I couldn’t.

No one could ever accuse me of not being able to talk. I doubt anyone would ever describe me as quiet…but that doesn’t mean I say everything. Tonight I realized that for all my chatter and banter, there are just some things I couldn’t bring myself to say. Tonight they came and I stared at them and as much as I wanted to tell them that each of them meant the world to me, all I could come up with was “Let’s watch a movie.” And as we sat there in silence munching on the popcorn and eyes fixated on the small screen, I turned my gaze to each of them and wondered if this was the last time I would be able to call them my babies. My terrible, terrible babies; whom I love and cherish for being the light of my life.

In my ups and downs I glanced at him and his tribe and saw how fixated they were….on him. And now I wonder should I really hang on to them if at my best, all I can offer them is a movie and some popcorn…perhaps I should motion to let go. I can’t beat him ever. He has them entranced and worst still I know that if I were there I would be together with them caught in his beautifully crafted spews. What he can achieve with them is something I probably cannot hope to do. Where do I go from here? Do I give up and leave or do I stay and hope to learn? Hope to someday evolve and become something nearly as great.

of still waters and raging seas

In the waters Sir Rant-A-Lot stands reminiscing of his days to come. The Crusades are gone, the invaders no longer jostle the heart of Sir Rant-A-Lot, and the grass is just as green. Yet here stands Sir Rant-A-Lot in these still waters. How the many moons have graced Sir Rant-A-Lot’s nights, how many clinks have made their way in and out of Sir Rant-A-Lot’s satchel, how many critters have sung the songs of the glee. Perhaps it is the still water that carries away Sir Rant-A-Lot’s spirit and joy?

There is grace, there is joy, there is enough of all that that Sir Rant-A-Lot has ever needed. Is he a fool for wanting to walk away from a dream come true? Or is he a greater fool to stay in the still waters when he is courageous enough to face the stormy seas?

In the valley of the green, there are hurdles at every turn. There are lions and demons waiting at every corner, and in no manner shall Sir Rant-A-Lot be assured that his head shall remain intact at the end of the day. Oh woe is Sir Rant-A-Lot who has the growlings of an empty crevice shrieking in pain….

Of Conundrums and Cross Roads

There are always the “correct” ways of solving everything. They tell you that you should:

ü  do well in school

ü  get good grades

ü  get into a respectable university

ü  get a decent job

ü  get a car, maybe even a house

ü  get married

ü  have children

They clearly say this is the path of happiness. For a very long eternity I believed them. I trusted them for how could they be wrong?

Pause.

Who is this “they” again?

Why do they get to dictate what makes me happy? Is happiness the same for everyone? For them to say that my life is nothing but an empty shell if I choose to never get married.. for them to declare I can’t possibly have a good life with the job that I have now. Why do they get to choose when and how I will be happy?

When I was a child they promised that they made decisions for me because they were the adults and that they knew what was best. Can’t you see that I am an adult now, too? Why do you still think you still have a right over my happiness?

Look at me!! Each day I smile. A genuine, heart-felt smile. Each day. Most days I even let out a nice belly laugh. Not the kind I put up for show because it was what was “polite” to do, but real, pure, laughter. I am thankful for all that He has given me. I work hard to make a life for myself and someday for the ones I love. What else am I doing wrong?

Yo no soy un ingrata-muerta

As the green meadows grace Sir Rant-A-Lot with songs of the wild, he ponders whether it is but the potion of a witch intoxicating him into a curse of the Green Ogre. Though he is at peace and joy, he cannot help but wonder to what end lies his journey. Where he sees the pixie no longer sings, the leprechaun merely broods upon his pot without a genuine smile gracing his face, the caveman retires to his dwelling far away from Sir Rant-A-Lot; it cannot be a surprise that Sir Rant-A-Lot starts to feel used. A tool of the trade. Yet, he cannot deny his great affections to the dandelions dancing in the sun. How shall he continue his conquest? Will Sir Rant-A-Lot summon his steed and be on his way?

