“What’s next” after the storm: a brief intro on my parents

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The beauty of our relationships not only lie in the mistakes we make but in the way we handle the endings/beginnings. At least, I think so. When I look at them I remember why I believe so much in love and life. When I look at them I am remembering what love looks like, what love is and who love is. What pushes me and is what pushes them farther away from each other. So many parts of us wither away from the lack of understanding, the lack of compassion, the lack of foundation. I’ll always be the first to say I really don’t know much about shit, but, I do know many are living their lives as fools because holding on is always easier than letting go. Because when we let go, then what? What happens next? Is there a next? It’s the unknown that we all struggle with, all of us. But what fun is living life as a fool when you could lie your burdens down and be free? There should never be expectations when it comes to human behavior. Never. I think when it comes to teaching acceptance as a virtue, keeping in mind that fucked up shit happens, and how you move forward is your graduating ceremony. Whenever I look at them I am reminded of my favorite sci-fi movie “what dreams may come”. The movie of a man that loses his kids one day and dies the next day, only to have his wife commit suicide. But he speaks/lives through her paintings. He goes from heaven (because suicides go to hell, according to this movie) to save her from an eternity of hell but she doesn’t recognize him. It’s not until he begins to lose his mind that she begins to remember him. But it’s too late, his risked paradise to be by her side because he believed they were soulmates. In the end, he wakes up back in paradise with her next to him, he was brave enough to risk it all because he believed in their love. Do you believe in soulmates? I never did until I began to really watch them, watch them grow, watch them create and save each other over and over again. All the ways they would risk paradise for each other, I watched them become. Their eyes would light up and I’ve watched her speak life into him so many times, in so many ways. The revival of his spirit. The beauty in her being. The beginning of their love is always worth writing about. Their ending has been their best performance. With every great story, even the greatest formation of well-rounded, thorough characters things happen. Love fades and changes and regresses and hurts and sometimes love does the unthinkable. My parents are a modern day tragedy. Soulmates. Two fools living in a world without each other. Whenever I look at them I am reminded why “what’s next” should be the core of my marriage&family practice, because, what is next now that the hurts there. “What’s next” is the pillar to healing. Do we live this life alone or, should we attempt to be brave one last time and ask each other “what’s next”?

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Tiny Beautiful Things

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Book recommendation: Tiny beautiful things by Cheryl Strayed.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a book open me up. I feel excited to get home, pour me a glass of wine and read this book. I’m so thankful for the recommendation; it was worth the $16 that I paid yesterday at the bookstore. There’s a giddiness sitting at the core of me and I can’t get enough of this book. That’s what good writing does to you. it opens you up. It makes you feel. Keeps the pages turning and forces the mind to start working and finding new ways to express one’s self. It’s finding a new language of love amidst beige colored pages. It is a new language every time you discover a remarkable writer, a well-defined-true-to their-craft writer. I am at work counting down the hours until I can go home and sit on the couch and read. This book is giving me something to look forward to and its teaching me. A good book leaves you walking away with new wisdom. It’s a new outlook. A new perspective on the way we view the world. Tiny beautiful things.  It’s wonderful what can be discovered in the palm of your hands, don’t you think?

The Muse.

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Artist: unknown
Model: Instagram @kaylablackmon @illbrill

There were things that needed to be done today. Right lower side of my head began throbbing at my never ending to do list this morning. Stress headaches have been a thing for me lately. A little overwhelmed with all that is going on currently with work, school and life. I get so tired at work sometimes. The only thing that lowers the anxieties of the paperwork is making sure I take a few minutes out of my day to spend time with you. My sister gave me this great idea now that I have this new office at work. No windows. Door is always locked. My silver friend I hide at the bottom of my bag. I can enjoy you just as you're enjoying yourself. I even maintain eye contact during the time we spend. Lunch breaks have become seconds of pleasure lately. They serve as reminders on my phone that I mustn't forget that I am a sexual woman who, is fully aware of herself and her body's capabilities. There's a magic to your being. It's in your ability to teach me over again. To instruct me and force me to pull myself out. You invoke that side of me. The side of me in which I am deeply consumed by. The side of me that I love and cherish, adore. It's the me that I love. The me that you acknowledge. It's in your voice. The look in your eyes. I feel sexy. I write about you so often, in short paragraphs to mimic the short burst of time I get with you now. I haven't been able to write in full depth because I need all of you to help inspire and force me to reconnect with myself. There's parts of you that I want to belong to. The physical meshes beautifully with you and I wonder what other doors could be unlocked. But, I remain at bay with certain things because, well, nobody wants to get hurt I suppose. It's hard to unsee the beauty in vulnerability the moment you tip me open, that is what is so addicting. Because the small tastes of your lips always leave me wanting more. The body never lies and I've been repeating that same sentiment for a while. I met you, well, accidentally discovered you through old post and war stories of old lovers. What an unlikely connection, don't you think? That the universe would create it so that the freedom I needed would transpire through you.

Life is at my fingertips whenever we connect.

Thai coconut milk&red curry soup. 

