The Sour:
It's amazing how quickly several of my male-identified friends stop conversing with me the moment they realize I am dating someone. It's great to know that I considered them friends while they were just waiting for me to come around. Here I thought we were actual friends.
The Sweet:
It's great that the person I am dating respects me, is being clear, is understanding that I have some male-identified platonic friendships, and isn't possessive. Basically, it's nice to be starting a healthy relationship. This is what should be normalized.
-ChesterYaYa
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Someone Who Deserves Me
Listen, boss.
She's so beautiful.
Her confidence, her smile.
She isn't perfect, no but her faults, those I adore.
She's knows these great movies. No, films. Films. She talks as if she dines with the characters on a daily basis.
I saw her once, at a store, she was dancing. There wasn't any fear of mockery. She was dancing. I loved it.
Her smile, I know, I know, I mentioned it before, but there is something so comforting about it. It's real. There have been tragic moments in her life before that make those muscles hold up so much more elegantly.
I took out. For a walk, a stroll if you must.
She loves nature. She'll cry, no weep when she hears something beautiful, when a living creature flutters and demands appreciation. She was walking. Stopped mid trot, she trots you know. She stopped, turned, pointed.
It isn't naivety, no it's youth. I adore it. She finds the flaws and the beauty in everything. I love it.
I bought her a present. Some every day movie memorabilia. You can find it anywhere. Guess what, she did this happy stomp. I love it. She loved it.
Listen, boss, I know, she has my attention and adoration.
But you know what, I'm no shmuck, she deserves it all.
Who, of all these people on Earth, all these strangers, deserves my love more than her?
She's me.
Of all the people in the world, why can't I love myself.
It took me long enough, boss. It really did.
But I'm amazing, time I realized that. I deserve to be treated with respect, love. I deserve to care for myself, I should.
Me. Me.
Why not?
She's so beautiful.
Her confidence, her smile.
She isn't perfect, no but her faults, those I adore.
She's knows these great movies. No, films. Films. She talks as if she dines with the characters on a daily basis.
I saw her once, at a store, she was dancing. There wasn't any fear of mockery. She was dancing. I loved it.
Her smile, I know, I know, I mentioned it before, but there is something so comforting about it. It's real. There have been tragic moments in her life before that make those muscles hold up so much more elegantly.
I took out. For a walk, a stroll if you must.
She loves nature. She'll cry, no weep when she hears something beautiful, when a living creature flutters and demands appreciation. She was walking. Stopped mid trot, she trots you know. She stopped, turned, pointed.
It isn't naivety, no it's youth. I adore it. She finds the flaws and the beauty in everything. I love it.
I bought her a present. Some every day movie memorabilia. You can find it anywhere. Guess what, she did this happy stomp. I love it. She loved it.
Listen, boss, I know, she has my attention and adoration.
But you know what, I'm no shmuck, she deserves it all.
Who, of all these people on Earth, all these strangers, deserves my love more than her?
She's me.
Of all the people in the world, why can't I love myself.
It took me long enough, boss. It really did.
But I'm amazing, time I realized that. I deserve to be treated with respect, love. I deserve to care for myself, I should.
Me. Me.
Why not?
Have Patience
There is so much noise, and the headaches, they don't end.
These thoughts, all these connections are strung together and rerouted in seconds.
There are aspects, which are overlooked and trivial but no matter how trivial they hold importance.
It's a train. At each stop yes, people get off but several board.
And the noise.
So many voices, beautiful thoughts, each admiring and questioning something new, some worries, some beauty, it's marvelous but this train is not big enough.
This train can't hold it in. There are too many.
Mostly, the passengers get along. The train can withstand the noise, the complaints, the emotion, but sometimes, sometimes, it has to stop, it has to BREAK.
This train can't always move.
It is a train. There are pieces, compartments if you must that make this elegant train but sometimes it can't function as well, as promptly as its usual self. Sometimes. Sometimes, it can't.
