Enslaved by the Dollar Bill

Allergies have plagued me all of my life. But aside from itchy eyes and a few sneezes here and there, I pretty much never got sick.

Ever.

Now that I started working full-time every day, however, it seems like sickness just plagues me.

I write to you today with a massive headache, a runny nose, a sore throat and an immune system on the verge of influenza. I also write to you today from my office.

You never really realise how deep you're going in it when it comes to working, until you start working. By this I mean there really aren't many shortcuts or days when you can say eff class, I don't feel good. Or it's raining hard and I don't want to walk on campus. Or I overslept so I may as well just not go.

This is the real world.

You wake up sick, and you better take your sick ass into the shower and get ready for work - just like you do every other day of the week, and every other week of the year for pretty much the rest of your young and healthy life.

With that, I just have one question: whose idea was it to make a work week 5 days and a weekend 2? And WHY!? I mean if you think about it, the way society has it down, we are supposed to spend basically the first 65 years of our lives learning how to work, preparing to work, and then, ultimately, working. Every. Single. Day. Eight hours a day (if you're lucky). Five days a week.

What kind of life is that, exactly? You have to wait 65 years to be able to just wake up in the morning and do nothing but admire the world you've been living in for decades without ever getting a chance to even appreciate? A world that neither you nor your ancestors created by working?

What the hell.

How is anyone genuinely supposed to relish being awakened every day at 6:30 a.m. to leap out of bed, get ready, force feed, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially they make money for somebody else ... And then turn around and be grateful for the opportunity to do so?

Working all your life to afford things you never even get to do or use? Even if you have all the money to do all the wonderful fulfilling things you have always wanted to do, do you even have the time?

Oh wait, I forget. Two weeks vacation out of 52 weeks a year is more than enough to get in everything you missed out on for the other 50 weeks in the year.

That's right.

I say it all the time and I'll say it again; we've got this thing called life all wrong. But we're so caught up in the routine, most of us don't even realise it until it is too late, if at all.

Breaking Point

I've got A LOT on my chest.

So, as a warning, it's quite possible this will be a blog like you have probably never seen on here.

Here goes...

Lately, I have noticed that I have become really lackadaisical and somewhat of a pushover. Granted, I have always been quiet and to myself, however it never meant for a second that I would allow people to push me around or disrespect me. Yet, this is exactly the occurrence that has become frequent as of late.

And now that it has come to my attention, I formally announce that it will happen no longer. If you're confused about what I mean, I can spell it out for you.

I've recently uncovered that there were a bunch of shady people around pretending they were basking in sunshine with me, when really they were hiding in my shadow. I'm quite aware that I may not have a massive group of friends or much of a social life at all for that matter, but by no means does it mean that I want you or your shadiness in my life. By far, I'd rather have ONE good friend than keep around some of you fake motherf_ckers who have been leaching off of me or my family. If you don't really want to be a friend, and deep down you have nothing but bad intentions to go along with your bad behaviour, then take it elsewhere. It's pretty simple really.

My heart is always clean and my intentions, pure. I make no attempts to hide this. So if you find that maybe you don't fit in with that in your life then go find someone else who fits your lifestyle and moral code more closely.

And spare me.

As for people who feel they can pass their slick comments by my ear without me noticing it, in case you have yet to realise, you can't out-swim a fish. Sarcasm was my first language and slickness came along as a bogo. You can't seriously believe that I am not going to know when I am being disrespected slyly. (And let's not even talk about blatantly, although I will say I appreciate those far more.) In the last few years I admit I may not have been as outspoken as I once was, so if maybe by chance you forgot, or simply don't know who I am, allow me to reintroduce myself.

If you're looking for someone to be rude to and get away with it, it won't be me. If you're looking for someone to be shady and fake with, it won't be me. And if you're looking for someone to listen to your incessant pathological lies, it certainly will .. not .. be .. me.

I will call you out with no hesitation.

I've got more than enough positive things going on in my life to not have the need, time, nor space for any negatives. So either you develop that shit into a photograph or get your camera and your film all the way the fuck out of my face.

Oh, and if you feel this is about you then chances are it probably is.

Ciao.

Lesson.. Plans?

I've got a bombshell for you guys.

Are you ready for it?

I think ... I want ... to become a teacher. (Surprise .. !?)

I mean if you think about it, I spend half of my time correcting my peers' grammar and punctuation, and the other half trying to save the world, which I still have yet to realise I cannot do single-handedly. So what better way to put those together than to be in a classroom?

I never really say it, but the first thing I ever wanted to be as a child growing up was a teacher. (After I realised that maybe being a race car driver like Natasha Chang with her Pink Evo wasn't really a job.) And shockingly enough, I wanted to be a math teacher. Mathematics was actually my favourite subject, all the way up until high school when I met my dear friend Algebra 2, who turned me away from being a teacher all together. 

What's more, my mother's mother was a well-respected teacher back in Jamaica, and my mother is on her way to becoming one as well. Funny how I never realised before that maybe being a teacher is just in my blood. Until now.. Maybe..

It's still just a thought. A really recurring thought that is becoming harder and harder to ignore. I have been thinking about it for a little while now, and it's becoming more and more tangible the more I think about it.

I have always felt like there is no job quite as rewarding as being a teacher. Even with my terrible goldfish memory, I can still remember the names and bright  faces of the teachers who really touched my life growing up. When you come across those who just have the passion and the love for being an inspiration to a child ... It touches you. It touched me, at least.

It impacted me every time I went back to my high school to visit my old government, history, Spanish and journalism teachers. How they affected me so much that I actually still go back even after 4 years, and I can still clearly remember the words "NOBODY CARES" being written across the dry-erase board by my government teacher as he tried to teach us to take responsibility for ourselves when we go off to college.

And the other day, when I went with my boyfriend to a middle school to do a presentation, it really came crashing down on me that maybe this is how I am supposed to touch the world. As I sat there and watched them absorb every single word he said, I realised that the impact is real. Those children might forever remember the four guys dressed in suits who came and told them to have confidence in themselves and their abilities, and how be presentable for a job interview. Any one of them could be the next CEO of a big company. And it all started right there in that classroom.

I mean, sure, writing is my talent and my passion. But If I can help be a part of why a whole generation of children live (and write) well and grow to be future doctors and engineers and pilots and writers ... What can possibly be more powerful and beautiful than that. I can single-handedly help reduce the frequency of shoddy grammar on social media in the future. ME. I can make that difference.

I think I may have found my true calling -- and I'm feeling really, really good about it.

Tweet Twit

You knew this was coming.

So ... Here it is.

It takes everything in me, every day, every time I look on Twitter, to NOT go ape-shit and correct all of the obvious and irritating mistakes I see in people's tweets. I mean, we are all human. I get that. And with that comes a sort of entitlement to making mistakes. But at this age, in this generation where Google ends all debates and discussions before they even begin, the only pass I can give out to college students and graduates is for typos (and maybe auto correct).

But you can't blame auto correct when you say "there car" instead of "THEIR car."

What does it take for people to use the English language the way it was taught? To know that an apostrophe is used when letters are being left out or to indicate possession. Or that "women" is plural and "woman" is singular. Or that "then" is used for sequence and "than" for comparison. Or that "too" and "to" are not interchangeable.

What

is 

the 

issue.

Did we all not have to take English or Language Arts in school? Is it that we have some sort of amnesia or selective memory? Is it that our generation reads less?  Is it that we are so over-exposed to shoddy grammar and punctuation every day that after a while it is hard to tell what is right from wrong? Is it contagious? Should I invest in an antidote?

I mean really. Any day I decide to go on a correcting spree will be the day I lose damn near every single one of my followers. And for a "more educated" and "exposed" generation of beings ... that really is the biggest chagrin.

Please people: Start reading more books -- and less "tweegrams."  

