Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Now That I'm Older

Do you remember being young and dressing up as an adult, mimicking your parents and their conversations? Do you remember being young and thinking of a number for when you'd want to be married? Do you remember being young and wondering who you'd be when you'd grown up?

24. I wanted to be married at 24. It sounded like a nice number.

I'm 25 now, and I'm not married. (And 24 still sounds like a nice number.)

I've spent the last month or two typing and backspacing and re-typing this post; I wanted to write it the right way. I'm now realizing I only want it to be right because I fear saying something "too vulnerable", "too needy", or "too bold".

Why do I fear "too"?

I am human.

I feel little and I feel a lot. I need little and I need someone a lot. I guard my heart and I open up.
I am right, I am wrong. I am vulnerable, I am needy, empty and dry and overflowing, too.
And I will write as I feel and let the "too" be whatever it may be,
because in the end, it is what makes it who I am.

I'm 25 now, and I'm not married.

And I've spent the last year asking questions.
About relationships, about marriage, about love.
Is it everything?
Is it me? Them? Necessary? Temporary?

I think it's okay to ask questions. Outside a relationship. Inside a relationship.
One of the most important things I've learned this far is that we are growing.
Each day a new day, each day a day closer to becoming whole.
And I don't believe our growth to end until we meet Him face to face (and even then).
I'm learning every day. I make mistakes, I fall and I get up, I hurt and I heal.
And somewhere in that - the core perhaps - is my longing for someone else.
I wake up to the longing of being loved.
I fall asleep to the longing of being held.
As if I was created for this.

I know that somewhere in our culture is the pressure to "find love", to "find the one" and for many, to marry. I feel it more and more growing older.
I've not been in a relationship before.
I've been asked if there is something wrong with me. I've been told I will be "rescued" soon. I've been told my "prince" will arrive shortly.
By men I don't really know. By church goers with good intentions.
I've come to realize I'm not the only one.
I've come to realize I don't have to justify.
I've come to realize this is not the end goal.
It's okay to be independent.
And that doesn't mean I want to be alone.
There is nothing wrong with me or you.
There is more to intimacy than a physical touch.
It's okay to desire it.
And it's okay not to.
It's okay to be needy.
It's okay to be in love and share about it.
And it's okay to end things when it's not right.

I'm 25 now, and I've come to realize not everything goes the way I had imagined it when I was younger.
And I kind of like it that way.
I don't always.
I get angry, I get sad, and my heart will hurt, too.
But here's the other most important thing I've learned: love is greater.
It is greater than the text I don't get back.
It is greater than my "I thought you were the one"s.
It is greater than my disappointments.
It is where I forget to look sometimes.
It is in my embrace with my dad.
In the desire to see my sister filled with joy above my own.
It is in the laughs and the tears shared between close friends.
And in the smile I exchange with a stranger.
It is in the pain I choose to share with someone else.
It is in the letting go of that someone else.
It is greater than what breaks, than what is temporary.

And it will surprise me.
Again, and again.

Whether it be in a conversation with someone I will only know for a day,
or in the one who will choose me until I pass away,
love will continue to surprise me.
And I will continue to create, to be honest and bold and grow
with You
in hope for you.

(P.S. you'll be a special one.)

Sunday, April 5, 2015

But, You.

I haven't been to church in a while. It's Easter weekend and I had almost forgotten.
I'm sitting in my room, Sufjan Stevens is singing to me new songs, and I'm holding my breath. I'm holding my breath because the words are sinking me in, and the sounds are heavy, and I feel You near. You are strong, and I don't know how and why and it's surreal.

I write to You a lot. You. My "Daddy", my comfort, the One.
Jesus.

I write You letters often. Letters of questions and doubts and fears. Open letters. Letters only You know. Sometimes, without words.
Mostly, without words.
Letters of love. Where I don't know the hows and the whys and the "what happened"s, but where I am in awe and I am quiet and I am longing. Where my heart is breaking in pieces and I can't say much, but I am in awe and You are close and it's fragile and beautiful.

I like to think You are smiling at me. I like to think You are in awe of me, too. The same way a mother looks at her child after kissing them good night.
I like to think that's the way You look at me.
I like to think that's the way You look at us.


I haven't been to church in a while. It's Easter weekend and I had almost forgotten.

But, You.
I haven't forgotten about You.
My Daddy, my comfort, the One.

Jesus.

Jesus,
the truth is,
I've heard enough sermons to know everything about You. To know how to be, to know how to pray, to know how it begins and how it will end. To know how You behave, to know how You speak and what You believe in. To know how to weep, how to break, and when to break up. I know the clothes You don't like, the relationships You approve of, and the music You listen to.
To know.

But,
love.

Love, it broke my heart.
It wrecked me, and still does.
It also healed me.
And still does.

