“December 11th..” she thought. What about this date seems eerily familiar?
She scanned one page.. two pages.. and then stopped. She realized what it was she was reading, and forced herself to cloak her eyes from the sheer cruelty of those words. It’s become easy to hide behind laughter, change, and time – but that did not mean that she was ready to examine what exactly happened on that night; even if the earthly, humanly part of her sought some sort of resolution.
Those words did not reek of insincerity save they were malicious in result. Those words, both said and written, felt so sadistic, so much so that she could almost taste their mercilessness. Her chest, while pounding with wild gesticulations, felt almost vacuous ~ an aftershock of all that had happened, making her feel the bit most insignificant. But she would not, could not, let the recollection of one night, go ebbing away at her spirit.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Thursday, December 8, 2005
A Post Without Substance
not out of malice, malevolence, ill will, or spite..
not out of shock, epiphany, or self definition..
it's just, sometimes, i have the most peculiar desire to..
shave my head.. just because.
not out of shock, epiphany, or self definition..
it's just, sometimes, i have the most peculiar desire to..
shave my head.. just because.
Friday, December 2, 2005
Daniel Siegel – In Your Eyes
[I haven't had much material to reflect upon or to write about as I am currently not obsessing over any one thing or any one person. I've been emotionally sound/fixed/constant within the recent months ~ and we all know that emotional stability is NOT the best resource for a borderline psychotic blog entry drafted into graceful words. eh. BUT I did manage to dream about the last guy to sweep me off of my feet ~ which knocked me over reeeealll hard. and well, that gave me something to write about.]
I had a very intoxicating dream last night. A very heady dream. It wasn’t the first of its kind. It follows a line of many that have managed to ambush my psyche within the passing months. They showcase the same character over and over and over. Sometimes the dreams are good, sometimes they are bad. Regardless the outcome, I am always eager to pen every fine detail of any dream with the presence of this particular person.
What? Write down my dreams? Perhaps I am preparing for the day when I find myself detatched from the emotional baggage of today, and am wise enough to look back in an attempt to piece together that which I cannot begin to understand right now. The feelings may still be too raw for me to digest. Maybe in a year, two years, three years.. I will have taken my head out of the clouds and onto a surface where I am able to see a bit more clearly.
Or perhaps it is my goal to never forget the sheer cruelty of these dreams ~ even the good ones that seem grandiose on a scale of pleasure.
Every dream involving said person feels so real. But this dream ~ this particular dream was warm. Warm like a familiar embrace encompassing everything graceful in the world. An addictive embrace that made my real-world body beg for complete silence in the room ~ as to not awaken me from the trance-like sublime. Because it would be fact, and not a “maybe”, that upon opening my eyes, I would be embracing that which has turned into dust.
Dreams, daydreams, whatever ~ I have to ration myself and regulate my capacity to out-dream. Because when we fall out of trance, we realize that our dreams also fall ~ fall flat of the truth. And what we hoped to be true gradually fades to black.
So, as I do every night, I pray for Sand Man to take him out of my dreams. For when I lie here in bed, the only thing I should be kissing is the sky.
I had a very intoxicating dream last night. A very heady dream. It wasn’t the first of its kind. It follows a line of many that have managed to ambush my psyche within the passing months. They showcase the same character over and over and over. Sometimes the dreams are good, sometimes they are bad. Regardless the outcome, I am always eager to pen every fine detail of any dream with the presence of this particular person.
What? Write down my dreams? Perhaps I am preparing for the day when I find myself detatched from the emotional baggage of today, and am wise enough to look back in an attempt to piece together that which I cannot begin to understand right now. The feelings may still be too raw for me to digest. Maybe in a year, two years, three years.. I will have taken my head out of the clouds and onto a surface where I am able to see a bit more clearly.
Or perhaps it is my goal to never forget the sheer cruelty of these dreams ~ even the good ones that seem grandiose on a scale of pleasure.
Every dream involving said person feels so real. But this dream ~ this particular dream was warm. Warm like a familiar embrace encompassing everything graceful in the world. An addictive embrace that made my real-world body beg for complete silence in the room ~ as to not awaken me from the trance-like sublime. Because it would be fact, and not a “maybe”, that upon opening my eyes, I would be embracing that which has turned into dust.