Don't laugh.
It is aware of how bizarre it can be. It accepts this but during rush hour, any worry is a worthy one.
Don't laugh, just hold on, relax, don't make any of the passengers louder, don't make them worry.
Relax.
Have patience.
These thoughts, all these connections are strung together and rerouted in seconds.
There are aspects, which are overlooked and trivial but no matter how trivial they hold importance.
It's a train. At each stop yes, people get off but several board.
And the noise.
So many voices, beautiful thoughts, each admiring and questioning something new, some worries, some beauty, it's marvelous but this train is not big enough.
This train can't hold it in. There are too many.
Mostly, the passengers get along. The train can withstand the noise, the complaints, the emotion, but sometimes, sometimes, it has to stop, it has to BREAK.
This train can't always move.
It is a train. There are pieces, compartments if you must that make this elegant train but sometimes it can't function as well, as promptly as its usual self. Sometimes. Sometimes, it can't.
Don't laugh.
It is aware of how bizarre it can be. It accepts this but during rush hour, any worry is a worthy one.
Don't laugh, just hold on, relax, don't make any of the passengers louder, don't make them worry.
Relax.
Have patience.
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
Monday, April 6, 2015
Uneasy
It slithers in. Quietly, in the disguise of a friend, it slithers in and sits down.
There's a stare. Chilling, cold. It doesn't go away.
There's a brief moment of silence followed by a distinct buzz they call lucidity.
Well, you can try to call it that.
Truth be told millions of flies and mosquitos are now circling the mind.
There isn't clarity.
It's black. For the next few moments your eyes will forget how to focus.
The room looses air. Although you've been sitting you feel as if you've run a marathon without your precious inhaler.
Every repressed emotion, every forgotten thought comes flying in.
The filters are gone. The barriers are broken.
Your hands seek to grasp anything. You regret not filing down your nails. Unable to find that squeeze the itch grows.
Minutes ago your fists were turning white, now your thighs will become a writing post.
The sensitivity grows. Noises creep up. Thoughts increase.
You're going to burst into a thousand asymmetrical pieces.
Just as your body begins to break the kind stranger slithers away,
and the energy leaves with it.
You're tired.
Any resistance put up has left this vessel drained.
Your friend has left for now, time to relax.
There's a stare. Chilling, cold. It doesn't go away.
There's a brief moment of silence followed by a distinct buzz they call lucidity.
Well, you can try to call it that.
Truth be told millions of flies and mosquitos are now circling the mind.
There isn't clarity.
It's black. For the next few moments your eyes will forget how to focus.
The room looses air. Although you've been sitting you feel as if you've run a marathon without your precious inhaler.
Every repressed emotion, every forgotten thought comes flying in.
The filters are gone. The barriers are broken.
Your hands seek to grasp anything. You regret not filing down your nails. Unable to find that squeeze the itch grows.
Minutes ago your fists were turning white, now your thighs will become a writing post.
The sensitivity grows. Noises creep up. Thoughts increase.
You're going to burst into a thousand asymmetrical pieces.
Just as your body begins to break the kind stranger slithers away,
and the energy leaves with it.
You're tired.
Any resistance put up has left this vessel drained.
Your friend has left for now, time to relax.
Free Write: Bubbles
I've improved in various ways. I understand and accept there is still so much to proceed with.
Bubble One:
Just today I've realized how much anger I have withheld toward my past relationships. As much as I have claimed to moved on, I haven't. There is still resentment towards people. It's honestly just my insecurities of wanting to be "enough" for them and never feeling as if I were. Sometimes putting in effort doesn't guarantee reciprocity.
Bubble Two:
New relationships are hard to form just like old relationships are hard to terminate. There's something frightening about being raw with someone. It can be a thrill to be entirely vulnerable. Giving and taking is a tricky situation. I'm frightened to place myself in situations that could lead to painful growth or hopeful possibilities. Is this where I disappear, get assaulted, or make a new friend?
