Monthly Archives: November 2011

Season of giving –

I don’t have much to give you.

So I promise you my attention, my love, my friendship, my compassion, my help, my best.
But everything that’s “mine” is imperfect and perhaps not nearly up to par with what you deserve.

I’m giving you my heart, and that’s all I’ve got.

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Among the clouds.

Fog invades the bay –
The world is suddenly covered in a cloud,
The world becomes so small, known, and cold.

My fingers are numb,
The cold stings my face,
Little droplets of mist tickle my nose.

Fog, a cold breeze, a bright sun –
It’s winter in California.
What I would do if I could spend it with you and your warm laughter.


Don’t go.

I’m fairly certain you will leave.

My brain has convinced me that I don’t have what it takes to make you stay.

It has made me believe that one day, you’ll wake up and realize that I am not worth it: not worth your time, your effort, your love.
You’ll walk away, you won’t look back, you’ll find happiness.

I don’t know why I am certain of this.
You have done absolutely nothing to make me believe the things that my brain has made me believe.
You have been so kind, understanding, and patient.

That’s why I keep saying, “I’m scared.”
It irritates you, every single time.
And for good reason.

But I am scared.
I am scared that I will lose you.

I’m sorry for being insecure and doubtful.
I can’t help it, I really can’t.
If you only knew what goes on in my head before I go to sleep…
I’m just scared.
I pray that you stay.


This afternoon, I am inspired by this quote:

I learned to live many years ago. Something really, really bad happened to me, something that changed my life in ways that, if I had my druthers, it would never have been changed at all. And what I learned from it is what, today, seems to be the hardest lesson of all: I learned to love the journey, not the destination. I learned that it is not a dress rehearsal, and that today is the only guarantee you get. I learned to look at all the good in the world and try to give some of it back because I believed in it, completely and utterly. And I tried to do that, in part, by telling others what I had learned. By telling them this: Consider the lilies of the field. Look at the fuzz on a baby’s ear. Read in the backyard with the sun on your face. Learn to be happy. And think of life as a terminal illness, because if you do, you will live it with joy and passion as it ought to be lived.

– Anna Quinlan


Being Thankful for the Good, the Bad, and Everything in Between.

I am thankful.

My life thus far has not been perfect, but it has been beautiful.

I have been hurt by those dearest to me, I have been lied to by those whom I trusted with my life, I have been betrayed by those who swore to be there for me even if the world came crashing down.
I have been hurt.

I lost my hero to cancer, I lost a cousin to bad choices,
I lost a piece of my heart when they left this earth.
I have lost.

I believed that my best was not good enough, I have felt like an absolute failure, I have failed, I broke a heart, I made choices I later regretted.
I have cried.

But through the hurt, the loss, the tears I was given strength, wisdom, and a second chance (sometimes a third, a fourth, and so on…)
I learned that the fabric of trust is something that can be stitched together- and sometimes, the stitching  holds it together better than before it was torn.
But stitching it up – that’s work, patience, forgiveness, and humility.
I learned to value and love people when they are present, because people’s presence is more temporary than we want to believe.
I have learned to believe in myself, because God believes in me. He made me the way I am for a purpose, and my constant self-criticism was actually dishonoring Him.
I learned to be honest with myself and others – I learned to acknowledge my flaws, and battle them with prayer, support, and a positive attitude.

I am thankful – that God teaches me valuable life lessons through difficult situations.
He opens my eyes to the world as it is, rather than to the world I perceive it to be in my sheltered, every day life.
I am thankful, because I have been blessed beyond measure – with everything I could possibly need and so much more.
I have been blessed with a beautiful family and friends, who support me always – financially, spiritually, and mentally, whether I need the support or not.
I am grateful to a God who gives me wisdom when I ask for it and even when I don’t, who guides me in times of struggle, who offers me comfort in times of despair, who loves me – always.

By no means am I suggesting that I am always this grateful. I sometimes scream into my pillow out of frustration. I go on long runs when I am confused. I yell when I am angry. I say hurtful things to those who love me so very much when I am disappointed.
But all of this wears out my body and my soul – it makes me lose sleep, my appetite, and my enthusiasm to live every day as if it were a gift from Heaven.
At the end of all of my reactions to my struggles, I am exhausted and helpless.
And through all of this, God keeps saying “I’m here, I’m always here, I promise you I’m taking care of it.”
I believe Him, but I want solutions now.
But the solutions I seek, I soon find out, don’t involve my problems.
They involve my attitude about my problems.

