"Don't be sick."

"I'm not--that's why I'm staying away from you guys..."

"Good, good, good."

Unconscious metamorphosis

Somehow, I've moved from the kids table to the adult table and I can't seem to remember when?

Was it when I graduated? Got my first job? My first paycheck? 

Was it when I got my own credit card?

Was it when I started paying bills?

Was it when I learned about insurance and finances and taxes and stocks?

Was this a slow progression or a sudden change? Was this a consequence of my actions or did I volunteer to be here?

Did I mean to grow up?

Surfing

I don't know how to surf. Nor have I ever felt the desire or urgency to surf. Not even as a college student in San Diego.

But ever since the storm, I've been feeling these waves. "It comes and goes in waves," I always say when people ask me how I'm doing. Some days, they're too strong and I get swept under. But most of the time, you can say that I've been surfing. Navigating the emotions as best I can. Doing whatever necessary to keep my head above water. Adjusting the weight as necessary to maintain the balance of life.

And I'm still here, riding out the current.

So, I guess I can surf after all.

FIONAFAVORITE

Hi love,

Again, sorry for sucking and absentmindedly responding to your invite and not wishing you an actual happy birthday even though I've been looking forward to this day for weeks to come! So.... *drumroll please*

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FIONAFAVORITE!!!

There are no words to describe how much I love you, but let me try. (Please excuse me if I sound like I'm rambling because I haven't written in a while and my handle of the English language is unfortunately deteriorating.) I've loved your quirky sense of style and your bubble personality from the day I met you. I mean, that's pretty much how we met. You introduced yourself and I have been thankful ever since. It's funny, but you really are like a (FLED) sister to me, in more ways than one. I'm glad that you are one of the few people on this planet Earth that I don't need to keep up with every week or every two weeks or even every month, but when we reconnect, it's still so nice and happy and comfortable. No, we don't pick up where we left off, because let's be real, who can remember what they were talking about a couple of months ago? But we understand that we're both ever evolving strong, independent women that are always there for each other. (At least, I feel that way. I hope you feel the same. And if you don't, let me know how I can do better because you are worth every effort to keep up with and our relationship is one I want to maintain until we are old af and don't want to do anything else but Zumba and boba and cuddle in your bed.) Oddly enough, your life and your stories and experiences are always relevant to me too. You're like a classic book (and that's a compliment of the highest order). I could read you over and over again and never be tired of you and you will always be relevant regardless of where I am in my life. What can I say, I only have the best to say about my walking/talking diary and holy deity. You inspire me. I look up to you so much, hon (figuratively, 'cause I mean, let's be real lol), and I want you to know that I will always support you in your endeavors 'cause I believe in you so much. I know you sometimes struggle and things haven't been easy recently, but things will look up. I believe good things happen to good people and if life isn't fair to you, I'll do my best to make it more fair for you. How else can I repay you for scouring all of H&M for hours on end to find something for me so that I could use my coupon on a school day just to end up not buying anything? Oh, the lengths you'll go for meee. <3 Anyway, the short and sweet of it is: I love you and I hope my love isn't so overbearing for you ('cause now that I'm rereading this, it could be misconstrued as a proposal, but haters gonna hate) and I hope you have the absolutely best because you deserve nothing but the best.

Enough

"I don't have time for you."

"What do you mean? I barely see you once a week! It's like we're in a long distance relationship when you're only a couple exits away!"

"I know." Guilt sank in. It's true. She's never managed her time any better than she currently was, but she's also never had this many priorities before. "That's why I don't think going any further is a good idea. I can barely see you at this frequency--let alone any more than that."

He was in shock, complete disarray. His jaw hung open for a while before he let out, "I can't believe this!" He immediately drew back. He normally had really good control of his emotions. What was she doing to him?

She knew he didn't want to get upset. She knew she was pushing him too far this time--for his own sake.

His pride, though a little hurt, wasn't going to get in the way this time though. She couldn't run away like this. He wouldn't let her.

"Babe, listen, we're both young and trying to figure this out and--"

"I'm just so tired. I can't cut anything else out of my life right now, so you just have to go. I don't know how to juggle all these things and just... please," she begged. She closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. She didn't want to argue. She didn't want to watch him suffer anymore. She didn't have the energy. If they had continued the conversation only a little more, she would have lost track of her point and he would have convinced her to stay.

But he stood there a second too long and watched as she turned and walked away.

Helpless and hopeless.

