An Untitled Poem

Happiness looks like

floating, and

quiet whispers of ill-fitted fabric

stitched as heavy drapery around a body.

Solitude looks like

sordid nights of crumbs and

guilt-stained pillows

or

brittled bones and

quaking fingertips.

Sadness looks like

months of gray static

forever lost in a perpetual storm.

So I breathe in the reality

and I breathe out the self-fabricated lies.

Simply Information

Late night writing. I don't do it often, but there's something particularly romantic about slumping over pen and paper (or computer, as the case may be) and letting thoughts float freely into the ether. Something unrestricted and liberating--almost separating oneself from consciousness and letting the words align, flit about, and settle into nothingness.

I'm slowly acquainting myself with mindfulness-based principles. Almost voraciously, I'm reading books and articles that can contribute to what has quickly become an enlightened path for me. Everything is endlessly interesting, but one particular line has stood out: "Someday...all that has happened will simply be information for you." I love this. It might seem harsh and a bit unfeeling to the untrained eye, but to me, it signifies an end to longing. An end to wondering, picking things apart, running scenes through my mind as though they're salient moments in history. Information isn't good and it isn't bad: information is a set of facts that has no bearing on my present faculties.

And endings. They come sharp and fast, but they're everywhere. The days are fleeting, the seasons pass, and we're left in a constant state of flux. And, as someone who has no faith in a god, I'm left to believe that there's no everlasting eternity for us and our loved ones to unite in unadulterated bliss. Therefore, I believe this is it. The endings enrich the beginnings, and our everlasting bond is but a fleeting moment in this we call life.

I've encountered a lot of people who are impatient with feelings. The "bootstrap" mentality is not something I could ever subscribe to. No one has a right to tell us how deeply we should feel, how much happiness we should radiate, or how much sadness we incur. In fact, this approach only compounds the problem. As we resist and deaden our pain, it festers inside and taints our every interaction. To feel pain, heartbreak, or disappointment--to understand the triggers and patterns--we only need to open ourselves fully. It's there that we can bring loving kindness to ourselves.

Thank you to my dear friend, a, for this beautiful song that remains a favorite.

A Comeback

Riding the train over the Charles on a soggy September morning.

It's no secret that I dropped off the face of the blogosphere. I don't feel bad about it, as I never expected this blog to be a daily recounting of my mundane musings, but I do miss it. Really, I just need a place to share; I need an outlet for my tangled thoughts and criticisms, for my pain and longing, and everything in between.

Of course, since I last described my "new life" in Boston, things have aged, rusted, and frozen over in an interminable winter. I spend way too much time thinking about the busy new life I described here just a year ago; comedy clubs, late night cocktails, jaunts around Harvard...it all seems so picturesque, yet I know the pain that was lying idle beneath the shiny words. With loss comes newness, even if it is raw and jutting and awkward. In the fall I moved to Somerville, my parents and sister visited, and I started writing for Peaceful Dumpling. I celebrated 22 years of existing on this Earth. In December, I traveled to Phoenix: it welcomed me in a warm, 70 degree embrace, and lots of nights by the fire. January was rough, with blistering winds and a general existential angst. In February, my second cousin Ellen visited, and we wined and dined and Vagina Monologue-d.

Now, on a Thursday in March, I am gathering my belongings to move back to my first apartment in Jamaica Plain. I will be living with my old roommates, my very first friends in Boston. I like Jamaica Plain and its charming architecture, cozy cafes, and lush flora (when the weather decides to cooperate). Would you like to see a photo tour of this part of Boston? It's fortunately and unfortunately the site of a lot of happy memories for me, the kind that take residence in the soul and refuse to make room for other, happier memories. This is a constant struggle of mine, to release what isn't available to me and surface the multifarious things that are.

At work, I'm in the beginning research stages of a new paper we're writing. We have also just submitted a paper for publication in which I'm listed as an author! Hooray! I like working downtown. Sometimes, in the spring and summer, I can hear seagulls flying overhead and I'm reminded of the vast ocean that lies so close. I'm reminded of how lucky I am to be here.

I look forward to rainy April days when the hundred-year-old buildings drop in
muted tones of grey and charcoal. I look forward to nights inside my new apartment, watching terrible movies with friends. I look forward to brave times, when my strength and beauty and intelligence are made self-evident, when I no longer need to rely on others to buttress my own feelings of self-worth. I look forward to friendly tea dates, picnics, mornings at the laundry mat, smiles and hugs. 

I see an unveiling, something clear and discernible. Let it be mine.