You May Say I'm a Dreamer

Last Hope

I know..I blog less lately. It's not that I'm busy...it's just, I don't feel like blogging these days. I've lost my words. I've lost my mojo. Sometimes I feel like quitting this blog, and when I tell that to my friends, they say "hell no!". And I'm like, "just kidding!".

Well, when you feel like giving up, remember why you held on for so long in the first place, right? Fine, I won't quit. Dear bloggy, I'm sorry for having the thought of letting go of you. I don't know..maybe I just want to get away. Away from everything and everyone. But where would I go? I feel so miserable when I don't know what to do and where to go. I'm a misguided ghost, walking and running with no directions. I've been running but I'm still behind. 

I wish I can write different things, something happier. I wish I can tell some good stories again here. There's a lot of stories I want to share actually, the good and bad ones. I want to write them all. But not now. So much things going on..personal, family issue, friends, others' problems become mine, future thingy, etc... Maybe I worry too much.

By the way, dear Anne, if you read this, I want to thank you for your uplifting advice and suggestions the other day. And dear Arms, thanks for the virtual hug. And my close friends from the "High School Never Ends" group chat, you guys are awesome. Thanks so much for brighten up my days..

Let's keep calm and watch this video: Last Hope by Paramore, live in Chicago. This song means a lot to me. 

I don't even know myself at all

I thought I would be happy by now

The more I try to push it

I realize, gotta let go of control

Gotta let it happen, gotta let it happen

Gotta let it happen, so let it happen

It's just a spark

But it's enough to keep me going

And when it's dark out, no one's around

It keeps glowing

Every night I try my best to dream

Tomorrow makes it better

Then I wake up to the cold reality

And not a thing is changed

But it will happen, gotta let it happen

Gotta let it happen, gotta let it happen

It's just a spark

But it's enough to keep me going

And when it's dark out, no one's around

It keeps glowing

And the salt in my wounds isn't burning anymore than it used to

It's not that I don't feel the pain, it's just I'm not afraid of hurting anymore

And the blood in these veins isn't pumping any less than it ever has

And that's the hope I have, the only thing I know that's keeping me alive

ps: I'll write a better post next time. Till then. 

Truth Is..

To put yourself out there is hard. To share parts of your story, when you can't share the full, is hard. To juggle metaphor and meaning and to be vulnerable and say, this is where I'm at. I'm not always happy. Life's not always sweet. Sometimes it stings and slaps and feels like winter all the time. That's hard.

And then, to be judged by people who don't know your heart, to have assumptions made. To be offered pretty advice or "kind" suggestions. To be told you share too much, not enough, that you're rude, that you're melodramatic, and on and on. That makes my bones ache.

The thing is..knowing and believing are different things. And getting messages telling you to do or don't do, messages telling you who you are and who you aren't, they still hurt. I'm not going to pretend they don't. There's no power in that. Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me is a pretty thought, but sadly, not always true. Especially if you're going through something absolutely crappy. If you've had a rotten day. If your heart simply hurts.

No matter that people who love you get it.

No matter that your story, your pain, your joys, are personal to you.

No matter even that you know where you're at.

It still hurts.

And thankfully, truthfully, in the end, the messages don't matter. The words don't stick. But in the middle of places in your life that are raw, they're salt in the wound, lemon on a cut. They worsen the pain, even if the source doesn't stick around. I felt myself collapsing and crumbling. I love writing. I love sharing. I love creating and connecting and being a part of this place. But it had gotten to the point when doing so didn't feel safe for my heart anymore.

But then. You lovely, kind, dear people. I don't know how you did it, if you knew. I woke up to messages on my phone. Encouraging thoughts. I'm praying for you. Love and support. A group of beautiful people all walking through your own joys, your own pain, your own stories, taking a moment to stand up and say, I may not know where you're at, but I'm with you.

I was (I am) overwhelmed. I cried. I had chills.

Because in the process of sharing our stories, in choosing to be open and vulnerable, we create a safe place to say, you are not alone, I'm standing with you, there's hope. In not hiding our brokenness, we form a community built on honesty, authenticity, strength. We create a safe haven for people to gather and share real life and the painfully beautiful and beautifully painful moments that come. We form a place to celebrate the intricacies and nuances of our stories. We're brought together and stand together. And in the places we could find ourselves so very alone, we find ourselves with not one hand to hold, but many.