Dreams, daydreams, whatever ~ I have to ration myself and regulate my capacity to out-dream. Because when we fall out of trance, we realize that our dreams also fall ~ fall flat of the truth. And what we hoped to be true gradually fades to black.
So, as I do every night, I pray for Sand Man to take him out of my dreams. For when I lie here in bed, the only thing I should be kissing is the sky.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Introducing
Samara Lysanne Arenas
And so, as Timmy puts it, my "sidekick" is gone.
There’s always been a deep chasm between she and I ~ and for that reason, my heart feels the piercing impact of losing Helen's company more profoundly than does my mind. Now that she's gone, I am made far more susceptable to the anguish of being single. Haha. Have fun in Japan!
And so, as Timmy puts it, my "sidekick" is gone.
There’s always been a deep chasm between she and I ~ and for that reason, my heart feels the piercing impact of losing Helen's company more profoundly than does my mind. Now that she's gone, I am made far more susceptable to the anguish of being single. Haha. Have fun in Japan!
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Epiphany
Epiphany:
what was once core-shaking
heart-pounding memory-making
is now the quiver of a leaf
and the softest sigh
of avoiding collision
The approaching holiday awakens an ambivalence of emotions within me. Reminding me of moments that I am able to recollect to the most minute of details. I can still feel the change of season on my skin ~ the rain which left diamonds in my hair has long dried, but the feel of wet socks embracing numb toes has taken definite form in my mind. A collection of fine details laced with excitement and appreciation.
I loooong for a bed of Autumn leaves. I wish California had seasons.
what was once core-shaking
heart-pounding memory-making
is now the quiver of a leaf
and the softest sigh
of avoiding collision
The approaching holiday awakens an ambivalence of emotions within me. Reminding me of moments that I am able to recollect to the most minute of details. I can still feel the change of season on my skin ~ the rain which left diamonds in my hair has long dried, but the feel of wet socks embracing numb toes has taken definite form in my mind. A collection of fine details laced with excitement and appreciation.
I loooong for a bed of Autumn leaves. I wish California had seasons.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
London Reunion 2005
The grace and laughter of the past is the ideal source for ultimate reassurance. It is the bungee cord tied to our waste, and the foam underneath our bare feet, giving us the heart to close our eyes and leap into the arms of tomorrow’s uncertainty. It is the memory of faces we’ve seen, voices that compose the tone of knee slapping laughter, and the souls of those who were on our side that serve as constant reminders of how important it is to never forget the path we took to get to where we are.
Venturing into the unknown could have been a risky and taxing habit on the mind and body, but we journeyed uncharted territories anyway, letting ourselves swim in choices that made ‘what was possible’ ~ real. So when reunited, it becomes so natural to stop for one night, look back, and relive the moments when we’d fallen in love (against our soundest judgment, it happened nonetheless), had a pint, then studied for finals.
A night to entangle ourselves on a platter of New Castles and Berry Mimosas, while allowing ourselves to look back and gain perspective on the choices that we made ~ acknowledging the shared understanding that the past is an intricate part of the present. Realizing that our time together wasn’t a fluke. We were a cluster of bodies destined to cross paths in a network of fate, experiencing emotions we were destined to experience… together.
Helen and I circled LAX a wopping 8 times. The final eigth round involved me sticking my "Shalom welcome to our home Jodi" sign outside of Helen's car, and obnoxiously screaming JODI JODI while we played #4 on Natasha Bedingfield's Unwritten CD. After a K-Town feast, we presented Helen with her going-to-Japan presents, sang karaoke, and headed to Alcatraz Brewery to reunite with some London folk.
Venturing into the unknown could have been a risky and taxing habit on the mind and body, but we journeyed uncharted territories anyway, letting ourselves swim in choices that made ‘what was possible’ ~ real. So when reunited, it becomes so natural to stop for one night, look back, and relive the moments when we’d fallen in love (against our soundest judgment, it happened nonetheless), had a pint, then studied for finals.
