This is it. This has to be the worst one I’ll ever get. The only one that will last 6 hours. The last one that will trick me into thinking I’m in the process of a slow death. I asked for help. I let them see me cry. And their ignorance and insignificance made it worse. The first thing on my mind is to get a psychologist. After arguing against the opportunity while I’m on a high, I break down and regret not contacting one earlier. And it’s moments like this when the idea of paying a stranger to help and listen to me doesn’t sound pathetic. Because nothing is pathetic when you’re gasping for air and you’re too busy counting the speed your heart is racing at to breathe.
Eso es todo. Este tiene que ser el peor que pueda tener. El único que durará 6 horas. El último que me engañará para que piense que estoy en el proceso de una muerte lenta. Pedí ayuda. Dejé que me vieran llorar. Y su ignorancia e insignificancia lo empeoraron. Lo primero en mi mente es conseguir un psicólogo. Después de discutir en contra de la oportunidad mientras estoy feliz, me desanimo y me arrepiento de no haber contactado con uno antes. Y es en momentos como este cuando la idea de pagarle a un extraño para que me ayude y escuche no suena patético. Porque nada es patético cuando estás jadeando en busca de aire y estás demasiado ocupado contando la velocidad a la que tu corazón está acelerando para respirar.
Talk to someone.
Habla con alguien.
A while back I wrote about solitude. I wrote about how I grew to enjoy my own company enough to avoid relying on other people. I have only just realized that the reason I started to like my solitude was because I had a lot of time to fall in love with it. Today I realized that the reason I distract myself with tv series like ‚That 70s‘ Show’, ‚Skins‘, ‚Misfits‘ and ‚The Inbetweeners‘ was because I lacked support from my own friends. It was comforting to watch a group of friends relying on each other and laughing when things went wrong. I have spent 2 years watching episodes about what I yearn for the most.
I have had friends come and go due to the circumstances you meet when studying at an international school. And I’ve had to leave them when moving to another country. Yet even now, when supposedly the friends I currently have are meant to give me a sense of security as they are meant to be friends for a lifetime, I feel alone. After an experience at a house party, I stopped going to them. That led to stop being invited to them. So the ‚friends‘ I had made through them stopped being people I could disconnect with. The friends that live in different countries have become harder to contact and the friends I am surrounded with don’t know how to be the way they used to be around me. Through stressful situations, I grew detached from them. And no one has reached out enough for me to feel the support I once had. I have lost a lot of people because I stopped trying. And they haven’t tried since. At least not enough. That’s another reason for why I started this blog. It became an outlet of my personal thoughts, the ones I stopped sharing. The thought of WordPress being a community always attracted me to it. I thought I could fill the space that grew within me these past few years. And I realized that as long as I wait for someone to do it, it won’t be filled. I wish to someday look back at this in my apartment, surrounded by friends, drinking wine, and sharing the platform that made me vulnerable, yet the person sharing this with them.
I was 17, looking in the mirror and tying my hair in a low bun when thinking about appearing like a journalist. I then noticed the encouragement women get for their feminine features in the street and the lack of it in the office. I realised that long hair was not encouraged in several occupations. I realised that I doubted my abilities of writing when my hair was down. And I realised: We associate feminine features with a lack of ability to work due to the traditional roles that have not yet been eradicated. I no longer want to overthink my clothes and my makeup, my hair and my shoes when going to work. I no longer want to feel guilty for liking my long hair. I realise this has been an ongoing view for years and I no longer want to link every physical decision with my occupation. I no longer want to feel insecure when going make up free or be expected to wear a shirt that is never revealing or wear my hair up because I want to look ‘professional’. I want to feel beautiful and I want to feel that way with whatever makes me feel that way. I don’t want to doubt my red lipstick and I don’t want to doubt my hair if I didn’t straighten it that morning. Women come in every shape and style and are made by the decisions and choices they have made about their bodies. I hate that i have been moulded into thinking that the features that make me feminine should be hidden in the workplace.I wish they knew that female empowerment came with all of the embodiment of the name. Not just a brain and two legs. I wish they knew that women will always find a way to be women. Whether it’s their pride in their appearance or their ability to shut you up without saying the words and instead using a response that will leave you wondering their potential. Their ability to make decisions, their intellectual abilities, their compassion or their art are what makes women professional, not the outfit that they planned the night before. I hope that the day I have to get ready for work, I’ll leave the house feeling confident, and not uncertain of the physical choices I made.
I am now 18. I cut my hair because I relied on it to feel beautiful. I wear lipstick like it’s lip balm and I love wearing red. And I no longer feel like my clothes and my makeup need to change for specific environments because I feel proud of what I have to say.
That’s when I knew he was the one
We had been silent for 2 hours after a discussion
when I mentioned: “well if you don’t know how to fix it and I can’t, we’re fucked”
to which he responded with: “what do we do now then?”
I smiled, holding in laughter and bursted.
He responded the same way
We both mentioned “this is so stupid”
to which he followed with “I love you”
It wasn’t the first time he had said it
but it meant more than I was used to.
via Daily Prompt: Acceptance
I don’t think you ever stop loving someone after you fall in love with their entire being. It’s just another kind of love. I think you just stop feeling pain when you think about them. And moving on means smiling when they come to mind because of the memories. It turns into caring. I think that’s why people are afraid of using the term ‘love’ when they fall in love. Because they’re afraid of the idea that they will never stop loving them. It just becomes a mature kind of love. One where you don’t need them but you wish them the best and hope they’ll still be some kind of part of your life. Even if it is at temporary periods. But you still love their being. Because you got to know them in a way that is so personal and affectionate that it becomes part of the way you love other people and yourself. And you start falling in love with yourself more than them. That’s when you continue living, knowing that they are no longer with you, but knowing you might have a stronger sense of the word love for someone yet to come.
These are some of the books I’ve left on my bookshelf, waiting for something to happen, waiting for something in my life to occur. To read them at a significant point in my life. Because I’ve always believed they were worth that wait. Some I’m waiting to read when I fall in love. Or out of love. For a train ride. Or a sunny day. And some I’ve looked for everywhere and haven’t found yet. But these are the books I would choose if I were to only read 20 more books for the rest of my life.
A Farewell to Arms
Books vs cigarettes
Down and Out in Paris and London
The Anatomy of Being
I’ll Tell You in Person
The princess saves herself in this one
A box of Matches
We Should All be Feminists
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth