“Sometimes I wonder if we ever truly let anyone completely in. The desire for another human being to know you, all of you, all the pieces, even the ones you’re ashamed of — is huge. But too often, we sit down and sort through the pieces only picking out the pretty ones, leaving the ugly ones behind, not realizing that choosing not to share with someone else is like committing a crime against our very soul.” ~ Rachel Van Dyken, Toxic

I recently “met” someone on Twitter.  This person had started messaging me on Twitter a few months ago.  We had similar views on a few posts on Twitter, and after some time, we graduated to exchanging Instagram handles.  We started to exchange direct messages both on Instagram and Twitter, and for convenience, I suggested we exchange Whatsapp numbers.  We had chatted a few times on Whatsapp, and after feeling a bit more open with this person, I broke protocol and shared this site.

I suppose this person read through all my prior posts, and decided afterwards that I am just too “toxic” and too much of a “hot mess” (their words, not mine) and promptly deleted me from their Instagram, and then put up a post about staying away from “emotionally unavailable” people.

I totally respect this person’s opinion of me, however wrong I think they may be.  For one, I never pursued any type of relationship with this person.  Two, while I said that I am a “broken” person, I never said I was a “hot mess,” as they claim I did, and lastly, I am far from being “emotionally unavailable.”  My problem is that I am in fact too emotionally present, such that I am actually much too deep for anyone not strong enough to grasp my level of thought and passion.

I just wish this person had the courage to face me and tell me what they thought of me, instead of being a coward and just deleting me and leaving some cryptic post.  I wrote what I wrote in these pages – my thoughts, my words – right or wrong, and if that makes me toxic in someone’s eyes, then so be it.  I will not apologize for or change who I am.


“It would be much better if I could only stop thinking. Thoughts are the dullest things. Duller than flesh. They stretch out and there’s no end to them and they leave a funny taste in the mouth. Then there are words, inside the thoughts, unfinished words, a sketchy sentence which constantly returns … It goes, it goes … and there’s no end to it. It’s worse than the rest because I feel responsible and have complicity in it. For example, this sort of painful rumination: I exist, I am the one who keeps it up. I.” ~ Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

I have about a dozen unfinished (and unpublished) entries on here.  I sign in quite often, write a few paragraphs, but then inevitably become distracted, get called away, or otherwise become unavailable (mentally and physically) to complete my thoughts.

A few weeks ago I started to write about MJ, a friend with whom I was enamored but inexplicably never took an interest to me.  I contacted him via text message after over a decade of no contact.  He has not changed. He is still not interested in me.

Then I wrote another entry, also unfinished, about a book that I had borrowed at the library:  A Gentleman in Moscow, by Amor Towles.  I had almost finished reading it, but the book was due back at the library with no opportunity to extend the loan because another patron had already requested it.  Apparently it is a popular book, and there is no mystery why.  It is a great read that sweeps you up and back to a time of wealth and classic beauty.  Would you believe that the book is in such high demand that I am on a waiting list to borrow it again?  I might just buy the book as it is worthy of any book collection.  Plus, I am quite anxious to find out how the story ends.

I also have an enormous amount of photos to upload.  I finally sucked it up and bought a DSLR camera. Now that I have been tinkering around with it, the photos I take with my phone are no longer adequate. The difference in quality is just too apparent.

Plus, I was in Italy recently.  Venice, no less.  I took over a thousand photos from my one week holiday.  I’ll be uploading those photos from my camera soon, and hopefully will get a chance to share them here.



“When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, “Why god? Why me?” and the thundering voice of God answered, ‘There’s just something about you that pisses me off.’” ~ Stephen King, Storm of the Century: An Original Screenplay

I was in a foul mood this past weekend.  I felt angry and irritable and as though nothing was going right.  To further intensify things, I had to work this weekend, giving me little to no time to decompress.  I found myself folding laundry and doing housecleaning at 9:00 p.m. last night and I was so exhausted I wanted to cry.

Somehow my thoughts wandered to negative thoughts, and I started to think to myself, “People who say ‘God is good’ clearly have never had anything bad happen to them.”

My relationship with God has not been the best, to say the least.  I do believe in God.  I just do not believe that He is necessarily in my corner.  The last time I prayed for something, He turned around and gave my dream/wish to the other woman.  Suffice it to say, I will not be asking Him for anything anytime soon, lest He give it to someone else.

The anniversary of my sister’s death is coming up soon.  I remember clearly how I prayed so hard for her not to die.  We all know how that turned out.

Then, I prayed and pleaded with God for another baby.  I even underwent fertility treatments and spent thousands of dollars and tears, only to end up watching the other woman give birth to a beautiful baby.

I realize that I sound like a whiny and annoying woman, but sometimes, I just cannot control myself.  I feel badly though when I see someone who is homeless or who has much less than I do.  It does help put things in perspective and I am humbled and realize how foolishly ungrateful I am for the things that I do have.

But I am only human, and I have to allow myself to feel these negative thoughts, let it out, and move on.

