Digital

Here is a digital story I made as my signature assignment for my technology K-12 class. I figured all creative things should be placed here.

Cardboard

The wind was cool but the sun was warm, and if this day had been any other day, he would have thought the weather was perfect. He stood straight and proud, and though his breathing was steady, his fingers, they trembled just slightly as he held onto the cardboard. His sign, though it declared the truth, gave permission to everyone around him to judge him, and as three cars passed by he could feel his cheeks grow warm.
He didn't blame them, for hadn't he been the same way years ago? Back when he was a young thirty-something businessman, hellbent on success and too busy to give a glance to anyone beneath his level. He remembered that when stopping next to men like the one he was now, he would lock the car door and silently pray that they did not approach him, that they did not scuff the paint on his Lexus, his BMW, his Mercedes.
All of that was gone now, and a sad smile played around his lips while he thought about how fleeting success could be. How he lost everything with a couple of bad decisions. How the mortality rate of success is never talked about in debriefing meetings. As a car drove by and honked on its horn he blinked. Though he had never touched a drug in his life he understood why people in his position did...To numb the embarrassment of asking for help, the peacefulness of a dull mind. He could understand why people give in to those vices.
He momentarily held his breath as the light changed color and his knuckles grew white as he clutched at his sign. "Not drunk or lazy" it read. "Just going through a really hard time."

She was running late for work and it slightly irritated her, that she had slipped into the habit of leaving too late. She pulled off the freeway and drummed her fingers on her steering wheel as she started braking for the red light.  She was tuning out from the world, the anxiety of a busy work night lingering in the back of her mind. As she waited for the lights to change, from the corner of her eye she saw a man holding a sign. "Not drunk or lazy" it said. "Just going through a really hard time." You and me both, buddy. She thought to herself as she checked her watch. She heard the familiar plucking of heart strings. She was used to wanting to help everyone, but her optimistic attitude about helping the helpless had grown dimmer over time, for as she aged she realized that most of the people she gave her hard earned money to probably wouldn't even remember her the next day. Their eyes were constantly glazed with the residue of chemicals and sadness, and it was a pain that she knew she alone could not erase. But as she read his sign, her fingers stopped drumming on the wheel. She rolled her eyes, mostly to herself as she reached out for her bag. Her shoulders slumped a little as she realized she only had one dollar left in her wallet, she had wanted to give him more. She rolled down the window and held it out. She was surprised at the smile that erupted from his face, and sense of relief swept through them both. He walked to the car and thanked her, thanked her so much for helping out.

And his eyes. His eyes shocked her as she told him "you're welcome". His eyes had her asking him how his day was going, and if possible they grew even brighter. They had a small conversation, a conversation that said nothing and meant everything. His eyes were bright blue and so clear. They startled her, they were kind eyes. Eyes that had fatherly love, or brotherly adoration inside of them. They were some of the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, and they belonged to a man who wasn't drunk or lazy, no. She knew in that moment he was just going through a hard time.  As the light turned green and she started to accelerate she could feel the tears gathering in her eyes. She turned the radio up and let the tears come steadily down her face. It was only for a moment. With a deep breath, she was able to recompose herself.

But oh if the world allowed us to look back, she would have seen that his face was wet as well.

Midnight

Still scared to look at the scars, like examining them brings the pain to the surface. Time doesn't heal scars, it just pounds them into you until they're on the inside out- and they creep into dreams and streams of subconscious.
 Sometimes I feel like everything I know is crumbling around me.

 I'll tell you a secret.
I'm gonna change the world with my lips

Blink

Even with the truth staring us in the face, we crave the lie. Our hearts pump out of sync, beating faster until we can tightly grasp at the untruth that will pacify us. You really aren't cheating, you really won't leave me, you really do still love me.

Lies. The morphine of our inner turmoil.

Less full.

I am usually unwanted and for this I am grateful and ashamed. There are pieces of myself that have not come to fruition yet, that are waiting, tender detailed pieces that are underdeveloped and meek.
It occurred to me today how mindless human beings are. How the selfish nature of our species prevents us from truly feeling the core of someone else. How when we are mindless we take away a gentleness that should be left intact.
My heart is hurting and full and it's a contradiction that mostly leaves me not only breathless but speechless. I feel, more than the average human. My empathetic nature makes me sense and observe more than I should.

And yet I still want to be more mindful. Mindful of people's positions and feelings. I feel mindfulness could take away a lot of the pain we put each other and ourselves through.

A commitment of thought. A commitment of processing that your actions have consequences on not only yourself but others as well.

I am angry and grateful. I am broken and sane.
It's a juxtaposition that constantly leaves me feeling like I want more. Like I need to know more. Like I need to teach myself to control...
Everything.

Aisle 13

I write lists now. To keep myself concentrated on the things I actually need, versus the things I make myself believe I need. I have finally realized that I walk down the aisles of grocery stores, through racks at the department stores, through online pages, looking for something that isn't for sale.

I had the pop of an epiphany yesterday while scanning the shelves of a store for something I was trying to remind myself I needed to buy. More shampoo, more mascara, more more more. It occurred to me then that what I was trying so desperately to find was happiness, clairvoyance, peace of mind.

That I would somehow, miraculously, find it hidden behind an Herbal Essences bottle, on clearance. Special, $3.79 for three minutes of breathing easy.

I am both sympathetic and angry, I feel joyous and yet slighted. Which makes me wind up feeling completely alone and unhappy.

Sometimes I feel as though every part of me is being pulled a different direction. To be a better daughter, a better employee, a better friend, a smarter student. That regardless how fast I move or think I am still behind. That I am being left to drown in mediocracy.

That I will never be anyone, just some girl who left notes in movie cases for the next person that rents it.

This train of thought stopped me. In the middle of the aisle. Surrounded by nothing but hair care bottles that could never actually do anything for me but allow me to lather. Rinse. Repeat.

What a fabricated fairytale.
What a beautiful lie.

dis-1. —prefix. 1. indicating reversal

I wish it wasn't

so difficult to believe

that I'm beautiful.

