Dedicated to My Boyfriend

My entries usually reflect my life and, more often than not, it involves epiphanies and unpleasant experiences. I neglect to blog about good things in my life because they don't bother me. And as ashamed as I am to admit it, they don't have as much of a priority to me because of it. When things bother me, I have to vent for my sanity. Yet with epiphanies, I make the time to address them, although they're aren't disruptive in my life, either. They're actually enlightening. That's an unfair double standard. If anything, I should use my energy more productively and positively by focusing on the better aspects of my life such as my boyfriend. I always felt cheesy bragging about my man. Every girl thinks she has the best. So who cares? But why am I so concerned about that? I certainly don't show the same consideration with other entries? Besides, one of my problems has always been ingratitude. I truly believe that when you expose yourself to positive energies, a positive environment, and live your life better that the universe will assist in your equilibrium. So, it's time I make a change. (For one thing, I should start focusing on not making my boyfriend's "entry" about me).

Here goes the cliques and the Ripley's Believe It or Not (exaggeration). My boyfriend is amazing. We've been together for over six years now, and our relationship is still fun, unpredictable, committed but also stable, loving, and evolving. It has a rare and healthy balance. It works because of who he is and who I am. I think that in a lot of relationships individuals don't know who they are, so their identity gets compromised. You can't have a successful relationship without knowing who you are. I know that I'm out of order with my whole bragging about my relationship, but it's not new. So, I'm less impressed with how awesome he is and way more touched by how good we are together. Going on and on about how amazing your man is is an act of a new relationship. Over time that dreamy perspective fogs with reality. When after all of that, you can look your lover in the eyes and really care about him, that's love. After all, it's easy to love someone who seems virtually perfect.

My boyfriend is far from perfect, but I love him. Perfection is unachievable, and I've learned to appreciate that reality. It makes things interesting. He's funny, which is significant because humor was never a requirement for me, as I have no humor whatsoever. And then I met him. I laugh so much that I have to make sure to moisturize. He's a great person, a wonderful friend, the most considerate roommate, and an amazing boyfriend. He's a successfully ATTENTIVE LISTENER. Trust me, I tested his abilities rigorously. I talk fast. I don't slow down. I have a lot to say. I've been compared to Six from the old TV show Blossom. She talks super fast. I didn't just test my boyfriend based on regular speed. In fact, out of amusement, with the predisposed notion that he would undoubtedly fail to comprehend anything I had to say, I spoke really, really quickly with random, irrelevant information every few sentences or so. Then I abruptly stopped and asked him what he thought. I just think it's funny to see guys panic, but to my surprise and shock, he heard EVERYTHING I said. Not just that but his listening skills are so refined that he corrected me. What a rare breed he is.

He's also sweet, caring, considerate, endlessly thoughtful, trusting, loving, understanding, and patient, great qualities for boyfriends to have. But the reality is, you can't live on Prince Charming qualities alone, long-term anyways. He's also intelligent, knowledgeable, insightful, perceptive, innovative, and ambitious. These added qualities enrich our relationship and allow us to connect at a deeper level. We're crazy about each other, but we can also be adversaries. We can talk about anthropology and start cracking up. Okay, that just makes us sound immature and unfocused, which we sometimes are, but it's not like that. There's just so much more.

There are so many dimensions to our relationship, some of which I thought weren't possible. I love him because of who he is not just as a boyfriend but as a person. He has a strong sense of self, but so do I. That's so important. I've loved before, but it was never like this because it was the wrong guy but also I was different. I've always been a strong person, but I was also lost. You can't have a successful relationship until you discover who you are. We both know who we are, so we know that we work well together because we're not bullshitting. I love him for who he is. I love how he makes me feel. I love who I am when I'm with him. I love how we are together. There's a lot to be said about a happy and thriving relationship after all of these years. The crazy thing is that we're still learning a lot about each other. It's never boring for us.

The Beauty and Pain of Ballet

For most of my life, ballet was a part of me. I loved it, and I hated it. And I knew it, but I forgot what it was like until I came across this old poetry. I no longer see the world the way I saw it then. But it's still all true. What I couldn't understand was the appeal as I read my description. Back then, I saw both the pain and beauty in things. They're no longer one in the same. Pain used to be numbingly routine for me and was the standard. Now pain has washed away that it no longer agonizes me. But at a time when pain would paralyze me, I couldn't see the appeal until I had my epiphany. My life, then, was unbearable, full of pain, and I hated it, but it's also all that I knew. Ballet offered that familiarity but also a beauty that I never had before.

