growth & healing.

everybody wants results, but few are willing to place their feet on the unpaved road that will guide them there. it’s a fact of life – the only way to grow is to be stretched thin, pulled and tugged, much like the changing body of a child. it’s a process riddled with suffering and discomfort, aches and soreness.
one afternoon I was scrolling through the greatest app of all time, tiktok, and a video popped up on my for you page. a licensed therapist explained how healing is similar to the mechanics of a chinese finger trap. the only way to escape a chinese finger trap it is to push ones fingers toward the middle – to resist the first instinct to pull ones fingers away, as this will only tighten the trap. much like pain, our first instinct is to bolt from it, to do everything in our power to separate ourselves from it. but it is only through confronting and processing pain we are able to heal. it’s a lesson I’ve had to learn – the numerous band aids I’ve placed over gaping wounds do nothing to treat them, only delay my recovery. God held my hand as I was able to finally peel away each band aid. my first instinct was to flinch at the mutilations, to cover my eyes at the gruesomeness, but God held my hand as he cleaned the wounds and left them uncovered. I am covered with scars but am brand new.

a reluctant love song.

I am sorry that I searched high + low
in the peaks and valleys and mountains and plains
when you have been standing here all along with a bleeding heart
I have never pictured you as gentle
only mighty and outside my grasp
yet here I am
I was Mary Magdalene
I was the one with the seven demons
I was the bleeding woman with extended arms and face to the earth
you are not gentle
you pursue me with reckless abandon
you would do anything to capture my soul
I am the prodigal son and his brother
I’ve roamed high + low
in the pain and anger and numbing and distractions
you raise my head
you gaze into the depths of my soul, into the places no one has witnessed and no light has touched
you meet me with love, only love –
you overflow with it
how can I even begin to understand that?

nostalgia.

a fact about me: I am not a nostalgic person.  I hate dwelling in the past and holding onto memories.  memories are snapshots that are here and then gone, something to be appreciated but not lived in.  recently, however, nostalgia has hit me like a truck.  maybe it’s because I finally feel the weight of a severed childhood, a guest in a home I haven’t seen for months.  memories now come to me every so often, their presence knocking the air out of my lungs.  I can feel them, live in them again for a brief moment in time.

shenandoah – hikes side by side with my family.  a stray branch adopted as a walking stick.  skyline drive.  the sharp turns and curves of the road.  the reds and oranges of fall foliage.  wide-eyed deer and cubs with their mama bears.  fields of queen anne’s lace.  dinner cooked over a fire.  nights wrapped in a sleeping bag.  the hum of insects.  the views at the top that stretched as far as the eye could see, bleeding into the mountains and horizon.  

the dutch market – trademark of my town.  hot pretzels on a thursday afternoon.  the restaurant.  chocolate-chip pancakes bigger than my child face, made messy with syrup.  the chatter and welcome choas of customers, yelling out to the the butcher with his glass display.  wandering the endless aisles of treats and baked goods. 

summers in ohio – church camp.  no electricity or service.  tear soaked nights of worship with comforting hands on my shoulder.  realizations and revelations.  wandering the hill with the wildflowers.  a hand to help me up the saddle.  horse rides through the woods.  the snackshack.  buses crammed to full capacity with overexcited teenagers.  a cold pool, dancing, loudspeakers.

two semesters in canada – the steady snowfall overnight.  the lectures with handwritten notes. walks to the grocery store and the overflow of grocery bags.  treks up the hill with the nights around the bonfire. weekend brunches.  long hours in the library cramming assignments.  a jammed printer.  a musical.  hours on standby, struggling into costumes, getting pitch.  canadian thanksgiving in toronto with the towering concrete of buildings.   wrenching goodbyes with the first real group of friends.

daytrips to dc – subway rides through the dark.  dirty escalators.  the walks afoot.  museums filled with art and history.  the pitstop in chinatown at the same restaurant with the same order.  the drive back home in the dark.  eyes heavy with sleep.

the retreat in pennsylvania – mother-daughter trip.  the youngest person there.  every meal at a new table with new faces.  wandering the blooming grounds heavy with springtime.  the mass spoken in tongues.  the service where I was slain in the spirit for the first time.  the confused tears that followed.  discovering the library.  wandering the building old with age.  my room filled with only a bed and desk.