-ChesterYaYa
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Monday, March 23, 2015
Free Write: School
I think I am going to enroll in classes again.
I am being encouraged by the success of others. Several of my classmates have graduated or have a promising vocation.
I really enjoy my morning job, my second job can be iffy. It literally varies depending on the student and their family, however, for the most part, I do enjoy my jobs.
I'm afraid that my current jobs will keep me from reaching full independence, from moving out, from being finically stable. It worries me. I truly am discouraged by my current position however I am confident that if I focus more on classes, as I should have done the first two times, I won't fail. I may not be book smart, achieving As is something of the past, but I know I can learn. I know that I can achieve something that will make me proud.
This year has been tough. Really tough. I'm not entirely sure where this glimmer of optimism comes from but I'm going to work with it.
-ChesterYaYa
I am being encouraged by the success of others. Several of my classmates have graduated or have a promising vocation.
I really enjoy my morning job, my second job can be iffy. It literally varies depending on the student and their family, however, for the most part, I do enjoy my jobs.
I'm afraid that my current jobs will keep me from reaching full independence, from moving out, from being finically stable. It worries me. I truly am discouraged by my current position however I am confident that if I focus more on classes, as I should have done the first two times, I won't fail. I may not be book smart, achieving As is something of the past, but I know I can learn. I know that I can achieve something that will make me proud.
This year has been tough. Really tough. I'm not entirely sure where this glimmer of optimism comes from but I'm going to work with it.
-ChesterYaYa
Saturday, March 14, 2015
The Broken Machine
There was a sputter, a shake, and then a smell.
Not a welcoming, please-stay smell.
No. It was toxic.
It wasn't fear. No contagion here.
It was a warning sign.
This was the sign before the hurricane.
Think: Something wicked this way comes.
But less melodramatic. Paranoia, but less worry. More of a mystery and less of a confusion.
A ticking time bomb that would kill those involved and potentially harm those carefree passerby.
It was the big boom before the war. It was everything they warned you about wrapped in a lovely metallic red, passed down through generations.
This normalized chaos will drive you insane and pollute the airways.
Breathe it in and watch it enfold.
Not a welcoming, please-stay smell.
No. It was toxic.
It wasn't fear. No contagion here.
It was a warning sign.
This was the sign before the hurricane.
Think: Something wicked this way comes.
But less melodramatic. Paranoia, but less worry. More of a mystery and less of a confusion.
A ticking time bomb that would kill those involved and potentially harm those carefree passerby.
It was the big boom before the war. It was everything they warned you about wrapped in a lovely metallic red, passed down through generations.
This normalized chaos will drive you insane and pollute the airways.
Breathe it in and watch it enfold.
Friday, March 13, 2015
the day I punched the Coldplay CD
Lies. It all stemmed from lies. This wasn't a quick realization. These were timeless minutes that spewed up one final thought: the man in the suit didn't love the girl in the blue dress.
She clenched her fist. Her uneven, patchy black nails had grown over the course of two days, now long enough to leave a clear outline on her pale white skin. It hurt.
It hadn't been long. It hadn't been a year or two months. It hadn't been long but the new truth, her truth, was all it took to send her over the edge.
She smacked her lips. Her cheap $1 lipstick had flaked off and left a cherry red glimmer across her lower lip. It had taken her three hours to find this exact CD. Three hours plus 30 minutes of liquid courage in the form of yet another cheap discarded alcohol her family had left and she finally had all the elements together.
She hated this CD. She hated what it stood for. She couldn't find the pictures or the ticket stub so this would have to do.
"I hate what you did, to me."
Her clenched fists were now losing color. All her anger, all her regrets, all her love, all her forgiveness, and self-hatred was directed toward this CD.
"You took something from me and you left me. You ran away!"
She raised her right fist. Her left was still recovering from slamming it against her car door. Her right, her weak right fist would take the blow.
