#and somehow that made me worry about losing my ``last'' deep and meaningful connection (my therapist). and that's what we talked about.

[deerest-me]

really,

truly,

deeply,

wish i was not like this

[solomonish]

Growing Pains (Lucifer & Mammon)

At first, Lucifer thought that to fall with those he loved more dearly than anyone was the final blessing the Celestial Realm would bestow upon him.

But Father did not intend to stop after taking Lilith from them. He just took her first - the brothers still had themselves and each other to lose.

ao3 link: here!

---

The office in the manor was slowly becoming more and more cluttered as Lucifer continued to drag stacks of paperwork and countless manuals on Devildom culture into the house when he returned from his meetings with Diavolo. The business he had been tasked to sort out for the rest of his existence needed to be started on right away, leaving Lucifer tied up with an amount of work fitting for the place he now had to learn to call home. Instead of navigating the new life with his brothers, he had to spend his time navigating the halls of the palace or bent over an old wooden desk. The impressive castle doors now instinctively sent a pit into his stomach and finding the Royal Butler Barbatos waiting for him to lead him so he wouldn't lose himself in the halls hurt Lucifer in a weird, bruising way he had never felt before.

By the time he got home, the house was normally quiet. It scared him, at first: after spending so long in battle, silence could only mean something bad. During the first days, he found his brothers huddled up in the same spot, unwilling to be alone. Beel and Belphie would be curled around each other in some way, inseparable as they had always been. Mammon could be found sprawled over the carpet,, one hand gripping Satan's ankle or wrist as if that'd be enough to stop one of his rampages. Perhaps it was; from what Lucifer heard, every day he was getting better, learning more. Mammon wasn't the only one gripping him; Asmodeus was often cuddled next to Satan, clinging tightly to his arm or sometimes even to him. He was getting awfully affectionate lately, but maybe it was doing Satan some good. Only Levi wasn't directly touching anyone, but even though his back was turned, his new tail would occasionally twitch and brush against one of his brothers.

These scenes gave Lucifer pause, the feeling he was learning to be pride swelling in his chest. Everything was alright. Mammon had kept things under control.

He left them alone, not wanting to disturb their peace, and continued his work, the task distracting his mind and the affection distracting his heart from the crippling grief that loomed above them all.

Eventually, though, the brothers disbanded. The quirks he had noticed growing in them soon became hallmarks of their new beings: Asmodeus' affections were becoming increasingly licentious, Belphegor could hardly be found awake regardless of the time, items turned up missing and wound up in Mammon’s possession...each of his brothers seemed to spiral further and further towards degeneracy, save for Satan, who was as sinful as it got and instead retreated into himself and forming a grudge against everyone for his status as what seemed like a half-baked replacement.

Ever the dependable brother - a thought that was now strangely accompanied by a twinge of something unpleasant instead of the warm, affectionate delight Lucifer was used to - Mammon still tried to keep everyone together.

At first, it seemed to work. Nobody seemed entirely willing or even purposely trying to avoid the others. However, it seemed that the sin they began to embody were too great an obstacle none of them knew how to hurdle. Any interruption infuriated Satan, and Asmo seemed offended at the concept of taking his own time away from himself to check in on his brothers. Beel and Belphie could never be taken away from easing the effects of their sins for long enough to hold a meaningful conversation, and Levi had already dug himself so deep in a self-deprecating hole he seemed convinced any efforts to connect were the beginning of an elaborate prank to make fun of him. When items turned up missing immediately after Mammon’s visits, doors started slamming if they even opened.

Still, his attempts to keep the camaraderie alive meant Lucifer had more time to spend on the paperwork. It was a good system - at least, that’s how he felt. Evidently, Mammon didn’t feel the same.

Normally, on the days where Mammon made a futile attempt at his rounds (days that were becoming more and more scarce throughout the week), Mammon passed by Lucifer’s door. This time, there was an angry knock on the door, more of an alert to Mammon’s presence than a request for permission. The door didn’t bang against the wall, but Mammon had twisted the doorknob rather ferociously and Lucifer almost flinched at the noise it made. Taken aback by his brother’s stormy entrance, he nearly watched him approach impassively. There hadn’t been any opportunity to discuss the proper, respectful way to enter his workspace - clearly, this needed to be remedied soon.