State of the Nation

“The greatest patriotism is to tell your country when it is behaving dishonorably, foolishly, viciously.” ~ Julian Barnes, Flaubert’s Parrot

Politically, I am neither right nor left.  I do not even like the idea that government is so heavily involved in our day to day lives.  I believe that every person should be personally responsible for their own life – be self governing.

I do not believe that the government should be able to tell me what choices I have to make about my own life, such as whether I should or should not be allowed to have an abortion, or whether I am allowed to purchase guns.  The less involvement of the government, I believe, the better.

Am I happy that Trump is the President of the United States?  Absolutely not.  Am I going to riot in the streets, wreck and damage buildings, or have a meltdown because he is the president?  Absolutely not.

And it is not that I am apathetic either.  It’s just that I do not want that to be the focus of my relationships with people.  I had to distance myself from “friends” on Facebook because there was too much rhetoric coming from both sides.  My “left” friends fighting with my “right” friends – there was even one entry where I posted a picture of Melania Trump and I had commented about how classy she looked during the Inauguration and a debate ensued between the two sides of my friends.  I have been categorized and de-friended on Facebook — all because of politics.

It’s an ugly, ugly world out there, and I don’t want to be a part of it.  I want to read about the lives of my friends.  I want to see their family pictures and hear about their day.  I don’t want political news posted and re-posted.  That is not why I signed up for Facebook, and I certainly don’t want to see your profile picture changed to the Obamas or the Trumps.  I want to see you, not them.

From Lovers to Friends

“Why are old lovers able to become friends? Two reasons. They never truly loved each other, or they love each other still.” ~ Whitney Otto, How to Make an American Quilt

It was eighteen years ago when we were together.  Much has happened since then.  He is now married and has two daughters.  I have been married and divorced, and I now have a daughter.  We have seen each other several times over the course of the last eighteen years, but this past July, at our annual international tournament, was the first time that we had an opportunity to be alone and really talk to and spend time with each other.

We slipped easily into conversation, and it was as though we had never lost touch, had never been separated by time and distance, and had never broken each other’s hearts.  I realized then how I had fallen in love with him eighteen years ago.  He is funny, smart, charming, well skilled at martial arts, and there is a level of comfort that I feel with him that I do not usually have with others.  Many people have asked me how I can be so friendly with him, an ex who had lied to me the entire time we were together, and who in essence had made me an unknowing mistress.
I suppose the answer is that I really do not know how.  All I know is that in many ways, I trust him.  I know that because he has already hurt me and has tried throughout the years to undo the hurt that he caused me, I feel as though I can trust him to not do it again.  Maybe this time, there are no stakes, and I can be friends with him freely, without expectation, and without hope for anything more.  Maybe what I feel for him is what true love really means, or maybe, what he and I had eighteen years ago was not really love, but just a friendship that had been taken to a place where it should never have gone.

Sometimes Words are Useless

“Once upon a time, each of us was somebody’s kid.  Everyone had a father, even if he never provided anything more than his seed.  Everyone had a mother, even if she had to leave us on a stranger’s doorstep.  No matter how we’re eventually raised, all of our stories begin the exact same way.  They all end the same, too.” ~ Brian K. Vaughan, Saga, Volume 1

Since the apocalypse didn’t happen, G and I went to Washington Square Park and we had lunch in the West Village on Saturday.  The weather was balmy with temperatures hovering around 82F/27C.

On Sunday evening, we went to the local pizzeria and each ordered a slice to take home to eat as we watched the Miss USA Pageant.  It was really a rare event, as she and I do not watch such programs.  We usually watch the news or foreign films together, as I am not such a big fan of pageants or even talent shows, but somehow it came on the television as we were trying to find something to watch, and she decided that she wanted to have a look.
The segment that we watched highlighted the lives of some of the contestants, and in particular it featured how the fathers of the contestants played a central role in the successes of the young women.  Some of the stories were quite touching.  I turned around to look at G, and I saw that she had tears rolling down her cheeks.  I asked her what was wrong, and she answered, simply, “I wish I had a dad that loves me like these dads love their daughters.”
I was gutted.  I was unsure how to answer so I just gave her a hug.  Sometimes words are just useless and at that moment I felt that nothing I could say would ease that longing in her heart for a father who loves and cares about her.

Latest Date For Apocalypse; Food Diary

“Apocalypse is a frame of mind.” [Nicodemus] said then. “A belief. A surrender to inevitability. It is a despair for the future. It is the death of hope.” ~ Jim Butcher, Death Masks

It turns out, scholars had miscalculated the end of the world as set by the Mayan calendar.  Scholars originally calculated the end of the world to be December 21, 2012, but they did not account for leap years. And so they were off by 1, 260 days, which brings us to June 3 / June 4, 2016.
We only have one or two days left.  How will you live out the last days of your life?
If the world does end in the next few days, it has been really nice knowing you all, and I will see you all on the other side.

In other news, I started a food diary.  Well, it’s not really a diary so much as it is just an account of my daily food intake.  I started yesterday, 1 June, as a sort of mid-year goal to keep track of my eating habits.
I can say that it really makes it less fun to eat when you hold yourself accountable and have to write down everything you consume.
Hopefully, this will help me with my fitness and weight goals.

