bad dreams just poof disappeared.

That probably scared me more than anything. I felt this new me just burst forth out of my chest and I - wet, struggling for breath, suddenly thrust into this new-born, too bright world, could only stare about in bewilderment and cry...and cry...with fists balled up.

You will probably haunt me for the rest of my days.

I already see you in dreams, in crowds, in my everywhere.

And wow. Wow. Even today, even knowing the whys and wherefores, it may sound crazy but I am so damn GRATEFUL to have met you and have known you and have loved you - and still love you - even for the little time we had. Because that means that my constant heart can, occasionally, come out from its self-imposed exile. That I do remember how to love and I don't need anyone to teach me.

Falling for you was the most natural thing in the world. I loved you like breathing. I love you like breath.

I won't spend time defending my feelings to well-meaning people who refuse to understand.

I understand.

Your fear. Your need to protect - because I feel the same.

Which is why, when you asked me to, I opened my hands and let you go. I won't pretend there isn't hope in my heart for your return.

I just will not allow my love, the burden of it, to become just that. Something weighty, something too much for fragile shoulders and wounded souls...why would I do such a thing?

Compass. Not anchor. And lighthouse and safe harbor.

For you.

Always.

Rumi said it best. I will tattoo it on my heart and never forget:

The minute I heard my first love story,
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere,
they're in each other all along.

Be blessed, and remember.

-Asha


(song by Hope)

The Wondrous

Life is a funny thing, especially when I stop to take a look at mine. You get the opportunity to look at mistakes, stumblings, etc.,and to give yourself a good long talking to. Like "girl what the hell were you doing with your life? Seriously???"

I have to laugh at the way things work out sometimes...and then I have to begrudgingly acknowledge that those friends of mine who tell me to be patient, that things will get better, are always right. Dammit. Lol.

For the past month, I've been engaged in some kind of crazy love affair. Big L, not the little kind. If it was the little kind, I don't think it would haunt me as much as it does. Crazier still because I waver between waiting for it to burn out as quickly as it flamed on, and wondering if maybe, just maybe, this is what I've been waiting for my entire life.

I've loved before. I've been in love before. But never before have I felt an equality in feelings returned. Sometimes I find myself sitting around like "damn. This is dangerous." Because my heart, while afraid, seems to be moving forward anyway, ready or not.

It's a wonderful thing. To feel yourself filled to the top, nearly overflowing with feeling. And I am. I see it in my face when I look in the mirror, and I feel it in my hands when I pick up my paintbrushes...there is only one person I long to paint. Obsessed with my muse, I could fill a myriad canvasses with their beautiful parts, in an attempt to capture forever what I feel...

Hmm. Aren't I waxing poetic today. Ah well.

I've had almost my entire lover list contact me within the last two months...in fact, save one, every single entry has made contact. And I've taken a look at them all, a realistic look, and found them wanting...

How can you even begin to look backwards when everything you ever thought you could want, desired to have, is right in your face?

It's a beautiful thing. It's a private thing. It's a "shout it from the rooftops" thing. I find that I don't give a fuck who thinks what about it...

And how crazy is that? How wonderful is that? How blessed am I to find that my constant heart is not frozen away like I thought? So that, even if this newness does burn down and out, I will feel so grateful to have felt it at all...

Perhaps it really is better to have loved even knowing that, in the end, it may become lost.

For today, I choose to love - wholeheartedly.

Be blessed beautiful people.

Yours,
-Asha

Lovesong - from two years ago that I never had the balls to post.

There is someone on my mind...who I find is never quite far from it. Makes me a bit foolish, as keeping each other at arm's length for what has become a strong year, had become the only way we can be friends...

Face-to-face. It's stronger than lightning. Stronger than lust. Stronger than anything I've ever felt.

I pushed that feeling deep down inside out of respect for both our situations...though mine was never defined and his is for private reasons that don't belong on this blog...

But there was one time... I was vulnerable, hurting, and more than willing. He could have taken advantage.

He's one of the few men I know who hasn't, not ever.

I know how we feel about each other. On that night, over a year ago, we grew some balls and said that shit out loud. Easier to do when you know something cannot come from the truth. But it was out there, in the universe...

The day we met - there was energy between us, bouncing between us. I was mostly oblivious, as I tend towards the extremely monogamous. He told me later he couldn't stop looking at me, my smile, my neck, the curve of my back, the way I tripped a little in my shoes. The second time - I looked back, felt the answering gaze burst through me. We stared. He rightly told me I was Trouble with a capital T. I returned "Likewise, sir." I moved as far away as possible from all that man sitting next to me. He started to sweat in 50 degree weather.

The third time...it changed. Both extremely aware but unsure. We revealed the truths of our situations and why it wouldn't work. I hugged him goodbye and lingered too long. Tall and short but still matched. I didn't know what to think. I needed to stay away...

I couldn't stay away.

I could lie and say the conversations we had were innocent. I was in the midst of having revealed a love not reciprocated. You could save that was the reason I kept responding. It was flattering and amazing to be the object of such interest. We wanted to know everything. We shared feelings, dreams, regrets, secret wishes. We crossed the virtual line and I waited for the guilt.

It didn't come. I was well aware that my relationship status was "none". At least according to my friends, those who cared enough to listen to my story, then shook their heads at me. "Girl, why the hell are you giving girlfriend privileges to someone who doesn't want to be your boyfriend?" After deliberation I had to agree. I told him that my current lover had to come first - because of our situations, that lover was my only real option for the relationship I was sure I wanted. He agreed to my terms...but I realize now he never put out a similar caveat.

And on a Saturday afternoon I went to meet him at his office. I brought cookies. I was nervous and felt like I didn't know who or what was in my skin, walking around with my face. She was different, warmer...maybe truer. I walked in and his face split into the biggest smile aimed my way I'd seen in a long while. Reminded me of a time when I was 20 and walking in the sun with a male friend, who looked down at me, into my eyes, temporarily thunderstruck. He'd just said "wow...your eyes...wow..." and there was this tense, charged moment where a line could have been crossed...and then he just smiled at me. Like I was a damn birthday gift.

He looked at me like that. And my life changed.

Even now, recently, we reminisce about that day. The one that changed me, moved me forward, showed me that a man can move beyond the temptation of woman to the essence of her. My lover and I never got there - his issues, not mine. But I found myself in front of a man I was completely unafraid of, that I trusted completely...

He has never broken that. Never wavered. Never made a promise he couldn't keep. Comforted me but never coddled me. I was never on a pedestal, never a conquest, never someone to be mistreated and forgotten.

There was one time - I was so damn stressed out I think my hair was literally standing on end. I didn't call my lover. I called him - friend of mine. He made me laugh, made me chill the fuck out, made me break open the bottle of wine in my fridge, run a bath, and think of all kinds of wonderful "what-ifs". I could feel his smile, his caring, through the phone. Almost as good as a hug. Plus, hugs between us were dangerous.

Under such a situation, is it any wonder I began to develop feelings?

Having tea together. Talking late into the night. Having him come see my art. Playing video games, watching movies...writing stories for each other.

But every time, there was a barrier. And every day, my feelings grew a bit. Until the day his situation became a bit more permanent...

I didn't even try to deny that I hadn't imagined an eleventh hour alternate outcome. With him showing up at my door in the rain. And staying. For always. Without realizing it, we'd begun pulling closer to each other, so that if something exciting or funny or sad happened, we called each other first. My art took on a different tone. Hell, my life took on a different tone. We pulled closer, but I'd never felt stronger, more sure, more independent, more capable, in my life.