She closed her eyes. Tears had ruined whatever makeup remained from the long night. She was ready. All her pain would be gone the moment this CD was broken. It would end. She would move on. She wouldn't need to wait on the phone or stop herself from calling a missed number. It would be done.
With eyes closed, she struck the CD.
The room was filled with a hallowed cry. She opens her eyes. There was no release. Her knuckles were bleeding. She quickly wrapped her fist with the cloth draping her nightstand. She knew what had happened.
"Fuck you."
She had missed the CD entirely. A small bump now existed above her pillow.
"Fuck you for not caring anymore. Fuck me for still wanting you."
The wall. She'll try again next week. Same CD. Same feeling. Same pain. New tears.
"I love you."
She grabbed the CD and tossed it inside her drawer, right above the letters and photographs. She removed the green cloth and exposed her new bruises. She stared at the blood. It was hers. It will always be hers.
And her hope remains even when the blood dries.
She clenched her fist. Her uneven, patchy black nails had grown over the course of two days, now long enough to leave a clear outline on her pale white skin. It hurt.
It hadn't been long. It hadn't been a year or two months. It hadn't been long but the new truth, her truth, was all it took to send her over the edge.
She smacked her lips. Her cheap $1 lipstick had flaked off and left a cherry red glimmer across her lower lip. It had taken her three hours to find this exact CD. Three hours plus 30 minutes of liquid courage in the form of yet another cheap discarded alcohol her family had left and she finally had all the elements together.
She hated this CD. She hated what it stood for. She couldn't find the pictures or the ticket stub so this would have to do.
"I hate what you did, to me."
Her clenched fists were now losing color. All her anger, all her regrets, all her love, all her forgiveness, and self-hatred was directed toward this CD.
"You took something from me and you left me. You ran away!"
She raised her right fist. Her left was still recovering from slamming it against her car door. Her right, her weak right fist would take the blow.
She closed her eyes. Tears had ruined whatever makeup remained from the long night. She was ready. All her pain would be gone the moment this CD was broken. It would end. She would move on. She wouldn't need to wait on the phone or stop herself from calling a missed number. It would be done.
With eyes closed, she struck the CD.
The room was filled with a hallowed cry. She opens her eyes. There was no release. Her knuckles were bleeding. She quickly wrapped her fist with the cloth draping her nightstand. She knew what had happened.
"Fuck you."
She had missed the CD entirely. A small bump now existed above her pillow.
"Fuck you for not caring anymore. Fuck me for still wanting you."
The wall. She'll try again next week. Same CD. Same feeling. Same pain. New tears.
"I love you."
She grabbed the CD and tossed it inside her drawer, right above the letters and photographs. She removed the green cloth and exposed her new bruises. She stared at the blood. It was hers. It will always be hers.
And her hope remains even when the blood dries.
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Monday, March 9, 2015
the leftovers
boxes and bags.
a torn one here, its contents belonging to a stranger?
no, they were known. they weren't a stranger.
and here, more plastic holding up..
memories.
to be sold?
no. you can't sell these.
surely, they can be given away.
no. these aren't transferable. they remain.
these all take up space.
they help. some memories, don't serve to haunt, they help. i welcome them all.
and these ears?
no, they must remain hidden, i must, hid them. like the longing, i must hid them.
all this baggage for a stranger long gone.
not gone. not for sure. just, a wanderer. i'll wear the ears and dress when they return.
you seem so sure, a clown you are.
not a clown, just a lost mouse. i keep it all. for comfort.
well, their comfort has gone, you know that. they left.
.....
a torn one here, its contents belonging to a stranger?
no, they were known. they weren't a stranger.
and here, more plastic holding up..
memories.
to be sold?
no. you can't sell these.
surely, they can be given away.
no. these aren't transferable. they remain.
these all take up space.
they help. some memories, don't serve to haunt, they help. i welcome them all.
and these ears?
no, they must remain hidden, i must, hid them. like the longing, i must hid them.
all this baggage for a stranger long gone.
not gone. not for sure. just, a wanderer. i'll wear the ears and dress when they return.
you seem so sure, a clown you are.
not a clown, just a lost mouse. i keep it all. for comfort.
well, their comfort has gone, you know that. they left.