It's My Birthday, I Can Sleep If I Want To

Admittedly, every year around my birthday I always harbour some very unconventional feelings.

Most people, I assume, look forward to their birthday and think of it as an opportunity to celebrate life and where it has taken them thus far. (And to get gifts, of course.)

But for me, my birthdays are always a time I'd rather skim past. I will be the first to say that this probably is due in large part to the fact that every year I tell myself that I am not looking forward to it or that something bad is going to happen. And we all know how powerful a negative thought can be.

Although I am sure I have had a great many things to be thankful for on my birthdays past, I can't help but mention that I am more inclined to remember the incidents that weren't so memorable -- in an ironic and unfortunate kind of way. But this year, as I caught myself slipping into my usual negativity, I decided mid-fall to change my thoughts. I told myself, instead, that this year I was going to have a good birthday.

What with all the positive energy I have had around me for the past month and a half, I couldn't see why not.

And I was right.

My birthday yesterday was actually not a complete disaster. It was not perfect, of course, but I certainly felt an enormous amount of love and appreciation as I sat, partially hungover, at my desk at work. Most of my coworkers and my boss had no idea it was my special day and I left work early because I was not feeling very well, only to go home and do absolutely nothing but stuff my face and sleep.

But in the greater, more beautiful picture, I really can't say I have anything to complain about. I have amazing friends, a solid support system, a loving boyfriend, a job I love, and all of life's basic necessities -- and then some.

Life ... Is good.

So here is to one more year of experience.

Cheers.

Love, or Something Like It

It's funny how when we're growing up we get ourselves involved in these relationships that are so shitty unhealthy and so destined for failure, yet somehow we manage to convince ourselves and each other that it will work ... And things will get better.

Until they don't.

And by the time we realise there is probably something much better out there for us, we have already put ourselves through so much bullshit drama that we find it hard to flush the toilet even though its contents are clearly making the whole place smell.

The fact is, we all want to believe that we can find our true love in the first shot. We all want to believe that all the tears and nagging and stress was all worth something and that we won't have to walk away completely empty-handed after we gave what we thought was our all to someone we thought would be around forever.

But the real truth, the unfiltered, unbiased, untold truth is that life does not give us what we expect. It gives us what we need.

Yes, sometimes some people get lucky. Sometimes what we expect is what we need. Sometimes some of us do find "the one" the first time we look out the window. But most of us are not so fortunate. Most of us have to close the blinds for a little bit and reassess  ourselves and our situations before opening them back again and taking another look.

And that's OK.

The important part is knowing when to draw the line between reality and our dreams; knowing when a relationship is heading nowhere good and safe, but dangerous and uninviting. We have to know when to give chances and when to walk away. When false promises take the place of fulfilled needs and hopeful desires become unrealistic dreams.

Yes it may be that relationship was what you needed once upon a time, and yes, it did work for as long as it worked until it stopped working. But that is just it. It stopped working. Not all relationships are supposed to last forever. The only thing they are "supposed to" do is teach you something; be it about yourself, the world, your partner or some sort of combination thereof. And most times, it's the "bad" relationships that teach us the most. They help us grow tremendously as individuals.

That is the key: making sure that whatever relationship you find yourself in, you must always continue to grow -- ideally, both of you.Together.

But if one day you find that the only thing growing is the wedge between you two and the amount of arguments you have, then maybe that is your hint from the universe that the growing you could do together has reached its peak.

And if you're not growing, you're dying.

Keyboard Critics

There's an occurrence, for lack of a better word, that I have been noticing for a while now and I am finally making time to address it.

You have all seen it, at one point or another. You're on your computer or smart phone, scrolling through Chris Brown's instagram photos or Demi Lovato's Twitter mentions or looking at some random Youtuber's video, when you come across the comments. Those comments. The ones that, though they may initially make you laugh, should also make you shake your head in embarrassment.

Those comments.

