Dear Friend,

Hello, friend, it’s been a while. You’ve slept for a year. You look well-rested, alive. I’m glad to see you out.

Have you seen the sunrise? The beautiful golden hour? Have you breathed in the morning breeze? The birds are singing for you to wake. Have you finally heard them?

You greet the world with open arms this at the start of the year. So excited to share you’re doing well, what you’ve been up to. And they share your joy, they cheer you on as you progress from one hurdle after another.

Where have you been all this time? I missed your smile and energy, oh so lively. I missed your words, the lovely craft of piecing words together, painting a beautiful picture with ABC’s. I missed your curiosity, the wild imagination, the unending trove of magic, and wonders—a universe unknown to the world. I miss the way you scrunch your nose as you try to find a way to put these unexplainable things to words—the swords and the dragons, the shadows and the light. I miss how you turn something so painful into a beautiful poetry that touches the heart.

It’s alright. We can be weak sometimes. We have to let ourselves wallow in grief. You’ve experienced lost you’re unfamiliar with. You were navigating through the tears and the needs. To stand up even though your knees are weak. Slowly you managed to crawl, and then walk and then run. You took your time, and that’s okay.

Now look at you. You look beautiful, just as beautiful as the day I last saw you. A bit of sadness in the eyes, that’s okay. I see more wisdom too. They didn’t lose their spark. A little scar here and there. Hands and feet are a bit callous than I remember. Definitely stronger than before.

I was rooting for you. Did you hear my cheer? That’s ok. I’m still glad you’re back here. I’m glad you’re dancing again, like no one is looking. Laughing as if there’s no tomorrow. Embracing the joy and knowing you deserve the greatest of all love the world can offer.

Friend, I’m glad to have you back.

Vulnerable

Give me a night. Let me cry this out. Let my cries be carried by the wind and swallowed by the night. Let the moon and the stars bear witness to my weakness. Come first light, I’ll be ready to smile again.

Give me an hour to accept the fear, the sorrow I’ve been ignoring. I’ll envelope my body and my heart my hand to the pain I’ve denied thrice. Let me vulnerable, open for arrows and knives. Then I’ll rise up again and fight back.

Give me a second to remember the memories I’ve suppressed. Let the images flash before my eyes, all the regrets, my mistakes, things I wish I held on to, people I wish I fought for. Let me feel this worthless emotion of regret. And then I’ll let it go.

I’ll let it rest for now. Just now, until the box opens again. And one by one, let it go like the dandelions in the wind.