.....
lo que queda
eres mi media manzana.
a complementary pair.
nuestras ideas, nuestros pensamientos, juntos,
se unen y bailan.
y nosotros hacemos nuestra música.
y ellos, todos, nos miran, preguntan.
porque
why
let go and move.
no entienden.
y no quieren aprender.
los pedazos siempre se unen.
dos partes, aunque cambien las expresiones se unirán.
si dos plantas crecen juntas y se separan que pasa?
Sunday, March 8, 2015
SYSTEM ERROR - by Christien Glitch Rodriguez
What to do with a "glitch" in the system?
An incompatibility with a world
that has formulated its own
exemption from inquiry...
the exemption that defines
the rule it proves breakable...
the grotesque and unwanted reminder
that everything and nothing is real anymore?
I move through the matrix,
or, maybe the matrix moves through me.
Like a glitch that haunts its truths.
The hardest part about being a glitch
is the knowing, thinking, feeling
that I am entirely different
and in every way a duplicate
at the same time...
Haunted by the disorienting recognition
that I am a product of a system
disproved by my existence.
I am incapable of forgetting that I am
surrounded by drones programmed to forget
histories of their own wiring.
The average agent glares at me
with a suspicious glow,
careful not to alert me
to their alerted state,
as they scan thoroughly
up and down my frame...
searching...
searching...
searching... for my difference.
Once they can place it,
they can place me,
determine the command combination
to extract and follow.
Why they do this,
they do not know.
They do not ask questions.
When they do they ask all the wrong ones.
They ask all the wrong questions
when I do not compute,
when the appearance of my structure
resists placement by mocking it,
when my sign is absent of meaning
so the default of "other"
is often assigned to me.
However, if they only asked
they could find
I am something other than the other,
the third option from the abyss.
Neither thesis nor antithesis,
but something entirely different
as I occupy the ether between.
An incompatibility with a world
that has formulated its own
exemption from inquiry...
the exemption that defines
the rule it proves breakable...
the grotesque and unwanted reminder
that everything and nothing is real anymore?
I move through the matrix,
or, maybe the matrix moves through me.
Like a glitch that haunts its truths.
The hardest part about being a glitch
is the knowing, thinking, feeling
that I am entirely different
and in every way a duplicate
at the same time...
Haunted by the disorienting recognition
that I am a product of a system
disproved by my existence.
I am incapable of forgetting that I am
surrounded by drones programmed to forget
histories of their own wiring.
The average agent glares at me
with a suspicious glow,
careful not to alert me
to their alerted state,
as they scan thoroughly
up and down my frame...
searching...
searching...
searching... for my difference.
Once they can place it,
they can place me,
determine the command combination
to extract and follow.
Why they do this,
they do not know.
They do not ask questions.
When they do they ask all the wrong ones.
They ask all the wrong questions
when I do not compute,
when the appearance of my structure
resists placement by mocking it,
when my sign is absent of meaning
so the default of "other"
is often assigned to me.
However, if they only asked
they could find
I am something other than the other,
the third option from the abyss.
Neither thesis nor antithesis,
but something entirely different
as I occupy the ether between.
Free Write: A Day Too Soon
He would have been 25 today. 25 years of breathing, thinking, moving.
I can't pinpoint how we met but I can bring up so many fond memories of him. I can't pinpoint it because it was so comfortable and serene. There wasn't any awkward moments. It was just so, unreal.
It hurts to know how easily I can forget about him yet, I randomly am reminded of him. I see hats like the ones he would wear. I see bowties. He loved bowties.