They say nothing positive or constructive, are rather cruel and malicious, and serve no purpose really, other than to temporarily dull the pain of the commenter's inner insecurity. I often find myself shuddering in disgust when I browse Youtube videos and see what some people decide to say when the fear of being identified or punished is not there. For no obvious reason, and perhaps only due to an inherent human quality to point out the one bad flower in a field full of beautiful ones, people seem to have the worst kind of verbal diarrhea on social media websites.

Granted, I'm not saying that we should all hold hands and sing the Barney "I Love You" song and tell each other all the time how wonderful we are and how everything we do is perfect. But seriously. Commenting on Rebecca Black's music video for that extremely annoying song "Friday" and saying she should "go slit her wrist" is a bit much, don't you think?

Think about how you would feel if you were Kim K and someone commented on your instagram photo saying "b----h all you do is suck d--k for a living" or "you look like a blurry blob". Would you tell your friend that? Even if they did look like a blurry blob? Or are you doing it because no one knows who you are and you can still go about your every day life as though you never made that comment in the first place?

It makes you wonder, what are humans really like naturally, without society and its rules. How many of us would truly have any kind of integrity if there were no rules and no one around to enforce them?

Would you steal from your favourite designer store if the door was open, no one was around and there was no security measure in place?

My bet is that, unless you practice lying to yourself, your answer to that was probably a yes.

The truth is, as civilized and independent as we think we are as human beings, it's nothing more than an image we uphold in the presence of our neighbours. We would not be civilised if there were no rules around to tell us what is acceptable and what is condemned. Society and religion control us. We act the way we act because society, or God, tells us to. Because our fellow inhabitants of the world keep us in line. Because that is what everyone else is doing. Because we fear being castigated.

Some of us, at least.

But for those who find that social media is their escape, their opportunity to be as cruel and disgusting as their heart sees fit just because maybe they want to rebel against what little decency society has created for mankind. Who feel they should blur the line between "honest" and "obnoxious." Who never learned the golden rule. This blog is for you.

I only hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean.

The Sun Burns

Last weekend we made our annual trip to the Keys, but this trip was anything but usual.

For one, I was actually old enough to go out and drink -- and I had every intention of enjoying what the nightlife had to offer, even if that meant sitting around chatting and drinking non-virgin Pina Coladas.

It was also solely a girl's trip this time around, with just me, mother dearest, Kit Kat and TK, as the boys traded it in to hunt birds in Jamaica. It was a trip we all needed, though, and we had every intention of enjoying every second of what could only be a weekend trip. (The joys of being a full-time worker. No more long vacations.) The plan was to sit back and relax with a good book by the pool, go to the beach, and of course go fishing.

But the only thing on that itinerary that we actually did was fish. And even that almost did not happen because Captain John did not have enough people sign up. Instead, the trip turned into a YOLO and #teamnosleep rendezvous really quickly.

After the initial disappointment that we couldn't go out on Captain John, we spent our time that morning driving around from Pier to Pier on the small island looking for the Tortuga, which was another fishing charter boat that was recommended to us by John's wife. Eventually, we found it and realised we had a few minutes to kill before they went out for their afternoon trip. So we bought a poolside, by the poolside, and then went walking downtown.

That's when we met our friends at the T-shirt shop, who initially thought we were teenagers, (go figure), and were hesitant to tell us where we could go party that night until they found out our real ages.

We pretty much found the shore store of Key West that day, and little did we know it would set the tone for the rest of our weekend. (Everything happens for a reason, eh?)

The fishing trip was an experience in itself, as always, but this time the seas were much nicer to us. Still, a combination of seasickness and being squeamish kept mother dearest and Kat off the fishing rods for basically the entire trip. (Though mum did manage to catch a non-eating unicorn fish that changed its colour before being thrown back in.)

But thanks to me, we still had dinner for the night. I caught about 6 snapper, some yellowtail, some red, and a mangrove, which was more than enough for the four of us. I also reeled in a non-eating black-striped angelfish that gave me a pretty solid fight coming up. I wouldn't say it was a successful day of fishing entirely, but certainly for me, it was good enough.