Goodbyes Are Never Easy

In one week, I had to say goodbye to three important people in my life; a friend, an uncle, and a dog.
My dog is technically not mine. She was my sister’s. She brought her home Christmas of 2010. I remember my dad was fuming driving to my sister’s school to pick up the dog. As soon as she popped her small head up and smiled at my dad with her big brown eyes, my dad’s anger melted away. When my sister moved out with her then-husband, she was left with us. I was jobless for almost a year after graduating and we bonded. Since then, I took care of her and she became my baby. Of course, like all things, she got old and weak. She fought strong to stay with us, but in the end, she left peacefully in her sleep.
My friend and I grew apart. We met in college, trained under the same team, and eventually parted ways after graduation. Even so, we stayed in contact. Living in two different countries, we dealt with different things, learned different values, and grew into two different people with different ideas and principles. Soon, our ideals clashed and harsh words were thrown. For some time, I knew that we were growing apart, but I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe that to grow; you have to leave some people behind. I didn’t want to be left behind, and I didn’t want to say goodbye to anyone. But it soon became clear that we were just being civil and polite—that he couldn’t handle that I’ve grown into my own person; with her own voice, values, and dreams. And that is how an eleven-year friendship, came to an end; with an apology, followed by blame and silence.
My uncle was a seaman. For most of my and his children’s childhood and adolescent years, he’d be away. I always thought that one day, he will get to retire and spend his remaining days with his wife and children, and future grandchildren. Soon his health declined and he was unable to find a job as a seaman. He was hired as a bus driver in the city, twenty kilometers away from where they live. When a pandemic hit and transportation systems were suspended, his earnings too were suspended. He’s always been the type who worries and can’t seem to settle and relax. He always keeps himself busy. Every morning when I go to our garden, I’ll see him over the fence, working on something. And every time he saw me, he always says “good morning”. I will never forget the way he smiles and the way he says it. Always cheerful, even when he’s anxious about something.
As soon as the government gave the go signal for transportation groups to resume operations, he went back to work. However, commuting was hard for him because not everyone can afford to follow the sanitation rules and guidelines of the government. He’d leave early and come home late. Soon, he bought a motorcycle. A week after he purchased it, he was in an accident and died of internal bleeding.
In one week, I lost three things in my life. I felt alone, used, abused, angry, sad, tired, and beaten. I wanted to scream at someone, blame someone for the pain. But no, all these things were out of my control.
I can’t stop time and keep my dog from getting old. I can’t control my friend to stay the way he was, the guy I know, and cared for. I can’t turn back the time and stop my uncle from buying the motorcycle. And it hurts; I keep thinking what-ifs, if I had done this if I knew better, would it change anything?
Losing my uncle was the hardest. I’ve never felt a loss like this before. I remember the night that we got the news that he was in an accident. In my head, he probably just fell off his motorcycle, probably just some scratches, bruises, a broken wrist at most. But no, he avoided a taxi and hit a lamp post. He broke his rib and his leg. They took him to three different hospitals and when they were finally checking him, he died. Even now as I am writing this, I cannot believe that he’s gone. Even when I’m looking at his photo, the years he lived written at the bottom, I still can’t accept it.
Some goodbyes give you a bit of comfort that maybe down the road, you’ll see each other again. There’s a chance that you’ll run into them in some random park. Maybe you’ll both want to get in touch again. But some goodbyes are permanent. I’m afraid that one day, I’ll forget the sound of his voice, how he says good morning. I’m afraid that I’ll lose the memory of him looking back and smiling at me. That I can only look at photos and watch his video singing “Bridge over Troubled Water” so passionately.
I can only wish I could say good morning to him again. Ask him how he was doing. I wish I did it more often.
There’s nothing we could do now but move forward and become better people, to treat the people who are still with us with love and respect. Maybe that is one of the ways we can truly honor their memory. We can’t turn back time, but we can work on the present and the future.

The Analysis of my Nonexistent Dating Life

First of, the ultimate truth bomb! I am 27 years old and never been in a relationship *explosions*. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, and it is not by choice. I did not choose to have a single life nor did/have I pursue dating in the past. I just thought to myself that one day, the universe will throw someone my way and then we fall in love and unicorns will dance at our wedding. That’s how I always pictured it.

Though Tinder has been available in the Philippines since 2015, I did not really care for it and thought that I will mostly attract people who thinks it’s okay to judge you based on your looks—and I am not the most comfortable person in my skin.  So that scared the fuck out of me and I chose to ignore that app—until recently when I turned 27 and I have to face reality that I have to create a way for me to meet people other than my best friends and workmates. People are starting to think that one of my best friends is my girlfriend.

So I installed the app, matched with a some guys—some are nice, most of them just want to get laid. I met with a few people, talked to some and basically it has been a roller coaster ride.

Now I will repeat this over and over again, I am not someone who is comfortable in her own skin. I was planning to win these guys over with my wit but that’s not how this app works. You like the way they look, you swipe right, you don’t you swipe left. And most of the time you will be unmatched because accidental swipe right and super like is not a myth. It happens. I try to set myself apart by reading profiles, hoping that some will read mine too because I put effort in wittily saying that I am not into hookups. But I was so wrong! I still have to explain myself, respectfully decline and in return, get called a slut, prude and other flowery names. Tinder, after all, though called a dating app, is mostly used for one night stands.

I have been on two dates since I started using this app. Both guys kissed me (so yeah my first kiss was with a complete stranger) and invited me back to their place. I wouldn’t consider them bad dates, both of them are very respectful and when I said I didn’t want to sleep with them, they didn’t push or pressure me in any way.

