i will be free
i will be surrounded by adventure
i will not settle.
i will not want.
i will love and i will be loved
it’s black and it’s white.
so beautiful so bright.
i fight it. and i pretend it’s not what it is, that is doesn’t feel as nice as it does, that it isn’t really anything.
then i give in and i start seeing it for what it’s meant to be. feeling how i should. letting myself…
and that’s when i get scared.
it’s such a beautiful day today.
the baby arrives in eight weeks time. a beautiful little girl.
i saw her, you know, on a screen through an ultrasound with a special scan that showed her little nose and lips and eyes, closed, so peaceful.
and my sister-in-law, well that baby girl is in her belly. a human life. a miracle. growing and becoming something to hold. someone. so fragile, innocent, full of all the glimmer and possibilities of a future. because that’s all there is with a baby. that’s all it has. no past. nothing to look back on. nothing to keep her from being anything she wants to be.
she’ll grow and she’ll crawl and she’ll talk and she’ll walk. and she’ll be my niece forever. that special little girl so close to being born.
and in that first moment i hold her…
i can’t imagine the emotion i’ll be consumed by in that one moment.
i’m so excited to meet her.
my mind is working overtime, more so than usual, and in a different way. i haven’t been thinking consuming thoughts, those that affect you, wire you to yourself internally. i have been thinking about the future, daydreaming, wondering when, how, what, if. all the opportunities and moments awaiting me, an hour away, a day away, a week away, however long away, i reach for them. i yearn for them. i can’t wait to be in them, looking back and thinking about how i longed for each moment.
i just don’t want to take them for granted.
it happens all too often. you’re in a place, at a particular time, feeling whole. and then it’s done. and then it’s gone. and you begin to think about it in hindsight. in retrospect. with a different mindset, headspace, emotionality. and you wonder why you didn’t suck every last particle of energy from that moment. why you didn’t capture the feeling in a little glass jar and put it under your pillow when you went to bed, just so you might recreate that relatively tiny space of lifetime in your dreams that night. and as many nights after that until the energy slowly seeped from the little cracks where the lid meets the glass by which time you had experienced a similar feeling to hold. and so the cycle could continue.
i painfully admit i have taken things for granted recently. i can see myself doing it, and i try my hardest to stop it, but i can’t. it is what it is. but i’ll never stop trying.
today was a day i couldn’t take for granted, even if i tried. i worked with my dad today. i sanded and painted and hammered and nail gunned. and it was a perfect day, doing things not everyone does in their life. doing things that make me appreciate where i have come from. who i am. my dad who can do anything.
exhausted, i sit in bed thinking about today and i put that feeling in my little glass jar.
i don’t say a lot of things i want to say here. i have many reasons for doing such. i may not feel it to be appropriate, i may not want you to know or i may think you won’t care. i guess i censor myself a lot. i have no problem with writing about me, my life, feelings, ridiculous stuff that means nothing. and although this may seem to make me an open person, in actual fact, i’m not.
i’m very expressive in some ways. if you do something wrong, you’ll know about it. but i’m not emotionally expressive. i find it hard to speak about something directly. which is why i write creatively. it makes the opening smaller, which means less probability of hurting myself, or someone else perhaps.
i think i could write a very interesting story of my life if i thought i wouldn’t be perceived differently, or looked upon with something but absence of any opinion (unless good). i want people to like me, just like everyone does. i also want to hold a little mystery. that’s not to say i want to be mysterious. i just don’t like the thought of being an open book. there’s no fun in that. i’ll do my best to be open with you, but i think i’ll struggle to give you the whole story.
you think you might know a lot about me. but we haven’t even scratched the surface. maybe one day i’ll put my self-censorship aside and write truth, fact, the absolute and entire thing of it. me, my life. it would be an interesting read.