Purposefully pulling apart...had a physical effect on both of us. I tried to not see him, but when circumstances made it impossible not to, we were cordial in manner while our eyes devoured each other.

I tried to start fresh. I moved. I got a job. I reached out a friendly hand to my lover, then more, because I did love him. Despite his lack of attention, despite his acting like I was no one in front of people. Despite the awkward feeling I had that, while I was denying myself, he was not. The weekend I moved into my new place is when it all came to a head.

The night before was my lover's art opening. I was a bit stronger, excited, determined to show him that my love was not only still there, but so was I. My girl helped me dress, did my hair. I picked out his favorite colors to wear. I got there just in time, an expectant air in my step. Plus - his mother was going to be there and I was going to meet her. There was no one else in my mind...so when I walked in and not only did he shake my hand as if I were an acquaintance, I saw his arm around someone else. It hit me in the gut. Later that night, after I left, mortified by it all, I asked why he hadn't acknowledged me. He said "what should I have said? 'Hey, this is my friend who I fuck sometimes?' "

Told me more than enough. I'd joined a dating site on the advice of another girl. I needed the help so I took one of the guys I'd met there up on the offer to help me move some things. I told him it wasn't a date - extremely platonic - and he agreed, especially since it seemed my lover was once again letting me down... We agreed to meet early, paint the living room, go load up our cars with my stuff, bring it back, have lunch, maybe paint the kitchen. He came there on time. We painted one wall and were exhausted. Walked to the clubhouse to get sodas making friendly conversation...

Came back to look at our handiwork, listen to music. I began to think that, while there were zero romantic sparks, I had made a new friend. Then he put his lemonade down, reached over, grabbed me by the neck, and tried to force himself on me. He was stronger and my struggling got me a slap to the face, a knee to the side. I told myself that if I was going to make it through this, I needed to act like it was all a big joke. He got up to go to the bathroom, to "get ready" and I looked at the door and realized my legs wouldn't work. My phone did. I called everyone I could think of. Friend from Miami answered. I whispered to her to stay on the phone, to not hang up. I whispered my address, and when the bathroom door opened, I smiled, held up a "one sec" finger, and began to have a pretend conversation. I stood up as he stood over me. I pretended to close the phone. And told him, in as calm a voice as I could, that I needed to cut our day short. I moved to the door and opened it. He looked at me in disbelief and picked up his stuff. I stood outside the door and willed my body to not shake, not yet, to just get through. I locked the door after him, got in my car, and drove him out of the complex...I drove straight to my friend. He took a look at me and stood up. I couldn't run to him how I wanted...so I just kind of collapsed, shaking, crying, trying not to scream. He held me. Even with rage pumping off of him, he stayed calm, comforted me, let me cry.

Later I looked at the bruises I had, on my neck, scratches on my arms, purple marks on my thighs. I didn't sleep in my new apartment that night.

After that - things were different. I felt guilt - for running to him, for being so quick to discount my lover. I spent a week afterwards by myself. The following Sunday I went to see my lover. We talked, we cried, and we connected. He told me he loved me and I let myself breathe...and late that night when we had some unexpected company, in the form of that same woman he'd had his arm around, I broke apart.

My friend...he called me. Like he knew I was broken. I asked him if he'd felt a "disturbance in the Force". He asked to come see me. I told him yes.

That night changed everything. I showed him every one of my scars, inside and outside. He showed me his own...and we just stopped fucking lying to ourselves.

I've made this story too long. Probably because there's a lot I wanted to say out loud.

We call each other. Send texts, messages, emails. His situation has almost run its course, and mine is non-existent. We are solid friends - not the wishy-washy kind. We care for each other... love each other. I don't know what the future holds, if anything. But every time I hear this song - the title song - I think of him.

Friend of mine. Maybe we won't have to wait for next lifetime. The Fate you believe in seems to have other plans for us...

Thank you for today.

-Asha


(Song as sung by Adele)

The Bride

I had the wonderful and amazing pleasure of seeing my oldest friend get married today. I laughed, I cried, I danced the Hora, I met the cutest couple ever (next to the bride and groom), and I got drunk off my ass.

As I haven't engaged in ANY kind of fun in a fairly long time, I would have to say this was fairly well overdue.

I was worried about going alone - and had resorted to begging people to accompany me. One by one, for one reason or another, they each cancelled. I pulled on my reserves of understanding and told myself that my fear of being alone at a wedding was not a good reason to be upset with them. People have lives. Things happen. Build a bridge and get over it.

Glad I did. Because I had never seen a "perfect bride" before. I'd seen the drunken bride, the angry bride, the nervous bride, the bridezilla, the bride who couldn't stop crying, the bored bride, even the blushing bride (and I'm pretty sure I've watched at least half of "The Princess Bride").

But not the perfect bride.

Not until Saturday.

I remember walking into the venue - a country club called "The Ibis" and thinking "oh God. She's going to do it. Oh God." It was beautiful. People were smiling. I was sweating damn bullets.

Because I knew that if there was ANY inclination my kindred was unhappy, or being rushed into something she didn't want, or any fucking negative thing, I was going to object - LOUDLY.

It was sweet the way the ceremony started off fumble-y. I smiled as I watched the groom and his merry men walk to the front. I let it slip a little as the bridesmaids walked by. I kept a close eye on the ring-bearer for any shenanigans...

And then I saw her. And my heart just split wide open. And, to make sure, I checked out the groom's reaction - and he looked like he was witnessing a miracle and someone needed to pinch him.

That sealed it for him. And for me. In my heart of hearts I said "welcome to the family" to him. And then I watched her walk up the aisle.

They say that pregnant women have a glow. I've seen it on rare occasions. Mostly they look irritated, bloated, uncomfortable, and occasionally hungry. Which puts me in "soothe, feed, and tell them they're beautiful" mode. But I have NEVER seen a bride practically float down the aisle, beaming beauty and love and overall wonderfulness. She glowed in perfect bliss. I cursed myself for not having stuck tissues in my bra.

So - the thing that I was most happy for on that day? Lauren. Because even 18 years into a friendship punctuated by years of distance and school and life experiences we didn't get a chance to share together, when I heard her squeal my name and rush over to me, all I could think was "thank you God, happy endings do exist..."

And resolved then and there to get me one of those.

Love you.

-Asha

Black Horse and a Cherry Tree

The beauty of today came from an unexpected place at an unexpected time.

Last night I had nine very separate dreams. I tend to pay attention, as I sometimes have dreams that lead to very crazy deja vu experiences. The fact that I had nine told me that: I have way too much in my mind; there is a message - or a bunch of messages my subconscious is trying to make sure I get; and that I might need to invest in some sleeping pills. Lol. For anyone who knows about my epic dreams, they can take place over days and years, are quite active, and I can wake up exhausted.

Which I definitely was when I awoke. And cranky. And wishing I had a hangover to blame it on.

It didn't get better when I got to work. In fact, my stress might have been amplified by the situation I found myself in. Being confronted with the reality that what I hoped would eventually lead to a permanent, full time position was, in actuality, a very situation I was hinging myself upon.

