tiffentries

[tiffentries]

detoxing: nyc edition

At that moment she thought she had only two options: stay at home and drown herself in bowls and bowls of ice cream or go out with her friends to drink, dance and sing.

Both sounded tempting. But being home while stuffing herself with sweets on a saturday night also sounded quite pitiable, since she knew she would be crying on the couch over someone she couldn’t have. Therefore, second option it is.

New York is certainly one of the best places to have fun at night. Once she was there, Tiffany remembered it.

A shot of pure vodka, as a starter. And she moved to the dancefloor already, not wanting to stay still. Don’t leave yourself room to think. Hands running down her sides then up her front, keeping her eyes closed as she makes sure to really feel the music. The song blasting the walls and the floor in the loudest volume helped her absorb the beats, her heart screaming in her ears. It was good. The kind of good that makes the hair on the back of your neck to stand up.

Another shot of vodka followed by a glass of a pretty pink drink. It was sweet and it blended well with the bitterness she was still feeling inside.

It was not her fault. It’s nobody’s fault.

Only her own. (Inside, that’s how she feels).

How can you be this selfish, Hwang? You’re her friend. Be happy!

Double shot. And a beep on her phone.

Her body colapsed on the not at all comfortable couch, squeezing herself between her friends while replying. Short and fast.

She sighed. Not in the mood.

After that she succeeded in forgetting about the device — about the woman —, hidden inside her small purse. She drank a bit more. And more. Returned to let her body dance for a long aditional hour. Made out in the middle of the dancefloor with this pretty hot and sweaty stranger before she made sure to finish her night at the club with a few shots of tequila. But then, karaoke. 노래방.

Her voice? Gone. From the singing, screaming and the alcohol.

A little more tipsy and giggly than intended, she was back at her sister’s place, both her dogs welcoming her drunk self entering the living room. The thought of throwing herself on the couch crossed her mind but that little conscious part of her brain forced her to actually do that inside her room — the guests room.

4:12 AM. It flashed on her phone once she finally took it out of the bottom of her bag again.

A long sigh escaped her lips. Kinda smeared dark eyes and what was left of her red lipstick completed her end of the night clubber look.

In the dumbness of the night, comfortable on the soft mattress, Tiffany closed her eyes. Feeling drained from the long night, her feet sore and screaming inside the heels — she felt terrible when the darkness and the silence made her think about what she was trying to forget.

Her.

Pathetic.

“Ugh! It’s useless!”

[tiffentries]

entry 01 — crafting

We're always the most inspired when we're sad, when in pain, when struggling. In a upsetting way, the darkness can bring a big dose of art. It is, in the end, the best mood to write, to compose, to create. When we’re really feeling it.

That thought got me ill at ease.

Me. The one who tries to be bright and positive any time, any place.

Therefore, I push myself to create and to be inspired by happy things. Shiny smiles. Floral scents. Summer rains. Sugar rush. Bubbly giggles. Friendly hugs. Tasty meals.

When the sun bathe my room in a gold-like light and the sight itself makes me feel all warm. I write. Anything. Even if it’s tiny meaningless words at first. Just for the sake of doing it.

I write.

I write when it's morning and I'm singing along to pop songs after doing my make-up. In those free 5 minutes I have before getting on my way to work.

When I’m in love. When I'm satisfied. When I'm feeling lighthearted. When I'm being lazy on the couch or watching my dogs play in the backyard.

Even if it's just inside my head... the words flow.

And the thought of being inspired by the small little elated and merry moments makes me feel like it's okay to be sad sometimes. Because I'm happy all the other seconds. That when the doleful moments happen, It's totally fine to use my pain to craft something mellow, because I've been talking and hightlightening the joylful parts of my life as well — because I use my bliss just the same.

I can give myself that — without feeling burdened —, because I know it won't last.

I know I will be happy again. I will feel loved and I will love once more. That I can feel blessed, pleased and complete after the downfall.

Therefore, I write.