Who I’m supposed to be

I know who I’m supposed to be: confident, happy, strong, independent. I feel like I can have anyone. I feel powerful and in control of who I am. I walk in and everyone looks at me. Girls want to be me, men want me. I have a strong foundation and a small but very special group of friends.

I get to have it all. I work in art but with a fabulous successful life. I perfect my skills on a daily basis and never procrastinate. I have the ideal weight and don’t really have to worry about being healthy because I simply am.

I know exactly how to dress and what my look is. My past inspires me to inspire others. I have long hair and can travel as frequently as my heart desires to do so.

But then the evil forces take over.  I don’t know her name. Let’s call her Malia. She’s insecure, stupid, procrastinates and cannot seem to have her shit together. She goes on and on about her insecurities and is looking for approval from anyone and everyone.

I’m a Gemini, maybe that explains something to those who believe in that stuff. If it is true, I am in this constant battle between who I should be and how I sometimes feel I am not. Will it ever feel right? I do know that in those moments when I am who I know I’m supposed to be, life shines. The light is so bright, I can’t even stand it.

Maybe we’ll never be completely who we’re supposed to be, but better. The trials and tribulations make us more human and help us help others. I do know some people that seem to be perfect, I’m not one of them…and that’s OK.

I’m an artist and artists have the responsibility of feeling absolutely everything.

Knowing who I’m supposed to be is better than not having a clue. A few years ago I didn’t have a clue. I do not know why it has taken me so long but that’s fine too. As many books point out: you cannot go against what is. Try to become a better version of yourself little by little and try not to be too hard on yourself. I know that’s all I’m trying to do. And I know now I’ll get there somehow. I don’t know exactly how or when…but I’ll get there if it kills me. Good night and good luck.

Endings?

I’ve had a million beginnings.

Once upon a time there was a little girl. She only cared for purple and had a lovely lady watch over her. She’d tell her stories at night, so the little girl learned how to dream. They were mostly fairy tales. She started to dream. She wanted to dance, sing and get all the attention that these perfect princesses seem to naturally attract. Mandy was quiet but had dreams hidden inside. Boys never liked her, she was too strong and big for them. She’d hope there would be at least one that would come and play. He never showed.

Once upon this other time she was a teenage girl. She started to grow an interest for books, strange words, unique sounds and other weird creatures. Her loneliness made her creative. She completely forgot about the little boy that wouldn’t play with her. She was too young to remember. There were a couple of boys she fancied but they chose other girls and our dearest Mandy stood alone again. This one would be harder to forget.

Once upon any other time Mandy was in her mid twenties. She wasn’t just looking for love this time. Somewhere along the way she got distracted and lost her soul. She was looking for both now. She started with the soul first since she figured that’d be pretty useful for everything else. After trying really really hard, she found neither.

Once upon many other times our girl was tired and a few years older than before. She didn’t have a soul, she hadn’t found love but she did have a restless heart. It wouldn’t leave her alone. Here she was again, as usual, alone.

Once upon another time, she’s 30. She’s never known love. She’s the sun and recently found a moon. He doesn’t believe love exists. She likes him but isn’t sure if this is yet another perfect opportunity to be left stranded as usual in the middle of nowhere with barely enough water to survive. She running out of bandages to mend her broken heart. When will there be any sort of ending? A girl needs closure.

I guess sometimes we aren’t supposed to understand.

Once upon the perfect time…

Why perfection?

It’s an abandoned place. There’s a little girl that feels lonely. She doesn’t know what to do except pretend that everything’s perfect and express herself. There isn’t much to eat and she’s lost a few pounds. She’s pale and has short hair. She has forgotten what real life looks like. All she owns is one skin colored dress. Her feet are dirty from walking around.

She grows up through struggle. She doesn’t know what she deserves. Against all odds, she survives. She doesn’t know what to do so she decides to create. She dances and she sings. She starts to write these imperfect stories. Because of these imperfect stories, she’s curious about others that have also led imperfect lives. Perfection seems like an impossible dream. She still fights for it.

She’s on her way there and gets trapped in the middle. In between the old broken life she had and the perfect one she strives to achieve. Will she get there? It’s up to her.