I got depressed. Not uncommon for me, but it definitely wasn't the mood I wanted to be in. I got home, fielded some phone calls, made some ramen noodles and looked very sadly at my dog Cupcake. "Shit," I told her, "guess I won't be able to find that 'thing' for the blog today."

So I booted up my computer, opened my hotmail, and found the thing :).

Starting next month, I will be writing (and getting paid for writing) a blog and column for a magazine. Me. A writer. Finally. Holy crap.

Under a pen name of course - and if you want the blog and/or name of the magazine you will have to email me and prove you are over 18...lol.

I am so very excited. Wish me luck lovelies!

Yours,

-Asha

Three Times a Lady

In an effort to continue learning about myself and applying what I learn in my every day, I've taken to writing down observations and reflecting on them when I have the time...

Something that I've learned: in playing the role of a "lady" I have, at times, allowed myself to be run right over. Fuck. Lol.

There are times when you have to move yourself right out of the "lady" box, into the "grown-ass woman" box. And heaven help anyone that made you rise up and secure yourself there.

I am more comfortable with the role now than I was when younger. I chalk that up to age and experience. And the fact that I surround myself with "grown-ass women" on a daily basis. Ladies are nice, but sometimes you need to get real (thinking suddenly of Dave Chappelle's "When Keeping it Real Goes Wrong"), and it helps to have a group of just as real women around you to back you up with some "Yeah girl"s and some "He ain't shit"s.

Raise your hand if you know what I'm talking about ;).

So, on this day, I want to send a shout out to those women. You know who you are. You hold me up , occasionally, hold me back (before I take my earrings off), and hold it down when I'm going to pieces for one reason or another.

I absolutely adore you. You are better than the "lady". You're three times that. <3

Bless up!

-Asha

2 Legit 2 Quit

First - after you stop giggling at today's title - let me just say that there is method in my mad randomness...

I wanted to try each day and find something wonderful about every day this month, as a way to remind myself that life, even when shitty, is worth living. It was hard today. Got knocked back a bit by a new adventure. Tried to start a new one - with horrible results...

But I did have fun today.

Today I remembered that there are things I am good at. Doesn't seem like a big and shiny thing, but when you pair that with my life the past three months (downs, bigger downs, and holy shit - you're still alive and kicking???), remembering positive things about yourself serves two functions.

You remember that, despite the fact you can't seem to catch a break - you're a smart cookie. You can think on your feet. You can put people at ease and pull others out of their shells. And people react to your smile. Use that. Not everyone has that. So be grateful you do. Also - it gives you a bit of your power back. When you move between begging for help and holding onto your pride, you start feeling that you have no control of your life. You feel helpless, powerless...but you aren't. And the only person who can remind you of that and make you believe it - is you.

Today I am grateful to be still standing. Smoldering, dirty, definitely beat up and bloody - but still fucking standing...

In a zombie apocalypse movie, that would pretty much make me the hero, wouldn't it?

<3

-Asha

One and Only

This is my favorite month of the year. So, in celebration of it, I will write a mini-blog everyday, diary style, to remind myself of the beauty in my life, the bullets I've dodged, the arrows that have touched my heart, the memories I've made and will make, the beautiful people - old and new - in my life, and as a way to get back to me. Too many of my posts have been about others and my attempts to love and be loved by them.

Well, it's about time I remember why I should be number one in my life - after God of course. Because I am damn lovable - regardless of what I've been told.

This morning I met someone wonderful. A quick text followed by many, many more, solidified that I had met an awesome person. Sometimes it pays to try something old in a new way. And somewhere, along the way, I began to feel pretty wonderful myself - about myself.

Am I perfect? Hardly. Am I scared - a little. Am I worth this pushing out into the universe to finally find out what I could accomplish by letting people see beyond the outside stuff.

So here's to me.

<3

-Asha

Song by Adele

Fantasy

I'm smiling today. Partly because this song takes me back to elementary school, when my secret dream was to be "a STAR". Like a Rachel Berry kind of star - but not nearly as over-confident. We would have events at my school that would showcase the talents of the student body...and I was determined to be the star, though I never fully verbalized it.

Did I contemplate a little sabotage? Hell yes I did. I wanted the spotlight. I didn't want to share it. I sometimes think I still do - believe a bit in my potential for fame and the reveal that - holy crap - I'm kind of talented :).

Usually my musings end with meeting up with one or another of my famous, still eligible crushes, who then whisks me away so that we can adopt random kids from around the world and count our money. In a castle. But don't worry - I've made sure my close friends and family each have a castle of their own.

I'm not ashamed to admit to daydreaming like an eight year-old.

After the darkness of the past week, I had a conversation with a great friend of mine, whose opinion and advice I respect enough to almost always take. He has gone from a fairly respectable career that left no time for his creativity to grow (being a late bloomer like myself), to a forgettable one that has allowed for him to follow all creative avenues. It is definitely showing in his work. He's by no means rich, or financially comfortable really, but you can feel the difference in his spirit. So when I told him about the one fear/fantasy I still had, after having conquered my fear of painting, he said "Girl, what the fuck are you waiting for?"

Indeed. What am I waiting for?

I woke up this morning and wrote a song. A whole song. I was shocked I could do it. Shocked that it came as easily as it did. Shocked that it was pretty good. Reminded me of that night I picked up a paintbrush for the first time in almost 20 years.

This feels good. Familiar but different. More mature. Exciting.

Not sure you'll see me on X-Factor (I hate those shows), but I am going to actively pursue my music.

Slowly but surely putting the pieces of me back together. Maybe its that every time I shatter, I find something I thought was missing, add it on, building myself surer and stronger every day.

The journey...is turning out to be pretty badass. <3

Love ya'll.

-Asha

(Sung by Mariah Carey)

Fooled Ya Baby

When something ends, unexpectedly, you always have two choices: cry yourself a river, build a bridge, and then get the fuck over it, or settle into a cycle of despair with no way out.

It doesn't matter about the lies, the promises, how you let yourself be used and mistreated. You don't get a medal for being the good girl, supportive, willing, caring. You don't get a do-over when these things happen. The best you can do is try to learn something...

So here's what I learned.

There is no such thing as loving a man who refuses to acknowledge you in public. Who makes you feel like you are less than, who will not hold you when your life is falling apart, who has a convenient wall he likes to use to keep you at arm's length. You cannot fully love a man who refuses to man the fuck up. Who hides behind faith instead of inspiring it in you, who cannot apologize, who participates in the darkness with you but then holds up his hands at the consequences, preferring to sweep them, and your feelings, under the rug.

A man who lies about things. Like where he says he is to his friends when he is looking at you over the phone. When the text he accidentally sent to you is the lie he is giving family about his vacation - that is really a trip to see you. You dress up, go out, support him, and he refuses to acknowledge he knows you as more than an acquaintance.

Love does not hide in the dark.

So while I allowed myself to be fooled - and at the same time fooled myself - I think back on my efforts to forgive. I don't forget, but I did try to forgive. I know that something in my heart died when he asked me to lie for him, because it would save his livelihood, his status...

She told me later he'd lied about that.

I wonder if I have "Love Fool" stamped on my forehead.

When he let loose on me on Monday - it was like someone else had overtaken his body. The words were cold and careless, ripping the biggest insecurity I have from my heart and slapping me in the face with it. This is why, and this, and look in the mirror - who could love this? Plus - how fucked up is your life? You're always sad, you always need support, you always need someone to have your back... Fuck that I have my own life to live and I'm not going to have your bad shit messing mine up.

