In life, there are times we come along things we hate... things we despise.
Sometimes, it gets so bad, we feel we have no choice but to hate everyone around us, including the people that actually care about us. Apparently, its human nature- taking your anger out on the innocent people who've never even gone as far as to think of you in any negative way. It's like our way of coping- our own theraphy.
Sometimes, we want to die, where we'd even go as far as to take our on life.
But sometimes, you come along things you know are not worth letting go. Things you know you've loved even before you knew how to love.
Life is a journey. It has its downs, and many more downs; but when you meet that one person, and you just know. You just know it goes back up, and you stay along for the ride.
But everything has an ending. Your stop comes along but you're somehow blinded by the 'EXIT' sign that lays in your shadow.
The sun finally sets and then you realize, that even the greatest things can fall apart.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Optimism vs. Realism
We all undergo changes- some more major than others. In my case it was retiring my optimism. Being an optimist is defined as "a person disposed to take a favorable view of things." I was always elated, for absolutely no reason at all. Being happy, for the most part is a good thing, except when your expectations are too high; you usually end up getting your heart broken because you expect too much and apparently things don't always go as you expect them to. How do you overcome this fantasy and begin to see things clearly? Experiences.
It comes from the experiences that allow us to abolish unrealistic desires that our loved ones will always be there, from one New Year's celebration to the next. They can lead to adopting a whole new persepective on life- and can also move one from laughing in a backyard to crying in a graveyard... well at least in my case.
Once I was an optimist. Growing up, I never got along with most of my family; never had that warmth and closeness to them. But there was one person who made me feel warm in the winter, and that was my grandmother. You could say she was like another mother to me, or my only mother for that matter. I mean, back then, she was the one who cooked for me, taught me how to tie my laces, and turned my frown upside down when no one else could. We were really close and she was always there for me; but then just like that, she was gone, and I was cold again. Diagnosed with cancer... passed away at fifty-six. There goes my hero.
Now I am a realist. I've rationalized that life isn't always beautiful. It is, on the contrary, filled with sin and dismay. I'm not saying that life has absolutely no color; but you do have to realize that there at times where it can be just plain, black and white. There is good and bad; love and hate. You can't go around thinking life is perfect and that all events are ordered for the best. That was me before. Before I found out she had went. I remember that night. I overheard my mother deliriously crying her eyes out to whoever was on the other side of that phone call. It was the worst feeling in the world. I felt the blushing blood that had once brought color to my face rushing down my cheeks. That night, I went to sleep pale; and with eyes that you would think belonged to a victim of insomnia.
For a while I was in denail. Thousands of people die from cancer a day; I just never thought that my grandmother would be one of them. I found myself irresistly smiling as I hugged her one second; and the next, crying my eyes out because I would never be able to do so again.
What I did learn was that in life, we have to be prepared to deal with our biggest fear- the fear of losing a loved one, because life is not indefinite. Although we may wish we could have the people we love in our lives forever, it can not be. The reality is, people are born and people die. Death is inevitable; and anyone could become acquainted with it, any time, any where.
It comes from the experiences that allow us to abolish unrealistic desires that our loved ones will always be there, from one New Year's celebration to the next. They can lead to adopting a whole new persepective on life- and can also move one from laughing in a backyard to crying in a graveyard... well at least in my case.
Once I was an optimist. Growing up, I never got along with most of my family; never had that warmth and closeness to them. But there was one person who made me feel warm in the winter, and that was my grandmother. You could say she was like another mother to me, or my only mother for that matter. I mean, back then, she was the one who cooked for me, taught me how to tie my laces, and turned my frown upside down when no one else could. We were really close and she was always there for me; but then just like that, she was gone, and I was cold again. Diagnosed with cancer... passed away at fifty-six. There goes my hero.
Now I am a realist. I've rationalized that life isn't always beautiful. It is, on the contrary, filled with sin and dismay. I'm not saying that life has absolutely no color; but you do have to realize that there at times where it can be just plain, black and white. There is good and bad; love and hate. You can't go around thinking life is perfect and that all events are ordered for the best. That was me before. Before I found out she had went. I remember that night. I overheard my mother deliriously crying her eyes out to whoever was on the other side of that phone call. It was the worst feeling in the world. I felt the blushing blood that had once brought color to my face rushing down my cheeks. That night, I went to sleep pale; and with eyes that you would think belonged to a victim of insomnia.
