Begin.

Begin. Just begin.

Talk freely of wounds that lay cold beneath the callouses of your heart and the moral fibre that strings you together awkwardly.

Honestly, there’s no therapy like my own I guess. I will write to try and make sense of what is in front of me. Write to elate, write to reveal. Write to feel, to no longer conceal. Write to elate, write to relieve. Write when I contemplate, so nothing is lost to the air.

I was thinking about my family yesterday…am I myself with them? Am I completely free in their presence? Do I say what’s truly on my heart or mind? Or do I just hold back, and bottle it down? Why am I not open with them? Because they see my faults maybe. I can’t hide my iniquities from them. I am so imperfect. So imperfect that I don’t bother trying to change their perception of me because I honestly wouldn't know where to start. Actually that’s a lie. I know where to start, I just don’t want to start. Laziness, hesitating with ancient angst I guess. I think our family can only be functional if we don’t really say what’s on our mind. Because if we really said what was on each other’s minds it may be too much to take. I don’t think we can deal with each other’s true feelings. It’s always the wrong time. Everyone’s always hurting, or recovering.  We talk behind each other’s back. We restrain ourselves from each other for the fear of being misunderstood or being understood perfectly.

I suppose no one’s sane all the time. I don’t trust the mental state of the members of my family. One time they can take it, and other times they can’t. One time they’ll be willing to listen and the other times, they really don’t want to. I know my faults. I know what they could throw at me. I am too ashamed of myself to fight back to correct the truth. The truth is the truth. What’s the secret of a happy family life?

I think it starts with each of the family members being at their happiest. Finding their own happiness. It always comes back to oneself. Are you happy where you are? Are you happy with who you are? Do you believe you are doing the best you can to be the best you can be? If the answers to these are yes,  I think we would rarely have problems with each other. We would cleanse our own souls, purge ourselves. To be worthy of the unconditional love that comes with loving members of our family.

Where does selflessness come from? Maybe it comes from the confidence that you are doing all you can to make sure you are taken care of. Now you wish to change to focus from looking inside to looking outside, and nursing the rest of the world. Does selflessness come at the cost of your soul? I don’t think so. If you are doing your best to be the best you are, then you have the space to fight for someone else. Because you are equipped with an undeniable and unbreakable confidence. No one can point a finger in your direction, because you have your back covered.

I want to be strong for you. I want to feel for you. I want to give you the best parts of me. You deserve the best parts of me. We can work this out together right? Please don’t be too tired to listen. Please don’t be too hurt to go on. Tell me that I can have an honest place here.

Where do I start?

It’ll be alright in the end,

If I just

Begin.

made to love

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z6SGeaQrIU8

hey you,
help me.
peel the lethargy from my body,
reveal strips of unblemished skin
transformed under the pressure,
the heat of experience.
smooth.

you, 
wipe these wounds clean.
please.
wash them out, blow kisses with that 
soft fabric, your fingers
feel like peace to me,
my gashes are closing,
your sweet kisses
sealing them.

stroke my limbs,
ease them down,
draw their length in the pull
of your lips,
contour them
in the movement 
of your hips.

rejuvenate me.

my bones,
my bones remember now
what they're holding up
my frame is clothed,
my shoulders covered,
my legs wrapped,
my arms entangled,
in you.

with the air that
exits,
a wish escapes,
a sigh hits the roof of
my parted mouth,
eyes shut,
still awake,
to hear
to listen to the sounds
of your presence
regardless of the form it takes

i will stay awake for you.
do all or nothing for you,
healed,
i lay afresh,
i've been waiting for this.

with patience,
i've been led out of the abyss,
as you tended to me,
your sustaining touch,
holding that kiss.

invictus

mama i'll be on in 3 minutes,

i know i left the house slammin' the door,

but it's my big game,

and daddy, i know you can't stay mad at me

for doing something i love.

i got all ready to play, won't you get up to

look at me go,

red and black,

french braid in.

walking tall like

i made a personal deal

with God that day

to say that if i won

i wouldn't have to surrender to anyone.

see, we're a different kind of brave.

we know what's coming.

and yet we still behave

like we've got all these blessings

but we know all we got

is that jersey on our backs,

the wind at our heels,

the team,

the figures and the stats.

you've got 3 minutes

3 minutes to show us, kid, 

what you trained 52 weeks

and 10 days to win.

yeah the trophy looked nice,

but when when the pain kicks in,

everything else fades,

and all the panic starts to melt

the core of your fibre

as you start to repent,

as you start caving into the ground,

there's scream out your mouth,

and faster than a heartbeat,

you lost something you just 

found.

i know what it's like

and that's why i'm telling you this,

when we make the choice to play

we play to win.

so don't sit there feeling sorry for yourself,

don't do what i did,

get back out there,

get help,

get back in.

we're tough girls,

but we ain't stupid, oh no.

so sister to sister,

let me give you the respect

you deserve,

for standing up to more than

your parents, or the whole world

that asks the same question:
"why were you even playing you silly girl?"

i know what drove you,

and i'm telling you this,

when we make the choice to play

we play to win.

not to be defeated,

or consecrated,

be laughed at,

debilitated.

so you hang in there,
may your pride survive

with the humility this game

teaches us not to deny

because those 3 minutes

they missed,

was the time you owned the field,
making up for all the bruises you couldn't see

but you damn well could feel, 

the one time you proved it to yourself,

that when you made the choice to play the game,

my sister,

you made the choice to win.  
God bless you, and keep you safe.

