Saturday, December 19, 2015

Minimalist goals

 When I moved from one house to another
there were many things I had no room
for. What does one do? I rented a storage
space. And filled it. Years passed.
Occasionally I went there and looked in,
but nothing happened, not a single
twinge of the heart.
As I grew older the things I cared
about grew fewer, but were more
important. So one day I undid the lock
and called the trash man. He took
everything.
I felt like the little donkey when
his burden is finally lifted.  Things!
Burn them, burn them! Make a beautiful
fire! More room in your heart for love,
for the trees! For the birds who own
nothing–the reason they can fly. 
Mary Oliver, “Storage”, Felicity (2015)

Sunday, December 6, 2015

Out of the shadows

"Writing is drawing the essence of what we know out of the shadows."

-- Karl Ove KnausgÃ¥rd

And may I add, who we were and who we are, and perhaps one day, as well, who we might become.

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Imperfect

I had this thought tonight, of getting into my car and driving around for a while.

But I was afraid that instead of driving around, I'd drive away. And so I stayed. Right where I was.

Friday, October 30, 2015

Searching for you, like the stars

I am sad I never saved my archives of blogs stemming from years and years of looking for love in men I so desperately wanted to be the one. 

Pieces of me gone, eclipsed, lost, and the parts that remain mourn them frequently, in silence.


Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Revisiting old words

I've been trying to be more authentic and open with my thoughts and feelings on the new blog -- because to write is to be as honest as possible withoutcensoring your words for the world -- but it's scary. 

For one, I don't want people to think I'm asking for their pity or attention or co-misery. Because I'm not. 

Two, I have a hard time, still, being vulnerable. But the need for expression -- the need to let go and let it all out -- trumps my need for self-preservation. And so there I was. And here I am, also.

There will always be those who judge us by projecting their own assumptions on our true intentions. And to those people, I can't give a fuck about them. Often times, it's more of a reflection of who they are, and where their heart is at and has nothing -- absolutely fucking nothing -- to do with me. But that doesn't negate the fact that I have to remind myself of that lesson daily. All the time. Every time.

I have this odd feeling that it isn't a coincidence that my daughter is due this November, the same month as novel-writing month. It also can't be a coincidence that my supervisor told me about her good friend who just signed her debut novel due to be published next summer, all while she was working full-time, pregnant, raising a toddler.

There's been a book waiting inside of me -- waiting to be birthed into life -- for years going into more than a decade now. 

The outline has been sitting there, collecting e-dust in Google Docs.

The ideas -- bits and pieces -- have been rotting, not growing. 

The story -- still developing, not knowing how to start or where to go.

Every birthday, I pick a word. This year's was creation. 

It can't be a coincidence. 

Saturday, September 5, 2015

I used to.

"In college, I used to underline sentences that struck me, that made me look up from the page. They were not necessarily the same sentences the professors pointed out, which would turn up for further explication on an exam. I noted them for their clarity, their rhythm, their beauty and their enchantment. For surely it is a magical thing for a handful of words, artfully arranged, to stop time. To conjure a place, a person, a situation, in all its specificity and dimensions. To affect us and alter us, as profoundly as real people and things do."

-- In “My Life’s Sentences,” Jhumpa Lahiri

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

I've been thinking.

A lot, actually, about this dream in particular.

I was in the middle of a field; expansive, without an end; yellow, everywhere.

I felt older than the world, yet breathing for the first time. 

My body was small; a child's. 

My hands held up daffodils to the skies. I kissed the wilted ones; blowing pussywillows, waltzing with a cd the wind.

I looked up. They had all turned into birds, flying away, leaving me behind.

Friday, May 15, 2015

Becoming a "real" writer.

These days, I no longer feel like a sham when I tell someone I'm a writer. 

It's almost an honor, really, to be able to do so.

But why did I wait until I had the full-time professional title to feel this way? Sure, it feels nice to have the highest salary of my career thus far, doing something I am passionate about. Sure, I worked hard to become a writer. 

But the truth is, I've always been a writer, ever since I was a wee child. I've always been a dreamer, an imaginer in my own world. I was a writer before anyone ever paid me for my words. I became a writer when I mailed my first story about a lost puppy to my grandparents.