Here in the green meadows Sir Rant-A-Lot finds kindness, friendship, and solace. Is he thus ungrateful to be pondering such thoughts?

Proof of a weakness is a greater weakness

I know who I am. I know that I am a good person, and that I try each and every single day to become a better person than I was yesterday. I know that I am dependable; that I am capable of taking the weight of the world off of your shoulders onto mine. I know I am stubborn; so stubborn that I refuse to admit that there are times when I am the one who needs a shoulder to cry on. I know that I get flustered easily, that I need an order to everything and everything to that order in order for me to function. I know that sometimes, all of this is a lie.

There are times when I look in the mirror and I don’t like the person looking back at me. I have to pretend and dress up as another just so that the reflection I see is one that I can accept. She is the one who is weak. The one who cries herself to sleep at night because of her useless thoughts. She is the one who is feeble. She is weak. She is the one to whom the world shuns and screams “You will never be good enough!”

There are times when the many voices in my head tell me a thousand different things and I struggled to understand even one. They tell me of the many evils of the world, of the countless good I have not done, of the feelings I pushed away, of the people I have wronged and the people who I have done wring by doing right. Sometimes the only way to shut them out is to drown them with my own screams and tears. Yet I never cry. I never cry.

I wonder if after all this, do I really know who I am? Or am I a confused imp floating the space that I call my world in hopes of achieving something; and yet understanding nothing. It is said that the more you learn, the more you come to the realization of things you don’t know. And I indeed, do not know much.

-         - Rantings of the non-delusional-

Of Little Girls and Their Superheroes.

It took me a while to accept that my father wasn’t invincible. He’s not perfect, he’s not flawless, and there are times when I couldn’t depend on him.

It took me a while to accept my significant other isn’t invincible. Isn’t as solid as I thought, isn’t as strong, and can never be my ultimate protector like I’d hoped.

Today I realized another “invincible he” isn’t invincible after all.

I don’t know why there’s a need for that. I’m not perfect. I know I’m not; and despite what I feel, I know there’s no purpose or need to be. So why did it take me so long to accept each time I realized that these men aren’t as invincible as I’d hoped? Why is there a need for them to be invincible?

I’d known that there are times that they needed me, and that’s different. It’s different. Being invincible meant to me that they could do no wrong, and that whatever help they needed from me wasn’t because of a flaw in themselves; it had to be a flaw of the world.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair to them to have to live up to these expectations of them. But if I didn’t have them, my “invincibles”, how do I keep up the strength I need to be the person I am expected to be? People think I’m reliable, that they don’t need to worry about me, that I will be OK no matter what happens. That whatever tantrums I throw is temporary and will soon shush itself. How I wish to be scared, to show these people that I too break down and cry. But I don’t have the option of having a shoulder to cry on. How I wish to show that I am not OK. That there are times when I need them to look at me and say it’s safe to not be OK.

Even the strongest rock needs a place to rest.

.....moons have past, and Sir-Rant-A-Lot has been the evil-doer of neglect. He has neglected to put his thoughts to paper. ......or has he?

A fast zip forward, after the unsent letter remained unsent, Sir-Rant-A-Lot was ecstatic at the sniff of life out of the mortuary. Little did he know that his search was not yet at its end; and neither did he know that his search would end at a beautiful beginning.

Setting all reservations aside, Sir-Rant-A-Lot plowed forward and said a hello to the green. Oh what a wonderful surprise when the green hello-ed back!! How Sir-Rant-A-Lot squeaked and danced in his wretched abode, and set out for a well-deserved celebration.

So now, Sir-Rant-A-Lot has joined the Land of the Green where the elves sing with the leprechauns and ponies are of no joke. He has been at his glory, he has been at his defeat. But here, where magic is for once not a ridiculed imagination, Sir-Rant-A-Lot finds acceptance, contentment, and a pull towards greatness. Here where the Caveman sets ear upon the Valleys, the Pixie dusts her healing powers, and all the other magical creatures live together in harmony, Sir-Rant-A-Lot smiles and smiles again......