As You Are

“I envy people that know love. They have someone who takes them as they are.” ~ Jess C. Scott, The Devilin Fey 

I’ve been watching couples lately.  I watch how they interact with each other in public, and I listen to stories from friends and even strangers about their relationships.  I am curious about the mechanics of how relationships are supposed to work.  I feel as though my track record with past relationships has not been very good.  Did they all fail because of me?  Did they fail because of the men who I chose? Why have all my relationships failed?  Was I too intense?  Too clingy?  Or was I too distant and not open enough?

I try hard in any relationship in which I am involved.  With my last relationship, I tried so hard that I felt exhausted and spent at the end of it.  I try everyday, by being supportive, by listening, by rearranging my days and schedule to accommodate theirs, by taking care of them, and by being the person who I believe they want me to be.

I have spent most of my adult life being a skewed person of myself.  I have contorted myself to be someone else to make others happy, and along the way, I have forgotten who I am inside.

But the “me” inside, the “real” me, wants to come out.  It wants to be seen, to be heard, to be felt, to be needed, to be taken care of… to be loved.  When was the last time someone took care of me? When was the last time someone bent over backwards for me?  I have been so busy twisting and turning myself to take care of others, but they in turn don’t do anything to take care of me.

Every day, I see couples on the train, on the streets, in office buildings, and at grocery stores.  I see them holding hands, leaning up against each other, or even kissing.  I look at the faces of these couples, and I examine the smiles on their faces.The other night, I was at the grocery store.  I walked up on a couple arguing in the parking lot.  “You want to walk, don’t you?”  the man said to his wife.  “Ha!” she replied.  “I can’t believe you said that. You are so walking.” he said. She starts laughing. “Then you’re going to have to call my mother and tell her you made me walk home.”  They both laughed and he put his arms around her.  As I walked past them, they both smiled at me.  Here was a couple comfortable enough to fight, but yet remain loving and playful with each other.  I felt a tinge of envy.I deserve that, too.  I deserve to be loved, just as I am, and not have to work so hard at twisting myself into the person others want me to be.  Maybe if I didn’t try so hard and just be myself, it might just happen.


“Each of us must decide: Am I a fun-loving Tigger or am I a sad-sack Eeyore?  Pick a camp.” ~ Randy Pausch, The Last Lecture
Among my friends, I would say that I am the sad-sack Eeyore.  I do not mean to be, but I suppose that is just who I am.  I am not sure if I just feel things more deeply than my friends, or if they just hide it better, but many of my friends seem to skate happily through life, despite any traumas they may experience, while I seem to take to heart every little affliction that comes my way.
If something happens to me or if a thought crosses my mind, I like to examine it, process it, re-examine it, ponder about it, and then either hold onto it, or let it go.  When things happen to my friends, they may think about it for a while, but then they let go of it immediately.  They move on with unbelievable speed, and then you do not hear of it ever again.
I suppose part of the reason why I keep a journal is because it is a way for me to chronicle my life and thoughts.  I told a friend of mine once about my diary habit, and she laughed and said that she would never waste precious time thinking about any event or idea long enough to ever write about it.

Do people like her heal more quickly than people like myself who analyze everything?  I tend to think so.  She has had her fair share of disappointments in life, but she seems to take things in much better stride than I ever would.  People like her are like Tigger, fun-loving and “bouncy” while people like I am are like Eeyore, sad and ponderous.

I guess the Tiggers and Eeyores of this world need each other to balance out one another.  

Nobody Knows

“He took his pain and turned it into something beautiful. Into something that people connect to. And that’s what good music does. It speaks to you. It changes you.” ~ Hannah Harrington, Saving June

I recently lost my mobile phone and lost all my data along with it.  I was quite lax with syncing my mobile and saving my data to a “cloud.”  As such, I lost hundreds of songs that I had saved on my phone.
Thinking of songs to download and then to upload onto my phone has been quite tedious.  Rebuilding my music library has been painfully slow.  Oddly enough, as I was flipping through channels on my television, I stumbled upon a 90s music station and I sat there and listened to the songs for a good hour.
It was like having the radio on, but over the television.
Although I really consider myself an 80s music kind of girl, the 90s were also an important decade in my life.  It is the decade in which I graduated university, and it was also the decade when I first got my heart broken.  I’ve always believed that you are not fully an adult until you have had your heart split open into a million pieces.
I spent much of the 90s loving, and then pining for the one who I have come to call my Immortal Beloved.  I am over him, now, but during that phase in my life, every breath that I took, every beat of my heart, and every thought in my head was for him.
So, as I sat in my living room over the weekend, transfixed to the 90s music station, I was transported back to that sad, lost, and depressed girl crying over her first lost love.
Listening to the music, I remembered the pain that I had felt back then, and the hopelessness that ran through my veins.  I did not know then that the heart is an incredibly durable muscle and can withstand multiple wounds and even be put back together after it has been crushed.
One song that I heard on the music channel was Nobody Knows by the Tony Rich Project.  It is a song about lost love and living with the pain of that loss everyday and no one knowing about it.  This song perfectly expressed my life when my heart was first broken.