to live

to do more,
to live with less;
these are all but arbitrary.

how does one measure
or begin to fully grasp
the idea of mediocrity?

what is significant to me —
things i want to do, places i want to see
may not carry the same weight for you.

while this may be true,
i simply feel the need to put this into writing:
i refuse to live a life short of

passion,
poetry,
tears,
breathless moments,
a sense of adventure,
love — my god, love.

because what is life if not to embrace it and live in all that it is?

new normal pt. 2

how crazy is it that we go from living our lives together everyday to not being able to see and feel each other for months on end;

how crazy is it that i have to hang on to the last words i heard from you on the phone, or the last photo i took of you, or the only shirt i have that’s yours, or the last memory i have of us, which at this point, is as vague as last night’s dream;

how crazy is it that i’m still here, waiting for a miracle to arrive

on the road

early mornings and hot coffee
hours on the road with the perfect playlist
gas stations and a sunrise in the middle of nowhere

all to get to a place
where simplicity and living with less
are more than enough

every time i’m reminded of the sea
or of what it’s like to be human
i’m reminded of what it’s like to truly live

if miles and miles are what it takes to feel this way
then there are no bounds to what i’d do to be in the right place

glass figures

i was in the car with my family,
driving up and down the hill-like streets of downtown San Francisco.
i looked out the window as would every other person riding a car,
searching for something to admire or simply relieving boredom

and there they were,
the warm lit squares and rectangles on the surfaces of every building.
windows of every size,
some open and bright from the light inside and some shut closed.

windows tell a lot of stories.
they give the shortest glimpse into the life of a stranger,
or provide a brief opening into a story.
and the beauty there is that you can make anything of it.

i saw one with a floor to ceiling book shelf and thought,
maybe the person who lives here is the type to carry a book with her wherever she goes
maybe the person who lives here sits right beside that window for her morning coffee and read
just as i would

another had a christmas tree and a bunch of frames and i thought,
this is the home of a family
by the window is where the family sit cozily in front of their tree and talk to each other
just as my family would

and then i saw a few more
but instead of noticing the things behind them,
i thought of what my own window would look like from the outside.

my window would have soft and warm light illuminating from it.
it would show my wall shelf with my collections of books and trinkets from the cities i’ve been to
it would show my dog sleeping
it would show me typing away on my laptop as i sit on the couch and have a cup of hot green tea in one hand
it would show me curling up on one side of the couch reading a book with a candle lit
it would show laughter in many faces for when my friends are over and we’re all reminiscing
it would show me softly and passionately looking at him and giving him a kiss good night

my window would show many fragments of my life,
but that is all they’ll ever be—
a glimpse, a brief opening, a fragment.
it’s never going to be the full story.

people will only continue to see parts of your life,
no matter what those may be.

through a window, there is hope.
there is light, there is beauty, and more importantly, there is life.

windows of a building or an entire street co-exist much like humans co-exist wherever they may be;
life continues to happen for each of us, and so it does through these windows.

Amaya

Water, in all its forms, speaks to me in different ways,

in ways that words will never be able to give justice to.
It ignites something in me that I thought was long gone.
It pulls my entire being back to where it has to be.
And for some apparent reason, though I am floating in the middle of the ocean or moving against its current, in those moments, I have never felt more grounded.

The water always feels right.

Soft rain— when I barely feel it touching my skin and all that it is is a soft touch that resembles a tickle, a gentle reminder of something sweet and good.
Thunderstorms— when strong wind, a heavy pour, and continuous loud thunder partner, this is when my heart beats faster and faster, my eyes widen, and suddenly I find myself more aware of my surroundings.
Waves off the shore— when the remnants of something that was once so strong is brought right before me.
Waves breaking— when I find myself battling out at sea to stay up, only to be washed out, but in the end, I rise back up and feel that full breath of air in my chest.

The ocean has a lot to say, and so does the rain. The ocean is gentle in the way it settles, allowing me to close my eyes and take it all in. And just when I’ve taken that breath, it riles me back up and urges me to keep moving. The water is a reminder that I am alive, that I am both strong and weak, and that I have it in me to rise and beat the odds.

So when the waves or the raindrops finally speak to you,
I hope that in that moment,
your mind is at peace,
and your heart is in the right place.
Just enough for you to accept what it has to say,
to breathe it in and live in it.

new normal

my heart aches for the moments

that used to take my breath away;

existing in that soft and quiet in-between when i wake up before the morning rush,

staring out an airplane window,

the way my stomach feels when driving up and down a hill-like street,

dancing in a bar until two in the morning,

hearing the song from the crowd in a stadium,

ordering my usual pasta dish in my favorite restaurant,

looking at the the sunset on my walk back home,

walking on the sand,

holding your hand,

kissing you good night,

or simply waving goodbye without the uncertainty of seeing someone again.

— my heart aches to once more live out the passions and sweet simplicities of being human

same city

the last time i was here i was in a different place

the surroundings and everything that it encompassed

were in place to bring me comfort

the city was a distraction

where i had to seek meaning for the events that had just transpired

but standing here today

i feel whole

with a better sense of myself, of love, and of life

i didn’t leave my heart in the city

i carried it with me wherever i went

and i allowed it to heal with every new sight and feeling

it’s the same city

same buildings

and same atmosphere

the only difference is the time that has passed since then

and if you ask me,

sometimes time is really all it takes to put things into perspective

and in time,

it will all truly make sense to you again.