Changes

I am now nineteen and I’ve flown around the world and done things many people only dream of. I’ve managed to make people laugh, cry, smile, and get frustrated. I myself have found myself in those situations. In the past few months I’ve done a lot of growing up, realized what pain was, and held onto those I cared about. They held me up when I needed it the most.

The past few months have been a complete struggle for me. There was no moment where I never asked myself if I should quit now and leave, go back to who I was. There were moments where I pretended I was okay but I really wasn’t. I kept telling myself that people prayed for me and knew I could do it but I kept falling down and struggled to get back up. People helped me up, but I kept getting scared and forgetting my own strength. But despite the fear I smiled and found humor in the situation.

“Mem, you are resilient and that will be your greatest ally in your life.” Says a man I truly respect on the last day I was there. The changes are now set forth, and suddenly I feel lighthearted and stronger.

In my moment of weakness I found myself. I found humor in any situation that was given to me and spread it like an infection in an environment that tended to crush souls. Humor doesn’t transfer well on paper, but, at least it sticks in memory forever.

It never mattered who I was or where I came from, what I wanted to be or what I ended up doing. I’m living, breathing and supported by friends and family.

I’m now nineteen years old, still wondering about my future but now feel secure enough to let God lead me. I have a better understanding of myself and I’m still learning. My life and possibilities now seem so endless.

Christmas

Is my favorite holiday even though Its in my least favorite season. As my sister used to say: look for the cemeteries in every big city.

In every situation theres a dark and light scene. Christmas is my light through winter.

I got a watch and two beautiful scarves. I received a lot more as well but most importantly i made two very good friends.

I havent smiled so much in a long while. The gift of giving is truly living.

Messages

“Love is just kindness with its working boots on.” –

    The House Bunny

I’ve always been a big reader with a decent memory.
When a situation comes up I’ve been able to recall a quote and instantly a smile spreads through their face like a wildfire and they blush. I wish I was able to spread my words as well and wisely as some authors. Namely Markus Zusak, who is my favorite author.

I’ve read all of his books, once, twice, three times. Hoping that every word stays with me forever and ever and ever and ever. I am jealous of him, but I am thankful for him. As “I am the Messenger” turned out to be a catalyst book for me, it’s aided me in so many projects, including fixing myself.

I am a message.

I am eighteen years old and lived a nomadic life, blessed with two strict, but loving parents, an older sister who is the exact opposite of me, two rambunctious dogs who somehow still love me and a network of friends willing to help me when I fall.

When they fall, I’ve been noticing it myself for: “it is harder to judge yourself than to judge others” (Saint Antoine d’exupery) I can recall words, create my own, and or so many other things that they can smile and laugh and suddenly feel so much better. I feel empowered with words. I feel empowered with the gift of spreading happiness and joy by just being the person God made me to be.

For once, after seeing one of my friends cry. I am thankful for being me. I am thankful for being a message in his life as he was in mine because I believe that:

“Some people are beautiful.
Not in looks.
Not in what they say.
Just in what they are.”

– Markus Zusak

Walking with mama

After a tumultuous year, I (and my mother) get to spend few solitary and peaceful moments together. It’s not that we don’t want to but our personalities clash so heavily and we aren’t very good talkers, always keeping quiet unless our honest truths come out.

Which in our conversations, happens a lot.

Yesterday, she and I walked alone for a while, got along and suddenly I realize, this is the mother I love and adore, who loves and adores me. I’ve missed so many moments of my life being torn up by her and she by me.

Throughout the human life, especially in adolescence, it’s healthy to rebel, and rebel I did. I also knew it would hurt her but at the same time, in order to preserve my sanity I did.

“Mem, how many days left?”
“86.”
“I’m going to hold onto each of those 86 days and miss you terribly when you’re gone.”
“Regardless of all the fighting?”
“You’re still my baby girl. And you bright this light into this household.”

I didn’t cry then. But I cry recalling these words to anonymously show the world how much I love my mother, and my mother loves me.

Mom, in 86 days I won’t be a child anymore. I’ll be growing up. I’ll always be your youngest and you’ll always be the mother who lay in bed for three months straight after four miscarriages trying to keep me alive in those pivotal few months and watched over helplessly as doctors kept me in an ICU for a week because they thought I was defective because I was born to older parents. You watched me grow in three different continents, always struggling to make the right friends and choices, in the end you are the reason why I made it so far without too many problems.

Closing this horribly sentimental blog post, last night I realized. No matter how hard I try, or seek. I’ll never understand a mothers love and strength until I am a mother myself.

A smoothie

I found myself walking down the street and somebody calling for me, I turn around and a man comes forward and asks me if I would like to go get a drink with him. Never before confronted with a situation such as this, I think of it as something that’s completely normal.

Apparently it’s not.

A smoothie has never tasted so good before. The mix of butterflies and strawberries just seem to make the cold night a bit warmer.

Old friends

I am looking through some friends Facebook pages. Some of them it’s been over eight years and I’m staring at the screen.

I want to say something

But ten years is forever, they’re on my friends list but we’ve never talked, I’ve always wanted to know, I’ve always wanted to be there with them

forever.

My heart breaks when I get to two friends who I was inseparable from in sixth grade. Two boys, back then I was like Arya Stark, I was a young girl, a better fighter than most boys and often questioned as one. We even had a cat episode together. I was one of the boys, and when girls would ask me out they’d protect me.

I was the first to move the next one followed a few months later.

we never got back together

There was a Skype call here and there and we tried, well, I tried. I moved to a new country and was supremely unhappy, whereas the one who stayed wanted to try, as well. The one who moved as well wanted to move on. He wanted to grow up without us. We kept somewhat a tab on each other for years. I was very close to the one who stayed growing up. He listened to me, he tried to help and when I got suspended from the school he listened and didn’t judge. He saw it as my way out of hell.

We continued correspondence and high school came along. I had never heard from the boy who moved ever again except on his birthday when Facebook would tell me where I’d grin and write him something nice and he responded to everybody but me. The other one drifted too and suddenly I became popular at my new school, in my new home home and I forgot them as well.

Soon people remembered me as the girl who hung with the boys, the straight edge who cursed like a sailor but made cookies for everyone hoping they’d feel better. The kind girl with the sharp tongue who came from everywhere and nowhere. They found me and added me on Facebook, scarcely trying to keep a friendship but discussing their private lives publicly online and realize how much they – and I – have changed.

There is no common ground anymore. The years have killed so many of my friendships and made me into a harder person, but a more realistic person. My fingers hover over the keyboard, my brain tries to think of something to write because “happy birthday” will not suffice.

I’ve tried all my life.

I close the window

And tell myself they have the means to reach me, I’m tired of trying only to be pushed away and I won’t treat them like they’ve treated me over the years.