Random Channel Surfing

This Friday was a gift. It taught me that even when the four of us have a disagreement (for lack of a better word), we care about one another and work hard to improve our relationship.  I love these three women with all of my heart. I honestly cannot imagine my life without their light and love. 

My dad's life is different. Not different in the bad sense, just different in the sense that he's done and seen and experienced certain wonders and events that not many would be privy to. He was involved in Guatemalan politics, was a minor-league soccer player, helped fund a library in a small village; the man has had a vast and varied career. Now that I'm trying to sort my dreams, I've realized that it doesn't matter how many dreams I have! Each and every one of them has potential; I just have to believe in myself. Instead of sitting around, panicking over the sheer enormity of some of my dreams -- feeling meek, intimidated, and alone -- I have the power to make all of my aspirations come true. I just need to get started. //Perspective.

As much as I'm hurting over everything that happened this weekend, I now have a more concrete understanding of certain emotions and situations. And yeah, it's going to hurt for at least a little while longer, but it's another experience; it's another perspective on life. I have a better understanding of mannerisms and facial quirks and rough edges and body heat. Yeah. It's going to hurt. But every defining moment in life comes with a little pain. And, as Bob Marley wisely said: "Truth is, everybody's going to hurt you; you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for." It was short-lived and it was wonderful. It was bursts of energy and euphoria. It was tenderness and frankness. It was a shooting star; a rogue wave; an avalanche. So much -- too much -- and yet not enough. Not enough. But I'll live.

Three days. That's it. Just like Montreal. I'm a cliche, yes, but I'm a cliche with a timeline. And three days is enough for me to purge all this sadness. Three days is enough for me to get over it. Montreal will always be there My hope will always be there   Just because things didn't go the way I'd hoped, doesn't mean my life is over. I have to get back up and try again.  Try Try Again. 

Just because a guy likes you, doesn't mean he'll want to be with you.

I don't think I know how to enjoy good things. I fret and obsess and dissect every little interaction until I feel sick to my stomach and want to hurl into the waste can. It's awful. I'm so happy I have plans for tonight 'cause I am not going to obsess any more over any of this stuff. Nuh-uh. Not anymore.

There's a feeling of complete calm right now, despite my heart's fluttery and happy feeling and my tummy's coiling anticipation. It's a good day. It was a good Sunday and that goodness has transferred to today and I'm seeing the world in a sublime light. I couldn't even fault the sun's obnoxious rays this morning! The only thing that could improve my good mood is a rainstorm. (Prays for rain.) I've had good days, don't get me wrong, but today? Today is especially wonderful. My mouth won't stop quirking into a smile and I feel like hugging complete strangers. And I hope I can remember this feeling. No matter what happens, I hope I can hold onto it and I hope I can bask in this warmth for a long time. And I'm a happy person who finds smiling quite easy and who can focus on the positives in just about any situation, but this feeling? This insatiable need to smile? It's like my regular good mood times seventy. And I'm addicted to ...

Three pairs of people. Six. Six sweet meetings. Six. Six attendees. Six. I'm really starting to like the number six.

I happen to believe that everything in life is connected. One good deed spawns another; every action has a reaction; cause and effect. And the same can be said about our love lives. Truly, it can. I remember the very first time I was approached by a guy. It was the very day my middle sister Pily flew to Milan to start her two year program in interior architecture. My sister and I were never that close (I was always closest to our older sister Cristiane, who I saw as my very best friend), but that morning before she flew away, there was something final in her departure. It was almost like I knew that her future lay in Europe; and it did! She now lives in Germany with her husband and beautiful daughter, but even on that September morning, I was aware that the Pied Piper was calling her home. It was all very traumatic to me, but I didn't understand where my surge of emotions was coming from. So, there I was: at the TD bank, waiting for my parents to drive me to school. I was seven...

And the truth will set you free (after the panic attacks stop).

I just remembered why I avoid getting crushes: they hurt.

The main negative part about having a potential romantic dream-lover person follow you on any social media platform is that you're constantly second-guessing yourself about what you can and should post, as well as what you can't and shouldn't post. It's a constant tug-of-war between your brilliant ideas and the self-conscious nail-biter at your elbow, reminding you that "so-and-so could read into your tweet that you want his bod bad" or that "dude could mistake that flirtatious pic you just posted as a total come-on, c'mon!" So I hardly ever tweet. Hardly ever post a pic or link. It's better this way.  Passivity is underrated, I think. Right?

So September 5 was first Him's birthday. That's was why I was all emo thinking about "His" song and all that.** It amazes me, actually, how much space he occupies in my head. I truly don't understand how someone who, for all intents and purposes, was a blip in my life -- a mere plot point -- can still mean so much to me. Even now, years later, when I'm fairly stable and extremely happy and and and and just excited for the future, He's just... there. It's not right or fair to me. And yet I can't stop myself from remembering the exact shade of his eyes, or the way he tied his shoes -- much less the way I felt when things were exciting and happy and my gullible soul fooled my willing mind into believing that he cared about me just as much as I cared for him. Ah, to be young and stupid again. To believe in earnest that all we needed for our story's happy ending was the right timing. I mean, I knew we both felt something. I knew we both cared ab...

I think people are drawn to angsty songs (especially angsty love songs) because it's easy to imagine ourselves in the singer's position. It's sexy and tragic and (a lot) self-serving to feel this sadistic need to feel the way that the singers do. I think I listen to a lot of angsty love songs in general. But the worst thing I do, is listen to happy up-beat music because it reminds me of someone I once loved. I mean, people usually listen to sad songs and cry, but no. I have to take it one step further and listen to a happy song because I want to feel miserable over some dude I was in love with once upon a time. Like. Why do I do that?