Throughout this whole experience, I was consulting with my male friend, a veteran three-year tinder user, a man with a strong emotional endurance and master of rejection. I wanted to get some good tips from him about the mystery of the male psyche. Unfortunately for me, he’s part of the guy population who are in it to “get some”. Needless to say, he ended up getting tips from me on how my dates managed to kiss me, hold my hand and steer the conversation from food to sex.

At some point, I thought that maybe I am putting too much idealism in the modern dating. Perhaps hooking up is really a part of it, like a hurdle I need to jump over to place somewhere in their life. But I realized how idiotic it is, because even if I sleep with them, if they don’t want to have a relationship or want nothing to do with me  after, then I will really never gonna get that second date from them.

I’m finding everything hilarious that I am learning the truth about dating at the age of 27. Disney romance is a lie— and so are many, many films. It’s messy, it’s emotionally challenging and I am so glad that I am a black belt in judo and I can protect myself just in case in the future, one of them will step out of line.

In the spontaneous meeting and talking to random strangers, I am finding out more and more things about myself. For one thing, it is not wrong to want someone in your life. For many years, I thought that admitting and saying it out loud is a chink in my armor. “You’re supposed to be happy by yourself,” I’ll always remind myself. But it is not wrong to admit that you want companionship and romance. It’s normal to want someone to hold your hand, to kiss your lips and to hold you at night. If that will scare him away, then so be it.

I had lunch recently with one of my former co-workers. She is 62 years old and been married for more than 30 years. When I told her about the people I talk to online she looked at me with a mixture of horror and empathy. She was grateful for not having to deal with the twists and turns of modern dating. She told me how easy it was for them. The person likes you, he likes you back and then boom! You are in an exclusive relationship. Nowadays, you are part of a selection, and you’re just waiting there if you will make the cut—or be a side chick.

Truth is, I started writing this article 2 years ago, I am 29 now, been on a number of dates and I am exhausted already. I’ve learned a few things along the way but I am confident to say out loud that I am ready to meet the one (queue How I Met Your Mother theme song). It is emotionally challenging to be hopeful one day and completely rejected the next—no explanation just guys disappearing once they find out that sex is not on the table. And then there was this one guy, who seemed worth it, we went out for months and I thought this could be something special.

Then one night, I gave in. I thought to myself, well, I really like him so if I am gonna do it with someone for the first time, it’ll be with someone who’s special for me.

I want to say that I have no regrets because I was infatuated with him, but it hurt a lot. Not the sex, the realization next day, that it might’ve been a special night for me, but for him, I was just another girl, just another lay, just another sex.

And then, he too, disappeared.

But, the pain I went through wasn’t really his fault. I think I was more hurt by my expectations for the relationship, if you can call it one. He’s a good guy, a gentleman (not in the sheets, heyyyoo!!!) He never pressured me to do anything I wasn’t comfortable.

But I wanted more than just the physical intimacy. I was ready to commit to him and I but I never had the chance to tell him how I feel because every time I try, he drops these hints that he’s doesn’t want a relationship. So I knew what I got myself in to, but I was hoping it would change one day. And that’s my fault. I should’ve seen it for what it is, not what I wanted it to be.

Do I regret sleeping with him? Yes and no. Yes because I wish I waited for someone who loved me back, then maybe it would’ve been as magical as they say. Then again, maybe when I do have that night with the real special person, perhaps it would be different. Or maybe I am romanticizing it again. No, because I do like him and he was gentle and considerate that night. And he was special to me. Still is, I guess.

I See You Now

I lay down my heart at your feet—innocent, new, unknowing of the pain of vulnerability. You brought down my walls I tried so hard to protect with your pretty words and promises, disarmed me with your sweet kisses an warm embrace. And in that small room, with the dim lights, and the low city noise outside, nothing else matters.