For a while I was in denail. Thousands of people die from cancer a day; I just never thought that my grandmother would be one of them. I found myself irresistly smiling as I hugged her one second; and the next, crying my eyes out because I would never be able to do so again.
What I did learn was that in life, we have to be prepared to deal with our biggest fear- the fear of losing a loved one, because life is not indefinite. Although we may wish we could have the people we love in our lives forever, it can not be. The reality is, people are born and people die. Death is inevitable; and anyone could become acquainted with it, any time, any where.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
NDE
NDE- Near Death Experience(s). They tend to leave you scarred for life, whether emotionally or physically. Some more traumatic than others- could be the day you fell off your bike or the day you got mugged walking down to the corner store. Mine's a little different. I was 14, going on 15... 14 and a half to be precise. I had just finished my freshman year of high school and I was going through some major depression. Just family and boyfriend issues like every other person.
So I had just completed my first year at Forest Hills High School, I hated it. I didn't like anybody there. I considered them all stuck up bitches. School filled with guys who thought they were too cool for school and slutty girls who found this attractive. Well thats what I thought. Not everyone was like that, but most were. Also, my ex boyfriend, the kid whom I thought was the love of my life, he also went there. We went to school together and came home together. During lunch, we sat together, just the two of us. We even met up in between classes when the bell rang. Well, sometimes, if he hadn't already left campus. He wasn't much into school. He cut... a lot! So besides the fact that I was anti social, my schedule sucked massive balls. I got out of school at 5:30 p.m. EVERY day! The good thing was that I got to sleep in. I wouldn't have to be in school until 11:16. The bad thing was, I felt like I literally had no life. I was in school during the middle of the day. By the time I got home, the day was over. This only made things worst. My life was school and I hated school. That's one.
So school was over, think I would of been happy right? Guess again. On the contrary, there were other plenty things that made me unhappy. During the time, things with my mother were starting to get pretty bad. She was spending all her time being attentive to my brother, Saul, the middle child. I mean like really attentive; to the point where she was just giving him whatever he wanted. When he did something wrong, anything wrong, she punished me for it. Not only took her anger out on me, but seriously punished me. No T.V., no going out. She would even kick my ex boyfriend out of the house to upset me more; and of course it did. Once, she was in such a bad mood, she yelled at me and didn't let me out the house. I asked her why, and I remember her words till this day, "Because I'm an unfair mother, that's why!" Then she picked up the phone and started calling my past lover's father. She told his father how his son was a good for nothing idiot. All this for no reason. That's two.
Three- my ex, John. Since we lived together I was used to seeing him every day. All of a sudden he became distant. Began hanging out with an old friend, lied to me about working somewhere, and some days I didn't hear from him. He began to treat me like shit and I couldn't understand why.
With so much going on in my life, my dad promised to come rescue me. I would move with him to Florida (he still lives there). I packed... I waited... he never came.
I became terribly depressed.
One night I came close to greeting death. I took 17 pills. Tynenol PM. My mom wasn't home, my ex was- same room and all. How convinient. Anyway, he forced me to call my mom and tell her what I did. We went to the hosptial, all three of us. Needles everywhere. I also had to drink charcoal. Trust me, it tastes worst than it sounds. I woke up in some weird place surrounded by people talking to themselves. You know those kind of people moving their body back and forth for no reason; others swinging a teddy bear in their arms thinking it's a real baby. Some sort of mental institution or something. I didn't even know they had one of those in Elmhurst Hosptial. But anyway, my father called and convinced them to let me go. I didn't get off the hook that easy though. Two straight years of therapy. I hated theraphy.
From there on, everyone tried to appreciate me a lot more. Two days and a half later... reality kicked in and things were back to normal.
So I had just completed my first year at Forest Hills High School, I hated it. I didn't like anybody there. I considered them all stuck up bitches. School filled with guys who thought they were too cool for school and slutty girls who found this attractive. Well thats what I thought. Not everyone was like that, but most were. Also, my ex boyfriend, the kid whom I thought was the love of my life, he also went there. We went to school together and came home together. During lunch, we sat together, just the two of us. We even met up in between classes when the bell rang. Well, sometimes, if he hadn't already left campus. He wasn't much into school. He cut... a lot! So besides the fact that I was anti social, my schedule sucked massive balls. I got out of school at 5:30 p.m. EVERY day! The good thing was that I got to sleep in. I wouldn't have to be in school until 11:16. The bad thing was, I felt like I literally had no life. I was in school during the middle of the day. By the time I got home, the day was over. This only made things worst. My life was school and I hated school. That's one.
