They'll Name A City After Us

A long time ago, or it seems that way now, I had a conversation with an online friend that I rarely spoke to. However, 'cig' seemed to know what my feelings were at the time regarding someone that had, for lack of better wording, crapped on my heart. It was odd, this conversation, specially since we weren't really that close of friends and more like general common acquaintances. We had said a brief 'hello' back and forth in a chatroom. At the time he mentioned that one day I would see clearly that things are and happen for a reason, but at that moment the pain was not letting me see past beyond the hole I had put myself in.

He asked me if I had watched "500 Days of Summer", to which I replied that I hadn't but was planning to. "You might want to wait, because you won't like it right now, in your state of mind", he typed back. He went off on this deep conversation about the movie was absolutely perfect. Real. How it didn't matter if YOU think someone's your soul mate or how deeply you love for them runs, because you are only 50% of the equation. Maybe in time, they will not feel the same way about you, while you're still on cloud nine about them. They might be the love of your lifetime, you...well you are not theirs. So, they leave us. We spend insane amounts of time trying to figure out what we did wrong, if we loved hard enough, why did they leave us and the other rundown of ideas one usually gets when broken up with. They were sheer perfection in our eyes, every flaw was actually a blessing and every quirk something to be worshiped. In the end, it is also their choice to see us the way we see them. So, what we thought was a match made in heaven, was actually a rush of fleeting emotions and beautiful moments that we take with us. There's nothing we can do to change the outcome. There's nothing we can do to bring them back.

He was right, cig, about me not appreciating that film back then. I saw it 4 nights ago, and it hurt to watch every scene. I felt it in my veins, in my bones, my head...my heart. It re-opened fears, and I found myself crying every few minutes...mostly in the love scenes. Because love ends. It's not that which hurts, but the memories of someone's smile and how it took your breath away. You miss it. You miss the laughter, the feeling of your hand on theirs, the amazing depth of their eyes. Oh. The eyes. However, this is the real world...and we're all grown up. There isn't always a happy ending. Is there? The film portrays just that. Maybe we think that one lost love was what ruined our lives. That we are unable to move on or function without them. Not the case at all.

After watching it, and hurting, I also learned to smile at the end. Sometimes we want someone so badly that we overlook the signs of certain failure in the future...we just want to make that square fit into the circle, don't we? We go through such agony, over something that was never meant to be. Why?

As much as it pains me to say these words, since they go against everything about love I once held dear, here it goes: Enjoy it for what it is, today. Don't think about tomorrow. If it works, it works. If it doesn't, remember the good things. They'll hurt, but they'll also fill you with the knowledge that maybe for a fleeting time in your life, you meant the world to someone.

That's always something to smile about.

Starting Something, Again...

I've been told I need to have a little more faith in people...

So here it is.

I'm giving it all I have, every day. I will fight it when I feel like I want to break down. I will embrace the possibility of happy things happening to me. I will cherish the love given to me, and stop thinking I'm not good enough for it.

I am here. I am open. Don't break me.

IF I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain. - E. Dickinson

Baseball, Blogs & Cold Coffee

It's baseball season, and this year I'm getting back to the swing of things in that regard. For a few years I neglected to watch any games except the World Series and the World Classic. I guess in all the changes I've had for the last 10 yrs, the fact that I was a baseball nut escaped me. I'm getting back into collecting memorabilia, watching almost every game for the Braves (my favorite team) and even following other teams/player stats. I haven't done it in so long, that I feel like an utter newb about it. I'd like to go to the park in the afternoons and play baseball with my family, like I used to as a kid. My mom and dad were actually really good at baseball, or maybe they'd pitch just right for me to hit it out of the park. I currently have an autographed baseball from the 1995 World Series in lay away. Greg Maddux signed it. It's amazing. It means so much more to me than just baseball. I look at it and I remember that fall, my living room crowded with all my older cousins shouting at the t.v. They were all Indian fans. I was 11 and had always liked the Blue Jays. When Javier asked me "Who are you going for?" I blurted "Braves", just to be different than them. I've been a Braves nut since.