On a cloudy afternoon she looks up and sees what she’s created. She’s made songs, she’s made a mess but she’s made something. The little girl is now a woman and she likes to forget. But when she remembers, she documents. She sees pain and feels it. She also sees a strange kind of beauty in others. She opens her eyes and realizes that the ugliness made her. The graffiti wasn’t a mistake after all, it was art. The stories she tells reminds others of where she’s been and how there’s nothing wrong with it, even when it shouldn’t have happened.

The hungry little girl still lives inside of her. Why strive for perfection? She doesn’t know but she doesn’t want what wasn’t meant to be had. Maybe perfection lives wherever we are now and what we get to create with what we have.

Seeing others have these seemingly perfect lives makes her wonder why it doesn’t feel like that for her. It doesn’t matter. What matters most is that she express herself. Even if all else fails, she must create. What saved her as a little girl will be what saves her as an adult.

Alle is beautiful. She doesn’t remember it often and others don’t tell her enough, but she is perfect. She might not feel it but her abilities are beyond belief. She’s flawed and isn’t afraid to show it and that’s as close to perfection as anyone could ever get.

Party girls

Party girls don’t get hurt, Sia’s right. Why does the numbness make big girls cry in the darkness then? Where do these suppressed emotions go? Do we bury them deeper or do we become so good at pretending that they actually disappear.

 1,2,3…1,2,3

 Party girls drink, this is true. Why do some have it together so easily and these girls don’t? How did we become these party girls? We like the attention, we like the emotions. We’re fabulous and nobody can deny it. Behind the scenes isn’t as glamorous but equally beautiful.

 1,2,3…1,2,3

 We just want to fly through the night and have our tears finally dry out. Will they ever disappear? Will age help? I don’t know. Until morning light, we’ll keep the glasses full. Until the moon vanishes, we’ll hold on as tightly as we can. The shame will show up but soon enough, the night will come again.

 1,2,3…1,2,3

 Losing count might be the only thing that makes us not lose it completely. Swinging from a chandelier seems perfectly understandable when this living situation makes no sense whatsoever. We don’t know where we are or where we’re suppose to be. It rang true to my heart.

 1,2,3…1,2,3

 I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to escape. Have I succeeded? Well, can anyone escape themselves? Until I know, I’ll hold on for dear life.

Winter

She was born in December. Her skin was pale as snow and her eyes black as night. The stars pulled her hair and talked to her constantly, especially when it was pitch black dark…they’d whisper lovely secrets into her ears.

Once the day came, she started to see other creatures. Most of them came in pairs. Venus started telling her about love and how she should desire it deeply. She was too young and easily got distracted by pretty things so she forgot to ask the purple goddess exactly why she should desire romance. But she believed her.

During the night she rejoiced in her solitude. During the day she searched for her mate. Everyone seemed to be taken. Some that she liked were wandering souls. They wouldn’t stay. Others were boring because all they did at night was sleep, afraid of the dark, afraid of the unknown.

Venus kept pushing her and as soon as she became old enough, Winter decided to sleep more at night so she’d have more energy during the day to look for that perfect other.

She’d sleep, wake up, search. The stars started to become a distant memory. Her hair wasn’t as messy as when she wandered through the night. She used to float, she used to sing, she was free.

The days became longer, the search harder. She’d meet creatures and they were never quite right. She’d sleep more, hoping maybe the right one would at least show up in her dreams.

It was her 30th birthday and she remained alone. The sadness put her in a comatose state. She was about to give up. And then one night, she had a nightmare. It was full of fearful monsters and settlers. In the dream everyone had somebody but they were utterly miserable. They had all chosen comfort over authenticity.

Winter woke up startled and couldn’t go back to sleep. She stepped outside into the woods and looked up. It all came back. The connection and contrast was too strong to ever fully escape her.

The stars pulled her back in. The darkness of the night hugger her. Winter began to create her very own constellations. The music returned. The trees danced in harmony. She decided to marry the night. It all made sense again.

During the day she’d plan for the night. Some creatures started to pursue Winter but now, she wasn’t willing to give up her nights.

This time, she’d wait for one that wouldn’t just keep her company during the days but also would embrace her endless nights. One who understood her restless heart. One who wasn’t afraid of the dark, one who wouldn’t run away and was clever enough to know that the only way to keep her was to let her go and let her be.

Until then, Winter would create, she would float, she would shine.

Which side?

