sometimes i forget that people don't know me. I've lived in this body for so long, been inside of this mind, walked my own streets--that I forget to tell people who I am. No one here knows that I was composing music when I was 10, that I actually do know what I'm talking about. They don't know my history. Which is, in part, my fault for not telling them. But also should be something that doesn't necessitate history.

It's funny to me when people try to teach me about the things that I've studied, or lived, that are so second nature to me that I don't even speak them. That's probably part of my problem--I've gotten tired of so many topics that I don't even venture an opinion. I already know what I think, and so I don't even say anything. Which means people can translate my silence however they feel.

Perhaps silence is, in the end, my problem. I don't feel the need to tell anyone that I'm going to go clean the back porch, or that I'm updating the Facebook page, or that I'm filing the patient's charts, or that I'm whateverwhateverwhatever. I don't always know what to voice and what not to--why do you need to know that I'm going to wait until after I eat to do my dishes? Or that I'm setting up the stage lighting right now, with no one on stage, so that the levels will be right for when someone gets to the stage? These things all seem intuitive to me. Of course I'm turning the lights off--the lights don't stay on when no one is on stage. I'm learning, though, that these things are not intuitive to most people. And so they don't get what you're doing, and ask you overandoverandover what you're doing. Drives me effing nuts.

Anyways, bottom line, people don't really know me here. Rephrase: people don't know my history. There are people here who know me. Just, don't know a lot lot lot of stuff about me. Where I come from. But people view you how they want to in the end, don't they? So you don't need to know that I told off a mafia Don or used to draw all the effing time or write poetry about Plato because I think he's the greatest philosopher ever or that I know about cadence and rhythm because I studied it for years and years and years. You'll either think I'm a hack or not, based on your perception. And, for the most part, that's alright with me.

♥

someone should have told my ridiculously-happy-with-life self to send messages to my future self, too. Sigh.

You know, it's funny to me how matters of the heart can affect you. Ani told me today that it's relationships that will make even the most put-together woman fall apart. Work, family, money... I guess it all affects you in different ways. But matters of the heart are in a whole different store, on a whole different level, in a different mall in a different city about 12 states over.

I've always thought it was silly, with so many huge things in the world that could consume you--injustice, genocide, prejudice, God, ruling structures, and on and on and on--that women become consumed by men. That we let ourselves fall into irrational fits of despair just because someone (who may love you) isn't in love with you. Or doesn't want to kiss you. Or wants to kiss you but not today. Or doesn't love you the way you need to be loved. It just seems so petty.

Over time, I've come to the conclusion that it is actually valid. That the reason why we get so broken is because we're offering a level of vulnerability to this person that we're not offering to anyone else. Maybe it's the little girl inside of us that was fed on Disney fairy tales and is just waiting for the moment when Happily Ever After begins. Probably it's just that we all long to really, truly be heard and understood.

I have an, erm, not so stellar history with men. By choice and by circumstance. So it's been a while since I've had to really deal with my heart. After Scott, there were different layers of heart-related issues, but mostly for 2 years my heart has been quietly gathering itself together in an attempt to rise from the ashes. But I've recently had a friendship that opened up my heart. Which was nice, to feel again, to feel in a stable and healthy way, even if he didn't feel the same.

As I've been dealing with it, I've been finding little hearts everywhere. Hearts made of plastic, little wooden hearts lying on the street corner, intricate glass hearts sent to me in cardboard boxes, hearts in the coral at the beach. I've never much liked hearts but I've begun collecting them. Maybe the sign is that I need to hold on to my own, and not keep it on the windowsill like I was doing. Maybe because this recent man made me feel my own heart beat again. But maybe all that it means is I'm supposed to feel my heart but hold it close to me, wear it like a necklace, keep it as mine.

I never know, but I try to learn from everything I go through. If I don't learn the right lesson, there'll be another situation to teach me what I was supposed to actually learn. I started writing this last night, pride-hurt and wallowing. But right now, I feel okay with everything--happy, even. My heart is mine to give and to keep. I guess my ridiculously-happy-with-life self is still here. Everything is too incredible to get stuck in the mire for long.

there is so much to say. And, at 2 a.m., i feel like saying it all. Nina Simone is serenading me, after another ridiculously talented musician serenaded me 10 minutes ago (Brian Capobianchi. Check him out.), and life is amazing.

I keep on sending messages to my past self. My 12-year-old, angst-filled self, my twenty-something overwhelmed self, my not-even-2-years ago broken hearted, life-is-worthless, perpetually saddened self. I keep telling myself to hold on, that life will get better. That I have this to look forward to.

I have no misconceptions that life will be perfect, or that this feeling will continue. But I do know that I love who I have become--I have loved that for a while but now I feel like who I am and what I'm doing coincide. That I'm actually where I'm supposed to be for the first time in forever. That this is the life I'm supposed to be living. Roommates yawning in the room next door, dogs and cats abounding, people in and out of my apartment and my room, meeting new people every day, and most importantly

giving artists a place to create.

Gosh i have so much more to say. Ridiculous amounts of words. But I need to go to bed so that I can wake up tomorrow and go to my day job. Which is also great, in its own way.

Closing:
When I was 14 and on swim team, I had this one after school practice where all I thought was "How strange. How incredible and unique to be me--14 and in a pool, in suburban Illinois, watching the lines move on the pool floor beneath me, dealing with teenage situations. How strange to be who I am, in this particular situation, right at this moment." I captured that moment in my memory forever. I remember the taste of the water and feel of the suit on my shoulders and the way the water felt on my back. That the lighting was tinted green and my hair pulled at my scalp under the cap. I remember nearly everything about that moment. And also remember feeling outside of it.

And now, how strange to be me--nearly 30, living in Hawai'i, surrounded by art and unpacked clothes, musicians sleeping on the floor, hippies from Alaska playing chess in the early evening, newly painted kitchen(ish) area, cold night air after a rain. How unexpected to be living in Chinatown and smelling cardboard boxes filled with ripe fruit on my way to work, to have spent a night listening to amazing poets that know my name, to be ME, in this life. In this century, in this world. How amazing life is. How ridiculous time is.

I think I always knew life was worth living. I mean, self-evident in some ways unless you're in the thick of things. But to actually taste this beauty... it's amazing.

Mahalo ke Akua.