We weren't close but I admired his strength. He had this incredible patience. He was such a beautiful soul. I was lucky to have met him. I can honestly say that he was one of the highlights of my UCI years. Every time I would bump into him on campus he would say hi. Not the casual wave and goodbye and the "We should hangout" fake invitation. It was all genuine. Hugs, hellos, talk that would definitely go further than the small talk boundaries.
I should have said happy birthday yesterday but I'm still upset. I can't stop being angry at his loss. I'm still angry and I want him to still be here.
I'm not saying goodbye.
Happy Belated Birthday Christien.
I can't pinpoint how we met but I can bring up so many fond memories of him. I can't pinpoint it because it was so comfortable and serene. There wasn't any awkward moments. It was just so, unreal.
It hurts to know how easily I can forget about him yet, I randomly am reminded of him. I see hats like the ones he would wear. I see bowties. He loved bowties.
We weren't close but I admired his strength. He had this incredible patience. He was such a beautiful soul. I was lucky to have met him. I can honestly say that he was one of the highlights of my UCI years. Every time I would bump into him on campus he would say hi. Not the casual wave and goodbye and the "We should hangout" fake invitation. It was all genuine. Hugs, hellos, talk that would definitely go further than the small talk boundaries.
I should have said happy birthday yesterday but I'm still upset. I can't stop being angry at his loss. I'm still angry and I want him to still be here.
I'm not saying goodbye.
Happy Belated Birthday Christien.
Friday, March 6, 2015
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Free Write: One Day
Hundreds of tiny thoughts rush around in my brain. It's part of the anxiety I deal with. I use to think it was the way everyone thought. Turns out, it isn't.
These past two months have been tough. Consequently, my "regular" thoughts have changed into something more cynical. There is hope, which I greatly hold on to, but 70% of the thoughts are cynical.
Maybe, one day, he'll be proud. Maybe, one day, he won't be rude. Maybe, one day, he'll act differently. Maybe, one day, they will love each other again. Maybe, one day, I won't be afraid. Maybe, one day, he'll reach out to me again. Maybe, one day, it won't hurt. Maybe, one day, I won't reach for the phone to call someone that has left. Maybe, one day, the acne will be gone. Maybe, one day, my back will stop hurting. Maybe, one day, my paycheck won't be so low. Maybe, one day, school will be easier. Maybe, one day, I won't worry so much. Maybe, one day, I'll find the necklace.
I've been in this constant limbo. Ups. Downs. I want to laugh but my body and mind crave sleep. I want to smile forever but I turn to the left and hide the tears. I live somewhere in-between the two extremes. It's a little empty but it could be worse.
I know it will get better. I am confident that it will be.
Onward I have to go.
-ChesterYaYa
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Pontius Pilate (This is Flight or Fight)
This isn't car oil.
This isn't a red scribble.
Water, soap, degreasers or any surfactants cocktails will not suffice.
Esto es muy diferente.
Rewind.
There was a text, a call, and a goodbye.
Proceed.
Not a second passed before a gran retreat.
Hesitation, not there. Just fear.
The consequences and possible actions were too much.
It was more than a retreat. It was a flee.
Reaction.
Though scrub you will, the misdeed will remain.
Ignorantes serán, pero ella nunca olvidara, aunque quiera.
Pain. Disappointment.
This is running away.
This is flight.
Parts and Phone Calls
Don't get caught up in the nasty particulars.
Time will continue to move forward regardless of your mental state.
There are many shades, there are many events, there will be more.
Waiting on an explanation, waiting on a second try, waiting, plain and simple waiting will hold you back.
The nasty particulars will never go away.
They won't cease to infiltrate your brain.
The questions and what ifs will linger.
Emotions don't end.
Closure will not arrive if that is what is sought.
Don't get caught up in the near memories.
Scents will disappear, pictures will fade.
& one day, perhaps not today, perhaps not anytime soon, this pain will be useful.
It won't be a wedge. No.