“What’re ya even doing in here?” Mammon bellowed, looking around. The shelves that had books in them were put together nicely, the sturdy wood packed with old books about a life they both used to find reprehensible. How cruel of their father to force them to live what He made them fear most.

“You can lower your voice,” Lucifer answered, dropping his pen on the desk. When he leaned back, ignoring the way his upper back twinged at the change from his previous slumped posture, he met Mammon’s eyes and was surprised to see genuine frustration behind them. “I’ve been working.”

A scoff had never sounded more irritating to Lucifer’s ears. “Is that what it is? Because to me, it seems like you’re avoiding us.”

Lucifer scrunched his eyebrows. “Where did you-”

“Is that it? What, we all lost so now we’re losers and you can’t stand to look at us?”

“I never-”

“Or you couldn’t fill the void left when you were thrown out as the world’s best lapdog, so you became Diavolo’s instead?”

“Stop right there, Mammon,” Lucifer commanded, standing from his seat. His voice had a steely chill to it that it never had before, one to match the resentment burning inside of him. Instinctively, Mammon backed off. They didn’t know much about their new predicament, but they knew how the seven of them ranked in power, and Lucifer would always come out on top. “I’m won’t concern myself with where you got these foolish thoughts from. Perhaps it would benefit you to spend less time with Levi-”

“Levi? How could you know if he even had anything to do with this? When’s the last time you saw him?” Mammon shot back. “Spending less time with anybody isn’t the answer to anything, though of course it’d be your answer to things.”

Lucifer sighed. “I’m working out the details of this situation so you don’t have to worry yourselves with it.”

Mammon didn’t have an immediate response to that, instead watching Lucifer with betrayed eyes. He seemed to deflate over time, a resignation falling over him that forced his fire out with a sigh. "We were a team, Lucifer. What the hell happened?"

There were obvious answers to that, and there were not so obvious answers. Faced with so many options, Lucifer found himself unable to choose between them, and instead stared blankly at Mammon. Slowly, Lucifer sat back in his seat without breaking eye contact.

We've been ripped away from everything and left to become scabs over the wounds we've been given. All I'm trying to do is give you the freedom to heal however you need to, to keep you from the chains that could have just as easily awaited us as this fate did.

I'm hiding from you a burden that is too heavy to pass on - if I move it from my shoulders, I fear my arms would be too weak to carry it to you.

There were so many ways to tell Mammon that Lucifer had to lock himself away, the door a heavy shield against his own grief and the ever-growing work that buried him and the secret he carried. Even if Lucifer didn’t trust his own mouth to only say what was necessary, he could just thank Mammon for his efforts, tell him that he trusted Mammon more than anybody to keep together the one thing that ought to stay intact after the holy hell they’d created. But something inside him bristled, swelling uncomfortably until he felt like a balloon ready to burst. Gulping down his thoughts, Lucifer resumed his writing, the pen scratching against the paper more ferociously than the claws of any creature by which they now found themselves surrounded.

"I don't need your help," Lucifer answered simply, with finality. Though the words rang true in his mind, they were leaden with the way they pulled on his heart and tasted like iron on his tongue.

Mammon scoffed again, narrowing his eyes so Lucifer wouldn't be able to notice the tears that began to gather within them. "Fine, then. I-I didn't wanna help ya out anymore anyway."

As Mammon stomped out the door of his office with a huff, Lucifer felt something snap inside him. It wasn't in the way pent up rage unleashed itself, apparently, somehow in the form of a sixth brother, but more in the way one holds on desperately to a branch too thin for the weight. Once it snaps, the plummet is rough, with stronger branches breaking up the fall and taunting tossing them around in a cruel ricochet. Outside of the thick wooden door, it was startlingly quiet, as if the house itself was forcing Lucifer to grapple with the final thread holding them together being cut with his own words.

The pain started in his chest, the way it always did, wrapping around his heart and lungs like thorny vines. The spot on his lower back, occasionally tickled by phantom feathers, throbbed as his entire brain seemed to weigh heavier in his head. After a near eternity surrounded by laughter and the beautiful, enchanting hum of Celestial life and a thundering of battle that would ring in his head for the rest of his existence, the silence seemed like a stifling blanket, the final lock on the cage they had been forced into.

