Two steps forward, one step back.

It doesn't feel like it, but a lot has happened this year. I've accomplished a lot, gone through a lot, and experienced a lot.

I finally finished my studies.

I got a job.

Moved house.

Lost my job.

Went into a depressive state of unemployment.

Got another job.

Fell in love with my job.

Fell out of love with someone else.

Broke up.

Cried, suffered, felt like my world was turning upside down.

Got a job transfer.

Fell out of love with my job.

Cried, suffered, threw tantrums and wanted to throw in the towel.

Made friends.

Fell in love with my job again.

Said another goodbye.

Fell into another depression.

Went home for the holidays.

I guess all in all, this was a good and satisfying year. I’ve become a version of me that I like very much. My stresses are positive ones that push me to become a better person. I don’t feel the need to put others down in order to bring myself higher. I can give (little as it may be) back to my parents and hopefully because of that they can live a more comfortable life. I think that if little me saw what I have become, she would be very proud and look forward to becoming what I am.

When I was younger, I always had this one vision of my future. I don’t know why, but there was always this magical thing I felt about the age of 25. In my far away dreams, I would be impeccably dressed in a crisp sharp suit, decked with flawless makeup, hair in a tight French bun, and I would come home late at night, place my keys on the kitchen island, and open the fridge door. Inside, there would be a bottle of water, a half-eaten sandwich, and……that’s it. Close the fridge door, walk upstairs to a beautifully furnished master bedroom that I occupy all to myself, take a long bath and slip under the duvet…(yes, I would have a duvet), turn on the tv or read a book until I feel sleepy.

Anything missing?

Well, I don’t ever recall when I was growing up, to have the white picket fences and doting husband and seven children in my dreams. And being an only child, I had a lot of those. In some I would become a famous singer, in some I would become an animal activist, or a superhero, or a cold-hearted business woman. No white picket fences, no ankle-biters.

I guess subconsciously I “made sure” that part came true. Now all alone and with not much prospect of meeting someone new, I feel like I’m back at the drawing board. I have other dreams, and perhaps this is His way of showing me that I can make them come true. Just because I can’t make a typical you’ve-got-a-job-now-it’s-time-to-think-about-settling-down-and-getting-married future for myself doesn’t make me a failure. It just makes me different. And different people can make different happiness for themselves. Who says that the only path to happiness is by settling down? Why would they call it “settling down” if it meant eternal happiness?

There isn’t such thing as “eternal bliss”. You make your own happiness. The fairy tales tell you that after they got married they “lived happily ever after”, but anyone who’s been through it knows better. There are good days, bad days, and for some, even intolerable days. My quest is just the same as other people’s, it’s just on a different path. In fact, it’s not even different. It’s just a cultural thing…

I love who I am in 2012, and I hope 2013 will not change my mind =)

Long time no rant...

Airports have all these rules. Rules for everything…I mean, nowadays they even limit the amount of shampoo you get to bring on the flights. Shampoo!! …..and not only are they limited to a certain amount, but also they tell you that you have to put it into plastic bags and then those plastic bags go into your luggage. Oh what a joy!! So you go out looking for small bottles to tediously drip your shampoo in and God forbid you buy one of those pathetic askew bottles that don’t close properly and I’m guessing that’s why they make you put those bottles into plastic bags but then sometimes God has a sense of humor and you end up using a bag that leaks or sometimes the shampoo turns evil and finds a way to seep through the plastic and then since it’s in there with your clothes it starts sticking to your clothes and you arrive in Hawaii oh beautiful glorious Hawaii and unpack your suitcase and there it is…sticky clothes!!! And you say to yourself as you stare at your sticky clothes… “What a wonderful holiday”

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-