After being alone for so long, I’m standing on one side of an ampersand and I’ve forgotten what the other side looks like. I’ve never truly been good friends with the ampersand; it’s so serious and official. I truly want to be with somebody but not with an ampersand in between.

He used to be my friend until he wasn’t. He used to be on my side until he wasn’t. Why are there sides? Why can’t I see sides most of the time? I’ve found myself in the middle of fights and I have no idea how I got there. He never spoke up so I couldn’t possibly know something was wrong.

She never loved herself until she did. There certainly aren’t any sides, except our own. If there’s one side that exists that we can actually control is loving being inside our bodies. That’s a side you can’t go against.

I’ve felt utterly and completely alone except when I deeply appreciate myself. The lessons have been endless and I don’t like picking sides. I like choosing what feels right.

Her father figure hurt her. Her mother figure loved her. What side should she pick? It’s a no brainer. Not picking sides sometimes can be as damaging as any other poison created by any wicked witch. Stay close to someone that hurts you long enough and you’ll end up hating yourself. Then you’ll have a harder time learning how to be on your own side.

Try to stay balanced and peaceful so that there isn’t a side to choose. Try to pick them all so you can see the different angles of the movie of your life. Unless someone is trying to hurt you, then pick the opposite side of that coin. Never let go of who you are, even when it’s hard. Be on your side even if no one else is. Now that’s a side worth picking.

Say goodbye

It’s unfortunately easy to stay even if it’s wrong to do so. The pain has been her friend for so long, she doesn’t even know who she’d be without it.

Pam broke up with her boyfriend a week ago and doesn’t know what to do with herself.

Sara begged him to stay and he still said no. She suffered, he hurt her and she still wanted him back. Why? We’re used to pain if it means we’ll fit in. We’re afraid of loneliness.

I’ve learned the hard way how to say goodbye. It was hard but at least I learned that lesson. Some people never do.

Say goodbye to those that have nothing to give you. Say goodbye to those that have hurt you.

Go into yourself and love it. Be your own before being another’s. I’ve been my own and now have forgotten how to be another’s but hopefully it’ll happen again and I’ll remember.

I’m saying goodbye to feeling sorry for myself and comparing myself to others.

I’m saying goodbye to you heartbreaker. I’m saying goodbye to the drama. After so much, I hope to help someone else get over it. We’re too valuable to care for those that don’t matter.

Pain needs time and you can’t rush it. But once you get the strength to get up again, do it. Don’t question it and just do it. It might seem as though you’ll never have the strength again but you will. The heart never gives up on you. Don’t give up on it and say goodbye to anything that tries to take it from you. Protect your heart with you life and wave goodbye to the heartache. I have a lot of baggage but I’m saying goodbye and getting up. I’m hoping for the best and starting over for the 12th time. Seriously. If I can do it, you can do it too.

Never had Elvis

We broke up last year. The love we had vanished. It was real, it was beautiful. You took her word for it and it was gone. You never said a word but believed hers more than mine.

Good thing we never had Elvis. Good thing we walked away before we bled out. Good thing we both had enough songs to carry us through. You might have gotten more in the settlement but I know how to interpret them on a more positive note.

The blind ones name their babies Elvis when they know they’ll never be royalty. They know what their life won’t look like. “They were just two jerks playing with matches.” As Regina beautifully put it.

We were just two jerks playing in the dark, not knowing our hearts were on the line. Good thing we never had Elvis. Good thing our ending was as poetic as all those stories we loved reading together.

I know you want me to wear your tattoo but I will not. Even if it hurts and even if this is about you, I will never wear your tattoo. Why would I ever carry a burden as dark?

Good thing we never had Elvis. Good thing there’s no proof of the love we had. Good thing we’re no longer holding each other’s mirror.

Elvis wouldn’t have been happy or sane. He would have been interrupted, as so many are. He would have been broken and a consequence of a love that was never meant to be. Good thing we never had Elvis.

Everything

I never knew what I wanted to be. For so long I didn’t know, it became a habit. I’ve been an event planner, a make up artist, a translator, an English teacher, a Spanish teacher, a fundraising assistant, a singer, a photographer, a writer, a blogger, and an entrepreneur. I’ve tried studying it all and I cannot seem to focus. I want to be everything.