Every word like a boot to the kidney. I kept thinking "is this love? This can't be love."

Today...today I don't know. There is a big bloody hole in me. I am not okay. Since Monday I've been on this risky search for some semblance of love...or even like. Not smart - but I was hurting and should therefore be given a pass.

How is it that, twice in my life, of the men I've loved enough to let in, to give up my constant heart to, twice I've been shocked and badly burned by them?

Ever feel like this?

Struggling with putting one foot in front of the other. Maybe tomorrow it will be easier.

Breathing.

-Asha

Gone Til November

Last night I dreamt that I was walking in a cemetery, very upset, at night, and I was trying my best not to walk over anyone’s grave in the dark… It was the same one I’d walked through the day before in real life. My mind at that time had been on the two babies who would never have a tombstone, one of which would never have a grave site to visit. It made me sad as I walked past little graves for children that didn’t live past eight months as I imagined how I would feel in that situation. I’ve been living in my own mindspace for a while, extremely aware of how lonely a life I live, how much I’ve felt that my “me time” is wasted. I could be using that time to fall in love. I’ve been there before – I feel like being there again wouldn’t take much out of me. There are many behaviors I would gladly trade for the experience of growing, raising, and loving a child. Yes, I’ve been having a fun and interesting time…but its empty. Like working at a job while you try to find a career, or paying rent while saving for a house. It requires a lot of time and energy, but you end with a negative return.

So, in my dream, I’m walking through this graveyard, once again upset with the empty life I’ve allowed and created for myself…when I hear a baby cry. First thought is “uh oh. Ghost Baby.” I’m aware that I’m dreaming, so I’m wondering if this is going to be a zombie dream or a vampire-slayer dream. I know I can’t be hurt, safe in my dreamspace, so I walk towards the sound…and nearly stumble over a beautiful baby girl. It’s dark so I can only tell that she’s alive, so real I can smell her skin, and absolutely beautiful. I feel like I’m strangling on every emotion I have… like my heart just exploded. My hands are trembling but I pick her up anyway.

She’s mine. I don’t know how I know, I don’t care that I’m dreaming. She belongs to me and we both know it. It’s cold and she’s in a blanket that has leaves from the ground tangled in it. I take her up, blanket and all, put her to my chest and zip up my jacket around her. She’s not crying anymore. More making snuffling, settling noises. I want to cry, I want to run away with her and raise her as my own. I start walking, faster, towards my car, before someone comes to take her away from me. No one comes. No one stops me. I leave my clothes behind, my luggage…everything. I just drive. I stop to feed her, get some diapers, but I don’t think about caring for myself. That quick – she’s all there is.

The dream was a long one. I took her home to meet my family. I don’t know if I made it clear I wouldn’t answer any questions about her…because they didn’t ask. My mom took her from my arms and held her close, made no comment of how she didn’t quite look like me. She smiled at my dad who asked her name. I said her name was November. She looked me in the eye as if she was saying “yes, that’s my name.”

This dream of mine seemed to go on for years…five years. And during that time I found myself frustrated, anxious, exhausted, exhilarated, and more happy and in love than I’ve ever been in my life. Through that love for my daughter, I found more to add to my life, opened up to someone I wouldn’t have beforehand, gave my little November a brother (Angel), settled in with a man who supported every creative, crazy part of me, and could not believe that this was what my life had become…

Then I woke up. And it was like a burning knife in my stomach No husband, no Angel. No November.

So today…today I’ve got my mind on making those things happen. There are tiny flecks of potential for it all over. But it will require letting go of past and current fear. Of those people in my life who aid it – due to their own past and current fear. Opening up – all the way up – to what could be…and will be…if I let it.

It made me wonder if this…all of this…is the reason. The dream. November. If this is what I have to look forward to after years of hurt, misunderstandings, learning as much as possible about all sides of myself, daring to dream and do and see and feel… Someone else might think that having a child, a family, a happy life, wouldn’t be enough, that more – something like fame and fortune – would almost be enough…

But they aren’t me. If I can spend my life baking cookies and writing novels and painting inappropriate pictures and making lunch for my children and holding onto my husband’s hand while we walk the dogs at night, stealing kisses and discussing a third child…. I would have my dream life.

Now for action.

With love,

Asha

Bruised..but not Broken

Okay - didn't mean to scare anybody with that last post.

You know that dark space we all have in our hearts, in our heads, that we usually don't show to anybody? Well, in the midst of my dark space, I had a "you know what? fuck it" moment. I can't be the only person to have taken a trip to the dark side, and I know that most of us won't talk about it, because its too much, too heavy to tell your friends...you feel ashamed of having felt it at all... so you say nothing, you let it happen, and, if you're lucky, you never feel that way again. Or, if you're like me and prone to a bit of depression, you press on, build yourself up, hope you won't break with the next breakdown...

People don't talk about clinical depression the way they should. Like you should be locked away...

So here's some talking, a little explanation of the dark and light of me. Because when you are doing an honest closeup of yourself, you should be vulnerable, because there's no getting out of exposing both the bad and the good.

I used to have to be silent a lot. Because reactions - any kind of reactions - were met with punishment or ridicule. I learned to be so silent I was still. The only time I let my emotions out were when I was singing, or dreaming. I tried very, very hard to be a very, very good child...but when I was about 12, I realized that all of my silence was causing me to stress out. Act out. I was very unhappy and one day, after having been left at a school, I walked home in the rain measuring my life. At twelve, I was weighing the pros and cons of continuing on...or not.

That was the first time I realized that there was something wrong, something sad, in my head, in my heart, that would make me question my value, my worth.

I started paying better attention to my moods, my triggers. I didn't grow up in a family that believed in doctors, and there was too much other stuff going on so that they were scared of therapy. I needed an outlet, I needed to talk, or distract myself, and after so many years of being silent - that was hard. I found someone who I believed would listen - and he did. And slowly...very slowly...I stopped being silent. And the talking...having someone listen...it loosened me up. My heart stopped feeling so small, started filling up, started to consume everyone around me. I didn't feel sad all of the time, and I wanted everyone around me to not be sad either...

I didn't realize that kind of thinking was dangerous...because I started basing my happiness on just that, on whether the people around me were happy. Otherwise...I started to droop. And after the death of my son, I entered the darkest period I'd had in years.

I won't talk about what went on...what I put my partner through, how he fought with me - for me - when I was trying to shut out the world. I looked at him one day, saw his sadness, stepped back and said "whoa...ok..."

Walking into the student health center - where they had counselors and such...I was so scared I was shaking. I think I tried three separate times to go in the doors before I actually succeeded in making an appointment. At my second session my counselor diagnosed me. She put me on medication...and I alternated between hyper and hollow for two months. But I had trouble opening myself up, saying the words I was saying in my head to a perfect stranger...and by the end of the third month, I stopped going.

Not the best thing to do. It got too hard, I got too uncomfortable. It was literally my spilling my guts out one day, canceling my appointments the next. And that became one of my habits. Run. Quit. Activate Plan B. Do what you need to do to move forward...focus on your partner.

I focused so hard I didn't see. You've read the blogs before this, you know what happened. No need to rehash it. The stress affected me physically, became my proverbial boulder I rolled up the hill every day. And in the end - I imploded with all of it. Things happened very quickly after more years of silence...