So why did I wait?

I waited because I could feel people judging. I felt them laughing, and rolling their eyes at me. I felt them scoffing. 

Yes. That's it. For a rebellious wildcard who typically doesn't give a shit about what people think of me, when it came to my writing, I felt sheepish and shy claiming writing as an identity v. a hobby. 

I felt silly. And unworthy.

I have never been more confident in who I am as a person. Here's to becoming a more confident writer, too.


Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Have faith.

"Have faith that you're well-equipped for what's ahead."

I really needed to read that tonight.

Conflicted.

I am excited. And terrified.

Yesterday Husband found me perched on the edge of our bed, in tears. Our life together is going to be irreversibly changed moving forward -- and while deep down I know there are many more beautiful, happy moments ahead, and I am so, so looking forward to what's in store for us with all of my heart ... I am also scared, and apprehensive, in the smallest, quietest of ways. I am doubtful in my abilities in this new role. And yet in the same way that I just somehow "knew" my husband would have a very special place in my life the second I laid eyes on him, I also know that I had unknowingly been waiting for this moment my entire life. 

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Becoming everything.

My humor is always tongue-in-cheek and sarcastic.

So I went ahead and reserved the domain name, becomingeverything.com, as my new blog name moving forward. Just to poke fun at society's expectations that women be everything to everyone, and all. 

Also all-encompassing of my affinity to write about, well, everything. Yay!


Saturday, April 25, 2015

Semantics.

A work conversation about extra income:

Supervisor:I would need to file a business license, and start reporting taxes, and it's such a headache.

Me: You could always say it's not a business -- it's a hobby that pays.

Supervisor: ... tell me why you didn't want to become a lawyer again.

Our new accountant had a ball filing our taxes this year.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

The sweetest thing.

It's been really rough and I broke down sobbing and dryheaving last night because I felt so weak and exhausted and scared. 

Husband just held me and talked to me in a way only he can; that there is no use worrying until we see the doctor again tomorrow for a more recent status update and go over the latest results together with a medical professional who knows better.

Tonight he went over to fix a leak at my uncle's and grandparents' house, but not before he got me more comfort food and some oil and made sure to wait for me to come back home from work to give me a quick hug first. 

I really don't know how he ended up in my life and me in his as husband and wife, but I'm always so grateful and thankful, and hope that we will continue to have more happy moments together rather than sad ones.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Neil Gaiman.

He's coming to DC next Friday and I have tickets to go see him! 

(!!!) 

(!!!!!)

Fan-girling so badly, yes.


Listening to the rain.

Becoming one with the universe.





I've been thinking of writing more publicly again. 

This blog spans years of my life but it never had a concrete goal -- which was and yet wasn't and still isn't the point, when I really think about it.

Aside from the increasingly plentiful, cryptic personal rants as of late -- a must, I've long realized, for me to pump and dump in order to free up limited emotional and mental space for writing and being creative in my day job -- I've noticed patterns in topics that intrigue me. The intellectual in me wants, and needs, a place to explore, analyze, and compartmentalize these topics more thoroughly to my little heart's content.

Most of all, I'm a collector -- of thoughts, ideas, memories, books, things.  

We'll see.

Sunday, April 19, 2015

The middle of nowhere.

I feel suspended in time right now.

I'm trying not to worry, but it's so, so hard.

It helps sharing the news with the ones you love most, and who love you just as much, if not more, in return. They pray and think of you when you don't have the ability and clarity of mind to.

This kind of news changes people. They do everything they can to ease your mind off of things; they tell you what they've lived through and learned and do their best to reassure you even though you haven't asked for it; they let things go instead of holding on to petty matters because there's so much hope, so many beginnings, a new chapter in this kind of news. 

It's like a collective armor of love and faith against bad karma or luck or whatever other evil lurks in the shadows. 

Friday, April 17, 2015

That writing life.

This was the first week where I started to feel frustrated with a highly visible project. 

The goal kept changing and there were too many cooks in the kitchen.

Feelings were hurt. Time was wasted. And I found myself missing the mark, writing the wrong things, again and again, depending on who you talked to and what their moods were like that day.