And if being in the sun for the half-day fishing trip was not enough to keep us in bed that night, we decided to suck it up and hit Duval Street. We met up with our shore store friends at Fat Tuesdays, where the rum was running and the vibes were nice, and it was all just pure clean fun. (Even mother dearest was on the dance floor with us.) The worry-free aura was reminiscent of Jamaica, which may be why we loved it so much.

Did I already mention that everyone in Key West loves Jamaicans?

The next day we went on the "Ultimate Adventure", which was a trip that took us parasailing, jet skiing, kayaking, rock-climbing (in the water) and snorkeling. And we literally got to do all of that.

Hence, ultimate adventure. 

Needless to say for a girl who loves the water, it was perfect. I somehow managed to convince mother dearest, who is deathly afraid of heights, to parasail with me. And she also held on tightly to my life jacket as a maxed out the speed on the jet ski. The snorkeling was fun too, even though it did not really compare to the snorkel I did at the Great Barrier Reef, but who expects that anyway.

We made more friends on the trip too, and arrangements to go out that night to listen to some live music by a local band. All was good until we got back to the hotel and realised we all got unbelievably burnt -- all except for TK, that is, who kept reapplying her sunblock as I guess you are supposed to.

For the rest of us, though. The burn was real. (And I don't mean the one we felt in our arms from kayaking or our legs from swimming.)

I literally felt like I was caught in a house fire. My skin burned for the rest of the trip, so much so that we didn't get to rent scooters on Sunday and ride around the island like we had planned. The sun that day was my worst enemy. Even the slightest and shortest exposure brought about the most intense burning sensation. I swear everyone could look at me and see the steam slowly pouring out of my pores.

Now, a few days later, and after an amazing and much-needed trip, I am slowly recovering. My skin already began peeling, and I can barely feel the heat anymore from my super-cold-for-absolutely-no-reason office.

And even though we barely did any relaxing, I can't say I mind. The trip was definitely worth a few hours less of sleep.

Another Day, Another Move.

I was just getting adjusted and comfortable in my new job when we up and moved the entire office yesterday.

Everyone knows I love a change of scenery, but I'd at least like to look at the painting I got just barely a month ago before it is taken away forever.

The office was old, yes. And we were probably the only brick building left on Brickell, but I was definitely getting used to the downtown lifestyle. It made me feel like a part of the city's livelihood.

I'd begun developing some habits too.

During my lunch break I often took a walk around the city, where there were restaurants and parks and places to sit and eat. I frequented Pizza Rústica, mostly for Pepsi than pizza, and the coffee shop for a cup of ice. I practiced going right across the street every week to deposit my paycheck almost immediately after I got it.

I enjoyed stepping out randomly to catch some fresh sea breeze too, which usually smelled of a combination of salt and fish that makes me want to be on a boat somewhere, and looking out my window to admire the high-rises and expensive cars that drove by.

Though a newer, cleaner home is always appealing, it's not easy walking away from what you got used to -- especially if it means driving further south every morning and no longer having a window in front of your desk to save you from the four walls. Not to mention the new building is not just for us anymore and the only place around here worth walking to is the gas station across the street.

I will adjust to the change, though, as I always do. And the in-house Cuban café is certainly going to help.

But until then, it's business as usual.

What's New

Aside from the obvious change in design, there are a few other changes I have made to my blog for what I am going to call its rebirth.

But before I point them out, I would first like to welcome any new readers I may have gotten from Twitter or Instagram, and thank my tried and true original readers for sticking with me.

As you will learn very quickly, I am 5 feet of pure sarcasm and random-osity. (Remember that one?)

I started this blog in July 2009 because people kept telling me that this is where I belong -- and it served me quite well to document whatever college life I did have. It is like a diary -- but better. Mostly because I can entertain and relate to people with my unedited and unfiltered thoughts. Fortunately for you all, I have never been one to be overly emotional or sappy. (And whenever I do have those random moments that remind me that I am, in fact, a woman, I never really get to sharing them in this public manner.)