It will be more than the bad and grow into something beautiful.
Don't get caught up in the nasty particulars.
Time will continue to move forward regardless of your mental state.
There are many shades, there are many events, there will be more.
Waiting on an explanation, waiting on a second try, waiting, plain and simple waiting will hold you back.
The nasty particulars will never go away.
They won't cease to infiltrate your brain.
The questions and what ifs will linger.
Emotions don't end.
Closure will not arrive if that is what is sought.
Don't get caught up in the near memories.
Scents will disappear, pictures will fade.
& one day, perhaps not today, perhaps not anytime soon, this pain will be useful.
It won't be a wedge. No.
It will be more than the bad and grow into something beautiful.
Don't get caught up in the nasty particulars.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Free Write: The Outpour
This month has been incredibly emotionally overwhelming for me. My situation at home has worsened. My personal life has in a way, dwindled. There has been so much that has occurred in the past few weeks that I am not sure what to make of it all. I don't exactly have an outlet for these sort of things anymore so once again, my blog comes handy. I enjoy writing but eventually my hands can not scribble out the emotions or words quickly enough and anxiety ensues. Oh yeah, my anxiety has definitely worsened. I drive more so that doesn't help.
Enough ranting. Ranting can only do so much. The only way there can be progress is if there is action. In the following months I hope to increase my mental well-being. This blog can't hold up so much negativity and sadness, it needs to bloom into something more productive.
-ChesterYaYa
Enough ranting. Ranting can only do so much. The only way there can be progress is if there is action. In the following months I hope to increase my mental well-being. This blog can't hold up so much negativity and sadness, it needs to bloom into something more productive.
-ChesterYaYa
Thursday, February 5, 2015
V-Day UCI
Trigger Warning: Assault, Rape, Abuse.
-1 in 4 women and 1 in 6 men will be sexually assaulted before the age of 18. (http://www.woar.org)
-25% of women and 16% of men have been sexually abused as children (Dube, Withfield, & Felitti, 2005)
-25% of women and 16% of men have been sexually abused as children (Dube, Withfield, & Felitti, 2005)
What frightens me the most is knowing that 60% of assaults are not reported to the police. Mine wasn't. So, what really are the numbers? How frequent does this happen?
If you are a survivor, I applaud your strength. I know it may be hard to continue looking for the good in the world, and I'm sorry anything like this happened to you. It's not ok. It's not alright. It's not your fault. AND IT SHOULD NEVER HAPPEN TO ANYONE. EVER.
It's our turn to rise.
I will be rising with my V-Day family this month at our annual production of The Vagina Monologues. Our proceeds will support awareness and funds for anti-violence groups within our community of Irvine.
Find out more at vdayuci.com
Friday, January 30, 2015
Broken Goodbye
When someone would rather deal with their demons on their own than with you, you know you've fucked up.
It's time to go.
I said I would stay. I want to but now the arms that use to hold me run away.
There isn't any forgiveness.
The hesitation doesn't exist.
Without trust this flower can't bloom. It's not there.
I wanted to wait. I wanted to return to the Happy Mess. I still do.
Yet, this new book has changing characters. Nothing is the same.
The papers have been crumbled and now, try as I may they won't return to their cool, crisp, edges.
It's worked before.
Opening up. Being vulnerable. Letting all the flaws show.
Someone cried. Someone listened.
The key to it working was that the people were reversed.
I'm too soft. I would always forgive and say yes.
Now, it's too different. Too difficult.
My flaws and vulnerability isn't enough.
Keep on, keep moving on.
It will still hurt, letting go always hurts but I must accept that this will never be the same. The Happy Mess won't return anymore.
It all changes when both are neither happy nor in love. It hurts.
You'll get numbers and smiles. You'll get better.
It's time to go. No one wants you to stay.
It's time to go.
I said I would stay. I want to but now the arms that use to hold me run away.
There isn't any forgiveness.
