Misconceptions of sorts

Letters Home

These days i prefer to write. I’m finding that no listens anymore; unless it’s a whisper, but sadly I have no secrets to share these days.

My friends tell me I am an open book, so it always a surprise how they often fail to understand me whenever I put them to the test.

My first missed concept. Sharing.

Growing up I felt the key to developing a true bond with someone was open communication – a trade. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine kinda trade.

This came from my openess and want of friendship, I wanted to know people, I wanted to unravel there mystery see who is behind the mask, the make up, who existed between the earphones, who lived beneath the Afro. What’s their story and how exactly could I relate.

So throughout high school I had a lot of friends, who were not…

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A Body of War

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These days I’m a little more lonely.

I’ve forgotten how to speak light into my life, I’ve forgotten how to marvel over the small things. I don’t count my breaths and say thanks anymore. My heart is full and it isn’t with the usual glee and gratitude I felt at 21 or 22.

I often find myself falling asleep to the noise between my ears, getting lost in the crowded space of my mind until I am too exhausted to listen. That is how I fall asleep at nights. I stumble over my legs every morning and crawl to the mirror. I drag myself to the forefront of my mind and make my eyes see me. That is what “self-love” feels like these days. It is a constant trial and error, a dragging and beating my body into understanding and acceptance. It isn’t flowers and peaceful “aligning of chakras”. This path hasn’t just been about laying on itchy grass and looking up to the sky with smiles.


It is war.

A constant bloody battle of skin, bone and the heavy stench of ugly thoughts behind flesh.

With every part of me that dies and rots in waiting for love to come, another part is born, crying at me, calling me mother, and begging me to love it hard, fast, long and right now. And it is hard…it is really hard. I struggle with it. I know how to smile too well and laugh too wide to give myself away in weakness. But I am the one dwelling behind all my closed doors, and in every single room, this little girl is fighting. Still fighting to love the thing that bleeds and brings her pain, still struggling to love the mind that goes too fast, too long, too hard, too much. I am still learning how to dwell inside my body, I am still learning how paint inside my skin and how to wear it around me comfortably and stitch it in style. It is a fight and it gets brutal and at times frighteningly ugly. But I am pulling through and trying to stay.

I am trying to stay, I am trying to stay.
My God… I am really trying.


I haven’t written in a while, mainly because of fear. Fear has been this ugly,nagging slime, clawing at the back of my throat, chasing my saliva the wrong way. It has devoured every hope that enters my mind and it has held my hands captive. Today I am not as brave as I would like to be, but today I am  brave enough to start again. This is me starting over for the millionth time, this is me, once again, trying to be “okay”.

In The Middle of The Night (Part 1)



If sneaking out wasn’t bad enough, the fact that Miriam was sneaking out to meet up with the ‘forbidden Fruit’ was just terrible. ‘The Forbidden Fruit’ was the silly yet symbolic nickname awarded to Michael Collins, mostly because he was the village preacher’s son , but also because he was not the stereotypical , rebellious church mouse teen. Standing pure as the living male version of the Virgin Mary, he was admired by both adults and hormone driven teenage girls. But here Miriam was, holding up the hems of her silken night gown and throwing a leg over the wall to go meet the chap in the middle of the night.

Jumping down from the high concrete wall, Miriam ran wild in the wind. The darkness and chill of the night, coupled with the bareness of her feet, pushed her to go even faster, but of course, her prime motivation was to see Michael. On the way there she imagined it just as she had a thousand times before; the softness of his lips, the broadness of his shoulders, the warmth of his embrace . Her legs got shaky when she thought any further, so she smiled and just kept running, till she got to the corner of Mrs. Fowler’s house and could finally see the chapel. She stopped for a moment and ran her hand over her neatly combed hair. She didn’t have a mirror but she was confident her flattened hand was enough to wipe all the sheen from her face. It wasn’t until she lifted her hand that she realized she was shaking, but she grabbed the hem of that night gown and pushed her way up that hill because nerves or no nerves, tonight, was the night. And what a night it was. The distant moon hovered over the chapel’s slender cross, and a pack of dogs howled somewhere nearby.

Passing the usually scary headstones in the Chapel’s graveyard was effortless in that moment, because her eyes were fixed on the door. She knocked on it the special way he had told her to, and after a moment that felt like eternity, she saw the doors slowly parting open. Then darkness. Deafening silence and blinding darkness. Hesitantly, she put a foot in the door, then the other, then she tried to speak but, was instantly silenced by a cold finger on her lips. Goosebumps covered her skin and she was suddenly electrified and terrified at the same time. She then felt him take her hand, and found herself being led through the darkness.