Not the warning of quiet voices. Not the big red signs. Not in your call at night and never when the sun shines. Not in your silences in new moons. Not in your laugh the first time I tried to tell you—

I saw them all. I heard them all. I knew them all. But I chose to believe in the goodness I saw. I chose to believe you.

It felt real, so real. But it was all a dream, my dream.

And now the smoke is slowly disappearing, and I realized, all this time, I’ve been alone. In this small room, with dim lights and city noise. Because you chose a different kind of love, and another and another, anything but mine.

I’ve heard of the pain. I’ve read about the tears. But I never knew how cold and unbearing it is. I laid my heart at your feet and you looked at it like it was the strangest thing in the world.

And just like that, you left. And I’m sure, you’ll come knocking again in the next full moon. And no matter how many times I throw your words back at you, you’ll only laugh because before, you can make me dance if you want to. Before—that was before.

You never understood my pain. You never understood my love. You never will.

I see it now. I see you now.

The Real Horror and Monsters in my Life

I have faced many failures in my life. I can honestly say that my failures outweighs my success big time. And every time I fall, my initial reaction is to look for solutions right away. I never liked stewing in  my failure and negativity, so I give myself a night to cry about it. Tomorrow’s is a new day. Optimist, right? Wrong. I wasn’t optimistic, I was in denial.

It’s like answering a question without fully analyzing the background or paying attention to the finer details that could actually help you find the solution. What I do instead is look for the hole and plug it with a cork. I’m like the Martian who fixes everything with a duct tape. Sure, it works now, but eventually it’s gonna break down again.  It’s a temporary solution.

I’ve never really asked the right questions when confronting my problems, if you can call it confronting. Even now, as I am writing this, I am having a hard time owning to my mistakes. Why didn’t you try to fix the problem? Why didn’t you talk to the people who were having problems with you? Why didn’t you stand up against your boss? I ran away from my problems and I ran away from the solution.

And because I didn’t really confront my problems, my wounds never fully heal. For example, in one of the jobs that I’ve truly regret taking, every morning, a co-worker will play “We Could Be Heroes” by Alesso. Now this girl in particular has broken my trust by tattling everything I’ve told her to our boss including my plan to resign. My mistake was thinking that I can be fully candid with a workmate. Now every time I hear this song, I feel incredibly angry to the point that I cry—every single time. Not exaggerating. I hate this song because of the what I associate it with.

But it’s silly, because this shit happened over four years ago and even now, I still hate this song. I still remember her face and the way she would sing along with it. and I remember wanting to bash her face with that that incredibly loud stereo because she just refused to use a goddamn earphone. Clearly, I’m not over it.

It’s hard to admit these things to yourself. I bury my past in a shallow grave. And like the undead, it’s coming back to life to haunt me and I keep running away from it. Then I’ll be able to keep some distance and just when I finally feel safe, they’re there again.

I know that I can’t keep running. Eventually you have to face these monsters and kill them for good because if not, you’ll be confronted with the same problems in the future and you’ll make the same mistakes over and over again.

And just like the badass heroine I admire in movies and videogames, I armed myself with weapons of courage and self-respect. But it’s not easy.

It’s not like the movies. You can’t just come running in the middle of a zombie crowd and expect to come out unscratched. Unfortunately, right now, I’m at that scene where I am hiding in a middle of a fight scene, gasping for air, almost out of ammo and slowly coming into terms that I might just lose this fight.

I’m still working on a lot of things about myself. I know I can never be 100% healthy emotionally and mentally, there will always be something wrong, but I have to learn to embrace that and change the things that I can.

One thing I’ve learned through this process is that I can’t always be in control and learn to surrender. Things don’t always go as planned and you can never really control how people see you. You can be Mother Teresa and some people will say that you’re just faking it. Shit happens. I have had many experiences where I gave my blood, sweat and tears yet I still lost. You can’t always control the situation, but to the things that you can, do something about it. I gave it my best, it didn’t work out and that is enough. Just trust that things have to fall apart to make way for the better.

