I don't know why it is that when I'm around you I feel as if I can't give voice to what I want to say. My words seem trapped deep within me so I stay silent and just look at you knowing that you expect something to be said. So more often then naught we talk about you - I learn things about you I never knew before and you repeat things you've told me or shown me many times before. All the while those unspoken words burn within me...
As I talk to you I'm only capable of uttering half-truths, expressing incomplete thoughts, making partial statements... I say things like "no, I don't want you", "no I'm not attracted to you" I say it like it's final but in truth I lie because how could I not want you? It's obvious that I am attracted to you... You know that I'm lying but how do I put into words that I don't want to want you? How do I let you know that feeling this way about you hurts me to the core? I'm scared to speak those words out loud because I don't want to make them any more real then what they are. If I don't say them then it's like it isn't so. If I don't tell you then you can't have the power to knowingly hurt me. Although I can justify the cause for not saying them, those words still burn fiercely deep within me.... struggling to get out.
Fall/Winter 2009
Monday, August 23, 2010
Your touch
My arms craved your touch tonight. My skin cried out silently for you to caress it, to run your fingers down my arms, to touch me... Touch me. I felt like weeping from the absence of your hands on my limbs... Not once was my hunger satisfied... Not once. Touch me please... Touch me as if you were my lover, as if it's all you want to do for the rest of your life. Touch me with your fingertips, with your hands... Let skin meet skin even if only for a little bit. Touch me with your body, with your lips - oh how I ache for your lips.... Let's let our thoughts touch, the essence of you and me so deeply intertwined so that there is no end or beginning - just you and me as one. Touch me with your heart... Allow me to touch your heart... To make it skip a beat...For it's rythym to beat for me as mine beats for you.
Summer/Fall 2009
Summer/Fall 2009
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Reaffirmation
Have you ever messed up so badly that you can't believe you did whatever it was you just did? How do you feel when you uncover your seemingly catastrophic mistake? Yesterday I made a mistake... Today I've learned about it. The feeling that comes over me originates right from the base of my stomach. It's what I imagine blanched vegetables must feel like: taken from a pot of boiling hot water and then dipped unceremoniously into a vat of ice cold water. A wave of coldness comes over me that can't seem to quell the boiling heat still emanating from the pit of my stomach.
I hate that feeling... I despise that sensation. And there's no cure for it. I simply need to let it take its course. In the meantime I try my best to undo the damage of my carelessness. Trying to stem a flood although I don't yet know how big this flood is. Feeling helpless and stupid. So so stupid. How could I be so dumb? I stepped outside my regular pattern without meaning to and now I'm faced with the results of this transgression. My happy Saturday went by the wayside... A casualty of Friday's stupidity. DOA as of 1:38pm. My carefree feeling as I walk down 1st Avenue on a beautiful summer day has been wiped clean. And I have no one to blame or share the blame with but myself.
18 minutes later my Saturday continues... I've done what repair work I can do from where I am. I try to re-engage in what I was doing before 1:38pm. Trying valiantly to resuscitate my Saturday. I open my mouth and words come out. I pick up my yakitori skewer and chew... and chew some more. All of its deliciousness now wasted on a palate that tastes nothing but the acridity of my own high-strung nerves. My eyes look around, seeing without really seeing. This is what it must be like for zombies. How sad. Unable to engage my senses in the plethora of opportunities that surround me. The needle has slipped off of my internal mental record - I'm stuck on repeat.
My companion and I leave the restaurant and ease our way up to 72nd Street. Poor thing, she's now as much a victim of my stupidity as I am. Stuck with someone who just can't let go and make the most of this beautiful day. Quite suddenly a light bulb comes on in the recesses of my brain: Cupcakes! And just as quickly I was sure if I only had a red velvet cupcake from the Buttercup Bake Shop I would feel better. Oh, I knew this one indulgence wouldn't solve my problems or erase my mistake but I was convinced that if anything could get me back to enjoying my day (at least more so than I had been enjoying it) this would be it. Maybe that's flawed fat girl logic in action but it seemed like pretty sound thinking to me.
I'm filled with purpose now and it's slowly (too slowly if you ask me) combating that hideous blanched sensation, kind of like white blood cells gathering up to fight off whatever ails me (just make me well again, dammit!). Every fiber of my being rallies behind this plan. Come on m72 bus! Hurry your big bulky automobile ass over here!!!! The bus arrives and I scream, "Buttercup Bake Shop, stat!" to the bus driver. Ok... Perhaps that was an internal silent scream but you get my point, right? This was urgent!
Finally, we arrive to our destination. With the red velvet cupcake in sight, it's sad that I'm so much more anticipating the curative effects of this way over priced baked treat than what it's yummy goodness is intended for. I pay for my treat and my friend's german chocolate selection. As I walk to the table clutching the small plastic plate that held my much needed bounty, Coldplay's song 'Sparks' comes on... It's a song that I've heard so many times over the years and know all of the words to. And to everyone else in the shop it was just another song on the play list, but to me in that very moment it was God's voice. And He sang to me "But I promise you this, I'll always look out for you. That's what I'll do."
That's when I knew that coming to this bakeshop wasn't about some delicious cupcake that could somehow make things feel not as horrid as they were. No... This visit to this shop was about hearing these precise words when I needed to hear them most. There's not one speck of doubt within me that leads me to interpret it any other way. I realized all of this right away. I proceeded to sit down and participate in genuine conversation with my amiga while eating every last crumb of that red velvety goodness. I can't say that all was well in my world right after that but I was able to salvage my Saturday enough to find some enjoyment in the rest of that day... More importantly, I was reminded that no matter how badly or how often I mess up in this life, I won't be abandoned. A benevolent someone or something, so much greater than me and any mistake I could ever commit or fathom, is looking out for me. Knowing that makes me feel good.
Tori Shin, west bound m72 bus, Buttercup Bake Shop and uptown 1 train - 8/21/10
I hate that feeling... I despise that sensation. And there's no cure for it. I simply need to let it take its course. In the meantime I try my best to undo the damage of my carelessness. Trying to stem a flood although I don't yet know how big this flood is. Feeling helpless and stupid. So so stupid. How could I be so dumb? I stepped outside my regular pattern without meaning to and now I'm faced with the results of this transgression. My happy Saturday went by the wayside... A casualty of Friday's stupidity. DOA as of 1:38pm. My carefree feeling as I walk down 1st Avenue on a beautiful summer day has been wiped clean. And I have no one to blame or share the blame with but myself.