I shut down. Like all the way down. I didn't leave my house. I didn't change my clothes. I got up to pee and feed my dog...and the days blurred together. I didn't open the windows or turn on the light... It got to the point that my ex called the leasing office to have someone go knock on my door.

I didn't answer it. But I did get out of bed. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked at my dog. And I said "okay. This is a problem."

This time, I knew that I needed to get it out - all of it - no matter how much it was going to hurt, no matter how afraid I was. When I met my counselor, my friend, I knew she was going to help me get it out. We worked together, twice a week, for four months. She called me. Gave me all her numbers. And I used them. Together we worked on the three parts of me - the little unresolved girl, the abandoned wife, and the woman at odds with herself and the world. She didn't just listen - she gave me tools, assignments, let me cry it all out. She gave me a hug every time, let it be okay that I didn't have all or any of the answers, backed me up and didn't let me sink in my funk, called "bullshit" on me when I needed it, gave me the push when I needed to be spontaneous. She helped me let go, gave me the permission to hold on, and when she thought I was ready - she pushed me out into the world.

She reads my blog - anonymously, but every once in a while I get a text from her. On days like this - when I blog like this - I get the virtual hug. Which makes me smile. Doing this was one of her challenges...to shine the lights into every corner of myself, to learn that, even low, down in the dark, there is nothing to be ashamed of.

Even the parts of you that aren't picture-perfect, that aren't glamorous, that you'd rather hide from the world - they deserve to be outed, so that you aren't afraid, so that you aren't ashamed, so that you aren't sitting at home alone with it...scared that if people find out, they won't love you any longer.

My current road? Bumpy as hell...and I don't see an end for it anytime soon. My life is all twisted up and, honestly, I haven't been taking care of myself, feeding my soul, shoring up for when the rough becomes the impossible. That's my mistake. I'll work on correcting that tomorrow, maybe even Tuesday. This stress - it's like a physical ache, like having a boxing match with myself. I hurt all over and I don't want to fight anymore...

But I will. I feel broken but I'm not broken. And when I wake up in the morning I still won't want to fight...but then I fight not because I want to. I fight because I don't know how not to.

Still here.

-A.

Asha

I have days when I remember that I used to be better than this...heading on my way towards awesome. Which may sound narcissistic, but hey, it was an honest feeling.

After months of being in the very darkest of depressions, I was finally seeing the light in myself, in the place I lived, in the people I surrounded myself with. Job situation sucked horribly, but at least I had days, hours, moments, where I could feel the light...

But now it's dark.

There are a lot of things you don't think of when you're unemployed, in an unhappy place, floundering under an ever approaching deadline. Simple things people who are not in the same situation take for granted. Like having food. Feeding your dog. Being able to wash your clothes, your sheets, having a bed to sleep in...things to occupy your brain when you're lonely. Even very simple things feel impossible - and well-meaning friends feel distant, their words callous and unfeeling. Why tell me that "everyone is going through money problems" and, as evidence, tell me a story of how you won't be able to fly first class to your Mexican getaway this year because of "the economy"? Really? Dude, I am mentally jacking you for your wallet so I can feed my dog for a few days. Maybe put some gas in my increasingly illegal car. Maybe pay my phone bill so I don't get so lonely I start feeling suicidal...

Real shit. Don't bring me the fake shit.

I had someone (a "friend") offer up the idea of selling my last commodity to pay my bills. I thought about it. I'm both ashamed and not ashamed to admit that I thought about it, weighed the options, mentally calculated how long I would have to "sell" in order to bring some order to my life...then I got very depressed that, given the woman I was, the light I once had, that I would have to entertain THAT as a viable option...

I guess I'm trying to explain that rock bottom seems to go deeper than I ever thought possible.

You'd think I'd racked up years of torment, of bad karma, for everything from baby-kicking to living off puppy burgers. Okay, yuck, that was a gross image.

Still.

Everyday I think about the girl I used to be. Even in pictures, videos, old blog posts, I see a woman incredibly different from the woman I cringe at in the mirror. Everyday I wonder how much longer I can go on like this - "living" but not.

My proudest scholastic accomplishment? My 4.0? Tonight I feel like saying "Fuck that - worry about whether you're going to be able to eat today or tomorrow or the next day."

Somehow...somehow my life has reached a point, such a low point, that yesterday, as I waded in the ocean, I thought "you know what would be great right now? A man-eating shark."

This. This right here. It's my own personal version of what Job would have felt. It's beyond the bottom. There is an alternative - a nasty, horrible, soul-killing alternative - and every day it looks more attractive. It's not "hard" or "rough". It doesn't "suck". Telling me you are "praying for me", that "everyone goes through this" when I know FOR A DAMN FACT YOU HAVE NEVER GONE THROUGH THIS, or to "keep my head up"....Fuck you.

Dammit. Do you see how "not me" I am?

I would give everything I don't have (because, truly, there isn't anything left) to have someone pull me in and hold me close in silence for a while. To let me breathe in the good, the hope, to share a little bit of light with me. Everyday I think about you - the girl I used to be - and I wonder if I made you up.

I don't think I can be Asha anymore. Readers, ever Google the name for its meaning? "The golden, blazing, water with the ability to determine truth." The light that - even in the darkness - is able to detect and determine what is real, what isn't...

I started this blog in an effort to peel the layers back from myself, to the very essence of me, and to be unafraid of, to fully claim, all that I find there.

I didn't expect my external journey to so greatly inhibit this internal one...

But maybe...maybe to fully understand the light, you must embrace the dark. The yang of yourself. I am encountering things...things I did not know about myself, things I thought I would never do, never contemplate doing or having to do, in the name of that spark, that quick glimpse of my happy self I saw, I felt....and it feels...so damn wrong. Like the world is wrong and I don't know how to fix it so that I can move forward.

For a time, I let myself imagine a better life, and I lived in that false image. Nothing was real. The hurts didn't hurt - the fire didn't burn. So - very suddenly - I was thrust into the real world, forced to face the love that wasn't, the faith that may have been the first thing I gave up on, the reality of being alone in this. No one is holding my hand, watching my back, bandaging the scrapes, scars...bruises. The everyday pain is overwhelmed by what it takes to wake up every day, to try, to plan and re-plan, to fail, go to sleep, knowing that you will be faced with it all again the next day...

I know how I sound. I know what I feel. I don't know...if tomorrow will be the day I give in. If tomorrow will be the day when I finally "curse God and die", losing myself completely...

I don't want to lose but I don't know if I'm still fighting or just going through the motions and slowly giving in.

Give me strength.

A.

The Tree

There's a heart carved into his tree. It's been there since I was 16. I don't remember if we carved it or added to it. I just know that, on days like this, I feel like it's a metaphor for my own heart. I used to be able to stand on the roots of the tree and touch it...and in my mind it was a warm, beating, beautiful thing...

I know that I fell in love under that tree.

It's why we decided to bury our son's ashes under it - the heart where we fell in love, that would be there every year as a symbol to watch over him. Illegal - yes. But if you were hard-hearted enough to tell two broken-hearted teenagers they couldn't bury their son under a tree in a public park, you don't deserve to read the rest of this...

We were married under that tree.

It was silly - the weather was horrible, the ceremony having come down with an extreme case of Murphy's Law. A reluctant bride and a jittery groom. Family that refused to show, family that wished it hadn't...and family that believed that, somehow, the two kids who loved each other - really loved each other - would finally, in marriage, catch a cosmic break.

