From Her Fingertips

I'm struggling to write. No, not struggling at all. I'm not writing. I'm not reading. I'm shutting out and shutting up. There are no new words, sentences or... Every thought that may start never really ends. Lots of loose ends. Mountains of obstacles. Excuses. Fear.  Lost in between the words. 

Finding the balance is sometimes hard. When I feel content I chastisize myself for not doing enough, forgetting that I am the one who makes the rules. There's this nagging feeling of needing to do more, give more, work more, live more. But truth is, I'm happy the way things are today. Not perfect, not a dream, but today was a great day.  The balance of what I think I should be doing and what feels enough. It is my life's biggest challenge. When did I start living this way? When did I become an overachiever? When did I decide that what others say is more important? Why do I have this deep need to prove myself? To whom?  This is the question.  I have found balance, still I struggle with it every day. I know I'll easily tip over, I know I'll easily loose focus. Fear sits on my shoulder. I've come too far to fall again. 

Sometimes is better to not listen to everyone else. Turn up the music and forget them.

When I need you the most you aren't there. When I don't have time for you I can't get rid of you. Is this a divine intervention or just by chance? 

Sometimes I look at the people that are in my life today and I wonder how we got here. I mean of course I know how we met, how friendships formed, how our journey together has evolved... But I still find myself surprised at times. Surprised that the ones that are still here are, surprised that some of the people in my life are so interchangeable.  I love some of my friends deeply. Some, not many, have known me for many, many years, seen all my weird stages, known me before I knew who I was. And even after all that they are still here. It's kind of amazing.  Then there are all those people that came for a short period, stayed and then moved on. The former friends who disappointed me or grew apart from me or moved away (physically or emotionally) or just disappeared in life's chaos. I rarely mourn these relationships, though I sometimes look back on them for whatever reason; to see how far I've come, to remember how hard life was, to remember how easy life was. It's amazi...

Right before I fall asleep is when I can feel the memory of his body against mine. The way his chest feels when he hugs me. He has wide shouldered and solid, still there is so much softness in his embrace.  Right before I fall asleep it's like time hasn't passed and we just embraced. I wonder if the memory of him is deep within my skin or lodged inside my mind. Either way it feels real, like it happened just now.  Can't wait for time to move fast so I can hold him again. 

I admitted today that I have been scared of him seeing my flaws, realizing how not perfect I am. For some reason I thought I had to be perfect to deserve his love. He never said so, I just decided it must be so. Not because he is perfect, just because I always have to be. So I tried to hide the flaws I have, but I'm bad at hiding stuff, another not perfect trait I own. And he saw me. Flaws and all. I don't think any man has ever paid attention to me like him, with his eyes, his ears, his nose, all his senses seem heightened. And he still wants to love me. Still wants to hold me in his arms till he grows old. Still wants to take me on, with my child and be apart of our family. Still wants to make babies and live together.  We have always traded honesty, with open palms and clear sentences. What I thought he didn't see we're the lies I told myself. But he sees everything, he hears everything and that is why I'm his. Forever. 

Miracles happen every day. I believe. 

At times it's all that keeps us from committing suicide. A person is a person through other people, isn't that how the quote goes? It is true. There is a reason why lonely people get depressed and can't find reasons to live. Though people are interchangeable at times, everyone in my past seems to have served a purpose. Some have picked me up when there was no one else to do so. Others have pulled me down because misery does love company. See, even misery needs friends. We all need friends. I'm so grateful I have friends, 

It's not that head over heels, love at first sight, movie type of love. It's the pure, calm and sweet kind of love. It's the observant and caring kind of love. It's kisses placed gently on skin. It's those first rain drops on my cheeks. It's you fingers wrapped around mine. It's that secure kind of love. That no one else needs to understand kind of love. That nostrils against skin kind of love. It's our kind. Of Love.

Love this song. In every version. Love this version of this son. This is Love.  

I can't stand to look at you because this is almost goodbye. I hate goodbyes. Does anyone really like goodbyes? My feelings are misplaced and unseen. Or maybe you do see? I can't hide my face in my palms anymore. Afraid that your touches will make me cry. You said you don't want me to cry. Would you rather see me hide? 

