Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Impatient Wanderer

You sat next to me. Introduction. "What's you're name," I ask. And I don't remember it because I'm too busy trying to stay cool.
Small talk. I liked your eyes.
We listen to the first lecture of our class.
Your body turns toward me, and say something I don't hear, but I smile anyway. Don't want to break this connection.
You're reserved, a little closed off. I want to break the shell.

Days, weeks. We're still on small talk. About the class really.
I realize you're good at this stuff. I like the way you think.

Now, we don't sit next to each other in class.
Some times we barely acknowledge each other.
Well, you barely acknowledge me.
You're still reserved.
Yet am I slightly breaking your shell?
I can't tell.
And I'm impatient.
I don't want to wait another day. Another week. I should've gotten your number from the start.
We can study together.
Now I don't know how.
We'll get there.

Maybe you don't want anything to do with me.
Maybe it was all in my head.
Maybe I just like the challenge.

Either way, I'm an impatient wanderer, hoping for something to happen.
I want too much from nothing because I never know what something means.
I float from woeful wishes, faces I do not know, waiting for my heartbeat to relax. Slow down. It should just happen. It shouldn't be so hard.

Floating is fun anyway. You see different sights, colors, textures, tastes, and do not know where you'll anchor. But I'd like to know...I am impatient.  I am done waiting for the right sound, time, place, smile. I want it to happen now. I want to be warmed by his voice. To throw on his oversized jacket. I want to press my lips against his and experience a lapse of mind, time, space, feeling-- all coinciding into one, this one fragile movement, this one promise of togetherness in a single kiss.

These are the thoughts of an impatient wanderer.

Monday, October 19, 2015

Going with the flow

It's incredibly hard for me to "go with the flow". I'd consider it one of my biggest flaws. Coming to terms with the fact that there are certain things that I cannot control is causes me a lot of stress. I think that's why I don't drink in college. I do not like losing control of myself, the one thing I have most, if not all, control over. Though mistakes can teach us, yadayada, I'd rather not make them while intoxicated.

So right now, I'm trying to strike a balance between "trying" and "going with the flow". One cannot be too lopsided; we all need a bit of each. As I embark on my first midterm tomorrow, I need to keep everything in perspective. One stupid test is not the whole of my existence. I have studied as much as I can, and I need to accept what will happen. There are beautiful occurrences that are happening all around us-- this fall weather, the crisp atmosphere, young love...just the fact that there are so many opportunities available should make us feel lucky. I am who I am no matter what happens academically. I'd love to find a special someone, for my skin to be better, to be an eloquent speaker, to feel incredibly confident 24/7, but some times it won't all happen at once. There will be peaks and valleys, and it's okay.

I need to accept the imperfections in myself and in my life. Things don't happen as planned. In fact, the best occurrences in life seem to be the spontaneous ones. Much of what I appreciate right now in my life were not what I had "planned out".  So to me, going with the flow means embracing what could happen instead of worrying about the uncertainty. It means being okay with ruined plans and surprises-- riding the waves  instead of pulling on the reins and suffocating the life out of everything.

Sometimes, we should take a step back and just appreciate what we have at this instance, not what "could be". We should live not in the past, or future, but in the present. Soak up everything around you- notice something you never did before. Appreciate the place you call home, your own unique story, the blank pages.

And, "The rest is still unwritten" -Natasha Bedingfield

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Enjoy the beginnings

I love beginnings. They motivate me to work and inspire me to be better. The beginnings of a relationship (platonic or romantic) have similar effects- you want to show your best version, and more importantly, you are constantly learning. You're learning about the other person- their cadence, word usage, laugh, voice, ideas, habits...and you're learning about yourself- your slight awkwardness, nervousness, openness, closeness, sensitivity.

 Freshman year of college, everything is a beginning. I'm sleeping on a top bunk for the first time, living with roommates, meeting new people, developing new routines. It's been fresh, I've felt fresh, as if I could reinvent myself, start off new. After four weeks here, I've realized that it's impossible to "reinvent" yourself. You are not a whiteboard that can be erased then drawn on. Your life can't suddenly turn into a clean slate. There is no delete or rewind for those memories and experiences you'd rather do without. Instead, I like to think of myself as an etching. As one of those wood whittles. Everyday I'm whittling at myself to smooth out the edges, create new dimensions. Everyone's wood is different. Some are softer, others harder, some have been through snowstorms, others light sunny days. We have to work with our unique piece of wood. And we may never be satisfied with the result, but we should at least be content with the progress.

I have no idea how I just started making analogies with wood. It's too late for coherent thoughts. But you gotta admire the creativity of this exhausted brain. ;)  I like to think of these posts as unfiltered diary entries...just to let you know what you're getting yourself into.

Anyway, I was inspired to write this post that has gone off tangent by...dun dun dun...a boy. Of course. How typically college girly of me. We all love boy talks, at least my roomies and I do. I was thinking about this boy of interest, and how horribly hot and cold our interactions can be, and wishing that we'd just skip past this early stage and get to that couple stage. I wish we could know each other like the back of our hands and actually connect on a deeper level than just talking about history homework. And then, I checked myself. Why can I not just enjoy the sweet beginnings of this "whatever it could be". Why can I not soak in the fast heartbeat, agonizing worries of "he likes me, he likes me not". It's mainly the fear of the unknown. The not knowing. Not knowing what he's thinking. Not knowing what he thinks about me. Not knowing what will become of "us". Will we become anything, or will we simply float our own ways as if nothing ever happened? (like most of my boy stories).

That's why beginnings are so terrifying. And exhilarating. And wonderful. It's lovely having a fresh piece of wood that could become anything you want it to be. So don't be scared of the outcome. Just go for it, and carve.