By the title of this post, I think it is pretty clear that I am not ready to be home. I am not ready to return to the every day mundane routine that is my life. I am not ready to return to work and re-encounter everything I left behind for the last five days. I am not ready to see people that I do and do not want to see because at this present moment in time, I would like to see no one. I want my days to be endless. To consist of long nights, reading alone in bed, snuggled with my dogs, where the rest of the world is of little concern to me. Somehow, everything would be magically taken care of and responsibilities would be non-existent. I am convinced that it is for this reason that I have taken little and time effort to put into my studies, because I am not ready to accept reality. I am just not ready to be home.
Where can I escape to? Where can I go where all my worries will dissipate? Will my dreams accomplish this? Will sleep free me from reality? No, in a way I feel that my day to day worries and concerns become amplified in my sleep, so really there is no way to escape them. Life is what it is and there is very little I can do about it. Shit.
I have a savings. Can I disappear for awhile? Tell no one of my travels and just buy a plane ticket and go. Do people do that? Would I have enough strength and bravery to do such a bold thing?
Maybe all the people in my life causing me stress will read this and just decide that their pestering and naive comments should just go away. I fail in this moment to take any responsibility for my current state of suffering. In this moment I believe it to be easier to ignore my role in anything. Denial will not cure the struggles at hand, but for the moment it is soothing.
My bed is calling is my name, but so are my textbooks and various other duties. Maybe a wise investment of my savings would just be to hire a maid, that way there are a few less things on my to-do list. I always focus better in a clean space. At least right now my floor is visible. I guess I show some signs of improvement.
This dreary weather is drab and depressing. Of course I can not muster any motivation when all I want to do is turn off the lights and listen to the rain. This is an activity of course that requires company. Silence is bliss but even silence with a companion is more blissful. I hate valentine's day.
It was more apparent in high school, when all the sweet hearts would exchange cards, balloons, and flowers. At least this year I am not subject to such non-sense. If someone really loves you then they will tell you whenever and however they so choose, not because a day on the calender says so. That is how I feel about it anyway. Somehow though this stupid day still manages to make all the single people in the world to feel pitiful. Girls go out with girls as a sign of empowerment. There should be no need for this because this holiday should be non-existent. Another reason I am not enjoying my return home, the men in my life. All of them just come flooding back in, not to make it sound like there is an ocean of them out there in the first place. Maybe a small pond, not an ocean. My interaction with the opposite sex today? A telephone argument, of course. That is how I spend my v-day, arguing on the phone with someone who I still have feelings for, but shouldn't, about how his personal life is no longer any of my business and he wishes I did not feel the need to be jealous. Great. That is how I would spend my valentine's day.
So here I am, home. Home is where all the shit and normalcy of life returns and burdens me. Hopefully tomorrow will show more promise. At least it won't be valentine's day.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Last Day
Today is my official full last day in California. I do not think it has hit me just yet that soon I am to be returning home to my responsibilities and problems. I do not want to think of it this way, but I do. I would not qualify this trip by any means as a vacation. In my mind, when you are on vacation you take a complete trip away from everything in your life that links you to your life. It's like you are able to separate yourself, only momentarily from your day to day existence. I did not at any point disentangle myself from my day to day because there were routine things that I still was required to accomplish while in California. Part of me is ready to be home with the people I love and my daily way of operating and part of me wishes I could just leave it all behind. There is no such thing as starting fresh completely because wherever you go, in some form your old story will still follow you. I guess then it becomes about choosing a different story and deciding where we want to go next. I think our old stories can be an opportunity for growth, but it is not necessary to make the same story true for us day in and day out. Maybe when I return home that will be my focus, creating a new story for myself. I am exhausted by my same problems, my same daily struggles. I do not want to carry around the same baggage any longer. Although I will not be rid of my responsibilities and problems upon returning, I feel that in this short trip I have managed to take a broader and clearer view of my situation. Sometimes what is needed is space to gain a better perspective. It becomes challenging to see the messes we tangle ourselves in while we are in them.
Though I am deeply saddened by my grandmother's situation, I think in her current condition she is teaching my so many lessons about life unknowingly. She has taught me to not waste time, because each moment is so precious. When we allow ourselves to become entwined in the daily routine, we lose sight of the things around us as we are put in to a trance. It is not until that sight is taken from us that we begin to miss the same daily sights. I do not want to spend my life in a trance. I want to take hold of every moment and see my environment before it is too late to enjoy it at all.
