The World’s Grace

The World’s Grace

“The world will astound you with its grace if you let it.” – 5 to 7

I watched a rather confusingly sweet movie the other day. I watched it, fell into an awe filled stupor, and watched it again the following day. It had the heart of a romance, yet was bridled with the conflicts brought upon by social standards. It made my heart flutter a bit with the beauty and grace of it all, leaving it saddened by the loss of love. I fell into a wishful longing once again, the kind of feel only achieved through watching incredibly touching rom coms.

There was a beautiful, charming woman. Her face lit up the screen. Had the movie no substance whatsoever, it may have still caught an eye or two by her smile alone. The young man who approached her was enchanted by her and I by his enchantment. She was married with children and he was her lover. It was an agreement known by all, including the husband who had a mistress himself, and even mentioned by the children. The man was distraught by his love for this older woman with the dazzling smile and the conflict in his heart that felt strangely like eternal damnation. How odd it was for them all to be so happy in this situation. How odd it was for him to feel at place. He often expressed his confusion and discomfort with it all to which she replied with the smooth accent of a French native:

“Let go of your ideas of what you think life should be. The world will astound you with its grace if you let it.”

The words spoken silkily and with a charming confidence have been floating through my mind ever since.

I have not known the world to astound me with grace. It has often surprised me with it’s cruelty and knack for disappointing circumstances, but grace? I’ve rarely known. So the words dance back and forth through my mind as I wonder if I have ever let it.
Has the world astounded this woman because it itself was taken aback by her charm? Or did she relax against the world and let it charm the smile onto her? Have I let it? Would it make a difference? Maybe we should all just let go?

Dreams

Dreams

When you’re at your most vulnerable, do you find yourself in places that you once knew?
The places you feel like you spent your whole life?
Last night I found myself on Plaina Rd. Looking at the old forgotten rocks that my father placed for desert decoration and running across my old forgotten driveway. It was a simple enough setting. I can’t remember where I was going or who I was with, but I remember when she showed up. Her hair bleached once again, short enough to touch her shoulders. Wearing that green coat she always wore with the furry hood, a somewhat cheap looking edition. She wasn’t the girl I remembered, but she was the one I saw in pictures back when I was missing her. She walked passed me while I was running and I smiled and turned around in her direction. I always knew she would reject me once again, but I always did it just in case she smiled back and I could see my old friend again. She was walking with someone and didn’t stop to talk, but as I always have done, I ran after. She did smile at me. She always does accidentally and I guess that’s why I never stop coming back. She smiled at my silly remarks despite herself while I chased her down, but when I finally caught up to her she turned around and looked at me solemnly. We were stopped in front of my old wire gate, the one that let into the backyard. Nothing but dirt and a swing set, but somehow lovely all the same. And as I smiled at her, a joke hanging at the corner of my mouth, she turns to me and says, “I’m not yours, Faithe.”
I had always told her she was mine. That my world and everything in it was hers because of it. That it was me and her until the end of forever. We’d fight off the world together, and when she got tired of fighting I’d fight for her. And when she got married, to whatever man she chose, I would regale stories of our adventures, smile and give her away. But she had said it. Finally and completely. Words I always knew, but I filtered out of my reality. She started to turn away again, hands in her pockets, she’d walk into a backyard sunset. But before she turned completely, I spoke out.
“Hey,” my voice rang out, the entire front yard was silent as she looked at me the last time. “I wouldn’t want you to be.”
I was surprised at how much truth reverberated in it. I was surprised at my own calm at her words, but I had let her go a long time before and had just never said it. There was a lot of pain I could remember but none of it was present then. I rather her be happy away from me. I rather she love her life in the way she pleases. I rather she feel that love I had always given from the person she wishes it from. I rather let her be ok so I can be ok too.