Finally he stopped. He let go of her hand and on came a light. She hadn’t realized where they were, but it was in the supplies room behind the pulpit and the stage. Their eyes met, and they both melted in a smile, awkwardly and silently they looked on at each other as Michael made the first move for a kiss. Slowly he leaned his head in, all the while Miriam had her eyes wide open like a deer in headlights. Finally he was close enough for his breath to be bouncing off of her face but he paused. Frozen, they both stood before abruptly forbidden fruit Michael decided to crash his mouth against Miriam’s causing both their noses to collide and to be uncomfortably squished and turned as Michael acted out what he thought was a kiss. Miriam held her breath and tried to go with it, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being underwhelmed. Trying not to leave him with all the work, Miriam flung her stringy arms around his scrawny neck and tried to put her body closer to his. It started to feel better, but then with a crash, it ended. Fortunately and unfortunately, the crash did not come from either of them stumbling into anything and perhaps that’s what caused the greatest alarm in both their little hearts.’Quick! Hide!’Michael gave the orders as softly as he could, but he didn’t need to, for Miriam had long found herself down on her knees with her back to an old table in the tiny room.

‘Oh my God..’

‘Shhhh!’ Michael silenced her before flicking off the lights again. In the silence they crouched listening and waiting. Soon enough, they heard everything :footsteps, two sets, then the voice of a man, it was low, he was trying to be discreet. As the sweat rolled down Micheal’s back he rose up and moved within the room towards the direction of the sounds.
‘You hear that?’ He whispered to Miriam
The man they heard got louder, and a thunderous laugh belted from him.it was then that they both truly grew frightened. In unison, they recognized the strong and hearty laugh.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Michael sounded like he was in agony, but Miriam was simply envisioning her execution and funeral, as she knew that if his father walked in on them now, they would both be dead by morning. A man of God or not, she still feared him, but more than her fear of him was her fear of her own mother. The way she would let her have it, and this village would never let it rest. It would follow her to her grave which she figured,would be dug shortly. But then came the second voice. Laughter – a woman’s laughter.
Together, they pressed their ears to the wall. They only heard more giggling. It was then that they realized that this was no search party . Still not at ease and Curious, they listened on and in time, the woman left her giggles and said something unclear . At the sound of the woman’s voice, Miriam’s heart sank and Michael started to sweat harder. Thoughts started to swirl in their minds and Miriam was struck with the most terrifying combination of shock and confusion, all the while Michael’s voice seared through her like a knife.
‘Miriam…’ Michael said. He figured he didn’t need to finish his sentence because in the darkened room he could see the white of Miriam’s now widened eyes. But he continued.
‘Miriam who does that sound like to you? ‘
Petrified, immobilized and filled with nothing but shock and fear, slowly Miriam turned in the darkness and lifted her head to the heavens
‘Mother of Christ’ she slowly exclaimed and in timely fashion, Michael whispered,
‘Our parents are here and they didn’t come looking for us…they came looking for each other .’

To be continued.

Get Inspired: Blog Ideas for 2014

The WordPress.com Blog

Write more. Paint more. Photograph more. 

Do something amazing. Go down a different path.

Challenge myself. 

New year’s resolutions — you might make ’em, or you may think they’re trite and a waste of time. Whatever the case, you’re here, aren’t you? Exploring WordPress.com, contemplating your next blog post, and scheming up 2014. We closed out 2013 with a showcase of year-long, daily, and weekly projects, so let’s brainstorm ways, big and small, to get your work out into the world in 2014.

Think big

the wanderers

Photographer and writer Stephanie Dandan at Infinite Satorisets off for Asia soon to work on a photo storybook called The Wanderers. Traveling solo, Stephanie will meet other explorers on her journey and tell their stories. She lays out her project on Kickstarter, and its design aesthetic — and her nomadic and adventurous spirit — echo the work she publishes on her blog.

But thinking…

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Today was different. I hung the laundry out, and the sun heated up my face, the wind kissed my skin and I was just so happy to be alive. I wasn’t at a party, I wasn’t hanging off of a cliff, but i felt a thrill, and I was grateful for moments like these. Sometimes we just need to connect with other things to remember that we are flesh and blood and not nuts and bolts. Technology and all this plastic junk that confines us and constantly holds our attention, can really blur the lines causing us to forget that we ourselves are not machines. We need air. We need to feel the soil beneath our feet and we need to feel the water roll down our backs. We have to take the time to run our fingers through our hair and just be human. We are not merely an extension of our laptops and our cellphones or mp3s. We are the purpose. Connecting and communicating have evolved, but that doesn’t mean the traditional ways are invalid. Amidst us always finding new ways to do these basic things, we should never forget the reason why we want to preserve connection and carry it on with us in every way. Remind yourself to connect, in the old way as much as the new.


