Bahala na

I can’t wrap my head around how fortunate I am to have been born into this life, so instead of trying to grasp something that is incomprehensible, I do what I can to share what I have with those around me.

For me, this means sharing my joys, suffering, time, meals, stories, laughter, compassion, prayer, and so on. When others are also willing to share what they have, we foster this beautiful energy and solidarity in giving and receiving (which are both gifts to the other person and to ourselves).

Today, I bought lunch for a man asking for change outside Safeway. A moment later, Jenny, the owner of the Vietnamese cafe, called after me to offer up some free donuts.

Last night, I co-hosted the drag show and went to the after-party, which consisted of people who I deeply respect and have so much fun with. Looking around, so much love was being expressed. Tons of hugging and dancing and laughing and locked-gaze shoulders-held confessions of affection and appreciation for one another.

Tonight, I decided to forgo the party scene in order to accept a friend’s request to pray together. This one’s a little harder to describe, so I’m going to pass. But it was so wonderful. Afterwards, I went skating on campus and felt so free. I am so free.

Filled with gratitude for this life. Goodnight.

Writing this is too real for me. I started this blog because the idea of writing in one makes me uncomfortable and apprehensive. I don’t want to submit my thoughts into the atmosphere because I can’t imagine anyone will find them more than laughable and I don’t want to put effort and self into something that’s going to be rejected.

I guess this is that college mindset that I can never quite seem to grasp. How people can care so much about what others think of them that they restrict themselves, hold back from doing what they want, saying what they want. Keeping your head down when you know you’re about to pass a familiar face, looking forward instead of around to avoid catching anyone’s eye- I’ve never understood and always wanted to. I’m starting to get it.

That fear of rejection, of your self not being good enough, not even being considered. I was rejected so much when I was younger, pushed outside circles and to the ground, laughed at and silenced by threats and jabs. I don’t fear rejection because I have become comfortable with it, I have even grown to expect it. My jokes are often misunderstood, my friendliness considered sarcastic, my honesty assumed fake. Those who I’ve exhausted myself caring for have used me and dropped me, no explanation, filling their place in my life with pain. I’ve been told I’m stupid, useless, bratty, annoying, obnoxious, wrong, a sneak, a shit, a cunt. Told by strangers, neighbors, friends, family. I’ve been harassed daily for weeks when I was nicer than just innocent, I’ve been threatened and bullied, pushed to the ground and pushed to tears with minute long verbal assaults. But I stood by my bullies, calling them friends, labeling them misunderstood and keeping my mouth shut so they wouldn’t get in trouble and feel the way I did.

It’s all too familiar now. I have grown oblivious to judgement not because it is silent in my mind but because I have grown accustomed to the racket, faded to backdrop. I have been excluded in too many situations to remember, telling me time and time again that I am different, weird, less. I am not feeling the judgement with my peers in college because I am not competing with them. I feel they’re all out of my league, so why would I try? I’ve been taught not to compete because I won’t measure up.

So while many are showing off, feeling jealousy, passing judgement, placing blame, being cautious, holding back, I am lying face up and basking in the sun, holding fistfuls of grass in my hands and locking eyes on the blue sky and white clouds, appreciating nature for it’s lack of humanness, standing alone in the line of that which has not hurt me.