But then a parent friend reached out, expressing her excitement over the discovery of our company's products and our newest curriculum, and I realized that it is all part of the process. At the end of the day, we are doing something amazing. Our mission is important. My words mean something. My work is impactful.

Then I wrapped up three more deadlines nearly a week ahead of schedule, and spent the rest of my Friday afternoon chatting while nibbling on stinky cheese and bidding a farewell to a coworker whom I felt like I've known for years instead of months.

I'm right where I'm supposed to be. 

Monday, April 13, 2015

Your health is everything.

This past week was a tough one, following a few hours spent in the ER the week prior. 

It was scary not knowing and even more stressful trying not to worry and stop wondering.

I finally took it easy and worked from home two Fridays ago, whereupon I called over a dozen doctors' offices in between tasks and emails to explain to them the unfortunate timing and circumstances I currently found myself in.

Half of them didn't have openings until the summertime. The other half were currently not accepting new patients. One of them even rejected me with "patient restrictions based on age and/or gender" as one of three listed reasons.

And then just as I was feeling at my lowest, I somehow managed to get in with a provider five minutes away from our home. 

He's not the best with bedside manners. But he knows what he's doing. More importantly, he gives it to me straight and in turn, I was told I was his most honest patient as we walked through my health history together.

I am due back in two weeks v. the typical monthly check-ins at this juncture; two appointments lined up for both that Friday and Monday, and then we'll go from there. 

That's the only thing we can do, really, from this point forward. Go from there.

It's frustrating. I am hoping. Maybe even praying.


Sunday, April 12, 2015

A miracle.

I was on the phone with my sister-in-law the other day, both of us laughing out loud at her musing that she "misses being pregnant", when I remembered that she went on to give birth to two healthy, ultra-smart kids after battling a rare form of cancer. Twice.

The human body and spirit is so amazing. I can only hope for mine to be that strong and unbreakable someday. 

Friday, April 10, 2015

Lean together.


I gush enough about my husband to anyone who wants and doesn't want to hear, but I feel like the luckiest person --not just woman, but person -- in the world to have found him as my life partner. 

I feel for single girlfriends and acquaintances when they complain about the lackluster men they've encountered or, worse still, are still keeping around for whatever reason or another. 

Sure, I've been there but therein lies my point: 

I've been there. I'm not still there.

It's therefore hard for me to understand why someone can't simply just move on or let go when someone they are seeing or dating no longer nourishes them or even remotely fits or fulfills their wants and needs. 

I learned that lesson at 20, and have never looked back -- this applies to relationships just as much as friendships. 

It also saddens me when friends start lying to themselves about what their biggest desires are, simply because they (falsely) believe they cannot attain them. 

If it is marriage you are looking for, look for qualities and a foundation you can build on, not borrow or steal away from someone else. If it is only a good time that you want for a night or month, then accept it and learn from it and enjoy it. 

One of my biggest goals for this year was to be more empathetic and patient, but there are times where the same conversations, the same points of contention, come up again and again and I feel like the person asking for advice, again, is a complete ask-hole. And so I feel the need to serve them my regular dose of candid thoughts when all they really wanted was for us to lean in together, me supporting them in their decisions or inactions.

I recently learned there is a designation for my kind: smug marrieds, apparently, because we've somehow forgotten how hard it is to be single and dating. 

But that is precisely where they are wrong: you never forget how hard it was being single and dating, for the exact reason that you will NEVER forget how hard and discouraging it was to find your person. But in order to do that, you have to move on. 

Do you want to find your person? Then stop tethering yourself to someone who isn't. 

Sunday, April 5, 2015

The Age of Adaline

Blake Lively is a gorgeous being, but I haven't bought in to her acting (yet). 

Considering the first and only time I was somewhat moved by her performance was during Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, I've always been more excited to see the actress' next style picture rather than her next motion picture. 

But her latest, The Age of Adaline, currently sounds/looks compelling, mainly because I have a soft spot for old world souls and time traveling plots. 

It also may be a coincidence that I once shared with the best friend that, if/when I have a daughter of my own, I'd love to name her a very similar-sounding name. 