Too many thoughts stay

inside my head. It's too much

I am just one girl.

Haiku's are awful

I never get to express

What I really mean.

Books

Don’t judge a book by its cover.


“Tell me a story- a small story, a true story (or as true as you can tell it), a story from your heart, a story from your life. Tell me of a time you lost something, your keys, your heart, your mind, your mother or father, your way in the world- or tell me about a small joy you had today. Tell me a story, and your telling it will change you, and your telling it will change me, and such stories will move us both closer to the light.”
-Lynn Nelson


We hear it all the time as kids: Don’t judge a book by its cover. But how often, in our protected and innocent lives as children- are we faced with such big concepts?
Though not always, and certainly through no malicious intent, we grow into our comfort zone. Our experiences through life soften our hearts, and harden our eyes. Eventually, if you so choose, you can look at someone, with eyes that do not see them.

Costa Rica was life altering for me. Though I try to be open minded, I too am guilty of judging someone before I even know anything about them. When we do this, we cheat them, and we cheat ourselves.
The twelve of us met each other only a few weeks ago- all of us different. All of us came toting the books of our lives under our arms, eager to fill a new chapter in them. All our books contain stories that have shaped us; into who we have been, who we are, and inevitably who we will be. By only looking at the covers of our books- we shouldn’t have gotten along. But we started to read each other, and we started to look in order to see.

There are pages full of wonder and adaptation in my story of Costa Rica. Words and events that inspire me to continue to look past the surface- of a city, of a school, of a face. Sentences that make me crave knowledge until I know things, know people. Getting to know all of you was one of the most enriching experiences of my life.
Costa Rica has taught me that a poor school can be rich with pure hearts, that someone who does not share your language can share a laugh- that children, regardless of where they stand on a monetary line- are bright, pure of heart, and innocent. Joyous, and in constant awe of the world around them.

This trip has taught me that labels, that abstractions, of who we are do nothing but build borders around our hearts, around our softness.
A teacher at Country Day School confronted me about being from Arizona. Hearing where I lived was enough for him to write me off as an ignorant racist. Looking back now, all I can think is: “What a waste.” He wrote me off in his book of life, slammed my book shut before I could even show him my own beliefs or ideas.

And now, as a student, as a teacher, as a person, I can no longer accept momentarily skimming a person and taking them at face vaule. We are all so much more than just a sentence.

“I’m a teen mother.”
“I’m an immigrant.”
“I didn’t go to college.”
“I’m scared.”

No one sentence can sum up anyone. No one characteristic defines us as the person we are. Costa Rica has taught me to open my heart, and to open my eyes. To take the time to read the chapters that make us who we are. Costa Rica taught me that you can find love anywhere. From the bottom of a canyon to the desks we sat in at their schools. From flattery of tour guides to beans and fruit punch that had been prepared just for us by school attendants who were beyond wonderful.

Costa Rica has taught me that all we have is who we are, and that being rich doesn’t come from having thousands of Colones, but from having a number of people that you have read and accepted, just the way they are.

Raul

I stifled a yawn as I walked towards the bed. Though foreign, it let me sleep better than any mattress at home ever did. I crawled under the blankets and flipped off the light. As I started to drift to sleep, I thought I heard the voices of the other girls in the room next to me, but I was too tired to join. I quickly drifted to sleep.
I was soon awoken by the sound of screams. Blood curdling, murderous screams. I flung the blankets off of me and rushed next door, frantic at what I would find.

I ran through the door just in time to see something that looked like a black ping pong ball fall from the ceiling onto the floor. And land with a stomach lurching "thunk". Enter Raul; the biggest fucking bug I've ever seen. A creepy, awful loud ass motherfucking beetle from HELL. Befuddled and angry as fuck to have left his fiery dimension of doom, he surely would have taken us all on had he not foolishly landed on his back, thus dazing him. My roommate Maci ran to him and without knowing what else to do, started to spray Raul with bug spray. She continued to spray about half the can onto our nemesis. In our panic we had forgotten that bug spray repels bugs, it doesn't kill them.

I looked as the mist hit Raul, and I swear to god, I think he liked it. Stoned now, he casually flicked his pincers, no, talons, in the air, and if I didn't know any better, I'd bet my money that he winked at us. "Come get me," he taunts us. "I fucking dare you."

Maci continues to battle against him, and manages to scoop him up with a cup and get him into a plastic bag. Raul is still not dead, mind you. Maci flung him into the plants, and I'm sure if our ears could pick up such decibels, we'd still hear Raul chuckling as he came down from his bug spray high. I'm sure whenever he sobers up enough he will mosey back to whatever sector of hell he came from.

Corazons.

Today was an experience that moved all of us profoundly. The entire day was an amazing adventure, and one of my favorite parts was learning that even though two people can speak different languages, they can still communicate effectively with one another.

We arrived at the breakfast tables at Costa Verde Inn around 7am. Anxious and excited, we filled ourselves with Costa Rican coffee and toast, juice, rice, cereal- whatever each of us fancied, and then prepared for the walk to the school.

The walk was completely uphill, and for those of you in Arizona who are following us on this blog, let us tell you that walking at a steep incline in a tropical environment leaves one feeling energized and very very hot.

We all arrived at Corazon de Jesus excited and a glistening a bit, but were welcomed with open arms and warm eyes. Maci, Jennifer and I went into Maria's 4th grade classroom, and were immediately swept into a kind, loving environment.

We walk in, and the students are clean cut and well behaved. The room is clean, softly lit by natural lighting and bears large windows on the far wall. There is no air conditioning, and while there is a fan in the room, it remains off. The teacher, Maria, is wonderfully nice, and though she does not speak a word of English, she made us feel welcome.

The students begin their day by singing a song, which is not intended for us, since we know that this school has no phone and they were unsure of what time of the day we would be stopping by. The children sing exhuberently in unison. As they finish and settle down, they start taking turns reading from their Spanish grammar book. The class seats 25, and the desks are arranged in a circle. There are only 24 students, so Maria takes a seat among them. Though she often does not ask questions to the students, she does correct them and smile encouragingly at them as they read.