So again, I say, welcome.

I switched around my profile and my blog posts, which you will now find on the left. I have also added two tabs up top: This Week's Favourite and Life Through My Lens. The first of the two I will dedicate to one of my older blog posts, one I wrote perhaps when no one was following or reading. I find it quite entertaining to go back and read some of the things I wrote when I was younger, and that page is to hoping you will as well.

The latter of the two is where I will post photos, mostly of nature, that I take with my iPhone. (Oh come on, you knew I was going to switch sooner or later. But I won't ever speak badly about my Blackberry, though, as many a blog were written in my Notes at the very moment I got inspiration.)

Most of the photos I post there will be my unedited property, unless otherwise stated. So please, look but don't take.

For this week, my favourite blog post is a light-hearted post from July 2009.

I hope you enjoy.

Pride and Celebration

As if we needed another reason to be extremely proud of our little island paradise, Jamaicans all across the world spent the weekend celebrating and rejoicing with a pride unmatched, perhaps, by any other country.

Over the weekend we celebrated two gold, one silver and one bronze medal at the Summer Olympics -- all from track and field. (And for just two events, I would say that's quite a sweep.)

Today we celebrate 50 years of independence, and if there was ever a time when I felt like I was hugely missing out, it does not compare one bit to how I feel now, and how I felt over the weekend as I watched Bolt, Fraser-Pryce, Campbell-Brown and Blake make Jamaica's presence known at the 2012 London Olympics.

I can just imagine the immensity of the celebrations on the island as the entire population paused yesterday to see Bolt break the Olympic Record he set four years ago. I pictured how Negril put ATI and Dream Weekend on a full pause, as all the drunken party-goers sat around the nearest TV together to watch history. I thought about my country, coming together, to be proud supporters and vicarious cheerleaders of another island-bred legend -- meanwhile the US diaspora had to wait upward of 8 hours to see the broadcast on NBC.

Be not mistaken, though. Neither Twitter, BBM nor FaceBook was my informant yesterday, as brother unlucky, mother dearest, Dino-myte, Kat and I sat around a live stream on the computer and watched the races in real time, in conjunction with our home country - and every one else around the world.

And the celebrations ensued in Jamaica after the 9.63 seconds of pure brilliance, to continue into tomorrow, I'm sure, for the country's independence. To celebrate 50 years of being the likkle, but tallawah, island nation that breeds some of the most diverse, warm and prideful people, bears some of the sweetest and nicest produce, and boasts some of the most beautiful land.

The celebrations continued in my house, too, as brother unlucky turned 24 yesterday and we had the family over to cut cake. Though delayed, we did get to gather around the TV with our family to watch the broadcast of races, again, and be proud of our country from the comfort of our living room.

But not being in Jamaica for the Olympics and the 50th Independence at the same time is definitely a double box across the face.

Pause, Playback, Rewind.

And just like that, it is August already.

No one told me when I graduated from high school that the creator was going to press the magic fast-forward button of life to make the next few years zoom by like trees on the side of the highway. You can see them, and if you wind your window down you may be able to smell them, but the sad and scary fact is that they pass by so quickly that though you know they are there, know what they look like, and know you saw them, you don't really get the chance to look at the individual leaves and parts that make the beautiful whole unless you make a valiant effort to ... stop ... moving.

That is how I feel about my life for the past four years.

I went through college in what seemed like an accelerated vacuum, and though I don't think I have enough hindsight just yet to say "those were the best times of my life", I can't say I went away and did anything too out of the ordinary or insane. Part of this, I suppose, is due to the fact that I spent a good 80 percent of that time in a long-distance relationship, which by nature kept me from really wanting to go anywhere or do anything that didn't involve seeing my significant other. (And I surely don't regret that, by the way.) But the other part, the part that most people found quite abnormal, was that I spent a lot of that time going back home to mummy and going out of town to visit my brother.

