You Are Powerful

Three and a half days to the New Year;

My routine is to clean, cleanse, and declutter–

I’ll let you know how it goes.

On the minimalism hype and Fumio Sasaki’s “Goodbye, Things: The New Japanese Minimalism”, I’m thinning things like paper sentiments;

Might as well document them here in the only diary left recording…

—

They’re so small

So young

And not of me, and are partially detached from me;

But they’re more encouraging than some

And portions of my self-esteem has been gifted from them

And these small notes remind me my worth and I am loved.

Black Friday & Chill

Early morning empty streets make me feel I own the roam of a gazelle. 

This time around last year, four consecutive years, I worked Black Friday.

I bought my freedom this October–

Now I’m sitting with empty streets and reclaimed a morning;

A 6 am wake up habit I picked up from Canada–

A jet lag never recovered.

While I had the freedom to protest, performed the opposite and made returns instead of purchases, maybe in spite of.

In and out within the minute, as if society conceded to protest they wanted their life back too–

A week and a month left,

I want to be better than what I am,

Better than how I left;

God help me if you can,

I’m at the mercy of absolution.

The Thirty-Second Fall

I carry on in endless dialogue in my head
Without commitment of disclosure

[Self-analyzes: It seems I speak in some kind of code… as a form of self preservation]

Without recalling it,
I have reached the end of the week–
The best week ever

The first true fall in this endless summer.
One hellish week raw and bare like the desert it is,
To cooling relief,
That I have lived in retreat
Of dim nights
Cornered by the shadows
Guarded by the light
Deep in silence
Stitched into cold mornings

And all I am
Is in the sheen of my sheets
Faced only to my Lord
Reading confessions of clever writers who decided to speak
And expose their life.

My mouth, immobile, like I’ve lost speech,
But the eloquence of silence,
Honored,
Is sweet.

Anything & Everything

I’m so sensitive, so affected. Coming out of my own trauma, I considered annexing movies from my life–when I’m sad, memories of them applicable to my life glaze over my worries and I fear in horror, “Omg, that’s gonna happen to me–”

Yet all I’ve been doing is watching movies the past couple of days.

Sometimes they’re a relief from the world;

Watching what I have, they remind me to consider what someone is going through; and the only reason a movie can be so comforting is finding out the hope at the end within an hour and a half–

But it’s just so as it is such with life…

It’s all I could do at one point in my life.

Drowning in my sorrows. I couldn’t get up. I didn’t know how. I just cried. I couldn’t eat. I lost weight past that of what I weighed in high school…

It took me so long. All I could do was hold on; watching the same movies over and over–

They’re silly little things it seems; things like 1954 Sabrina, Bruce Almighty, and Evan Almighty. But they taught me things; like Audrey’s natural kindness–which I couldn’t fathom how to hold onto in the face of void; I cried and ate myself inside out in lieu of lashing out.
Or Bruce Almighty, losing our way; the mercy of God;
And Evan Almighty–the opportunities God creates on the surface that cause friction and answer the prayer; His mercy upon our weakness, and yet carrying us through it.

I’m so lost. I’m so afraid. I run myself in circles. I try to have faith.

I fill myself up, but maybe need to empty myself out.

Everybody seems to know what to say; have all the answers, and know the way–

All this advising and counseling;
Can I find my way back to love?
When people were beautiful, because they all came from God;
And the buckling at your knees wasn’t far from my own shortcomings.

Love when I am full,
And influence without imposing,
Comfort because there is mercy,
And reflection in a world I wish to see;
What if I saw you for all that made you beautiful
And forgave what God made a mercy…

The Veil of Ignorance

Ali ibn Abi Talib says, “Do not inherit your religion, practice it.”
—
I don’t know what my journey is with God, and I don’t intend to explain it for someone else to understand when it is only with Him.

I don’t understand why a boiling in my heart ensues when participatory requests are made when they are Catholic.

She speaks in front of me to her mother in her native tongue, “She doesn’t understand; she only understands in English, if I could explain in Kapampangan she would understand–”

She responds, “She doesn’t understand,” or, “She’ll never understand.”

I am simmering under a physical body–

I am misunderstood and responding to the understanding that under faith and culture, I am obligated–

I am spoken to under expectation.

Is it still sincere if in my earliest pursuits of my completion of the 7 Sacraments was selfish on my behalf to regain my time–

Is it still my faith and my religion if I’m only doing it to please and soothe my mom?

Is God the same if I pray the Our Father or Al Fatiha?

Did I incur the same punishments under Islam?

Is He still loving if I am one versus the other?

Is there favor for one over the other?

Are we still the created under The Creator if I am one faith or the other?