Maci saves the day with her impressive acquisition of the Spanish language, and after asking the teacher if it is okay to take photographs, we begin to snap pictures. I notice that Maria is amazingly well dressed. She wears heels, slacks, and a blouse with a blazer. Her hair has been straightened and coiffed, her make up beautiful from her bronzed eyeshadow to her red lipstick. She carries a dominance with her that takes control over her class, and still emits the grace of a motherly figure. The students respect her, and pay attention to her.

**As a side note, I'd like to mention that one of my favorite parts of the day was telling the professor (in very chopped Spanish unfortunately) "Yo quiero hablar Espanol muy mal", which, I had hoped would equal out to "I want to speak Spanish very badly". Her response was "Yo quiero hablar Ingles!". I thought it was so special that two people attempting to make a connection would say that they wish they spoke each others language, as oppose to wanting the other person to speak theirs. But I digress**

While sitting there, I realize every once in a while that the children become chittery and rowdy. This makes me smile. It reminds me very much of my own elementary school, Cielo, and shows me that regardless the differences in a culture, or the intricacies of a society- regardless of where you find yourself in the world, children are children. They are bright, eager, and funny, constantly willing to adapt and learn something new, and socially blooming into the world around them.

As I converse with a fellow student of Arizona State University she tells me that a quote on the wall of the classroom she was observing says: "Nosotros fuimas creados por amor y para amor a los otros", which translates into: "We are created to love and be loved in return." This makes my heart sing, and as I discuss this with Maci and Caroline, I realize they feel the same way. My experience at Corazon de Jesus is one that will stick with me eternally. Everyone in our group met so many wonderful people, teachers and students alike, and Maci and I had the luck of meeting two wonderful children named Josue and Anarosa.

We left feeling lightened and happy. Though none of us knew it yet, we left changed.

27's (for my cousin)

She swallowed the lump in her throat as she moved into the bedroom. For over a year, this room had been sacred. It had been her haven, where regardless the fights or the miscommunication, she could seek refuge; in the blankets, in the bed, in his arms. He was nonchalantly rummaging through a drawer, and in that one moment she could not remember what objects that drawer held. She felt she was made of stone as her throat formed the words.
"We really need to talk."
He turned to face her, mechanically, solemnly. "I need to take a shower."
The words hit her like blows, each one seeming more uncaring and indignant than the last. She tried again.
"We really. Need to talk." Recognition crossed his face, the only saving grace to their life at the moment.
"Can I just get in the shower? I'll feel better when you do this if I can just be in the shower."
Had the moment not been so completely life defining, had she not felt the need to rip out her heart and show him what he had done to it, she may have laughed. Instead she just agreed. They moved into the bathroom.
He undressed. He climbed into the shower, turned on the water.
It was intimate and yet cold. She could hear the water streaming through his hair and on his body. She sank and sat on the toilet. She pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes.
"I can't do this anymore." The words seemed to belong to someone else. Someone else who could muster the kind of courage it took to say the five words that would change her very being.
Her body froze, and yet time did not. She half expected her very world to crumble at its corners as she had made this proclamation, and instead, the water continued to fall and she continued to breathe. It was both hopeful and heartbreaking.
He murmured an agreement. She was shaking. It was slight, and it was subtle, but it was there.
Unsure of what to do, uncertain of how to start the new life she had just entered, she pulled off a layer of clothing and crawled into bed. Their bed. He climbed in after her, and his skin gave off the steam her emotions could not. He fell asleep, and it was too quickly. As she listened to him slumber she became more hurt, and slightly irritated.
As his breaths turned into snores, she threw the sheets off and listened to her mind, to her feelings, to her heart. She edged away, moved to a spot in the bed where she felt for one last time she could be untouchable.

She awoke in the morning, and as she looked at him, she knew it was over. As he continued to sleep she carried herself out of bed. She packed a box. One, lonely box, to serve as a reminder for what she was doing. She carried it to her car. She slid into the drivers seat, and as though it was just a regular day she buckled up and put the car into reverse. She was strong. Stronger than she would ever realize.

She turned on her music and with a steady voice she started to sing. She lit a cigarette and inhaled. It was warm and comforting, in ways the man she had just left never could be. It wasn't until she looked in her rear view mirror that she saw the tears rolling their way down her face. She left them there, unwilling to wipe them away for anyone, much less the boy she had left behind who would never get to see them. These were for her. And as she drove, the tears lightened the load. As she drove, she started a new life.

A letter for honesty

Distractions, in the end, are probably more trouble than they are worth.
"Color my world with the chaos of trouble".

I want to be alone right now. I want to figure out exactly who I am and what I stand for in this life. I can't do that with someone by my side. I make myself a puzzle piece, I make myself mold into the nooks and curves of other people, and in the end I'm left feeling alone, unloved, and unhappy because I'm not me anymore, I'm a copy of a version of me. I don't want that anymore.

When I finally, finally find love again, (and what is this abstract concept anyway? All the love I've ever known and seen flickers and dies) I want to be with someone who is never afraid to read the pages of my life. I want to know who they want to sleep with and what movie stars get them going. I want to know what their worst fear is. I want to be in a relationship with someone who I am completely comfortable with. I want to not feel jealous because we are honest with each other. I want them to think it's cute when I flirt with men and I want to be able to laugh when they hit on women. Because we are not meant to be these monogamous creatures who suddenly turn off our sexual instincts when we settle down. And to live in a life where that is what you think is a lie. I don't want a lie. I want raw, unedited, passionate love that doesn't complete me because I'm already whole.

I want the real deal. I won't settle for less. And that's going to take a lot of effort on my part. I am insecure. I get jealous. I get confused and jumbled in a windswept currant of emotion and I want to be able to be with someone who is my best friend in every sense of the word. Who can come to me and complain about my flaws and I still know it doesn't matter because at the end of the day, they still love me for exactly who I am. I want to know who and what turns them on, I want to know every detail and root for them.

Love shouldn't be...love isn't supposed to be clean. It isn't supposed to be I want you and no one but you because that is laughably untrue.

