Tuesday, September 29

And A Sadness Runs Through Him...

At the moment, I'm trying to figure out what it is exactly that I live for. Something tells me that pleasures of the flesh aren't sufficient enough reasons to keep on keeping on---I could never pull off the Epicureanist with any sense of dignity, if I was to be completely honest. I use to think it was so easy: live righteously, live for yourself. But when you don't have a sense of purpose, everything just falls through. You lose joy.

And friend, I'm scared. I'm scared that because my future plans are so questionable they're practically non-existent, that I won't be able to take care of my family. I won't be able to help the starved, deprived, abused, enslaved. I'm scared that my failure to amount to anything will cause pain and suffering to those whom I wish only to give love. I'm scared that I might matter too much to a few people, and that their dependence on me will only lead to broken hearts and empty stomachs.

Love is not enough.

I'm torn between embracing this as truth or discarding it as heresy of the most brutal kind. But what I'm finding to be truth is shattering the very image of Athia that I had worked so hard to believe in---the mirage of martyrdom, of piety, of idiocy. The truth is, I'm not worth much of anything. I'm just another girl whose words are bigger than her actions. Just another kid playing dress up in big girl's shoes.

I'm going to fall into the cracks of mediocrity, and it's not anyone's fault, really. It's statistics. Emperical proof that there's nothing distinguishing about me.

And yet, I want to fight this feeling that threatens to overtake me, that threatens to paralyze my limbs. I want to say I am worth something emperical proof can't compete with. That my body pumps enough blood to fill an ocean. That my voice is so clear, God stands to listen. That my dreams create the very reality we live in.

I just have to believe it.


Tuesday, September 15

Inclinations of the Die-Hard Know-Nothing-er.

I've never known what I wanted. You'll always hear people say, "ever since I was a kid, I knew that I wanted to ..." or "I've wanted to be a ... since I was eight" or "No, you idiot. I never stuck crayons up my nose."

That was never the case for me (all three counts, really). I guess I was too busy playing dress up or lava lava lava land or whatever other imaginary games that kept me occupied from day to day. What a huge mistake that was... Apparently I'm so behind the rest of them, it'll take my lifetime to catch up. Catching up to what exactly? I'm not really sure. We're all just running in circles 'till the earth swallows us, anyway, no?

"What do you want to be, Athia?"

I'd look up to you with the wide eyes of a seven year old, "A pony. Neeeeigh!"

"She gonna be doctor. We decided that long time go." says my mom, as she pats my shoulder in reassurance, maybe even pride. That small gesture of affection, that gentle touch of love was enough. That was enough to change the course of my entire life. Fuck being a pony! My mom could love me if I was a doctor, no?

"Oh, really. A doctor? What kind of doctor?"

"A pony doctor!" You smiled. I smiled. Mom frowned.

"She gonna be surgeon." This would have been more troubling if my premature brain could wrap around the dangers of what was happening (or if I wasn't so preoccupied with ponies...).

Here I am, almost two decades later and I still don't know what I want to do with my life.

All I know is that I need more---more than the American dream (whatever the fuck that means anymore), more than plasma screens and Sunday afternoon BBQ's, more than the feminine mystique and boys with pretty faces and clever words.

This love I have needs the opportunity to transcend the confines of my body and reach the cold, the destitute, the lonely, the broken. This love I have is meant to be shared and I have to find a way to do it.

Dear universe, please allow me to love righteously, to live courageously, to help infinitely.

I'll find myself as you find yourself. We'll find life together.


Monday, September 7

I was following the pack

I have to force myself to write, again. I don't know why I've avoided this for so long. The absence of time is not an excuse, simply because it's relative. I've traded sleep for creation on more than one occasion. But there was always a need. A need to be more than this tangible Athia, a need to be intellectual primordial ooze, a need to split the body and mind---meticulous and calculated, quarter off my soul.

Perhaps this is a good thing. Rather than narrating my life, I've begun to live it. I'm actually enjoying the offerings of the universe (as best I can). Instead of trapping myself in pretty phrases of melancholy, getting so caught up in how clever I am while achieving absolutely nothing, I've just be trying---trying to be happy in a way I've never attempted before.

Is it possible to find satisfaction in what you already have?

Part of me thinks that Andrew is responsible for this. He's good for me. I gravitate towards his energy and I find myself smiling more.


See? There I go again.


Closing the space between us, has distanced me
From the I, I worked so hard to understand.
Like the empty spaces between my fingers
I use to believe yours could wedge perfectly into,
They are left the same, still the way they were
The way I was, the way I had tried not to be.

I wasted energy on finding your love,
A love which never belonged to me,
Nor will it ever.

Because if there's one truth ultimate over all,
It's that love can not choose
It can not be forced or bound.
I can't hold you or I captive or responsible,
Pause and play at my leisure.

This is me letting go.
This is me letting up.
This is me letting the love which is meant for me in.

We're magnetic forces of opposite attractions that can't find each other because we're not suppose to.


I need some freakin' inspiration. Can't you tell? I've got nothing!


The parental unit is treating me like I'm handicap. They won't let me fast, work, sleep in my own room, etc. Every time I try to use the bathroom, my mom follows me in there. Seriously? How's a girl to masturbate without any privacy? (KIDDING. Geez, calm down. I don't even know how girls are suppose to masturbate. It's got to be awfully hard though, since it's reported that over 54% of American women never climax during sex.)


Ugh. I've run out of steam and my head still really hurts. Going to take a nap.