Character awareness, growth of self worth and assertion of identity are oft things we are immersed in, like fish in water. So maybe, that is what makes all of it so interesting. Maybe I am now just poking my head out of the water to see and appreciate the water for the driving force that it is. I always joke with my friends that this year I am going to work on x for myself. It is funny when I express, but it is genuinely exciting for me to do it, for example last year my self-project was becoming more vulnerable, and now I am working on being okay with my neediness of people's time and support, ie both to a selfish degree and to a tamed one. Interestingly enough, it was always a simultaneous goal in the back of my mind, that I wanted to improve my friendships, because as my brother likes to point out I am horrible at them. But in trying to be more vulnerable and more needy, I kind of got the aha lesson of how it works. Friendships were exhausting and difficult to keep up for me because I didn't invest in making it a two way street, if I didn't think I had something to offer, I didn't really want to reach out. Mind you no one asked me to offer anything, it is just an extension of how I built my self worth- worth based on what I can provide and not who I was. It is a difficult transition to try to attain, measuring self worth based on nothing else but who I am. That is the root of the diabetic level of kindness I had that often led to unnecessary levels of favors that landed me in bad situations. I got the speech often from my family, and friends. But I figured, no no if they knew exactly who I was or how many mistakes I've made, they'd understand why I had to be this way. But it wasn't even huge mistakes I made, I was just unforgiving of my self. I was unforgiving of myself of being unattractive to myself, I was unforgiving of myself of being socially awkward and not knowing how to speak loudly or boldly enough, I was unforgiving of myself of not being able to be open, I was unforgiving of myself of not being simpler, I was unforgiving of being too simple, I was unforgiving of not knowing enough, I was unforgiving of other peoples projection of my short comings, people who always assumed I wasn't as intelligent as or as worthy as. 

But today I am forgiving and today I am appreciative of both my strengths and weaknesses. I am delightfully horrible with directions and that's okay, I am kind of bad at communicating my emotions, and that's okay. I take slight joy in being able to annoy my friends without the gnawing feeling that they would stop being my friends. I take ridiculous joy in being able to fight with people. Like genuinely fight with people because I have standards of how I want to be treated. Imagine that, I have rules about myself now. No one can do or be how they want to be to me, if I disagree or am uncomfortable, I will call you out. I can't express how much of an amazing freedom that is. 

Never have I given it serious thought until my literature professor told us that for our final exam we are to explain to him why the human race must struggle. I sat there, exam book to my right with the question glaring at me. It mocked me, telling me I better understand why without this appendage of life, life would die. I stared into the distance, trying to culminate the entire course and my entire existence into a stream of thought that I could manage, so I can flip through each lesson and say ah-ha that is the answer. At that time, I had my struggles carried in the front pocket of my heart so I could not explain to him why such a burden is necessary for all of mankind to feel. I did not know what to say, nor did I want to lie. So I did what I could and left the exam book with not an intelligent answer but like a parrot I spit out a story that was told to me.

The story was of a young man who was showing off his heart boasting that his heart was the most beautiful in the valley. A crowd gathered around him and admired his heart in all its perfection, not a single scratch was on it. An old man saw this spectacle and challenged the man, saying to him that it was he, not the young man, who had the most beautiful heart. Curious as to what could be more perfect then his heart the young man asked the old man to show his. The old man in compliance revealed his heart. It was a painful sight to behold. His heart had pieces missing, pieces stuffed in places it didn’t quiet fit, and tears streaming down; it was far from perfect. The young man was aghast, how could the old man say it was his that was beautiful? To this questioning look the man told him, it is a heart that has been through pain, a heart that was not afraid to give pieces of itself without the assurance that he would receive the same courtesy back that is beautiful. Not a heart that has shielded itself from life so much so that he was never graced with the strokes of pain. Touched by the sheer beauty of the old man’s statement, the young man ripped a piece of his heart and extended his offering to the old man. The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man's heart.

The world is complicated and life is complicated. This year has taught me that. So while I cannot with full confidence tell my teacher that life means we must struggle and we must be hurt because of a certain reason, I have come to understand a speckle of the reason. I can tell him that struggle is essential for mankind because nothing digs a deeper trench in the wrinkle of time than struggle; the kind of struggle that forces you to see it in all its ugliness and find a chance of beauty within it. Because without this we’d simply let our feet graze the path and would never be able to breath animation into the phrase, life is a beautiful struggle. Life has carved ugly scars into my heart, has ripped chunks out of it. It is because of this I feel I am not just another dust in time but rather one who has contended with it with full force and have come away with a deeper understanding of what this whole affair is for.

To whom it may concern:

To whomever is kept safe at the mercy of a hair trigger to the temple:

To whom with a voice to lower the weapon but repeatedly chooses to speak in silence:

It is a complex affair when you finally decide to look.

