Dear blog,
Spending time with my "insignificant other" and mistress earlier this afternoon and evening, I had the sudden urge to simply ask the both of them individually, "Are you happy?" Soon after I was conflicted with answering my own question when they had asked me. At the moment I answered, yes, I was happy. However, that question and answer continued to linger in the back of my mind throughout the entire evening, second guessing myself if I really was happy.
Who would have ever thought such a simple question like that could be so complex to not only answer, but also understand. I needed a time and place like this to simply diagnose my ambiguity. According to Merriam-Webster's Online Dictionary, happiness means a state of well-being and contentment or a pleasurable or satisfying experience. There is a pretty straight forward definition of the word.
Well let's see. All I know is that I am at the peak of my adolescent career where I am truly finding who I really am and who I want to be. I face each and every waking hour with life changing struggles and overwhelming feelings of failure. I am tortured with the unpredictable possibilities of my future and troubled with the priorities I endure in the living present. I am surrounded by narcissistic, psychologically damaged, deranged, analytical, selfless, selfish, careless, vile, egocentric people who are nevertheless intellectual, one of a kind, affectionate, passionate, warm-hearted, inimitable, self-assertive, steadfast, soft hearted, talented, hard on, and strong. I am in a constant battle with my physical appearance and independent life. And, I spend each day with a big smile on my face, a positive attitude, and an eagerness to learning new things.
So, responding to my own uncertainty of self happiness, I now laugh and simply still answer YES I AM VERY HAPPY. Every imbalance and hardships in my life only make me happier and content because the trials that I face to overcome these obstacles are the ones that make my life worth living. And, having a purpose to live is what makes me happy.
Sincerely,
Carla
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
you'll never know how i feel until you have your own kids
Dear blog,
Have you ever heard of the saying, "Mothers know best?" Well I didn't believe this during my crazy teenage years, but I somehow do now. My lack of understanding led to multiple quarrels and verbal violence with my mother during my entire young adolescence time. No matter what she did, what she said I was always against her.
She held me for nine months without complaint and suffered giving birth to me on the seventeenth of October. She brought me into her life, fed me, nourished me, gave me life. She loved to dress me up in beautiful dresses, punished me when I did, said something wrong. She entertained me with nursery rhymes and "when I was your age" tales. She made me cry, she made me smile, she loved me for who I am.
When I was five years old my mother left me, my sister, father and younger brother. Don't worry she did it for our own good. She moved here in America for a better opportunity in life for her family. We soon followed, though this is a rather complicated topic to discuss. But, long story short after two years of separation from our mother we were finally complete again, ready to start a new life with all of us together... well kind of. What I meant by that was, yes we were complete but not really because our new unexpected addition to the family didn't arrive yet, not until four years later. Anyway, my mother was the reason I am where I am now.
Years have gone by and behaviors from the homeland slowly faded away; I became somewhat "Americanized." My new way of living didn't agree with her traditional aspects in life. Because of that, angry, non meaningful words were exchanged, hands slapped faces, tears shed from all four eyes, eyes weren't met for days, silence between mother and daughter was acknowledged, feelings were hurt, hearts were mended, night and days continued to pass.
She hated the way I looked physically. She blamed my father for that. "I never had pimples growing up, my skin was always smooth," she would say, "When I was your age, I always looked sexy unlike you," she would continue. She hated my first boyfriend. She rejoiced our breakup other than comforted me, saw that I was hurting. I never really felt that kind of comfort from her, that she actually cared how I felt about certain things. These actions made me angry with her and that's why sometimes I rebelled but not to the point of loosing myself, just talking back and lying behind her back. I didn't like arguing with her, but sometimes I just couldn't take what she said.
Sure that may seem like a horrible mother but I know she only wants the best for me. She doesn't want me to end up like one of those obese teenagers out there and it didn't matter if she liked my first boyfriend or not because she knew he wasn't the right one for me from the very beginning. And if I just listened to her, I would have never gotten my heart broken by some careless bastard. Mothers know best.
We still get into arguments often, but most of the time we get along. She's only looking out for me because she doesn't want me suffering in the long run. I love my mom. We've been through so much together and we're still here together fighting the hardships in life. Why is it the ones you love most end up the one you're always hurting? Is it because that love they have for you is the unconditional kind and at the end, no matter what happened, they are the ones who will still be there for you when no one else will? Hmm... maybe.
One thing my mother always tells me when I get into an argument with her is, "You'll never know how I feel until you have your own kids." I think about this sometimes and she may be right. What mother wants to see their own child hate her? I have friends with no mothers, too many mothers, mothers that abandon them, and have mothers but don't respect them. Sometimes I don't realize how lucky I am and I become one of those who have mothers but disrespect them. I'm trying not to because I now know that my mother shows her love for me through many ways: yelling, kissing, insulting, hugging, staring, and annoying phone calls. Sometimes when I realize that I'm very disrespectful I allow her to slap me in the face and then I go and cry in my room.
Happy Mother's Day Mom. I know I don't say this much but, I love you, I really do.
Sincerely,
Carla
Have you ever heard of the saying, "Mothers know best?" Well I didn't believe this during my crazy teenage years, but I somehow do now. My lack of understanding led to multiple quarrels and verbal violence with my mother during my entire young adolescence time. No matter what she did, what she said I was always against her.
She held me for nine months without complaint and suffered giving birth to me on the seventeenth of October. She brought me into her life, fed me, nourished me, gave me life. She loved to dress me up in beautiful dresses, punished me when I did, said something wrong. She entertained me with nursery rhymes and "when I was your age" tales. She made me cry, she made me smile, she loved me for who I am.
When I was five years old my mother left me, my sister, father and younger brother. Don't worry she did it for our own good. She moved here in America for a better opportunity in life for her family. We soon followed, though this is a rather complicated topic to discuss. But, long story short after two years of separation from our mother we were finally complete again, ready to start a new life with all of us together... well kind of. What I meant by that was, yes we were complete but not really because our new unexpected addition to the family didn't arrive yet, not until four years later. Anyway, my mother was the reason I am where I am now.
Years have gone by and behaviors from the homeland slowly faded away; I became somewhat "Americanized." My new way of living didn't agree with her traditional aspects in life. Because of that, angry, non meaningful words were exchanged, hands slapped faces, tears shed from all four eyes, eyes weren't met for days, silence between mother and daughter was acknowledged, feelings were hurt, hearts were mended, night and days continued to pass.
She hated the way I looked physically. She blamed my father for that. "I never had pimples growing up, my skin was always smooth," she would say, "When I was your age, I always looked sexy unlike you," she would continue. She hated my first boyfriend. She rejoiced our breakup other than comforted me, saw that I was hurting. I never really felt that kind of comfort from her, that she actually cared how I felt about certain things. These actions made me angry with her and that's why sometimes I rebelled but not to the point of loosing myself, just talking back and lying behind her back. I didn't like arguing with her, but sometimes I just couldn't take what she said.
Sure that may seem like a horrible mother but I know she only wants the best for me. She doesn't want me to end up like one of those obese teenagers out there and it didn't matter if she liked my first boyfriend or not because she knew he wasn't the right one for me from the very beginning. And if I just listened to her, I would have never gotten my heart broken by some careless bastard. Mothers know best.
We still get into arguments often, but most of the time we get along. She's only looking out for me because she doesn't want me suffering in the long run. I love my mom. We've been through so much together and we're still here together fighting the hardships in life. Why is it the ones you love most end up the one you're always hurting? Is it because that love they have for you is the unconditional kind and at the end, no matter what happened, they are the ones who will still be there for you when no one else will? Hmm... maybe.
One thing my mother always tells me when I get into an argument with her is, "You'll never know how I feel until you have your own kids." I think about this sometimes and she may be right. What mother wants to see their own child hate her? I have friends with no mothers, too many mothers, mothers that abandon them, and have mothers but don't respect them. Sometimes I don't realize how lucky I am and I become one of those who have mothers but disrespect them. I'm trying not to because I now know that my mother shows her love for me through many ways: yelling, kissing, insulting, hugging, staring, and annoying phone calls. Sometimes when I realize that I'm very disrespectful I allow her to slap me in the face and then I go and cry in my room.
Happy Mother's Day Mom. I know I don't say this much but, I love you, I really do.
Sincerely,
Carla
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
i'd rather be physically abused than mentally destroyed
Dear blog,
I admit it I'm scared. Elaborate? Sure why not. I don't really know how to start this but here it goes. It's been a while since my last relationship and ever since then I have not changed my views of other "fish" out there, which is unattractive. I don't mean that in a mean way. Sure there are good looking guys out there and others with great hearts, but none have caught my attention. I hate to admit that I was in love once because honestly I'm not really sure if I really was in love. The feeling was strong, yes, and that's why I want to stay away. I was heartbroken and I don't think I would ever get over it. Heartbroken to the point that I'm scared to ever commit again with the opposite sex. Sure I'll get over it, but I'm not so sure when that would be. Please don't take that the wrong way. I'm not trying to say I'm not over my ex because I am.
My last relationship traumatized me. Because of love, or whatever that was then, I have made a complete fool of myself. I fell hard with no one to catch me in the end. I hit the ground hard enough for me to break in a million pieces and there was no one there to sweep the mess away. In a way I'm still broken. I've yet to rise from my ashes like an unborn phoenix. I gave myself completely then. Stayed oblivious to everything around me and focused myself to the only thing that was mine not knowing the consequences, not knowing it will destroy every bit of me.
I knew he wasn't the one, but after the breakup something told me otherwise. Desperation got the hold of me and I couldn't stop it. I wasn't myself at all. I became the person I never wanted to become. I lost my dignity, lost it because of him. I was a mess for a while believing he would come back to catch me and sweep me away. Begging for him to love me the same way he did before. Wanting him for myself and no one else. Jealousy took over me too. I became that "psycho ex girlfriend," someone I never thought I would become. I cried over this boy for countless nights. He destroyed me, made me a fool. I got over myself in due time and glad I did. I felt so stupid, so disgusted at myself, so completely pathetic. I hated myself for that. I lost control of my being. Because of that I made a promise to never love again for a long time. I haven't broken that promise yet, and I don't intend to anytime soon.
This has been hard for me. I don't want to become that ugly person again. So I'm staying away... far far away. I only have one thing left for myself and that's respect for my body. Yes, I'm nineteen and still a virgin and proud as hell of it. That is the one thing no one has taken from me yet and I want to keep hold of it for as long as I could. I've lost love, I've lost my mind, but not that. So, for all my friends who wonder and think why I don't want a boyfriend or why I'm still a virgin I have a perfectly good reason why.
Sometimes when I look at my friends with their other halves, I stop and wonder when I would ever have that again. It seems so far from my grasp at the moment and it hurts sometimes to think that I may never have that again. I don't know what else to do. I've been mentally destroyed and honestly it hurts as fuck to completely lose my mind.
There is only one thing I want to say to my ex if I ever see him again, "FUCK YOU, BURN IN HELL."
Sincerely,
Carla
P.S. No, I don't want to talk about it ...
I admit it I'm scared. Elaborate? Sure why not. I don't really know how to start this but here it goes. It's been a while since my last relationship and ever since then I have not changed my views of other "fish" out there, which is unattractive. I don't mean that in a mean way. Sure there are good looking guys out there and others with great hearts, but none have caught my attention. I hate to admit that I was in love once because honestly I'm not really sure if I really was in love. The feeling was strong, yes, and that's why I want to stay away. I was heartbroken and I don't think I would ever get over it. Heartbroken to the point that I'm scared to ever commit again with the opposite sex. Sure I'll get over it, but I'm not so sure when that would be. Please don't take that the wrong way. I'm not trying to say I'm not over my ex because I am.
