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I am very particular about my stuff, more specifically my room. I organize it according to my likes, my taste. When we moved here I had to pick out the color of the walls, I had to imagine what my new sanctuary would look like. While picking out the colors one in particular called out for me, it was called “Joyful”. I immediately fell in love with the color, and it is now the primary of my room.
I’d like to think that I am an optimist, but I am only human and like everyone else I fall every now and then. I get up, but I make mistakes, I have my breakdown moments too. “Joyful” its supposed to stand for something, for the way I like to be, for how I like to view the world in all its splendor. I like to think in the good of others, I’m too tired of being a cynic, although I often times find it difficult.
I believe that one’s room is like a mirror to our soul, it reflects a lot about us. You can tell a lot about a person by their room. How they are, what they’re like, what they like, where they’ve been, where they want to go. Now, some may label me as O.C.D. I like to say that I’m just particular about the things I have. I like my things in a certain place, I like my room to smell a certain way, to be a certain way.
I don’t like my things to be moved and left where they “don’t belong”, I don’t like my room smelling like food, nor do I like to see a mess in it either. I don’t like to have anything under my bed (it only calls out for spiders and little critters), I want it to be bright, and as neat as it can possibly be. I don’t like arguments in my room, I don’t like negative thoughts either, it is my sanctuary after all. I dislike taking my work to bed, or doing any kind of work in bed, my bed is my place to rest, to relax, its my zen spot. I’ll admit I have done work on my bed in my past, but that’s only a last resort kind of deal.
I am for tranquility, peace, life, and happiness. Overall I want my room to feel like it has a sense of balance, a place where you can walk in and just forget about the world outside, relax, because everything is in harmony. After all, that is just what I want to do with my own life, to acquire a sense of balance and tranquility to my soul.
Smile, there is harmony after all the chaos.
I love holidays, what can I say? Any holiday (or normal day) is a good excuse to send someone a lovely card to let them know you have them in your thoughts. It’s a nice and simple gesture and often times I’ve seen how powerful it can be. I sent my “Happy Easter” cards earlier in the week. My week started off right and slowly degraded with the days, but things are starting to look up again, sun is shining once more.
You know what did made me smile? A card from my friend who sent me an Easter card too. Made me smile to know that although I havent spoken to her much over the last month or so, she still has me in her thoughts, and that meant a lot to me.
So today being Easter, enjoy it, embrace it. Remember that there are things bigger in life that are not necessarily materialistic or big enough for the whole world to see. Sometimes they are felt, other times they are so small we almost overlook them. Just remember that the little things do go a long way, a smile, a hug, it can be part of someone’s memory forever.
May you all have a lovely Easter religious or non-religious, with family or with a packet of Peeps and a few chocolate bars, may the sun shine bright for you today and everyday.
Smile, must there really be a reason to?
I often say that we should work for one’s happiness, for our own goals, and not care about what others have to say. Don’t take me wrong, I find that to be a truth of mine but the real truth is that I don’t follow it all the way through. I do care about what someone says (one person in particular), that person being my mother.
I grew up with a very strict mother, being the youngest one I always felt left out by everyone. My siblings were much more older than I was, and had no interest in playing with a little kid (especially since they were going through puberty and the like). To get attention I strived to be the best in school, to get the best grades possible, to be the best of the best. To get who’s attention? My mother’s. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized why she was so different towards me compared to my siblings. My father named me after an affair of his, I had the unusual name. Some people like unusual names but when my father named me, he “cursed” me. I guess it stuck with my mom, I didn’t ask for what I’ve gotten but I did. My mother has a thing where she’ll be extremely sweet to me, and that is to make up for how she feels about me. She dislikes me every now and then because of my name, because it brings her memories of my father’s awful adventures. I didn’t ask for it, but that’s just what I got.
All my years from elementary to high school, even now to college I try to be the best in hopes that one day my mom will just for once tell me that I’m doing something right. To her, everything I do is wrong, or bad, or just never enough. She never attended a teacher-parent conference, or any of my award ceremonies, she had to be practically dragged by my brother to my high school graduation. Graduating with honors and top of class wasn’t good enough for her. When I started college she said how my career was just not good enough. Why couldn’t I have studied to be a lawyer? A doctor? That’s what she asked me. I got to a point where I said I gotta work hard for me, not for her.
To be honest, I do work for me, but deep down I’ll always have that in me. To want her to notice that I’m not doing everything wrong. To tell me at least once that what I’m doing is right. To not be compared with my sisters. That is my confession, I confess that I do care about what my mom says. Why? Because it hurts when she tells me that I don’t do anything right. Really? I mean, seriously? Making the Dean’s List, being in Honors doesn’t seem to mean anything to her.
See I don’t understand. I’ve heard her say amazing things about me to others, others have told me so too. But why can’t she just tell me? I never asked to be named what I am named, I never asked to remind my mom about what my dad did. I confess that it hurts, I pretend like I don’t care, but I do. Sometimes, I just wish she could let go of the past, that’s all.
Smile, because sometimes it feels good to confess the things that haunt us the most.