In Favor of Bravery

Bravery felt like…

agony, for the longest time.

like a jostling of waves in a water-balloon-of-a-heart,

holding a shipwreck, exploding, contained only by the pale pink latex of its walls.

It felt like spiraling into a bad dream you choose,

on a pillow case overstuffed with doubt,

and waking up to find like a cat,

it was sitting there — on your face — every morning,

for a year.

It felt like running to the window with stubborn persistence,

to find the sun –

perpetually dressed, in a black cloak.

“It was chic,” he said. “It was magic,”

he laughed.

It felt like opening the door to find that you’re not much starter than he,

you left the house in a scratchy thick sweater,

made of butter,

in July.

It honestly felt like…

everyone in the “world” was doing the “normal” thing,

except you.

I(t) felt like, giving up, like coming up short.

It was an argument. A fight.

It felt like this, in fact — until it didn’t.

When I realized “normal” was black and white,

and I wanted to go chase the rainbow.

And then. Ha. And then…

it felt like the breaking of dawn.

Like the fullest breath I’ve ever dared to take, again and again.

Like walking to the ocean. Like taking a hike.

And then… I felt like doing it again.

diary

Jan 8, 2014 (edited)

Nothing in life is a true failure, mistake, or disappointment.

Most are just moments unfolding into moments, unfolding into moments – a kaleidoscope of sorts – a beautiful pattern that fascinates, mystifies, and bewilders the soul. In the thick of it, it doesn’t make sense and you don’t understand it, but when you look back, you will see its merits.

Adulthood

Shopping.

I went back to look again at the sheer zip-up jacket, no hood. Black with a pink and red floral pattern. It was creative, impractical, pricey. Lovely. Should I buy it? Yes. No. Yes! I’m not sure..

Cousin.

She walked over in her 10-year-old smiling self. Red purse draped around her neck, not bothering to wear it “properly” – two headbands strategically placed lopsidedly on her head, one a band of gold, another silver with metal flowers, tags sticking up like bunny ears. Her innocence casting these fashion finds in toyish gaudiness just enough to make you reflect on the important things in life – to remember seeing the world like a child. A shift in perspective.

Receipt.

The reality that we so often paint around us in adulthood is but a glittering illusion of expensive dust.

Concession.

I have no qualms with the designer of said jacket. I think it’s wonderful.

underwater

evening.

she spun herself underwater as if gravity were pulling her the other way around

as if the surface of the water were a looking glass into the sky

she touched it with her toe, walking on water, toying with the fabric of the universe

ripples like folds of blue

bubbles like the stars catching fire

swirls of purple majesty and wisps of a silver-cream

silence in slow-motion.

and then she stopped. and it was time to go.

even the darkest nights have stars

in fact, that’s when they shine even brighter

and the ones that were invisible before – this is when the world first sees them glimmer

(but don’t you know, they’ve been shining on their own all along).

we aren’t left to fend for ourselves in the dark –

each night, we are tucked in with a translucent blanket of majesty – threaded with periwinkle-navy and deep blue,

glittered with layers and layers of frosted twinkles – if your hand could reach out to touch it, you’d move the stars.

you can’t beat the air here, especially after it’s rained – dew brings you an ice-cold brew (essence of tree bark, the red kind). night mixes it with cool. nostrils try to sip in summer’s glass, but the flavor always just lingers on the tip of the tongue – taste buds singing for more.

so you lay down, cold sidewalk beneath, and dream.

and you get up – and dance with your arms held high.