I want to grow. And know myself back to front and know exactly where I draw the line and what I stand for. I want honesty. Unburdened, true to its core honesty. Without it we sell ourselves short.


I won't find this, for quite some time, because the partner I would want my partner to be with doesn't exist quite yet. She's a concept. But I feel it's future me. That's what I deserve.

I have my flaws and my quirks. My pro's and my con's. But at the end of the day I want happiness for everyone and that includes myself.

I want an adventure that's dirty and irrevocably satisfying.
I want this. I'll have this.
But not now.

I'm not even close yet.

For my Father

The sky was full of grey’s and blues as the sun hid inside the clouds. Amidst the many decorations in the backyard, sat two people, one wizened and grayed, with the hint of a smile that crinkled out from the corners of his blue eyes. The other, a girl, sat cross legged in an armchair, similar blue eyes concentrated on the smoke that escaped the mans cigar and exhales. The smell reminded her of her childhood and she leaned back and smiled haphazardly.
“They told me it would never float,” He started, as he talked with his cigar in between his teeth. It bobbed up and down, as if waving to the girl in the chair. “And I told them they had no other choice but to make it float.” He stopped then and withdrew the cigar. Smiling, he continued. “All I wanted, was a two story lodge that floated in the water. Now really, was that so much to ask?” With a chuckle he shook his head. The girl felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. She knew the man to be tough and temperamental when he needed to be. It was a quality the confrontation fearing girl had always admired. She re-crossed her legs and looked up at the sky.
“I don’t know when the dream occurred to me, but once I knew what I wanted it was a power that I didn’t want to stop. To look back now and see how much I lost and gained during those years gives me an insight I don’t expect you to understand until you’re much older.
‘Once I started to envision this lodge, this sanctuary, where people could go to be close with their families and do something that was once in a lifetime, it’s all I wanted. I dreamt about it during conference calls with my clients, and marinated over it when I was knee deep in paperwork. Do you remember those days? Do you remember how long I stayed cramped up in that office?”
The girl only nodded, from the look on her face it appeared that the days of being cooped up in an office had long since past, and had done so when she had been too young to understand what sacrifice meant. She invited him to keep telling his story. He straightened his legs and slid down his chair a little, as the cigar in his hand lightly gave off its smoky aroma.
“I feel like the day I finally found where I wanted to put that lodge was the day I lost your mother.” He shifted almost painfully as the memory swam across the periphery of his vision. “You know I’ll always love your mother right? Well of course you do. I wish her nothing but the best. If things could have been different…” He lost himself in thought for a moment, but with a shake of the head corrected himself. “Things weren’t different, things never are, that’s the way life just happens to work out. You start down a new path of life and the old path becomes covered in thorns and shrubbery. The point is that your mother and I fell apart when almost everything with that lodge had fallen together. And then all my dreams, my planning, my blueprints…they told me they could never build a two story lodge because it wouldn’t float.”
His eyes grew misty and he laughed a small laugh, a note of understanding that life is an unfair and cruel mistress at times. “The anger in my voice that day could have brought a small town onto their knees. I don’t know how else I ever could have even gotten that crew to try. But they eventually broke down and they did try, and I’ll be damned if it hasn’t floated now for 7 years. They had never seen anything like that before, and since then they still haven’t. Since then my lodge is still the only one in the inlet with a top deck. It was a step into that dream that could have shot down anything, but I kept envisioning it the way I wanted it to be, and it eventually shifted into place.”
“Starting that lodge up was a nightmare. It was blissful and exhilarating while at the same time being the worst thing I had ever tried doing. Those first two years I was up for almost 20 hours straight a day, sometimes more. Those opening years taught me things about myself I didn’t even think I’d ever learn. But I got through it, and that lodge is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. It calmed me, restored my soul, brought me sanity through years I wasn’t sure I would get through. And I’ll tell you one thing, if that damn rig had sank in the water I would have sank too. I don’t know what I would do without that lodge.”
And of course the girl understood. The lodge, though hated at first for stealing her father away from her, from her first days of school and unsuccessful dates, had long ago been redeemed. At nineteen, she had escaped to the lodge when she could no longer bear the life she had spiraled herself into, and it had been working at that very lodge that had also saved her sanity and her control of her life. Her story had come before this one, and the father and daughter exchanged a knowing look that not many else in this world would understand. The struggle it takes for dreams to come true, the disappointment associated in letting yourself down, and the weight of the world falling off your back as everything fits into place. The acceptance of growing and not only recognizing and mourning your regrets, but letting them go so you can be a present part of the world, of your life.
The sun slid away from the clouds and cast a bright light over the two in the backyard. They both looked up and saw the same thing: a Canadian sky.
The girl spoke. “Dad, when the weather is like this and the sun looks like that it reminds me of days…” Cut off by the man leaning forward and putting a hand on her knee, she smiled.
“I know.” He said.
A bond unbreakable by the fast paced world and the moments that are taken for granted they both sat, looking up at the sky. A lifetime, a summer, a country had seemed to pass in just a few minutes. Her eyes had begun to water, and whether from tears or sunlight the girl was unsure. But as she spoke, her words were steady.
“I love you, Dad.”

Soldier

The air was cold and the sky was black. Two men sat outside a tent, squatting in the dirt as they held their rifles in their hands. As they exhaled a puff of smoke came from their lungs, the sign of a cold night.
The recruit checked his watch. It was 11:56 pm. With a grunt he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. It was freezing and he could softly hear the snores from the men inside the tent behind him. It was a small torture, to hear the slumber of those just out of reach, and yet not be one of them himself.

Beast week was supposed to make you or break you, was supposed to show you how to be a man of the military. In the weeks he had been there he had learned to disassemble and reassemble an M16 in 33 seconds, learned to no longer feel emotion when someone screamed in his face, had learned to disassociate himself from happy memories of full nights of sleep and meals that lasted longer than three minutes. All this training, and he still couldn't fight off the fucking cold. He set down his rifle and rubbed his hands together. His right hand slipped over his left wrist as he went to check the time again. 11:58 pm. His heart thudded loudly against his chest for a moment while he took a deep breath and gathered his rifle back into his hands. He looked over at the man next to him, a complete stranger, and yet on a night like this his only friend. His knees started to cramp from crouching and he rolled his neck up towards the sky. What he wouldn't kill for a cigarette. For a bar. For a set of warm arms to crawl into.