When one opposed Father and lost, he truly did lose everything.

[andthentherewasgrey]

August 5, 2017

How quickly worlds can change. A country with a new president. A dear friend without a mom. An idea of God that I was so sure about. My go-to drink at a coffee house (cortado -> hot brown sugar vanilla -> iced brown sugar cinnamon). The focus of a new church service. A feeling of desolation and loss of identity to a feeling of fullness and deep joy (or the reverse). Endless time to write, waste, watch, and worry morphing into only Thursday mornings to mow the lawn and check my email and adjust my bank accounts.  Spending my working days transitioning from cleaning large industrial machinery and halfway bossing 15 millennials to actual bossing 22 millennials and being responsible for making millions (400k a DAY) of little brown fake-chocolate donuts using 2000+ lbs of oil a day. Living alone in a house wondering what to do with the seeming infinite amount of minutes and months left in my life to living with a friend and a half; my world suddenly revolving around a person less than 3 feet tall. With two more faceless native babies moving in before the year is out. A year ago, last month, I’d never truly held a baby and certainly hadn’t given much thought to living with any or having one of my own.

It’s borderline embarrassing reading the things I wrote even a year ago and downright humiliating to go further back. Which, according to Brene, means I’m using this space correctly. i also like to think that the gap between the things I think and feel and wonder about and my embarrassment of them is closing. Which hopefully means I’m getting braver and growing more quickly so that even things I thought, felt, and was curious about a month ago are already things I’ve become accustomed to.

Exhibition: My extreme discomfort and embarrassment at telling something they smell. The worry that I’ll forget about a child altogether and leave them in the car or house or lose them in the store. The day I switched uniform colors at work and couldn’t look anyone in the eye for fear of the attention. The time everyone (okay maybe only some) saw my underwear in church. The terror at hearing myself teaching and receiving feedback on where I can improve. The uncertainty at beginning ability tree connections and wondering if I could handle coordinating monthly programs has now become an afterthought that I plan in an afternoon.

I still answer Wilbroad’s emails ridiculously late. No matter how clean I try to keep the house, I’m still a contender with FJD for who can leave the living room looking most tornado like. The thing I like most about living with a kid is that it’s 100% welcomed to be in the moment with them, my absolute best and favorite quality to offer. AND I haven’t yet figured out (slash made time) how to be present with myself enough to be as present as I want to be with others. I get the things done: teaching, ability tree, 5:30 service, house renovations, starting a new job, showing up at my friends big life moments - but it truly is difficult for me to engage with myself in a meaningful way. To practice spirituality in a meaningful way. To connect with many of the people I love most in a meaningful way.

If naturally I’m not so great at thinking, speaking, or even doing one thing at a time, its exponentially harder when a little alarm also goes off in my head every 15 seconds (or less) saying “what is she doing? where is she? how could I handle this? what do I need to prepare for to do the next thing?” And she isn’t even my kid. I just enjoy her and spend most of my waking hours with her and her mom. And also my mom...And a new job with 22 new people. (And I wonder why its difficult to allot my time as I had previously).

We have the most unconventional pseudo family. A mom and her daughter. Me and my sometimes dog Remington. And soon to be kids that are neither of ours, but that I can’t imagine won’t feel like ours until we give them back to whoever they belong to.

FJD officially gets adopted on Monday, about 36 hours from now. And when she does, it will be the most for-sure relationship of our little crew. Our arrangement is most likely transient - if SD or I find boys to marry or if (when) the kids we have get put back in their homes. At first I tried to curb my engagement to some extent because of the unsureness, but like all loves, it’s not a guarantee and no one is better off from receiving less love. As Jamie Tworkowsi said the year I found TWLOHA:

"We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don’t get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won’t solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we’re called home."

I don’t do it right. I neglect the wrong things. Sometimes, I get impatient with FJD, I’ve learned I’m quite controlling when I feel out of control or criticized. That’s weird 7 thing that goes to 1 in stress or worry. I don’t listen to SD or mom or MN or whoever. I don’t reach out to friends and family as much as. I get downright angry at the things SD’s mom does. I do good things in place of following Jesus.

And it’s the last one that absolutely has to change.