I was told I'd know,
I was told what You looked like, I was told what it'd be like,
to be "good", to be "right".
But love,
it broke my heart.

You appeared, and I didn't recognize You.
I was supposed to know,
I was supposed to be right.
They were supposed to be right.

But, love.
It broke my heart, and everything I had known became silent.
I no longer knew.

(Jesus, I no longer know.)

I don't know how to be "good", or how to be "right". I don't think I've ever known.
I wonder if I'm doing enough, if I'm being enough. I'm trying, but should I try harder?
I'm not doing what they told me, I'm not doing what You told me, sometimes, either.
But, love it changed me. When You broke me, it changed me. When You healed me, it changed me.
The way You are close, the way You move me to hold my breath.
You are strong, and I don't know how and why and it's surreal.
And I want to chase after all of You.
All that I create and do and tell,
I want to chase after all of You.
Despite my flaws and my mess,
I want to chase after all of You,
with my flaws and my mess.

You.

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Making It Up As I Go: The Art of Creating, etc.

I've been freelancing for 3 years now, and I still don't know everything about design and business. As a matter of fact, I don't know that much and I'm probably just making it up as I go. I've made mistakes - and still do - but I think it's my best way to learn. I look back and I'm amazed by the process, by what I've accomplished so far, by the people I've connected with. And quite honestly, I can't explain it most of the time.

Something surreal happens when you combine being human and creating. It's as if for a moment, you find yourself in this place that feels perfect and whole, a place that is fully alive. It feels like the core of your being, like it had been there all along. There is purpose, and for a moment, it is the only thing that feels real. It's your very own place, a place that only you can find. And to me, that's magical.

I've been wanting to share a few of my experiences with freelancing and creating for a while now, perhaps a few tips here and there, but never really knew where to start. I don't know if I want to write a few posts about it or just one. So, I'm going to start with a few general tips/notes for anyone wanting to start or continue creating.

- If there is something you'd like to try, try it. Don't hold back because you "don't know". There is no "perfect" or "imperfect" way to create.

- Don't force something that doesn't seem to work. If something doesn't click, try something else. Use a different medium. It's okay to change your mind, even after having done something the same way for years.

- If you make a mistake, don't be quick to throw it away. Keep it, and look at it again a few days/weeks later. Sometimes, I'll hate something I made, but with fresh eyes, come to like it a week later. And in some cases, it's the "mistake" that becomes the trademark, the very thing that intrigues.

- When you find that place, so whole and alive, and you choose to act according to it, creating becomes less scary. There is a great sense of freedom. Whether it be found in words, or music, or design, etc. Comparison doesn't feel necessary anymore. The more time you spend in that place, the more courageous you become. And what you create starts to look that way, too.

- Know that what comes from the core of you is unique and important.


I hope these words can give you a little more courage to create. Feel free to e-mail me questions about freelancing, design, or creating in general, and I'll try to answer them somehow in my next (possible) post. x

Thursday, January 8, 2015

You will become.

It's 2015 and 2015 makes me nervous.
Maybe it's the number, or maybe it's the "future", or perhaps the "I'm turning 25". Maybe it's the e-mails I have to respond to or the fact that I feel comfortable enough to go on a plane alone anywhere in the world. Maybe it's the strangers becoming friends, the people I miss and will continue to miss, maybe it's the feelings, the caring that I can't let go and maybe that scares me.
Maybe it's change. And decisions. And growing up.

It was 2014 and 2014 broke me.
I lived in another city for two months, because I missed the ocean and I missed my friends. I cried out of joy, and I cried out of hurt. And then I couldn't cry anymore. I felt like a fool, but I also felt cared for. I designed a shirt for the organization I bought every shirt from during my high school years. I moved, again. I discovered L.A. streets and tacos and horchata, and got stuck in a sand storm. I wrote, recorded, and co-produced a song with my sister, and we released it as our first single. I held on tightly, and struggled to let go. I let go. I watched my best friend marry the man she loves. I reminisced our friendship that day. It was beautiful, and I was so happy for you. I held my breath. I held back tears. I let myself grow up. I felt everything that love was. Both heavy and light. I went back to the city that felt that way, too. Heavy. And light. The one that held you and watched you go, breaking my heart and healing it, too. I questioned, I looked ahead, and I looked back. I felt whole, and I felt alone. I let you in and I let you out. I feared and hoped and took courage.

2014 broke me, and I am grateful.
I let myself feel pain and joy and anger and forgiveness.
I let myself be fragile and strong. I let myself be right, and wrong.
I let myself be human.

It's 2015 and 2015 makes me nervous.
And that's okay.
I'm learning, still.

"You will become," You tell me.
"You will become."