---

It killed her. More than it did last week when she told him to let her go. More than when she walked away. More than when she cried herself to sleep. It killed her, but she'll get over it. Or, so she told herself. It was only temporary and she'll have more time in the long run to focus on her other priorities. She laid there in the silence, just watching the shadows of the clouds inch across her bed through her window. She laid there for what seemed like eternity. This would be the first weekend she wasn't seeing him in months. She was wasting time--time she could have spent with him--but this'll be over soon. She knew this was counter-intuitive. This was her mourning period and she'd get over it soon. Soon, things would be okay again. Soon, she kept repeating.

Bzz, her phone convulsed. Almost instinctively, she reached. Before she knew it, she was reading his words:

"Meet me at the library by your house when you're ready."

It wasn't a demand, but it wasn't a request either. She felt some sense of urgency. What did "ready" mean anyway? Was he just waiting there indefinitely until she showed up? What was he thinking? He spoke as if everything was the same, as if they were still together. It made her question reality. Did they not just break up last week? She looked around to make sure it wasn't a dream. Nightmare. Whatever. Yes, there were used tissue papers scattered all over her room. Yes, her eyes were still puffy from crying that she could barely open them. Yes, it hurt when she pinched herself. But the pain was incomparable to the lulling ache inside her chest.

Her body no longer felt limp. A flurry of emotions pulsed through her body. She was so happy to hear from him. She was so angry that he was making it difficult to escape his gravity. She was so excited to see him again. His crow's feet. His waddle. His touch. Him. She grabbed her pillow to muffle her screams. Exclamations. Whatever. She hated that he still made her feel this way.

The next few minutes were a blur. She couldn't remember much, but before she knew it, she was standing in front of the library with her backpack. Why did she bring a backpack? She stepped through the sliding doors and froze. There he was on the bench, waiting for her. He wasn't idle on the phone like he usually was. His hands clasped and hunched over deep in thought, he didn't see her when she first walked in. He looked like he was praying, but for what? He was just an innocent participant. She was the one that should be asking for forgiveness.

She stood there, watching him the way he watched her every time they were together.

---

"Can you not?" she remarked uncomfortably.

"No, I can not not," he knew double negatives irked her. She rolled her eyes and turned to him.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"Nothing. Just watching you. I feel like I never see you enough, so I'm taking in as much as I can while you're still here." He grinned.

"Oh my god. I see you at least once a week!"

"I know," he said appreciatively, "But it's never enough. I will never get enough of you."

---

It's true that he didn't see her when she first entered, but a moment later, he knew. He felt her presence in other ways--whether it be the familiar scent of her perfume or the sound of her uneven footsteps. He could never forget.

He grabbed her hand like nothing had changed and dragged her to the self-help section, where he pulled out a time management book and presented it to her in all its glossy glory. Before my brain could stop my body from following him, I heard myself reading the title aloud: "Making It Worthwhile." I looked up at him, his hand still held in mine.

"We're not over yet. We're not over until we've read and studied all the time management books we can find--until you realize you can always make time for the things that count. If you wanna end this, you're gonna have to find a better reason than time."

I stood on my tip-toes and kissed him. It was one of those kisses that evolved into a smile halfway: an awkward kiss-smile limbo. But a limbo that I didn't mind because I was happy. Because he makes me happy. And that's all that matters now.

Is this the end or is it just the beginning?

• "We need to talk."
• "I don't think I can do this anymore."
• "I feel so disconnected with you. I don't know what's going on in your life anymore."

If only you knew I laugh because the only other option is to cry.

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

***SPOILER***

PLEASE DON'T READ THIS IF YOU PLAN ON READING THIS BOOK.

SERIOUSLY, I MEAN IT.

DON'T SPOIL IT THE WAY I DID FOR MYSELF.

***

My jaw is still open from the ending of the book. And I finished reading it yesterday. And I saw it coming (because I was reading summaries of Series of Unfortunate Events and this was one of the literary references, so naturally, I had to look it up,  but I stopped myself when they mentioned that the ending would be mind-blowing, which it was). That speaks volumes.

Anywho, because I looked it up and read that the ending was mind-blowing, I always had the pretense in the back of my head of who the killer was. But Agatha Christie does a really good job of distracting me with other potential suspects from time to time. The more I read, the more I was sucked into this mystery. At first, I had my doubts because the old English diction was slightly overwhelming, but as I read on, I realized it mattered less and less to me and the characters' secrets more and more. Apparently, a lot of critics labeled the book as controversial because of its "deceptive" ending, but I absolutely LOVED it. It was exactly the kind of clever twist I always admired about "good writers" (and I put that in quotations because this is how I attribute a good writer and not necessarily how you do it). Above all, the perspective was what I appreciated the most. Just... what a clever idea! It engaged me so much that I consciously had to make a note to detach myself from the book. Oh, what a joyous experience! I'm still beaming from its trippiness.