18 minutes later my Saturday continues... I've done what repair work I can do from where I am. I try to re-engage in what I was doing before 1:38pm. Trying valiantly to resuscitate my Saturday. I open my mouth and words come out. I pick up my yakitori skewer and chew... and chew some more. All of its deliciousness now wasted on a palate that tastes nothing but the acridity of my own high-strung nerves. My eyes look around, seeing without really seeing. This is what it must be like for zombies. How sad. Unable to engage my senses in the plethora of opportunities that surround me. The needle has slipped off of my internal mental record - I'm stuck on repeat.
My companion and I leave the restaurant and ease our way up to 72nd Street. Poor thing, she's now as much a victim of my stupidity as I am. Stuck with someone who just can't let go and make the most of this beautiful day. Quite suddenly a light bulb comes on in the recesses of my brain: Cupcakes! And just as quickly I was sure if I only had a red velvet cupcake from the Buttercup Bake Shop I would feel better. Oh, I knew this one indulgence wouldn't solve my problems or erase my mistake but I was convinced that if anything could get me back to enjoying my day (at least more so than I had been enjoying it) this would be it. Maybe that's flawed fat girl logic in action but it seemed like pretty sound thinking to me.
I'm filled with purpose now and it's slowly (too slowly if you ask me) combating that hideous blanched sensation, kind of like white blood cells gathering up to fight off whatever ails me (just make me well again, dammit!). Every fiber of my being rallies behind this plan. Come on m72 bus! Hurry your big bulky automobile ass over here!!!! The bus arrives and I scream, "Buttercup Bake Shop, stat!" to the bus driver. Ok... Perhaps that was an internal silent scream but you get my point, right? This was urgent!
Finally, we arrive to our destination. With the red velvet cupcake in sight, it's sad that I'm so much more anticipating the curative effects of this way over priced baked treat than what it's yummy goodness is intended for. I pay for my treat and my friend's german chocolate selection. As I walk to the table clutching the small plastic plate that held my much needed bounty, Coldplay's song 'Sparks' comes on... It's a song that I've heard so many times over the years and know all of the words to. And to everyone else in the shop it was just another song on the play list, but to me in that very moment it was God's voice. And He sang to me "But I promise you this, I'll always look out for you. That's what I'll do."
That's when I knew that coming to this bakeshop wasn't about some delicious cupcake that could somehow make things feel not as horrid as they were. No... This visit to this shop was about hearing these precise words when I needed to hear them most. There's not one speck of doubt within me that leads me to interpret it any other way. I realized all of this right away. I proceeded to sit down and participate in genuine conversation with my amiga while eating every last crumb of that red velvety goodness. I can't say that all was well in my world right after that but I was able to salvage my Saturday enough to find some enjoyment in the rest of that day... More importantly, I was reminded that no matter how badly or how often I mess up in this life, I won't be abandoned. A benevolent someone or something, so much greater than me and any mistake I could ever commit or fathom, is looking out for me. Knowing that makes me feel good.
Tori Shin, west bound m72 bus, Buttercup Bake Shop and uptown 1 train - 8/21/10
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Music, sounds... you
There's nothing like live music... Nothing quite sounds like an 11-piece band. As they begin to play, the sound swells into the room filling every cavity of this cavernous place. Every nook and cranny of my being is filled with music... It pours out from my pores and fills the space between my ears with such contentment and rightness. As they sing the words 'Whatever you do don't make the same mistakes...' My devious mind does exactly what I've asked (prayed) for it not to do... It turns to you. And now suddenly the crescendo of horns and violin strings represent the dark clouds that have once again formed over us. Aren't you the same mistake I keep making over and over again? Now the musical melodies have turned against me. Instead of distracting they act as a sieve... Sifting out all thoughts except those of you and me and the fine muddled mess we find ourselves in once again. Another set of lyrics break through my troubled thoughts: 'We are only what they want us to be...' And am I not (in your eyes) the bad guy you've made me out to be? The bad guy you seem to want me to be? I am quite suddenly overcome with a weariness so bone deep it hurts. My mind drifts to words recently spoken and moments recently lived and I'm trying to make sense of a nonsensical thing and it frustrates me and saddens me and pains me... Deeply. Aren't we too old for this? Isn't there too much in life to enjoy that we should instead spend our time wounding one another? Can't I listen to a song without having cause for it to lead me down mental paths I rather not tread? I'm tired... So tired of becoming a flayed raw bloody mess around you... Because of you… Because of me. I'm torn between using my words to hurt you when I'd much rather we just get along. And this music - this wonderful live music has become a living soundtrack for torturous thoughts. What good is it for me to see where I went wrong if you won't give me a chance to voice it? What does it matter that I was hurt badly once again - if you won't hear me? If you don't care? And so I wonder why I've allowed my joyous musical moment to degrade itself into unsheathed reminders with sharp blades... Cutting deeply and forcefully.
Emmanuel and the Fear performance @ Le Poisson Rouge - 8/20/10
Emmanuel and the Fear performance @ Le Poisson Rouge - 8/20/10
Monday, August 9, 2010
extending a hand...
We often hear that Violence is a cycle.... And that war is a cycle. But, did you know that LOVE is a cycle as well? When you give love it will come back to you and that is a force much more powerful then anything motivated by hate, sadness or violence.
There are no guarantees that this life will be a pretty one or full of happiness & smiles or a roof over your head or money in your pocket or food to eat when your hungry... So many things are outside of our control, but some of the most important things are the intangible ones - faith, hope, love, determination. At times I'm reminded how important it is that we not only cultivate these things for ourselves but that we share them with those around us, those that need to be reminded that they are worthy of much more then the circumstances they find themselves in, that they're not alone. Go out and give a hug to someone who needs it... Offer a comforting word, look someone in the eyes and give them a genuine smile. Dedicate a prayer to someone other than yourself... Extend a hand without being fearful of getting dirty. Be willing to hear someone out, to offer an encouraging word. There's so much we can do at any given moment that can help heal someone... Because that person who needs to be reminded that they are more than this one bad moment/phase/period of time could be you and isn't nice to think that even amid your darkest bleakest moments there will be someone to remind you that you are worthy of so much more than this...