The hesitation doesn't exist.
Without trust this flower can't bloom. It's not there.
I wanted to wait. I wanted to return to the Happy Mess. I still do.
Yet, this new book has changing characters. Nothing is the same.
The papers have been crumbled and now, try as I may they won't return to their cool, crisp, edges.
It's worked before.
Opening up. Being vulnerable. Letting all the flaws show.
Someone cried. Someone listened.
The key to it working was that the people were reversed.
I'm too soft. I would always forgive and say yes.
Now, it's too different. Too difficult.
My flaws and vulnerability isn't enough.
Keep on, keep moving on.
It will still hurt, letting go always hurts but I must accept that this will never be the same. The Happy Mess won't return anymore.
It all changes when both are neither happy nor in love. It hurts.
You'll get numbers and smiles. You'll get better.
It's time to go. No one wants you to stay.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Monday, January 26, 2015
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Free Write: This Is How It Hurts
I wasn't prepared for something this painful.
I wasn't prepared to lose what I wanted the most.
I can't bare it, the memories are everywhere, the pictures, the presents, the clothing, and I have to let it all go now.
It hurts.
-ChesterYaYa
I wasn't prepared to lose what I wanted the most.
I can't bare it, the memories are everywhere, the pictures, the presents, the clothing, and I have to let it all go now.
It hurts.
-ChesterYaYa
Free Write: Forever Goodbye
I heard it. I understand. And this is where I really walk away. Not a week, not a month, I get it.
This is forever, goodbye.
-ChesterYaYa
Monday, January 19, 2015
[leave here]
This sentence will end.
One day our sun will die.
There is an end, to everything and everyone.
Biology teaches young children that ends are natural.
Literature teaches us that words may linger but people fade away.
Yet, a young girl can't grasp letting life take it's undeniable course.
She ponders and cries. She waits and flees.
The sweet surrender is an event she hopes to postpone.
She crosses her fingers, chronicles the confusion, and wishes for it to continue.
It: her life, her friendships, the love, the happiness, the peace.
Somewhere in between the sentences, in between the deep breaths, she will find her solution.
There will be a holy grail to every situation that has ever presented itself to her.
There will be a holy grail to make them stay, to make the peace last, to make them live.
Somewhere she will find the solution to her problem and the problem will be no more.
One day our sun will die.
There is an end, to everything and everyone.
Biology teaches young children that ends are natural.
Literature teaches us that words may linger but people fade away.
Yet, a young girl can't grasp letting life take it's undeniable course.
She ponders and cries. She waits and flees.
The sweet surrender is an event she hopes to postpone.
She crosses her fingers, chronicles the confusion, and wishes for it to continue.
It: her life, her friendships, the love, the happiness, the peace.
Somewhere in between the sentences, in between the deep breaths, she will find her solution.
There will be a holy grail to every situation that has ever presented itself to her.
There will be a holy grail to make them stay, to make the peace last, to make them live.
Somewhere she will find the solution to her problem and the problem will be no more.
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Free Write: Night Time
It's only been a few days but I can already feel your absence.
I've used the terms "friend" loosely for many years and rarely mean it. Everyone falls asleep early and here I remain, waiting, hoping we can speak again and discuss politics and that new show.
There are only a handful of individuals in my life I can count on. You were one of them.
But I understand, the toxicity we were breeding was killing us.
It's for the best. One day the silence won't frighten me; I'll find solace in myself.
The loneliness won't forever be a foreign discomfort.
-ChesterYaYa
I've used the terms "friend" loosely for many years and rarely mean it. Everyone falls asleep early and here I remain, waiting, hoping we can speak again and discuss politics and that new show.
There are only a handful of individuals in my life I can count on. You were one of them.
But I understand, the toxicity we were breeding was killing us.
It's for the best. One day the silence won't frighten me; I'll find solace in myself.
The loneliness won't forever be a foreign discomfort.
-ChesterYaYa
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