Silly Little Thought on Romantic Comedies

Tonight I was listening to music,doing my best pretending to be productive, and a song from one of my favorite chick flicks from my teenage/hopeless romantic phase (which I'm not completely sure I ever got over) came on. I was suddenly flooded not only with nostalgia for all those girls nights with popcorn and chocolate, but with emotions of love, excitement, longing, and completion. I was feeling everything  that song sang about and that movie brought to the screen. Only, it was better than anything that song or movie could convey...because it was real. I am in love. I feel complete and happy, and love someone with an intensity that cannot be contained in any movie or song, no matter how great. It hit me that my reality is better than any fantasy I drooled over as a teenage girl waiting for my prince charming to come. He's better than any prince charming and my life is better than a fairytale. I am in love and it is real and I no longer have to daydream about what all the love songs are talking about....because I'm living it.

The Empty Night Sky of 9/11

I was nine years old. And my memories are scattered and imprecise. But I will try to gather them and convey the way that day changed my heart and my mind.  I remember my raspberry tea getting cold because I was too busy trying to make sense of all the yelling and smoke on the TV as my mother made phone call after phone call, randomly holding me when she would pause and stare at the TV herself. I remember not understanding why everyone was driving with their headlights on as we drove an hour to my Uncle's for a birthday party, hearing only 4th of July songs on the radio. I don't remember singing happy birthday to my cousin or what we got him for his 5th birthday. But I do remember sitting in the stairwell, eavesdropping on the adults whispering, realizing they were trying to understand what was happening as much as I was. I remember getting home that night and my dad sitting my sister and me on our swing outside, pointing to the night sky and saying "tonight will be the only night you will ever look at the stars and not see a single airplane". And even though I always hated  there were always airplanes competing with shooting stars when I was trying to make a wish, the thought of no airplanes make me sad as my tired little mind tried to go to sleep that night.

I still carry that image of the empty night sky in my mind and it my heart. It reminds me of that 9 year old girl having to grow up a little bit faster than I would have liked, but learning lessons that defined how I still see the world. I learned that scary things can happen and people are capable of doing terrible and awful things that you are rarely prepared for. But I also learned how many good people are out there. And not just the good people you read about in the news that you hope to meet someday, but your neighbors and friends who  stand next to you and and gladly hold you up when life just gets too hard. I learned more about the strength and the goodness of the American people from 9/11 than I did about evil that can exist in the world. And I remember that night sky to remind myself of that strength and unity. And every time I see a blinking airplane making its way across the beautiful night sky, I take a moment and say a little prayer of gratitude for my blessings and ask to try to see a little bit more of the good in the world, because that is where the strength of any people truly lies.

So even if you currently aren't getting along with all of your neighbors because you can't agree on Obama, the debt problem, or the Syrian conflict, next time you see an airplane, be grateful for your safety, happiness, and all of the goodness around you. And I promise you, if you can't see it....you just aren't looking in the right places.

God bless America.

My Home and My suitcase

I'm visiting home right now. But I'm home only in the sense that "home" is place where I grew up or where my parents are. However, having moved around for the last three years and having grown to love and feel at home in places even after only a few days, I've decided there must be an explanation for this phenomenon: I have started carrying home in my suitcase. Somewhere among the underwear, the toiletries, and too many pairs of shoes, I packed the feeling of my own bed, my mother's warmth, my father's humor, and the tendency to be just a little more accepting and comfortable within the four walls of my own home where I'm not distracted trying to fit in or feel at home. This explains why I love Istanbul as much as Laie and how I slept just as soundly in Jerusalem as I do Oracle. And you know, I'm going to tell that to the next airline person that weighs my bag. "Of course it's over 50 pounds! Have you ever tried to take home with you from Hawaii to Arizona to Utah to Israel and back again? Of course it's heavy!" I just hope I remember to restock on some things while I actually am "home home". I can't forget mom band-aids that make any ow-ie better whether it's a scraped knee or wounded pride, or my dad's advice that always takes up a lot of room but tends to hold to answers to all of my problems, or the faith and strength found in the creaky floor boards of our trailer that are a testament of the life and love constantly happening in our home. And even though sometimes I'm not sure if I can fit it all in, I'm learning that packing "home" will always be worth the extra weight. Because then, even when I'm far away, home will never be farther than a zip and open away.

Feminine Cliches

You and I are both cliches
You with your girlish wit and obsession with everything masculine
And me
With my wounded feminist heart
distrusting every man no matter his professed honor and respect of the feminine
I can't help but get mad at you
and you can't help but feel sorry for me
You think I'm deprived
And I know your depraved
I just hope you finally learn your lesson
when your heart has been shattered
and your "girlish wit" taken advantage of
But really I don't
That would be too tragic and unfair
I just want you to stop talking
and spreading your false reality to all too eager ears
And interrupting this class I liked until you walked in
At least you're better than the men in here
hanging on your every word

I'm Caught Between Two Worlds

I'm caught between two worlds where I don't know if I'm supposed to scribble in my journal or type furiously away at my blog when I can't sleep at night. I'm caught between two worlds where my parents would disapprove of the life I'm living, but I have never been happier or more sure of my choices. I'm caught between two worlds where the people who taught me how to be compassionate no longer understand my thoughts and desires to lessen the struggles of others because they don't follow the orthodox pattern. I am caught between two worlds where I catch myself hating what my body looks like but loving to no longer obsess over what I eat and how many sit ups I do. I'm caught between two worlds where I love a man and I trust him with all that I am yet I still worry I want to marry him more than he wants to marry me. I'm caught between two worlds where I feel my "wrong" actions and thoughts and desires are an extension and improvement of my old self yet everyone says they're just young and silly and I'm sure to change once I decide to grow up and get married and finally have a child and responsibilities to tailor myself to. And I will change. I hope to. That's why I don't understand why it's bad that I'm changing now. Aren't we supposed to grow and evolve and be different rather than a copy of expectations? I guess this feeling "caught" is really just me growing up. That these feelings will just disappear the moment I turn 25 and all my neurons are in place (like my mother says) and I'll see everyone else had it right all along. Or, maybe, I'll realize that everyone has this moment where they realize their life will not be like any before it and all this dissonance  and "caughtness" will disappear. Or maybe it's just late and I can't sleep. Either way, I'm caught between two worlds. And I still feel guilty for not writing this in pen in my journal. Maybe I'm just experiencing writer's guilt for cheating on my journals with my blog. That's it. I should go scribble something in my poetry journal and maybe I'll realize my world has been around me this whole time and everyone still loves me even though I've changed. Everything feels better when it's written on paper, don't you think?