There are no guarantees that this life will be a pretty one or full of happiness & smiles or a roof over your head or money in your pocket or food to eat when your hungry... So many things are outside of our control, but some of the most important things are the intangible ones - faith, hope, love, determination. At times I'm reminded how important it is that we not only cultivate these things for ourselves but that we share them with those around us, those that need to be reminded that they are worthy of much more then the circumstances they find themselves in, that they're not alone. Go out and give a hug to someone who needs it... Offer a comforting word, look someone in the eyes and give them a genuine smile. Dedicate a prayer to someone other than yourself... Extend a hand without being fearful of getting dirty. Be willing to hear someone out, to offer an encouraging word. There's so much we can do at any given moment that can help heal someone... Because that person who needs to be reminded that they are more than this one bad moment/phase/period of time could be you and isn't nice to think that even amid your darkest bleakest moments there will be someone to remind you that you are worthy of so much more than this...
Saturday, August 7, 2010
funding the unattainable
Subsidizing an emotional void with stolen swatches of time and fragments of my soul. Tapping into memories which my sanity can ill afford. Learning, always learning, that some decisions aren't necessarily mine to make. Relying on me and me alone leaves me hankering for a kindred soul. All the while I’m funding the unattainable… Deep within the abyss of my personal deficit I am swimming and drowning, and then swimming again… Longing to hold the intangible in the palms of my hand so I can fill up the emptiness that I’ve been left with.
8/6/10 @ 11:13pm… my bedroom
8/6/10 @ 11:13pm… my bedroom
the silent chatter of trees
Trees do not only grow in Brooklyn, they also dance gracefully to the melodic sounds of music aided by the gentle breeze on this balmy eve... Nature has come alive, embracing each concertgoer into its fold like a nurturing mother... Cocooning, whispering, dancing, singing, rocking and swaying us so gently that you'd think it was just the breeze. All the while the clapping of the crowd is all around you... it's like butterfly wings all flapping at the same moment - a gentle hum easily mistaken for something else but resonating much more deeply… so deeply in fact that deep down in your consciousness, their is a small fragment of you - an ancient all-knowing piece of you - that recognizes that this moment, this feeling, this night is so much more significant then just sitting in the park listening to a song by a great band but instead a unifying force bringing together great positive energy - binding unknown souls to one another resulting in a collective remembrance - memories that leave a permanent mark on that bit of you that will go on remembering no matter the passage of time and years and lives and places and galaxies.... A bit of memory that always was and always will be.
7/30/10 @ inspired by the Swell Season performance @ Prospect Park
7/30/10 @ inspired by the Swell Season performance @ Prospect Park
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Happy Birthday Frida!
Frida, thank you... Muchisimas gracias for all the inspiration, for paving the way for women everywhere. For not fearing the sound of your voice or the strength of your art and words. the obstacles in your life never stood a chance - you tore them down with your will to live and dream, with your art and perserverance of love (even when it was ugly & hurtful), with your unwillingness to back down, by celebrating your roots and unique femininity. You weren't scared to be a woman, you never feared painting your own reality, or of being the only Frida that there has ever been or ever will be. You are the epitome of individuality... You are a warrior... And I am so privileged to have had you as a predecessor... To be your disciple in some small way.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Dreams... revisited
I added this one and then I removed it and now I'm adding it again... This time it will stay here no matter what. Even though this dream was incredibly vivid some time ago and it was a reminder of a moment that was simultaneously wonderful and hurtful, I've managed somehow to get past some major hurdles and I'm not quite so mired in the past as I was just a few weeks ago. Slowly but surely I'm moving forward - dang that feels good! These words written a while back may recall a moment that has long passed but they are my truth, my struggle, my history and so I post them up not as a way to hold on to the past but as a snapshot of where I once was - letting all of that anger, sorrow, misery, hurt, humilation, pain stop festering from the inside... Letting out all of that toxicity so that I can make room for my own peace of mind and happiness.
Last night I dreamt about you
Last night I relived moments long gone
I saw you so clearly
You hovered over me while I lay there, entrapped by your arms
I could see the sweat roll down your face as we moved in unison
I could feel the heat from our bodies envelop me
While the scent of sex and heat and sweat perfumed the air
I felt your hands on my skin and your lips on my breasts
I felt you deep inside me
I could still see the reverent look in your eyes
And I remember how good, how right it felt to be joined with you in this embrace
And I wanted it to go on forever 'cause I didn't want to ever be apart from you
My body recognized it's missing piece
My heart beat a joyful song
And my soul was at peace
Then I remembered that this was only a dream... A dream of a sad distant past
A moment long forgotten only to be remembered while in deep slumber...
A moment that I think I must have imagined because in that brief moment I was sure that you loved me but now I know that the only love that ever existed between us was the love in my heart for you
I've woken from this dream feeling sad and bereft... Filled with longing for you
I remember now, how I threw out the bed sheets we layed on
I remember that I haven't listened to the same songs that played softly in the background that night
I remember how I did all in my power to banish your presence from my bedroom
And ultimately from my mind
Years later and it all comes rushing back... Crystal clear images of a night best left forgotten
And now I find myself in the throes of sorrow, feeling as (bereft) and unloved just as I did so many days, weeks and months earlier in the aftermath of our one night together that ended up ripping us apart
Last night I dreamt about you
Last night I relived moments long gone
I saw you so clearly
You hovered over me while I lay there, entrapped by your arms
I could see the sweat roll down your face as we moved in unison
I could feel the heat from our bodies envelop me
While the scent of sex and heat and sweat perfumed the air
I felt your hands on my skin and your lips on my breasts
I felt you deep inside me
I could still see the reverent look in your eyes
And I remember how good, how right it felt to be joined with you in this embrace
And I wanted it to go on forever 'cause I didn't want to ever be apart from you
My body recognized it's missing piece
My heart beat a joyful song
And my soul was at peace
Then I remembered that this was only a dream... A dream of a sad distant past
A moment long forgotten only to be remembered while in deep slumber...
A moment that I think I must have imagined because in that brief moment I was sure that you loved me but now I know that the only love that ever existed between us was the love in my heart for you
I've woken from this dream feeling sad and bereft... Filled with longing for you
I remember now, how I threw out the bed sheets we layed on
I remember that I haven't listened to the same songs that played softly in the background that night
I remember how I did all in my power to banish your presence from my bedroom
And ultimately from my mind
Years later and it all comes rushing back... Crystal clear images of a night best left forgotten
And now I find myself in the throes of sorrow, feeling as (bereft) and unloved just as I did so many days, weeks and months earlier in the aftermath of our one night together that ended up ripping us apart
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Searching for intuition
I’m really good at introspection (likely why I live more so in my head then in the real world)… That being said, there’s a few things I’m not so good at. In particular, I feel like a total novice when it comes to things like street smarts, art of romance, and nunchuck skills. I’m certain that my lack of expertise in these areas can all be attributed to my formative years...