I got my car fixed, or so I told myself. In reality I didn't do what I knew I was supposed to, which was bring it to the mechanic and spend lots of money to get to fixed. Instead I asked someone I knew to fix it. Sure I gave him some cash in the hand praying that my car would be good enough to drive just a little while longer. Yeah it worked, it was moving all right. Moving forward. But the blinking lights were still blinking on the dashboard. Once again I took a piece of cardboard and glued it over the blinking lights. Out of sight out of mind.  But then I started driving up hill. That big hill I've been looking at for months thinking I have to conquer. If I can only conquer that hill then I know my car is fixed and I can keep on driving into the sunset. But something very expected happened when I started driving up the hill, after just a short while I found myself rolling backwards. With panic in my entire body all I could say was "Please no, please no!" I needed to...

It's such a simple word with such a profound meaning. It has grown on me. It has evolved. 

Again and again I find myself here; packing. Getting ready for the next thing, the thing I've longed for. That thing I planned months ago and couldn't wait for to arrive. But as I pack now I also plan for the next thing months from now.  Unpacking, I am almost done, as I realize that packing is about to begin again. I wonder, is this packing and unpacking really good for me? This chasing the next... Isn't that what addicts do? Chasing the next high, the next buzz, the next thing to make you feel. The next thing to numb the pain and anxiety. The next distraction.  But this was the year that it all caught up with me. Between a still partly packed bag and a new year. I came down from that high, got a real slap in the face. Still now, seven months later I am here, chasing that distraction between moving boxes and suitcases. You can run but you can't hide. But you can try. I will continue to try. 

Been walking around in circles for months now. Frustration, fear, anxiety, pain, taking turns without letting anyone else play. Decisions are the hardest. I've drowned in them, lost hope in them, felt dispair in them. You never know how hard life can be until you hit the bottom, face first.  Though I don't have all the answers, though I'm not sure of much right now. Today I found myself thinking that the decision I made means that I'm about to have my life back. My life back. I was struggling so hard to conform, to do what's right, what is expected, that I started living someone else's life. I clenched my fists, clenched my jaws, clenched my breath all in order not to feel     But in the end truth always wins. I was knocked to the ground by her, with just one slap in the face. I was dumbfounded, then furious and frustrated, but still face forward on the ground. And even when I started getting up I fell back down to my knees.  I've made a decision. I want my ...

I want to write you love letters and praising poems. Want to tell you how you make me feel using words that weren't even invented yet. I want to heal all your wounds and comfort you. I want you to hand me your secrets like they were newborn kittens; blind and without hearing, trusting me to nurture them. I want to give to you, give, give, give, everything I have and just a little more. I want you to stop being my writers block, my a world away frustration, my uncertain future and... I want you to stop repeating the mundane and start speaking of the profound. I want you to meet me half way. I want you. Why am I so scared? 

I love watching babies sleep. There's something so calm and angel like about them. I could just sit and watch forever. I still love watching my daughter sleep though it has been years since she was a baby. I also find myself staring at the man in my life when I wake up and he's still asleep. The first time we slept next to each other I was compelled to take a picture of him with my phone, I just wanted to capture that moment. To hold on to the perfectness of him asleep, but I didn't. Being in a room where someone is asleep is not being alone but being left alone. You have company, you have the even sound of breathe, you have the physical presence of someone else. Still you don't have the pressure of needing to interact or give anything of yourself. It's a perfect moment. I really savored my daughter as a baby, I spent hours just holding her, looking at her, smelling her. I hope that the next time I have a baby I'll have time to enjoy that baby just the sa...

She's a real b****! She shows up at the wrong moments, popping up her ugly head like a jack in the box. She leaves a bitter taste on my tongue and a spell of dizziness hits my head. She claims to be my friend, but I can't see how that would be possible. I don't appreciate her so called friendship or reaccuruing presence in my life. I've told her to leave, but she refuses to. And I feel stuck with her. 

Sometimes I really believe that everything was meant to be and is exactly how it's supposed to. Other times I don't believe that for a second. In all honesty don't we just tell ourselves that everything happens for a reason to comfort ourselves? Usually this sentence rolls off our tongues when things are not going as expected or as we hoped. I don't know what I believe today. There's a sense of loss and disappointment that I would like to pretend does not exist. "Everything happens for a reason" just numbs these feelings, it doesn't make them go away. Sometimes being sad needs to be ok too. 

Sometimes I'm too emotional for my own good, letting feelings rule me. Sometimes I don't listen to my intuition enough, making bad choices. It's hard to not be scared of relationships when they have hurt you so intensely in the past. Remind me that love is brave, remind me that love is kind, remind me that love did not hurt me in the past people did. My emotions need space for expression, sometimes words are not enough. 

Too tired to do. Too tired to sleep. 

When other people speak for us I always wonder why they do it? Is it because they think we cannot speak for ourselves or because they think they can speak better for us than we can? When others define me I wonder why? Do they think that I cannot think for myself? Or do they think I lack the ability of knowing who I am?

