Perhaps she had deep bronze skin creamy to the touch or pale to the eye. Perhaps her hair stopped mid back with flowers in the crease of the braid tied neatly and delicately with a ribbon. Perhaps she was tall and slender. Perhaps she wore shorts or skirts that flowed long beyond the sandals on her feet. Her personalities portrayed opposite to what circulated around her head, for she couldn’t begin to understand what it took to contribute proper self-expression. Perhaps she enjoyed the long ride as he drove top down through the long stretch of beach alongside Pacific Coast Highway. Perhaps her eyes were heavy and her mind was filled with countless sorrows of the obstruction she had seen, but so delicately hid in the fold of her heart. Perhaps it wasn’t an event. Maybe it was a book, or a song, or a simple word that seemed to mindlessly form corruption as she packed her belongings in a small bag and walked into the horizon of open road. And she didn’t forget that tube of red lipstick as she swung herself like a ballerina towards the abyss of lost causes and wonder less hope. Maybe it was the paper clip scars that trampled underneath the long sleeves of her thin lacy tops, or the words she scripted on blank pieces of paper. Perhaps it was the yellow substance he had given her. Colored perfectly to the wondrous pill of years and years of mistakes disappearing. She held a cloud over her body as she wept and filled her downtown apartment on the corner of Main and Willow with her stands of paints. Maybe it was the books or the stories or the drinks or the sex. Maybe it was the soft kisses he brought her during those chilly nights where the window stayed cracked and the wind blows the white curtains up. Perhaps was the simple thought. A simple idea engraved, fed, and received sunlight in her mind. It received so much sunlight it grew and grew until she decided there was more to life than just breathing. Maybe it was as simple as that. Maybe it was his love, his desire to capture the essence of her being and fulfill to her what the books did. Maybe he wished to quench her soul with the love and music. He did so continuously with the comparable love letters engraved by her favorite authors. Perhaps it was the way he kissed her. Her lips so plump and juicy as he reached to taste all edges of her gorgeous juice. Perhaps she was broken and it was his intent to fix her. But the damaged cannot fix the damaged so they chose to love endlessly. Without boundaries and scripted words or foundations with hard literature quotes. Perhaps she melted in his hands until the trembling went louder and the screams wouldn’t stop and not even he could quiet the demons. So he laid her down against the plush covers and connected his body against her and promised through tears, that he would love her forever.

It’s all coming back to me, the soft 6:00 am sunlight peeks through tall white lace curtains and dances along the polaroid blanketed wall of my small Koreatown bedroom. The crisp  breeze of early morning melts along the hardwood floors- that familiar blue hue illuminating the atmosphere. Images of the Griffith Park observatory flash through my mind as I stand to the left of the brightly lit balcony. There it lies, tall white form towering to my left. Memories of 2:00 am California Donut runs race through my vision as I remember the strange face which showed me such glory for the first time. Ktown, a common thread  for many Los Angeles travelers, was the first place I called home when I moved out of the familiarity of my parent’s abode. It was the first place I met so many artists, shacking up, living that LA dream. We stayed out late in the rushing streets of Hollywood, swapping stories, whispering secrets until sunrise. It’s the place I moved after I lost who I was, got my heart broken, found myself, and grew in ways I never thought manageable.

Growing up in Los Angeles, as a native,  I’ve surrounded myself with some of the most creative people alive. I’ve heard some of the most amazing stories. We are all drawn to this incredible rushing city, a melting pot of dancers, writers, filmmakers, and dreamers. Aspiring adults have found themselves cruising through the Los Feliz streets, crisp 10 pm air in their faces, tall blankets of palm trees covering this unforgettable place. At a moment in life, as we find ourselves bent over our desk in Michigan, or Ohio, or New Jersey, writing until our fingertips turned blue, as one a.m. slowly rolls around, we find ourselves having the same realization: “I am going to move to Los Angeles.

