December 11, 2013

(un)Conditional Love


"I love you unconditionally", he said.


This proclamation suddenly struck me into a deep hypnosis of trying to understand what unconditional love actually means.

Parents (mothers in particular) usually convey this to their children and I'd believe it is true every time, despite the consciousness that not all mothers love their offspring equally or as profusely.

But, let's keep the focus on the bigger conventional picture: willingly going through 9 months of stretch marks and sudden cravings for a vanilla ice-cream pickle split to a vivid and unsettling event of a 7.5 lb. rug-rat plummeting out of a generally small, velvety hole.
--Yeah, I would strongly argue that with all things just considered (among an infinite list of others), an unconditional love would naturally unfold.

Now when my significant other expressed this doting proclaim to me over his selfless exchange of Clam Chowder for Lobster Bisque (as bad as he wanted to keep downing the Clam Chowder), it led us into a really compelling conversation about the extent of unconditional love and it's liability.

Unconditional love in a Generation-Y relationship doesn't live up to the value of what those words as a whole actually mean. When you tell someone you love them unconditionally, what you're actually saying is, "No matter what happens, under any and all circumstances, my love for you will thrive above all conditions."

Not to test anyone's credibility of love for one another but if love has no conditions and boundaries or limits, why would anyone ever try to do the right thing?
If I know I am loved no matter what I do, where is the actual challenge or authenticity?
This would make sense in a relation as mentioned earlier between let's say, mother and daughter; in oppose to a liaison between two unrelated people whom share an amount of endearment for one another.

Love should have many conditions, otherwise whose to say that shortcomings or affairs aren't forgivable or have any dismayed effects on a persons' "unconditional love" when it inevitably does.
Love should require both partners to be their very best at all times, bottom line.
Conditions keep love sensible and more importantly --obtainable.

I figured after having this quite heavy laundry of conversation with my guy, he would automatically doubt our entire prolonged relationship by my questioning of his unquestioning love for me.
But instead he chuckled and said,

"Ok then, I love you indefinitely."

That's more like it.


Signed, -S

(As also featured on Thought Catalog)

November 17, 2013

"I'm Happy, Right?"

It is a common belief that positive thinking and acting can lead to a happier, healthier life. Some people even believe that small gestures such as conjoining your upper teeth and lower teeth with a stretch of the cheeks can make our thoughts change. The thought behind this is that the structure and function of our brains alter, leading us to believe that we are well, happy. That sounds pretty adept and straightforward, right?

Here's a secret that's not really a secret: it's bullshit. Ok, maybe not entirely.... but mostly -- bullshit. 

Let me explain.

Remember a time in our pubescent blooming years, where our parents used to scold at us when we wouldn't smile? Even when it seemed impossible at adult gatherings where we were told to go “play with the kids” who were less than half our age. Adults would tell us to be cheery and encourage us put on a happy face, even when we didn't want to.

Now flash forward to adulthood, where we have our own rather-large but still customized collection of bills and responsibilities that no longer include just making sure the trash doesn't overload or that the dog doesn't shit it the house. We are now told to "look on the bright side, things could be much worse than they are", or to "make lemonade when life throws you lemons" -- Which is redundant all in itself because okay, I get it.
A lemon is bitter.
Life can be bitter, tarara.
But who the hell wants to juice a sour fruit when they're feeling sour themselves?

Oh and last but certainly not the least of mediocre sayings, "see glasses half full".

Yes, you guessed it. I have my doubts with this one too. Because the reality is, even if our glass was 99.9% full, we'd still be focused on that .1%. Some people would argue that is only a pessimistic view, but only a pessimist would make that kind of evaluation. To think that just by a 12 muscle facial-workout regime and controlled expressions or thoughts can render complete and total happiness is the part I referenced earlier to being bullshit.

Achieving complete happiness doesn't just come from good vibes or looking delighted. Reason being, it doesn't exist

We have moments; moments that come like wild cards, colliding through the different stages of each day. Moments of joy, love, heartache, grief, hopelessness, excitement, contentment; shuffle and cut. 