Somehow my life has always come back to orphans. As if my desire to help the parentless is a sort of metaphor for how I wish someone would take care of my emotions. (I say that in jest, but maybe? And if it is accurate, is that so wrong?) My childhood dream of being a house mom at an AIDS orphanage in Africa. Telling B (a partial orphan himself) on JN’s barn rooftop that I thought my life would somehow have to do with kids with no place to go. Invisible Children being my saving grace after he died. Uganda and L’esperance and all that has become Weight of Glory. Now FJD and the native foster kids that will begin to poor in and out of our makeshift home. The haunting reality the B’s death gives me courage to believe I can love hard in the face of unfair, insurmountable, and infuriating odds, yet lose everything and still have a soul.  

The oddity of only noticing the pattern in retrospect, as if my life continues to tumble into orphans and once I’ve seen, I can’t un-see. All of it an accident turned side project, turned life trajectory. 600 native babies in Adiar County Oklahoma and 7 foster homes. I don’t even know if I believe that statistic because of it’s gaping disparity. And me, a White girl facing the only discrimination I’ll likely face in my lifetime who can’t legally adopt or foster any of them except through my friend and roommate. Nearly 200 Ugandan children dependent on Weight of Glory each month and I can hardly even answer Wilbroad’s emails and begrudgingly procrastinate our biggest fundraiser every year.

But, God. Rich in mercy. Full of light and truth.

8 For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light 9 (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth)10 and find out what pleases the Lord. 11 Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them. 12 It is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret. 13 But everything exposed by the light becomes visible—and everything that is illuminated becomes a light. 14 This is why it is said:

“Wake up, sleeper,    rise from the dead,    and Christ will shine on you.”

Ephesians 5:8-14

I want to be awake.

“It seemed to me that all my other guesses had been only self-pleasing dreams spun out of my wishes, but now I was awake.” -C.S.Lewis, Till We Have Faces.

As much as it bothers me sometimes that wanting “the Light” sounds eerily similar to an episode of The Path, I confess my unbelief, my negligence, my indifference, self sufficiency, hypocrisy, ideology, indulgence, and self centeredness. I put them into the light. Give me a heart of faith. Let me give you my days and rest in your love throughout. Let me be convicted by your words and do what you say. I want to follow you.

Let me be a child of the light; reflecting all goodness, righteousness, and truth.

[emilysnell]

Inspired by Grandma

In December, I went to New York City (one of my favorite places!) with one of my very dearest friends. We walked and walked and walked all over that lovely city and shopped (I bought all the jewelry!) and had meaningful conversation and ate delicious food and got free stuff every day. It was so fun! Lots of great memories and plenty of laughter.

At the end of the trip, while waiting at the Newark airport for our return flight home, we met a sweet older woman who needed some assistance. She and I had some trouble initially with understanding one another. Perhaps it was because I was struggling to process her Jamaican accent. Perhaps it was because she was speaking a mixture of languages. Perhaps it was because she couldn’t hear me well. Perhaps it was because she was confused. It’s hard to know. Anyway, we were patient with each other while we tried to figure things out, and after taking a look at her boarding pass, I realized she was booked to be on our flight. So, I assured her that she was in the right place and helped her park her wheelchair in a good spot. 

Beverly was a friendly lady. She offered very kind words & much gratitude, and as we interacted, I learned small details about her life - about her kids and where they live, about some struggles she’d endured, about where she was headed and who she was visiting. It really was remarkable how much I learned in those brief bits of conversation we shared, scattered over the span of an hour or two. It was clear as we talked that Beverly had some memory problems. She repeated herself, and she asked for my name several times. We talked about her trip, about when the flight would leave. I bought her some juice and helped her gather her bag and other items. We talked again about her family. We talked again about whether she was at the right gate and when the flight would leave. I helped her communicate with the Southwest staff. Beverly and I had developed at least a little rhythm for understanding one another, so I tried to act as translator when she seemed confused by the SW staff questions and when they seemed confused by her responses. I tried not to worry about how she’d complete the necessary tasks while traveling alone on the rest of her journey to meet her daughter. After the flight attendants helped Beverly board the plane, I smiled at her when I walked past her seat and continued down the aisle. The lack of recognition on her face told me that she had already forgotten who I was.