Live & Love While You Can

Life is short, but we’ve all heard that before. Yet it doesn’t stop us from wasting our limited time here, fighting over every little thing and using our hearts to harbor hate instead of love. Why? Why fill our days with potential regrets and anger charged memories when we have the option to do the opposite ? We could be helping each other up instead of tearing each other down, and we could be expressing our care and love for one another, instead of holding bitter grudges and plotting severe punishments. The time we spend on aimless mind games, we could spend it building, creating and improving our world. I’m not saying we should walk around and hug trees and make Bon fires (though that wouldn’t hurt). I’m just saying, if at the end of all of this we want to feel proud about our days spent on this earth, then we’re going to have to try being a lot less bitter and start doing a lot better.


Going Back to the Centre

I do believe there is a tiny voice that exists within all of us, and it is a voice which gets smothered and squished out of it’s place of purpose from time to time. Whether you want to refer to this ‘voice’ as a ‘conscience’ or an ‘inner self’ the fact remains, that it exists, and as the days, months, and years go by, it keeps getting drowned out by the sound.What sound you may ask? The sound of, other voices; people, and their wants, their needs, their desires, their beliefs, their messages, it all comes together in one loud confusing and constant hum called ‘society’ and it hovers over the frequency with which our own ‘inner voices’ speak to us. So we never really get to hear ourselves saying ‘no.’ All we hear is the world, barking orders at us in all the many creative and devious ways possible.

Mind you, I may have come to this realization, but it doesn’t mean I have found a solution (not yet). However, I do believe I may have found something (knowledge that this is happening) that is key to empowering me to actually ‘finding my voice’ again. Actually waking up to the fact that there is something within that is worth tuning into, is a pretty big deal and I’m sure it’s instrumental in knowing what direction to go. We live in a world where we’re all supposedly connected to each other  by technology no matter the distance, but ironically, we’re hardly connected with ourselves. So how can we even make meaningful deep connections with others when it is lacking from within or in other words, we can’t even connect with ourselves?

All I’m saying is, I’m on a mission. I’m on a task to draw a map that leads back to myself. That person inside who is confident and directed by her own faith, aspirations, dreams and is pure, I want to get back to. There are too many people in my head, and too many people and expectations that I have decided to live for and honor, completely neglecting the aspirations and expectations of my own self. I’m going back to the centre guys, and I really wouldn’t mind it if you took that journey with me.Listen out, be alert and follow your voice. You may be surprised where it leads you.


Misplaced Focus, Misguided Attentions.

This isn’t where I usually put down my feelings about the more personal matters concerning my life, but I needed to put this some place, where it would serve as more than visual satisfaction for myself. I felt this was a message worth sharing and after realizing that, I just couldn’t keep quiet. As youths, we tend to have a very scattered kind of focus. We’re at that age where everything in the world seems to glisten and glitter, so much so that even the dirtiest slimiest thing, appears to be gold. Though, we all know the age old saying which accompanies that illusion, still, we fall for the same traps constantly, swiping and grabbing after these illusive ‘treasures’ that elude us the closer we seem to get to them. So what is my message?

I’m saying, there are many attractive things in this world that will catch our eyes from time to time, and in youth, our desires tend to overpower our better judgment in the moment, making every ‘want’ feel right; but we need not fool ourselves. Keep your eyes on the prize. If there is a goal you have, a dream, like being a singer, a writer, philosopher, doctor, go for it. Focus, aim, and fire. It seems like in our youth we have all the time and room in the world for trial and error, but truth be told, in life, only a few mistakes (if any) are pardoned, but there are some which we will continue to pay the price for, for the duration of our lives. Don’t allow yourself to be sidetracked washed away and trapped into a cycle of endless regrets. The distractions that glitter, they pull us, but they often pull us off of the road to our goal. Time, whether you are young, or you are old, waits for no one. So, i urge everyone who may come across this, to remember your priorities and if you don’t have any to remember, then remember to get some, and constantly keep them in view. Don’t cause yourselves unnecessary pain by deviating from your real goals. Its too much hard work to catch up, or to try and start over again. It’s even worse for those of us, who don’t even have the motivation to go on. So just focus. Keep your sights right in front of you. Looking back, may just turn you into a pillar of salty tears, and trust me…you don’t want that.