The film is being released later this month. Will you watch it?

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Beautiful words.

"Most people, when they consider beautiful writing, immediately think about a few of the people they were always told wrote beautifully. Faulkner’s a big one, of course . You can’t go wrong with the traditional poetic lines of Oscar Wilde. But, at the same time, we have been told so long what beautiful writing is, we commonly don’t look for it on our own as a reader. We also don’t commonly value what it is that beautiful writing does—it’s not just reminiscent of poetry. It’s about the writer being effective in his or her talent and catching the reader off guard in a sublimely clear way."

- from On Noticing Beautiful Writing by Jessi Lewis

Saturday, February 21, 2015

The creative process

After spending a week exploring in the vast outdoors, this snowed in situation back at home has made me antsy and anxious. I'm fidgeting more than usual.

I have, however, been a starving, ravenous reader, greedily taking over our couch space to lounge and eat up everything on psychology, philosophy, the arts, and the creative process. 

Most of all, the creative process, re-reading old titles from my library -- How To Think Like Leonardo da Vinci; The Creative Habit -- and exploring new ones via zee Interwebs -- Creative Unblock.

I still can't believe I'm two days away from being a full-time writer and editor. I'd love to go back to undergrad and tell my Argumentative Writing professor, "Look! Look! I'm a writer now and I'm not poor!" I don't even remember his name, just what he told me, even after all these years.

"You could be a writer, you know -- if you don't mind being poor."

Part of me is so excited and thrilled, allowing myself to savor this "I made it! I made it!" feeling after balancing jobs that did not nurture me emotionally, schooling and a graduate thesis that seemed never-ending, freelancing and blogging, for so, so long. 

But part of me is also afraid. Afraid that I'm not talented enough; not smart enough; not brilliant enough. Never enough. So I've been looking up the lives and thoughts of writers, past and present, long before they became writers. And it's reassuring to see that we all struggle with these feelings. 

Even the best of us.

Saturday, February 7, 2015

It doesn't work that way

It bugs me when people think I just woke up like this.

No, bitch. I hustled my ass off while you sat on your fat one, being entitled, expecting to be spoonfed.

Grow up.

That person you can't shake

Shake it off. 

I'm trying to. 

Earlier last year, I let someone into my life and more recently just got tired and fed up and annoyed with them. Except I had no idea I felt that way, at the time. So I took the easy way out and simply said, I need space. It's not you. It's me.

And yet it really was you. Not me. And by the time I let you know that, it came across more unkind than intended. 

The sad part was that I didn't even care. 

Someone will always have something to say

And sometimes the best thing to do in response is to say nothing at all.

Sunday, January 25, 2015

Roadblock


It's been tough. But this quote has always provided solace.

Trust the process. Trust yourself.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Tearing it all down


Sometimes you just have to, to start anew.

When one door closes, another one opens. 

We're told it's going to be a new hotel.



Sunday, January 18, 2015

Roadtrippers

Nothing characterized my twenties more than roadtrips - figuratively and literally. 

Therefore there is perhaps nothing more apt than to start off this year with a long-awaited roadtrip before I turn 30 later this September.

Seven days. Three states. One and only Roadtrippers app that pulled everything together in one nifty, optimized itinerary based on every destination handpicked from old-school travel books.  


Marketing Consultant for hire


Welps. 14 days into the new year and I got laid off along with some other colleagues across various departments. 

I knew it was coming and yet I still reacted fairly strongly to the experience; anger, betrayal, sadness. 

But then, once those emotions passed through me like an initial bullet searing through skin and muscles and body, barely just missing my heart, I found myself breathing again, slowly, less heavily, with more and more relief.

Happiness, even. Happy for a new beginning, another chance, a different perspective.

Funny, because <a href = "http://money.cnn.com/pf/best-jobs/2012/snapshots/2.html">CNN Money</a> ranked "marketing consultant" as the #2 best job back in 2012, with a projected 40%+ growth over a period of 10 years -- and a loud and clear warning that "there is no such thing as job security" here.

Severance and unused vacation hours aside, 2015 is going to be my year for an even better hustle. 

Let's go.

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