Because of-.

So, my feet hate me. Like hate me. If my feet had individual hearts, theirs would be pounding with thoughts of murder and anarchy. But, as they say, Mind over matter. Let's be real: my feet didn't hurt that badly that I needed to stay in bed the rest of the day. I wanted to go to Philly and I wanted to visit the MoMA.

Besides, I was enduring self-chosen punishment for poor footwear.

Cute shoes do not a comfortable walk make.

Seriously, though- adorable shoes, and more durable than I expected! 

Do you know how to use a mirror? What's it for? 

A couple weeks before today I'd written this blog post where I wrote, "The funny thing about reflections is that what is reflected depends entirely on the angle from which you view it." 

Whenever I watched 'What Not to Wear' I completely empathized with those who had to go into the 360 mirror. Holy-. 

"Is that what I looked like while talking to him?!"  

Well, yes.

And no.

Should I approach a mirror I might straighten my posture, brush aside a curly strand of hair from my forehead, double check my complexion; etc. But that's my facing the mirror directly. If I stood on top of the mirror, or if it was directly overhead, or shaped like the Bean (Cloud Gate) in Chicago. Would I like what I see? 

Because to see something I don't expect could be daunting.

Have you walked into the 'Infinity Mirror Room'? (I haven't, but I'm told it's surreal.)

Because it starts out like this,

and ends up,

Does anyone really know how large this room is? What do you mean I can't walk further out?

Mirrors offer a great place of illusion. (I'd say delusion, but I'm not psychologist.)

Two days ago was not my first time in Philadelphia. Yesterday was not my first time in NYC. A few scattered weeks ago was not my first time in the Greater Scranton-Wilkes Barre area. Last January and December was not my first time in the Philippines, or China for that matter. I visit Niagara Falls and Toronto often enough, I'm surprised I haven't made a rut in the ground...but that would be why I pay tolls. 

It could be because I am sentimental that traveling is surreal to me. 

When I look around places where I have been, I recall what I did there. I, in the future (so to speak), recall what my past self (so to speak) was doing. I think of who I was, and who I am now, and am generally shattered by emotional, mental and physical (no, I still haven't got a six pack) transformations that I hadn't see growing below the surface. 

I had looked in mirrors and reflections seeing no change--I mean, save my pixie cut--hating the immobility of my life and person. "Why haven't I changed?" I'd croon.

But like watching paint dry and seeds break free of dirt, I did change, just change that was out of my control. 

(Always out of my control, aren't you, God?) 

No, I didn't exactly look like that when talking to him, but I did. 

As far as I am aware, I haven't undergone plastic surgery, so I look like the 23-year-old version of my 5-year-old version. I have some things about myself that I don't like (who. the hell. doesn't?). But if a reflection is dependent upon the angle from which you view it, I don't have his eyes. What he sees is going to be different from what I see. 

It just is.

Passers-by aren't going to know that I my feet are killing me because I don't act like my feet are killing me. I haven't told anyone. Haven't put it on a poster-board asking for donations for new shoes (FWP, much?) because scaling the MoMA's walls, and wandering around Philadelphia's Center City meant more to me than my pain...ish. 

Ha, I did mention it once or twice to a few people, but I still ran up Rocky's steps :D

Because outside Center City and the MoMA are homeless men and women and children who don't directly benefit from my touristy monies. 

Like this BuzzFeed: New York on Instagram vs. New York in Real Life. Neither is an entirely tru depiction of New York- it's not that bad, and it's DEFINITELY not that good, but why should that matter? Just let it be. Enjoy all the angles from which you can view these places, and those that send a shiver down your spine- maybe that's a call for you to do something about it. Because a reflection depends not just from the angle, but also he or she who views it. 





My sentiment is daily breached when I move from one place to another. I miss certain places not generally because of the place, but because of the people that were there with me. I mean, now every time I listen to Ed Sheeran's "I See Fire" I am transported back to the Philippines (I can even smell it). How's that? Because I listened to it 165+ times on repeat while I was there.

