.ago.

i have a fear of looking up. one day i was at the mall with him, and i was hugging him goodbye. when i looked up, he looked me deep in the eyes, and if i had let him, he would've kissed me. the memory itself makes my chest tighten and my eyes well up. i had love at one point. i lived love. it was real. it was someone and something i could touch, something i could feel. it actually existed, and encompassed all 28 listed descriptions that are in the dictionary. and now, it's been a real long time since i've looked up. i'm still trying to find the courage to believe that i will be met with eyes of love.

...and when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant. there is only that moment, and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. it is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. without such love, one's dreams would have no meaning...-the alchemist

.eraser.

i'll probably still get it wrong, and have to do it over and over again, and just when i think i've got it right, i will be given a new set of directions. and to do it over again. i'll still make mistakes, hoping that more of my life is written in pencil and not in pen, so i can erase, and do it again, with only a small trace of the error that i originally made. in pen, it's so clear where my errors are, i try desperately to cross it out, but i only make it worse, until i've created a hole in my masterpiece. let my mistakes be amendable, salvagable. let me be more diligent to the steps this time, and slow down to get it right. let me grip gently, so i may let others' Hands guide me, Hand on hand, showing me the correct way to do it. the right way. the best way. yielding, the delicate and deliberate flick in the wrist, i cannot yet decipher what i am creating but yet i know it's beautiful. i want to show what i've learned, yet somewhat shaky, like a child who's had the training wheels off. the lines aren't smooth like Yours, they are choppy and hesitant, shaky and jagged. but determined, i try, full of mistakes, yet heartfelt and directed. please help me create my masterpiece.

.trials.

The pathway is broken
And The signs are unclear
And I don't know the reason why You brought me here
But just because You love me the way that You do
I'm gonna walk through the valley
If You want me to

Chorus:
Cause I'm not who I was
When I took my first step
And I'm clinging to the promise You're not through with me yet
so if all of these trials bring me closer to you
Then I will walk through the fire
If You want me to

It may not be the way I would have chosen
When you lead me through a world that's not my home
But You never said it would be easy
You only said I'd never go alone

So When the whole world turns against me
And I'm all by myself
And I can't hear You answer my cries for help
I'll remember the suffering Your love put You through
And I go through the valley If You want me to

~Ginny Owens If You Want Me To

.material.

i need to make a disclaimer that i don't think there's anything wrong with having nice things, so please...this isn't attacking or judging you. with that said, i just realized that i don't do well with expensive things. i wear a simple sterling silver crucifix which i bought for myself, and 2-3 rings. i used to wear a watch my parents bought for me in switzerland, and yeah, it's MIA. i hope one day i find it not for sentimental reasons, but b/c i think my parents would be pretty upset if they knew i lost a watch with real diamonds in it. again, i don't do well with expensive things. i've never spent more than 20 dollars on a pair of sunglasses, more than 30 on a handbag and i've never spent more than 45 dollars on a pair of heels. but i've splurged on running shoes. ha. running shoes. not very glamorous at all. i'm just not a glamorous girl. i've wondered about this as of late, realizing that there are designers out there that i have no clue about, in awe of the amount of dollars that are spent on certain items.

i'm sorry i'm so simple, and didn't catch your eye. but i pray you'll take a second look and find the beauty within me. i may not have much to me, but my heart is worth a lot, and it's the most priceless thing i own that i can give you. if you say yes, please be gentle. it's actually quite fragile. i might not be with the fad, but i'll be loyal and stand the test of time.

.classic.

i called my dad's cell trying to track them down in atlantic city so i could wish my mother happy mother's day. he answered, and we had small talk. he then goes, "i had to let kay-tee go." now i have grown up in a household where english is not the first language, and so i am used to misunderstanding my parents. i thought about that sentence for a hot second, because i did not know that my dog was somehow employed by my family and was now being fired. before i had a chance to ask him to clarify that statement, he goes on to tell me that kay-tee had a tumor in her eye and she was in a lot of pain and it would be more hurtful than helpful to have it surgically removed, so when my dad let kay-tee go, he essentially had her put down. i held it together pretty well, even now, i guess i'm kind of numb. i'm more concerned about my sister, who was the real owner. next to my dad, they were the closest. it wasn't exactly what i was expecting when i went to wish mother happy day, but i'm not surprised either. it's never typical.

so finally estelle got on the phone and we were fine until she wanted to put her family friend sally on the phone. not that i have anything against this lady, but why should i wish her happy mother's day when she was never a mother, and more importantly, she can't hear for ish.

m: you want to talk to sally?
s: no.
m: why not?
s: i have nothing to say her. why do i have to talk to her?
m: just say hi to her. so you don't want to talk to sally?
s: no.
m: sally's here, why don't you talk her.
s: ::in my mind:: what part of no do you not understand? :::reality::: FINE. put her on the phone.
m: ::puts me on hold:: sally, stacy wants to talk to you.

what ensued was a 3 minute horrendous conversation with a lady who could not hear me. i was literally YELLING into the phone with her still going, "what was that?"

stop it.

american moms are so different from filipino moms. because most if not all my peers growing up were white, i unfortunately was exposed to different parenting types. i say unfortunately, because if i only knew there was one type of way to raise a kid, maybe i could've been more forgiving, because then i could've told myself that "that's just how it is." but no, i was exposed to a world where mothers spoil their kids rotten with kisses, time and attention. where mothers kiss boo boos instead of yelling at the hole that was torn in your jean pant leg, and read stories to their children at night and "tuck them in" which to this day, i still don't know if i fully know what that is. it is what it is. sometimes it's all about realizing at the end of the day that mothers try their best, and you still need to love them and honor them. because it's the right thing to do.

happy mother's day.

.hands.

.view from our condo balcony.

vacay was a necessity that i am glad engulfed two weeks of my life. being in key west for 5 days before going to jersey was one of the best decisions i have ever made. i really needed to unwind from finals before going back to my loved ones and balancing out a hectic schedule in order to see everyone. maybe too, just to mentally prepare myself for whatever i was going to face.

i was in the car with my mom and as i told her a story, without thinking, i put my hand on her hand. i wasn't even aware of it until she pulled her hand away. this small action broke my heart all over again. it hurt, because i had almost forgotten how uncomfortable she is with affection. it hurt because i realized how much i still want it. and it hurt because it brought back a lot of memories of growing up and not fully understanding my mother, and not accepting her for who she is. yes, i took it quite personally, even though i shouldn't have. it's "funny" how a child's heart gets so wounded all too easily, and it's "interesting" to see how it affects how a person grows and thrives in the world.

so how did i become a loving person? the odds tell me i should've either been dead, institutionalized or a drug addict. but somehow, not only am i alive, but i love. i live to love. i understand love. i am surrounded by love. i can identify love. i advocate for love. if love was on trial, i would be testify for its defense, telling the world how important it is, how it's affected others. but...as much as i love, i feel unloved. i know i am loved, but i do not feel loved. perhaps i have difficulty accepting love. maybe that will change, and it is a big prayer of mine. gotta let the love overpower the yuck. gotta let go, gotta believe, gotta trust. <3