milk and honey

“i am hopelessly a lover and a dreamer,
and that will be the death of me.”
— Rupi Kaur

“don’t mistake
salt for sugar
if he wants to
be with you
he will
it’s that simple”

“you mustn’t have to
make them want you
they must want you themselves”

“the thing
worth holding on to
would not have let go”

“you treat them like they
have a heart like yours
but not everyone can be as
soft and as tender

you don’t see the
person they are
you see the person
they have the potential to be

you give and give till
they pull everything out of you
and leave you empty”

“love is not cruel
we are cruel
love is not a game
we have made a game
out of love”

“do not beg for what does not want to stay.”

“do not bother holding on to
that thing that does not want you”
— you cannot make it stay

“the next time he
points out the
hair on your legs is
growing back remind
that boy your body
is not his home
he is a guest
warn him to
never outstep
his welcome
again”

“other women’s bodies
are not our battlegrounds”

IMG_DADE3114AFF4-1

“how you love yourself is
how you teach others
to love you”

“you
are your own
soul mate”

“you have to stop
searching for why at some point
you have to leave it alone”

Advertisements

late night ramblings

“The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.”
— Isak Dinesen

I finished Into the Wild this afternoon, and I teared up a bit. I don’t know why I’ve felt so emotional lately, but it’s not completely unusual for my eyes to blur over a book. I thought this one was extremely insightful and well-written, and it has me rethinking my reading tastes: I’d like to read more travel novels and nonfiction going forward.

I really have nothing useful or important to say tonight. I was about to close my laptop after watching a few episodes of Grace and Frankie when I paused, and then reopened Safari and my Notes and decided to write. My brother John just got home from Costa Rica a few minutes ago, and aside from seeing my dog, that’s probably the most exciting thing that’s happened since I’ve been back. I’ve been spending too much time on my phone, connecting with people I met abroad who are either still traveling or who are back home, as well. I like to hear what they’re doing, and we talk about our next trips and what we want from life, how travel has changed us and when we might be able to meet up again. It feels good to stay in touch, helps me feel more grounded here, ironically. Yet I hate feeling glued to a screen, and with little else going on in the two weeks I’m home, it’s hard not to be.

Last night, I decided to take a nap around 7:50 pm. I awoke from said nap at 8:15 this morning, simultaneously confused, amused, and wondering if I could still blame jet lag. The truth is, I’m always tired. I have perpetual half moons under my eyes, dark purple circles that haven’t faded in years. I can’t even remember my face without them, or when they first appeared. If I got nine hours of sleep per night for a solid few weeks, I’d probably feel rejuvenated, but how often does that happen? Uh, never. I feel incredibly lazy, just lounging around the house and sleeping all the time, but I am exhausted. And bored. And really missing the exciting life that I’ve just left behind. It’ll be okay once I’m back at uni, I think, surrounded by friends and assignments and a little more structure (only a little, though). I just thank God I wasn’t home more than four weeks in total this summer—I think I would have gone crazy.

I’ve got something else I want to say, but don’t have the energy or brainpower to articulate it well. It involves the urge to run away, to get away, and to be alone, all at the same time. While I’m home, I dream about doing the little things, the simple ones I know will make me feel alive. Like standing out in a storm and letting the rain soak me through. Like sitting alone on the end of Davis Island late at night, contemplating life as I stare at the light-polluted starry sky. Like driving to the beach and spending a day caught up in the salt and sand, sunshine and sea. Maybe even camping there overnight. It’s funny because I don’t end up doing most of these things. Simply the thought that I can, if I truly need that escape, comforts me.

“We travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us.”

751707090435814070915

jumbled thoughts

“Summer romances end for all kinds of reasons. But when all is said and done, they have one thing in common: They are shooting stars — a spectacular moment of light in the heavens, a fleeting glimpse of eternity. And in a flash, they’re gone.”
— Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook

I suppose it’s both a curse and a blessing, to feel this much.

Another shard from my already fractured chest broke away the other day when a homeless man in Christiania, most likely a refugee from Africa, was so kind and lovely to me and my friend who were sitting on a park bench when he and his companion arrived to set up camp. They did so a ways from us, out of courtesy, and then the one in red went across the path to sit on a bench elevated on a little hill. When we got up to leave, after having been sat there chatting for quite some time, he turned to us and said in a pleading voice that shattered me, “You are leaving? We mean you no harm!” As if they were the cause of our exit. How tragic, to have no home, to sell “antiques” on the streets to make ends meet, and to constantly feel as though you are a bother. A burden. He must have had people leave because of him before, for him to have such a desperate response. Once again, I wanted to cry.

“Be glad of your human heart, Feyre. Pity those who don’t feel anything at all.”
— Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

A conversation I had yesterday:
“How do you ever get over these feelings?”
“You don’t, you just learn to live with them. There’s not much you can do but live life and see where things go. Life isn’t a fairy tale, as much as people wish to believe.”
Thank you, Andrew, for helping me to finally understand.