Though I am deeply saddened by my grandmother's situation, I think in her current condition she is teaching my so many lessons about life unknowingly. She has taught me to not waste time, because each moment is so precious. When we allow ourselves to become entwined in the daily routine, we lose sight of the things around us as we are put in to a trance. It is not until that sight is taken from us that we begin to miss the same daily sights. I do not want to spend my life in a trance. I want to take hold of every moment and see my environment before it is too late to enjoy it at all.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
two pink roses
Yesterday, I saw my grandmother for the first time in three months. In three months she has lost the feeling in her left arm, been in and out of the hospital, placed and removed from a nursing home, and lost her sight. In three months, she has endured the most amount of pain than shes experienced in her entire life. In the last three months she has come to the conclusion that her situation is no longer a blessing, a blessing to be alive, but a curse that puts her in excruciating pain. The last time I saw her, she sat in her recliner and recalled accounts of numerous doctors visits, in which she was told that her physical decline has no explanation. She told me about doctor's experiments with her medications, some failed and some successful, but never successful enough to take away her pain. She told me of sleepless nights and painful days. I knew this time would be even harder than listening to those stories three months ago.
I told myself the whole car ride there that I would not cry. I would not cry because this visit was about enjoying the time we have left together, before the inevitable comes. I told myself I would not cry because even though she is sick and in pain, she does not want to see me cry, she wants to hear about my life. I repeated this to myself over and over again. Yet the second I touched her hand, she began to cry. I touched her hand and she could not stop herself, "Oh, Arianna, I can't see you. I can't see you." I could hear in her voice the great distress this realization caused her. Of course she knew she could not see, but I do not think either of us realized what a privilege that was. My grandfather of course told her to "stop that nonsense." That's what crying is to my dad's side of the family, nonsense. The truth of the matter is whenever my grandfather, my nonno, looks at my grandmother, my nonna, he too wants to cry. Emotionally, he just can not take it for anyone to shed a tear. I held her hand, stroked her harm, and kissed her cheek, doing my best to have her feel my love.
My brother does not understand that my nonna can not see. I do not know that he will. There's pain in her face whenever she hears him laugh, cry, play, and talk. She may never be able to enjoy what those things look like before she goes. The loss of her sight has not only taken away what she can experience, but her independence. It was hard to watch her be fed like a baby, and this sight caused some confusion for my brother. "Why is nonna being fed like a baby? I want to be fed like a baby."
My nonno would instruct her to open her mouth, take two more bites, open her mouth, try to eat the rest, as she would shake her head like a stubborn child and refuse the peas and pasta. I can not begin to imagine what that would feel like. To be independent your entire life and then have the person whom you've loved, who's been your equal, treat you like a child, care for you like a child, and show great impatience when you can no longer do things yourself. My nonna has an unfortunate combination of stubbornness and fear. These two traits do not mix well together especially in the given situation. There is a refusal for help and assistance while simultaneously being deathly afraid of doing anything on her own. She knows inside she needs the help, but she struggles to ask for it or admit the need for it.
She finishes her dinner, and sways her head back and forth, eyes half closed as she attempts to listen and participate in the dinner conversation. My family is known for holding three conversations at once, all yelling over each other to make their point. The scenario for an outsider appears entertaining, but when you are an active participant, it is extremely difficult to be heard unless you are willing to interrupt and speak at a high volume. My grandfather, for the first time, was not actively participating in our family's version of a conversation. I think he saw me observing the spectacle and took notice of my distant gaze.
"You know how I grow roses out in the front?"
"Yeah."
"I tried growing roses out there, you see, by the orange tree, but it never grows."
"Oh, really?"
"Year after year, nothing and nothing. Then, she loses her sight and look."
"Look where?"
"See, over on the brick wall. She loses her sight, and then, pink roses. Just two."
"Where? I don't see them."
"Right there," he points hard in a straight line with his finger.
"Just two."
I glance over my family's heads, and there, right where my Nonno points his finger, there are two perfectly formed pink roses. I begin to cry. I look across the table at him, and he sees the pain, but joy in my tears. He looks at me, then my Nonna seated next to him and just smiles. He knows those to be a symbol of hope. I wipe my tears with my napkin before this moment is ruined by one of my family members taking note of my crying. Although I promised myself I would not cry, I accept this tears because they do not feel like tears of sadness. Two pink roses, hope begins.
I told myself the whole car ride there that I would not cry. I would not cry because this visit was about enjoying the time we have left together, before the inevitable comes. I told myself I would not cry because even though she is sick and in pain, she does not want to see me cry, she wants to hear about my life. I repeated this to myself over and over again. Yet the second I touched her hand, she began to cry. I touched her hand and she could not stop herself, "Oh, Arianna, I can't see you. I can't see you." I could hear in her voice the great distress this realization caused her. Of course she knew she could not see, but I do not think either of us realized what a privilege that was. My grandfather of course told her to "stop that nonsense." That's what crying is to my dad's side of the family, nonsense. The truth of the matter is whenever my grandfather, my nonno, looks at my grandmother, my nonna, he too wants to cry. Emotionally, he just can not take it for anyone to shed a tear. I held her hand, stroked her harm, and kissed her cheek, doing my best to have her feel my love.