Suffice to say, I could do without ever seeing Scranton again, but one of my best friends lives there. And there, I made better friends.

Because some years ago visiting this place, I had different intentions, and was with different people. Some of those intentions have evolved, and some people have left.  I should not exchange any of these experiences for the world because it somehow brought me where I am today, despite not really having gone anywhere.

Or, it could be that I am psychotic.

Either way, I am not who I was. Because of travel. Because of people. Because of situation. Because of little to no money. Because of everything that catches my eye. Because life.

That's so cool.

How could it be that every day is the same, but I engage retrospect and everything's changed?

Well, now to attempt a couple poems. 

for the stranger

a shared smile is a shared heart.
so it is with a look, a touch, and a laugh;
a kiss.
but do not force this.
i prefer an honest frown to a lying grin.
turn away if you mean less than you say.
i will share joy--
my grief is mine.

cold mornings.

if nights pursue darker thoughts
mornings induce cold ones.
fresh with dew,
untouched by light;
yet to grow throughout the day;
forced into maturity by the impending sunset
where thoughts must learn to fend against doubts.

cold thoughts draped over my face
like a sheer wedding veil.
like fog surrounding trees.
these thoughts bid me thither:
"come, stay. lie with me."
thoughts unaware of change and development;
unaware of the afternoon sun about to scorch them dry.

thoughts are
friends of clouds,
friends of shadows;
friends of caves and warm spots under woven blankets.
but my thoughts do not bury me.
they'd never promise salvation.
but i am discomfited without them.

if nights pursue darker thoughts
mornings induce cold ones:
eager to awake and exercise. 

18 August 2014

how easily the heart rises and falls.
the heart is all permanence, sure of its assumptions;
yet reality is inconsistent, eager to be misread.
i should've wanted your heart.
i did. i did want it.
but with or without your heart i've got the love i need.
i've too much of what i need
to waste any room for what i want.

i think.

my heart disagrees with my head.
my heart says to my head, "there's no such thing as excess of love!"
my mind replies, "i am afraid to be reckless."

but lately, friends accuse me of bravery i didn't know i possessed.
i should hate to regret considering you unworthy of risk.

i might want your heart. maybe.
i don't know. i do care.

Five years past.

I haven't been asked what I want for my birthday since I turned nineteen. I am five years past nineteen now.

Well, it's not that I knew what I wanted for my birthday anyway.

"Justine! What would you like for your birthday?"
"..." BRAIN FART.

Seriously. All that pressure in one question, how am I supposed to recollect everything I've wanted for the past year? Maybe I should make an Instagram account based on everything I want throughout the year so that when I am asked, I could instruct you to search the hashtag *justinewants.Thaaaaaaaaat's not selfish. Not remotely selfish.

No.

Not.

Selfish.

Anyway, on the off chance you are thinking of getting me something, I have one request: don't get me anything.

What I would like for you to do is donate money to my favorite charities.

1. World Vision Mali/Philippines
2. Project 7
3. Restore Her
4. ONE
5. Slow Food USA 

You can be sure I am thankful for everything everyone's ever given me, but let's be honest: I am middle-class Asian-American toting around an iPhone, complaining about tepid water, and owning too many jeans--I don't think I really need anything else. I can't be grateful for things I can or will get if I'm not grateful for things now.

Should you donate something in honor of my birthday, please let me know! I would love to express my thanks and wishes to return the favor.

Or, if you have charities that you like that you think I would like, let me know! There's always room for charity, grace, kindness, and positivity.

Thanks. You guys are great.




My birthday is 1 September. Holy-!

delete

i would delete any trace of you-
though what if i met you again?
i'd have to make the same mistakes.
again.

you are not worth meeting-for-the-first-time twice.

"Just call me Jennifer." or "Reflective Angles"

So, if you're wondering why July and August are bare of blog posts it's because I've been away at camp. I even chose to stay longer at camp.




This morning I went on a quick walk down to the lake. I sat not at its edge mostly because the gate was locked, but from where I sat I had a view well enough to appreciate. I don't know that I was conscious of what I was thinking- I was just thinking, praying my coughing wouldn't disturb the morning air...it did.