The Rift

You told me to stop ignoring the signs,
Confront your problems.
Little did I know, you were talking about us.
Or maybe you weren't, but all I can see is us.
Well, now I'm looking at us,
I'm trying to fix us.
But the more I try, the more you want from me.

Maybe it's the timing.
Maybe it's "growing up."
Whatever it is, I feel it.
I know you feel it, too.

This rift.
It's coming.
It's here.

Which burner do I cut off?

• Work: Immediate no. I need the source of income. Part of developing myself is devoted to my professional career and learning and just taking it all in. I can't outsource this because it's something I have to do myself. There is no shortcut.
• Health: I would if I could but I can't so I won't. Of all the categories, I feel like if I could neglect this, I would. But I physically cannot. Without maintaining my health, I cannot fully perform the functions needed in the other categories. So this category is almost intrinsic to the others. You can't help others until you help yourself.
• Family: It's sad that this isn't an immediate no. But without this, I wouldn't know who I am or what I stand for anymore. I feel like I've already minimized this category all that I can without completely losing the essence of it. I rarely see family members that I used to see weekly (partially because of current circumstances and partially because of "growing up"). 
• Friends: I feel like this is the one I've been neglecting the most. "Friends" have been bringing up this topic more often? I don't feel like I've completely lost connections and I'm content with my amount of friendship exposure, but I guess others feel otherwise. With regards to the other categories, this is the only one I'm willing to compromise on, so I guess I'll just have to deal with the consequences.

rainbows and moons

Yesterday, after a rough start, I saw a double rainbow and it gave me hope.

Today, I saw a full moon--the kind with the perfect arrangement of wispy clouds and the wolves howl to. It was more beautiful than the rainbow.

I wouldn't classify myself as a superstitious person, but I like to believe. I like to find meaning and I like to think that somewhere out there, there are powers that help us out by showing us signs of hope.

I'm not sure what the point of this was, but I thought it was worth noting down. Shrugs.

Dear Mr. Henshaw

I chose this book after going through my emails and finding an old reading list from last year that I never got around to. I made this list after watching "Stuck in Love" (Mel's fave) and deciding that any book that changes a person's life that much (fictional or not) is worth reading. (Plus, it's another children's book. Slow and steady.)

Dear Mr. Henshaw had that sort of open-ended ending that always leaves me the slightest bit unsatisfied--maybe because I'm so used to happily-ever-afters. But it's a not the bad kind of unsatisfied; it's the kind that jolts you back into reality and helps you accept the things you can't change in your own personal life from the lessons you just learned from your fictional escape. I thought the style of writing (mostly one-way correspondence) was refreshing and I appreciated the author's inclusion of subtle details (i.e., typos) to show the progress of the protagonist's development--personally, and consequently, in writing. Overall, it was a nod to the recent events in my life: things suck but they'll get better. Just gotta figure out who my Mr. Henshaw is.

Inked

I want a tattoo so complex it does not exist. One that incorporates the colors of a kaleidoscope to represent Eric Hanson's poem. One that reveals a hidden image with the slight shift of perspective. One that shares the style of Rupi Kaur's illustrations. One that reminds me to stay grounded, but helps me remember to let go and be free, too. One that reflects my ideals and beliefs on the importance of family. One that allows me to continue on and catalog my memories.

I have a general idea of what I want it to be and how I want it to look and what symbols I want to incorporate, but it's still a work in progress. Like me. WIP.

The Little Prince

Let's try this again. I haven't written to you in a while and it somewhat saddens me because the length of time that I spent not writing almost seems so long such that I've forgotten how to write--how I  write. Hopefully, that comes back to me with time.

I finished The Little Prince yesterday. I actually started it months ago, when I first got back from school, before everything happened. I thought it'd be a good first book, considering the whole "finish what you start" philosophy I'm trying to adopt. So, I started and finished the entire book in one sitting. (It was a slow work day yesterday.) What can I say that hasn't been said yet? Being a translated children's book, obviously, the jargon was simple. Nonetheless, its simplicity did not undermine its depth. The book taught me to never forget my inner child--that though we age and change with experience, our perception is what defines us and keeps us true to ourselves. It's the difference between looking up at the stars and laughing or looking up at the stars and crying. Though the real world will say it's nonsensical, it's what makes us happy and them sad. Believe. Invest time in what you love. Appreciate life for what it is.

"L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux."