Winter Chill . . .

I'm craving some holiday decorating and merry festivities, good food and even better conversations with people I give a crap about. Hopefully all of us can make the time to step away from our schedules and routines, and spend some of it with each other.

:D

Their music always seems to make me feel better. Love love it.

The Higher road . . .

Sometimes I think life is too short to take the higher road. But then is that a life worth living, where I forgo my values such as respect and consideration in order to satisfy my frustration and anger in the moment? Though awesomely sweet it would be, I would slowly become the type of person I dislike now.I really don't want to be like the few butt-munches that are in my life, so I guess I'll continue my attempt to being a better person than I want to be sometimes. Le sigh.

Can I learn how to try this at home??

This scene still inspires me to include a bit of bad-assery into my life once in a while :) . . . and maybe to exercise too.

O_O . . .

Can I be her when I grow-up?

Still am who I was, but maybe a little bit wiser . . .

"I have learned now that while those who speak about one's miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more."- C.S. Lewis

It took me many years to figure this out. I also needed the time to come into my own, find strength within myself instead of from others alone. Only then I felt I could share my sadness, burdens, and happiness with the few I felt close to. Also, I couldn't encourage others to confide in me if I chose not to share with them. Sharing my thoughts and feelings definitely opens me up for hurt and betrayal, but the other option is to remain closed off for the fear of being hurt and that is a weakness on its own. Misery is part of life, every life, but what we do with it, what other emotions we allow for ourselves is up to us, right?

Perspective . . .

I was on a train ride home from class, when a homeless man came onto the train. Instead of "performing" for the people on the train to get attention and support, he directly spoke to us about his situation of sleeping on a bench, not having enough to eat, not having a home. He asked for and said he'd appreciate any help he could get. When he came by my way, I gave him my spare change because I didn't have any singles on me--what I gave was nothing substantial. But while I awkwardly struggled to get my change out, I had to balance my cup of over-priced coffee in one hand, while I gave a man who said that he had no home a few cents.

It's like everything became crystalline and came into focus. I was a douche-bag.

I could spend five dollars on an unnecessary and overly sweet coffee at night-time, but I couldn't spare that same amount to someone who didn't have anything. Why--because I wasn't sure if he was being honest or running a scam? Would sparing the five dollars be that detrimental to me if it was a lie, especially when it could help him in the case that it's true? If he was lying, I would feel like I lost more than my money. However, if that man was lying on the subway simply to get money to pay for his vices, he's already in worse shape than me with a few bucks less. I don't know, I guess I expect more from myself and it's jarring to realize how closed-off and jaded I can be.

Summertime is not what it used to be . . .

I miss the time when the livin' was easy :/As I get older, the less easy it seemingly gets.

This might be a simple thought, but . . .

. . . how does one forgive another? I know that its possibility depends on the degree of the injustice, including who hurt you and the motive. But how do you actually forgive? It took me a long time to realize that time doesn't heal all wounds, rather, it provides us the emotional distance from the event to learn to bear with it. Healing and growth is involved, I know, also the action of "letting go." But there is a line between what should and can be let go, and what should be the deciding factor to part ways.

I guess I'm struggling with this grey area, where I have tried to find meaning in the other person's upbringing, point of view, thought process, and emotional deficiencies. Not necessarily to justify what was done, but to understand the scope of the person's emotional capacity and accept that people have limits. Some try to combat those limits and grow, while others remain stunted, either by choice or capacity.

Does it come down to what's more important: the injustice, the grudge, what's left of the relationship, or moving on with your own life? Is it considered a grudge (meaning it has the potential to harm you because you're holding onto such negative and toxic emotions), or is it wisdom? I do believe that it's possible to forgive without forgetting, but I don't know if I'm deluding myself.

No Pain, No Gain . . .

It's insane how life works sometimes.Tell me how I pull a muscle in my neck and shoulder while tying my hair into a ponytail? It's taking an injury for me to take some time off from work. That is a wake-up call--my body is forcing me to stop and rest. I should have paid better attention. My shoulder has been hurting on and off for over a month now, but I pushed it aside, thinking that it would heal itself. My body decided to teach me a lesson instead. Eh, it's a beautiful day outside, the break from work provides me time to finish some school assignments, and I get to enjoy my morning coffee instead of rushing through it to get to work on time. I'm trying to accept the silver-lining as compensation for the fact that I can't look to my right, left, up or down without turning my entire torso in that direction. =_________= BLARG!

Dreamed a Life . . .

This song has me nostalgic for my childhood and summer. The simple freedom of the season and of that age are what I miss. I knew that childhood was fleeting, even at that age, which made growing up a strange experience: I didn't want it to happen because of what I would lose, while knowing it was inevitable. Not that I would want to live a Peter-Pan life anyway, ha. That's a whole can-of-worms on its own.