It would be funny, thinking of the actual outcome...but its not.

We made promises under that tree. To care for each other - always. To watch out for each other - always. To never forget. And then there were the secret promises. The ones I made in my heart, to my son, for his dad. The ones that, to this day, I have never broken. And then there's the one I had to...

Maybe that's the problem...and maybe that's why, on days like today, my heart feels broken all over again. I made a promise in tears, kneeling in the dirt, hands dirty from the digging, from patting the earth around the flower we added. We were so poor, and so broken, and we didn't know how to look at each other anymore. I'd made a new promise - to the man who would become my husband - at the height of my grief...as a way to apologize for what I felt (and sometimes still feel) was my failure. Women do it every day, some by accident...and for some reason my body failed me, and our child did not survive the night.

I remember they put me in the room, next to all the other mothers who'd given birth. They rolled me past the nursery so I could see all of the healthy babies, and put me in a room so I could hear them cry at night, as tears rolled down my face, and I hurt more than I've ever hurt in my life. We curled up on that hospital bed, alone in our grief, trying to be grown-ups, trying to understand how saying "everything happens for a reason" and "you're young - you'll have lots of babies" would make anything better.

The indignity afterwards. Of having to prove his paternity. Of being given a bag, with his clothes, a lock of his hair, the smell of him...the beauty of him. Of waiting months for the bag of his ashes. Of holding what was left of our love-child and not knowing how to move forward, how to do the things you should do when faced with a loved one's remains...

And knowing that you don't get over this. You never get over this. When you tell the why and people either jump into a similar story or tell you "oh! It's not that bad...imagine if..."

That doesn't help. Silence doesn't help. Awkwardness doesn't help. Simply imagine yourself in our shoes, look at your children and imagine if they weren't there, if all you had were their ashes...feel that. Then come at me about it. Because that, at least, will be honest...

I imagine that I left my heart in that tree. It's carved into it - forever, watching over my son. It is every part of innocence I still had about the world. The light. The good. It's why, when I think about having children today, there is a panic in my chest, a dizziness in my head... Eleven years and I am still scared to death.

I needed to write that out. To write it all out. The fear, the shame, the love, the hurt. Because for years I kept silent, for years I had someone next to me who felt it with me...but I no longer have that. Last year I allowed myself to be alone in it. Today - I push it out into the universe, consequences be damned.

I loved my son. Adrian Tai Rodriguez. Every inch of him. I love my son. Every day of my life. Every time I see a woman swollen with child, or touch a child, or hold a loved one close... I remember him. The love that made him. The love that carries his memory with me always. Hurt fades. Love...that love...is forever.

Happy birthday.

Miss Independent

You learn things after you marinate on them for a while.

For me, it was taking a look at the life I have and mentally rearranging it into the life I want. Realizing that I do have a lot to work with...and some of the questions I have, I already know the answers to.

So what's the hold up?

Me, mainly. I tend to get in my own way a lot, tripping over my own feet, telling myself I know the solution before I'm told what the real problem is...making issues when there isn't any.

When my marriage ended almost two years ago, I found myself thrown back into the 18-year old version of myself. Unsure, unknowing, afraid, desperately wanting to not fail...but there was no plan. During my marriage, I never sat down and made a plan for what I would do if it ended - I had convinced myself it wouldn't, no matter the misgivings I'd had originally.

I hadn't wanted to be married but then, suddenly, I was, so I set out to be the best wife I could be...without stopping to make sure I was also the best version of myself I could be.

It's a pattern of behavior I continue...although I am hoping this awareness I have from today will help me stop that.

I realized today that the top three spots in my life are filled. I've finally made the top two...God is, and shall always be, number One in my book.

So what now? What shall I do with this new outlook? What vision did I put together today?

I want to be independent. Successful. Fulfill my need to be creative, to be a healer, to travel, to learn. I want a home of my own, decorated the way I want, with light and room for art and cooking and a hearth for my dog to lay on.

I want a car to drive that I've paid off myself. Money saved and money to spend on pretty shoes I buy because I feel fabulous and I want them. I want to get dolled up on the regular, nails and hair, pedicures and massages...because I want to, not for a man, a lover, or anyone else.

I want to indulge...and decline....as I see fit.

I want to go to yoga four times a week.

I understand that this ideal life of mine may not come to complete fruition until the next decade of my life is through. I know that every day I can get a little closer to it.

I know that its okay if I don't know exactly what I want to be when I grow up. Maybe I would like to be a little bit of everything. Pick and choose and change and grow...

And in the process, be free to love the man I want to love, exactly as I wish to.

Fuck the haters. The people who smile in my face and whisper curses under their breath. The ones who do a happy dance whenever my posts get desperate or dark because it means that I am unhappy...and who the hell am I to get to be happy when you are so unhappy with your own lot in life?

My dreams are big - because I am not afraid to dream that way. I may go hungry for a bit. I may have to sleep in my car. But I am still capable of changing the situation my life is in. I think I'm going to continue working on that.

Positive thoughts all...that's where my mind is tonight.

<3 Asha

Ordinary People

This one is hard. Necessary...but difficult to write all the same.

I've had a lot of people come into my life - for varying reasons - and each one was important. Not all of them fit in comfortably, or showed up at what I would consider the "best" time. But then, that is how people work...

That is how love works.

I love someone I never expected to love. Not in the way that I do. It's confusing, and scary, and sometimes it hurts so much I feel I can't breathe. We've already discussed the fact that his feelings don't mirror mine. The thing is, my feelings don't require him to.

We've spent almost 12 days together, breathing the same air, eating, sleeping, trying to be the most loving people in what is the worst situation I've ever found myself in. It is not one I wanted to drag anyone into with me, much less the man I love...but maybe that's a mistake. In any relationship, you will have that moment where you can't seem to find yourself. You look in all the mirrors, stare at your hands, into your eyes, and you don't recognize the person there... I've had mornings where I had to tell myself to keep breathing dammit. This thing had a beginning...it will end somewhere if you just hold on.

I've been having trouble holding on...to whatever there is of me in here.

And when I promised not to have expectations, I ended up having a fairly important one. I needed someone to love me - all of me - without the judgment of what I currently am today. Twenty pounds heavier. Sad a lot. Lonely. Unemployed and damn near destitute. All of which are potentially temporary situations...and even when I can't seem to convince myself of that truth, I fight on, hold onto myself, I keep breathing...

I needed someone to love me at my absolute worst while I am fighting desperately for survival.

Perhaps that was an expectation I should not have placed on a person, a man. Perhaps the truth is that only God can do that for me.

So be it.

I did the thing I shouldn't have. I let myself look over in the dark and not feel alone. I let myself think about what small thing I could do to put a smile on his face, even if for a little while. When I couldn't resurrect my passion, I threw myself wholeheartedly into the support of his...and somehow, somehow I believe I still failed.

I don't know if I will ever see him again after this. He is still here, at least for a little while longer, and I have no words to say, no miracles to pull out to put a smile back on his face, gladness back into his heart. He's already told me that he feels this trip - to see me - that it was a mistake, a miscalculation...I wish I could make that a lie.

I wish I could be the girl I was six months ago - but better. More secure. More stable. More in control of the path her life is taking, better able to enjoy the life she has.

It is hard writing this. But whatever happens after today, it is important that I don't forget...I am different. I have changed. I fight to not let this city consume any light I may have left. I refuse to let my current "situation" affect or erase my love. Situations change.