Though it is nice to think that we can change the way we feel through positive thinking, we can’t just create moments of happiness out of nowhere. We have moments because we are feeling what truly exists around us.

But our reality can hinder our ability to act the happy part.

My point is, there is more to being happy than just thinking and acting on happy thoughts. As we get older, the inevitable life experiences take place; hope declines, significant others can cheat, and friends and family members can disappoint. These painful experiences cannot be turned into happy ones solely by pretending they are.

It is in these very junctures of times, when we just want to get real, drop the theatrics and be our true, unhappy-selves.

So, who cares if you look likes crap because you feel like crap. Be sad. Be mad. Be happy.

Don't overthink it. Just be.

Signed, -S

{Edited & published on Elite Daily}

October 10, 2013

What He Taught Me About Love

I met Nikolas when I was fourteen, and soon barked up the tree of amateur love.

We loved like any other teenager would. Through hours of late night (prohibited) phone calls, little to no physical affection and a lot of gazing.

We broke up shortly after because that's just what happens. It was my call for whatever natural pubescent reasoning I might have had, and as naive as I was, his little sixteen-year-old heart tugged along with mine would never be the same again.

It was the kind of juvenile love that resonated in me but I could never explain why. 

I would repress these feelings because of how relentlessly you're told by your elders that “you're too young to know what love is” and, “don’t be foolish, you have your whole life ahead of you.

So naturally, I believed them.

After the called-for break up, we kept minimal contact and only casually saw each other maybe once or twice over a four year time span.

The summer of 2010, I ran into him unexpectedly at a nightclub (that I was definitely not old enough to be in yet) and get ready for it... fell for him.

I know what you're thinking: with all the blinding lights and boisterous music, romance was just beaming out of my ears.

Yeah, no.

When I say, "fell for him" I don't mean it in a "love at first sight" or "let's go elope, have a bunch of babies and pretend to like each other after the 1 year mark".

I mean, I actually physically fell. On my face. 

The shocking, yet comforting sight of him filled me such joy and retrospect. So, as I stood to walk towards him, preparing to cue my charm onto full-throttle, I took one too many steps - aaand was shamefully very much acquainted with the sticky, whiskey-stench floor.

He reacted right away and helped my pathetic, clumsy self up. We then, quickly inverted into a bash of laughs that is ongoing till this day.

Somehow, we still ended the night with our lips perked and pressed.

That evening marked the beginning of a prolonged relationship that has inflicted me in the most amiable yet perplexing way. 

Now forwarding through the ever-so tragic prologue and mushy details, we did fall in love (thankfully, not much actual falling this time) and at another moments notice, decided to move in together right around my eighteenth birthday.

And boy, was that an experience.

For the most part, we were a pretty regular young couple. We rarely ever argued because he was always submissive to my strong-willed personality and self-proclamation of "never, ever being wrong" -- Only until my sanity relapses and self-realization occurs.

But, when we did both mutually argue, they were never-ending and significant in weakening our epic love.

They almost always consisted of me being reluctant to live out my youth, and him struggling to keep a balance between keeping me close to his heart but being a twenty-one-year-old-ready-to-deterioate-his-liver average guy.

This might seem like a pretty cliché case in point of how most young relationships play out; where youth ultimately becomes the deal breaker. Maybe that was the case at the time, maybe it wasn't.

But, what I do know with certainty is that in the three years we had shared together, we dealt and struggled with sophisticated issues that were not fitting considering our lack of life’s lemons and maturity.

This inevitably led to a long-noted decision to part, in the hopes that we would grow as individuals first and then perhaps (eventually), evolve into one again.

We aired each other out as a year apart sped through, keeping our love at a distance and our shatterproof friendship at its thriving peak. However, when the time finally came for one of us to make the necessary step to move on, I fell short.

Letting him go was part of the plan. I was thoroughly enjoying the time I spent single; I was getting to know myself in many different elements. But, I wasn’t sure if I necessarily liked the person I had become - without him.

I was deceiving, manipulative, and well – a bitch.


And isn’t the whole point or gist of loving just instinctively being the best possible version of yourselves? You better each other with no status quo or conscious of doing so.

It just happens, the way love intends. 