So school was over, think I would of been happy right? Guess again. On the contrary, there were other plenty things that made me unhappy. During the time, things with my mother were starting to get pretty bad. She was spending all her time being attentive to my brother, Saul, the middle child. I mean like really attentive; to the point where she was just giving him whatever he wanted. When he did something wrong, anything wrong, she punished me for it. Not only took her anger out on me, but seriously punished me. No T.V., no going out. She would even kick my ex boyfriend out of the house to upset me more; and of course it did. Once, she was in such a bad mood, she yelled at me and didn't let me out the house. I asked her why, and I remember her words till this day, "Because I'm an unfair mother, that's why!" Then she picked up the phone and started calling my past lover's father. She told his father how his son was a good for nothing idiot. All this for no reason. That's two.
Three- my ex, John. Since we lived together I was used to seeing him every day. All of a sudden he became distant. Began hanging out with an old friend, lied to me about working somewhere, and some days I didn't hear from him. He began to treat me like shit and I couldn't understand why.
With so much going on in my life, my dad promised to come rescue me. I would move with him to Florida (he still lives there). I packed... I waited... he never came.
I became terribly depressed.
One night I came close to greeting death. I took 17 pills. Tynenol PM. My mom wasn't home, my ex was- same room and all. How convinient. Anyway, he forced me to call my mom and tell her what I did. We went to the hosptial, all three of us. Needles everywhere. I also had to drink charcoal. Trust me, it tastes worst than it sounds. I woke up in some weird place surrounded by people talking to themselves. You know those kind of people moving their body back and forth for no reason; others swinging a teddy bear in their arms thinking it's a real baby. Some sort of mental institution or something. I didn't even know they had one of those in Elmhurst Hosptial. But anyway, my father called and convinced them to let me go. I didn't get off the hook that easy though. Two straight years of therapy. I hated theraphy.
From there on, everyone tried to appreciate me a lot more. Two days and a half later... reality kicked in and things were back to normal.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
EX-TACEY
Love... a word that the human dictionary cannot seem to fully define. Some may say you're in love when you care about someone, when you can't stop thinking about them, or when you feel this strong bond to another individual which you've never felt before. Im no genius but I highly doubt that these three things are what define "true love."
Your true love is a lifelong soulmate which you are destined to meet somewhere in your life. If we're destined to have only one soulmate, what are our other loves considered? Were we not really in love; and when do we know if we are truly in love?
I once thought I found my true love. I was 12. Hey, give me some credit- I was 2 months away from being 13. Anyway, the kid was 15 and his name was John. It was perfect. We fell in love during a literally 8 hour long conversation on the phone, my mother instantly loved him... and so did the rest of my family. John ended up becoming much more than a boyfriend, he was a best friend. We shared a friendship where not being with each other became unbearable. Honestly, I thought I'd marry the guy... and so did the rest of the world. We ended up dating for almost four whole years and we lived together for about three of them. Well, he lived with us. "Us" meaning my mother and two younger brothers. Yes, she allowed it. Besides the fact that she loved him like if he were her own son, there were some other reasons he had to live with us which I won't get in to.
John and I were perfect, or so people thought; and so did I at one point. We played sports together, we played video games together, watched movies. Basically, we did EVERYTHING together; and I'm not over exxagerating when I say "everything". He was a drug which I instantly become addicted to. He was Ecstasy. He brought me short tem effects of energy, happiness, self-confidence, and pleasure; but in the long run, he brought me pain and dismay- he corrupted my world.