A night to entangle ourselves on a platter of New Castles and Berry Mimosas, while allowing ourselves to look back and gain perspective on the choices that we made ~ acknowledging the shared understanding that the past is an intricate part of the present. Realizing that our time together wasn’t a fluke. We were a cluster of bodies destined to cross paths in a network of fate, experiencing emotions we were destined to experience… together.
Helen and I circled LAX a wopping 8 times. The final eigth round involved me sticking my "Shalom welcome to our home Jodi" sign outside of Helen's car, and obnoxiously screaming JODI JODI while we played #4 on Natasha Bedingfield's Unwritten CD. After a K-Town feast, we presented Helen with her going-to-Japan presents, sang karaoke, and headed to Alcatraz Brewery to reunite with some London folk.
Monday, November 7, 2005
Bonnie McKee - Somebody
"November 07, 2005 - You're ready for inconvenient, total, can't-live-without-each-other love, and you're not the only one. Let the Universe guide you; it may take you where you think you're going, but you'll be happy once you've arrived."
UNIVERSE, I IMPLORE YOU, GUIDE ME! GUIDE ME!
UNIVERSE, I IMPLORE YOU, GUIDE ME! GUIDE ME!
Friday, November 4, 2005
Picture
Reality, like the lurking serpent, had bitten back hard.
She sat there with a smug look on her face, trying to conceal the cold and epistemological truth that these pictures had taken all of her crimson-tinted illusions and thrown them away like ashes in the wind.
Funny how she discovers a final candid snapshot. One she herself had never seen before until now. Scanning the crowd in the photo, she saw herself, and the smile ~ so genuine, pure, impromptu ~ perched, not on her face, but his. And oh how every delicious emotion began to come back to her. He looked happy. She looked happy.
But she knew, that this photo, while true to time, was very outdated. She knew it was time to turn the page. That regardless of the passion backed by each savory bite, to continue to lust for him was tantamount to a delicious morsel of forbidden fruit.
And so, to rebel from committing a sin served only to betray herself, she began to dilute her thoughts with other things: career, material things. This is the start, she thought, of letting him go.
She sat there with a smug look on her face, trying to conceal the cold and epistemological truth that these pictures had taken all of her crimson-tinted illusions and thrown them away like ashes in the wind.
Funny how she discovers a final candid snapshot. One she herself had never seen before until now. Scanning the crowd in the photo, she saw herself, and the smile ~ so genuine, pure, impromptu ~ perched, not on her face, but his. And oh how every delicious emotion began to come back to her. He looked happy. She looked happy.
But she knew, that this photo, while true to time, was very outdated. She knew it was time to turn the page. That regardless of the passion backed by each savory bite, to continue to lust for him was tantamount to a delicious morsel of forbidden fruit.
And so, to rebel from committing a sin served only to betray herself, she began to dilute her thoughts with other things: career, material things. This is the start, she thought, of letting him go.
Tuesday, November 1, 2005
Haroweena!
Halloween, by far, is one of my favorite holidays. Candy corn conduced by the stir of a witch’s cauldron fills me with exquisite joy so wrenching, and youthfully intense. There must be something potent in that elixir...
The garage serves as archive for the library of costumes I’ve collected through the years. Proof, that even as a child, I would never allow memorable moments to pass me by. Especially the one night a year where it was communally acceptable to careen down a sloped neighborhood runway called Walnut St; not really having to look both ways because everyone filled the pavement like stars filled the sky. The one night a year where my older brother and I would trade candy while mom took pictures of us pouring heaven out of our jack-o-lantern treat buckets. Candy that we thought would last us eons would be gone by November 2nd.
You’d think at age 22, I’d be somewhat over the front porch fog machines and strobe lights. But no. I’m sure that at 32, I’ll use the essence of my future children’s youth to justify the decorations I will hang, the pumpkin I will carve.
This year was to be a big hoorah! Since I didn’t celebrate Halloween last year, I wanted to surround myself with reckless hooligans, costumed fiends, and the best homemade getup EVER. So without haste, my dear friend Helen and I planned out an itinerary to attend party after party. I was sure to get some good use out of my costume that consumed 3 full days of my hard labor, and $14 worth of pleather and vinyl. Drumroll please...
Photo: Tada!