So you see, what I have finally acknowledged is that they don't call it epic because it is meant to be overlooked or repressed.

No.

They call it an epic love because no matter how you try to dissect the reasoning behind why you can't be with this person, whether it be for the time being or never, no explanation or logic will let you consign to any oblivion of what is so easily embraced by your mind and more importantly, your heart

Some habits and mistakes are indeed better off dead; especially those that come with new wounds, that almost always come in the same shape and colors as old ones. However, I do believe there are some things we just need to learn over, and over, and over again.

That's the only way we can someday wisely mediate and differentiate what's really right – Or, what’s really wrong.

I can now finally and assertively determine that what he and I have is really right. 


Although our ‘happily ever after’ doesn’t fall under a cookie-cutter Walt Disney themed ending, we make do with our firm grip to hope and strong will, that our partnership will thrive above all else. After all, at the end of those emerging credits, that is what we will always truly have. 

Here’s to third time’s the charm.

Featured on Thought Catalog 

July 8, 2013

Confessions of A Hopeless Romantic: Vol. 2

1) I really do admire The Notebook or The Fault In Our Stars kind of love. As predictable and utterly cliche as this may be, it is no less true. Aside from the evident romance, the dynamics they display in these novels is what does it for me.

Where two people are so majestically inclined, they take no precaution -- Just risks. Where passion is the driving source with every single emotion they feel for one another, even resentment. The kind of adoration where you tear each others halves down into sporadic puzzle pieces so they fall and then latch accordingly -- Creating a combined effort of two people where you finally feel whole. Where even the pass of time or the absence of touch becomes irrelevant. That complex vehemence doesn't decay or falter. You feel it streaming through your veins and in the shaking of your bones.

Now Nicolas Sparks and John Green, among other best-selling authors may just know how to paint a really great analogy of travesty love -- uh duh. But this kind of love is overly exposed with such raw depth and consistency, one can argue that a love like that must exist.

I believe that it exists. I have to believe that it exists.


2) I sometimes just sit in the shower when I have something really aching at my brain. I find that the scolding hot water pouring on my skull along with the darkness that comes with the peeling of my eyes, enhances those un-gratifying thoughts to where I end up in a Wild, Wild West stand off. Just me and my bitch(ier) subconscious, in peculiar view.

Gives me no option but to face whatever it is that is causing me distress, and pop a cap or two in that fucker. Now, I might miss and it might doom me, but one of the two gets closure. Even if there ultimately is defeat. (This is a metaphor, if you hadn't caught that.)


3) Some people lack the ability to know when to fuck off. Ironically, my issue (amongst many) is knowing when to un-fuck off. I start debating when it's a good time to start talking again, without looking like I don't care enough or care too much about the situation at hand.


4) I regularly stalk your Facebook... Twitter.... and Instagram to see if you post anything relevant to me. I'm disappointed each time. Unless you reference me when you post those cryptic statuses/tweets/lyrics. Probably not.

Maybe next post...



Signed, -S

June 7, 2013

Apology Letter to Myself

I'm struggling to find the right words to somehow precisely detect how I'm feeling at this very moment. Which is news to me. That seemed to be the only thing I can do with some regard and consistency.

Some would even say I've "mastered" the ability to shed the beholding of emotion and articulate as if I've been long imprisoned by them. Ha, well....

They've got me behind bars tonight.

I've somehow been sustaining with this heavy drought pressing against my heart. Even after playing the playlist titled "mutilate" about 50 times in an interval of 2 hours, which includes artists such as The Cure, Ben Howard, & The Smiths (which all in itself, gives the title much justification) -- I'm still at a lost for words.

Even the world's most powerful, inflicting love songs aren't able to give off lee-way or some kind of direction in this whirlpool of emotion.

What do I feel..
How do I feel..
Why do I feel..

In no particular order.

But, on rewind.

I should be happy for you. I should be flippin' relieved that I too, can finally openly move on with my life without feeling guilty of doing so. I should have congratulated you sincerely and have made it meant something. My list of "should's" could go on but it would all lead to deception.