The whole interaction with Beverly was an experience of grace for me. I suppose grace is what we find when we see one another with compassionate eyes. The interesting details I learned about her made me long to know more of her life story - about her resilience and about her faith. I had so many questions, but I didn’t ask any of them. I’m not sure she could have answered, even if I had felt comfortable asking. I was glad to be able to help Beverly. And I was glad for the holy moment it created. In a spiritual sort of way, it felt like an opportunity to show love to my grandma.

My grandma lived with dementia for 10 years. Long before she passed away, my grandma lost her ability to intentionally teach life lessons to her grandkids. But even after losing that ability/awareness, she nevertheless was teaching us - simply by her existence. My kind servant-hearted, hard-working, spunky grandma lived as an example to her grandkids, and even after she lost many of her abilities, her existence and her spirit continued to inspire us to live life well. Grandma’s experience of memory loss embedded in me - and in many of her grandkids, I think - a deep compassion for others with memory loss. For the last several years, any time I encounter an older person or a person with memory problems, my grandma always comes to mind. It really does feel like some kind of spiritual connection. God’s love grows within our hearts as we interact with one another, when we see each other through those same loving eyes. I guess spiritual is exactly the right word for the compassionate response that sometimes wells up in us when we truly see another person.

I cried a little on the flight home from Newark as I journaled about my interaction with Beverly and about the ways it made me think of my grandma and about the ways that God creates holy moments among souls.

For some unknown reason, this whole experience with Beverly came flooding back to me this morning on my drive to work. And once again, the tears were flowing. It’s hard to put words to all of it. But I hope somehow, you see what I see in it - strangers lives being connected, God being made known, holy moments wrapped up in small gestures of everyday ordinary kindness. 

My grandma passed away 2 days after my encounter with Beverly. I think she would have been pleased to know that she inspired the compassion I extended. And I think she would have been doubly pleased to know that I share in her belief that such compassion is only possible by God’s grace.

[dahsyi]

i wrote a short story for my creative writing class

Life-Sized Mirror

I watched as she shivered to the sight of me holding the knife towards her. Anne was wearing an all-black outfit today, with her favorite black choker bracelet on her right wrist. “This shows that metal, rocker gal side of me,” was her usual justification when I rolled my eyes to her same option of accessories despite the other fancy bangles I bought for her.

We were alone that night, in the bedroom. Our bedroom, to be exact. I ignored her trembling self at the corner of the bed as my eyes trailed across the room. About a year ago, the whole room vibes herself- the fairy lights hanging around our bed posts (not before I claimed it’s too childish of her to have ridiculous fancy lights to sleep), the life-sized mirror standing next to the left side of the bed, the petite-sized laptop, just like her, with an assemblage of stickers of her interests on the cover and Anne’s go-to casual American show, Friends displayed on-screen. I rarely saw her watching it these days, she seemed a bit too caught up with her work lately. That’s for the best too. Ross annoyed the hell out of me with his dinosaurs and lame-ass self. And a bunch of adults hanging around a coffee shop in the midday? Not a good example for a growing, developing teen adult like her.

You know what else went extinct apart from Ross’ dinosaurs? The ancient carving of Anne’s sweet, warm intoxicating smile. In the early years of knowing her, that smile was the additional organ of her anatomy. She was the typical girl-next-door, a bit shy but very friendly and enjoys the company of people. After we have been together for quite some time that she preferred times with me alone.

I glanced over her as her fearful eyes striked through mine. There was never a time that our eyes didn’t meet each other, except for the times she was too absorbed within her interests that she totally ignored me, and I would whisper words to her to remind herself that I needed attention, too.

“I don’t wanna die today..” all of a sudden the sentence came out as if it’s one of her remaining last breaths.

I re-adjusted the knife as it gets slippery on my sweating left palm. It must be done today. I had to end her today. She suffered enough. She had nothing to appreciate, not even her life. She was average in everything she does despite the talents she was being told she possessed. Physical traits? Mediocre. Yes, she dressed up nicely but the most she did was just to distract people from focusing her actual physical self. At least it did not work on me. 

“Don’t do this,” her voice cracked through her lips. “How will Ma and Ayah cope when I’m gone?” I smirked as I heard the mentioned names. 

“Aren’t they the same people, ought to be called your own parents, who ruined your childhood? And those separated Eid celebrations? Should I remind you how much conflict there is? For fuck’s sake, it’s supposed to be a joyful day for everyone. No one else knows how you cry your eyes out, deciding who needs you most.”

First day of Eid, 2019. Anne told Ayah about Ma’s worsened health condition. He’s concerned, as usual. That constant smile that he wore on his face managed to hide his actual emotions from most people, but her of course. Well that was how the majority of this family operates anyway. They rarely expressed their feelings, far to actually sit down and talk about it.

“Losing her appetite. Not getting out of bed for days. Mama fell down too. Right in front of my eyes. I was too surprised, I even had to help her get up because she was unable to move herself. She overworks herself, you know her well.” Anne mumbled. Ayah nodded in agreement.

“Was she okay though for you to spend the Eid with me?” he asked.

Anne went silent, before continuing, “Well, we rarely got the chance to meet. Yet I got so much things to share to you.” 

The emotional connection Anne had with her dad was undeniable compared to her mother. Unlike Ayah, they didn’t have much of heart-to-heart sessions. After all, Ma kept herself busy, having to single-handedly raise Anne on her own throughout the years.

“Yet you didn’t call me. You replied to my text a week after, if you had the sense to actually read them.” Ayah said as he laughed coldly.

Well, that was partly me to be blamed. Anne got too immersed in her work that she had been neglecting calls and messages from her beloved ones. Pardon, ours. Somehow I indirectly instilled the negative thoughts and endless list of what-ifs for her to return the calls which leads to her procrastinating being in-contact with her parents, let alone her closest friends.

Anne awkwardly grinned when her phone suddenly chimed. It was her aunt texting. ‘Ma’s warded.’ Anne’s heart dropped.

“Should I tell Ayah?” she whispered to me when Ayah wasn’t looking.

“You know how Ma is. She’s not fond of people sympathising her, let alone her ex-husband. And what do you expect from Ayah? He’s going to be super worried and he might even show up in the ward.” I answered blankly.

But being the hard-headed person she was, she blatantly told Ayah about Ma’s condition. And guess what? Of course Ma exploded in madness. I was the one to receive that hurtful and full  of hatred (probably the only thing she ever dedicated her expressions on) message Ma sent, but Anne deleted it, which I thought to keep herself sane. I was surprised she still had them the moment she saw Ayah’s disappointed but understanding eyes.

I got too caught up with the flashbacks that I didn’t realize Anne’s right hand had reached for the knife. Her scream filled the entire room as she flung it away. Shit, I cursed as my eyes darted across the nightstand to find anything, really, that could gut the soul out of her. 

“Trust me on this, I can stop the ache.” I said, grinning as my sight fell on the shiny metal piece laid on its own on the nightstand. Lately it had been our new companion every night. I wonder where Anne hid the rest of blades, probably inside the drawers. “I was there by your side the entire time, and I know what you went through.” I continued.

My left hand reached for the blade, with struggle this time. Wow, she’s getting stronger. I know scrolling those Reddit posts from her supportive ‘friends’ did her no good. 

“Stop struggling, Anne.” I went furious. “This is what has been lingering in your mind for the past few weeks, isn’t it? You know I can’t do this alone.”

“They help me see what’s beneath all these. Somehow I know despite how the world sucks, it’s built beautifully,” she sobbed.

“I don’t see you admiring the beauty of life in the nights you play with this ‘knight in shining armour’.” Ironically, the armour wasn’t going to shield or protect her tonight.

I picked up the blade and instantly skimmed it through her wrist. Trickles of blood appeared, and every drop of them was like infused adrenaline rushing through my soul. I was quite surprised the bracelet remained intact after the fast cut.

Anne winced in pain, which made me even more excited. I sliced her thin skin repeatedly like how a mistress swipes her sugar daddy’s credit card. More blood gushed through the wounds, seeping through her black shirt but remained invisible due to the deep dark colour, transparent blood.

“One…” Oh, this counting trick again.

“You know you’re not going to reach fifteen today. Not today.”  I taunted.

“You know the rules. Let me finish counting. Then you do whatever the hell you want with us.” I didn’t know why I agreed to that rule in the first place, but a promise was a promise I guess. “Make it quick then.”