And we get here, we’re doing comedy shows at The Federal for free, but it doesn’t matter, because this is why we’re here. The crowd of familiar faces, IPAs in their hand laughing and cheering with the friends you met a year ago. This is why we’re here. We’re playing shows at 9:00pm, opening for better bands, but it doesn’t matter. Because we’re here, at The Other Door, gripping our mics so tight- reminding ourselves why we drove across the country three years ago.  We’re having drinks at the rooftop of the Ace Hotel, sipping beer under the waterfalls of Escondido, watching the sunset in Joshua Tree. As we try to identify ourselves in a sea of personalities, egos, and opinions, when it comes down to it, our common thread is why we all came here in the first place. The art that keeps us alive, and the magical experiences that keeps us here.

Art. It’s all around us. An everlasting sensation of self expression aimed to feed the void which paints our hearts.  Art, an all encompassing love, maybe the first true love many of us have ever known.  Because of our art, we thrive to identify ourselves and make a statement while we’re experiencing time here on this earth. That’s why I write. It’s my art, my thing.

Journal Entry

Today, I am really feeling the temptation of meat. I’m new to this diet and haven’t grown hip to all the fancy plant based eateries that will trick me into thinking I’m eating a cheeseburger. Needless to say: I really want The Habit.

Now, my friends may find it strange, this new decision. After all, I’ve been a carnivore my whole life, eating barbecue until I could not anymore. Just last week, I ordered a delightful crispy chicken sandwich. However, things do change as we start to find home within ourselves.

Originally stemming from my current therapy to get a handle on my emotional health and anxiety, I became inspired and let new habits bleed into all aspects of my life. I’ve taken on new routines: morning meditation, stress release through movement, taking time alone to reflect, taking time to create everyday, and finally, changing my eating habits. In this process, I read more about the substances that can attribute to moodiness, tiredness, and lethargic feelings. I found myself fighting these things daily. Diet has a LOT to do with it. So I decided 25 would be taking a stand and setting myself up for 30.

Because I don’t do well under pressure, my diet restrictions start with just that: no processed red meats, chicken, turkey, lamb, or things of the sort. I do, however, still eat seafood and cheese. I do not drink milk, but will still have yogurt. My intake of fruits and veggies increased exponentially, meaning, instead of chips, I purchase strawberries, blueberries, and grapes to bring with me to snack on at work.

Although it’s only been a week, and I am still looking through Pinterest for yummy seafood and vegetarian recepies, I am excited for this new journey. Maybe I’ll share some of my findings with you.

permeate:

“You know what turns me on? Effort. Assurance. Show me you care. That you really want me. I’m tired of doubting whether people are coming or going.”

— personal (via yoitshenny)

paresse:

daydreaming of far off places

where mountains are painted in the horizon

sharing a wall of four between the two of us

working each and every day

building a future for us to grow in

where we finally will plant our roots

we’d spend our free days in the forrest

basking in summer air

glowing from both achievement

and the love that keeps on building

a future so bright and warm

like the summer we will share together that year

soon daydreams will become reality

and i cannot wait to spend it with you

Generalized anxiety is something i’ve dealt with since age 8. It is quite possible it’s something that was passed along genetically due to my mother’s depression. However, this is not a post about my struggles with everyday worry and fear, it is a post about concurring and becoming something bigger than I’ve ever imagined. 

I am finally understanding it. Finally getting a grasp on it. Finally knowing when to stop myself mid spiral and say “hold up, Rae. Are these real threats, or potential threats?” I take a deep breath and remind myself not to get so worked up over something so uncertain.

I purchased a book that is all about emotional wellness, understanding anxiety, and how to deal with it. It’s so so so important to teach your children emotional wellness. So important. Because now, at 25, I feel as though I am starting to breathe again. I feel like my life is just starting as I am peeking through the curtain that separates  who i am not from who I am. 

I just have to step out and onto the stage. These daily exercises will help me get there. Soon, I will be a free bird, dancing away for years to come. 

Everything about who I am is becoming more and more clear. I think that writing my thoughts and being an opened book in a controlled environment is exactly what I need to pace myself and just breathe.

Just live.

Don’t forget to live