Those four years away from home did nothing more than make me closer to the people I thought I left behind.

Needless to say, this is something I am very proud to state. (Maybe not so much the fact that I moved back home, but hey. We all know writers don't get paid much unless they murdered -- but not really -- someone and decided to write a book about how they did it, even though they didn't.)

Though I look forward to my independence and certainly value my alone time, I am glad I have a little time, and certainly the opportunity, to slow down and figure out where this life is going to take me next. And if it's one thing I can say I am extremely happy I experienced, going to Australia for a little less than two months last summer was perhaps the best thing I could have ever done in college, besides pass of course.

Knowing that you can do something is always a good feeling. But knowing that you did it, well, there is nothing quite as self-actualizing.

I have big dreams, you know. And most of them consist of living at least a few years of my now "adult-life" by being a globetrotter -- ideally one who gets paid to write about her sightings and experiences.

But even if I don't get paid, you can surely expect to see those writings right here on this blog where I have pitched my tent and made my home.

Cheers.

Life, As It Begins

Quite a bit has happened since we last spoke, to say the least.

I graduated from University, moved back home and landed my first full-time 40-hours-a-week job -- all in a matter of three months. And in an economy like this one, we all know it would be a grave understatement to say that I am one of the lucky blessed ones.

I packed up and moved out of the apartment that I had called home for the past two years, left the city I called home for the past four years, and made the "horrid" and "disparaging" move (wait for it) ... back ... into ... my parent's house.

(cue dramatic music)

My life, as society deems it, has just begun.

I have still been waging a losing war with what normal people would call "emotions", or what I would call a sea of inconsistent, enigmatic and uncontrollable disturbances, too.

In between worrying if I would get a job, worrying if my job would have anything to do with what I dedicated myself to for four years, worrying if my brother would get a job, considering a move out of the country, and trying to figure out if I should render myself an invalid who will end up with 1,000 cats, incessant allergies and some serious drugs to numb the pain of my loneliness, it's no wonder I have not found the time to update my beloved readers.

But not once did I ever forget how good it felt to express myself through prose, in my most sarcastic and unrestricted manner as I have for the past four years, right here, just like this, for everyone to see. Never did I forget how gratifying a feeling it was to have readers tell me they love what I write, are happy someone out there understands, and want me to keep writing, forever.

Never did I once forget how accepting and welcoming the blog world has been to me. And how beautifully liberating it is to release all the built-up feelings of finding out your life was never what you thought it was all along and things are almost never what they seem that can truly keep you captive in your own being.

Fear not, my friends.

I am back.

Opposites

Isn't it funny how the world keeps spinning no matter how broken you are inside?

No matter how much you wish that the sun would stop shining, the clock would stop ticking, the world would stop spinning.. And every one would just pause for just a minute and acknowledge the fact that your heart is shredded, your body is weak and you want nothing more than a comfortable bed and a tissue.

It's that can't eat, can't sleep I-wish-I-knew-it-would-end-this-way type of pain. The kind that makes you feel like the world may as well just end now because it clearly isn't what you thought it was to begin with.

But that is just it.. The world does not revolve because we tell it to. It spins because it has to; just the same as the grass has to grow, the sun has to shine, the birds have to chirp. Everything has its place in the balance of life.

And just like the good times never last, the heartache will eventually subside.

The fact is that things are always going to happen that make us feel like we have no reason to keep going, but there is always a better option than quitting. Just imagine how much better happiness feels when you have already experienced pain; how much better winning feels when you have already failed. Good just wouldn't be good if it wasn't for bad.

And even though right now I feel like this pain will never go away, I already know within myself that in due time, something beautiful is going to replace it.  Something so beautiful, in fact, that I would rewind and do this all over again just to get back to that same happy place that would not exist if it weren't for the sad one.

So until then, I'm dusting off my shoulders and picking myself up off the floor--because the longer I wait, the more chances I give other people to step on me while they walk by.

And I'd rather not be roadkill.