They told him on his first day of training that he would constantly question why he was there for the first few days, but that afterward it would start to feel like home. A dry laugh came from his throat as he realized that weeks had already flown by and he still felt lost and unsure. A smile tugged at his lips and he laughed again as he shook his head.

The man next to him raised an eyebrow in the dark and looked over at his companion. "The hell are you laughing for?"

The recruit looked at his watch again. It showed 12:01 am. He smiled sadly.
"I just turned 24."
The man next to him, at a loss of what to say, shook his head and replied; "Congratulations."

And after that, it was gone. Suddenly, it was just another morning.

Here's to truth

To you.

I think I was in denial for a long time about where you went, who you are, how this unfolded. You told me yesterday how happy you are, and I want to be happy for you, but it feels like a knife in my side. All I wanted to do when we were together was make you happy, and I failed over and over and over again. I could go on about how unfair all this is, that you could treat me so badly and cheat on me, and just move on to leave me with the pieces.

But all is fair in love and war.

I may be broken, but I'm getting stronger in the weaker places. A lot of guys have wanted to be with me since we've broken up, and I just care too much to settle for any of them. I'm not just latching on to whatever comes my way. I'm done settling.

I woke up this morning, and finally realized that you're gone, and I don't love you anymore. The person I loved was taken from me by alcohol and an egotistic attitude that is cold to the touch and the heart. I don't know you.

I don't.

And I'm not going to let that shake my foundation anymore. You taught me something. You taught me to keep my eyes open. The second I see someone is unhappy, or not treating me well, it's done. It's going to be over. You taught me that people change, and it's deceptive and subtle. That people can change in really awful ways.

I'm stronger than I used to be. My stomach can take more. I laugh louder, without your drunken obscenities around to bring me down. I'm a better person when I don't have to take care of you.

I live with three people who love me unconditionally, which is how I love. They love me no matter what I do, no matter what I say, we are a team here. I love this house, I love this life.

Sometimes I wish that the old you were around, so I could lay in his arms and tell him all about my life, and we could laugh and dance together. That's when you hear from me. When I delude myself into thinking that you're still around.

And then I hear back from the new you, and it completely breaks me apart.

Not because I bear romantic feelings, but because it is a slap in the face reminder that you aren't here anymore. Some asshole is masquerading around with your face on and he does a horrible job at pretending he's you. He's harsh and cold. He bears no signs of regret or empathy. He is selfish and unkind.

He's nothing like the one I knew and loved.

In a way it's almost like losing you. I did lose you. We lost each other.
And I don't think I'll ever find you again.

So for now a note will have to do. Know that wherever you are (and maybe you're trapped deep inside that monster)
I think of you. I think of you and I remember. And I smile.
And I wish you were around to see it.

Always,
Mallory

Fables

I am running
Backwards
Paper cut by the pages of my history
That whip past me as I
Run against
The grain.

Photographic memories
That lead me to the same
Places
I’ve been before
The captured scenes of
Salty tears that collide with

Mascara,
Black streaks imprinted on
My face
The smudges are everywhere.

I have to slow
Down
I have to catch
My breath as his lies slide down
My throat and wait
Patiently.
(I’m suffocating)

There are these
words
dedicated to parts
That are too tender (too painful)
They are verbose and
Exaggerated
An effort to show that the scars that linger on my

Skin
Are just flesh wounds
Just scrapes that lie shallow and
Dormant
(Can you tell they’re so deep?)

I slowly learned we were on separate
Pages
I did not realize we were in different
Books
Me in the joy of monogamy
You in the pleasures of adultery.

I read you my
Story
And you slammed it shut in my
Face. And if I don’t keep
Moving
I will skitter over the spine
That holds it all together
I will destroy this novel of mine
Of ours.

…And perhaps that would not be
Such a bad thing
I clutch my chest and

Stop.