We are light as a feather
We are of grace and beauty
Our arms are like branches on a tree
They may never droop
Our body must drift along gracefully
As if being pulled by some string
Slowly gliding along the stage
All we must show is perfection
Our body being light as a feather
Being carried along
Confidence must be carried in our high necks
Our legs must be sturdy
They must lift up gently into the sky in all directions
And the whole time we will always remain balanced
This is the true body of a ballerina
We will show no strain or effort of any kind
We must act like we are flying
All along we will conceal our pain
Our heavy body feeling as if it's being weighed down as more seconds go by
Our uncomfortable necks feeling paralyzed
Our stiff arms feeling like they are stones
Our legs throbbing of pain
Our bleeding toes balancing on a block of wood
Full of fresh, sharp pain
The blisters forming at the tips of our toes
The bruses forming all around our feet
And everything just starts feeling like they're swelling so much
You feel like your feel will burst
And your legs will turn into crumbs
And you're ready to fall on your head
This is what ballet is all about
Pain and torture
Grace, balance, flexibility, endurance, and beauty
All in one box
To be a ballerina, you must be flexible in all ways
Without holding onto anything
Just hope
But not all is slow and flexible
It's also full of fast-acting pain which builds endurance
Agonizing jumps being done over and over and over
Quickly and quietly
In all sorts of speeds, counts, and forms
And different varieties of combinations
Ballet is Heaven and Hell put together
Ballet is Hell
And the ballerina is a lovely angel from Heaven

Lost Souls

I have a body just like everyone else
Yet I feel empty inside
I have a mind that supposedly has a brain that always seems to fail me
I have a pain in my chest that paralyzes me
From unimaginable pain
So I know I have a heart
Only it's there to just suffer
The emptiness inside me is the loss of a soul
Because I don't have a soul, I don't have a soul mate
The feeling of having pain inside to know you lost something you know you never had is almost worse than having your heart torn apart

How I Saw Myself...Long Ago

Looking in the mirror, I see a dull girl
with such an unpleasant face
A face with spots and zits
Plain and heavy, black hair
Dark brown eyes to express my depression
Small, pale lips
And a thin, lean body without any feminine shape
There's nothing attractive about me
Not even a smile to brighten my face
But how can I?
Who will smile for themselves if they look like me?
I stare solemnly at my ugly face
Wondering why I couldn't be beautiful
Have luxurious long black hair, attractive eyes, luscious kissable lips, a flawless face
The only beauty I have is nothing but my imagination

The First Stage

The wall I built to cover my emotions
won't enable me to express my feelings
My once strong and raging emotions trapped
weak and weary from trying to budget from my sturdy wall
Glued and sealed tightly together with no air to breathe
Impossible to explode
Almost lost feeling to what emotions are
And barely recognizable to me
Out of fear, my walls started to chip
Every little emotion came out
From mean words, sad stories, and lost friends
whom I haven't grieved over
My hope to release my emotions succeeded
But it's bursting full of speed out of control
My wish to release my emotions are starting to be questioned
My wall kept me outta trouble
And kept me from breaking down
It also covered my real identity
But who needs one here anyways?
They create who I am

I wrote this a long time ago. I don't even remember writing it, but it's definitely my handwriting, and I remember the feeling. So much has changed that I forgot where I came from, what I went through. I'm starting to realize why people consider me to be a strong person. I used to think they were all crap, and they had no idea what strength was. After all, if I'm so strong, why was I so weak? They didn't think I was weak, but they also didn't see that side of me. I couldn't escape it. I didn't consider strength to be what I tolerated and lived through. I felt weak, like I was going to collapse any minute. That's what I focused on, not what I overcame. Others didn't act like that is what I thought. And maybe I'm right, but I have no idea what goes on in the minds of others. Everyone says that who we are now is shaped from years of pain, love, suffering, and a myriad of other experiences. I never doubted it, but I never really examined my past before. I've become this overly-logical person who sees everything in black and white. I never really questioned why I became like this, but I remember now. I couldn't handle the gray areas, so I had to recolor everything. The contradiction is conveyed in this old poetry. I struggle now because I don't think emotionally, even when I should. To think back to a time when I was overrun by them. What a different time. A few months ago, a friend of mine passed away. The first thing that came to mind was the statistical likeliness of his death that I predicted was accurate. Of course, if you live your life that way you're going to die. But around the time that I wrote this poetry, I had a panic attack when another friend passed away. It's not that he meant more to me. My emotional receptors were working at the time.