Broken Pieces

I think I’m attracted to broken people

Broken pieces scattered by fate

Ignored and left in supplication

In desperate need to be repurposed

I am in love with these broken pieces

And the possibilities they contain

If loved in just the right magnitude

If given just the right amount of effort

Yeah, I’m in love with those broken pieces

And the artful jagged nature of their edges

That can be smoothed or left alone

A tribute to their inherent grace

I am so in love with broken pieces I count their imperfections so as to properly admire their beauty

Their beauty incandescent

Yet, somehow hidden by the cruelty of circumstance

Broken pieces
Broken people

I cling to them as if magnetized

I find them in crowds as if guided by compass

And they find me too

Neither of us with conscious intentions

Neither of us expecting favorable outcomes

We associate and contemplate our existence together

We contemplate the meanings of our lives

We ponder the words people have told us

And their mantras of association

They say:

Be around people you want to be

And those words resonate with us

Be around people you want to be

And the sound rings loudly in our ears

Because do the people we want to be

want to be us?

To be near us and broken pieces?

To be near us and our jagged edges?

And it wouldn’t matter for me anyway

See, I’m so attracted to broken people

I am so in love with broken pieces

The artist never discards of possibility

The lover in me never neglects need

My need

My need to be affected as well as effective

To be a stone washed over by a sea of broken pieces

To be in a sea of broken pieces washing over a stone

Smoothing over its rough surface

Creating a safe space for it to mold itself

Because I have been buffed

I have been burnished

I have been smoothed

I have been polished and made ever better

And then I have been left

To contemplate it all

You see, the sea of broken pieces

The sea of broken people

My sea of broken pieces

My sea of broken people

Understood

That sea, that glistening sea

Doesn’t want to me

That sea of broken pieces

That sea of broken people

Want to be freed from their own brokenness

And I admire and I am so in love

With the nature of their being

And I admire and I am so in love

With the resilience of their hearts

Their hearts that continue beating

Despite being left in pieces

Their hearts that keep loving

Broken pieces like me

But I am not what those broken pieces so desperately want to be

I am not whole, or unblemished, or unscarred.

But I am in love with my own broken pieces

I am in love with the light reflecting off the shards

I am in love with the beauty broken people rarely see within themselves

And I am in love with their fervent need to be whole again

Whole again

Unlike my incandescent, glistening sea of broken pieces

Whole again

Unlike a buffed, burnished, and smoothly polished me

Greatness

greatness_-_Bing_Images

“But I don’t want to be good, I want to be Great.”

I say those words. I say them often, and every time I feel them deeply enough to sense the liberation between each slight break, I also feel them bounce back at me moments later, rejected by the very world that inspired them.

It’s an interesting thing, greatness. No one truly knows what it means because of its immense relativity. We could ponder it all day and only ever get a one-sided understanding. Like viewing artwork or reading poetry, it’s meant to bring about opinions, not convey them. The thought has stumped me more than once.

I want to be Great.

There. I said it again. And I think I might say it too often.

“Great people don’t sit around pondering about what makes them great. They lead by example and just… are.”

I said that too. Because I thought I was thinking too much about it. What I should be, who I should become, how I should act, whom I should favor, are all ridiculous questions to ask. I’m roaming through life trying to make it into something. I’m trying to mold my life into what I think it should be, but I haven’t quite figured out what it should look like yet so I’m just blindly creating something. When people walk past, they see it and are just as confused about it as I am. Only thing is, they think I know what I’m doing.

I’m just trying to be Great.

Ah, there it is again. The relativity. What do I even think Greatness is?

I don’t think you should have to think about it. But is there anything that I haven’t thought about?

sad-eyes

You look at me

Eyes tinted with supplication

Helpless, In need, and Expectant

The look in your eyes asks me for more

But don’t you know I have given my all?

Don’t you know I always do?

I pour out my soul

In helpless surrender

All that I have floods around you

Kisses you lightly

Gently pushes you forward

The love drains me

But I lie satisfied

Content, Happy, and Exhausted

And I look at you

Eyes barely open

Watching the waves sway you

Caress you

And bring you closer to where you’d like to be

And before I sleep I relish in your happiness

I breathe it in proudly

And before I sleep I notice you looking at me

Eyes tinted with supplication

Helpless, In need, and Expectant

The look in your eyes asks me for more

And I cry because I cannot give it

And it hurts me, as I lie there knowing

That surely if you would like me to live

You would accept that there is nothing more that I can give.