THEN, on October 31st, we took our giddy selves down to West Hollywood Carnaval. Yes, that's carnaval with an A! BIG MISTAKE. Why? Well, let's just say that it's no place for a group of single gals to gallivant without the accompaniment of some strong men. We were too sober to be there. Too normal to be there. Catherine spotted Andy Dick; and may I say, a dick he was. I can only thank God that we stopped chasing him for a picture. Otherwise he may have bitten us.
The garage serves as archive for the library of costumes I’ve collected through the years. Proof, that even as a child, I would never allow memorable moments to pass me by. Especially the one night a year where it was communally acceptable to careen down a sloped neighborhood runway called Walnut St; not really having to look both ways because everyone filled the pavement like stars filled the sky. The one night a year where my older brother and I would trade candy while mom took pictures of us pouring heaven out of our jack-o-lantern treat buckets. Candy that we thought would last us eons would be gone by November 2nd.
You’d think at age 22, I’d be somewhat over the front porch fog machines and strobe lights. But no. I’m sure that at 32, I’ll use the essence of my future children’s youth to justify the decorations I will hang, the pumpkin I will carve.
This year was to be a big hoorah! Since I didn’t celebrate Halloween last year, I wanted to surround myself with reckless hooligans, costumed fiends, and the best homemade getup EVER. So without haste, my dear friend Helen and I planned out an itinerary to attend party after party. I was sure to get some good use out of my costume that consumed 3 full days of my hard labor, and $14 worth of pleather and vinyl. Drumroll please...
Photo: Tada!
THEN, on October 31st, we took our giddy selves down to West Hollywood Carnaval. Yes, that's carnaval with an A! BIG MISTAKE. Why? Well, let's just say that it's no place for a group of single gals to gallivant without the accompaniment of some strong men. We were too sober to be there. Too normal to be there. Catherine spotted Andy Dick; and may I say, a dick he was. I can only thank God that we stopped chasing him for a picture. Otherwise he may have bitten us.
Saturday, October 22, 2005
Old Friends
She was tempted to saturate her thoughts with pointless truisms and clichés lest she become unable to justify the underlying current and motif behind her current mood. A mood seeming all too consubstantial with the gray clouds lingering outside her bedroom window. As a result of back/forth messaging and e-mails, she took a moment to browse through the perused pages of her outdated photo albums, and immediately felt a profound sense of loss while staring at the faces of these people who, at one point, she thought she could never live without.
Looking out into the distance, she softly whispered, “Where had our friendship gone? It simply couldn’t have evaporated into insignificance, could it?”
These faces were that of friends with whom she enveloped a full-on drowning commitment. Faces that were there in moments where she chose to abandon rationale and live strictly on her adolescent 14-15-16-17 year old impulse. Faces that smiled at her when she fell unsteady and played on a deadly edge of heightened emotion. Her best friends saw all of her faces; all of her idiosyncrasies, insecurities, daydreams, and inconsistencies.
Richard, Justin, IJ, Diana, Araceli, Wanda (Big Girl): Even if today we roam streets with new best friends, there will always be space for all of you in my heart. So please mind that while our friendships often dwell in limbo for far too long before we all find time in our schedules to reunite, real friendships outlive all clocks. We were closest when material things meant little to us. We were just glad to be alive, healthy, and popular.
Looking out into the distance, she softly whispered, “Where had our friendship gone? It simply couldn’t have evaporated into insignificance, could it?”
These faces were that of friends with whom she enveloped a full-on drowning commitment. Faces that were there in moments where she chose to abandon rationale and live strictly on her adolescent 14-15-16-17 year old impulse. Faces that smiled at her when she fell unsteady and played on a deadly edge of heightened emotion. Her best friends saw all of her faces; all of her idiosyncrasies, insecurities, daydreams, and inconsistencies.
Richard, Justin, IJ, Diana, Araceli, Wanda (Big Girl): Even if today we roam streets with new best friends, there will always be space for all of you in my heart. So please mind that while our friendships often dwell in limbo for far too long before we all find time in our schedules to reunite, real friendships outlive all clocks. We were closest when material things meant little to us. We were just glad to be alive, healthy, and popular.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Autumn
I can sense a turning tide in the rusting of bright leaves. The sober satisfaction spread across my face upon the sound of my foot snapping them in halves. Does this mark an end? Or a beginning?
