fiction, life, stories, woman, writing

Waiting

The sound of pounding from all rubber stamps the tellers used drowned out the excruciating pain in the depths of her stomach. The wafting smell of ink and freshly printed paper adding to her nausea. Blinking back tears and breathing deeply telling herself she was going to be okay. She closed her eyes and for a few seconds she was able to just be. To become fully aware of her own being. To realize that at the end of the day, all she ever had was only herself, and it mattered that she realized that and give herself a little more attention than what he may have given her. She rolled her eyes inside her head to try and relieve some of the pressure in her head. Slowly losing herself in her thoughts that mattered to her before he had happened, and before every familiar face became a calculative measure of how it might be to be that person with many to love her and none to hurt.

When she slowly came to, and opened her eyes, the bank was dark. She worried maybe her grief had driven her to blindness. An upsurge of fear and panic emerged from the depths of her very expecting core, until the person sitting next to her shrugged and said, ‘imagine what a power outage like this is costing the market right now.’ A gentle unbidden smile in return before she got up, gathered her papers, and ran out of the bank lobby. The fresh air –unladen with the smell of ink– rushing into her lungs in deep breaths. First breath, burning, second breath, burning, third breath, chilling, fourth breath, adjusted chilling, fifth breath, calming, sixth breath, calming, seventh breath, normal.

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embracing yourself, lessons, life, love, moments, woman

Happiness here I come!!!!!!!!!!!

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contentment, embracing yourself, existential crisis, lessons, life, love, ramblings, thoughts, woman, words, writing

Finding My Ways

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I am at once so many different versions of myself. Yesterday I loved the way my hips swayed and the way his fingers pressed into my sides in heat and passion and love. Today I scrub a little harder under the duress-ed pressure of the hot water gushing through the shower head lost in thoughts of reprimanding. I may sometimes question your judgement a little bit, but I promise to be the one sitting across you in my Swiss wool socks ready to consume and comprehend the words you will spill in hatred and anger, or those lighter ones said in joy and pure innocent glee because I will completely understand the need. I will some days willingly guide you through the web of life the best way I can, and some days I will ask that you find in yourself the solutions to your problems you have always known but refuse to accept. Some days I will be angry. Some days I may smile. Other days I will be at once the fiery orange in my curly brown hair, wind-blown and unkempt, and yet press feather light kisses on your cheeks and your forehead in my summer peach lips to let you know I am here, always. Today you may find me voraciously reading guides on how to get ahead in life because I say that the go-getter in me needs to be nourished, forget contentment. And tomorrow I will wake up to prayers in praises to spirituality, to learn and practice compassion, to be simple and want simple, accepting that less really is more. Because, I am at once so many different versions of myself. Tomorrow I will love you fiercely, that overwhelming kind of love that leaves you dizzy like you’ve have one too many mint juleps on a hot summer southern morning. Balmy, dazed and incomprehensible in pleasure. But maybe I will be the ice, the winter gush pushing you back because foolishly I will believe I am no good for anyone. Some days are clear days. Some days I am lost.

Everyone talks about being true to yourself. But we are never just one version of ourselves to be true to. There lies within you and me, many different us, so which one do we choose to be true to. We are all at once givers and takers, of responsibilities, of dreams, of hopes, of support, and of love. Some days we need more than we can give. Other times we are happy being the one giving all we can. Circumstances have over the years created many different versions of myself. Yesterday I promised myself I will try to keep the light burning for them, to be the flicker of hope of what could be because I know what is right, I know what is best. Yet today I find myself committed to yesterday’s goals but frantically searching for the hinge on which I might peg my own being so I do not find myself lost in the same darkness. Because, some days are clear days, and some days I am lost.

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embracing yourself, life, love, moments, romance, stories, thoughts, twenty-somethings, woman

Simple Beginnings

“Today is January 1st, 2015. What do you want to do with your life this year?” she asks me smirking because I am notorious for making resolutions I cannot keep. I laugh inwardly because I know its true, I’ve always been one too ‘determined to lose a few pounds,’ ‘learn a musical instrument,’ ‘gossip less,’ ‘be more charitable,’ ‘do yoga consistently,’ etc. etc. It lasts exactly 1 month before I knowingly brush my “resolutions” aside because of my new found life motto of ‘being true to how and who you truly are.’ Everything is easily manipulated to suit my owns moods, needs, desires, wants, in this girl’s life. But not this time.