Blogs are a tricky thing. They are cathartic, informative and in the end, a lonely place...just like the one you're trying to escape. Social media is a powerful tool if used correctly. I could very well start a blog about sports, travel, IT tips, cooking and about a billion other topics people are thirsty to have information for. I could pretend to be artsy and eclectic, and defend why I like films or writers. In the end I'm just me, and I'm a mixture of too many things...making it infinitely difficult to have a blog that sticks to being amazing at something. That leaves only the other 2 categories available to be used for my blog. In the beginning, I created this place as a means of having a corner in the world I could vent without anyone having to go through the trouble of getting inside my head. I didn't really want anyone finding it, or reading it. I knew people would dissect every word and take sides, or simply leave comments about how they didn't know I felt this way. But, for a while it really was cathartic, liberating. I felt empowered, that I could say whatever I felt like without fear of someone in my life calling me a lunatic.

However, in the process of venting and purging my tireless brain...the blog has now become lonely. It was my escape from a lonely life, only to become a silent dead cyber grave. I find myself wondering if anyone gives a crap, really, what is said here. I've seen the power of a quiet blog strongly this week, the impact of it's words on others out there. How I can write something here, directed at anyone and everywhere...but deep down the person I'm writing it for knows it was meant for them...and, it's in this knowledge we have that the person we wrote it for read it, that we find the loneliness. Why is there no reply? We are pouring our life out here for them, because any other venue would be too public. The corruption of a world that would not understand the pure raw feelings in writer/reader remains untouched in a blog. It's privately public. Why the loneliness? Because we wait for replies that never show up, or maybe the reply addresses nothing of what our soul poured into this e-world. You are left with questions like "Did he/she read it? Did they know it was for them? Did I make my feelings clear?" The silent answer to those, makes this an even colder place to live, and rather pointless to keep writing.

I have to go now, my coffee got cold and lunch time sprang up on me. I thank the handful of you guys that take the time to read this, and assure you that by reading it...you know more about me than my closest family members do. Is that good or bad? I'm not sure. Is cold coffee good? Only when I pay $4.00 for it at Starbucks it seems.

I want answers.

"If the world is a stage...why don't I hear any applause?" - Shanidy

Fireflies and Pink iDogs

Things are getting slightly better, or maybe I'm allowing myself to think positive for once. As overwhelming as all these feelings seem at the moment, I'm trying to focus on the fact that things don't have to be harder just because I'm afraid to let myself be happy someday. The time will come in the future for bigger decisions, changes and acceptance of new situations. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

I decided to go back to the shrink, next Friday. Giving him only one visit to fix me was probably the worse of the decisions I made, since it catapulted me into a deeper hole I was already in. So, time to at least attempt to help myself. The answers might not be what everyone, including myself, want to hear/know. I hope I am not hated for my future decisions, since it is not my intention to hurt anyone in the process of me feeling better. But it all starts with being honest, with myself and others. We'll see how it goes.

Shanidy has her pink iPod touch hooked up to her very pink iDog. The song "Fireflies" by Owl city came on and it sort of reminded me how awesome it is to have something to look forward to. Makes you want to live another day. I'm not saying I felt that, but it definitely cheered me up some.

Until then, I gotta keep on keeping on...like my good friend Joe Dirte said.

I am trying

Not to tell you

But I want to

I’m scared of what you’ll say

So I’m hiding what I’m feeling

But I’m tired of

Holding this inside my head

- Falling for You, Colbie Caillat

Broken Record

The fact that my blog posts are repetitive does not escape my attention, my dear reader.

I just want you to understand one thing, and that's that I have to do it everyday. It's not a matter of want, or a conscious decision I make on my behalf to put down my thoughts and feelings into this little corner of the internet. It's a need I have to fill a blank canvas with mundane musings that no one really cares for. Some days they'll seem like overkill, the words. Others I may write something worth your time.

Either way, today's a long day. Lots to say, no time to type.

That's the worst thing that can happen to a writer. Muse strikes, time slips.

Please Say Yes...

I promise. I won't do it again.

Just need for it to happen.

Just this once. One more time.