Why bring my ex up when I happen to already be dating another guy? Seeing him today by the mall made me think; and I think a lot- or so my current boyfriend says. Him and I tried to be friends after the break up. Of course, that rarely turns out to be a good thing. I recently ended all contact with him, it was for the best. Trust me. The guy's almost 21 with the mentality of the 15 year old I met. He can't seem to leave me alone. I mean, people break up all the time. Some people don't talk afterward, some people move on. In John's case, he seems to try to make me feel bad about the person I am or the person I'm with. This is the reason we didn't work out. You think after a break up, I wouldn't have to deal with all these things. But anyway, just think... all that time wasted with what I thought was "true love." I don't know if such a thing exists but I do know that you should never revolve your whole life around a guy, because you never know how long it'll be before hes no longer in your life. Sometimes you give and you give; if you're not getting anyting in return, I advise, ditch the bastard now; no matter how much you "love" him.
When it comes to matters of the heart, I've learned one thing:
live above the influence.
Your true love is a lifelong soulmate which you are destined to meet somewhere in your life. If we're destined to have only one soulmate, what are our other loves considered? Were we not really in love; and when do we know if we are truly in love?
I once thought I found my true love. I was 12. Hey, give me some credit- I was 2 months away from being 13. Anyway, the kid was 15 and his name was John. It was perfect. We fell in love during a literally 8 hour long conversation on the phone, my mother instantly loved him... and so did the rest of my family. John ended up becoming much more than a boyfriend, he was a best friend. We shared a friendship where not being with each other became unbearable. Honestly, I thought I'd marry the guy... and so did the rest of the world. We ended up dating for almost four whole years and we lived together for about three of them. Well, he lived with us. "Us" meaning my mother and two younger brothers. Yes, she allowed it. Besides the fact that she loved him like if he were her own son, there were some other reasons he had to live with us which I won't get in to.
John and I were perfect, or so people thought; and so did I at one point. We played sports together, we played video games together, watched movies. Basically, we did EVERYTHING together; and I'm not over exxagerating when I say "everything". He was a drug which I instantly become addicted to. He was Ecstasy. He brought me short tem effects of energy, happiness, self-confidence, and pleasure; but in the long run, he brought me pain and dismay- he corrupted my world.
Why bring my ex up when I happen to already be dating another guy? Seeing him today by the mall made me think; and I think a lot- or so my current boyfriend says. Him and I tried to be friends after the break up. Of course, that rarely turns out to be a good thing. I recently ended all contact with him, it was for the best. Trust me. The guy's almost 21 with the mentality of the 15 year old I met. He can't seem to leave me alone. I mean, people break up all the time. Some people don't talk afterward, some people move on. In John's case, he seems to try to make me feel bad about the person I am or the person I'm with. This is the reason we didn't work out. You think after a break up, I wouldn't have to deal with all these things. But anyway, just think... all that time wasted with what I thought was "true love." I don't know if such a thing exists but I do know that you should never revolve your whole life around a guy, because you never know how long it'll be before hes no longer in your life. Sometimes you give and you give; if you're not getting anyting in return, I advise, ditch the bastard now; no matter how much you "love" him.
When it comes to matters of the heart, I've learned one thing:
live above the influence.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
LONG TERM MEMORY
So, I was born on December 23, 1990. Being that we're in January 2009, I've lived 18 years. Eighteen years and 14 days to be exact. Anyway, "LONG TERM MEMORY." Studies prove that because of LTM there are things that us homosapiens might be able to remember for as long as a lifetime. Lets see... being that I'm only 18, some may claim that my life has only begun. Has it really? Its true I can't remember things as way back as the day my mother gave birth to me. I was born in Brooklyn Hospital. How do I know this? From my own mere memory? Not exactly. I know this because I was told so. For Christs sake, I dont think I can even remember the day I learned how to ride a bike!
Besides that.
Maybe a little cocky on my part but I would consider my memory above average. I once remember noticing someone in Queens Center Mall who I had seen before on my train ride home from the BIG city. With that said, the human brain is bound to remember things for a long time if it happens to catch your attention. Thats how it works. Thats why its so hard to repress memories of losing loved ones- the more traumatic the experience, the more likely you are to remember it for a lifetime.
Thinking back to my past, I can remember to as far back as when I was four. Four... that was the age when I was living in Dominican Republic with both my parents, and my younger brothers. My mom and my father were both on the verge of seperating. Yeah, I said "seperating." Three kids together, but never married. Anyway, we had a big house in D.R. From what I can remember, each bedroom had its own bathroom. Well, most of the bedrooms at least. We had a huge gate in the front of our house. It was so big that it took more than one person to close it. Once my brother and I were closing it when it slammed on my finger. The whole nail came off.