Organizational Delay

As I was sorting through unmemorable photographs, I came across some meaningful ones of boyfriend and I. I was pleasantly surprised because we've been together for over six years now, and I feel like we have no evidence of that. I'm a picture person, but I'm more into photographing inanimate objects. Plus, my boyfriend's lazy eye really comes out in our photos, but it's not that obvious in person. I feel like photos don't really capture who we are. He always appears to be looking somewhere else. Even when I was photographed often, I never made the initiative. I guess a lot of time went by without much record. There's still quite a bit of photos of us that I want to display. I've decided to incorporate them into my craft projects. It's when I took the time to stop and think that I realized I barely mention my boyfriend. He's a huge part of my life, and he goes unacknowledged. I created labels for other people in my life, but I never did that for him. That reflects more negatively on my priorities. The thoughts I make an effort to post are troublesome, rarely are they about things I truly appreciate. That has to change. He means the world to me.

Past Memories

As I was sorting through my old stuff to create a better organization system, I came across a lot of past memories. I'm not a very sentimental person, so my photos really didn't mean much to me. To tell you the truth, I actually had an epiphany about them. At the time, I thought I was having a blast and I was. Looking at them now, those photos seem so empty, cold, and without purpose. I remember the party, the people, the fun, but there was no emotional attachment and I couldn't remember some peoples' names. I could recall all the parties we've been to and outfits worn, but everything about it was so superficial. I had two boxes, one filled with notecards about anthropology, communication, journalism, and nutrition and another filled with photos. I threw out most of the photos because while some people look at them and reminisce, I felt stupid for not remembering anyone's names. I just don't think I should keep items that take up space I really need for people who I can't even remember. Plus, if I don't bother to look at them, I'm not going to enjoy them. The only photos I kept were of friends from middle school, attractive pictures of me, photos of my boyfriend and I, and a few photo with someone who's no longer my friend. I'm well aware that keeping photos of failed friendships is like poison to my memories, but I'm just not ready to let her go. In spite of what she did, it wasn't long ago that she meant a lot to me. I wanted her to be my maid of honor, and she was like a sister to me. I'm smart enough to cut ties with someone who's willing to sabotage others to get what she wants, uses my friendship as a desperate tool to seduce an unavailable guy, and attempt to cling onto his attention by shit talking about me and even starting to crap with me to give it credibility, but I'm not rational enough to dispose of the photos yet. I'll get there. I'm usually overly logical, so I figure I'm entitled to one emotionally-driven decision.

Hand-written letters, theoretically, for me anyways, are more meaningful. With context and background information, I can resurface past memories and emotions, as though I was transported to my past. I forgot how much of a dynamic and social person I was. I remember the parties and going out, but it becomes a distant memory with details that dull over time. I totally forgot the details about how it made me feel, all the crazy drama that came with it, etc. especially when I looked through the photos only to recall very little. But as I was reading some of my letters, I started to remember. Don't pull a --- Stay good. Be good. Let it --- go. Fuck ---- That was so crazy. No more fires. The Psycho Clique. They don't mean much to others, but it made me realize that it wasn't just partying. It was a part of who I was. I've always been a complicated and dynamic person. My social life didn't mask that. It just appeared differently.

But I also realized something really important. Even the people I'm no longer friends with and the vacuous photos reminded me of how important I was in their lives. I would hear of someone making an elaborate gesture or even little things that were incredible for their friends. While I was happy for the recipient, I did envy them because I never had that...or so I thought. So what if I didn't have a five block long bonfire dedicated exclusively for my "birthday". It was probably word of mouth that brought all of those people together. Hell, that's why I was there. I've never even met the birthday girl. But my friends took time out of their lives to personalize their letters for me. One friend always wrote with two pens outlining each word she wrote down to reflect my duality as she called it. There was another friend who bought pounds of violet colored papers to write just for me because they're my favorite. She said they're beautiful like me but also rough like me. I got a lot of feel better care packages when I was home alone with handmade letters. I feel like I offer good advice, but it often goes ignored. Piles of letters suggest otherwise with simple thank yous. A lot of details, effort, and time was put in for me. Mixed CDs, photos, handmade cards, chocolates, etc. I butt heads with a lot of people because I'm honest. I cut through the bullshit, and it bothers a lot of people. If you ask me what I think about your outfit, and I think it's slutty, I'll tell you, even at the expense of pot calling the kettle black. People can't distinguish the difference between the disgust I have in the outfit vs. the person. Apply that philosophy in other areas, and that's me. I don't want to waste time with people who don't value my sincerity anyways. But because of that I've always believed that people don't care about me the way others do. I'm glad I'm wrong, and I've realized that.

Ultimately I've decided to throw most of the letters out because that's my past. It's important to remember my past so that I can appreciate what I have and how much I've changed, but keeping on to essentially clutter that's taking up space I need isn't going to do me any good. I don't look through my letters often enough to have much value anyways. It's just made me realize how much I've changed, how much everything's changed, and yet so many things remain the same. Friendships I chose to end felt right at the time, but now I know I've made the right decision because years later, they're still such bitches. And to think, they used to be like me, which means I could've turned out like them.