My brother does not understand that my nonna can not see. I do not know that he will. There's pain in her face whenever she hears him laugh, cry, play, and talk. She may never be able to enjoy what those things look like before she goes. The loss of her sight has not only taken away what she can experience, but her independence. It was hard to watch her be fed like a baby, and this sight caused some confusion for my brother. "Why is nonna being fed like a baby? I want to be fed like a baby."
My nonno would instruct her to open her mouth, take two more bites, open her mouth, try to eat the rest, as she would shake her head like a stubborn child and refuse the peas and pasta. I can not begin to imagine what that would feel like. To be independent your entire life and then have the person whom you've loved, who's been your equal, treat you like a child, care for you like a child, and show great impatience when you can no longer do things yourself. My nonna has an unfortunate combination of stubbornness and fear. These two traits do not mix well together especially in the given situation. There is a refusal for help and assistance while simultaneously being deathly afraid of doing anything on her own. She knows inside she needs the help, but she struggles to ask for it or admit the need for it.
She finishes her dinner, and sways her head back and forth, eyes half closed as she attempts to listen and participate in the dinner conversation. My family is known for holding three conversations at once, all yelling over each other to make their point. The scenario for an outsider appears entertaining, but when you are an active participant, it is extremely difficult to be heard unless you are willing to interrupt and speak at a high volume. My grandfather, for the first time, was not actively participating in our family's version of a conversation. I think he saw me observing the spectacle and took notice of my distant gaze.
"You know how I grow roses out in the front?"
"Yeah."
"I tried growing roses out there, you see, by the orange tree, but it never grows."
"Oh, really?"
"Year after year, nothing and nothing. Then, she loses her sight and look."
"Look where?"
"See, over on the brick wall. She loses her sight, and then, pink roses. Just two."
"Where? I don't see them."
"Right there," he points hard in a straight line with his finger.
"Just two."
I glance over my family's heads, and there, right where my Nonno points his finger, there are two perfectly formed pink roses. I begin to cry. I look across the table at him, and he sees the pain, but joy in my tears. He looks at me, then my Nonna seated next to him and just smiles. He knows those to be a symbol of hope. I wipe my tears with my napkin before this moment is ruined by one of my family members taking note of my crying. Although I promised myself I would not cry, I accept this tears because they do not feel like tears of sadness. Two pink roses, hope begins.
Friday, February 11, 2011
then what
Sometimes, my curiosity gets the better of me. Okay, frequently it gets the better of me. I don't know why I let it, but I do. So today, I allowed it to happen. I knew that I would not like what I saw, but I still submitted myself to looking, to stalking. It's not really stalking I supposed if someone lets the whole wide world see their information, but I should have known better. So here I am, now sitting with a terrible knot in my stomach because I saw what I did not want to see, but knew I would. He talks to her. It may seem small, but I know him and I know he does not waste time on girls he is not interested in. They obviously talk, share a similar sense of humor, so why wouldn't he be interested? I guess I should have taken the hint when he told me to let it go, for us to try being friends. What can I say? I am stubborn. I do not like to listen, so this is what it gets me, a slap in the face of reality. He may not be over me, to a certain degree he probably isn't but he is moving forward and it is not with me. He told me this, so why do I still want to make him the bad guy?
I want him to be responsible for this disgusting feeling stirring inside me. I want him to be responsible for my obsessive behavior even though I am the only one to blame for my own suffering. I brought this feeling on myself. It feels worse when I think of it that way. He lied and I know that. He lied about some really big things and I know that. Why do I want to be with someone that lies? I shouldn't but some part of me does. I know the obsessing is coming from not trusting him, he lost that trust. The obsessing comes from fear of being alone, from fear that I was scammed and it never meant anything. I am trying so desperately to hold on the last possible thread linking us together. I am not quite ready to let go, obviously. I am the cause of my own suffering and I am choosing right now, in this moment to dwell on a relationship that did not ever really exist. Maybe that is the most challenging part to accept. It was not ever real.
I found this great quote about a week ago.
This is the conversation I am having with myself about the current situation.
"I am afraid that he is going to move on and therefore never want to be with me."
"Then what?"
"Then I will feel rejected and sad."
"Then what?"
"Then I will probably cry and maybe eat some chocolate and talk to my friends about it."
"Then what?"
"Then my friends and the people close to me will remind me that I deserve better and when you are meant to be with someone it should not be such a struggle."
"Then what?"
"This advice will probably make me feel better and I will come to realize that it is not worth my time to like someone who does not want to be with me. It is not fair to me."
"Then what?"
"Then I will be more able to come to terms with the situation. Maybe I will still be a little sad, but I will move forward."