So yeah, I was four and I was asleep. My brother was also. The same brother who helped me remove the nail from my finger. We happened to be sleeping in the same room in our big house that morning. I dont remember if we were sleeping from the night before or if we were taking a nap that day. Thats besides the point. So my mom comes in the room... crying, yelling, screaming, running... things of that nature.
Heres my LTM: she shook my body, woke me up crying; begging for my brother and I to wake up. So we did. My mom crouches into the corner of the room right by the bed... still crying. Next thing I remember, I'm standing in front of her and so is my brother. My dad comes in the room. GUN. There goes my father, holding a gun.
Let me break it down for you. He was trying to shoot her. If it wasn't for my brother and I waking up, and standing in front of her as she crouched scared to death, she would of probably been dead right now.
I know what you're probably thinking... my dad's a crazy motherfucker! Maybe he was, no argument there. But not so much now.
Besides that.
Maybe a little cocky on my part but I would consider my memory above average. I once remember noticing someone in Queens Center Mall who I had seen before on my train ride home from the BIG city. With that said, the human brain is bound to remember things for a long time if it happens to catch your attention. Thats how it works. Thats why its so hard to repress memories of losing loved ones- the more traumatic the experience, the more likely you are to remember it for a lifetime.
Thinking back to my past, I can remember to as far back as when I was four. Four... that was the age when I was living in Dominican Republic with both my parents, and my younger brothers. My mom and my father were both on the verge of seperating. Yeah, I said "seperating." Three kids together, but never married. Anyway, we had a big house in D.R. From what I can remember, each bedroom had its own bathroom. Well, most of the bedrooms at least. We had a huge gate in the front of our house. It was so big that it took more than one person to close it. Once my brother and I were closing it when it slammed on my finger. The whole nail came off.
So yeah, I was four and I was asleep. My brother was also. The same brother who helped me remove the nail from my finger. We happened to be sleeping in the same room in our big house that morning. I dont remember if we were sleeping from the night before or if we were taking a nap that day. Thats besides the point. So my mom comes in the room... crying, yelling, screaming, running... things of that nature.
Heres my LTM: she shook my body, woke me up crying; begging for my brother and I to wake up. So we did. My mom crouches into the corner of the room right by the bed... still crying. Next thing I remember, I'm standing in front of her and so is my brother. My dad comes in the room. GUN. There goes my father, holding a gun.
Let me break it down for you. He was trying to shoot her. If it wasn't for my brother and I waking up, and standing in front of her as she crouched scared to death, she would of probably been dead right now.
I know what you're probably thinking... my dad's a crazy motherfucker! Maybe he was, no argument there. But not so much now.
Monday, January 5, 2009
CHOKE ON THIS
The Purpose:
Bore readers away with my erratic stories?
I wouldn't say "bore." I admit, I've had days where I've become a victim of unecessary and tedious repetition, so it can be pretty boring here and there; but the experiences I will share with you will leave you wanting more. As you read my stories, they will leave a remarkable impact on you; it'll be like the kind of film you'll think about for days afterward. So good, it's worth seeing again, and again... and again! In this case, reading. That's just one way of looking at it.
Of course, you might as well not care about my stories. Who I'm I- you dont even know me! You may find me boring. And finally, do you really have nothing else better to do than to be a nosey bastard and intrude in the lives of others?
If you do happen to fall under any of these categories, no life, nosey, or just a plain old bastard, then feel free to make reading my shit an obligation. Thanks and until next time.
Bore readers away with my erratic stories?
I wouldn't say "bore." I admit, I've had days where I've become a victim of unecessary and tedious repetition, so it can be pretty boring here and there; but the experiences I will share with you will leave you wanting more. As you read my stories, they will leave a remarkable impact on you; it'll be like the kind of film you'll think about for days afterward. So good, it's worth seeing again, and again... and again! In this case, reading. That's just one way of looking at it.
Of course, you might as well not care about my stories. Who I'm I- you dont even know me! You may find me boring. And finally, do you really have nothing else better to do than to be a nosey bastard and intrude in the lives of others?
If you do happen to fall under any of these categories, no life, nosey, or just a plain old bastard, then feel free to make reading my shit an obligation. Thanks and until next time.
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