“Two.” It was a childhood trick she taught herself back then. It was her Tylenol for her stage-fright moments, or when she was about to do crazy things. “Three.” Like how she explored Kuala Lumpur in the middle of the night, walking, just her and her best friend. I remembered how free she felt that night. How her soul reached out to the silence of the city. She really let her guard down during the moment, she didn’t really care about the suspicious old man that seemingly to sneak around them wherever corner they slipped. Or the shady street clubs with drunkards scattering. All that she knew, she fed on that enthusiasm. It was her nutrition.

“Eight.” Hell, it was already eight? Hahaha I better not let myself missed the count again. Funny how easy she came up with this count alternative, it was from Troye’s Heaven song. 

‘So I’m counting to fifteen’ was the specific sentence. Troye said it helped him when he’s coming out about his sexuality. Anne, was very heavily influenced by music. It beat her passion for the Arts. The music itself, the culture, the live crowd being in the same place letting themselves go to the beat of the drums. Oh we lived for the moments. Good Vibes was the first music event that she experienced music as something more than just an arrangement of words and tempo and rhythms, or metal rock was more meaningful than merely a long-haired dude screaming  trash on the mic accompanied by heavy, fast-paced drum beats that drives the heart insane.

“Fourteen.” And at that instant, the exact sentence by Slipknot came across our minds.

‘You cannot kill what you didn’t create.’

“Fifteen.”

[the-vinedresser]

Good days and bad days; concept: Cody. LOL jk these are photos taken from my family group chat. Cody got a haircut today and was traumatized by bigger dogs? Not sure, that’s what my mom told me. Although he does seem more on edge than usual.

1. Today was a bad day. It was raining all day. Usually it doesn’t bother me, but I do notice that anytime I’m working on a rainy day, my body shuts off. I almost turn lethargic, and I’m hardly exaggerating. The fatigue is insane to the point where my eyesight sometimes gets blurred. I drink all the coffee but I still end up not being able to function, no matter how much I have to do or how much sleep I’ve gotten. But this whole season (do I really even want to call it that anymore?) has basically been me on edge of a breakdown and trying to hold it in all day and not fall into the deep end when I’m out doing obligatory things like school, work, errands, etc. But the rain, along with working with my mom, something about it all just triggered depression again and I couldn’t do anything. I was paralyzed and just wanted to cry.

2. In a way, I thought it was almost cool how connected I am to nature, but for the most part it just sucks because society doesn’t glorify stuff like that. They just like people who don’t feel as much and get the job done. I know that someday I’ll also give in and reach that point but I’m trying to delay it as much as possible.

3. Last year was interesting in part because I found myself trying to resist adulthood responsibilities as much as possible. While my friend was graduating early and asking me about my interviews for internships and all this stuff, I was fighting to keep my childlike and laid back attitude but I felt like shrewdness and worry just kept getting pushed onto me and force fed to me. I don’t want to wear loafers and be on edge all the time and become jealous of young people who don’t have any idea what’s coming to them. I mean, that was me less than a year ago.

4. I shut down and sat at my desk just thinking about how enormous life is (again) and how people are so selfish and hypocritical and how I would love to have a zombie apocalypse come in. I told my friend that and I realized then that I would actually be in the most in my element of a zombie apocalypse occurred because of anxiety. I told her that I definitely don’t want to die, but I also would not mind having a terminal disease.

5. I was angry at my mom because I felt forced into doing this job because she kept begging me to and my dad said I should help out my mom. All good intentions and that’s what I went into it with. But I started growing bitter because I feel like she has selective hearing and never truly hears what I’m saying. Is this a universal mom/parent problem? Why do I feel like it is? I’ll say something like hey mom, I really want to see a psychiatrist to get medication because I’m really struggling. I thought it out and I’ve tried a lot of things, but this is the step I want to take. However, I’m really scared to make an appointment. Can you help me out? This went on for a really long time. I had to keep reminding her which is fine because she’s busy, but she didn’t seem to have any problem calling massage parlors to see if they have any appointments available multiple times. That made me pretty angry. Because it’s honestly enough to feel like I’m going crazy and I’m making all this shit up and doing this to myself, let alone not getting help on something I made really clear. At work I kept telling her I feel really nauseous and I’m losing feeling in my hands and feet. I think I’m going to throw up. But she kept teaching me how to do this complicated work thing and I have no idea what’s going on and I’m only working there for three more days so why would she even teach me this when there’s someone who already knows how to do it really well? Also, why does it take crying and throwing a shit fit to get people to actually hear you out? Like why does it have to get to that point? Can’t people just listen when you say something to them is it really that hard I don’t understand

6. So I went home early. This is great, nobody knows enough about mental illness and it’s also on me too because I don’t know how to communicate my needs either. I just know someone is going to need help in the future with some sort of mental cloudiness and struggles and I’m going to tell them it’s ok to seek help and I highly recommend it and they’re going to immediately retract in repulsion because all society ever told them was that therapy was for crazies. I hate this. I know because I did the exact same thing instead of listening to the 4 people who told me it’s ok to seek help.