When you decide to follow down spine through the deafening pulse flowing through the hand that holds you prisoner.

You will find that the hand is yours.

The blood that races to the center is flowing to your heart.

The heart that chooses to incessantly rush blood louder, faster.

So you can never hear your mind pleading to stay alive.

Sincerely,

Those concerned

“I was the boy who cried wolf when I said that I loved you” 

When I met him I took his breath away. His heart beat faster whenever he held me. For so long he didn't think I did anything wrong. Once we reached our comfort he wanted to spend time with me all the time. I was confused. Who is this man who loved me so; what do I do with this? But he kept at it. Kept loving and swooning.  So when we separated I was really confused. How do I let go of this gem? This man who took his time loving me? 

It felt like I ripped my heart out and left it behind. I kept looking back searching for it. Eventually though, I worked through most of the heartbreak but I couldn’t imagine something like this happening again. It seemed like a rare phenomena. Then I ran into a song from a long time back. I had a summer romance with this very nice guy. For some reason while we were talking he told me he still had feelings for his ex. So I x-ed the situation. A couple of months later he wrote a song. When I listened to it then it was of no consequence. But to this day the line that got me was the hook, “I was the boy who cried wolf when I said that I loved you.” Love? What does he know of me to love me? Because he said those words I dismissed it, a hyperbole to make the song, truly. Love is more complicated, love takes time to flourish. No? 

But today 5 years later I listened to it. I listened to it and for the first time I heard him. I had this before too, but I was so insecure I could never see that possibility as reality. How can someone fall in love with me? I haven’t jumped through any hurdles. Aren’t there extra steps  that should happen, isn’t love complex? How can someone have such pure sweet thoughts?  After all I was not the pretty girl. So I walked away from him without looking back. Not because I didn’t want him. I just didn’t believe him. So his words were right on the nose, to me any man who tells me he loves me is the boy who cried wolf. 

Today I see it. I see my insecurities. 

"Hello?"

"L.E is out sick and we are crazy busy, I need you to cover her shift."

"Sure thing-I'll be there soon"

I took the last few bites of my leftover and headed over to work. Not even ten minutes into my shift I'm nauseous and could barely keep myself from chucking my food into the customers lap. I knew we were busy and I knew I would never hear the end of it if I bailed this shift but I had to leave. I walked out trying to keep my composure, but I wasn't able to keep anything for long. Everything came rushing out of me.

I took a few deep breaths bought some water at a gas station and shuffled my way to the park. At least it was dark and I can throw up in peace until my body had its fill. I stayed there but it was cold and I was getting a little nervous. It was late and it did not look like I was going home any time soon. I thought of hopping on the trolley but moving even two steps triggered Niagara falls. 

I opted instead to call my roommate to no avail. I called my friend that I knew worked close by but no answer. So I called my friend who lived two hours from me to complain and throw in the possibility that I was going to die at the park. 

"Hello?"

"I can't stop throwing up and I think I'm just going to die at the park"

"What the hell what do  you mean, call C or G, or anyone to pick you up"

"Nobody is picking up"

"Call Sid then"

"Oh god no, I'll never do that."

"Just call him"

"No- I have to go"

Five minutes later I get a call from said Sid.

"Hey what's going on are you okay?"

"Yea I'm good"

"No you aren't T called me, she told me  your at the park sick"

"Don't worry about it I'll be good I'm just gonna stay here until I feel a little better then head home"

"Don't go anywhere I'll come and get you"

"No it's okay"

"Don't be so stubborn, just wait."

I could fight, but for what? I told him Okay and I waited.

I was sitting on a park bench but it was too bright. I moved to a darker spot and stayed curled in the corner. Finally Sid found me tucked away. He smiled his little smile and picked me up in all my disheveled glory. We walked slowly back to his place and he put me in the shower. Twenty minutes of hot water running down my body was everything I needed. I washed all my clothes and hung them to dry. I stepped out of the shower and snuggled into his bed. I felt much better. He came up the stairs smiling at  me holding some tea in his hand. I drank it up and laid back in the bed ready to sleep. He got under the covers with me held me tight and kissed me goodnight. Then kissed me again, maybe a hello? He kissed me more, caressing my hips in ways I forgot I loved. Shifting himself he was on top of me. His hair flooded out curtaining my face in with his. 

"Is this okay?"

I smiled and nodded my needy yes. 

My legs spread to accommodate his body, gently he filled me up. I gasped surprised at how wonderful it felt. At how much I wanted this, at how much each kiss meant. We stayed locked in to each other. He gently pulled out and pushed back in, my hips extending to meet each thrust. It felt beautiful, it felt like love. 

This was the first time I was present to enjoy it. The first time I wanted every minute of it. This may not be the first time for me but it was the first time for my heart, and this is the time I will always think about. 