My heart is ever constant.

Yours,
Asha


--song by John Legend--

I Am Not My Hair

For those of you who were around January 2010, I came back from a trip to Miami with a whole lot on my mind...and just as much on my head.

I was tired. Of conforming. Of attempting to grow this long mane of straight hair that my then-husband had convinced me would make me beautiful. Of not feeling quite right in myself.

So I went to Queen, my brand new hair-dresser, and told her I wanted to chop the shit off.

We started slow, as anytime she brought scissors near my head I began to hyperventilate. What the sweet fuck was I doing? Amber-Rose I was not. We threw some color in, styled it up, but still, as I walked out of the salon I was very aware of a lightness in my head that had nothing to do with my feeling that I was going to pass out.

Washing my hair in the shower was an interesting surprise... Short hair washes quick - dries quicker. But I couldn't figure out what the heck I wanted to do with it...and I had the sinking suspicion that, with the loss of my hair, I had turned into a boy.

Being honest here - laugh if you've been there.

I joined a group of women who had dedicated themselves to living with their natural hair, fro'd, free, and fabulous. I wanted to be one of them. I imagined myself with a curly mane that waved in the wind, sending out Foxy Cleopatra vibes. Every month my hair grew more...but not nearly as much as I expected. Feeling down, I scheduled an out-of-salon sit-down with Queen.

It went something like this:

Me: My hair isn't growing!!! I look like a boy! (Sobs uncontrollably into her wine)
Queen: Girl please. Just let that shit grow. Stop putting shit in it and let it breathe. (She nods her own freedom fro to the music, taunting me with it's fierceness)
Me: (a bit hypnotized by the hair bobbing on her head) Erm...yeah...no more shit...free...Can I touch your hair?

That sold me. I had decided to grow my hair straight out of my head, however God intended for it to be, because I knew that, thru my dedication, I would be rewarded with the 'fro of my dreams.

We did different things to get me to leave my hair alone - as I was a bit addicted to pulling it back into a frumpy, unattractive ponytail. Braids, regular styling visits...and settled on "the weave".

Now let me tell you - for years I had been against "the weave". I remembered being in middle school, watching girls be teased for "dat horse-hair in her head". I'd decided then and there that I never wanted to be one of those girls. But here I was, walking into the til then unknown "hair store" buying packs of what I was assured was 100% Human Hair. I felt like a cheat, a sell out...and, after three hours of braiding, sewing, styling, I felt...beautiful.

WTF.

It was a strange reaction. But I looked into my mirror at my curly brown hair and felt like a different girl. Feminine. Sexy. Powerful. I laughed at myself in the mirror, smiled with my eyes, thought of the naughtiest thing I'd ever experienced, and took a picture.

I was very into experimenting after that. Every time I allowed Queen to transform me through my hair, I took on a different persona and rocked it with all I had. And every time we cut the hair, undid the braids, and combed out hair that was rapidly turning a brownish-red, I ran to the bathroom to tell the girl in the mirror "wait...you'll be ready soon...just wait".

Like anything, however, too much isn't good for you. The same goes for "the weave". I had never truly understood what it meant to be addicted to wearing a weave until I didn't. The psychological change was immediate. I felt ugly. Less than. Like an Ugly Betty.

And therein lies the problem.

I took my last weave out a few weeks ago. Decided I was going to rock the natural hair I had finally grown to a desirable length. I washed it, combed it out, let it dry...and watched my 'fro go flat. Curly, yes, 100% natural -absolutely...but foxy and fabulous?

No.

Damn.

One more dream dashed to dust. And I didn't feel pretty at all.

Two nights ago I had a mini hair panic attack. I couldn't do it anymore, I couldn't look at the bird's nest on my head and pretend it was okay.

So what did I do?

Fell off the wagon. Like ALL the way off that shit. I drove to the Sally's down the street, bought a relaxer and some hair dye, went home and processed the shit out of my natural hair...

And then I burst into tears.

I find that this is something a lot of women, especially Black women, go through, this love-hate relationship with their hair. I seriously contemplated cutting all of it off, starting fresh. I still might as, when I look at my processed, black hair, I do not feel pretty - I feel fake.

But my hair is not all there is to me. So I will let it be for now. And maybe, maybe I can learn to reclaim that feeling of feminine beauty, fierce sexuality, funky artistic classiness in spite of what my hair looks like.

Love ya'll,
-Asha

What it Feels Like for a Girl

I know that sometimes I go on about having all these layers to my personality (like an onion), but underneath all of them, I'm just a girl...

Bit damaged, bit wary, bit uncertain of herself...but still.

I have my days where you might have to be fluent in mind-reading to understand what the hell has me upset.

Today will not be one of those days.

One of the biggest things you can do is let me down. I may forgive, I may be able to move on, but I won't forget - not ever. That's probably a bad thing - but its an honest statement.

Last night I couldn't sleep, no matter what I tried. There was something my mind was trying to tell me about today that I was refusing to accept completely... I even had a "stop lying and just feel it" moment with myself. At around 6:30, as the sun was coming up outside my window, I just gave up and cried. Apparently I needed to - just to be prepared for what I would awake to nearly two hours later.

I don't understand why its easy to be this way with me. Dismissive, distracted...perhaps disinterested? I don't know. I know that a big part of the appeal of a person to me is their ability to keep their word - even in the little things...especially in the little things.

I trust you when you tell me you will do something...so when you don't, I lose a bit of that.

And there is no excuse for treating a person this way - especially someone who is your friend.

I know that there are people recently out of my life who to this day speak lies about me, putting darkness into my motives... Here's what they don't want you to know: there isn't any. No darkness at all. I don't go around playing games and pulling puppet strings. If I feel a thing I either say it or let it show on my face, usually both. There is no hidden agenda here.

Things done in the dark are always brought into the light anyway so what's the point.

The danger to walking around as I am is that it makes me a target. Not a victim - just a target. And it makes my life rougher than it should be.

And then there are the other things...

Like that, at certain times, listening to certain songs, you might see tears rolling down my face...

Like the fact that I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night very aware that I'm by myself in my bed...

Like the singing my heart out I do in the shower, wishing I had the courage to be heard in real life.

Like the fact that my heart is so fragile it could break at any moment, so, every day, I put a layer of steel around it...and everyday that layer melts through so that, at moments like these, I am open and vulnerable and more than sad.

Like knowing that, no matter what harm you do to it, somehow I will find a way to blame myself.

I may not leave my bed today. I have sleep to catch up on, dreams to hide in. I have to remind myself that tomorrow is coming, and that I can either meet it or be beaten to a pulp by it - but it will come nonetheless...

All weekend I wished it would rain.

And now, inside this room of mine, it is.

-Asha

(song by Madonna)

Sweet Caroline

Do you feel caged?

Like you are standing on the precipice of something

hugely terrifying...

and that I am going to push you off?

Do you feel scared?

When you think of the hours, days, weeks

of nothing but each other

worried that it will mean too much...

Do you understand who I am?

Compass, not anchor.

No games, no bullshit.

Wouldn't know where to begin,

but I know what I want.

It would just be nice to

hold you for a while

smile into your eyes

laugh together

sleep together

love together...for a little while.

I'm selfish in this - because I miss the strength

I get from looking at you

looking at me.

The comfort that comes from...

time spent wrestling on round red pillows.