Grey Area

grey

You look at the world in black and white. All I see is grey area.

The thing about me is I don’t see things as temporary. The moment that you hurt me you hurt me eternally even though eternity eventually passes.

You might see contradictions to this. Possibly from things I’ve said before? When I said to you that nothing lasts? That all things come to a halt and I’m always well aware? And this is true. I am always well aware. But I live in the present. When I feel, I feel strongly and the strength of the feeling lasts forever. Even if forever is contained within a moment.

When things don’t work well, I think of failure as a permanent state. The pain cuts me deeply and I’m wounded for life. Until it passes and I am left completely content and satisfied, the two most permanent feelings in the world.

And it’s funny to me that something that feels so permanent can live in a state of such impermanence. In this grey area where nothing is truly true, everything is relative, and contradictions actually make for more genuine statements. But then, I suppose, if you word it that way, it’s really not all that surprising at all.

Pointless Poem

istock000000032072small (1)

I’m not feeling very poetic.

I stare at my screen.

Feeling a bit pathetic.

Hands on the keyboard.

Music in my ears.

I blow out my eardrums.

I fight back the tears.

They’re happy.

So happy.

I still hear their cheers.

Right through the window.

Straight through my door.

I can hear them laughing.

I can hear them pour

Out their feelings!

In song across the street!

Is listening the same

As admitting defeat?

 

Directly In the Middle

Great things come suddenly, unexpectedly, but completely with purpose.

“…I just wanted to tell you that joining a sorority may not be over for you! There’s an informal recruitment process…” Her words beyond the line just blended together…

What was she saying? That I had been rejected again? By not one group, but several? The idea was so familiar to me that it seemed comical. I smiled at her apology.

“No no no… it’s all right. It was really fun. Thank you for calling me. Have a good night.”

I’m not sure what I was thinking. I wanted to laugh, but I also wanted to cry. I wanted to scream, but I also completely appreciated the irony. So I was stuck in the middle somewhere. Filled with disappointment, but also with a weird sense of confidence… Let me rationalize.

The facts were:

I had signed up for formal recruitment to try and be a part of something that I wasn’t a part of. To be bigger than what I was.

The first day we went to the 4 houses and everything went swimmingly. Each one loved me and I met people that I had great connections with in every house.

The second day I had fun. I had a great time with people from the girliest house, but I also had a wonderful time with my original choice.

We laughed. We snacked. We joked. And I knew I had made an impression on everyone that I had met.

There was no third day.

I was called that night and told that the next day I would have nowhere to go, although that was the last day, bid day, I wouldn’t be a part of it. How intriguing.

So why? What now?

It dawned me that I had I been looking for the same thing I have always been looking for, but seem to always fail at finding. Which makes me think that maybe I should stop looking for it because it obviously something I’m not supposed to have. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

I went through the houses expecting to find one that was mine. One that shared my ideals, that would propel me forward in life. One that was full of people with similar goals. I went through looking for one thing, but I found something I didn’t expect.

What I realized was that I didn’t fit into any one house completely, but all of them quite equally, leaving me directly in the middle and not on any one side. I found something that I admired and loved in every house I went into. I found people that I loved talking to and related to in every situation I was thrown in. I laughed to the point of tears in every house and met people that I now adore and would have never met otherwise.

I did not become a part of a group like I’ve always wanted to be, but instead found myself where I have always been and somehow found comfort in that.

I did not assimilate into one group of friends, but discovered myself amongst many. In a way, that’s more of what I wanted than anything.

I was rejected, but I wasn’t unloved. I was loved by all, I merely wasn’t completely like any. And that, I think, is ok. I think I might be good with that.