My upper chest hurts when I breath in. Regardless I take in gulps of air and continue my day. When night hits I lay flat on my stomach to stop the pain and I count my sheep to continue my slumber. The heart inside my heart beats two steps extra as if she has an exciting secret to share with me. Regardless I wait for the flutter to subside and continue my conversation.

I know inside why I feel this way. I know why it hurts to breath. Why it hurts to sleep. I know what secret my heart has to tell me.

Whenever I am lucid enough to catch my bodies drift I try to sooth my self with quick reality checks, powerful words of wisdom that not all things are meant to be. This is all happening for a reason. Although I know the logic and although I know it is all true. I don't know what to do.

I feel numb to progress. I feel for every fifty steps I've taken, I haven't moved very far. For every reason I have that tells me it is good it's over there is a memory that disputes that order.

"Where are you going? It's almost over!"

The Soul sighed and turned to Satan, "I'm done"

"Oh come on, it's just getting interesting. Besides you can't leave  yourself behind. What do you think is going to happen, you think you will be free because you walk away? They will call you again and you know you will come back. You came back every time  they called."

Satan ticked off all the names he could think of that Soul ran for- YHWH, Ra, Buddha, God, Allah, Sky, Earth.

"Why bother when you always come back? What is it they say? Ah yes, grab some popcorn and just enjoy the show!"

The Soul walked away and Satan shouted, "You'll be back!"

Remember...the twisted tails.

Flog...

Remember...your betrayal.

Flog...

Remember ...what you did.

Flog...

How could I? I close my eyes, flog twice. How can I still look her in her eyes?Flog thrice.I can't keep this friendship.

Consider the area hostile territory. Any soldier who was within the vicinity will be affected and they will forever feel that they've lost something. Before they could put themselves together communication was cut from the base. Lost without any means of direction, afraid to speak of the attack they opted to rebuild. Except they don't know what they are rebuilding and it became a Frankenstein operation.

"Take any and all parts and rebuild soldiers! I don't know what we're rebuilding but keep going until you feel right again."

Those were the instructions that played over again and for years they rebuilt.

Some time later, a foreigner found them and was intrigued by what he saw. He began visiting daily and he was welcomed, but he could not feel at ease. The foreigner grew to love and respect their operation but felt he was being shrouded from the full entity of what it was. He especially fell in love with one soldier. She was open, carefree and loved to laugh. But even in her voice he felt the shadow. He wanted to inquire but it seemed the secret was not only being kept from him, but from the soldiers themselves. What kept them this way, what kept their words crippled, why was every action half-heatedly done?

The questions became overbearing to him. He was falling in love. One day he went to find her to tell her all that was on his mind and before he knew it words he didn't mean flew out of his mouth. Every soldier peaked their heads and watched their mate. The base clanked as all shovels dropped at their feet. Mortified every soldiers mouths opened and spilled from their mouths the horrors of that faithful day. The day it felt the heart of their base was taken away, of the soul they felt died long ago and haunted them still. They rubbed their hearts in pain and looked at him square in the face. In one booming voice they told him of the day they forgot they couldn't remember, the day that began the reconstruction.

Every word that flew out of their mouths hacked them behind their knees, bringing them down hard, tugging at every tear that would come. They all opened their shirts to expose their chest with scars identical on all where their hearts were. For the first time it felt they all opened their eyes and looked at each other momentarily forgetting the foreigner who had disarmed them.

One soldier stepped to the other and felt the seams of their scar- it all flashed back. The day of the invasion, the flash of light, the amnesia, and their plight of endless rebuilding. The scar on their chest unfolded revealing to their feeble heart beating in an uncertain rhythm for even their hearts forgot they lived yet. In disbelief each timidly attempted to poke within their chest. At first touch something tangled upon their fingers and a smile bright broke free surprising all muscles. They all swayed smiling, as their hearts clung tight.

The foreigner watched, flabbergasted at what unfolded before him. The one he loved was standing with another soldier tangled in his heart. Remembering him momentarily she turned to him and began explaining.

“This is what we were trying to rebuild”

Still bewildered the foreigner could not understand. She stepped forward, took his hand and put it to her heart. The same grip that had every soldier now had him. He smiled peacefully and cried. He knew now.

“This is what we were trying to remember this is what we knew we were missing whispered the soldier. It wasn't the attack we needed help to recall. For even if that was a mystery what we wanted more than anything was that moment before. The moment before we thought we died. The moment when we were all alive and knew we were alive even if not completely aware, because we were young it didn't matter there was time. But the attack froze us in time while accelerating it too. What we were trying to remember was who we were before we got stuck in that loop. The moment our hearts touched us it erased the ugliness of what happened and took us back to the moment before, before.”