Do you think you inherit pain? That pain is passed down though your genes just like hereditary diseases? Do you think that unresolved pain gets passed on from parents to their children? I sometimes wonder why so much pain seems to have been collected inside my body when my life has been so smooth. I know some of the pain my parents have lived though. And from experience I know a parent doesn't tell their child everything, so maybe there's pain they have gone through that I know nothing about. I know they never dealt with their pain. Never resolved their pain. I sometimes wonder if I inherited their pain because I'm more equipped to deal with it. What about my daughter? Has she inherited my pain? She was conceived at a time I was going through a lot of pain in my life, has this left marks in her DNA? Will this cause her to suffer as she gets older? Will she find herself with the same kind of monstrous things to deal with which I found myself? But that doesn't seem...

She is that friend I wish I'd never met but still stay in my life. I try to avoid her, try to hide from her, try to push her out of my life, but she comes back. She always comes back. And I try to hide so that others don't see that she's still in my life. Do they see her? Her and her sister sometimes come together, the more I resist them the more powerful they become. I sometimes wonder if I'll die with them sitting on my chest. Probably. They will be holding hands, like they sometimes do and whisper to each other as I take my last breath.

I live inside a bubble, it's clear and thin. If you try to touch it you won't feel a thing. Only I can see it, know its beginning and end. Don't know where it came from, don't know when I was chosen. Still it keeps me separate from it all, as I move around in this world. It helps to shut out the noises that may weigh me down, it helps to keep out the people that I cannot find connection too. Some days it's thick, I can barely see out. Other days it's thin, I'm afraid it's gone lost. I like this bubble. I think it keeps me alive.

Like seeds planted in spring The ticking of the clock on my nightstand Bushes, sometimes trees I don't own the tools to cut down trees Maneuver around their trunks marvel at the beauty of the leaves At times I pretend that nature does not exist Seasons change again And she wins over me

It's difficult to break the patterns. The ones that have taken years of repetition without realization of their toxicity. Doing what I've always done, even though logic tells me it makes no sense. Realizing they are there does not take their power away. How do you unlearn what you don't know where you learnt it? Maybe it has always been there, a personality trait pre-programmed before birth which is impossible to get rid of.  I thought I was doing things differently, but I'm doing the same thing all over again. 

"May the space between where I am and where I want to be inspire me."  -Tracee Ellis Ross 

Have you ever seen man look at a child with love? Not just see the child, but really see him or her. Even the biggest, toughest man's face can change completely. All the roughness is replaced by this softness that words could never capture. It's truly priceless. It's one of those moments that I wish I could capture and carry with me forever. It's a moment when his true self surfaces, if only for a short instance, it is there. It cannot be disguised by swag or machismo. It's so pure, so beautiful and real. I've seen this happen a few times in my life, every time I've been caught off guard. For me it's been a changing point in how I've view some men that have been present in my life journey. Most recently it was the moment when I knew I was in love. To have a man look at my child that way is rare, and it's even more rare when it is the man you are in a relationship with. I will never forget how he looked at my daughter with softness and a subt...

I had no one to teach me how to be a black woman growing up. My first encounter with black women was on TV on the Cosby show . Then, when I was closing in on womanhood, in my pre-teens I found hip hop. And there were rappers like Salt'n'Peper, Lil' Kim and Foxy Brown. I loved the movie Set It Off and watched it uncountable times. I also loved Waiting to Exhale . Both these movies showed strong, independent black women, and unfortunately a lot of no good black men.  I realize today how this has affected me as a woman. And in relationship with black men. My father being emotionally unavailable just added to the growing problem. (This is a whole story on its own) I am a single mother. I have been since before the birth of my daughter. This is not by chance. Pretty early on I knew I would become a single mother, years before I became pregnant. I think somehow African American images made me believe that this is what motherhood is for the black woman. And in a strange way...

I write in sentences. He speaks in words.  I give him questions. He returns the answers.  I feel lost. He knows the way.  I listen. He makes music.  I think. He does.  Him and I. 

Everyone knows they shouldn't be mixed. I went against my better judgement and I'm paying for it. Yes, literally. 