I grew up in Washington Heights/Inwood… On a street that has had it’s own scandalous past (and present) – filled with plenty of bad boy lotharios, LL Cool J’s ‘round the way girls, quite a few baby-mama/baby-daddy dramas, dealin’ & wheelin’ hustlers, and the “searchin’ for that elusive pale numbers-playin’” quasi-gamblers (and they come in all shapes, sizes and classes). There was plenty to learn on this street… True, this kind of education wouldn’t get you a degree but it’s the kind of learning that’s quite vital to NYC survival.
Yet somehow, someway, despite it being all around me, I skipped that part of life learning. I, who never skipped class or played hookie (‘til college that is), somehow managed not to partake in some of the most crucial learning a person could ever get. Instead of hanging out at the local bodega or in front of my building, I was safely ensconced in my opera pink room playing with Barbies (pageants & fashion designing galore – until I was nearly 15), or reading (an assortment of YM, Seventeen & Sassy magazines, books by Sidney Sheldon, Christopher Pike, Stephen King, and tons of Harlequin romance novels), or watching lots of educational TV shows (The Facts of Life, Different World, MTV’s Real World, Shirley Temple movies, Midnight Blue/Robin Byrd – Umm, all I can say is that I too had raging hormones!).
I went to a private elementary school (1st to 8th grade) just a block away (thank God for the uniform ‘cause I didn’t have much cool threads to wear). I was nerdy without being a super nerd. Had friends that were boys but no boyfriends. And I played a heck of a lot Barbie during that time. I was a dedicated school girl that only suspected at some of the things the “cool kids” were doing but was essentially clueless at the burgeoning attractions/flirtations between boys and girls. I was the girl that tore a schoolmate’s shirt (I was trying to slap him but my aim was off) in 5th grade and then proceeded to have a teary meltdown – all this as a result of him grabbing my butt during an apparently sexualized version of “tag” taking place in our schoolyard. Oh, God… I was a mess. I just didn’t get it. Sure I liked boys but I was kind of scared of them too. I didn’t know how to respond to boys or how to fight back. I didn’t seem to have (or ever learned how to have) that intuition that the other girls in my class seemed to naturally have… And so I graduated from 8th grade at the age of 14 as clueless and kiss-less as a girl could be.
My teenage years took place mostly at an all-girls high school in the Bronx and a few summers in Santo Domingo, DR. At a time when many young adults start their sexual awakening and explorations, I chose to go to a school where there would be NO BOYS AT ALL (did I already mention I was clueless?). My interactions with boys were limited to rides to and from school on the Bx12 bus and the occasional dance at an all-boys school. I never learned how to ride a bike or roller skate – I was too scared of falling, getting hurt or dirty, and looking like an idiot. I just wasn’t a tough chick even though I could give off a lot of ‘tude. For a while I did excel at creating some very abstract neon artwork on my nails (Pollock would have been jealous indeed!). My dance skills, although limited, allowed me to keep up (and get low) with the Reggae dancing boys. And boy-oh-boy, I was a MASTER at the Catholic School girl arts of applying red lipstick, straightening hair and rolling up one’s school skirt as high is it could go without revealing the world as I walked down the streets. Passing flirtations in DR and heavy petting (never beyond second base) with a couple of high school boys was as far as I went. Let’s be real – I was a prude in heat – so good at playing hard to get that I never got any at all. As far as I could tell it was a combination of a deeply rooted guilty Catholic conscience, fear, embarrassment, and severe inhibitions that kept me from participating any further.
And so it continued onto college… I went to a fashion college in NYC. I might as well have stayed at my all girls’ school. I didn’t learn how to toughen up, how to fight or how to seduce anybody… Instead I learned about the high cost of designer gear (which of course I was too poor to afford), the cattiness and cutthroat business of fashion, and that’s about it. Oh, I had male friends… Straight ones at that, but they were all platonic relationships. I began to immerse myself further into the art world (a mostly cerebral pursuit) and farther away from fashion… Short skirts & sheer linen dresses soon evolved into overalls, suede vans, used clothing and brightly colored chunks of hair. It was a world so different from the schema I’d grown used to… Who knew that taking the 1-train from 200th street to 27th street could lead to such a change of lifestyle, wants, mores??? And so my hidden desire to be the edgy sexy girl that could fight like a ninja but seduce the boys like a geisha went to the wayside. You don’t go to fashion school to learn about the hard knocks and I was too firmly wrapped up in my own personal fears to allow myself much sexual freedom even when faced with promising encounters.
Fast-forward over a decade later and it’s apparent that my intuition is still off… Sure, my life experiences have evolved but I’m not your mainstream female (or what my perception of one is). Once upon a time there was much going on but I didn’t know what it was that I was missing. Now I’m fully aware of what I am missing and I’m STILL missing it.
So how does one get street smart? Is there a class I can take? And how can I learn about romance, seduction – the language spoken between men and women? I read a lot of online articles but I’m still not getting it right. As for nunchuck skills, I’m not particularly physically adroit and have never really developed a taste for violence, so I’m ok with not knowing how to use those.
Is it too late to learn something that you should have somehow been born knowing? Does this 30-something idiosyncratic woman still have a shot at figuring this out?
I grew up in Washington Heights/Inwood… On a street that has had it’s own scandalous past (and present) – filled with plenty of bad boy lotharios, LL Cool J’s ‘round the way girls, quite a few baby-mama/baby-daddy dramas, dealin’ & wheelin’ hustlers, and the “searchin’ for that elusive pale numbers-playin’” quasi-gamblers (and they come in all shapes, sizes and classes). There was plenty to learn on this street… True, this kind of education wouldn’t get you a degree but it’s the kind of learning that’s quite vital to NYC survival.
Yet somehow, someway, despite it being all around me, I skipped that part of life learning. I, who never skipped class or played hookie (‘til college that is), somehow managed not to partake in some of the most crucial learning a person could ever get. Instead of hanging out at the local bodega or in front of my building, I was safely ensconced in my opera pink room playing with Barbies (pageants & fashion designing galore – until I was nearly 15), or reading (an assortment of YM, Seventeen & Sassy magazines, books by Sidney Sheldon, Christopher Pike, Stephen King, and tons of Harlequin romance novels), or watching lots of educational TV shows (The Facts of Life, Different World, MTV’s Real World, Shirley Temple movies, Midnight Blue/Robin Byrd – Umm, all I can say is that I too had raging hormones!).