I still haven’t found it. The balance I so desperately seek seems so close and yet so far. The perfect life seems to take a step back when it takes a look at my crazy decisions; it stays put. The perfect relationship puts me on probation when I show it what I have to show for myself; it doesn’t seem like much. I swear it’s completely my fault but I simply didn’t know any better. Can I fix it? Well, is there anything to fix? Having a logical, scientific and very successful older brother also doesn’t help my brain accept myself just the way I am. He has a lot to show for himself.

I do write well, I feel good when I write. But is that enough? I want success, I want joy; I want love. It’s always excluded. I thought having amazing friends made it worth it; they’re all gone. I have had awesome experiences, interesting friends and a beautiful connection with my mother. But where am I going when I don’t know where I want to go? I want to write, I want to sing and I want to move away from the tiny town I was born in. I need money to do all of that and I’m not really there. So, to do everything you apparently have to have a purpose. I swear sometimes I feel like I do have some sort of purpose. It leaves me stranded and I often feel lost again. I just don’t fully fit. Will this be my happily ever after? It doesn’t make me sad. I have hope and I know for a fact it’s never too late. I’m flakey but flakey has now made me feel stuck, again.

I will write because I need to. I will sing because I can. I will create. But I must find a more concrete path and find a way out. I want to do it all but I’m not sure if one life is enough. Especially not when I started when I did. That’s fine. I’m done resisting what is. But I do gradually want to move out of what it’s been. I want to keep all the good and change what’s been bad.

My mom thinks it’s being pessimistic but I simply think the future is too far away and sometimes changing little things in the present can make everything different. I don’t want to give up; I want to believe in miracles. I want to be a dreamer and a realist. Once again, be everything but in a smarter way. I honestly do not know if this makes any sense or if anything will truly change. But all I can do is try and if I fail again and again at least I’ll know I never gave up. I might not have found my place in this world but I’ll die trying and in doing so, I’ll be and feel everything I possibly can. So far, so good.

I am who I want to be

I’ve realized I have to be committed to who I am. Always and forever. Over and over I tell myself how much I’d like to be a writer, have my own business, make music, etc. And yet, it somehow feels like it’s never enough. Days are given to me with a beautiful subconscious mind to work with, books, movies and impressionable music. Even inspiration knocks my door often.

I like wearing lovely dresses, my hair down, leggings, scarves and boots. I am passionate about fashion and I like looking good. The life I want doesn’t seem to have been done by anyone else. It’s a combination of many things. And yet, sometimes I don’t bother to put in the work. I am getting better but I get restless. I don’t want to wait to be who I want to be. I don’t want to wait to be where I want to be. I want it all and I want it now

Why is it that we wait to fully become ourselves until we think we are in the perfect place and time? I am ready to be who I want to be; not what I think I should be. We have to act and be the way we want to be inside first, and then, hopefully, it’ll all fall into place on the outside.

Don’t wait until you get the promotion, act as if you already have it. Don’t wait to become your own boss, be a boss. Don’t wait until you’re at the perfect weight to feel beautiful, act as if you already are that person. Then you’ll be so sure of it, that it’ll happen.

Just the joy that comes from acting as the person you love to be is reason enough to do it. I walk in a room and I know I’ve arrived. I’ve had those moments. Sometimes I remember who I was born to be and I can feel sunshine.

Being insecure can be a disease. Insecurities lower your expectations of life and eventually make you miserable. Besides, if you truly know what you believe in and who you are, nothing should make you feel weak. Comparison is trying to kill my happiness but I won’t let it. I’ll defend it with my tiny gun. Yes, it’s tiny but it’s mine and it’ll do.

Don’t wait for your expectations to meet your reality. Create your reality so that the expectations can never be too great. And I must warn you, just because things sometimes don’t work out the way you expect them to, isn’t reason enough to feel sorry for yourself. Just because it takes time doesn’t mean you should give up. You have to know that sometimes it’s just not meant to be and there’s something you must learn from it. It’s very difficult to remember, but true and you must stay strong. If you act as if your reality belongs to you and no one else, then it’ll catch up to you. I know who I want to be. Here’s who I am:

I am happy, in love, peaceful, successful & free. I am beautiful, healthy, radiant & full of energy. I am enthusiastic. I am a great daughter, sister, friend, and human being. I am a writer, composer, entrepreneur, singer, and motivational speaker.

I am who I want to be.