Also part of said conversation:
“I’m too much of a dreamer sometimes. I look at the possibilities instead of the realities.”
And they break me.
Advice to self: Stop worrying about far off possibilities that you can’t control, and focus on the little things, here and now, that you can. You’ll be much happier that way.

I just absolutely love words. Quotes, lyrics, prose and poetry… I connect with them in such a deep, intense way. It often feels as though someone else has read my mind, felt exactly what I feel, and painted those emotions with words so that I might understand myself better.

I had my fun, I played around
Without a love to tie me down
I always used to kiss and run,
I never wanted love to catch me
I thought I had a heart of stone
But now I’m in the danger zone
I can feel the heat is on,
Soon the flames are gonna catch me
— Billy Ocean, “Red Light Spells Danger”

And for one desperate moment there
He crept back in her memory
God it’s so painful
Something that’s so close
And still so far out of reach
— Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, “American Girl”

I’ve been particularly drawn to poetry lately. I find it raw and unfiltered; often straight to the point, like a knife to the heart, twisting and telling me, “ah, yes, you’ve felt that too.” The three most recent poetry books I’ve read are the princess saves herself in this one by Amanda Lovelace, The Universe of Us by Lang Leav, and Love Her Wild by Atticus. I loved all of them, and definitely recommend giving them a read. I’ve started getting the urge to highlight and mark my books, something I never used to do because I historically have been absolutely OCD about keeping my treasures in pristine condition. It’s nice to save the lines I love best, or connect to, though, and be able to flip back through books and find those passages easily. On another book-related note, I’m reading a book called Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer right now, and it’s impressively good. I don’t typically read nonfiction, or travel novels, but I think I want to pursue more of those types of books in the future, as this one is so well-written and eye-opening.

Do you ever wonder at how strange it is that we often let a number define our worth, or control how we feel about ourselves? I put on a couple of pounds while I was away this summer. That puts me right back at where I was before starting freshman year, before I lost ten pounds in a month from so much stress and anxiety. I’ve been slowly gaining it back this year, and when I got home and could finally look at myself in a mirror, I thought I looked good. With more defined womanly curves and all that jazz I’ve been genetically blessed with. But the minute I stepped on the scale, I felt like shit. Shit because the number was higher than it was when I left, higher than my mind wanted it to be. It’s literally two pounds; it shouldn’t matter. I probably look the same at 125, 128, 130. But the way I feel… It changes, sometimes drastically, with a slight tip in the scale. And it’s bullshit, because if I think I look good, and am healthy, who cares what the scale says? Why do I care? It’s not as bad as it used to be. In all honesty, I can’t imagine it ever being that bad again. But it always manages to creep back up, even when I think it’s gone, that I’ve conquered it for good.

I’ve been so down about being home, stuck in Florida for an extended amount of time after three months of movement and freedom. I miss the friends I made abroad, and the thrill I get from being out in the big wide somewhere. Seeing things, doing things, meeting amazing people. It seems so much more valuable to me than a college education. But seeing as I’m not quite willing to drop out, or take a gap semester and lose my scholarship, I’ve just booked another plane ticket instead. I’ll be traveling back to Europe from mid-December to mid-January for just over a month. And I am SO EXCITED. It’ll be hard to prioritize and balance seeing places vs. people, but I’m just happy to be getting out of the American, Floridian, privileged college bubble again. Next summer, I think I want to go to South America (maybe parts of Central America, too). And then the following summer, Asia. And maybe the summer after that, if I have the money and can get some work over there, Australia and New Zealand. And even aside from those places, there’s so. much. I. want. to. see. It’s sad to think that even if I dropped everything and traveled for my whole life, I’d never get to see it all. However, from this last trip, I’ve learned that traveling and seeing the world is probably the single-most important thing to me. I don’t want to settle down, not in my twenties. I want to live an exciting, fulfilling, and beautiful life now, rather than wait around working some boring career job and dreaming of the day I’ll do what makes me happy. There’s no time for that in this life. None at all.

“I’m not going to die,” she said. “Not till I’ve seen it.”
“Seen what?”
Her smile widened. “Everything.”
— V.E. Schwab, A Darker Shade of Magic

751707090435814070915

 

turns out 

“I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.”— Jack Kerouac, On the Road

It’s been a few hours since I wrote that last post, and it’s made a world of a difference. I wish I’d sat down a week ago to get that all off my chest, but maybe I wasn’t ready or didn’t have the time. Either way, it feels as though a weight has been lifted off me. I can now appreciate what it—and he—was without feeling sad about what they weren’t. And move forward whether something comes of it or not. Let it be, let it go, or wait and see what happens. Turns out, all I needed was to put pen to paper (or fingertips to a keyboard, in this case) in order to sort out my plethora of feelings and b r e a t h e. Journaling is a magic form of therapy, and I know when I need it. Thank God.

“She didn’t want the whole world, just somebody to share it with.”