I went to a private elementary school (1st to 8th grade) just a block away (thank God for the uniform ‘cause I didn’t have much cool threads to wear). I was nerdy without being a super nerd. Had friends that were boys but no boyfriends. And I played a heck of a lot Barbie during that time. I was a dedicated school girl that only suspected at some of the things the “cool kids” were doing but was essentially clueless at the burgeoning attractions/flirtations between boys and girls. I was the girl that tore a schoolmate’s shirt (I was trying to slap him but my aim was off) in 5th grade and then proceeded to have a teary meltdown – all this as a result of him grabbing my butt during an apparently sexualized version of “tag” taking place in our schoolyard. Oh, God… I was a mess. I just didn’t get it. Sure I liked boys but I was kind of scared of them too. I didn’t know how to respond to boys or how to fight back. I didn’t seem to have (or ever learned how to have) that intuition that the other girls in my class seemed to naturally have… And so I graduated from 8th grade at the age of 14 as clueless and kiss-less as a girl could be.
My teenage years took place mostly at an all-girls high school in the Bronx and a few summers in Santo Domingo, DR. At a time when many young adults start their sexual awakening and explorations, I chose to go to a school where there would be NO BOYS AT ALL (did I already mention I was clueless?). My interactions with boys were limited to rides to and from school on the Bx12 bus and the occasional dance at an all-boys school. I never learned how to ride a bike or roller skate – I was too scared of falling, getting hurt or dirty, and looking like an idiot. I just wasn’t a tough chick even though I could give off a lot of ‘tude. For a while I did excel at creating some very abstract neon artwork on my nails (Pollock would have been jealous indeed!). My dance skills, although limited, allowed me to keep up (and get low) with the Reggae dancing boys. And boy-oh-boy, I was a MASTER at the Catholic School girl arts of applying red lipstick, straightening hair and rolling up one’s school skirt as high is it could go without revealing the world as I walked down the streets. Passing flirtations in DR and heavy petting (never beyond second base) with a couple of high school boys was as far as I went. Let’s be real – I was a prude in heat – so good at playing hard to get that I never got any at all. As far as I could tell it was a combination of a deeply rooted guilty Catholic conscience, fear, embarrassment, and severe inhibitions that kept me from participating any further.
And so it continued onto college… I went to a fashion college in NYC. I might as well have stayed at my all girls’ school. I didn’t learn how to toughen up, how to fight or how to seduce anybody… Instead I learned about the high cost of designer gear (which of course I was too poor to afford), the cattiness and cutthroat business of fashion, and that’s about it. Oh, I had male friends… Straight ones at that, but they were all platonic relationships. I began to immerse myself further into the art world (a mostly cerebral pursuit) and farther away from fashion… Short skirts & sheer linen dresses soon evolved into overalls, suede vans, used clothing and brightly colored chunks of hair. It was a world so different from the schema I’d grown used to… Who knew that taking the 1-train from 200th street to 27th street could lead to such a change of lifestyle, wants, mores??? And so my hidden desire to be the edgy sexy girl that could fight like a ninja but seduce the boys like a geisha went to the wayside. You don’t go to fashion school to learn about the hard knocks and I was too firmly wrapped up in my own personal fears to allow myself much sexual freedom even when faced with promising encounters.
Fast-forward over a decade later and it’s apparent that my intuition is still off… Sure, my life experiences have evolved but I’m not your mainstream female (or what my perception of one is). Once upon a time there was much going on but I didn’t know what it was that I was missing. Now I’m fully aware of what I am missing and I’m STILL missing it.
So how does one get street smart? Is there a class I can take? And how can I learn about romance, seduction – the language spoken between men and women? I read a lot of online articles but I’m still not getting it right. As for nunchuck skills, I’m not particularly physically adroit and have never really developed a taste for violence, so I’m ok with not knowing how to use those.
Is it too late to learn something that you should have somehow been born knowing? Does this 30-something idiosyncratic woman still have a shot at figuring this out?
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Remembering Father's Day...
Since my dad passed away 6 years ago, I haven't really acknowledged Father's Day... There just didn't seem to be a point to celebrate father's day without having my papi right by my side here on earth.
What I’m slowly starting to remember is that for nearly 27 years of my life I was fortunate enough to have my father's loving presence in my life. Although life wasn't always easy, and we didn't see eye-to-eye on an innumerable amount of things, I always knew deep down that my father loved me very much... That I was his little girl no matter how much older I became (and man, have I become old). I learned a lot from my father. In many ways, he helped to shape me into who I am today - and who I’m not.
I've also begun to remember that my father wasn't the only father figure in my life... Uncles, brothers, cousins, neighbors, friends... I've been on the receiving end of much unconditional love and support from these men. They too deserve my praises... Whilst my father's spirit continues to radiate love and protect me from a different plane, the men that are here in my life in this moment continue to provide me the hugs, the encouragement, the guidance that I - strong, independent-minded, intelligent adult female that I view myself as - still need.
Even though the idea of Father's Day without my dad still saddens me, I’m thankful for regaining this much-needed perspective.
Recognizing all the father figures that have brought continuous love, support and positivity to this world. May God bless each of them every day and provide them the strength to be the best fathers and men they can be, now and always. And for those of us that no longer have our fathers by our sides, or perhaps never had them at all, well, this silly video pretty much says it all…
Special shout outs to the extra special hombres that have played key roles in my life and upbringing: Tio Tite, Tio Luis, Tio Pancho, Tio Tomas, Tio Juan, Curtis, Tio Watson, Abuelo Nicolas, Abuelo Papolin, Harold, Jaimito, Claudio, Lucho, Kuki, Reuben... So blessed to have had you in some way, shape or form in my life.
I love you papi.
What I’m slowly starting to remember is that for nearly 27 years of my life I was fortunate enough to have my father's loving presence in my life. Although life wasn't always easy, and we didn't see eye-to-eye on an innumerable amount of things, I always knew deep down that my father loved me very much... That I was his little girl no matter how much older I became (and man, have I become old). I learned a lot from my father. In many ways, he helped to shape me into who I am today - and who I’m not.
I've also begun to remember that my father wasn't the only father figure in my life... Uncles, brothers, cousins, neighbors, friends... I've been on the receiving end of much unconditional love and support from these men. They too deserve my praises... Whilst my father's spirit continues to radiate love and protect me from a different plane, the men that are here in my life in this moment continue to provide me the hugs, the encouragement, the guidance that I - strong, independent-minded, intelligent adult female that I view myself as - still need.
