To the artists. The amazing people who bring forth pure creation and beauty in the world. The creators of movement, who light up and move gracefully, drawing patterns in the dark sky as I imagine God did when He laid constellations for dreamers to gaze upon. Ones whose passions burn, graceful yet fiery as they spin siren silhouettes around them. The architects of melody, who lay the foundation for our souls to soar at heights among the skyscrapers. Those who create sound to transport us in one moment to our trove of memories, who bring us on a journey to…
He takes my hand in his, and for that electric moment, the world seems to light up. His words dance towards me linking together with mine, and my mind seems to take flight. Each day, now buzzing with the thoughts of this new adventure. Of when he’s walking next to me, going down a new street with the air feeling lighter and the sun shining brighter. Or of when he’s lying next to me, our bodies like pieces of a familiar puzzle just one move apart. …
As we drew nearer to the anniversary of my grandmother’s passing, I began re-reading my tribute to her. “She lived a long, hard, but beautiful life. She survived war and poverty, conquered single motherhood, endured sending her son to another country, and the pain of old age. At the end, all she wanted was to know that her son was a good father and her grandchildren were happy.”
I read this again last night. Over and over. I thought about how she said goodbye to her beloved son without knowing when she’d see him again. How she sacrificed day after…
My grandmother is resting peacefully now. Loving me from afar as she always did; just a little further away, alongside my grandfather, and free from pain. She lived a long, hard, but beautiful life. She persevered. She survived war and poverty, conquered single motherhood, endured sending her son to another country, and the pain of old age. When we were a broken family, the love of this one strong woman always brought us home. And at the very end, all she wanted was to know that her son was a good father and her grandchildren were happy.
During one of…
Each step I take, heavy. Everywhere I look, blurry. My mind is weighted with the overwhelming burden of my tears. I move slowly towards my shower and stumble to pull back the curtain as if behind it lay the secret to some sense of peace. Will I find it in the streaming water holding the promise of removing the weight of my tears, as it would my air? Or will I find it in the water’s warm embrace holding me close, as it would if I surrendered completely to it?
I turn the shower dial and watch as it calmly…
The walls that you built to fill the empty spaces that were left in the place of scars.
They were not built to last, they were not created with a strong foundation.
They are flimsy, and the cracks know their place.
Let these walls go, as they have served their first purpose.
Let them go to serve their second.
Let them teach you that your walls may have been meant to keep things out, but instead will only keep you hidden.
You can allow yourself to be seen, to hope.
You can be bare, exposed, and embraced.
You can face and then live through pain when it comes.
Everything will be okay.
Shed your walls. Break them.
Let the earth rumble as the pieces fall.
Let all of yourself pass through them, and introduce yourself to the world.
I love Taco Bell