All posts tagged: write

From My Higher Self, To Me, With Love

You are exactly where you’re meant to be, right here, right now. Not in the past, not in the future… Right here, right now, in this moment. It is only this moment. Yes, you are a spiritual being in a physical body, you are capable of perceiving non-physically, but in this current reality, in this particular moment of the Eternal Moment, your soul is co-existing and co-creating with your physical form, with your body. You must accept this; it would be delusional not to! The evidence is under your nose… Indeed, your nose is a part of the evidence. Therefore, be here, right now. Learn the lessons you came here to learn. Yes, you actually did choose to be born into a Catholic family. You chose all of your circumstances, and you are continuously creating your reality. You created this moment of writing knowing that otherwise your mind would burst; you wisely gave yourself this outlet. Trust that you are exactly where you’re meant to be and that you’re living exactly what your soul needs …

A (Re)Commitment To My Self

Without actually moving an inch, I can taste the bittersweet magic of writing, of watching as the first few mischievous words fearlessly leap onto the page, not knowing where they are going, or with what purpose, but choosing to follow anyway. I can feel how it feels to get lost in the process by simply closing my eyes. I can savor that moment when I lose track of time and forget where I am, who I am, how I am, why I am; that instant when I’m simply, freely, and easily surrendering and yielding to a force and an energy so deep within myself that it is as if it were All That Is. While the words create as they please by ordering themselves however they desire, I am able to immerse mind, body, and soul into the climax-like feeling of nearing the end, and the ecstasy of knowing that, when it is finished, the masterpiece will finally reveal itself and I will inevitably fall back into the constraints of my physical world and regain …

Choosing Not To Choose

Choices. I wrote this word down after a conversation I had at Glide, the place where a few of us volunteer once a week to help serve breakfast to the homeless in the Tenderloin neighborhood in San Francisco. We were wondering if there was any way to simplify the process of serving food so that it would be easier both for the staff, as well as for the clients. While casually brainstorming ideas, Brando, the manager of the Free Daily Meals Program, made an interesting comment: those that come to Glide don’t have the privilege of making choices throughout their day. They go about their lives depending on the goodwill of others. “Most of the time, they don’t even get to choose where they go to the bathroom,” he said, and it’s true. A lot of us can walk into a Starbucks to use the restroom, but if any of the people that go to Glide try to do the same, they will be rejected 95% of the time solely based on appearance. This obviously …

On The Run: An Oregon-California Road Trip

“A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike, and all plans, safeguards, policies and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggles that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.” – John Steinbeck A friend and I spontaneously decided to visit Portland, Oregon, over Thanksgiving break because neither of us had ever been, so why not? We bought last minute tickets to fly up on Friday, and decided to drive back down that Sunday. Just like any trip, no matter how well planned, there are always things you cannot control. Although beautiful, Portland turned out to be freezing, and pretty wet: we got rain, snow, and hail. I assume all three were necessary, just for good measure. However, despite not being dressed appropriately for the cold (which goes to show that we’ve become California brats in a few short months, since we saw the 30ºF/-1ºC  forecast, looked at our winter coats, laughed, and thought “Who needs them, right?” WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. Thank God for Black Friday and 50% off at …

Your Trip, My Journey

I needed to write this before you answered me. You are sleeping right now, which gives me the perfect opportunity to finally breathe some life onto this page. We embark on a journey from the moment we are born and until the day we die. We do not choose to be thrust into this world. Some may consider this quite unfair. I, on the other hand, am glad I was not given the choice to be born, because that is one less thing off my shoulders. I may have not decided to come into the world had I known beforehand how much cruelty and destruction humans are capable of. But one thing is certain: I would have also missed out on the beautiful and miraculous possibilities of love. Therefore, since I am here anyway, I am happy with my decision to do my best to make an impact, whether it be small or large. Either one is fine by me, and both are completely out of my hands. Truly, it is better this way. Throughout …