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If I’m not sad enough, it never taste as delicious. The amount of sadness equates to the amount of love I need to put into my soup. This recipe came from a Pinterest page about a year or so ago. I was working long hours at the hospital and not tending to myself. Working to live and living to work. The mundane routine of the psychotic in a plain world. My world had nothing. Sadness and desperation to make sure I was able to take care of the roof over my head. The world was much simpler than as opposed to now. Simpler in the sense I had nothing to motivate me to want more. I learned that self love comes in many forms. I had only focused on selfies at that time for validation from a world that could careless about my dire need for survival. Self love came to me in the form of a kitchen, where I learned how to nourish myself the right way. I learned how to tend to myself, my needs, my emotional needs. I was careful in the way I cleaned vegetables and chicken. Tenderness playing a key role in being mindful of the cleansing. No need to rush. Be thorough and be gentle.  I paid attention to the flavors against my tongue. I learned that love is created in the kitchen. And there’s nothing better than making sure you take care of love. This recipe came out perfect the first time. Coconut milk and red curry perfection. I mean, I even accidentally added in coconut cream and that mixture of sweet and spicy became everything to my tastebuds. And I learned that sometimes when you think you messed up, you find out new ways to improve yourself and your dish. The discovery in the kitchen helped better me when I lost myself on days where gray skies were never ending. Some days I just can’t manage the sadness. I cry and cry and cry some more, never able to pinpoint where all the confusion comes from. I credit my hormones most of the time. But making this soup makes me remember to center myself and put myself first. There are so many ways we continuously forget about ourselves through work, relationships and school, the back burner becomes a comfort zone and what’s comfortable is rarely ever changed. If it works, why fix it? But time is a teacher and later the body realizes everything ain’t meant to be carried. So the soup remains as a reminder for me, to take care of myself even on days when I would rather not. When I had nothing to push me forward, I learned that in the kitchen we can create magic and find something worth savoring

Why do you write? 

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I just love writing. I love to write about love making. I love to write about love. Struggles. Faith. Patience. Relationships. Affairs. Lovers. The rise and the fall of life and love. There’s so much to learn through words. Through experiences. I write to live. I write to love. I write for passion and romance. I write for him. I write for me. I write to always remember. I write to never forget. I write to document. I write to feel. I write to hurt. I just write. I just love writing. It’s everything to me. It’s an escape. It’s a fantasy. It’s realities. It’s a life outside of my own but it’s still mine. I write to make you feel. I hope I make you feel. Something. Anything. I write to reach. I write teach. I’m a writer. And I am so in love with the art of words.

Tea conversations: part 5 

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The hospital is full. As always. I’ve been to the ER 12x today and each time I was given the opportunity to thank the most high. To give him praise. To rejoice in his name. Four patients coded today. Four didn’t make it today. I was there in their moments. I was there with hands clenched and sweat dripping down my neck. I can handle a lot. I’m strong enough to rule to world. It’s just in certain moments such as these I’m reminded just how small I am in His world. I remember small arguments I let grow, the moments I could have said yes but instead I said no. Times I gave up in the dark when all I had to do was just ask for help. This hospital has matured me. Has aided in my self progression. Has given me the ability to remember to love everyone; the wrong doers and the ones who try to diminish my light, fade me out. Throughout the day I pray 3-4 times. Because I am able to leave every night to go home. To sleep. To love. To eat. Whatever the case is, I am able to go home. My tears dry and words are exchanged but I am able to go home. My patient said that to me the first year I began working here and I still remember those words… 

Written: January 16,2014

Tea conversations: part 2 

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30minute breaks never suffice for mental restoration. Working non stop, dealing with doctors and angry nurses and trying to manipulate situations between coworkers and patients is exhausting. But nonetheless every single minute is used, wisely. Thoroughly. Today has been by far a great day, never mind the fact the hair has been on fabulous but as the most high as my witness, the amount of laughter that’s been heard throughout the day is just beautiful. Voices fade off, trail off and just become nothingness but laughter stays ringing. Down the halls I hear families keeping each others spirits up and it’s sweet and pure and genuine. My god does it bring sunshine on this gray day. Languages not familiar but laughing is universal. Hands locked together, tears rolling down faces because grandpa farted as he went to reach for his teeth. Kids hiding behind curtains, mothers yelling for them to stop but they just respond with giggling. Nothing matters in these moments and nothing should. Questions turn into jokes as patients attempt to understand procedures and it feels as if things will be ok, just keep laughing. It’s 9:13pm and I’m reflecting on the events of today over some green tea and I can’t stop smiling. I attempted to explain to my coworker who is 62, about all this pressure on my vag and she replies “aye, mami hang it in the bathroom and pick it up before you go home,” I laughed so hard. She told me a patient exposed himself to her and said “mami it was huge!!”…All day, despite the drs and nurses with their attitudes, we’ve been laughing. It’s been a feel good day. An amazing day to make someone’s cheeks hurt or become sore or form abs from the life experiences you’ve learned but turned into something humours to share. Any day is a good day when you make someone laugh. I’ve learned to value just how important it is to just laugh. My patients have taught me this and life has been an awesome teacher, taking my tears of sadness and making me understand what you can’t control either laugh at it and let it go or worry yourself sick and stress…. 
It’s been a really great day.

Written: January 8, 2014