ikea trips – an occasion always to be excited by.  the childcare center.  running through the room displays, play-pretend home owners.  swedish meatballs.  the obligatory refill of ligonberry juice.  the nub of a pencil.  numbers taken down on paper.  wandering through the light displays.  hanging onto the cart stacked with furniture to be assembled.  getting frozen yogurt while my parents paid at the cash register.  falling asleep on the car ride back.   

nostaligia is a dirty little liar, but there is also comfort to be found in the memories.  recently I found myself in the passenger seat of a car of someone I barely knew, reflecting together on another thanksgiving away from home.  the thought registered, said outloud, 

why did I take it all for granted?  

so for now I am allowing myself to dwell on the memories.  just for a little while, before they are gone and fuzzy with age and time.  to keep my eyes ahead with the knowledge that there are more memories to be made.  to appreciate the past for what it is – not to romantize it, but recgonize the joy those moments brought.  to understand what really matters.  nostalgia is a friend I think have made peace with, tucked away in a quiet corner, to make an appearance every now and then.

happiness is not a mindset.

happiness is a mindset. it’s a saying I’ve turned over and over in my head like hard candy between my teeth. does the secret to happiness lie in a simple change of mindset, like a change of clothes or a change of shoes?

I’ve come to the conclusion that while happiness is rooted internally, a large part of it is found outside of oneself – this “outside” being circumstances. circumstances – uncontrolled and very much not a mindset.

it’s difficult for a child to be happy in a broken home. it’s difficult for the cancer patient alone on the hospital bed to be happy. it’s difficult for the third world resident who got their house destroyed by an earthquake to be happy.

that’s not to say that happiness is impossible in unhappy circumstances. it’s just to say that sometimes life deals us a bad hand and happiness would be easier to achieve if the hand was just dealt better.

I’ve seen both sides of the spectrum. I’ve seen people buckled over by the weight of the world and I’ve seen others carry it on their shoulders. I’ve seen people from stable homes with money at the tips of their fingers full of sadness, and children in haiti with rags for clothes possess an unearthly joy I envied.

so perhaps happiness lies in strength (aka a mindset) – how strong are you to withstand the storms that come your way? but then that leads to the question – shouldn’t happiness come naturally, not a forced smile in the face of adversity? after all, as much as someone in an unhappy circumstance can dig deep to find happiness and find it in certain small places, they can’t reach their full happiness potential until their circumstance changes.

so although it may be the cynic in me, I don’t believe the secret to happiness lies in a mindset. while it’s important to develop a strong mind to withstand life, it’s important to recognize that circumstances are very often the root of our problems. if you’re surrounded by a circle of negative friends, change that. if you’re unsatisfied with your major, change that. to me, that’s so much more proactive than staying stuck in a situation. of course, this doesn’t apply to every circumstance – real pain and suffering can’t be waved away with a magic wand.

I’ve gone off on a tangent and maybe down the rabbit hole. I’m still not sold on either side of the spectrum. maybe all I’m left with at the end of the day is the question of – where do I find my happiness?

hello.

I have found that I have been more and more drawn to my roots. This blog being one of them. I am so separate from my roots. I want to write hard and clear about what hurts. A lot hurts. It’s a lot to unpack but for now, these words will suffice. I have come to realize that we never really rid ourselves of the devil, we simply learn to live with him on our backs. Excuse my cynicality, this is the place for the words that never reach the light of day. This is my safe place I’ve had for years where I express and evolve. Please excuse my metamorphosis – growth is a tricky messy thing not contained within lines and borders. My mind might seem like a dark place but this is simply a faucet. I keep many happier moments for myself. Maybe as time goes on I’ll grow to the sun but for now, it’s due time to bear the dark, gritty places of my mind and soul.

So this is all to say, I’m back motherfuckers.

hybrid.

I’ve never talked about anything race/ethnics related on my blog, so here’s a first.
race.  an often times uncomfortable, uneasy word, synonymous with police shootings and discrimination.

however, I’m gonna delve into something more personal than that, my race!