So, thank you, friends. Thank you for standing beside me even if the story is not all told. Thank you for praying, for loving, for encouraging. Thank you for sharing your stories courageously and truthfully. Thank you for spreading light and hope. Thank you for reminding why this is the way that it is. Thank you for being there even if we didn't meet.

All of it matters more than I can say. You matter more than I can say. I wish I could give you all an enormous hug, could look you in the eyes, could express how overwhelmed and grateful I am and how much you've blessed me. Thank you.

Seeds and Journeys

The feeling you get in your stomach before stepping into a new place. You have to keep with the flow. You don't want to be the one that misses the first stair..smacks right into the door. Every step before you is carefully calculated, dreaded. To you at least. Everyone else seems to have it mastered..the art of stepping in, stepping up. You don't. Before you even try your mind's filled with terrifying scenarios you're convinced are about to come true. If only you could take the damn staircase, skip it all, including this dumb metaphor.

The hot mess of a metaphor I just tried to convey is my attempt at expressing how it feels to be among peers that are getting real jobs, marrying their loves, creating babies. They seemingly took off their cap and gowns after graduation and stepped right into the next phase of their lives. I applaud that. I envy that. I definitely didn't do that.

Instead, I feel like I'm merely an older version of the person I was 9 months ago when I received my degree. Nothing else has changed. Well, I teach again. Now at my former high school. It's really nostalgic being here because..well, I studied here for 5 years. So many memories..sweet and bitter. And I'm missing my friends. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I'll be teaching again at different place in the future because it brings me more time to figure out what to do post-university. It brings me time, but it doesn't slow down anyone else's clocks.

Rather, I'm a million miles away, reading updates about others' first salary, how they got promoted to higher position in their company, how they got married, and how so-and-so. I'm trying to convince myself that it's okay to take a different route, a different staircase. But it's hard to keep myself convinced daily. So instead, I'm just trying to convince myself that it's okay to feel scared, anxious..eager even. Some days all that matters is that you feel anything at all.

Even if you feel like writing a terrible, terrible metaphor for a blog post.

Anyway, I'd like to share something. Somebody told me that..what we don't realize is that you can have a life-changing encounter, travel to a place that causes a shift in your heart, can meet someone who changes you..you can go, do, read, see, watch, something, anything, that makes it just a little harder to breathe. And you think, yes! Here I go, from now on, life will be different. But the thing is, that experience isn't full-grown, it's just the seed. It's the beginning, not the road itself. That's the map that you use as a road mark, not the trail you'll walk. 

And it's up to you to decide to continue or retreat into routine and wonder why things didn't change. Too often we go through something revolutionary, good or bad, and then slip back into the normalcy of our day to day lives instead of choosing to do the hard work and tend to that seed. Then we finally take a step back and start asking ourselves why our life doesn't line up with our vision. How could that moment, the experience that mattered so intensely, seem not to have changed anything at all? That's the thing. You can have as many seeds but until you plant them, until you continually water them, until you die to self, choose to go through the process of growing..it's going to be a seed. What matters is what you do with it.

Breathing

"Your true passion should feel like breathing. It's that natural." - Oprah

I loved watching The Oprah Winfrey Show and I almost never missed an episode. That seems to be at the center of what she stands for. Self-awareness, consciousness, knowledge of your spirit and your truth and your own physical presence. I think the important message is to question, recognize, and improve yourself. What I appreciate most about Oprah is how confidently she talks about personal passions. How wisely she speaks of that inner fire, the feeling of destiny, of things that make you feel most yourself. I've been asked why I write. And when I answer, I admit that I don't write to be read. I write for the sake of writing. For the process, the struggle, and the unique elation that comes during the sweet, split-second moment that inspiration strikes. Mostly, I write to know myself. To me, writing's about discovering the shape of my thoughts and then tracing and retracing that shape until it becomes something clear and crisp, something I can recognize, maybe even something I can understand. 

Honestly, some days the words don't come easily. Some days I find myself forcing them out, racking my brain or my journal..or, well, random internet prompts..for that magic spark of the idea. Other days, though, Oprah's right, it's really like breathing. Instinctive and spontaneous, habitual and liberating and subconscious. Those days, writing is a sign of life. But today, this is all I can write. I was going to write a recap of Syawal, to tell a story about the wonderful celebration of Hari Raya. Well...you know how good the pictures can tell the story. ;)

Raya with family:

Raya with friends:

Syawal has always been a great month because it's when all of the family members gather together and it's also when I can meet my friends. Sometimes I wish I could go back to those moments and freeze them. Family and friends are my passion. True passion feels like breathing. They're the sign of my life. :)