"Then what?"
"I will open myself up to someone who does want to be with me. I will be able to find someone who does like me."
I want him to be responsible for this disgusting feeling stirring inside me. I want him to be responsible for my obsessive behavior even though I am the only one to blame for my own suffering. I brought this feeling on myself. It feels worse when I think of it that way. He lied and I know that. He lied about some really big things and I know that. Why do I want to be with someone that lies? I shouldn't but some part of me does. I know the obsessing is coming from not trusting him, he lost that trust. The obsessing comes from fear of being alone, from fear that I was scammed and it never meant anything. I am trying so desperately to hold on the last possible thread linking us together. I am not quite ready to let go, obviously. I am the cause of my own suffering and I am choosing right now, in this moment to dwell on a relationship that did not ever really exist. Maybe that is the most challenging part to accept. It was not ever real.
I found this great quote about a week ago.
There is the truth. I trusted him for what I wanted him to be, what I wanted the situation to be. This was neither fair to him or I and made the separation approximately 50 times harder than it needed to be. Okay maybe 200 times harder. I trusted him like I would trust a partner, an intimate partner who was devoted only to me. He was never that. I was never that. I am mourning many losses on many levels. I have let this entire situation consume me so much that I am constantly being taken out of the present moment by over concentrating on this, this nothing. I am currently reading If the Buddha dated. It talks a lot about the cause of personal suffering and how to talk ourselves through our fears. One of the activities it talks you through is called the, "then what?" exercise. You state whatever it is you are feeling or fearing and then ask the question, "Then what?" The purpose of the exercise is to talk yourself through a fear and realize that as you continue to pose the question, then what, the fear's intensity or the feeling becomes smaller and smaller.
This is the conversation I am having with myself about the current situation.
"I am afraid that he is going to move on and therefore never want to be with me."
"Then what?"
"Then I will feel rejected and sad."
"Then what?"
"Then I will probably cry and maybe eat some chocolate and talk to my friends about it."
"Then what?"
"Then my friends and the people close to me will remind me that I deserve better and when you are meant to be with someone it should not be such a struggle."
"Then what?"
"This advice will probably make me feel better and I will come to realize that it is not worth my time to like someone who does not want to be with me. It is not fair to me."
"Then what?"
"Then I will be more able to come to terms with the situation. Maybe I will still be a little sad, but I will move forward."
"Then what?"
"I will open myself up to someone who does want to be with me. I will be able to find someone who does like me."
Sunday, December 12, 2010
I don't know where this blog is going
I told Ms. Vu on Friday that I intend on maintaining this blog. I do this often though. Tell myself I plan to keep up with journal entries and a general logging of my thoughts, so we shall see. I would like to establish a type of theme, something that is more focused than some of my previous writing. My original idea was to discuss mundane or not so mundane events of my life and some way look at a larger lesson I could take from each occurrence. I also wrestle with the idea of discussing a journey of personal discovery.
I constantly feel like I am on unsteady ground, with no firm grasp on anything around me. I know I can not be the only one out there to feel this way. I might be able to find other people who feel this same way.
Although I previously wrote that I no longer wanted to dedicate any entries to my love life, I feel now that maybe it would be more valuable for me to share. I can work through my emotions and thoughts in a more organized manner.
I don't know where this blog is going, I just know it was helpful to me. I enjoy writing most days, as I notice it both improves my writing as well as it allows me to work through all the thoughts that fly through my head. There are too many things to handle at the moment, I can not pin one down for observation or analysis. So for now, I plan to bask in the unknown.
I constantly feel like I am on unsteady ground, with no firm grasp on anything around me. I know I can not be the only one out there to feel this way. I might be able to find other people who feel this same way.
Although I previously wrote that I no longer wanted to dedicate any entries to my love life, I feel now that maybe it would be more valuable for me to share. I can work through my emotions and thoughts in a more organized manner.
I don't know where this blog is going, I just know it was helpful to me. I enjoy writing most days, as I notice it both improves my writing as well as it allows me to work through all the thoughts that fly through my head. There are too many things to handle at the moment, I can not pin one down for observation or analysis. So for now, I plan to bask in the unknown.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Fortune Sides With She Who Dares
Fortune sides with she who dares . I stumbled upon this saying at work one day. I think at some point I would like to have it tatooed. For some reason it holds a lot of significance for me. It reminds me to dream, to be brave, to take risks, because there is no point in living life if we don't take risks. Risks seem to pay off more often than playing it safe or being ordinary. Ordinary seems boring, daring is more adventurous and I think in the long run bares more rewards. This saying also reminds me of "well behaved women rarely make history." I do not strive to be well behaved. Maybe it's silly, but in some way I want my daring efforts to make history one day. Whatever those daring efforts might one day be.