The thing I have yet to learn is the art of letting go. I wish we can just crumple up this feeling of regret and anger like a piece of paper and throw it away. Unfortunately the process is more complicated than that. I may have tried to leave my past behind, but I’ve never really let it go because I didn’t process it. i merely tried to ignore it and focus on finding the solution because at that time it felt better than just wallowing in pain and grief.  But I have learned that you have to let yourself feel the pain and sadness and it’s okay if you don’t get up right away. Take the time you need, but also remember that you can’t stay there.

It’s a working progress. Right now, I’m surrounded by my monsters and honestly, I’m feeling trapped. But I know that I can’t give up without a fight. And if it doesn’t work out—well at least I tried.

 

 

Autumn in Osaka

Remember when you said you wanted to give up? You broke down in the middle of 34^th street, your tears-filled eyes watch as the world turns as you crumble down.  Two glasses of mojito, hurtful words and harsh truth loosened your lips. And you laid everything bare between sobs, even the things I didn’t know you’d ever try.

Remember when just last year, your smile was so wide when you first gazed upon the Osaka skyline? You wished for the time to slow down and for the days to grow long. It didn’t take much for you to say you belong. You try to remember every detail of auburn November. But seven days passed just like that.

One year later, you count the days ‘till November comes, ‘till you can escape again or forever say goodbye, whichever comes first.

And you go through the day feeling less and less alive, trying to find scraps of because and whys. You hold on to a thin string of reason, weak and vulnerable,just wishing for it to snap on its own, so the current will drag you down to the bottom.

And it don’t matter what I say or do, when all has been said and done. But I promise you, after all this, my love, we will go to your paradise, where autumn leaves fall and the cold breeze kisses your cheek. And in the brisk November night, you feel alive. Because in this little universe we’ve created, nothing else matters. And hold on to that, my sweet. Hold on to that feeling of hope and joy, remember this feeling and remember, you can feel this way again. I pray you will always remember.

And when we go back, remember, we will always have Osaka; the warm colors in cold November, the life in temporary death.

We will always have Osaka.

Choosing Happiness

There are two things that are definitely constant, time and change. There’s no way we can rewind or undo these things—once they have occurred all we can do is move forward.
Our limited time on this earth is what makes the moments precious. Yet most of the time we wish for the time to go faster. “I can’t wait until I grow old and make my own shots”, “I can’t wait to leave this house”, “I can’t wait for you to start walking so that I don’t have to carry you around anymore”.
My father had only nine years with her mother. My friend only had nine months with her child. I only had four years with one of my best friends. We don’t really realize how fast the world is turning until we get to that point when we just want to make it stop and savor every last second we have before the inevitable change has to come.
And we try to capture every moment, memorize what photos couldn’t take; the taste of a good food, the freshness of flowers in bloom, the softness of your lover’s lips, the smell of your baby’s head, the warm breeze that blew when you finally said I love you, or the warmth of your parents’ hands when they told you it’s gonna be okay, that joy when you see friends you haven’t seen in months.
We often forget these things because we focus so much on what we think is important. Then again, what is important is very subjective. A father will work two jobs to make ends meet for his family. He sacrifices his time with his family to be able to provide. A daughter will miss her mother’s birthday because she is too busy with her goal to get promoted. Or you might miss an important call from a friend because you wanted to focus on the task at hand.
Don’t get me wrong. Yes, your job is important. Money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy you the necessities to survive this overpriced materialistic world. It can even take you to places and create even more precious memories. You’ve heard it a thousand times, but it is true, you can’t buy your time. Money can’t stop or slow down time. Maybe if you are one of those really rich people, you can just drop your job and enjoy the rest of your day with what you consider important.
I’ve always known that I wasted my twenties acting I was more mature and smarter than my age—emphasis on “acting” because the truth is, I was dumb and naïve. I try to be mature and deny myself the stupid things I could’ve done when I was younger.
This is just an opinion, but I think there’s a phase in your life when you get to act stupid. And when everything is done, when you’re done with all the loud noises, the darting around, and your work stamina is depleted, you start asking the more important question: what makes you happy?
You try to figure out what really matters. With your limited strength and time, where should you be focusing your energy on?
I asked that question recently. What is important to me? What makes me happy?
I realize that not everyone has the luxury to prioritize their happiness. Instead, we try the little moments in our daily busy lives, the little things that make living worthwhile. Otherwise, we’ll be a crowd of zombies, walking to work, doing the same thing over and over again to those who have the luxury to choose what makes them happy.
That’s kind of sad if you think about it. We basically dedicate our lives fulfilling another person’s dream—making other people rich. So you ask yourself, is it your dream? Are you willing to sacrifice your time and your own happiness for the sake of others?
If I was a doctor, or doing something noble, then I would’ve said yes. But no, I am a mere corporate slave, working 9 to 12 hours from Monday to Friday and still get calls and messages on weekends.
Again, what is important is subjective. If you’re the type of person who prioritizes their career, that’s okay. It doesn’t make you any less of a person. It means that you’re choosing what is important to you and that is amazing. For those who are sacrificing a lot for a job they don’t even like, but still chooses to stay in it for whatever reason you have, that is okay too. As long as you like your choice, and you have a solid reason to do it, you are doing fine. I can be in a job I don’t like and find happiness once I clock out. However, if my job is starting to eat my personal time as well and deprives me the chance to do what I like outside of work, then fuck it. I don’t need a change of attitude, I need a change of career.
But if you are like me, who can no longer keep what’s important at the back burner, for those who can no longer sacrifice their time for someone else, if you’re job is taking over your whole life and you don’t like it— have the courage to choose your happiness.
I’m about too. I’m scared, but I bet it’ definitely better than spending most of my at work and in sleep.