Beauty

It was finally happening. I was going to be a sixth grader. My stomach was twisted into knots, my heart pitter pattering against my chest to an unknown tempo. For the first time in my life, I was allowed to shave my legs, and I did so with pride and excitement. I had my outfit picked out for the following day and my mind raced as I laid down to sleep.
    I awoke the next morning to jittery movements as I got myself ready for the first day of the rest of my life. I was allowed to wear lipstick, and I smacked it on with exuberance. I parted my long hair down the middle and pulled on my Birkenstocks and shorts, my green tee shirt and a smile. As I slipped on my Jansport backpack I knew: this was going to be the best day I’d ever had.
    Feeling nauseous but anticipating a whole new world, I hopped out of my mom’s van and waved goodbye, feeling the breeze against my pale chubby cheeks as I started to walk towards an entirely different school, a brand new life. My smooth legs rubbed up against each other and for the first time in my life I felt like a woman. As I heard a warning bell ring I took a deep breath and hustled to class.
    Our assigned seats were given to us and we took our desks, gleaming wood that reflected the shadows of those around us. Role call started as my homeroom teacher looked at all of us to try to get to know us. My name was called.
“Mallory Heath?” I flung my hand in the air.
    “Here!” I blustered, overly excited. I heard a snicker behind me. I heard someone murmur the name Mallory Calorie. And I felt my eyes well up with tears. As my heart dropped into my stomach, my legs no longer felt smooth and sexy, but dimpled and fat. My cheeks burned as red as my lipstick as I pretended I didn’t hear what had been said.
What was supposed to be the best day of my new found life turned out to be one of the worst, and middle school turned out to be a slew of memories that I would much rather block out than remember.
    Children are creative and cruel. The rumors and names we all call each other get twisted around our insecurities until they are screaming in our faces. I vowed that day that I wouldn’t always be ugly. I vowed that day that I would work hard to make other people think I was pretty, that I would make other people see that I was a good person. I made myself believe that unless I looked good, I wasn’t worth loving. My insecurities began to take control over me, and the relentless teasing from Aprende Middle School did not help ease my over analytical mind.
    I struggled through 8th grade promotion and found myself flung into high school, where suddenly boys wanted girls, but I never felt like they wanted me. I stopped eating and I dyed my hair blonde, and after a few pounds of my weight, my sanity, my pride melted away I was suddenly in the eyesight of boys. Boys that could see the trapped scared chubby brunette behind the eyes of the skinny blue eyed blonde.
    I started dating a boy who seemed to be as broken as I was. But through the on going months the façade dropped, and though he was broken, it was not in the way I was. I found out he had been cheating on me after we had been together for two months. I found out a week after he had told me, (yes me) that he loved me. It put an ache in my heart that drove a wedge through my imperfections, that strengthened my insecurities. And instead of breaking up with him, I ended up believing this was the type of treatment I deserved. When I looked in the mirror, I still saw that shy and timid little brunette, who just wanted to be loved. Months turned into years, and pain turned into fear. I told him once I was going to leave him. He pulled a knife on himself. I told him to take me home once and he fishtailed the car until we almost slammed into a row of mailboxes. I told him to love me, and he told me he was the only one that ever would.
    Eventually, when my love, my heart, my mind, had given out, I limped away from our relationship. And that little brunette girl inside of me curled up around my heart and cried. She wailed for years, afraid that he was right, that no one would ever or could ever love her. The blonde started giving her body away to anyone who wanted it, for a month, for a week, for an hour. All she wanted was to feel pretty, to live up to the vow she had promised herself, and instead all she did was strip away the brunettes innocence.
Somewhere along the way people had started telling me I was pretty, but I knew they were lying. I knew they were trying to soothe the two girls inside of me. To reassure me that I hadn’t failed.
    And then I met him. I met Frank. I was drowning, and he pulled me out of the water. He took the brunettes hands from over her eyes and placed them on his heart. And he was good to her, and he showed me that I was worthy of loving. And what we had was sweet, and tender. Joyful and innocent. And I started to learn to love myself. I started to see myself slowly, carefully, the way other people did. I dyed my hair back to brown.
    And then one day he turned away from me, away from us. Slowly he started to become someone I didn’t recognize. He started disappearing at night and coming home drunk, with nothing to offer me but excuses.
    This time, I didn’t break. Instead, I remembered everything I had worked for. I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes, and I could feel the blonde girl who resided in me. All she wanted was redemption. In that moment I realized, I no longer needed to regret my mistakes because they had allowed me to grow. I looked at myself for the first time and realized I deserved better. I made us move out of our little apartment, and I made myself choose the better road. And now we are over, and for the first time I don’t need a boy to tell me I’m beautiful.
    For the first time, I can hug the chubby brunette inside of me and tell her that the vows she made were the wrong ones. I can stroke her cheek and tell her that she is beautiful just the way she is. I can tell her that the vow she should have made all those years ago, was that she needed to feel beautiful for herself.
    Finally being able to tell myself that I was beautiful was a war. I did not win every battle, and I certainly have a fair amount of scars that reside inside me, but it is a victory I am constantly thankful for. Being able to accept and love myself exactly the way I am is a fight I am glad I fought. And that is who I was, and this is who I am. I am strong, and confident, and although the little brunette girl inside of me still gets scared at times, I hold her hand and we keep moving forward.

To push forward

Today is the day I start my life over. Today is the day I stop selling myself short. The day I finally give up on the people who have given up on me. Today is the day I embrace my failures, and note them as the strength that will push me to be successful. Today is the day I move on from my past, and deal with the misdirected emotions that have been endlessly fluttering about my mind.

Today is the day I let go of the anger, the pain, the hurt. Today is the day I will no longer cry over those who have wronged me. Today I stand up for myself and what I know in my heart is right. Today I will have my head held high. Today I begin to appreciate my imperfections. Today I firmly believe I am better than my shortcomings, and the good parts of me make a good counter for my flaws.

Today I accept who I am, what I am, and where I am. Today I stop being scared to love again. Today I realize that real love, honest, true, no jealousy, no bullshit, pure love is out there, and when I find it I will know. Today I know that I will continue to work on myself. To accept myself, to love myself, so that I can contribute to the no bullshit honest love, when it comes, which is not, can't be, won't be right now.

Today I realize that being alone doesn't mean being lonely. Today I take the consideration I have for others onto myself. Today I become my own best friend, who I will treat with respect and thoughtfulness.

Today I stop punishing myself for who I was. For the things I've done, for the mistakes I've made. Today I let go of regrets because they have made me who I am today, and I do not regret anything about me. Today I realize that I try fucking hard to make people happy, and I deserve to be happy too.

Today I take control over my emotions, and stop letting people hurt my feelings. Today I stand firm and hold tight to who I am.

Today I am proclaiming that heartache is not the worst feeling out there. Today I accept that I am a fish in a sea, that everyone has had their heart broken, that everyone has felt, or will feel exactly the way I do. Today I remember that cheating lovers do not bring the apocalypse, that I've made it through alive and just fine with the first one who did it.

Today I am determined to remind myself how strong I am. Today I celebrate the people I will be able to help when I teach them, counsel them, because I have lived the tough moments. I understand temptation and self hatred, I remember the darkness of not knowing your path. Today I recollect my past and realize that I am no longer the scared little girl that I once was.

Today I remember to be grateful for everyone in my life. Big part or small part, wonderful or terrible, who challenged me to think harder, move faster, and keep living.

Today I push forward and stop looking back.
Today I start over again.

A piece of self acceptance

I remember the first time I thought I was in love. I remember the pain that came with it, the massive amounts of self consciousness that he hammered into me. I remember the pushing, the rough sex, the various objects that were thrown at me. I remember being told I was useless, that no one except him could ever, or would ever love me. I remember the large range of girls he cheated on me with. I remember being too weak to break things off, knowing full well that he wouldn't miss me. That I would be left to deal with the grief alone. I remember every time I wanted to walk away being roped in by some sweet and grand gesture and being fooled into believing that he really cared about me.