Many insist on eking summer days & nights. They feel as though with coming breeze, comes dullness of color and staleness of air. I disagree. I say embrace the coming seasons akin to the ways in which we embrace the idea of a coming day. How can the color of crackling leaves be dull? The orange and browns that remind us of the setting sun. How can the color of fresh fallen snow be dull? A white so luminous, vibrant, innocent, and untainted. How can the air be stale when it’s the same breeze that sweeps your lover’s hair across her face. The same wind the blows afar your doubts about yesteryear and the mistakes of five minutes ago. Embrace change. Embrace the seasons to come, and the colors that make it stand out so. It’s one of God’s greatest majesties.
And with this warm embrace, so too you grasp the seasons of your life. God’s greatest majesty of all.
Many insist on eking summer days & nights. They feel as though with coming breeze, comes dullness of color and staleness of air. I disagree. I say embrace the coming seasons akin to the ways in which we embrace the idea of a coming day. How can the color of crackling leaves be dull? The orange and browns that remind us of the setting sun. How can the color of fresh fallen snow be dull? A white so luminous, vibrant, innocent, and untainted. How can the air be stale when it’s the same breeze that sweeps your lover’s hair across her face. The same wind the blows afar your doubts about yesteryear and the mistakes of five minutes ago. Embrace change. Embrace the seasons to come, and the colors that make it stand out so. It’s one of God’s greatest majesties.
And with this warm embrace, so too you grasp the seasons of your life. God’s greatest majesty of all.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Moved
I am moved by many things. At the risk of sounding corny (and psychotic), I find it almost soothing to admit that I often catch myself in tears. Not the kind of cry that leaves you breathless and dehydrated, but the cry that induces blurry vision for a few seconds ~ before you tilt your head back and blink away any proof of being moved. Sometimes I am moved in a good way, but not always.
Helen once told me how strong she thought I was. How I am able to put into words exactly how I feel (and sometimes how she feels), accept it, and move on. Such strength has come with growth. With maturation, I have allowed myself to shed insecurities inherited from a youthful version of myself. I have imbibed a loving gaze upon the scars of my mistakes, and have allowed myself to turn the page. I am always eager to give myself peace of mind lest I be one to hurt.
But I cannot always be so strong (though I dared not remind her of this, and all of the times she has seen me in tears, face buried in pillow, body covered by sheets). Sometimes I cannot put into words what I feel, sometimes I am speechless, and sometimes I refuse to accept what is real. I am fragile, impatient, stubborn, and vulnerable (not only to my own passing whims, but those of others as well), characteristics inherent to my own individual composition.
And during these moments when I do not consider myself to be as strong as I can be, I am moved. My body physically refuses to hold back, and becomes willing to divulge the blended emotions that run through my mind in the form of translucent liquid ~ seeping through the corners of my eyes. You’d never know it. I hide it well.
Helen once told me how strong she thought I was. How I am able to put into words exactly how I feel (and sometimes how she feels), accept it, and move on. Such strength has come with growth. With maturation, I have allowed myself to shed insecurities inherited from a youthful version of myself. I have imbibed a loving gaze upon the scars of my mistakes, and have allowed myself to turn the page. I am always eager to give myself peace of mind lest I be one to hurt.
But I cannot always be so strong (though I dared not remind her of this, and all of the times she has seen me in tears, face buried in pillow, body covered by sheets). Sometimes I cannot put into words what I feel, sometimes I am speechless, and sometimes I refuse to accept what is real. I am fragile, impatient, stubborn, and vulnerable (not only to my own passing whims, but those of others as well), characteristics inherent to my own individual composition.
And during these moments when I do not consider myself to be as strong as I can be, I am moved. My body physically refuses to hold back, and becomes willing to divulge the blended emotions that run through my mind in the form of translucent liquid ~ seeping through the corners of my eyes. You’d never know it. I hide it well.
Friday, October 7, 2005
Happy Birthday Mommy!
Happy Birthday Mum! My mother is my rock & is the kindest person I'll ever come to know. I am so blessed to have lived inside her stomach once upon a time. Haha. I love you.
