(image via sfgirlbybay)
monday morning; trying to get all my ducks in a row.
I have been focused on different types of writing; resumes, cover letters, introduction emails. editing of proposals and advertorial texts. it’s all very mundane, but the days pass by quickly. they pass by so quickly. I haven’t heard from the other one for a while; I still haven’t decided whether I prefer the quiet or the opposite. reading his words, somehow, makes me feel grounded, determined. less confused, despite how much the words hurt sometimes. I have been focused on everything on except on what really matters.
december; the beginning of it. the year has been gone by. I have been so preoccupied, so focused on my hurt, on the actual feeling of pain and broken-heart that I haven’t given myself anything – the time or the space to begin the process of healing. within the year, my body fell under various physical side effects: rash associated allergies, eczema, disturbed sleeping pattern and the lack of one, irregular and gruesome menstrual cycle, migraines and cluster headaches. I never took notice, I never understood that it was my body telling me I needed to grieve, heal and mend everything inside me that felt broken and disturbed.
I devoted no time to journaling, to documenting. I neglected the most important thing: the soul work. I did not nurture myself; emotionally or physically. there were no massages or spas, no hours spent in a cafe just reading a book. no reading to begin with, at least nowhere near enough in comparison to what was needed. I learnt new words, but quickly forgot them, too. I did not focus on the beauty around me; I did not embrace simplicity. during the past twelve months my mind eloped around a single thing: my heavy heart, the heaviness rising from within, bringing me down every single day. I have done absolutely nothing to get out of it. to stop feeling the way I feel. I have taken no steps to climb the ladder upwards; to move forward in any direction. for twelve months, I stayed exactly in the same spot; emotionally, physically.
I do not entirely regret the way I spent the year of twenty-thirteen. no. but there were many different ways and approaches I could have taken, or even just considered. so much has been left unnoticed by my macabre self. it is this that I want to change in the coming year. I want to feel grateful for the life I live and the people I am surrounded with. I want to learn from my mistakes, and not repeat them just to make sure. I want to turn the life lessons into my life’s work; not my personal demise.
I want to grow as an individual, as a daughter, as a lover, as a writer, and as a photographer. because I am all of these things, yet they still depict only a fraction of what I am. I want to discover, unravel all the layers of myself, to see myself and to love myself exactly the way I am. including the negative, the hurt and broken pieces. perhaps, they have not mended yet, but it is only because I have not devoted enough of anything to heal what needs healing.
this is what I will work on in the coming days, weeks and months. I don’t want to feel broken anymore. it is time to heal, and to build on my stronger self.
happy december, friends.
words and writing have been difficult. my thoughts dry up before I have the chance, the quiet moment to note them down. and when the time does come, I feel drained and exhausted. not capable of anything creative. my writing has been reduced to instant messages, drunken emails written in the dead of the night, pouring my soul out. fortunately, I am always sane enough never to address the person the words are addressed to. I don’t know. I have had enough of heartbreaks, ups and downs and the constant lack of feeling content. I have had enough.
I’m in search of positivism and good things. I haven’t written one for a long time, so here it is.
things I’m grateful for this week:
+ beautiful, blue skies. the crisp and cool air when I open the balcony door first in the morning.
+ coffee; I’m always grateful for coffee, because it makes life easier. even the cheapest coffee tastes nice. one day I will try a cup of marley coffee goodness and I cannot wait.
+ seeing three high school friends at the same time over a couple of drinks. there were laughs, and jokes, and high-fives, and ridiculous words and funny things. it was good to see them, and I already miss that.
+ for that moment when you pick up a random book at the bookshop; you start reading and you get completely immersed in it. I’d always had a completely wrong idea about empress dowager cixi and there’s something about the chinese history that I just love. going back this week to buy the book.
+ little black dresses.
seasonal changes; it is cold now. we sit in a cafe outside, sipping wintery beverages. hot chocolate for him, coffee with nutmeg for me. we look at each other, sensing the time pass. it moves around us in swirls of air, circling around our heads and then slowly dissolving. disappearing. another minute gone. but we sit for hours. sometimes, we laugh; sometimes, we are in a serious discussion. but it’s always something. the days pass, and soon I won’t even be here anymore. I am trying to focus, but no. it’s not happening. life isn’t happening the way I would like. contentment is missing. every day is bleaker than the one before. a couple of years from now, when someone asks me, this is the period of my life I won’t remember anything about.
I question everything, but have no answers.
I have been spending a lot of hours trying to figure out what exactly is wrong with my life. because I am not content. I am not. occasionally I am happy, sad, excited, exhausted, furious or angry, but most of the time I feel numb, empty, ambivalent. I walk through like days as if they are clouds. I don’t see any beauty around me, I barely pay attention to any details anymore.
and then one night, I realized it. I am not obsessed with anything. there used to be times when I was adamantly focused on a single thing. most of the time, it served absolutely no purpose, but it kept me going. it was giving me an inner purpose. early and mid-teenage years were marked with kurt cobain and nirvana. I was breathing them. everything was about kurt cobain and I thought he would have been my soulmate, if he was still around. he made me start writing letters and lists. the way I dress, even now, is entirely influenced by the grudge period. I used to read pages and bits and pieces from heavier than heaven, every day, like it was a bible. and it was to me. had it not been for cobain’s journals, I would have been cheated for some four hundred bands and artists that I would never hear of otherwise and my music taste would never develop the way it has. I will, without feeling a pinch of embarrassment, admit that kurt cobain and nirvana left the most lasting impact on my life. I barely ever listen to them anymore, but they have never fully left me, either.
when I was younger, it was harry potter. everything about it. I memorized spells and the way how to cook up various lotions and potions. I memorized entire lines from the book. and the films, I knew every single frame by heart. I even skipped school to watch the pre-premier of the first three films. I think of that with great fondness. then there was white oleander and everything about it. I attempted to read or at least know as much as possible about every single book or a work of art mentioned on the pages. then there was sisterhood of traveling pants, which I must have read over a hundred times. as I grew older, I saw myself in a different girl every few years. there was also a period of time lasting about a year and a half when everything in my life was about my moleskine journals and keeping my handwriting straight. I obsessed over goddard’s cinema. I obsessed over lion king, which is perhaps my longest obsession, which started in 1994. I obsessed over buying films and never downloading them. I was proud of this fact. I obsessed over keeping my books in perfect order and color-coded according to the pantone. there were dozens of things throughout the years that kept me sharp. or at least, it’s how I saw it. it was purposeless to the outside world, but it was giving me purpose. it kept me busy, it kept me interested and educated in a way that had nothing do with academics.
but no more. I dare to say, the last twelve months or so, no more. I’d lost that. that feeling, that drive. that willingness to obsess over something that isn’t even remotely relevant, but it is. these days I am just floating through my interests. watching films, but not really. instead of foreign cinematography, I’d turned to american television shows. my interest for chinese and/or french almost disappeared. I’d forgotten all the kings and queen’s of england that ever lived and I could probably just name one bone in the body, instead of all 206. in latin. I’d lost interest of any kind. and that’s why I am not happy. nothing keeps me going forward.
I am just floating through my days and I am completely clueless as how to return my drive. just because you’re breathing, doesn’t mean that you are alive. what a waste of words. I honestly hope I will find my way back one day. I have to.