Today is January 1st, 2015 and I want things to be exactly the way they were when I was woken up this morning by an alarm set at 11:50pm on December 31st so that we are awake for midnight together. To find myself so determined to want to be doing something so that my superstitious self can revel in the mere fact that that apparently will set the tone for the rest of the year. I’ve had youthful drunken New Years after party hopping and dancing till my feet hurt, I’ve had comforting New Years surrounded by family delighting in each other’s quips, I’ve had memorable New Years spent making last memories with friends who I will lose before the year ends, I’ve had depressing New Years where I will find myself asleep before the ball drops after having had one too many glasses of wine, I’ve had adventurous New Years where I will find myself walking down the main-street of a great metropolis dressed in only a strapless dress and heels in –1° weather. So much laughter, tears, love, loss and yet, this New Years has been the most meaningful. I don’t know if it is an age thing or if its just my good luck….the simple joys of life I spent indulging in this New Years (where I have not made a single resolution by the way) has come to mean the most. I hope this does set the tone for the year. So that I will find myself constantly amused and amazed, loved and in love, laughing and screaming, eating and drinking, sharing and just being. This New Years I am thankful for life and all the wonderful people it blesses me with.

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love, moments, relationships, romance, stories, woman, words, writing

Part I – That Sophia Loren Dress

sophia-loren-floral-dress-1965The frenzy around who had just showed up on the other side of the bleachers where I was standing was palpable. It must be someone famous I thought. I didn’t rush, not like the other girls as they double hopped over the steely benches to run towards the right. I made my way down the steps, slowly and carefully. I even remember the way my bright purple New Balances with its grey undersoles touched down on every single step, planting itself over the aluminium grooves of the benches. I got down to the grass on the field and turned right to see what all the commotion was about. I am lucky I haven’t been dashed into or pushed aside by one of the crazier ladies from the lot jumping up and down in glee. Its funny how in moments of pure excitement, joy, elation, whatever you want to call it, even adults are brought down to their most guileless, rather child-like, versions of self.

In interest of trying to find out who exactly was there on the bleachers causing the spectators to lose their heads, I slowly made my way through a thinning crowd as he obliged to take selfies, sign things and hug or shake hands. Somehow, and I imagine it is because I am the creator of this story, I ended up smack in the front of the crowd phone camera all ready, thinking and partly hoping it is a public figure I would know. Unsurprisingly it is not. I have no idea who this man is, and just as I shrug my shoulders and put my phone away we make eye contact. His beaming smile pauses, not in those meet cute kind of ways, but almost flabbergasted that there would be one person in this sea of people who might, just might, be uninterested or unknowing of who he was. His eyes widen a little but he maintains eye contact. I look away in unease. And quickly make my way back through the crowd and out of the stadium. I take one last look back at him, busy posing, sandwiched between two blonde bombshells. Probably a famous athlete I think and walk away.

Few days later, I find myself out on the balcony of a beautiful Italian Villa, it may have been on Lake Como, it may have been somewhere in Santa Barbara, but I hope against all hopes that it was in Tuscany, Italy. There has always been a certain charm in the terracotta floors and an intoxication in the patterned limestone that almost guarantees any encounter one of romance, passion, sexy bed hair, wine and cigarettes. Anyway, so I find myself in what I think is my most beautiful Sophia-Loren-would-approve floral sun dress, out on the balcony looking down and ‘lo and behold’ who do I see? My unidentified, could be a famous athlete from the football field frenzy incident a few days back. His hair much lighter from the glow of the sun, on a brilliant blue Vespa, in a casual white and blue Henley, staring up at me after pulling into the cobbled driveway that the balcony I am on overlooks.