I’m half white and half latina.  growing up, and still to this day, I have struggled with the crises of which side to identify as.  both my parents are bilingual, english is their second language.  yet I can only speak one language.
I feel somewhat disconnected from both my cultures.  I don’t necessarily identify with my mom’s white side, I can’t speak her language.  and yet I don’t identify with my father’s latino side.  having a darker complexion, many hispanics have assumed over the years I can speak spanish fluently.  but then I have to break the news to them that I can’t engage in more than a basic conversation.

but why do we live in this silly reality where we have to identify with one side of our mixed heritage?  or live up to our racial stereotypes?  why not just be a human living on planet earth?
maybe it’s something we as humanity will always struggle with.  but for now, I won’t place myself in a box or category.  no succumbing to labels.

 

living ambiguiously & proud,
b

 

commemorations.

sometimes life is a losing match.  a battleground.  sometimes it’s a triumphant and sometimes it’s all.
bruises leave you branded and scars bite their reminders.
you don’t ask for what you go through but you receive it anyway.  sometimes life takes and takes with no intent of giving.
sometimes smiles are faked and sometimes they are genuine, like that sunrise you woke up during those inhumane hours to see.
it’s all an ebb and flow of good and bad.  beautiful and ugly.  life isn’t fair.  [a broken record.]
it knocks you out cold and you go through things nobody should go through.  you act like you don’t know.  oblivious and naive, and sometimes you are given those labels.
but you know.  you always will.
terrible things happen but those terrible things, they save you.

18 years.  i made it.

she’s back

bet you didn’t see that one coming.
after an almost year long hiatus, I’ve decided to make my re-entrance into the blogging world, back and better (ish) than ever.  I changed my title and revamped my theme, but ya probably didn’t notice.

updates:

turned 18, did the standard thing of going out and asserting my adulthood by getting some sort of body modification.  I got a piercing.  (pain rating: 5 out of 10)

watched twilight for the first time and…..
actually liked it.

got accepted into college.  (3 year school, so class of ’21 whoop whoop)

began my second job, hated it, quit after a month.  currently in the process of applying to my third.

realized I was a secret TS fan all along, as I’ve been JAMMING to Reputation.  It’s a great mood booster for the gym.

 

hope ya enjoy this ride.
b

 

What I listen to

Possibly one of the hardest questions for me to answer is “what type of music do you listen to?”
So I’ve decided to make a compilation of my favorite music, right here for your viewing.

 

Image result for pure heroine album cover

Lorde

First off, my favorite Lorde.  This album is my everything; I genuinely love every song on here (with the exception of one song) and that’s rare for me to say of an album.  Lorde’s music really speaks to me, and I relate to so many of her songs.  My favorites are A World Alone, Bravado, and Buzzcut Season.

 

 

Imagine Dragons

I am a huge Imagine Dragons fan, and I especially love their new single.  My all-time favorites are Roots, and anything off their Night Visons album.

 

 

Halsey

Surpringsly, I like her newest single.  When I first heard it I wasn’t a fan, as it’s a lot more pop than her older music.  But after listening to it a few times and letting the lyrics sink in, I discovered my love for it.

 

Image result for woodkid golden age

Woodkid

Woodkid has the type of music perfect for the background of an action/adventure movie.  My favorite of his in Conquest of Spaces.

 

Image result for honeywater album

Honeywater

Honeywater is my go-to whenever I want something relaxing that can put me to sleep.  My favorites of theirs are Southern Wild and Evergreen.

 

Image result for zella day kicker

Zella Day

I love Zella Day’s sound.  I have yet to explore more of her music, but my current favorites are Compass and East of Eden.

 

& that’s about it!  I listen to many other artists and types of sounds, but these are my favorites.  If you share a love of any of these artists with me, comment below.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nobody can tell you how to live reality

Recently, I was with a close friend of mine and she made a comment about my life that didn’t bother me in the moment, but later on I realized how offensive it was.  I confided in my mom about it, and she looked at me and said, “You cannot let anyone tell you how to live your reality.” Those words struck me, hard.

There is no one way to live life.  Everyone’s paths are different; no two should be identical.  And it is none of your business to inform people on how they should live theres.

Now, I’m Christian, and I believe in envangelizing, and have a set of moral and spiritual beliefs that I wish everyone could live by.  The decisions I’m talking about are more neutral; ones in which someone could go harmlessly either way. For instance, college. College is for some people, while it isn’t for others.  I wouldn’t disagree with someone’s decision not to go to college, if they had others means of supporting themself in life.

So I’ve realized not to give people the power of telling me how I should live my reality.  And frankly, telling them to back off.  It’s something I’m trying to get better at.

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