Photo: Mom, Me, Paul
Photo: Mom, Me, Paul
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
LACMA
For months now, I've been itching to visit the King Tut exhibit at LACMA. After countless, "no thanks Rowena, not my thing," replies from friends I've invited to share this experience, I finally said 'screw it' and made the 1+ hour drive out to Wilshire yesterday morn'.
I paid $22 and wasn't very impressed. While the thought of "wow he held that staff" entertained me for a few seconds, I've seen Egyptian relics that have tickled my fancy on a much greater level. The exhibit itself wasn't very big. There were way too many people pushing, smacking their lips, and begging their children to 'please stop crying'! While the structure of the exhibit meant to force the flow of paying visitors through the rooms swiftly, I found the placement of certain artifacts to be quite haphazard. It was way too crowded.
I probably would have been more impressed had I not seen Mummy: The Inside Story just last year. Now THAT was a good exhibit. For £4 (??), I watched a 3D film, saw more than one royal coffin, and was able to view a plethora of Egyptian relics. Sure, viewing King Tut's bling was a cool and new experience, but overall, the exhibit was so-so.
I spent the next three hours walking around LACMA east, visiting permanent exhibits and other temporary ones like Japan goes to the World's Fairs (boooring) and Renzo Piano and Building Workshop: Selected Projects (super impressive! highly recommend. Ends in 5 days!). The European portraits, nostalgia! The Korean gallery, nostalgia!
Photo: Contemporary art gallery.
Photo: Freakin awesome 3D model.
I paid $22 and wasn't very impressed. While the thought of "wow he held that staff" entertained me for a few seconds, I've seen Egyptian relics that have tickled my fancy on a much greater level. The exhibit itself wasn't very big. There were way too many people pushing, smacking their lips, and begging their children to 'please stop crying'! While the structure of the exhibit meant to force the flow of paying visitors through the rooms swiftly, I found the placement of certain artifacts to be quite haphazard. It was way too crowded.
I probably would have been more impressed had I not seen Mummy: The Inside Story just last year. Now THAT was a good exhibit. For £4 (??), I watched a 3D film, saw more than one royal coffin, and was able to view a plethora of Egyptian relics. Sure, viewing King Tut's bling was a cool and new experience, but overall, the exhibit was so-so.
I spent the next three hours walking around LACMA east, visiting permanent exhibits and other temporary ones like Japan goes to the World's Fairs (boooring) and Renzo Piano and Building Workshop: Selected Projects (super impressive! highly recommend. Ends in 5 days!). The European portraits, nostalgia! The Korean gallery, nostalgia!
Photo: Contemporary art gallery.
Photo: Freakin awesome 3D model.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Sleepless in San Bernardino
True to form on a sleepless night, I’ve been dissecting every fine detail of my life ~ and I’ve come to conclude that as I am nearing the ripe old age of 23 (sarcasm), I have been so fortunate that my proverbial-world-crashing experiences do not extend beyond things that I can overcome with passing time. I am extremely fortunate. Upon these epiphanies emerging in the wake of recent events, I find myself humbled (and a bit weathered) ~ knocked off of my high horse and brought down to earth a bit wiser. I am a better person in spite of it all.
Tree of Life
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. (Proverbs 13:12)
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Imperfect
People are too ashamed to deal with the fact that during their stay here on earth, they’ve fkd up a few times. We screw. We get screwed over. We lie, cheat, and get our asses kicked by karma; but to discredit our past by not appreciating it, bullocks!
1-2 Step
Step 1: Fall into a genuine-shake-you-to-the-core kind of love.
Step 2: Love like you’ve never been hurt before.
Step 2: Love like you’ve never been hurt before.
Turning Tides
Society frowns upon the idea of compromising who we are in order to please our [potential] partners, and simultaneously applauds the phrase “she makes me strive to be a better man”? Is it not the same thing? Is not “wanting to be better” a form of change, of self-negotiation? We are a public filled with hypocritical cynics.
Who’s to say that the tide you’ve turned isn’t what’s best for you?
Who’s to say that the tide you’ve turned isn’t what’s best for you?
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