[and as these shadows fall on me now]

"Shut up," Ender whispered.

Because she saw that his chest was trembling, because she knew that she had indeed hurt him, because she knew that just like Peter, she had found his weakest place and stabbed him there, she fell silent.

[asphyxiation]

i've always been a sensory sort of gal
in uncannily amelie-like fashion

the sound of clacking keys beneath my finger tips
the feel of inky black pens carving thought
into the unwilling softness of white
the scent of sharpie permanence

--just itching to feel
because i don't know myself
without words

[what is love?]

it's what frees you
to be exactly who you are
and could be

[seck you lerr]

Soon I want to blog about why I hate the term "secular."
Hate it. Abhor it. With a passion.
Soon.
Not now.
But soon.

[mmm]

Is it weird to be nervous about being too happy?

A few things from today:

(in no particular order)

1. I love raw conversations. And the fact that Poca and I are both external processors.
   
2. I love Southeast-Asian curry more than any other curry.
3. My family is ten kinds of ridiculous... but I wouldn't have it any other way.
4. : )
5. And I'm pretty screwed up. But really... we're all pretty screwy.

[what i was thinking about during service that i don't know if i feel anymore]

when i look in the mirror
i don't see me-- i see my mother
and i'm not sure if it's because of my olive skin and Spanish temper
that blazes like a firecracker
or simply because i can hear her voice in my head
telling me who i am, but even more
who i'm not and should be

when i look in the mirror
i see her failures... and mine
i see her grip on my shoulder, pushing me
to be everything she ever was
to redeem every single thing she wasn't
wanting a better life for me than she ever had for herself

yet in my own eyes i find her disappointment staring back at me
i find buried memories
that adamantly refuse to be forgotten and stuffed under the bed
and i stare
and i remember
and i'm sorry (for who i am and who i'm not)

but as it is, we remain two sides of the same coin
ever flipping over and over, 'round and 'round
telling the same sad story
of heartache and regret and shame
to the point where i forget whose reflection is whose
when i look in the mirror.

[allison]

I ran into an old friend from high school earlier today. I hadn't seen her in years. And yet she said she still recognized my voice behind her in line for Panda Express.

It's funny how memories come at you in waves. They taunt you and draw you in... until you're completely immersed in the past. From head to toe you feel the you that you once were. And you remember. More than any details, you remember how you felt.

And so as we made small talk about how we've been and what we plan to do in life, I felt the past creep in bit by bit. I remembered trying out for the school musical with her. How we'd been so excited to try out together; how sad I was when she didn't make it with me, since she was the one who encouraged me to try in the first place. I remembered the day she told me that her dad had cancer, how calmly she seemed to put it all out there... and yet in her crossed arms I could see her trying to hold it together, almost succeeding. I remembered not quite knowing what to say, but how I hurt for her. How all I could do was put an arm around her and sit in silence. I remember hearing that she was dropping out for a while because he passed away. How I was too nervous and unsure of how to even approach the subject when she came back to school. How I wanted to tell her I was sorry-- and yet fearing somehow that it wouldn't help at all. I remembered, before graduation, taking her yearbook and scrawling out the heartfelt words that I never knew how to say out loud before. Hoping it was better late than never.

...I'm not sure how to wrap up this story. There's no neat and compact way to file this one under Lessons Learned. All I know is that it leaves me feeling unsettled.

1. I hope that I'm never that kind of person again. Too self-conscious to go out on a limb for a friend.
2. I need to remember that everyone has a story. And most of time time, it takes a closer look to realize that.
   

[invitacion fountain]

Even if half of the time I just feel like a little kid playing the role of a "grown up"... :P

where you lead me, Lord, i will follow
if you lead me, Lord, i will go

[hand over those digits]

"And they talked for a time of their plans and wishes...
gravely, earnestly, hopefully as youth love to talk,
while the future is yet an untrodden path
full of wonderful possibilities."
- Anne of Avonlea

This week has been chock-full of talk about relationships. Seriously. From ideal physical features of a significant other to how DTRs should be conducted, from sharing our dating age ranges to how exactly we'd like to be swept off our feet. Most of these discussions have been 2 parts silly, 1 part uncomfortable, and 5 parts hopeful. (Something like that anyway).

But what I've really come away with is a lesson my parents have been trying to teach me for as long as I can remember. "J, you need to learn to have open hands." What they meant was not to hold onto anything in life too tightly. Don't clench those hopes, ideals, or dreams so tightly in your fist. What they meant was that I needed to hold everything, hold life with an open hand. Because when you hold something with an open hand, you're really not holding anything at all. It's acknowledging that God already has everything in His hands. He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together.

And so I'm rethinking all this talk about dating and relationships... and I'm thinking about how I'm acutely single-- not to be confused with "cutely single"-- and I'm thinking... this is quite alright. So that old five-year-plan that flew out the window so long ago isn't being adjusted to become a hopeful three-or-four-year-plan. Here's the new plan: yield. I trust that God is good and that He wants His best for me, whatever that looks like. And that any guy worth having will want a woman who yields her life to Christ anyway. Open hands.

In other news, I want to have little Singaporean baby girls who love to play Wii games.