As one could imagine, I was broken when he was finally done with me. I had never had much of a self esteem, and he took the rest with him. I was a disaster. The pain made me sick to my stomach. He was cruel. He made sure I knew how quickly he had moved on. And I was left alone to deal with the consequences of staying with him for so long.

Every other guy I dated since then saw through me. I don't blame them for that. I was shattered and unbearably translucent. I hated myself and after they were either done abusing that low self worth, or once they got tired of how empty I was, they didn't stick around. The pain from the first one bled into all the others. It repeatedly beat into me a sense of never being good enough for anyone to love. I was miserable and alone, and I gave myself away to anyone who would be with me, even if only for 15 minutes. I wanted to feel wanted and loved, and unfortunately it came in short validations that left me feeling like a slut.

I felt...I felt worthless. I looked in the mirror and I hated what I saw, what I had done. I turned to substances and late nights and vices. Anything that made me forget who I was.

I can't blame all of this on him. It would be ridiculous. Really there is no one to blame. I was weak and he took advantage, but at any time I could have stepped up and tried to love myself. The terrible tumble of events that happened afterward I completely take on myself. I am not proud of what I did or who I was, but it has taught me what I'm not.

The point of all this, was that the hell I went through and the pain I associated with it was unbearable.

Then there was Frank.

Through our relationship he taught me slowly, and carefully, how to love myself. He was gentle, and he was kind. And I started excelling at school and I started looking at myself differently. I went from feeling like a monster, to feeling like a survivor. He looked at me with eyes that saw me and he loved me.

He did.

But then somewhere down the line, he gave up on me. Gave up on us. And those warm eyes turned cold, his breath turned to alcoholic residue, and his words became hard. It was subtle, and it was slight, but it was there.

And then one day, it was over. Just like that. As fast as it had started, it was over.

Two years ago, one year ago, 6 months ago, I thought I knew my whole life. I thought he was my team mate. My wedding partner.
And one day we woke up and it was over.
Just like that.

And this time, it's different. This warm numbness has settled over me. Instead of the stabbing pain of heart ache, I just feel loss. And it's consuming and nonexistent at the same time.

Growing up is funny. Learning to love yourself is strange. Finding self respect and worth when you thought you had lost all of it is genuinely humbling.

He gave up on me, but I didn't give up on myself.

It makes the pain...hard to feel. It's there. It harbors itself deep inside me, but instead of growing bigger each day it wears away, bit by bit.

I am someone worth loving. I am kind hearted and smart.

The love we had was real, at some point. First loves. I didn't feel it til I was 20.

I guess what I'm trying to say is regardless my shortcomings, my anger, the doubts I carry about myself,
I'm okay.

And I know this is the right step in my life. And I want it to be awhile before I even try to give my heart to someone else I want to grow, and experience life on my own. I don't have the energy to even think about something serious.

And I've never been that way before. I've always wanted someone to be with me all the time. And I'm confident enough now to know that I don't want that.

So. Turns out he wasn't the one. But he did do a lot for me. And I know at some point, he loved me. It makes these feelings more bearable. And they have ebbed away...it's almost been two months. But it's not just the boy I've mourned over, it's the potential of the life we could have had together. And it is a loss. Because it's something I can't get back, and wouldn't want to work for.

And that's very strange to me.
Look at that. I think I'm growing up.

Advice for tearful eyes.

realistically, everyone has their downfall. several times in their life span. the trick is being able, not to stop yourself from falling, but to have the strength to pick yourself back up. i'm not saying you spring back up like nothing pushed you down.

you're allowed to crumble.
you're allowed to become a mess of withering tears and flesh.

But then there's a moment. A moment in which you decide for yourself if you can manage what has become of you. If you can keep yourself and your spirit alive.
And that's when you pick yourself up.


When you are damn sure that you are better than your shortcomings

And so it is.

This is where I will post all the blogs I've posted that make the cut. That I feel have a chance to really connect with someone, that I believe have substance.

