Category: Posts

I wrote a very raw essay about connection back in March. I was feeling my move abroad very intensely while also missing my friends and a sense of familiarity/comfort in full force. I was awake at my kitchen table at 1am, unable to sleep, drinking tea and attempting to let my emotions come pouring out as a form of catharsis. In the moment it helped but it didn’t address a larger issue—a deep seeded one that I’ve been ignoring for quite some time… identifying my own needs. My whole life has been predicated on my connection to other people and being of service to them in the form of a friend, colleague, daughter, sister, girlfriend, you name it. But the connection that I lost sight of along the way was the one to myself. Deep down I knew this but I chose to ignore it as I saw greater value in pouring love and attention into my external connections and saw little value in putting the focus on the internal connection that desperately needed nurturing.

I’ve been trying really hard to reconnect to myself, attempting to redirect the focus to this area and the relationships in my life that give me energy vs. the ones that drain me. I’m assessing my strengths and weaknesses with a very critical eye and evaluating how to move forward. I haven’t felt like “myself” in months and it’s been disorienting. Now, I feel as if I’m starting to emerge and allow myself to connect with others again in a way that feels authentic. This past week, I’ve seen multiple people who I consider very lucky to know and call my friends. No matter where I’ve been in life physically or emotionally, my ability to surround myself with genuinely good, beautiful people has been something I’ve never taken for granted. Connecting to people, learning from them and supporting them is what keeps me going. Until I felt a severing of connections when I moved abroad, I didn’t know just how important this need was to me or how hollow I can when it’s no longer present.

Somewhere along the way, I took this role and service too far, though. I wanted to be overly present for every connection I made and I lost sight of what was important in various situations—often directing focus to connections that were a push/pull dynamic where I felt the need to “earn” it. I took my needs out of the equation in many scenarios as to best serve my connections. I left little time for myself or the connections that needed attention and this is a harsh assessment I’ve had to do in order to not make the same mistakes moving forward. During this season of my life, I’ve been faced with focusing on myself in a way I never have before. Not really, at least. I’ve had to identify what’s important to me, what I like, what I dislike. Where I need boundaries, or simply realizing I have none. I’ve tried very hard to find the good things as well. I’ve tried to identify what I like about myself and what I can bring to the table for friends and how I can be of service to them in a way that I don’t lose myself in the process.

A good friend of mine recently wrote to me. I’ve read her words many times and I can hear her sweet, high-pitched voice narrating every sentence. She took time out of her new role as a mother to sit down and write to me. She wanted to tell me I was on her mind and what our friendship meant to her. If only she knew what that letter meant to me and where I was, emotionally, on the day that letter found its way to me from across the world. This person knows and loves me for who I am and I know I can count on her no matter what. I hope someone in the world feels this way about the friendship and connection I provide to them.

I had a moment a few months ago where I looked at myself in the mirror and I didn’t recognize myself. I stared into my own eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time and what I saw in the reflection was a person I didn’t know. I understand it might sound cliche to go down this route but it was a very humbling experience to feel that I had gotten so far off course that my own reflection made me uncomfortable. I was convinced at any moment that the person staring back at me would do something that didn’t mimic my actions to confirm my suspicion that it wasn’t in fact me. The sunken face with dark circles and tears in her eyes was me. Who had I become? I was disconnected and floating aimlessly through the abyss instead of picking myself up and focusing on the things that mattered.

I visited a good friend of mine last weekend. We sat in the sun on a cobblestone street while people played music outside. We drank our cappuccinos and talked about life. It felt so good to sit across from a person who I love and deeply admire with whom I can talk about the complexities of life including what makes it beautiful, confusing or just downright dreadful. To be in the presence of a person who I care for and who cares for me brought light into my life. Following this, I met with two friends for wine a few days later. We told stories, talked about “home” and I laughed for hours. I felt like myself again. I felt like I didn’t need to hideaway and rebuild myself in order to be worthy of these connections. These friends just accepted me as I am and likewise.

To all of my friends near and far, I love you. I’m sorry if I haven’t been the best friend recently. I’m coming back, I promise.

i do not want to fight this anymore

Since we were little kids, my brother Ryan and I have had cats. Over the years we’ve had many cats and there have been a few that carried us through many chapters of life—ones that were truly our best friends and companions. I can remember the day we met each of our cats. I can also remember the day we said goodbye to them, too.