You see I've tried so hard.

To deal with things alone.

But now I have this drug. My fix.

You can get rid of reminders,

not the memories,

...so, go figure.

It feels good when I do it.

I feel free, at peace.

You ask me to stop, to call.

But I can't drag you with,

you're the only pure thing

ever left that I haven't ruined.

One more drag across my skin,

last release, then we begin.

Don't lose hope in me.

Do you love me? Even if I'm scarred, broken and not your ideal?

Be Nice To Others, Always

I'm sitting in the back of the classroom today. I normally sit somewhere else, but Ricky Ortiz has been stabbing the lead side of his No. 2 pencil on the right side of my back, right onto one of my chunky rolls. It started as a joke, I think, but it has gotten out of hand. He and his 3 friends just laugh themselves to tears saying "But you got extra padding! It doesn't hurt, so stop fidgeting!" I feel my stomach twist and turn, nausea and this horrible fire crawling up my face and ears. I hear them snicker and Ricky's talking to me quietly in a baby voice "Awww look at you all red..." Just at that moment where I feel the tears well up, the bell rings shrilly to announce phase two of my daily torment. I can almost picture that bell as a cold, ruthless drill Sargent screaming down a poor kid's neck and spitting on his face while yelling "MOVE, MAGGOT, MOVE! YOU WANT YOUR MOMMA, MAGGOT?!". My feet finally receive the brain's signal to move, and there I go: big, red-faced, awkward and terrified. I'm a Senior in HS. I shouldn't be this afraid of school by now, I'm almost done.

The loud talking, laughter and lockers slamming accompany me to the cafeteria - the doom room. I step in through the pale yellow, metal double doors and it almost becomes too much to handle. I'm clenching my jaw, grinding my teeth and almost feel a bitter taste in the back of my tongue...I must have bitten my cheek to hard on the inside, again, drawing blood. I don't even look up, I know the exact layout of all the tables and who is sitting where. Swearing under my breath, feeling every pair of eyes burning holes in me, I stand in the same line I always do. The one with the pre-made sandwiches, the jello cup and a soda. I've had the same lunch for 5 months now, only because my fear and dread of classmates prevents me from taking 50 steps across the cafeteria to the other line, with the warm food. I could trip or be tripped on the way there, they'd be looking at me and I'd get even more awkward, they could scream things at me or worse...not acknowledge my existence at all. The possibilities, though endless, had been lived by me so far. So this is where my road splits. Time for a decision.

I could sit at the table I had been sitting in since the first day of school, with the same 4 girls. They had never said hi, looked at me or even seen me sitting at their table. We had English class together. Lauren was a track athlete, Sarah was in the swim team, Jessica was in the Debate Club and Skylar was in the Photography club. I knew their names, what they did, they're boyfriends names and if they were virgins. I only heard two words from Lauren directed at me. She said "No" when I asked if someone was sitting at the end of the lunch table and "Oh" when I told her she gave me an extra exam in English class as she was passing them around. At this point I can go sit with them, or go to Plan B. This amazing plan consisted of putting my sandwich in my backpack, dumping out the jello and sip my Coke in a calm manner as I left the cafeteria. I'd avoid the corridors, so security wouldn't ask me to go back to the lunch area and sneak into the auditorium restroom.

There's a scene in the movie Mean Girls, in which the main character is having a hard time adapting in a new HS...so she ends up sitting in a bathroom stall by herself eating her lunch. People thing that scene is exaggerated, but that is exactly what my lunch was like at least 2-3 times a week. I'd sneak in there and pretend to put on make up while the girls finished up, I'd hang my backpack from the door and close the stall door. I'd curl up on the top of the toilet, the large metal pipes and sit there with my feet up so no one would see. I'd pray for time to fly and for no one to come in and start banging on the door, then I'd read the scribbles on the walls with each bite of my soggy sandwich. I

shouldn't have felt I had to do that, yet that's the reality of my high school years. I tried to find a home with different groups of people, but at least I found Shante. It was just her and me. I will forever be grateful that she stuck by my side until today. However, how does one get rid of those memories? Of the stereotypes those years formed in your head? I still can't see a jock, wearing Hollister or some attractive guy near me because I feel nauseous and just sort of recoil as if I've been slapped.

