A lot of things happened and will happen to me/ in my life in the month of September. One of the first couple things I fall back to are the fifteenth and seventeenth when people important to my family or an individual in my family passed away. Then there was 9/11. After that, things sort of just blurred for me.
Just wake me up when September ends, right?
But today, other than the fall/ autumnal equinox, something good happened. Today, I became an official American with paper works and everything. It’s a wonderful feeling to be able to say that the place I’ve called home for more than half my life is truly now my home. I’m not torn between two different places (by belief, etc.) Now, the things that I support and believe in aren’t weird or a contemporary thought. It’s not that I’m young (which most likely contributes too) but that I’m also the way that I am partly because of the environment I lived in. People can look or should look past the idea that I don’t belong where I am now.
Congratulations to me and my family. (I also applied for my first U.S. Passport. Woot. That type of thing isn’t usually exciting but it was today.)
it’s been a short year
with long months and dragging days.
a year not to this day,
i stopped running,
desperately trying to catch and fall
into step with every other person
as if their speed
was the only right way.
i raised my hand to tell you
to go ahead without me,
that i’ll be fine walking the rest
of the distance
to wherever we,
to wherever i was going.
i don’t wait for you to turn around
because what is to you
is not to me.
i’ll smell the roses as i pass by
and maybe stomp on a few…
a few cracks on the road
along the path.
i’ll trip and stumble
on my own two feet and wandering eyes.
i’ll find bruises
and wounds already healing
before i’ve even felt
and that’s okay, i say.
this is life,
short and long
and a pain
but i love it.
The very first time I got my heart broken was in my senior year of high school. It was really different from confessing back in my junior year because, in the end, I was the one who turned back from my words. During senior year, I finally confessed to this boy I met back in chem class, 10th grade. It was the bravest thing I’d ever done since being born.
A boy months younger than me rejected me. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal until a few minutes later, an hour, a moment of criticism from my mother, and days after. I didn’t understand why I was crying so much. I thought I could brave seeing him, sharing a class and friends but that wasn’t the case. I pushed him away even though we said we’d be friends. I blamed him for my inability to accept a rejection. Continue reading