7. I don’t know why I don’t think of myself and why I constantly stretch myself too much and let myself be taken advantage of, even by my own mother. I used to think of it as sacrifices you take to make a relationship grow and to make other people happy, but now it just seems like people expect me to act this way to them all the time. You like going to the mall and that’s how you relieve stress? Ok, I’ll go spend the day with you at the mall even though I get really tired but I try not to show it too much because you’re energetic and you’re having a fun time. Why am I always thinking about ways to make my mother happy and feel like it’s my duty to put her needs before mine? She always brings up her childhood and then I just feel bad for her.

8. The weird thing is I would never like or hang out with or look up to people like my parents, if I just objectively look at them as people and not my parents. My mom is the neurotic boss who won’t leave me alone, is entirely insensitive to the nuance of feeling in other people, and makes it clear to everyone that’s she’s sad when we don’t do things as she expected, like going to the mall. My dad is the boss that makes sexist and racist jokes and pretends he knows everything by making vague, cryptic statements in a loud voice. But I can’t bash them, they’re great parents and good people and they have me a good childhood that could’ve been significantly worse. I just wish I could look up to them more as mentors because it was easier that way, but our interests and the way we deal with problems can’t be more different.

9. I’m not sure why, but another thing that really annoys me is how everyone I know seems to use my education at NYU as a thing for them. Like, oh I know someone who goes to this top-ish college like honestly I feel like nobody should care, especially because I personally don’t, but everyone does for some reason. Like does that grant me the access to be prideful and feel like I’m better than you just because I went to a college? Every time we meet a group of people, nobody else ever says anything more than their name or talk about what college they go to but somehow someone else always has to mention it. Like my dad was like oh she’ll get the job for sure, I mean, she went to NYU. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN. ARE WE REALLY ATTACHING VALUE JUST TO A NAME OF AN INSTITUTION. Like we’re all depressed and in debt I’m glad you like using the institution of college, a place that brutally preps people for nauseating adulthood and crushes people’s dreams, as a way to boost yourself up that’s great. Let’s encourage more people to hate their lives and work under insane amounts of pressure it’s great.

10. People are so stupid I can’t deal with the lack of knowing and disregard for other human life that is happening. Do you think videos about glitter on instagram are going to make your lives meaningful? THAT’S GREAT GOOD FOR YOU I am honestly so jealous, I’m not even kidding. People suck so much which was why being a Christian was so frustrating at times because they’re so exclusionary. They say, no gay marriage no this, no that but the Bible also says to be compassionate and giving, and they all of a sudden become so shy when it comes to outreach and showing grace to other people. I guess my perspective is just different because I don’t have those deep relationships where I can tell people anything on my mind and vent to, I’m too busy trying to just help other people who I barely know WHY DO I DO THIS

11. Life sucks and nowadays I’m drawn to topics about death, sex and drugs. Just stupid counterculture things because I feel like they hold more truth amongst whatever the fuck people are doing these days? My teenage angst seems to have delayed about 5 years it’s great. I mean, the later the better for this kind of stuff so in a way I’m thankful I guess. I just don’t believe in humanity or anyone anymore I hope we all die in some kind of natural disaster to be completely honest. Like I heard people all the time saying that politicians suck and the world is corrupt but it isn’t until now that I truly understand what they mean. Capitalism literally drives everything. This is why I would rather kill myself than go to most things that are business related. I refuse to be part of the problem just so I could live a quaint life, not unless I had my future children in mind or something more altruistic like that. Other than that, it’s terrible and takes advantage of the most vulnerable people. Our president is a narcissist. I want to just live on an island for a little while and do something like make surfboards or something this is bullshit