Like any mass of water it reflects what is around it,

from my journal today

I wondered what it would be like living in a reflection.

But then I wondered what the reflection must look like from the other side of the lake.

Then I thought, "The funny thing about reflections is that what is reflected depends entirely on the angle from which you view it."

Which would explain the innate desire to twist and manipulate images when I don't like what I see--I forget I'm viewing it at a different angle than yesterday, or a minute ago. It's still me- it's still the lake- I just happen to prefer one angle as opposed to the infinite number of other angles.




Self-reflection is key to who I am. I'm sure a lot of people can relate to that. I tend to be on the more obsessive end of self-reflection, but there it is- because of this I tend to forgo an observer's reflection of me. Not consciously though, I know I tend to seek out advice and criticism, and yet, I still funnel out all things I don't like to hear.

I accepted this job I have at camp without qualms, save one: "So, are you ready to join us, Jennifer?"

My prospective boss called me 'Jennifer' despite the rest of the conversation calling me 'Justine'. I considered telling him, "It's funny, my best friend's name is Jennifer," but I declined that little anecdote and replied instead, "So...my name is Justine? It is Justine."

"Oh! That- that was a test! Your name is Justine. I am ----. Justine, would you like to come work with us?"

Then I accepted and came without further qualms.

But I was told to have qualms, none of which I will list here because some worries should be kept private. Besides, most of these worries are FWP (First World Problems) which aren't generally problems in the long run anyway. But I wanted to come, needed to- I couldn't really tell you why, only that if I didn't go I would regret it.

I jumped both feet in and though I cringed on the drive down to the camp my experience since then has been, to say the least, encouraging, enlightening, and wonderful. I think all the more so because I came into it without any expectations or plans. I just kind of did it.

 

The above has been my mantra for a bit, given to me by one of my fellow counselors. I kinda, sorta (not really) apologize for the swear word.

Those words resonate with me mostly because I have been far too timid and judgmental. I have weighed balances I don't have; foreseen occurrences that never occurred.To a certain extent, I have pretended to know so many things without really knowing. Why do I do that? 

I don't want to pretend I know things. I don't want to assume I know exactly what you'll be like, or that I know exactly what will happen.

I have worked under the premise that I know nothing, but its twisted its head on me: I knew nothing and therefore knew everything. That's incredibly stupid.

I suppose before I took this job I saw only one thing: I got the job. What else is there to see? As much as I enjoy writing, I was tired of sitting around and doing nothing. One can only have so much time to oneself before one goes insane. Honestly, self-reflection can become psychotic without exterior perspective.

And thus came the newer angles from which I began to see my life.

I speak of taking risks without actually taking them.

I judge and hold onto my judgements more firmly and aggressively than I knew.

And yet, I also adapt to various situations incredibly well without coming across as high and mighty. ...knock on wood.

When did all this happen to me?

Why haven't I looked at myself from this angle yet? Where have I been hiding myself?

Who knew I could be capable of such elementary, childlike bravery?

Who knew I could laugh so loudly and well, and gain so many blessed new friends?

I ask all this and the answer couldn't be plainer, though it is very Sunday-schoolish: God.

Now, moving on! Time to see what's next!




Seriously, though, if the swear word bothers you... :P

wishing.

i am very good at hoping.
that is all i ever seem to do.
i have hoped under distant stars and blinding city lights.
i have hoped with fingers crossed, laced in another's hand.
i have hoped fearfully and joyfully.
i have hoped senselessly.
i have hoped ridicule on some; peace where i saw fit.
i have hoped despite facts and unbidden truths.

i have hoped.

or was i wishing, all that time?

hoping.

i was lucky to know you.
luckier, even, to leave you.
i was blessed to have loved you.

i could still love you.
if i tried.
although, i am the epitome of trying.
i've not mastered succeeding.
no, perhaps i can no longer love you.

i am not happy because you're happy.
i just am happy.
i don't care why or how you're happy--
i just hope that you are.

i am very good at hoping.