That says a lot about me, right? And if it doesn't, well let me clarify:

I'm a selfish, condescending asshole who starts kicking rocks when things take an unplanned detour in my brew of witchery.

I've gotten everything I wanted since we officially parted ways. I've been alive. I blamed you for the loss of my individuality. So, I lived. I experienced -- And then, lo and behold: there "I" was again. Grin and all. Seductive ways that make men go mad, manipulation at it's finest; a blooming rose picked right out of  Eve's garden. Irresistible. A rose, if not held with caution, would knowingly rupture solely because it was given that defense.

A rose, implanted with a fear of being alone, and doing anything to fill the emptiness that was once replenished.

I hated that person. I hate that person. Yet, here "I" am! Living and experiencing, like I told you I would. What a kick. Only to be rightfully enlightened by you today that you have  FINALLY and deservingly caught up.

Then suddenly, there it is. My dead-end. As you held my hand, looking right through me, not even having to verbalize the words "I have to let you go now",  yet I knew and understood.

I started to feel my actual self show face. The actual self I was a year ago, today. The actual self I was with you. And even that wasn't enough.

I wanted to be better.
I wanted to do better.

Because of you.

I will forever be grateful for everything we learned together. How much we grew together. How much depth we had, that anyone who knew us would willingly fall eternally lost in our world and call it home. I think of the night a year ago where we sat on the ledge right outside of my mom's house, knowing our time together was up. You asked me to put out my pinky, and with a curl & a latch: a promise. A promise so juvenile. Yet, beautiful.

"10 years".

"We only have 9 more to go", you whispered. Using the word only so adequately.

You reminded me of beauty again.

If your eyes ever happen to casually or curiously glimpse at this, it shouldn't nor will I let it change your rightful decision. You will see it through because you owe it to yourself to. I owe it to you too.

These are just scrolling words on screen, attempting to air what gives birth inside of me. And you know me, closure is my best form of an apology. Even if it is ultimately an apology to myself.

So no, I'm not physically happy for you, nor will I be anytime soon. But I know you are or will eventually feel happy, and that is genuinely all this heart that is partially yours desires.

I know you will be because you are a respectable man of commitment; to love and to life. I really hope she knows how incredible you are, in all your forms. Who am I kidding, she'd be freaking exiled if she didn''t already know that.

Even at fourteen years of age, stripped of the burdens of life and as I know now --
It is completely and entirely impossible not to love you. Please, don't ever forget that.

Okay. I think I'm ready now.

Let go.

Signed, -S

May 13, 2013

Fishing 101

I've been sitting on this black, dog-nail drenched couch just staring at my white non-contextual screen, trying to tackle at least one thought from my mind and write about it. My presicion isn't doing me any justice. I would argue this is why I'm no good at fishing. My thoughts are like a school of blue-fin tuna swimming in abundance through my meninges (ironic use of blue-fin tuna, considering they are endangered) and no matter how irresistibly delicious the bait may be, those fuckers resist. They gradually get more intelligent and tactical in being able to abstain from my luring.

This takes discipline and courage; takes intergity. What most of us lack. How is it that my thoughts can hold these personifying attributes but it is rarely transcended through our very beings?

I'd like to believe I am disciplined in the most important aspects of my life, like being able to withstand the use of drugs, follow-through with my family, be conscious of my education, or resist that beloved bed of Truffle Fries with a side of garlic aioli -- I fall short more often than not when faced with this challenge, so this is a terrible example, but you get where I'm going with this.

I'd like to believe that I am courageous. I altered my life just a month ago, changing my major 2nd year in, from Biology to English, despite my overwhelming fear of failure. That's a big one. Precisely the reason why I've never entirely finished a damn thing in my life. Everything that's captured my attention along with whatever amount of motivation I had in the time being, eventually mislaid -- another one of my shortcomings (totally making my argument about being disciplined debatable, just in case you missed that).

Even though it made all the sense one can probably ever comprehend to be an English major, I was still afraid of becoming a disappointment. Even if it is a rational disappointment, which is no better. In fact, it's worse -- Because that would mean you're lacking success in the one and most likely only thing that makes you somewhat of an individual, in oppose to just sucking ass at everything in which at least you possess perseverance. 