When I was 15, my brother Ryan adopted two small kittens named Dante and Virgil. Dante was grey and Virgil was orange. I remember the first time I met them at his apartment in Baltimore. They were tiny and hiding under the bed. I knelt down and said hello to their beaming eyes as they stared widely and unsure at a stranger. Ryan always had a way with animals and more specifically cats. He loved those kittens and was so excited to have these two brothers to keep him company as he embarked on the next chapter of his life.

As life would happen, Ryan lost possession of his cats a few years later. He was devastated. We talked on the phone nearly every day and he was beside himself. He couldn’t imagine his life without his cats and he knew he had to do everything in his power to get them back. And he did. He spent days, weeks and months contacting lawyers, flying back for court cases and doing everything he could to fight for them. He spent thousands of dollars and was grief stricken over the possibility that he’d never see them again.

He was faced with a decision that would be impossible to make which was he had to choose. He could only have one of his cats and even though he loved them both, Dante was Ryan’s cat. They were bonded in a way I’ve never seen an animal and person fuse before. To know Ryan is to know Dante.

For 15 years, I’ve watched my brother prioritize Dante above all else, especially himself. At times when Dante needed help, Ryan sacrificed his own well-being and comfort for his friend Dante. When I would look after Dante when Ryan was away, he would roam my halls in the night wailing and crying out for Ryan. When I held him, he would study my face and listen intently at the way I said his name. I could see in his eyes that he recognized the familiarity of Ryan as my sibling and felt comforted by that. Every time I held him, he would place his paw on my face. I always felt that the two were correlated.

I’ve never seen a person love their cat, rather their friend, the way Ryan loved Dante. Until the very end, Ryan fought for him. He raised money so he could have life-saving surgery and rode the train to sit by his side every day. Dante loved Ryan. He was his entire world and Dante was Ryan’s.

Rest in peace, Dante.

I really felt the love this year on my birthday.

31~

When I was 18, I slammed my thumb in the car door. It happened while I was getting ready to drive back to school and my hands were full from packing the car. It was a Sunday night and the thought of staring down the barrel of an eight hour drive with nothing to consume my thoughts but the pulsing, building pressure in my thumb felt like a death sentence. It hurt like hell and I couldn’t escape it. I went to my neighbors house and they suggested I drill or make a small hole in my nail to relieve the pressure. In many cases, this provides immediate relief but you have a certain window in which you can do it, otherwise, it’s too late. In my case, I waited too long.

Life is funny that way sometimes. You don’t know you need help until you’re in the thick of it. Along the way, you could have opted to take the life raft but you try to stick it out. Why? You think if you can make it to a certain point, it will get better only to find it gets worse. Ultimately, I didn’t get in the car and sit for eight hours with that pain. I opted to stay home and do what I could to make myself as comfortable as I could.

I made the analogy recently that I wish I could drill a hole in my head to relieve the pressure. My head has felt so heavy—like it simply doesn’t have room for one more thought or problem. Similar to slamming my thumb in the car door, I wish I could simply relieve the pressure. There was a point where I could have, too. It would have been much simpler to take a few off ramps that wouldn’t have overloaded my brain to this extent yet here we are.

When I slammed my thumb in the car door, I called my grandmother (Omie). I was beside myself on the phone which sounds trivial, that something so minor could elicit that response. In-between my sobs, I was able to tell her the situation and explain what happened. Instead of making me feel like I was overreacting, she listened and comforted me. She empathized with me and told me she had done the same thing many years ago and knows that pain. The irony was that her story included slamming her thumb in the tanker truck during WWII which was taking her to safety during the air raids/bombings. I mean my God, way to put things into perspective (lol). BUT that wasn’t her intention nor was it ever.

Learning your tolerance for pain whether it be physical or emotional is essential for survival. Knowing when, or rather that it’s okay, to accept help is a sign of growth that I’m becoming more familiar and hopefully comfortable with.

I finally feel like I’ve relieved the pressure.

…to be continued!

i miss my dad