Get well soon, Amen xx

looking back #tbt

I didn't understand why everyone was feeling so disconnected after Frosh. For me, a new time had begun, I had so much energy, I knew so many people. I was buzzing with excitement, with the need to keep up a fantastic start and continue to do more for the college I had so quickly grown to love. Being recognized, being known, and being seen meant so to someone that thought they'd just remain a someone, a melancholic face in the crowd, so far away from home. I was challenged, I was driven, and sure enough, the fall came masked in many ways.

Just when I felt I got to grips with things, or started to get a grip on getting a grip, life pulled the rug. There I went, twirling sideways, whirling all the rationality out of my decisions and like a spinning top,  I was dizzy, directionless but always in motion for some weird reason. Every atom of my body appeared to be in collision with something, constantly fighting the urge to give up, or to give in to nostalgia, to negative emotion, or to the erratic currents of thought that tried to take the best away.

I had packed away 18 years of my life into two suitcases to move into my sister's downtown apartment first semester. The second, I moved to Newmarket into my new family home where I'd be eagerly waiting for summer- my whole family would eventually be making the big move from Dubai to Canada. It seemed like change was something constant everyday. It is when I look back that I realise that everything I knew about myself had totally changed.

I lost my fear and apprehension at Frosh. I found it again soon enough when I started to really get into my studies here. The fear of making it through first year with a 3.0, getting into my subject Posts, the fear of another failed midterm. The apprehension to connect with people again was fuelled by the cold unsettlement I started feeling because I missed home. I missed the security, I missed knowing what it was like to have my best friends around. I was uncomfortable in my own skin. The house felt empty, it felt temporary.

My life had gone so far in such short time. The university helped guide and encourage my interests; singing at open mic nights and the WW art showcase, helping out with the UTSU, reading poetry and articles in various college papers, and following the debate on the survival of women's varsity rugby in UTSG to name few. Just as I started the semester, I was already running for the First-Year student director, being exposed to student politics and so many extracurriculars, juggling my studies and relationships, and I was out of breath.

I got so tired because I was actually trying to get the little things right: get to class on time, deliver on my deadlines, ask questions, keep in touch with friends from home, and hold my own above all.

If I had to say anything to my fellow first-years, it would be this: first year ran right through us leaving holes in all of us, some managed to get theirs filled, others still walk around trying to figure what the means the most, what will bridge the insatiable gap between silence and action. Do the little things, get back to the basics. Go to a poetry slam, visit the greenhouse or check Queens St. West out. Do what makes you happy because if there's anything that UofT's drilled into my brain, its that time is so totally irreplaceable and your sanity is too.

If you want to know if it ends, it doesn't.  YOU get better though. How? You have to stop, and when you do, take a breather, and look back to work backwards; its a good way to know how much time you have left and how much time you need to move forward. These next few years are all about you. Make them worth remembering. 

sushiela

I see the words appear on the lines that crease your forehead, or the space between your brows, before you even speak out. You’re aged further by the very weight of your thoughts, you turn pale at an image that rests at the back of your eyelids, places far beyond my reach.

I cannot shelter you from those demons. But I can tell you that if you ever find the courage to speak, to say what you feel, I’ll listen. I’ll listen and I won’t judge you. We are allowed be imperfect, and flawed and totally lost together. But at some point, we have to find our way back home.

I’ll take your hands, and bring them to your lips and show you how perfect they are. How wonderful they’d look if only you’d just smile. I’ll touch your hair and brush those beautiful brown locks of yours down, entangling them in my fingers, fistfuls of you. Bringing you closer to me, I take my hand and brush them over to your feet with all its ten toes; to show you that you can walk, your steps are not cursed, and you are not marred by a burden carried. You are not crazy; nothing needs to stay in your head. I will love you through the vulgarity of your thoughts, through the sting in their vulnerabilities and even through this, will I want to see your vicarious raw soul.   

Don’t be afraid to let me embrace you. You will always be free, you’ll always be you. I don’t want to change any of that. I’m here to show you that you can still love this world. There is still happiness for you here, happiness that your age cannot take away. Your wrinkled skin a testimony to the feats you have performed with honesty and sincerity. Your face doesn’t lie. I get it. You are tired.

I can’t tell you how it could have been different. But I can tell you I’m happy it was not, because if it was, we would not be here right now. So please please laugh once more for me, and let me lay you to rest. The one I am thankful for.