Rejection in all forms is always terrible, but occasionally the effect is great. I know that I made an impact in their lives and I think that says more about me than any group I could ever be attached to. I think my ability to find common ground with all these people who rarely find common ground with each other is a compliment to my character. What could be better than that?

So here I am. No one’s in particular, but everyone’s. Here I am again. Directly in the middle and feeling pretty good about it.

Thank You for the Discomfort

You have given me the best idea that I have ever had in my life and you don’t even know.

I understand now the looks you give me, the awkward feeling. I get it. Now I truly do. Finally. But you fail to see my intentions.

I feel like everything so far has been going toward this moment: The moment by which my bold move would cause us to fall into an extremely uncomfortable situation. I would fall so hard into discomfort that I couldn’t sleep or go a second without pondering about it, searching for ways to make it better. It would hurt; the discomfort, and I would talk out loud about it, maybe to God, maybe to myself, sometimes I can’t honestly tell the difference. I would watch romance movies and pretend that I’m in love and drown myself in the feeling. I would sink. I would sink. I would sink. Until that too hurt and then I would find new ways to occupy my mind.

It always comes back to the internet doesn’t it? Horoscopes and surveys for mental illness. What’s wrong with me? What can I fix in my life? Therapy. Well, that’s always a great answer and one I will definitely ignore… School. Oh, I can fix school.

And this brilliant idea came upon me. “Upon me” seems the only way to say it. It was a rush. An epiphany. My heart beating too fast. The blood rushing to my head. The discomfort birthed a brilliant idea. And I knew it would work. I KNEW it would work. Like it had been waiting for me to uncover it. Sitting there, lonely at the back of my head, waiting for the blood rush to flood it out. It was an incorporation of everything I had ever done. A hint of everything new and old as if all things had brought me here.

Here now. Sitting, uncomfortably. Because of you.

It could only be God, you know? An odd turn of events such as this. And you a part of a brilliant plan that is not yet over.

I have this strong pull toward you. I wouldn’t expect you to understand… I have no idea what it actually means. Maybe we’re meant to be together. Maybe you’re supposed to give me the best advice of my life. Maybe you’re just supposed to recommend me a really great sandwich. I don’t know. But after this great epiphany things are just not the same. My intentions toward you are just to figure out this great, great plan that you seem to be a part of. It’s like a really uncomfortable game of Clue.

So sorry… but you might have to deal with my weirdness a bit longer…

On a side note: Would it be odd to say Thank You?

To You: Politeness

To You,

I’ve been thinking about you. Yes, again. About whether I like You or merely the idea of you. You know, don’t you? That all-consuming idea of you that keeps me up at night. All night. That idea that’s keeping me up right now.

I’ve been thinking that there is a difference between someone who is genuinely nice and someone who is polite. You see, being polite is a learned trait made habitual through practice. Polite people smile when things are supposed to be funny, they agree when things are meant to be agreed upon, and say what they believe should be said. However, rarely do a polite person’s actions or words mirror their true thoughts. Those are hidden, unspoken, tamed. On the other hand, a nice person says things because their good heart compels them to. Their words are their thoughts. Although they have polite traits and do not always speak their minds, there is a conspicuous difference between the driving force behind their words. It’s pure. It’s loving. It’s just different.

You may be a polite person, but I’m not totally convinced of your niceness and that does make me like you less. And it does slightly disappoint me.

You know that girl is quite the same way actually; polite, I mean. Which makes me think that your attractiveness to her is based deeper than you realize. Disappointing. I’m also not sure she likes you much. I feel bad about that. Maybe she too sees that you’re probably just polite. Ironic isn’t it?

I have somewhat depressing love songs on repeat… Oh my…

The problem is your face is stuck at the forefront of my mind, but then so is your politeness, causing me to want to see it less.

I want to get to know you better. I want to see which one is true. The problem is, in the moment I probably wouldn’t notice. Next to you, close to you, I forget that you may Just be polite.

Sigh…

It’s all very confusing…

Signed with love or something,

Faithe Y.