Just found the short stories I wrote for my first ever creative writing class that I took four years ago. I loved that class. It was the first time I wrote with a purpose, it was also the first time I wrote something that other people would read. I was very nervous about taking the class. It's scary letting people give feedback on what you love the most. But taking that class enabled me to grow as a person as a writer. I learned a lot from the feedback I received on my own texts as well as giving others feedback. I read on of the stories today. It was so mundane and simplistic. It took me back to that period of my life, it was so different. I was younger, less experienced and a full time student. The story made me smile. I could recognize my style of writing in the text, but it was like reading someone else's story. I've decided to keep my old stories in a safe place so I can pull them out years from now and remember who I was back then. 

We all have one, there's no escaping it. For some it is filled with good things, for others it's filled with bad things. But it is what brought us to today, good or bad. Why is it that in relationships the other person's past doesn't always "fit in". Seriously, I know there are exes, sexual experimentation, drunk nights etc. but I really don't need to know! I want you for who you are today, not who you were back then. If I wanted the drama with exes, drunkeness etc I would have chosen a man that is in that period of his life. So don't talk so much about the past, let's focus on our future.

There are blog posts, written down and in my head. More and more each day. Or do blog posts only become blog posts after they are published? Because in all honesty what I have are beginnings, sometimes middles, rarely ends. Beginnings are my strength. Middles usually bore me. Ends are my weakness. 

When you are going through a crisis in your life it is sometimes surprising who is there for you and who chooses to turn their back. The people that you thought were the closest to you may actually be the ones that back the furthest away. It's difficult to work through a crisis as well as feeling abandoned by people you really love. What's that quote again, something about knowing who your friends are because your friends are the ones that stay when everyone else leaves? Well, that quote exists for a reason. It's hurtful realizing that the people you have given support, time and love for years don't give the same thing back when you need it the most. It makes you loose trust. If the people that say they love you aren't there for you, then who will? The beauty on the other hand is having other people rise to the occasion and be there. Not just say they will be there, but actually be there. A shoulder to cry on, a phone call in the middle of the night, positive w...

All the clichés start making sense once you become a parent. It is like having your heart outside your body. The fear of something happening to your child is so deep and so real, I cannot find words for it. My biggest fear, since before she was born, is loosing my daughter. I worry that I will get a phone call while I'm at work saying she's in the hospital or worse. A few years ago I wrote a short story about a mom who's daughter dies in an accident. Though it was fiction and it was not real, I felt that story. Imagining loosing a child was painful. Just imagining it was painful. So when I hear about a parent loosing their child it gets to me in a way that nothing else gets to me. A parent shouldn't have to bury their child. A child should not have to die. It makes no sense, it's not fair! So being a parent is worrying all the time. Worrying about all the billion things that could go wrong and struggling to stay in control. Knowing that you can't control ...

Being a light skinned (biracial) is according to a lot of people a benefit. To me it has always, or at least for as long as I can remember, been a struggle. I've always wanted to be darker. Though no one has ever mistaken me for being white (Latina yes, white no) I've somehow always felt like my African features weren't enough. Like my coily hair and my dark almost black eyes weren't enough proof of me being African. I wonder where this come forms? I can't remember anyone saying anything that would have been the catalyst of this feeling. Maybe it just came from me. Even today when I see beautiful black women a hint of jealousy is there. It's not their beauty, it's the deep brown of their skin, nothing is more beautiful. Though mainstream media prefers a Beyonce look before a India Arie look, I'm the opposite. Maybe because my complexion is closer to Beyonce's than India Arie's. For most of my life I've had to explain why my skin is brow...

It's clear that I'm standing before the end of a friendship. It's like any situation really: a relationship between lovers, a work place, the ending of a book or a movie, it's clear. But I keep on avoiding the last chapter. For all the wrong reasons. This is not the first time a relationship with a friend ends. My friendships tend to be very intense and not eternal. There is the beginning when I find myself have so much in common with the other person, it's the falling in love part. Then comes the part when we become close, we share secrets, we do a lot of things together, build on what we already have. And then, almost always comes the beginning of the end. It's usually laced with let downs and breaching of trust. Sometimes it's like taking off those pink shades and seeing that person for who they really are, and not liking it. At times it's just the sense of not feeling the connection anymore. Sometimes I feel I get bored, we are having the same ...

This song changed everything.

I've been thinking about this blog for years, wanting to do it but having a million and one reasons not to. It's always easy to come up with excuses when you want to. But lately I've been feeling more of a need to do this, to start something new and personal. I don't know where this will take me, but I'm willing to explore. The name "From Her Finger Tips" took me a while to think of. I've always struggles with titles. I tried a whole array of names before settling on this one. I choose this one because it feels right. And it tells of what I think this blog will be. I also seem to write about hands and finger tips a lot so it just feels like the natural name of a blog I'll be writing. Let the blog journey begin!