Why did I write this? I don't know. But I feel worse now than I ever have for simply existing in this planet.

Bye.

Pardon me, if I step on your toes.

I started writing this, thinking it was going to be a song or a poem. But there’s nothing romantic or poetic about it. There is nothing artistic, or emotionally charged riding on these words. The only feeling is anger, hurt and my new reminder that I have stretched out my hand towards the fire that kept me warm – only to learn the lesson of burnt skin all over again.

I used to think I was like a beaten puppy, used to the abuse yet wagging my tail at the slightest sign of affections thrown my way. However, I am not. I am merely an idiot. Animals have no rational thoughts, they don’t willingly choose to ignore the warning signs of another catastrophe heading their way. Dogs are dogs. I, am an imbecile.

People often tell me that this is my greatest downfall. That I trust and love easily, without reservations. That I shouldn’t be this way, and it’s my own fault because I carry my feelings in my sleeve. My heart in my hand. Ready to give it freely. Never asking for much in return, except the same courtesy. Someone taking their time to care about me the same way. Someone to think of me when a song comes on the radio, and have the urge to text me to say “Hey, I’m thinking of you”. Why do *I* always have to make the first move? All of a sudden I say the first word, or show affection first and people THEN come back with OH YEAH OMGZ ME TOO!!11! You say “heyy! I missed you!!” and mean it, they say they miss you too as an obligation. Because they know they should be nice back. Spare me.

I am tired of chasing. Of caring. Of never learning. I’m tired of planning my life around others, which is only a sign of more stupidity on my behalf. How come I count the minutes to spend time with people, at the same time they’re counting minutes until happy hour or some other idiotic, irrelevant, NEVER changing event? People grow old and die. Objects, hobbies…those will be there forever. I rather spend my time…you know what? I don’t have to even GO into that right now. You all know how I am. I am the rock. I am always here. Even when I’m broken, I hide that part of me and I. AM. HERE.

Can you say the same? Didn’t think so. Thanks to the few of you who are there. It’s easy to be around when I’m just giving you an ego boost, making you the center of my universe. But when I need you to pick me up and cradle me? Gosh, you’re just too busy aren’t you.

RANT. OVER. I’ll be in my car, having air for lunch and crying over spilled milk. I feel used. But it's all my fault, because it's always just in my head.

"Such a silly little whore, with dreams of being a goddess. Go ahead, leave you're money on the table."

Fading Rays

Tiny drops of pink and white

gently float above my eyes

How they twinkle with a sigh

Sparkling bits of love and lie.

You smile away every despair,

As I twirl your lock of hair

We lay lazy, with no care

Taking on this newest dare.

Every brush of fingertips

Simple drinking of your lips

Joy of love through me rips

As I drink you in slow sips.

My bright end to darkened days

Heartbeats touch in loving ways

The moon, witness to our crave...

Hand in hand, we'll run away.

~Y.I.P 040610

Bring Me Back, Josephine

I'm struggling to understand how life works, or is supposed to work. So far, I have come up empty handed and with more questions than ever before.

What was my real life? The memories I have of it or the reality of my life today? Did I make the right choices for my head or my heart? Do I deserve to be happy or to continue making others happy, while numbing myself so I can't tell the difference? I don't want to feel like I am a bad person, because for once I'm putting myself first. Surely all those years of me being good and being everything everyone expected me to be have to amount to something? Would I really be called a horrible person because I can't continue to see my mind deteriorating.? My smile fading? Why do I feel so selfish when thinking of changing my life? It's better than ending it all and having no life, is it not?

I feel like laughing, bursting at the seems and completely giving in to a change. I also feel devastated that my change, while making me happy, will mean utter mayhem and hatred to those who continuously count on me. I am not a bad person, I don't want to be. It just seems to mean that I'll, again, bury my heart away and forget my dreams. In doing that, I'm pouring that last little bit of dirt over the completely dead Yari.

It would've been nice, to see the change.