Online Diary of Accountability

My first recordings of #100DaysOfProductivity began Thursday.
The day started out well until overheating like a computer and blacking out set me back lol.

1/100

If anything, I’ve remained consistent each night reading a chapter a day–

2, 3/100

It truly is, building upon a routine and injecting it into your skin, memorizing it onto your muscles, making it on the list of auto-pilot memory reflex~

Under this murderous heat, I’ve managed to pull myself from my coma, placing an immediate order for a smoothie to my waking, and made it to an empty car wash yay!

4/100

Between sluggishly accomplishing one task and lying down, one task, and lying down, I’m managing to get through if inch by inch.

Culturally Tongue-Tied

In a very interesting situation–
I’m a very sensitive person;
and in a lot of circumstances, find myself broken into–
And maybe over things unnecessary but reactive.

A night ended upon sharing a meal with a passerby.
We’re three world’s clashing,
Spanning across three portions of two different continents.

And though it’s American commonplace to pay a compliment,
I was not to call attention or give praise to any charity or hospitality.

In one cut,
What I possibly would have not understood in the past,
Bled long standing ignorance,
As years finally caught up with me,
And lessons finally made the language make sense…

I have negated a blessing
By acknowledgement of praise
I’m in uncharted territories right now
An experience well known and unspoken

6.1.2017 11:09 pm

Navigating Faith

I slipped
And fell through a bit.

When one falls,
The others fall along with them.
You are the portion of the company you keep–
—-
(Continues internal monologue)
How do I say this?
—-
Our modest school was coming out of a split month of May;
Shared with Asian heritage and the Middle East.

I caught the last bit of lingering books on display;
And shamefully stole away all of them, leaving behind me a barren centerpiece ready for the new month.

The Garden of My Imaan
By Farhana Zia

I’m fully grown,
And well beyond my youth–
But I never grew up understanding what it would be like to have to grow up in a faith outside the majority, let alone a culture hard fitting into American–

Warm and touching,
Innocence takes me through the vulnerabilities we may still carry as adults;
Worrying about pleasing others, avoiding confrontation, the navigation to becoming whole, and becoming a better person.

I set my intentions from the very start;
Slowly gave up,
Inch by inch,
And it seems that’s how it happens–
I questioned myself because everyone else around me questioned me–

To share in my vulnerabilities, shares in the vulnerabilities of others;
Were it just my own,
Is to carry less.
—
Stand steadfast to my intentions–
I did not make them without careful mulling and thought.

My prayers were made with purpose,
Although I did not feel their reasons,
Growth is subtle–

Maybe they first feel empty,
But each kiss of my forehead to Him
Called me out of my own refrain and back to His reverie.

And maybe they misunderstood
When I gave up
And chose to accept faith
And permit my heart to be changed.

The Service of Love

I’m not sure if I know what love looks like…
But that sounds more poetic than the reality of feeling weak in believing the fleeting moments it has been good to me,
Against the weight under it’s disguise of pruning and tilling the land of me.

My soul is heavy;
My heart is burdened.

I’m not sure entirely why he loves me;
If he loves me really…

I don’t know if I know love really…
Maybe it’s only companionship we’re all really seeking…

I can see why now,
Why remaining celibate would be more holy than marriage…
How does one focus on God when you’re too focused on pleasing someone else?

And maybe I am in my calling,
Maybe I am being used,
Maybe I am carrying through His service
By being the vehicle somebody does their healing through–
While people sit and divide their time between deciphering their languages of love.

I think too much;
Fill myself with unanswered questions;
Loath another demeaning me with their words and criticisms.

Maybe He kept me from a sense of feeling loved to keep me from falling out of love with Him.

1.11.2017 11:00 pm

Transparency: On Being Seen

I can’t lie.
Not even about how I’m doing.

And when I’m especially broken,
Asking how I am unravels every lie in simple pleasantries.

I haven’t been here in months–
The eclectic coffee shop that writes itself into so many stories;
It’s happening as a couple I’m behind are patiently awaiting the engaging conversation between the patron and host are having.

But once my turn is up,
A non-local to the neighborhood:

“How’s your day so far?”
She asks sincerely;
“It’s okay.”
“Just okay? Something weird in the air?”
“Yeah… just… reflective…”
She seemed especially concerned.
And tying onto the previous conversation prior to the couple,
Made her thoughtful suggestions on how sometimes it’s good to clear some things–
I agreed and added that I follow a similar ritual every closing year,
To which she included tenderly,
“Yes, but sometimes you need to let yourself rest too…”

My eyes wrote for her my unraveling.

“It’s also good to open your communication–
That’s what I’m working on this year.”

I can’t even hide.