"are you tired of me?"

A couple of days ago I met the two cutest little girls in the entire world. No lie. I hadn't known them for five minutes when they started calling me 'jiejie' and insisted that I play with them. They're sweet and friendly and, for some unknown reason, always fight over sitting next to me or holding my hand. (Man, I love friendly kids).

We took them to the zoo yesterday and it was a lot of fun. : ) I realized that I hadn't been to the zoo in over a decade, which made me feel really old. But I reverted back to my squealing 8-year-old self when I saw the koalas! (Man, I love koalas :0).

Anyway, there were a few things that I noticed about these girls. 1) They wanted to copy every single thing I did. haha. If I put on my sunglasses, the little one would ask to borrow her mother's sunglasses. If I drank from my water bottle, the older one would take a swig too. If I started singing a song under my breath, they would be my echo. They wanted to be just like me. 2) They wanted my attention, my acceptance, and my love. They got into so many little squabbles over who would sit by me on the next bus ride or hold my hand on the next trek to a different part of the park. Until finally, their mother-- fearing for my sanity-- said that they should both just stop bothering me because I was probably tired of catering to them.

At this, the older girl peered at me with a concerned look and she squeezed my hand as she asked, "Are you tired of me? You tell me, okay?" And that just did a number on my heart-strings. She could've asked me to carry her on my back the rest of the day and I would've done it. I looked at her and loved her. I told her she was being silly. That I loved spending time with her and would never get tired of her. I wrapped her up in my arms and tried to erase the question from her mind.

I wondered later about the significance of that question. "Are you tired of me?" (There's a question behind that question, but I'll get to that in a second). I feel like it's a question that I've asked sporadically throughout my life, that maybe everyone asks of others at some point. (Secretly, of course. Rhetorically). It's a question that says something about how you view yourself and how you view the person in question. It says that you think someone's love is conditional. And it says that you might not think you're worthy of someone's love. Maybe someone made you feel like you weren't worth it. And you have a hard time conjuring up your own voice in your head that will say how wrong that lie is. Because a few of the questions behind that question are: could you get tired of me? Am I lovable? Will you stick around? Could you really love me? Can I trust you?

And so I'm sitting here at twenty-two years of age marveling at the fact that an 8-year-old's question hit me so hard. Maybe it's because I've just come back from a retreat and I'm feeling all introspective... or maybe because this has been a long time coming. But I think I've been asking God a few of those behind-the-scenes questions for a while now. Because sometimes I feel like an 8-year-old little girl. Sometimes I feel like I'm trying to emulate a Christ-like life so I can ensure that He'll see me and love me-- so I can hold his approval. So I know He won't leave me high and dry. And I wonder if this is all because someone I loved ended up walking away... and if that skewed my view of what love is really like and what God is really like.

All I know is that I don't want to keep asking those kinds of questions anymore. I just want to walk with Him and hold His hand and have Him, in His own way, wrap me up in His arms and erase them from my mind.

[can you hear my heart beating like a hammer?]

"You were right about everything.
You just weren't right about me."
- 500 Days of Summer

I couldn't keep myself from staring. I had to consciously tear my eyes away from his face. His eyes. The curve of his jaw. I tried my hardest to act natural-- to not act at all. And at first the laughter sounded a little too loud, a little too forced. But after a while, it came so natural. And we were laughing at each other again; it felt normal to be among friends. Almost.

But even after all this time, it's still a little strange. Sneaking glances at him, I wondered if my eyes were as wide as my eternal bewilderment. Over what? I'm not quite sure myself. That we didn't work, perhaps. That he broke my heart. That I could stare at him now and not cry. That I wouldn't hold it against him for smiling, for being happy. That I could laugh... with him.

See, when 'we' ended I felt like everything I had ever thought about love was shattered. Tarnished. Ripped to shreds. For three and a half years, I had tasted love and it was delectable. I had never felt so safe and cared for, never so sure of anything in my entire life. His was the face in my dreams. His was the hand I wanted to hold. His were the feet I wanted to walk with me through life, right on past our white picket fence and into our future. I know it sounds cheesy... but I believed in cheesy. But when we were done, I realized that maybe I had gotten it all wrong. Maybe there were no modern day fairy tales. Maybe love was a story people told themselves at night so they'd sleep better. Maybe destiny, soulmates, and cheesiness were all overrated. Maybe there was no Mr. Right and never would be. Maybe I just needed to suck it up.

"Hold your own, know your name, and go your own way."
- Jason Mraz & James Morrison's "Details in the Fabric

But as I stared at him the other night, as we played a card game with friends and sipped on the best boba I'd ever tasted, that movie quote came floating to the forefront of my mind: You were right about everything; you just weren't right about me. The realization swept over me like a breeze. Maybe it was true of us. So we didn't work out. So it hurt a lot. In the end, maybe we just weren't right for one another. And okay, maybe love isn't a fairy tale and not every story (even mine) will end up with a white picket fence kind of deal.

But maybe... just maybe, there's someone out there for me. And it probably won't be perfect, but I do hope that it'll be a little cheesy.
(Much like this entry, ha! No, but seriously... :0)