Posted in Completely Random!!, Sleepless Nights, Writing Bits

they told me there was nothing past death, and that i should go back.

which is ridiculous now that i think about it. i had just taken the effort to die, and now they were telling me ‘nothing exists beyond the void of the life you knew’; yet their very existence defied their own claims. who knows who or what they were, but they clearly didnt want me there, and so they sent me back. what kind of place we were in, i don’t remember – maybe a room, maybe an empty plain – but somewhere filled with a white fog beyond which you could see nothing.

no, maybe that was it. maybe it was all nothing except for them.

rather than expose their disinformation by pointing out the fact of their presence, i only felt a dull disappointment at the time. they faded from view as time rewound (even though time wasn’t supposed to exist there. curious). as the memories return of that place, surely one of them was God? and He had said that He did not want me.

i found myself back on earth. a younger version of myself might have found the void beyond death a great reason to die, but now with firm confirmation of the absence of any kind of afterlife, the existence of life became much more beautiful and endearing. it would be the only thing i would experience, and that made it all the more precious.

dream logic is something that will ever elude us.

Posted in Completely Random!!, Sleepless Nights

the danger of love

is that it’s the most vulnerable yet comforting state of existence.

To love means investing time and energy into someone who may or may not reciprocate. It means taking a step forward even when you’re not sure how someone will react. It means getting hurt because you care, and it means being willing to overlook the imperfections of another human who will inevitably let you down.

To be loved means being known, and being known means being vulnerable. It involves tangling up with other people — letting them in on the mess inside that might cause them to draw away and confirm your suspicion that you’re unworthy of love.

To love is to risk.

And yet… we need it so desperately.

It’s funky to need something so badly and yet be so deathly afraid of it as well. To be loved is to risk. To love is to risk.

Posted in Completely Random!!, Sleepless Nights

4:39am thoughts

halla, it is currently — yes, as you guessed it — four in the morning, yet here I am for some inexplicable reason.

the inexplicable reason is my arms are hurting. Not sure why. The only inexplicable part is why they’re hurting.

In any case, it’s time to start an early-morning rambling before I inevitably go back to sleep and wake up regretting this several hours later. Who knew arm pain could keep you up? I did before actually but I forgot. Fun reminders.

Anyway, what is up. I was sorting out some crap in my room yesterday, and I came across a couple old letters that an adult friend ‘sent’ nine-year-old me to humour me at a time when I put up little cardboard mailboxes on every family member’s door in the house. What a champ. Those letters are epic and I will keep them. Anyway, I didn’t want to keep them in the little box they were in anymore, so I decided to stick them in one of my old journals — my first journal, actually, which I’d originally started for some kind of project my mom made us do, then just continued afterward.

The ramblings of a 9-year-old are hilarious; I journaled quite literally and just explained everything that happened in a day. My mom was the one who made us kids start it for some reason, so she read through them like they were some kind of homework assignment (which in a way they kind of were). At one point I started an entry with, ‘My mom said I don’t have to write every detail.’

I guess my mom didn’t want to read what I ate for breakfast every morning, or about how I ate said breakfast with my sister under the dining table because it was fun.

A few years ago I wrote a mandatory post on why I personally find journaling fun, but one thing I’m pretty sure I left out was the bit where you get to read your old journals to see how you’ve grown or changed over the years. Of course, most of the information in my very first journal isn’t exactly insightful or deep, but it does give a glimpse into the mind of a kid and how they process things. Reading through some of my journal entries from a couple years ago reveals things like just how dark of a place I was in without realising it. Some entries from when I was a sixteen-year-old were surprisingly mature and thoughtful. (Imagine having depth of thought nowadays.) In a way, reading past journals is like meeting your past self to see what you think of them now. Is it always fun? No. My journals are full of random crap and details that are no longer important to me now, but sometimes you can find interesting tidbits amongst the past brain throw-up.

Huh. I knew this post would end up focusing on one thing. Good thing it usually does.

Well, that’s my 4am self’s thoughts on journaling in light of reading some old journal entries. My arms still hurt, but maybe exhaustion will trump the pain.

Posted in Completely Random!!, Letters, Sleepless Nights, Writing

Another Letter to the Self

I forgot to exist here for a good while. I’m back~

Dear self,

I just wanted to let you know how hard you’ve been on yourself lately. Yeah, it’s pretty obvious and you’ll probably skim over this the way you usually do whenever anyone mentions self-love; but bear with me for a second and imagine what would happen if you said half of the things you told yourself to a student of yours. ‘Wow, that was really stupid.’ ‘You should have just ______!’ ‘Why didn’t you do it this way, dummy?’

No wonder you hate yourself. No wonder you don’t like to be with yourself. No wonder you want distractions from your own thoughts. But this isn’t a reason for your bully self to beat you up more and pummel you down deeper into self-pity. (‘You’re so stupid you can’t even not hate yourself.’) It’s not saying you can’t laugh, ‘Wow, I did make a pretty silly mistake,’ because there’s a difference between recognising a mistake, laughing, and moving on versus latching onto it and hitting yourself over it.

This is just a little reminder that there’s this gentle side of you too — the one that tells students, ‘Hey, it’s okay that you messed up. Let’s just try this again; I know you can get it’ — and it’s not inaccessible to you. The only thing keeping it from you is the mean side of you who’s betting on you forgetting that you can be nice to yourself. It’s okay to mess up. It’s okay to cry, to be frustrated, to not get something right away. It’s not because you’re not enough, or you’re too stupid, or you’re incompetent; it’s just that you didn’t get it on the first try, or maybe the second or third. But don’t let your coach beat you down because of it; let yourself learn from it, shake off the dirt, laugh a little bit, and try again. Tell yourself that you’re okay. Tell yourself how okay it is to make a mistake.