The Perfect Imperfect You

I was in 5^th grade when I realized that I am not pretty—at least that’s what my classmates told me. It was in our history class, and we were discussing the bathing customs in the Philippines. My teacher had simple question, “who here takes a bath more than once a day?”

I raised my hand.

One of my classmates snorted. “If you take a bath twice, why are you so dark?”

And the whole class laughed.

It was a stupid remark, but I didn’t know it back then. I mean, it’s my skin color, it’s not dirt. No matter how hard I scrub my skin, it won’t change.

I was an overweight, dark skinned girl. I was made aware of that. And every day, I was reminded of that.

At the age of eleven, I started an intense diet and using whitening products.

When my mother saw the sudden change in my eating habits, she was happy. And then she said something that to this day, I will never forget.

“I don’t understand why you’re fat. I wasn’t fat when I was your age.”

Well, good for you, mother. I just happen to have more appetite than you. It’s not as if skinny is genetic.

Everybody has something to say about my appearance.

“You’re too fat”

“Don’t wear those clothes, it makes your skin look darker”

“Don’t tie your hair up, it makes your face look rounder”

“It doesn’t matter how much you exercise, you will never lose that weight”

“The world shakes when you run”

“You’re a fast black pig”

That last one makes me laugh now. But I wasn’t laughing back then. Every comment made me think that I wasn’t enough. I was so jealous of the girls in my class who are skinny and white. They are like the girls I see on commercials every day, on the billboard ads and in magazines. They are the ones who get picked to play the lead role in school plays. They get asked to sing the solos in masses and they are the ones who are chosen for the school’s posters. Well of course, they don’t want a fast black pig singing in front of everyone.

In that all girls school, status quo was everything. The group of girls I was hanging out with back then ditched me because I wasn’t pretty enough to be part of their group. I guess it was the right move for them because their popularity skyrocketed when I stopped hanging out with them. Perhaps my weight was weighing them down.

I started asking what was wrong with me. Why am I so different? Why can’t I be like the other girls in my class?

These questions made me more insecure and I changed my diet and skin care routine drastically.

It was horrible to be honest. It got the point when I fainted in the middle of a mass not because I had some sort of Himala moment, but because I wasn’t eating enough. I was rushed to the hospital

Eventually I reached my weight goal. But I can’t change the color of my skin. After I reached my weight goal, nothing changed. It wasn’t as if a spotlight was following me around nor was it like in the movies where suddenly, people realize how hot you were all this time.