And the smiles that come after.

Did you think I forgot?

Late nights discussing and arguing over

what makes a man a "super man"?

Or makes a woman beautiful?

Or how much wine can you really consume before you completely

forget how great a night was?

There is more than one reason I love the rain.

And plenty more that help me appreciate

the sunshine.

I don't bite...unless you're into that ;).

-See you soon.

Asha

Mariposa

Lately I've been questioning a lot of things...specifically where my fire went.

Passion seems hard to come by when you are faced with the reality of homelessness, hunger, becoming a dual-degreed professional who works at McDonalds...

I have my pride still. Barely, but it's there - lingering on as desperately as it can.

I'm not sure that my situation has caused my change...but I am feeling more or less forgotten.

It's this feeling that keeps me in bed way beyond normal, setting small tasks for myself and unable to finish any of them. I find myself embarrassed by the state of my life, the state of myself.

I looked in the mirror yesterday and could find nothing to love in it.

This lack of self-love is probably transferring over into a feeling of unlovableness... Not only am I having trouble loving it, but I cannot imagine anyone else loving it. So there is more than a lonely feeling.

I went to the first school I ever taught at, not sure what I was looking for, maybe a spark of my former self to incite warmer feelings...instead I found what felt like a snapshot of people who have not grown much, moved much, changed much...and they wanted me back, and it felt comfortable enough to try...

But what is comfortable is not always what is best.

Case in point, when speaking to my former husband the other day, I kept waiting for any shadow of former feelings to appear...but they didn't, not at all. The love has changed, waned, become smaller somehow so that my heart doesn't even register it anymore. Yes I still get a twinge knowing that, someday soon, he will remarry, have kids, live a life that I am no longer a part of...but its just a twinge now, not the full-blown Chuck Norris kick to the face it used to be.

Thing is, sometimes this emptiness feels like waiting... Like I am made of flammable material and I'm waiting for my match. All I want is to be set ablaze, lighting up the night sky, undeniable in my presence.

Waiting is hard.

Especially when I feel like I am waiting for myself, for whatever next incarnation of me that is on the way...

Writing this I had a thought...not fully realized but it's there in my head anyway.

I have been meeting and reconnecting with people I either loved or love immediately. There is no waiting period... And I feel like, in doing so, I am assembling an army of sorts, to help me through what may be the biggest period of evolution my life will see. Getting down to the very basic, bare bones of myself may be leading to that potential I see...I dream about it, about having everything I want and everything I didn't know I wanted...

For years I thought I just wanted to belong, to have a family, love in my life, a passion that fulfills...maybe I want that on a grander scale.

It's strange to have people use such compliments for me. I find it both humbling and satisfying. And its amazing that, when I have a life idea for myself, the people around me say "sounds perfect - could totally see you doing that :) "...

I find myself unafraid of doing the odd thing...of putting myself out there to try the new.

I am a little afraid of what the end result of this change will be. Will it be too big? Will it be quiet but important? Will it look like what the release of all this stored up love looks like?

Will I be me at the end of it all?

I wonder.

-Asha

Turn off all the Lights

My status currently says "and just like that, the lights went out. So what can we accomplish alone in the dark?"

It feels different - probably because its bigger. This darkness that is more than just the feel of the room...it inches up my thighs and wraps around my body, sliding down my throat and radiating out of my pores.

What is it?

I ask myself the questions I don't speak out loud, the ones I'm too scared to ask. My heart - I can't even tell you about my heart right now. There is confusion. There is an "I told you so". There is an acceptance of my own intuition. Fuck. I wish I was wrong...maybe I can still be wrong.

The night before last I felt like everything was tangled up, like too many electrical cables on the floor. And then I spoke to him and it was like "who gives a hell about tangles? This is above the tangles. This is going to endure as you fight your way out of the tangles..."

Is it?

When you are riding the very low, kind of looking around going "and how in the hell did all this happen?", you get emotional. Or at the very least I do. In years past that was enough to send me scrambling under the covers - figuratively and literally - for days. And it would take a lot, a helluva lot, for me to come out. Those were the days when not only was I alone in the dark, but I was chained to the floor, cold, shaking, and out of my flippin' mind.

It's depression. The bad kind. And yes I know there isn't a "good" kind.

How do you love someone who can't seem to see the light at all? Can't find it with two hands and a map?

Truth?

Dark as I've ever been, as I've ever let anyone see...there's been worse. Only person ever saw it, and he got out, not because of the dark, but for other, selfish reasons.

I see light every damn day. Maybe you don't believe me. Maybe I don't give a fuck. I see it dammit. Don't put me in the "poor, fucked up me" box. If I needed to be there I'd put myself there.

Imagine this conversation: "Beautiful day isn't it?" "Yeah...how are you?" "I'm alright, did some things today, they were pretty positive...so I'm keeping my head up.""But...how are you feeling about [Insert fucked up situation here]?" "Well..."

You go on to explain because, hey, they asked, and what happens? Somebody tells you to take a pill, look on the bright side of things, not be so negative, or that they will pray for you.

Um.

Ok.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but if you ask to hear about the bad, and then are told about it, how do you then come to the grand generalization that said person is negative, full of bad juju or whatever? Why can't you just commend them on following directions well?

Also, how do you break people of always asking to hear the bad news first...and then never following up with a request for the good news? Or shit, switch it up once in a while...or assume that there is no new bad news. (Might work, try it.)

Sometimes I'm not the one turning the lights off on myself. If I have a look on my face that looks pained, don't assume something apocalyptic has occurred - I might have just stubbed my toe or wrenched my foot. If my voice sounds low and subdued...maybe I'm just mellow.

Misery loves damn company. But my periods of misery are a lot shorter than you think, and probably no longer than your own. I understand my role in all of this. I've got these shoulders for a reason. If I have to sell off everything I have and give my dog away to go on a mission somewhere, I'm going to do it. If all my earthly belongings go up in smoke - I'll deal with it.

And if, at the end of it all, you decide that all that I am - not the summary of my bad-luck and questionable choices, but the good too, the kookiness, the spastic, nerdy parts, the heart, that amazingly resilient heart, the woman who isn't content to do anything half-way - if all of that is too much for you to handle... I'll be okay. Not right away...maybe not for a very long time. But I will...and I will still and always love you.

Fuck the lights. Who needs them?

-Asha

(song by Rihanna)

1 + 1

Let's cut the bullshit.

You know who you are to me
but then,
there's no way you know
who you are to me.

So I'm going to tell you.

You are the keymaker.
You unlock things I didn't know
were hidden away
in the dark where I couldn't see.

You are the spotlight.
You illuminate the parts that make me
ashamed.
You help me see they're beautiful.

You are the canvas.
You give me the strength to make
bold changes, swift strokes.
You aren't afraid I'll use too much black.

You are the audience.
You laugh at my jokes and
smile when I'm doing nothing but growing
changing, right in front of you.

You are the catalyst.
The first person I thought of when
I decided to change, to dare.
You made me want to dream big.

So here we are - so very far away - but so close to my heart I feel I could reach out and touch you if I tried just a little harder.

It's strange, but important.
It's scary, but it's whole and full of possibilities.
It's love but its more than that, so much more than that.

And I don't think anybody knows how big that is...but me...and you.

And, for now, that's enough.

(Keep holding my heart love - it trusts you with it.)


Yours,
-Asha

(song by Beyonce)