Reflection

The events that change our lives are never the large things as a whole, though it is these events that often get credit for changing us. To put it simply, each big journey, voyage, or risk that we take is a story, and the moments that it took us to get there are the chapters. Costa Rica as a whole, as my story, was not what changed my life, and not what altered the core of myself. It was the moments, the seconds, the small events that make that story unfold that started to reshape my existence.
I was dropped off at the airport without knowing or understanding what the following weeks would do for my life. Dressed in my mint green shirt and sweatpants, I wheeled my luggage inside and saw the group of students I’d be traveling with. The twelve of us had met each other only a few weeks ago- all of us different. There we were, toting the books of our lives under our arms, eager to fill a new chapter in them. These books contain stories that have shaped us; into who we have been, who we are, and inevitably who we will be. By only looking at the covers of our books- we shouldn’t have gotten along. We should have dispersed as soon as the plane landed and spent the next two weeks in solitude, but instead we started to read each other, and we started to look in order to see. Without realizing it at that time, I was about to embark on a trip with some of my very best friends.
Through the flight and the first night there, I awkwardly but confidently showed everyone who I really was. Though I am typically insecure and shy to show people I’ve just met my actual self, I threw away the veil that covers who I am and let the people around me get to know me as me. I was received warmly, and though everyone on the trip was different, with their own baggage and stories, I received them all warmly as well. We were a unit, an indivisible group of students who had an addiction to learning and experiencing the things around us. We all came to Costa Rica in the middle of our current chapters, and yet regardless where we stuck our bookmarks, we let this experience unify us. That part alone, pushing each other to see past our covers, to dive into each others books, to read and understand why we are the way we are, it was an experience that defines me as who I am going to be in my life. And though I’ve heard this before, what really changed me was realizing that certain things we are taught as we mature and grow are true and necessary to really get as much joy out of life as possible.
We hear it everywhere, and we are taught this credo as kids: Don’t judge a book by its cover. But how often, in our protected and innocent lives as children- are we faced with such big concepts?
Though not always, and certainly through no malicious intent, we grow into our comfort zone. Our experiences through life soften our hearts, and harden our eyes. Eventually, if you so choose, you can look at someone, with eyes that do not see them.
Though I try to be open minded, I too am guilty of judging someone before I even know anything about them. When we do this, we cheat them, and we cheat ourselves. We create a world in which a person may not be welcome based on their ideas, their vocabulary, their accent, their race. We address one part of them, and shove that person away in a box with that label, and never give them or ourselves a chance to really get to know that person.
One of the interesting things about Costa Rica is that it allows us all to get a different perspective on how we are looked at on the outside in. In Arizona we see many people who unfairly judge people with brown skin, regardless of whether or not they know their immigration status. Many people write off these individuals, as if their residency actually means something in the long run. They are hostile and cold to people who are probably just trying to do the best they can, for their family, for their friends, for themselves. This attitude allows us to make them “the other”. To box them away and become angry for things that we, and they, have no control over. In Arizona, those people live their lives on the outside. Though many people are welcoming, and overlook the status of their citizenship, it is never enough, and the cold truth is that too many live their lives rioting against the facets of humanity.
In Costa Rica, we were “the other“. And though several (most) were very welcoming, and almost everyone genuine and sincere, it didn’t take long before I became very defensive and embarrassed about where I came from. When we visited Country Day School, a philosophy teacher named Mr. Brunson verbally attacked me, my classmate, and my coordinator for being from Arizona. He looked at us, after we had told him where we were visiting from, and resentment flittered across his face. And it was quick, but it was there. He then asked us if “we were all really that racist”. and then proceeded to ask us, in front of his students, what we were even doing in their school. I have always been proud to be an American, but in that moment, I was ashamed. I was ashamed to have the decisions of people I do not agree with stamped across me. I felt like I had the words “Ignorant racist” scrawled across my forehead.
I was not ill received everywhere, and for that I am grateful. But how strange that one would need to feel grateful for not being judged. The problem with judging someone by their cover is that how often do we select their covers for them? Mr. Brunson assumed my cover said Arizonan Racist, Here For No Good Reason. What an interesting place to find yourself in, where suddenly the decisions of others can make you as an individual feel embarrassed.
I feel like for the most part, I am very aware of other people, and understand that no one thing makes them who they are, but it was really an amazing experience, to be put in a situation where suddenly I was left feeling insecure about where I come from. It gave me new depth to understanding what immigrants (especially those south of the border) must go through on a day to day basis.
In reality, this aspect stretches out to every person, and instead of letting it cover us like a blanket in soft and comforting understanding, it envelops most people in a cloud of judgment and write offs. I feel like especially since I am going to be teaching high school, which is where people live their lives judging other people, perhaps I can reach out to the students I have and show them that you can gain so much more if you just actually get to know someone. In high school we are grouped together by the cliques that we are a part of; when in reality most teenagers all share the same insecurities and tenderness. What if I can really help kids, when they’re still kids, learn that when we judge someone, or ourselves, by only what we see, we are doing an injustice to everyone.
I also feel like for the first time in my life, I have stopped judging myself. Many of my stories are dark, and unflattering, or legitimately sad. From abusive ex boyfriends to surviving a lifestyle of risky decisions, most of my stories are tainted with a film of self hatred or uncertainty. I went through a time in my life where I hated myself so much that I allowed myself to do things that I am not proud of. And it became a cycle after I realized what I was doing because I didn’t want to look at myself in the mirror and see myself for who I had allowed myself to become. I woke up about three years ago. And I left everything, my friends, my home, my life, to work on myself and figure things out. And I’ve turned my life around since then, but I have never forgotten, and certainly never forgiven myself for what I did to myself. I have slowly become more confident through the years, but I was still so wound up in how other people thought of me, and I had convinced myself that if someone treated me poorly it was because I deserved to be treated that way. I looked at myself and still saw a failure, regardless achieving straight A’s and keeping my life on track. Even as we boarded the plane to Costa Rica. I was unsure of myself.
It is shocking to me how fourteen days can shake out the cobwebs and ghosts of old insecurities. How finding a way to communicate with someone who does not share your language can be so joyous that it makes you realize how insignificant so many of our plights are. To me, though I feel every single story of every single day started to reshape how I thought of myself, I really think I have to say that the day we went repelling was the day that showed me what a unique and cool person I am. I don’t think repelling alone could have done this for me, but I think this mixed in with everything else that we did, everything else that I learned, pushed me into seeing myself in a different light.
For one, I am a person who was generally very vain. I think because I saw such a mess on the inside, I really relied on my looks to make myself feel good about myself, and that almost always left me scrutinizing and critiquing every part of myself. Repelling, and mostly the humidity in Costa Rica as a whole, taught me to throw vanity on a back burner. That caring what you look like is incredibly silly when you are out not just existing in, but living your life. Who cares if you’re covered in sweat and canyon water and you’ve got make up running down your face if you’re smiling and experiencing something that is one of a kind and incredible.
It also taught me that I am someone who wants to experience what life has to offer, that I am open to new things that can help build and define the type of person that I am. After everything that I experienced while we were studying abroad, I stopped looking and myself and seeing the past. I started looking at myself and seeing who I am, and seeing the future. I stopped caring about what other people thought of me, because I know how I think about myself. I accept myself as who I am, and that would not have been possible without the things we did in Costa Rica showing me who it is that I am.
I hope to carry this with me always. I hope that I can hold on to my experiences and allow them to guide me through my life. I hope that I continue to think this highly of myself, and continue to learn things about someone before I decide if they fit in my life or not. I hope to teach children that life is what we make it. That we create the beauty in the world. That by accepting people, we flourish and grow ourselves. That we make some of our best friends out of people we never thought we’d get to know. I hope to teach people to open their eyes, to open their hearts. To look at someone, with eyes that see them.
The finalized product of my Costa Rica story did more than educate me academically. It made me learn things about myself, about the people around me, about life. It made me feel that finally, I can see.