Even though the idea of Father's Day without my dad still saddens me, I’m thankful for regaining this much-needed perspective.
Recognizing all the father figures that have brought continuous love, support and positivity to this world. May God bless each of them every day and provide them the strength to be the best fathers and men they can be, now and always. And for those of us that no longer have our fathers by our sides, or perhaps never had them at all, well, this silly video pretty much says it all…
Special shout outs to the extra special hombres that have played key roles in my life and upbringing: Tio Tite, Tio Luis, Tio Pancho, Tio Tomas, Tio Juan, Curtis, Tio Watson, Abuelo Nicolas, Abuelo Papolin, Harold, Jaimito, Claudio, Lucho, Kuki, Reuben... So blessed to have had you in some way, shape or form in my life.
I love you papi.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Feminine Wiles
I wish I had me some feminine wiles.
You know the kind...
The ones that leaves the boys asking, "who's that girl?"
Batting lashes,
Swish of the hips,
Pursed lips,
A coquettish wink...
I want to be that woman.
I want to be able to spin a web that entraps her man... To spin the kind of web he doesn't want to escape from.
I want to cast spells...
To cast a love spell without an antidote, the kind he doesn't ever want to be freed of.
I want to be a seductress...
That kind that seduces her man ‘til he can't remember his own name.
I want the tools to make him love me...
I want those feminine wiles that will help me to capture and keep his attention.
I want him to live, eat, breathe me...
I want to have the same power over him that he already has over me...
I need every thing I can get to make this an even playing field...
I want a fighting chance.
You know the kind...
The ones that leaves the boys asking, "who's that girl?"
Batting lashes,
Swish of the hips,
Pursed lips,
A coquettish wink...
I want to be that woman.
I want to be able to spin a web that entraps her man... To spin the kind of web he doesn't want to escape from.
I want to cast spells...
To cast a love spell without an antidote, the kind he doesn't ever want to be freed of.
I want to be a seductress...
That kind that seduces her man ‘til he can't remember his own name.
I want the tools to make him love me...
I want those feminine wiles that will help me to capture and keep his attention.
I want him to live, eat, breathe me...
I want to have the same power over him that he already has over me...
I need every thing I can get to make this an even playing field...
I want a fighting chance.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Ownership
I've come to realize that what I thought was mine was never mine at all.
The experiences we shared were not unique.
The moments that seemed so intimate and sincere are being easily replicated with someone else as your co-star.
Nothing that occurred between us was sacred... Nothing at all.
How naive I can be, to believe that I was different... That somehow I was special to you.
But now I realize that you were never ever mine...
Those moments between us were never ever ours...
You made them into community property.
You mass-produce those moments so that each woman in your life has a matching set.
I don't want what everyone else has...
I don't want moments that are repeatable...
I don't want to be a temporary stand in.
I wanted to be "the one" but it's clear I was only one of many.
You were my "one" until you made it obvious that you were never mine at all.
And now I cling to tainted memories that are being re-lived by you with someone else...
It pains me to know that I am forgettable... That your time with can be duplicated... That your loving words to me, your glances, your touch can all be reenacted in the same tone with the same feeling to someone who's not me.
Incredibly, I continue to long to be "her"... To share with you moments that are ours alone.
1/16/10 - 1 train downtown
The experiences we shared were not unique.
The moments that seemed so intimate and sincere are being easily replicated with someone else as your co-star.
Nothing that occurred between us was sacred... Nothing at all.
How naive I can be, to believe that I was different... That somehow I was special to you.
But now I realize that you were never ever mine...
Those moments between us were never ever ours...
You made them into community property.
You mass-produce those moments so that each woman in your life has a matching set.
I don't want what everyone else has...
I don't want moments that are repeatable...
I don't want to be a temporary stand in.
I wanted to be "the one" but it's clear I was only one of many.
You were my "one" until you made it obvious that you were never mine at all.
And now I cling to tainted memories that are being re-lived by you with someone else...
It pains me to know that I am forgettable... That your time with can be duplicated... That your loving words to me, your glances, your touch can all be reenacted in the same tone with the same feeling to someone who's not me.
Incredibly, I continue to long to be "her"... To share with you moments that are ours alone.
1/16/10 - 1 train downtown
Sunday, June 13, 2010
A night of quiet introspection...
The past few days have been like a discordant medley of strange roller coaster rides with each upside down movement changing the surroundings resulting in emotional upheaval on a daily basis. Sharing moments I'd given up believing that I would ever share again. Unsure of how to proceed, unsure if anything has really changed. Feeling the need to analyze the words, the actions, and the inner workings of a mind that has always managed to baffle me even as it provided me insight. Truth is that my soul is a tad too weary at the moment to piece together these puzzle pieces that seem to be shrouded more so in mystery than in plain talk. I'm just not up for it tonight... Can't figure it out to then somehow attempt to merge this into what I already knew and felt about everything that has transpired up to this point. Music shall have to be the balm for this ruffled soul of mine...
What difference does it make? - The Smiths
15 Steps - Radiohead
Oh Comely - Neutral Milk Hotel
Maligno - Aterciopelados
Falling Softly - Glen Hansard & Markéta Irglová
Lucky - Radiohead
Elephant Gun - Beirut
Puedo Escribir - Sixpence None the Richer
I KNow It's Over - The Smiths
Exit Music (for a film) - Radiohead
Me gustas cuando callas - Pablo Neruda
Not a song but a lovely recitation found on youtube
Naci en Alamo - Remedios Silva Pisa
(from the Vengo soundtrack)
What difference does it make? - The Smiths
15 Steps - Radiohead
Oh Comely - Neutral Milk Hotel
Maligno - Aterciopelados
Falling Softly - Glen Hansard & Markéta Irglová
Lucky - Radiohead
Elephant Gun - Beirut
Puedo Escribir - Sixpence None the Richer
I KNow It's Over - The Smiths
Exit Music (for a film) - Radiohead
Me gustas cuando callas - Pablo Neruda
Not a song but a lovely recitation found on youtube
Naci en Alamo - Remedios Silva Pisa
(from the Vengo soundtrack)
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Both the warden and the prisoner
I've built myself a sturdy prison
So well fortified that I myself cannot escape from it
So deeply entrenched in its' bowels that others can no longer see past it's unyielding concrete facade
I'm stifled... Breathing in the same air each and every day
Eager for escape
Except I've misplaced the only key
Shackled by my own misguidance...
