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Tired, truly
Tired, truly. Of words that fall out reckless from careless tongues; half-formed, half-thought, like they were never meant to mean anything at all. How can’t they see or understand pain unless it’s theirs to claim? How can their eyes never learn to read truth unless it flatters them? Tired, truly. This thing once called common sense now feels rarer than peace, rarer than listening. This blindness to another’s ache. How strange. Tired, truly. Of being weighed, measured, and still found suspicious for just existing without apology, for being ambiguous. Tired, truly. Of being the quiet storm holding the walls up when others crumble. The twenty-four-seven adult in every room; steady,…
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Comfort zone’s safe arms
To quote a JP Saxe’s song, I’m trying not to listen to the part of me that knows. How it all begins and how it ends; that after Monday comes Tuesday, and October follows September. I can be be comfortable, like the rest of you, in the inner routine I’ve built in, even when it doesn’t translate to anything fruitful. Comfort zones have been given a bad rep. Perhaps there’s some truth in that your comfort zone can kill you. But there is a reason why you run back onto those comfortable four corners when nothing seems right — and even when it does, we go right back into comfort…
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Up in the air but eyes on the prize
It was a weekday. Before I opened my eyes, I felt one of my arms wrapped around some big, firm but soft shape. Slowly, my heavy eyes still closed, I ran my hands up and down trying to use my sense of touch to make up what it was, and why it was in my bed. When I couldn’t immediately tell what it was, eyes still closed, I went into my head and tried to unbox the memories from the night before. Nothing. Better open my eyes then, I thought. And as unready as I was to face the sunlight lighting up the room, I squinted. “Oh,” I said. “Right.”…
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Replaceable (excerpt)
If they’re intimidated by the thorn, they don’t deserve the flower. It’s taken a lot of tears and a self-diagnosed clinical state of denial to reach this emotionally intelligent level. I’ve come to understand that you can have a heart of gold—the biggest, softest, and kindest of them all, and genuinely believe deep within your soul that you’re one of a kind and that you deserve fairness and all the best vibes. And, after you convince yourself that everyone else around you also thinks so, someone you actually care about will remind you that, nope, you’re not all that good stuff you thought you were. You’re replaceable. Even if your…
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Too Much of This, Not Enough of That
Big part of my upbringing taught me how to be submissive. Didn’t teach me to stand up, I had to learn it. I learned to speak up to get what I wanted. A painfully shy life form, I could never do enough to fit the norm. “Be quiet!” they’d tell me. “Kids don’t have a say.” “Smile!” “Sit up straight.” “Raise your head when you walk.” “Look at people in the eye when you talk.” “Don’t laugh so loudly!” “Don’t sin, act godly.” “Pristine girls don’t run around like horses; they walk in a straight line…” And perhaps unknowingly, they gave me too strong a spine. But still, not fine.…