So what else could I change? I thought to myself. I can’t really change my skin color, nor can I change my face without spending a lot of money—and we don’t have that kind of money.

The answer was pretty simple: accept who you are. The process on the other hand, wasn’t so much. No. it’s hard for a teenager to accept that flaws that she have. Not when TV tells you that to be pretty, you have to be white.

I don’t know how exactly I got through it, eventually I started loving my skin color and managing my weight in a healthy way. I accepted the way I look and embraced my natural looks. Do I wish that I can still change my appearance? Of course. I have my moments—we all do. We wish we could be taller or fitter or skinnier or look like one of those Korean pop stars. I personally wish I had a flat stomach. Been working on it or years but it seems like this fat has taken a permanent residency on top of my hopefully existing lower abs. I wish my butt was less big. I wish I was prettier. I wish that I have what this society considers pretty, maybe life would be easier. Maybe I will not feel so insecure whenever I go out on dates. Maybe I will be more comfortable in front of a camera.

But I love how the media has evolved. The youth is so lucky they have variation of role models to look up to. Philippines’ Ms Universe representatives shifted from the mestizas to morenas. We have a lot of instagram influencers that promotes body positivity (thank god for the amazing curves of Ashley Graham). It’s now acceptable to be awkward and weird. It’s okay to be a dork and clumsy. It’s okay to be gay. We are now fighting for gender equality.

It’s okay to be just you.

I wish I could talk to 12 year old me and tell her that. You’re beautiful just the way you are—and ditch those toxic people who keep on telling you to change. I wish I could tell her that you more than your looks.

Others may not appreciate you for who you are but there are people who will. You don’t have to try so hard to earn their approval because guess what—they don’t deserve the amazing you.

If there’s anything I learned as I grew out of my daily insecurity (just occasional now, I still have my moments) is that I have to learn how to love myself first. It’s okay if there are things that you want to change about yourself and if you want to work on it. But don’t ever let anyone think you are not enough.

Because, my dear, you are perfect the way you are.

Thornless Rose

This is where the great tragedy began. An open door, a stool and a rope in the middle of dimly lit room. Her name was Rhianna, and lord was she beautiful. Tragic, but beautiful. Everybody talks about her beauty. Her shiny jet black hair that falls to her waist. Her glowing brown skin. Her big dark eyes and her full lips. Rhianna’s body was slender. She was light enough for the beams of the ceiling to hold her lifeless body. Rhianna was so beautiful, she made dying look so elegant and graceful.

Rhianna was a beautiful woman, but no one talks about her tragedy. People say it was such a waste for a beautiful woman to die in such a way. Such a waste, they say, she was so beautiful. But no one talks about the darkness in her life.

Even if her eyes are not flashing with life, even when her lips turned blue, she was still so beautiful. A corpse bride anyone from the land of the dead would be lucky to have. She’s fit to be queen of the undead.  Perhaps, even when her body is rotting away, she will still be so attractive. Perhaps red roses will blossom from her dead body. It is just fitting. A beauty needs thorns to protect herself. She didn’t have it when she was alive. No one came to her rescue. The fairy tales lied. The princess was not saved.

Rhianna was a beautiful woman, but her story wasn’t so—for Rhianna attracted all types of people. Rhianna’s body was so slender, she wasn’t strong enough to protect herself. Rhianna was loved by everyone, perhaps loved too much. People will have her photos on their wall, carve her feature on woods and stone and write her name over and over again. They wanted her, and they had her and when they were done, they left her to waste away.

Rhianna tried to speak, but all they can see is her beautiful lips. No one can hear her voice. People mourned her death. A beauty wasted by her own hands.

Her own hands, they said.

I wonder whose hand wrapped around her neck, over her mouth, on her thighs, on her chest on her hands and held her down; drowning in grief.

Yes, such a waste.