By my own fears
People have begun to pass me by
Oblivious to the dreary place that I've become
Dismissed as a blight in an otherwise beautiful world
They only see this cold exterior
I've become invisible
Unable to be seen, there is a woman that still lives deep inside this gloomy interior
There is no welcoming feel to this place
It's as far away from home as it could possibly be
In this inky darkness, I dream...
I concoct a different actuality
Like being free and without care
Of something so basic as breathing fresh air
Imagining myself as a human being without this self-imposed criminal past
An intact feminine being who knows her self-worth
Longing to be heard
To no longer be dismissed
Having a voice as melodic, as appealing as the others
Wanting to be a home, an inviting attractive place
A nest in which to nurture a future... happiness... and (dare I wish it?) love...
I imagine breaking free from this cold hard place
Of being someone worthy of my own appreciation
Of no longer starving for external acceptance while languishing in this self-imposed internment
Musing on shedding the scars and the vicious cycles
The ones that keep bringing me back to this dark and lonely cell deep within myself
6/8/10
NJ Path & 1 Train
Lava rocks and silica rich waters around the Blue Lagoon in Iceland
- Photo taken December 2008
So well fortified that I myself cannot escape from it
So deeply entrenched in its' bowels that others can no longer see past it's unyielding concrete facade
I'm stifled... Breathing in the same air each and every day
Eager for escape
Except I've misplaced the only key
Shackled by my own misguidance...
By my own fears
People have begun to pass me by
Oblivious to the dreary place that I've become
Dismissed as a blight in an otherwise beautiful world
They only see this cold exterior
I've become invisible
Unable to be seen, there is a woman that still lives deep inside this gloomy interior
There is no welcoming feel to this place
It's as far away from home as it could possibly be
In this inky darkness, I dream...
I concoct a different actuality
Like being free and without care
Of something so basic as breathing fresh air
Imagining myself as a human being without this self-imposed criminal past
An intact feminine being who knows her self-worth
Longing to be heard
To no longer be dismissed
Having a voice as melodic, as appealing as the others
Wanting to be a home, an inviting attractive place
A nest in which to nurture a future... happiness... and (dare I wish it?) love...
I imagine breaking free from this cold hard place
Of being someone worthy of my own appreciation
Of no longer starving for external acceptance while languishing in this self-imposed internment
Musing on shedding the scars and the vicious cycles
The ones that keep bringing me back to this dark and lonely cell deep within myself
6/8/10
NJ Path & 1 Train
Lava rocks and silica rich waters around the Blue Lagoon in Iceland
- Photo taken December 2008
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Blame it on the al-al-al-al-alcohol
"I'd like to say that it was your desire for me that made you kiss me...
I'd like to attribute it to a deep feeling of need...
More than anything I would love for it have occurred due to a love so deeply ignited all those years ago that you too had never been able to extinguish it's flames....
Alas, it was none of these things... Instead only the alcohol is to blame."
Mi gente, what do you think... Does alcohol act as a truth serum or some form of liquid courage? Does it give people the ability to say and do things they've always wanted to say/do? Does it heighten genuine emotion? Can it make people profess feelings of love and need that they were previously unable to divulge?
Or is it like those silly t-shirt sayings: "the more I drink the better you look"? Does alcohol lower your standards? Does it make you do things you'd never want to do in a sober state? Make you feel things you don't actually feel?
I've always wondered about this... If it happens while you've been drinking can it still be considered real/true?
Case Study: ME... Looking back at my own random tipsy escapades, it's clear that there have been instances when I was more revealing of my emotions/thoughts after drinking then when I was sober. I've also been known to forget that I don't have any dance skills to speak of and just dance-dance-dance as if I do. Despite that, I don't recall ever doing anything that goes against my character - I've never professed my love for someone that I didn't love, or come on to someone I wasn't already attracted to...
So how does one interpret someone else's actions/words if done or said after having a few drinks? Are they valid? Or should they simply be dismissed? The left side of my brain screams "You know the answer to these silly questions!" but my heart still wants to believe that there is something genuine in these liquid encounters.
I'd like to attribute it to a deep feeling of need...
More than anything I would love for it have occurred due to a love so deeply ignited all those years ago that you too had never been able to extinguish it's flames....
Alas, it was none of these things... Instead only the alcohol is to blame."
Mi gente, what do you think... Does alcohol act as a truth serum or some form of liquid courage? Does it give people the ability to say and do things they've always wanted to say/do? Does it heighten genuine emotion? Can it make people profess feelings of love and need that they were previously unable to divulge?
Or is it like those silly t-shirt sayings: "the more I drink the better you look"? Does alcohol lower your standards? Does it make you do things you'd never want to do in a sober state? Make you feel things you don't actually feel?
I've always wondered about this... If it happens while you've been drinking can it still be considered real/true?
Case Study: ME... Looking back at my own random tipsy escapades, it's clear that there have been instances when I was more revealing of my emotions/thoughts after drinking then when I was sober. I've also been known to forget that I don't have any dance skills to speak of and just dance-dance-dance as if I do. Despite that, I don't recall ever doing anything that goes against my character - I've never professed my love for someone that I didn't love, or come on to someone I wasn't already attracted to...
So how does one interpret someone else's actions/words if done or said after having a few drinks? Are they valid? Or should they simply be dismissed? The left side of my brain screams "You know the answer to these silly questions!" but my heart still wants to believe that there is something genuine in these liquid encounters.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Nostalgia
Nostalgia explodes in waves... Thoughts & words scrawled on scraps of paper... Capturing feelings or maybe just moments forever frozen... Like found art, what would have been dismissed by the masses is embraced by two as a glorious dialogue full of prose and jokes and earnestness and friendship and possibly more. It's soooo cool to find someone to vibe off of too... Who strikes that creative nerve and suddenly disjointed words become deep intense moments to be enjoyed and lingered over and over and over and... Yeah it's weird but moving but sweet but crass but more… More than I even know how to say or put into words, those very same words that stirred this whole connection and what more can be said? Nothing more indeed... Enjoy the silence and words and moments and life and and and and....
Out of fear, prayer
As I sat there pondering eventualities too difficult to grasp, a maelstrom of thoughts swirled through my head. A prayer of sorts was borne - stitched together from errant thoughts, fear (so much fear), and hope...
Knowledge is power so I arm myself with it. Hope fuels positivity so I embrace it. Faith provides confidence so I trust that all will happen as He wills it. Initiative drives action so I won't stop fighting. And LOVE - it isn't a choice, it just is... LOVE is what will carry me through.