Maybe I compensate with the ability to be overly open about my emotions and experiences. Granted, I wouldn't be 15 (questionably insane) blog posts in. But that also has it's own shortcomings. It leaves a massive gap for an audience to use their own acquired perspectives and judge because let's face it, that's what we are all so adequately best at; sometimes causing more malevolence than benevolence. Yet, whether or not I find an ease with being able to expose my emotions contextually, really doesn't matter. I am forever naturally enslaved to letting my emotions belittle my experiences (or vise-versa); witnesses or not. 

So yes, judgement is inevitable, I've grown to accept that. And yes, I am defiant and a coward. But one thing I don't have to "like to believe" or find questionable is my salvage of integrity. Despite how raw, ambiguous and dark I can be, I find it leaving less room for anyone to challenge my sincerity. If there's any righteous trait I can say I am proud of, it's my honesty. No matter the gravity of it. Which is not something most people can say, and I will be that snobby, prideful bitch to point it out because I've earned that right for myself. 



Looks like I ended up catching a few blue-fins after all, whatayaknow.



Signed, -S

March 19, 2013

In Motion

I'm starting to feel as though none of my life is real. It can't be. It's way too surreal. And that doesn't necessarily mean a good thing. In fact, that's exactly what it doesn't mean.
I hate admitting that in any exposing matter because I feel like a child. I am a child.

I have everything I need to be happy. But my core capability just doesn't live up to par.
Fantastic family.
Polished health.
Commendable morality. (For the most part)

------ Check.

 I reside in one of most beautiful cities of South Florida. I spend my days eroding in the luscious brown sand, letting the multicolored teal water grasp my soul.

Except, what is soul? What is it to have a soul? I'm starting to question whether I even possess one. This is a genuine doubt, not some cute cynic way of differing whether I'm an asshole or not. That's a given.

All jokes aside though, what is this redundant fuckery. I'm going to end up alone if I continue to do this to myself. This irregularity in satisfaction will doom me. This longing to feel pain should be sickening. Except, it isn't. I'm addicted to it. I like to feel alone. So alone that I start to hear the walls in an enclosed room whispering. So alone that while I lay in bed before I endure the sleepless night, the pictures surrounding me independently press play, and I live the memory they captured all over again.

I can repeatedly say the word as rehearsed,
Happy.
Happy.
Happy


Happy.

I feel nothing. Not a shed of brightness, no flamboyant color stream, no gleaming painted picture of the sunrise -- Nothing. Just this endless neutral sensation that is utterly suffocating. Yet, when I want to feel repression, agony, pain... it resonates so effortlessly. In an instant, I can embark on my very own Cirque du Soleil.

I begin by rupturing everything my life consists of into parts and scrutinizing all details. Whatever I don't understand or understand too much of I go over -- and over and over again -- until it becomes an analogy of Ring Around the Rosy all by my lonesome.

I then become dizzy. So dizzy it's nauseating. In which I end up resenting myself for even attempting to fathom the apprehensions of life. My life.

Expectedly thereafter, I inherently start to yearn for attention. Someone to take away this self-inflicting distress. My desire for an aid in company becomes so overwhelming that I reach out to people I hate. That artificial side of me begins to take hold, to where I end up in an inquisition of ethics:

Am I a phony?
Am I inauthentic?
Am I real?

My whole life is just a fabrication of infinite inquiries of who I am and what I want. Which as I have just made ever so clear, is in no reliable position to answer as such.

Last motion:

Will I ever be? 


Signed, -S

February 12, 2013

Treading Water

Is it really possible to be wholeheartedly in love all the time and still keep passion at bay? And I mean by both individuals. Equally squared, no balance scheme needed.

Or is there the individual who always wins, who has more control over what they feel or don't feel --- In other words, whoever likes the other person less, wins. That's what most people would deem to believe. But I would think as a whole, it's a tarnished concept.

The individual "in control" would be imprisoned by the one thing we all fear: complete and utter dullness. And the one who is genuinely invested would just continue to exclude all self dignity while making the controller their whole world, and the investor making the controller only a part of their's.