Be gentle with yourself. Handle yourself with care, because you’re a human just like everyone else you talk to. Don’t let anyone talk to you in such a berating way — including yourself.

You’re doing great. Just keep trying. Keep doing the best that you can, because that’s all you can do and that is enough for now. Just do your best. Keep going and do your best.


The Gentle Side of Yourself

Posted in Sleepless Nights, Writing, Writing Bits

All Her Tears Be Washed Away

when i go don’t cry for me

in my Father’s arms i’ll be

How many years it’s been now, it doesn’t really matter; time becomes irrelevant and each day morphs into the next dreary day of sitting, existing, a drag of moving forward. Wake up in pain, move out to the living room in exhaustion, pain, weariness, pain, pain, numb pain and yet the sharpest kind.

They call life a battle or a war — in these cases, the terms hardly seem to apply when it only feels like you’re being trampled down with each wave that you can never truly fight against. Helpless. The word comes to mind more than once. Helpless to fight for a loved one, only waiting, loving, praying it can turn out differently.

the wounds this world left on my soul

will all be healed and i’ll be whole

An older woman — a twig, really, skin and bones after long hard days with her only source of nutrition coming from a tube for however long it’s been now — lay in the bed of a hospice, her white hair only just beginning to grow back from months of chemo, with her tired husband sleeping next to her through the night. They knew it would likely be her last. She was off support. The pain was greater than ever. Oh, God, take it away.

The room was so dark. The softest bed could not have made this comfortable in any way. It was so alone in this room despite the fact that there were two — no, three people. One lurked in the corner, a dark shadowy figure, watching and waiting as the pain continued to throb in her entire body, and she knew it was coming for her very soon even as her eyes began to slowly close.

sun and moon will be replaced with the light of Jesus’ face

and i will not be ashamed, for my Saviour knows my name

As the dark figure hovered through the black room toward her, her eyes opened again as she felt something else; not the dark presence, but something that could only feel like music. Soft music. Familiar music like she may as well have heard it all her life, but only just remembered it now as she heard someone call her name in the most loving, most awesome, most indescribable voice she had ever known: ‘Sarah!’

The dark figure lurched for her. A strong gentle hand pulled her up in a loving embrace just before it reached her.

it don’t matter where you bury me

i’ll be home and i’ll be free

A few hours later, her husband awoke and made the call first to their three grown children, and then the rest of the family, friends…

Sarah was with her Father.

it don’t matter anywhere i lay

all my tears be washed away . . .

lyrics from Ane Brun’s ‘All My Tears.’

love you auntie Sarah. You made a huge impact on the lives of everyone around you. Jealous of you, but also happy for you. Say hi to everyone for us.

Posted in Poetry, Sleepless Nights, Writing

Free Verse: Don’t Look Around

Don’t look around

for fear of finding more of these flaws you can do nothing about.

Keep your head down

like the rest of humanity working in this hellish cave;

do not raise too loud a voice for fear of the walls crumbling in around you.

Don’t fear, they’ll tell you,

and glance around with white eyes full of something that must not be fear after all —

You thought wrong again.

– June 27, 2019




Posted in Completely Random!!, Letters, Sleepless Nights

A Letter to a Distant Friend

Dear Unnamed,

I wonder if you will see this. I wonder if you would care.

I wonder if you would still stay up with me into the ungodly hours of the night, sometimes talking, sometimes just sitting. Do you miss that?

I wonder where you are, and what first started the rift that has seemed to turn into an infinite abyss between us. Was it me after all? It usually — well, in all honesty, always — was me, but you know I don’t mean it in a self-pitying or resentful way. It’s just the way things are. Was it the grief that jammed the knife into the blades of the fan to prevent it from turning, or was it my own forgetfulness that forgot not to push you and everything else away?

I think about you. Not enough, but I do. And I wanted to talk. So here I am talking to you.

I wonder if You will see this?

Posted in Sleepless Nights, Writing, Writing Bits

‘and i will try to fix you’

like you are something broken, something that is a mistake, something that should not have been.

i will fix you; the tears running down your face are empty; the pain you have felt is but an illusion. you may argue, child, but you do not know best — i will fix you.

there is a cure and there is healing. the things that cannot be cured should not be broken again in an attempt to repair them.

some scars will only heal over time; they may not fade, but they need not be worsened, either.

some things we cannot fix. we may wait with them while the pain passes.

not all the answers are always here.

Posted in Completely Random!!, Hehe, Sleepless Nights

The Process of Waking Yourself Up on a Sleepy (and Sleep-Deprived) Morning

1. Open your eyes. (Do not skip this step.)

2. Rub your eyes. Do this gently, so as not to infect them. It may actually be best to skip this step entirely because it’s bad to rub your eyes guys

2. Sit up and stretch. Do this for about thirty seconds; start with your legs, then move to your arms and upper body, then your neck. I don’t know why. Just do.

3. Do jumping jacks. Twenty, to be precise. Then go back to step 2 for another thirty seconds and then skip to step 4.

4. Slap yourself and play hype music, then take a cold shower.

5. I don’t know. I’m tired and last night was sleep-deprived and honestly doing all these steps in this order might get you killed.

6. DRINK COFFEE AND SING A SONG AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS. Then wait for nighttime or right after lunch to sleep.

Thanks for joining me on your TEDxTalk for the day of how to wake yourself up. Have a fantabulous day, folks.