6/5/10 - Double Tree Hotel
Self-explanatory........
Knowledge is power so I arm myself with it. Hope fuels positivity so I embrace it. Faith provides confidence so I trust that all will happen as He wills it. Initiative drives action so I won't stop fighting. And LOVE - it isn't a choice, it just is... LOVE is what will carry me through.
6/5/10 - Double Tree Hotel
Self-explanatory........
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Viewing the streets of Madrid through the eyes of Duchamp
No matter where I go or what I do, art seeps into everything I see and hear... Surely Marcel Duchamp composed this assemblage just so I could see that his spirit is alive and well. The muted building lights casted a golden glow, bathing these articles of "basura" into gilded tributes to the mundane and discarded. To see art where there appears to be none is one of the most beautiful qualities one can have.
"There is no art in turning a goddess into a witch, a virgin into a whore, but the opposite operation, to give dignity to what has been scorned, to make the degraded desirable, that calls for art or for character."
~ Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe
Photo taken as I walked alone along the streets of Madrid one late night in November '07.
Broken
You broke it
And it can't be fixed
What's done is done
Except I'm the lonely one
My heart still jumps when you're close
My eyes still seek you out
My lips quiver, eager to break the silence
Eager to beckon you in
But those times are over
A new era has begun
You're the USSR
And it's a cold battle we find ourselves in
I've armed myself with angry songs
I tap into sage words
Words that remind me of what's real
That remind me of what never was
I've invoked an impenetrable force field
To help protect me against you
I'm arming myself against myself...
Trying to douse the raging fires of a love that burns so deeply within me that it proves treacherous to my resolve, to my well-being
You tricked me with words delivered with surgical precision
My fanciful mind and blinded heart aided you like trustworthy traitors
Yet your actions never lied
They were beacons of honesty in a world painted dark by the lies that flowed from your lips
With time your actions morphed into shrapnel, each cutting deeply with it's undeniable truth
Ultimately your own actions defeated your efforts
But it's all too late
The body count is in
A tally of one lacerated heart, a crushed soul, and nearly destroyed pride lie between us
My heart... My soul....... My pride
Perhaps I can resucitate them one last time
Perhaps I can walk away with my head held high enough to accept defeat without conceding to it
I'm the walking wounded
I'm broken,
But I'm still a fighter
I'll find a way to piece myself back together
1/15/10 - 7 train to qns
And it can't be fixed
What's done is done
Except I'm the lonely one
My heart still jumps when you're close
My eyes still seek you out
My lips quiver, eager to break the silence
Eager to beckon you in
But those times are over
A new era has begun
You're the USSR
And it's a cold battle we find ourselves in
I've armed myself with angry songs
I tap into sage words
Words that remind me of what's real
That remind me of what never was
I've invoked an impenetrable force field
To help protect me against you
I'm arming myself against myself...
Trying to douse the raging fires of a love that burns so deeply within me that it proves treacherous to my resolve, to my well-being
You tricked me with words delivered with surgical precision
My fanciful mind and blinded heart aided you like trustworthy traitors
Yet your actions never lied
They were beacons of honesty in a world painted dark by the lies that flowed from your lips
With time your actions morphed into shrapnel, each cutting deeply with it's undeniable truth
Ultimately your own actions defeated your efforts
But it's all too late
The body count is in
A tally of one lacerated heart, a crushed soul, and nearly destroyed pride lie between us
My heart... My soul....... My pride
Perhaps I can resucitate them one last time
Perhaps I can walk away with my head held high enough to accept defeat without conceding to it
I'm the walking wounded
I'm broken,
But I'm still a fighter
I'll find a way to piece myself back together
1/15/10 - 7 train to qns
The downfall of memories: ephemeral moments
At times I'm caught off guard with sudden bursts of realization that life is full of ephemeral moments. Monumental episodes come and go made up of simple words that resonate... or deep revealing eye contact that speaks volumes... or physical touch like a surprise kiss in the middle of a crowded street. Little things that carry powerfully resounding consequences, pivotal moments in time yet there are no statues to mark their occurrence, no markers or memorials to give proof to their fleeting existence... Life-changing moments that are in the end subject to the whim of our minds... our hearts. Their only tangible evidence being that indelible mark left on your soul or that tug on your heart which can fade with time so that when you pass by that same crowded street corner weeks or months or even years later you're struck by a wave of fleeting recognition sadly mistaken for an instance of déjà vu... Making meaningful episodes in one’s life easily dismissed as if they were only mind hiccups with no substance. Moments that can sometimes feel as if they were imagined or dreamt… All because there is nothing to document their existence, nothing to make them official, no ability to touch or see or hear them in order to give credence to the transient events of our lives. Leaving us to exclaim, if we remember, “See, this did happen. It was real. I did not imagine this!” except you have absolutely nothing to show for it... Leaving you with the feeling that maybe, just maybe you imagined it all.
1/1/2010 - 1 train @ Times Sq
1/1/2010 - 1 train @ Times Sq
Should I, or shouldn't I?
To blog, or not to blog?
That's the question I've been asking myself for some time now. This is my first attempt at blogging although by no means the first time I'm writing down my thoughts and inner dialogues. My BlackBerry note pad, countless cocktail napkins, and scraps of paper littered throughout my bag can attest to that. I'm making a concious decision to stop living life inside my head by letting out my inner thoughts and engaging the world in conversation and action.
So, what are my intentions for this blog? Bueno, to start this shall be a smorgasbord of thoughts, stories, accounts and opinions that tap into old memories, hobbies, heartbreak, prayers, new experiences, travels, love of art, newfound wisdom, pursuit of inner peace, and ever changing personal fads... A chronicle of one woman's internal revolution and evolution.
peace & love,
*michelle
That's the question I've been asking myself for some time now. This is my first attempt at blogging although by no means the first time I'm writing down my thoughts and inner dialogues. My BlackBerry note pad, countless cocktail napkins, and scraps of paper littered throughout my bag can attest to that. I'm making a concious decision to stop living life inside my head by letting out my inner thoughts and engaging the world in conversation and action.
So, what are my intentions for this blog? Bueno, to start this shall be a smorgasbord of thoughts, stories, accounts and opinions that tap into old memories, hobbies, heartbreak, prayers, new experiences, travels, love of art, newfound wisdom, pursuit of inner peace, and ever changing personal fads... A chronicle of one woman's internal revolution and evolution.
peace & love,
*michelle
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