I am not beautiful inside and out. But I want to be.
I want to be the kind of person who can face life and all of its chaos with love, courage, and wisdom.
I want to be grateful every single second of every single day – for the good, the bad, and everything in between
Because I am blessed beyond measure – I am the daughter of the King.


Home is undefined.

In less than twelve hours, I will be on my way “home” for Thanksgiving.
Growing up, I was constantly looking forward to the day I was going to “grow up” and leave, and find myself a new city to call “home.”
But growing up does not happen in a day. We all know it’s a process: one we don’t realize we have completed until we’re so busy we can hardly breathe.
Growing up is something we look forward to as children, and once we realize that somewhere along the way we had actually already grown up, we wish to return to a child’s world of curiosity, endless time, and minimal responsibility.

So I grew up, like everybody else. I don’t know when it happened, but one day I realized that everything had become so serious, important, and time flew by fast.
I knew I had grown up.

I moved to a new city, I made new friends, I ate new food, I dressed a little different, my views had changed…
My life had changed.

I swore I would never actually want to go back “home” if it wasn’t for my lovely family and friends.
But, after a few months living away and on my own, I actually longed to go back “home” just to be there.

The winter holiday season only increases my longing for the place that I call “home.”
I miss traditions, the laughter of those whom I have known my entire life, and just being.
At home, there is no need to impress anyone, try new things, visit new places, or stress.
Home is where the heart is happy and at peace, even if  only for a little while.

So I am going “home” and am ecstatic.

But this idea of  “home” is so obscure.
Home used to be my parent’s house, wherever it was, where I went to sleep at night.
Home used to be the city I resided in for as long as I can remember.
But, being an immigrant, I was always surrounded by people who did not consider this town that I considered home to actually be home
(And in fact, they still don’t consider the city their home even after living within its borders for many, many years).
So I was lost.
I was born in a different city, on a different continent (although I didn’t reside there for very long). It’s considered my “hometown,” but when I visit this hometown, I feel disoriented, lost, uncomfortable, confused, and foreign.
But my passport claims that this foreign place is my hometown, and my family insists that it is in fact, my “home.”

To me: home is someplace familiar, inviting.
The town in which I went to school in, the town in which I learned to ride my bicycle and later, learned to drive a car.
This town was home to me, even though everyone insisted otherwise.

Now, living in a new city, I catch myself calling this place home.
But, when my heart is craving the company of family and friends – I reject even the slightest possibility that this is my home.

Home is so undefined.
When my heart aches for home, it’s always a different place that it longs for.

Home is not a permanent location.
Home is temporary.
Home is what we miss when we’re away.
But more importantly: home is who we miss when we’re away.

A house is made of walls and beams; a home is built with love and dreams. – Dr. William A Ward

And my confusion with what place to call home, leads me to believe the following words:
…This world is not my home I’m just passing through
My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue… 


Quite the Feminist.

I am quite the feminist.
No, I am not a “crazy,” I am just a firm believer in equality, opportunity, and justice.

I believe that although there has been progress on the rights front, it is not enough to change rules and laws and literature and political slogans.
I don’t think we’re supposed to attack religions that emphasize the role of a mother, wife, and woman.
I think we’re supposed to educate, because ultimately – lives depend more on our social values than on  those words written in books in libraries that nobody seems to go to anymore.

Just because progress has been made, does not mean that we are finished.
Yes, it’s been worse. However, it can be better. We can do better.
Instead of focusing on changing the rights of women all around the world – invading cultures, traditions, relgions, etc, maybe we should focus on changing the mindsets of the people within our own communities.

I am more repulsed by musical artists that make millions of dollars “singing” songs that degrade women, than I am by cultures that trample women’s rights.
Not because I think these women are unimportant, but because their culture can admit the unfairness, by making it transparent.
While we live in a society where women have rights, and privacy laws exist, etc. yet it’s okay for children to listen to these degrading songs.
Hypocrisy? I think so.

And we expect these young girls to value education and independence? We expect these young girls to run from abusive relationships and respect themselves, when every hit on the radio has told them otherwise?
And we expect these young boys to acknowledge the equality of both ability and mind among both genders?  We expect these boys to treat girls with respect?

Maybe I’m just another girl, offended by popular culture.
Maybe I’m just another woman, whose eyes don’t see and ears don’t hear the equality promised to all mankind.
Maybe I’m just another woman, who wants the world to change.
I pray that I’m a woman who is able to change something or help someone.

I’m just a dreamer, wishing for change.