A Big, Fresh Breath of Living

I had to battle a lot of demons in order to get the photo you see at the top of this post. Mood swings can be aggressive… Forget feeling bipolar; I was multi-polar, volatile, and explosive that day. I went for run to get it out of my system. I walked down Bush Street to Polk, where I took off all the way down to Ghirardelli square, past Fort Mason, around Chrissy Field, and onto Fort Point right next to the Golden Gate Bridge, where the only options, once I got there, were either to jump into the water or turn around and head back home. It turned out to be a 10.8 mile, 2.5 hour ordeal, with the wind beating against me. I admit to walking most of the way back after passing Fort Mason again, but I did lunge up the Taylor Street hills, in case that counts for anything. I am obsessed with the Golden Gate, which explains why I take so many pictures of it and why I always tend to …

It’s Your Turn to Fly

You’re going abroad for a year to volunteer at an orphanage in Sri Lanka and at a middle school in Bali (OK, for real though, you’ll probably be surfing half the time), so to say that I’ll be living vicariously through you is a huge understatement. We’ve already discussed how proud I am of you for having won this scholarship and for having had the courage to chase an adventure of such magnitude. What you will live, the experience you will gain, the consequences of this monstrous decision are as of yet unknown… But you had the guts to follow through with this dream anyway, and that’s what impresses me the most. I’m sure you have specific responsibilities and things to do/blog about during the next few months as per UNC’s request, but, in addition to all of those formalities, allow me to create an unofficial –yet still extremely important—list of things your big sister wants you to do, because she said so. Ready? Pay. Attention. I want you to play, and explore, and laugh until you …

write

Just Write

I wanted a tattoo really badly but, then again, I was 18, and at that age you want everything really badly. Your youth convinces you that it’s all or nothing, now or never. So, during a moment of enlightenment, I made a pact with myself: if by the time I turned 25 I still wanted the same design, I would get it done, no questions asked. My 25th birthday came and went, and so did my design idea. Looking back, I’m extremely thankful I didn’t get that tattoo. I was also quite happy –and impressed—with myself for managing to be so patient and waiting it out, slowly but surely growing out of my everything-has-to-happen-right-now-or-else immaturity. And, although I still wanted a tattoo, I firmly believed that one day I’d simply know what to get. I chose to trust that my intuition would be on point, and that’s exactly what happened. Three weeks before turning 26, it suddenly hit me: write. That was the tattoo I wanted. That was the tattoo I needed. Simple, concise, demanding. …

365 Days Later

One year ago this week, I launched my blog. One year ago this week, I convinced myself to set aside my fears, because the world wasn’t going to wait for me to get over them, and I’m happy I didn’t wait, either. One year ago this week, my hands shook as I clicked “publish” for the first time… And they still do to this day, because that’s just not something I think I’ll ever get over. It’s truly an understatement to say that I’ve been incredibly blessed throughout my life, and that includes the feedback I’ve received regarding my writing. I am constantly humbled by the kind words and the encouragement offered, even if I can’t fully stop being my own worst critic. As a writer, I can be ruthless with myself. I read and edit everything a billion times before setting it free into the world, always worried I might be misinterpreted. The latter is included in the list of fears I’ve carried with me for most of my life. I’m still working on …

One Day, You

For a writer, there’s nothing worse than choking on the very words you’ve been desperately trying to cough out, and then, at the final moment, realizing you’ve drained them of their necessary air. For a writer, there’s nothing worse than knowing you have a deep ocean inside of you, from which words struggle to swim up, and up, and up, against strong currents imposed by you and no one else, only to watch them drown before reaching the surface. For a writer, you’re quite the trained killer. Who feels it but me? Who hears it but me? Who perceives it but me? Who bears it but me? I’ve been trying to spit something out for weeks. I’ve tried both languages. I’ve listened to music to inspire my thoughts and feelings (oh, these feelings!). I’ve tried to revive memories that still sting and sizzle as they make contact with my reality… And yet… And yet. Could it be? With so much to say? Really? Is this how it has to be? Just imagine: it’s all because …