“Well, hello there,” he says. Smirk in place. I cannot tell if his accent is American or European. He speaks with no accent. What accent sounds like no accent I wonder. Shut up! I tell my mind that is going into unnecessary details from the nervousness. I fear if I step any closer to the sides of the balcony he will be able to see up my Sophia Loren dress. I furrow my brows in pretentious confusion, even as my insides burn up in nerves and I feel a deep flush beginning at the tip of my smaller than usual ears.

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contentment, existential crisis, lessons, life, ramblings, stories, twenty-somethings, Uncategorized, woman, words, writing

Broken Poetry

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The severe cracks no one sees;
afraid to let him run his hands along the fractures of my being;
they say to be human is to be broken;
but to be broken is to be unwanted;
still the shrouded torments break with it;
my current will but also my current struggles;
seeking solace in the strings of companionship;
and the frayed ends of love;
to be human is to be broken;
but to be broken is to be life’s poetry.
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anecdotes, contentment, embracing yourself, girl, lessons, life, love, moments, ramblings, stories, woman, words, writing, youth

Moments Like This

girlHave you ever had that experience when you seem to catch yourself in the midst of a moment, and in that precise time you realize, and feel, that everything is exactly as it should be. That you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. Now, this is not to be confused with having something wonderful happen to you, like some celebration where the elated joy makes you giddy and you think, ‘I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.’ This content moment I am talking about, and because it is precisely that…a moment in the midst of regular moments when all of a sudden you realize you are content with everything just as it is. Well, I had that over the weekend at what was my first house party in a very very long time.

I glance around the room and every one is exactly where they should be. Laughing, talking, kissing, and dancing in slow movements to what is clearly rock music blaring through the speakers. Giddy off of the sips of Jack and Coke, and possibly from all the hot-boxed second hand smoke from all the pot heads in the room, your spirit undeterred by what would usually be the thing that makes you turn your snooty nose up in the air, basically the cheap neon Christmas lights haphazardly stapled to the ceiling to give the basement the illusion of a space more often used than when mom and pops need to store away the old stuff. Everyone is a little trippy but you’re okay with that. The guy you made unusually rom-com like eye contact with as you walked down the steps to the ‘Boom Boom Room’ makes slow strides towards you and in a classic teenager-like move slips his large hands around your waist. Still, this feels right. Like this is exactly what needs to happen in this moment. It isn’t like I am that high either because everything is coming through crystal clear. I am fully aware of everything happening around me and to test myself I challenge myself to make the decision to stop the guy mid-kiss and walk away. I do it, successfully. Leaving him in the corner of the room, eyes like saucers now from the confusion. I laugh inwardly at my own weirdness.

In this moment I am aware of all my flaws but also all my virtues and I seem to be completely okay with it all. I accept them for what they are and realize that they don’t make me better or worse. They just make me me. This moment, infused with familiar faces and new ones, ones I will see again over the course of time, and others I will never ever remember, still feels like the best thing happening to me. I find myself with an unknown surge of confidence and an unprecedented level of comfort in just being me, in the exact shape and size and awkwardness and intelligence and inhibitions. I for once accept me and it feels pretty damn good. I don’t know what it is about the moment. Nothing deters me, not even the fifth time I am made to take an unappetizing jello shot made from fluorescent fruit jelly and what is clearly cheap vodka because it burns a trail as the jelly shimmies down my throat. No decisions made by me or made for me feels wrong so nothing is second guessed or thought twice about. This moment feels perfect, even when the a tiny part of my consciousness makes a nervous check on the super tan girl sitting down to snort what I counted as her third line. Boy I hope shes going to be okay. But even so, this moment feels great. For once I think maybe I can love myself just as much as I am capable of loving others. And this is a strange fuzzy feeling. One completely foreign to me.

I walk up the stairs and out back into the beautiful backyard. The sun’s rays make their first peeks bouncing off the water. The cool morning air feels luxurious against my sweaty skin from all the dancing in a windowless basement. I smile in contentment, wondering if this moment where I feel so sure and clear about how I feel about everything is something that will last. I wonder if it wears off as the buzz wears off, or the night wears off. I wonder if I can hold on to it. But I also realize that my body, with all its problems and imperfections is still capable of embracing everything and everyone, including myself, with complete satisfaction, never looking beyond the clearly demarcated white fence to glance at the grass on the other side.

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