I wonder what I'm waiting for, what is it that I think will motivate me, or inspire me, to start living my life the way I would like to? What's the hold-up? Fear? Fear that if I truly try, and I fail, I won't even have the hope of what could have been? Fear that if I go in the directions I want to, I'm letting go of what I know, trying to balance on a tightrope with little confidence in my ability to make it to the other side? The fear that if I really rely on myself, really embrace the responsibility to myself, that I will not be able to fulfill it or that I will wander down a path that I would not be able to return from if it doesn't pan out?

After all this philosophizing, I realize I have so much more to grow. The amount of cynicism I hold doesn't necessarily correlate with how mature I really am XD I wish maturity/growth/wisdom was guaranteed as we got older.

Maria Taylor's "Time Lapse Lifeline"

"It's Okay to Not Be Okay"

Sometimes a song can give the best advice that others can't find the words for or the means to give. I feel a little adolescent for quoting song lyrics to represent how I feel or what I'm thinking about, however, words (may they be my own or others') have the great power to connect and clarify the emotional and mental blur that overwhelming feelings/moods can be. The song is encouraging, and a little positive reminder of the possibilities that remain no matter what's going on in life, is enough to change perspective for the better.

A Winter Wish . . .

. . . for the freedom of a snow day.

Falling Up . . .

I hope I remember to incorporate the unexpected and whimsical into my home, when I finally become a 'grown-up' and create a home of my own, on my own. I hope the same for my life, otherwise, I think I might run the risk of not really living.

(Picture by Polly Reford via Anthology Magazine)

Chillin' like Villains . . .

This Thursday, I got the chance to hang out with my two favorite Indians, Ruby and Tresa, before we'd all get busy with classes again. As a sort-of farewell, we decided to go eat in Astoria, rather than simply schlepping to our local cafe/bakery to waste our lives away together. We tried out Harissa, a Mediterranean restaurant-cafe on 34th St. and 30th Ave. I actually woke up early enough for it to still be considered morning, and so we arrived when it was basically empty, with only two other customers occupying the restaurant. The owner (I'm assuming) was chilling at a back table on his laptop, but welcomed us when we came in. The place was small but comfortable, with nice jazzy-ish music playing in the background. We took forever to order, because we're hungry, indecisive, nearly-broke college students, which naturally makes any restaurant outing into a slightly awkward affair. But that's okay, since I revel in the awkward. To give ourselves more time to think things over, we decided to get coffee first. I ordered a cappuccino, and the other two a latte and a regular coffee. We all got cappuccinos. I know it's a little thing, but it wasn't busy and my friend who ordered the regular coffee was still charged for a cappuccino. Eh, again it's more of an irritation rather than an offense, but I take my coffee seriously XD.

The menu contained a variety of food, ranging from hearty salads, to rice-meat dishes, sandwiches, soups, etc. I ordered a Cubano sandwich, which contained grilled chicken, bell peppers, an avocado-based sauce, and other seasonings. Tresa ordered the Kofta sandwich, and Ruby ordered the Falafel salad. Both sandwiches came with a side of fries and the salad came with hummus and pita. The food was definitely yummy. It wasn't orgasmic, life-changing, or anything insane, but it tasted wonderful. When we were almost done with out food, a regular customer came in with a friend to buy a chocolate covered croissant--which was crescent-shaped temptation--and was talking to the owner (who seemed to be the only one working in the store). The friend of the regular turned the convo to ethnic origins (in an amiable way), and because there was no logical way to keep any convo private (including our own) in the mostly empty place, we heard, laughed at, and so became part of there's. When the guys left, the owner commented on how everyone wants to know what you are, where you're from. It's ridiculous sometimes how people always want to know where you're from, and if you're not the same ethnicity as the questioner, similar/close-enough is acceptable as a means to connect to the other as well. It's apparent in every culture, I guess. It's not a bad thing, I just find it interesting that ethnic location can hold so much weight and lead to such an instant connection for some people. I've encountered that question so many times in my life, growing up in a diverse neighborhood, and living near a South Asian community. That question bothered me as a kid because I was a private person and felt that people would define their idea of me around the answer to that question.

I wish a place like this was closer to my neighborhood. The owner was welcoming and found us amusing for sure, the food and coffee were good. Harissa seemed like a place where I could become a regular, spend a few hours with friends over a cup of coffee and a croissant.
And because we're fat-asses, we left Harissa, now in search of a bakery. We walked around, window-shopping, ended up buying shoes, talking and eating along the way. Though cold, it was a day well spent in my book.

Harissa Mediterranean Restaurant
34-05 30th Ave
Queens, NY 11103

Ugh, why can't I make coffee like this D:



The Falafel salad with hummus and pita. I stole one of the falafels, and they tasted fresh and were moist.



The Cubano and Kofta sandwiches.

Some interesting signs we encountered during our wandering:

I just liked that there was a pub named sissy.



The front of the bus said Ferrari; I had to take a double take.



I found it really disturbing there was a children's clothing store called "Temptation for Kids," and a little ironic that the store's "boy's department" displayed white frocks.



I really want a dog . . . can I adopt them all?? I never figured myself to be a dog person, but the puppies grew on me.