My last relationship traumatized me. Because of love, or whatever that was then, I have made a complete fool of myself. I fell hard with no one to catch me in the end. I hit the ground hard enough for me to break in a million pieces and there was no one there to sweep the mess away. In a way I'm still broken. I've yet to rise from my ashes like an unborn phoenix. I gave myself completely then. Stayed oblivious to everything around me and focused myself to the only thing that was mine not knowing the consequences, not knowing it will destroy every bit of me.
I knew he wasn't the one, but after the breakup something told me otherwise. Desperation got the hold of me and I couldn't stop it. I wasn't myself at all. I became the person I never wanted to become. I lost my dignity, lost it because of him. I was a mess for a while believing he would come back to catch me and sweep me away. Begging for him to love me the same way he did before. Wanting him for myself and no one else. Jealousy took over me too. I became that "psycho ex girlfriend," someone I never thought I would become. I cried over this boy for countless nights. He destroyed me, made me a fool. I got over myself in due time and glad I did. I felt so stupid, so disgusted at myself, so completely pathetic. I hated myself for that. I lost control of my being. Because of that I made a promise to never love again for a long time. I haven't broken that promise yet, and I don't intend to anytime soon.
This has been hard for me. I don't want to become that ugly person again. So I'm staying away... far far away. I only have one thing left for myself and that's respect for my body. Yes, I'm nineteen and still a virgin and proud as hell of it. That is the one thing no one has taken from me yet and I want to keep hold of it for as long as I could. I've lost love, I've lost my mind, but not that. So, for all my friends who wonder and think why I don't want a boyfriend or why I'm still a virgin I have a perfectly good reason why.
Sometimes when I look at my friends with their other halves, I stop and wonder when I would ever have that again. It seems so far from my grasp at the moment and it hurts sometimes to think that I may never have that again. I don't know what else to do. I've been mentally destroyed and honestly it hurts as fuck to completely lose my mind.
There is only one thing I want to say to my ex if I ever see him again, "FUCK YOU, BURN IN HELL."
Sincerely,
Carla
P.S. No, I don't want to talk about it ...
Monday, May 4, 2009
poetry
Dear blog,
I just want to say that I really hate poetry! Writing it is horrible =/ I had to write a poem about a piece of furniture and I was suppose to play around with language. What the hell is that suppose to mean? I can't even write proper English sometimes and my professor expects me to play with language. I have a feeling I will fail my creative writing class because of this!
This is what I wrote...
My Piece of Furniture
As a queen it lay in the middle of the room
bare and white; naked until fresh new garment
covered it's soft silky texture with colors like
mint green, tangerine, or daisy yellow.
Pillows roofed it's tip like overlapping clouds
and multi layered sheets protected it's inner core.
It's peppermint feel stung my delicate skin
like frost bite as I pressed myself against it.
I allowed the warmth of my body to simultaneously
work with its icy surface to reach equilibrium.
It slowly accepted my shape, engulfing me,
embracing my outer being with its cotton touch.
Sincerely,
Carla
I just want to say that I really hate poetry! Writing it is horrible =/ I had to write a poem about a piece of furniture and I was suppose to play around with language. What the hell is that suppose to mean? I can't even write proper English sometimes and my professor expects me to play with language. I have a feeling I will fail my creative writing class because of this!
This is what I wrote...
My Piece of Furniture
As a queen it lay in the middle of the room
bare and white; naked until fresh new garment
covered it's soft silky texture with colors like
mint green, tangerine, or daisy yellow.
Pillows roofed it's tip like overlapping clouds
and multi layered sheets protected it's inner core.
It's peppermint feel stung my delicate skin
like frost bite as I pressed myself against it.
I allowed the warmth of my body to simultaneously
work with its icy surface to reach equilibrium.
It slowly accepted my shape, engulfing me,
embracing my outer being with its cotton touch.
Sincerely,
Carla
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