Monday, December 22, 2014

Christmas 2014

Christmas: the season of lights, pine, and spices.

And showing off your crafts.

Although I don't have much to show off (no Christmas cards this year), I did want to make a wreath for the first time. So, I invited my friend Linzie and we adventured out to forests to get a few "props" on a Saturday morning. We gathered what we could (not many pine trees in the neighbourhood), and spent the afternoon wiring branches together. (It's tougher than it seems.)







Leftover pieces used for the wall, of course.


And the gifts.




This Christmas is a simple and quiet one for me. But I like it that way.
I hope that whatever you create and however you spend this holiday, you do it in love.

Merry Christmas from me to you x

Friday, September 19, 2014

The night, the end.

When I was very young, I used to fear the night.
Not because of the dark, but because it meant 'the end'.
It was the end of a day, the end of a conversation. The sun would leave us, and so would my parents.
I was 2, and 3, and 4.
Maybe it had to do with time, or change, or maybe it was the closing of the eyes and not knowing where that would take me. Whatever it was, it marked me. This certain fear of transition, this feeling that comes with endings and the unknown of what is coming in the morning, that stayed with me.

Years passed, and I still fought the dark.
But it was there that I found Him. In the 'in between', in the transition, in this strange battle I found myself in at the end of the day. I found Him there, sitting on my bedside.

We'd talk about the day, about my friends and school, and about my questions. We talked about change. We talked about what I wanted to become, what I was afraid of, what I was proud of.

I became fond of the night.
I still wasn't sure what would come when I'd open my eyes.
But I knew He'd be there.
I asked Him to be there.

It's September, almost Fall, and I feel this fear again. Something is ending. And something else is beginning. I have to close my eyes, without knowing what the morning looks like. It's the end of a day, of a conversation. It's the transition, the 'in between'.

And I'm reminded of the night. Something about it is necessary. Something about it is important.
It was there that I found You. It was there that I fought, but also let go.

There is something about change. There is something about 'the end'. There is something about closing your eyes and waking up again.

And so, I find You here, too.

Friday, July 25, 2014

You, too, feel it and know.

When my heart is heavy, I like to listen to songs about heart ache.

There is just something about hearing the words of another one's feelings,
the sounds of someone else's pain
that makes it feel less heavy.
Maybe it's the way that it makes me feel less alone, like we're singing this song together, like you're telling me that you, too, feel it and know. You just know.

I'm not one to write about romance very much. I can't even put it into song.
I always struggle to find the fitting words and feel like what I'm about to say has already been said.
But lately, I've been thinking a lot about people and relationships and being alone.

I had forgotten what it was like to spend time with myself. I hadn't really done it for a while, there were always distractions. But I'm learning to be okay with it - with being on my own.
There is a lot of pressure, all around. Pressure to be, to speak up, to dress up, to do and create and succeed. Pressure to heal and forget, to fall in love and get it right (every time), and to make mistakes but not the same one next time. Pressure to know without asking but "ask questions" they'd always tell me.
But, I don't know.

I don't know what it means to be in love. I don't know who we're "meant to be" or if there's anything we're supposed to be. I don't know if there is one, or two, or five. If there is one before the One. Or one after the other. I don't know when I am being selfish, or foolish, and blind. I don't know if this is all that matters, or if this is a glimpse into a bigger story, where one - the One - is who matters. I don't know if "forever" is forever and if it'll last. I don't know very much.

But I do know that love is real. I know that we are loved and when we love back, something shakes. I know that love is strong and patient and kind. I know that it's okay to be alone. I know that I grow a lot when I'm on my own. I know that people will come into my life, and I'll hold on, and then I'll have to let go. I'll pour my heart into them, and sometimes it'll break in return. But that's okay. It's okay to love whole-heartedly. And break, too. I know that now. I know that it's okay to break, because I'll heal eventually.
We all do.

There is no shame in loving with all of your heart. Because in the end, this is what marks another -
just how much you've loved them.
And I am learning to be okay with the temporary. With each 'come and go', I learn to grow. And with each fall, I realize how much I've always needed You. And how much You need me.

And this is the beauty of relationship, the "I need you" and "you need me". Not about age or place or beauty. Not about the venue or the music or the amount of words and lack of. Not about who replies back or who fell asleep, instead. But rather the way that this is in each of us; a push and pull to one another, a song that we are singing together, where you, too, feel it and know. It is the "I'll carry you" being said over and over and over again, expecting nothing in return.

So, whether I find one to hold onto, or if my heart aches and breaks and heals again; whether I am alone - or with another, I know that I am a part of a story - one that tells of longing and being longed for, of finding rest in the mysteries, and of holding on only to gracefully let go.

We hold on, only to gracefully let go.

...We hold on,
only to gracefully let go.