No matter how hard we try to psycho analyze it (and by 'we' I mean, 'me' because I'm the only psycho writing this shit) or perceive it, we ultimately lose. Whether we're the controller or the investor -- We lose -- Because no one ever loves the same way.

No two people can be wholeheartedly in love all. the. time. Now you can preach to me about how years ago you met your soul mate and the way you feel has not reached a level of monotony but a level of love that you can't even comprehend and I won't challenge you on that. I'd believe you. But what empowers you, doesn't necessarily mean it does the same for the other individual. Actually, it doesn't.

You have a soul mate and your soul mate has a soul mate. And there's a high probability, it's not you.

This isn't me being cynical or insensitive, it's purely anthropological insight (Note: I'm in no position to be giving such perception on human science but I'm going to do it anyway).

It doesn't mean we're all doomed to eternally question whether or not our significant other is in fact, our soulmate or our person. It just means we have different soul mates at altering times of our lives. Soul mates don't necessarily need to be a significant other or a lover. It can be a best friend, a family member or just someone you deeply connect with.

Love is a part of human nature, although some critics would argue that it's just social pressures at work. The only pressure I can imagine it causing on is our hearts; this red bean shaped, pumping blood thing placed ever-so conveniently inside our chest. Which is complicated all in itself. I mean, think about it. That shit gives us life. We can't breathe, eat, bang, drink, watch The Food Network, not a damn thing without it. And we use that very thing to love.

No wonder we're all screwed. It's being utilized for so many things. How the hell are we supposed to engage in anything "wholeheartedly" when our whole heart is being altered and divided in so many ways just to complete our every day shenanigans.

Yeah, I don't know where I'm going with this, either. All these haunting smiling bears with heart-shaped chocolate boxes are making me bitter.

Anyway, Happy Valentines Day.

As you were,

Signed, -S

January 8, 2013

Blue Night, Gone Fragile

To whom it may concern,

I want to start off by saying,  fuck you. 

Alright, now that I got that off this ever so prideful chest -- not referring to my breasts, nothing to be prideful about there -- I can now proceed to be dramatic. 

Dude, you totally broke something in this (wannabe) cold heart. What the hell am I supposed to do with all these feelings now? I can't just shun them away like I'd desire to. If it were up to me, I'd cram all these gut, wrenching makes-me-want-to-projectile-vomit critter of feelings into a shit bag, and beautifully wrap it in more shit -- Then send it to you via a donkey's asshole. 
.
..alright, I obviously haven't really put much thought into it, but definitely emphasizing on the shit, because that's how you made me feel when you decided to flee our disclosed duo. I may not have showed that I cared much about it, but c'mon! I'm a chick, an incredibly emotionally/mentally and maybe even physically looking disturbed one at that, so of course I freaking care. Even though we weren't deemed in terms of there being an official enclosure of "us", I still feel somewhat dumped and it sucks. I now know why every guy I've ever dated called me a pathological bitch for breaking things off with them, most of the time because I was indeed a pathological bitch. I may still be one, I don't know.

Point is, I'm hurt. It's a weird kind of hurt though. It's a hurt that I can bare with and almost kind of like. It only makes it's plunder either right before I'm headed to bed at night (when all my thoughts decide to organize themselves), or when a slit-wrists kinda song comes on, which seems that's all I feel like listening to. It's still not something intruding most of my time and thought process throughout the day, like I've felt in the past. Maybe it's because I'm wiser now, and a smidgen less pathetic...probably not. Whatever it is, I'm not complaining but I still hate you for it. 


If I had any sense of stability though, I'd say:

I don't blame you. It's almost like I respect you a little more, for having the courage to do it before things got even more inevitably complicated between us.

I wanted to feel fake love from you. But that's all I wanted and that's why I couldn't have it. If it had prolonged like I wanted it to, first phase would just have been a matter of who caved in first to this wannabe mystical love. Second phase, who hated the other person more for it. And third phase, well.. you saw how Sid and Nancy ended up.   

You're still a douche for waiting to have this awakening as soon as I started to develop whatever this shit is, flapping in my stomach. 

With that being said,

I love you, and go fuck yourself. 


Signed, -S