Uncertainty in love

God, what am I doing? 

I miss him, but I am pushing him away. I love but I don’t want him. Even though he’s perfect. Even though he is good for me.

What do I do?

I’m not ready to put those pieces back together. Not now. Not right now.

What if I can’t love him like I should? What if there’s no more room in my heart for there to be broken pieces?

On my own, I feel complete. I feel great. I feel perfect. Of course I wonder if a relationship is what I truly want.

Today my friend Cati and I spoke about relationships and what it meant to be a parent. She has been married for years, but had chosen not to have children. Recently, she had discovered that she could no longer conceive due to some condition in her womb. She told me that having a baby changes the relationship. Sometimes for better or for worse. She gave me a scenario about a friend who just went through a divorce. The child was having difficulty adjusting to the change of not having her daddy around. It was hard for the mother, too, for she still loved this man very much; sometimes relationships don’t work out, but it’s hard when you have to see them so often for the child’s sake. She cannot forget him if he is always before her.

Babies change relationships. You roll the dice and see what you get. Am I willing to risk my body, risk investing 9 months into someone and their offspring only to find out that nothing has come out of it? No. I don’t think so.

I don’t know why, but I seem to see myself as a single mother. Maybe because my mother raised me as one. I could get married, though. But I’m very independent. Oh, What’s the point of love if it doesn’t matter? If it only lasts so long?

Why should I waste my time? Why do I feel the pain when I think of hurting him? I know that no man is perfect. Why do I keep asking him to wait? Why won’t he leave me? I’ve done him wrong before. And I was sorry. So sorry.

I just can’t understand the reasoning of my heart.

I had a dream about a man. It was a sensual dream. I walked into the house and he was there. I lay down. He lay down with me. Our legs intertwined, caressing and whispering sweet words of forever. No more. No less. 

I can’t lie, I miss the intimacy of loving a man, of holding his brokenness with delicacy– with which only a woman could be trusted– touching the wounds only a woman can heal.

But what about my wounds? Why should I look after another when I am still here, waiting for love of self? I cannot give if I do not have.


Self-love 2: Being courageous

Spirit, help us to know our essence. Help us heal ourselves, then we can heal each other. 

Since I have become celibate, I feel a sense of freedom. I am free to move my body and have it to myself. On this night of the waning moon, I took a sacred sea salt bath. Waning moon is when the moon’s likeness is reducing; energies of banishing forces and certain energies from your life. I am cleansing from my past. Everything of the past must go. This choice to be celibate is mine and mine alone. No one shall do it for me.

I went to the park across the street from my home. Turns out it’s Friday, movie night, and the neighborhood is having some movie camp out fest. Meaning to say that there is a giant screen in the park and everyone decided to leave the comforts of their homes. I’m like, whooo that’s a lot of people. I was tempted to get a little nervous. I didn’t. I wasn’t nervous. I’ve been trying to heal my mind, body and soul and I realise that I need to let go a lot more and that I need to have a little patience and love for myself.

I am proud of myself, that I am working past the social anxiety instead of holding myself captive in my room.

I had brought my incense sticks, My phone, for time reference. Okay, I smoked just a tiny bit. But that’s nothing. I began my meditation all vibed up and spiritually pumped. after a few minutes I heard moving voices, or the sound of their voices shifting position in relation to me. Their voices were directed at me and I turned my head and it seems like I was too quick in that I caught all 3 women as they turned their heads in unison away from me. lol. like oh shit she heard us. I giggled on the inside. Why am I the weird one meditating on the grass outside, when there are people on the other side of the park watching “tell-a-lie-vision”? Who’s really the crazy one here? I don’t need to watch no freaking movies. I’ve got my own life. I can take care of myself.

It’s all a lie, anyway. What is so interesting? Hollywood is so overdone and I have already moved onto Korean dramas. They’re the shit. Nigerian(Nollywood), Indian (Bollywood), Japanese movies aren’t too bad either. Their plots are less typical. That’s probably because it’s a window into a culture I do not know. They’re still the shit. Maybe I’m just over and done with North American culture as a whole.

I’m Canadian. Here we are engrossed in media and what we think we’re supposed to think seems to be imposed on the people. Canada and America are one and the same. Here we deny it because deep down, Canadians think they’re better and smarter than America even though America thinks the same thing about Canada. But the culture is all the same. Everyone shuns what is not like them. I’m going to stop saying “we”. I am not like these people around me.Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong. I am super sensitive to all of this negativity in the news and the newspaper about Trump running for President and about race and stuff. Their news is our too apparently. I quit the news and newspapers. I quit the radio. All media that I though wasn’t serving me, gone. I use facebook solely for the purpose of “quick email”/”msn”. I use the internet for youtube to watch inspirational videos and I look up articles every now and again. Instagram, but not too much. I just like beautiful visuals. and that’s about it.

Another tangent over here: The radio station plays really bad music over and over and over and over. Virgin Radio MTL. eh? Virgin? Never been touched, have you? lol They keep playing music like “work from home” by fifth harmony. And if you don’t know them, I suggest you check it out. I’m not doing propaganda for useless banter, my message is that their message is inappropriate. If you haven’t noticed while watching Youtube videos, every now and then you an ad about a man who started from the bottom, and now he’s a millionaire. That’s a thing. He says he works from home. Doing what? I once knew people who sold weed and stuff for a living. They work from home. I had met and known girls who sold themselves for a living at home might I add. My point is what are they saying to these young girls? My young sisters are walking around looking like they’re too hot for everything but the next man. It’s teaching them to be doormats, to be nothing but objects of pleasure for men. And young are learning to stay macho chauvinist pigs; taking, never asking, and ever so entitled and egocentric. Not all of you. I am not blaming YOU, it is not your fault you grew up the way you did. But now that you’re aware, you (yes you!) can make a change. 

Fifth harmony is like the present-day spice girls. I felt that the spice girls had more spice and sweetness. The latter is diabetes. Too much sexy. Don’t they know my young sisters and brothers are watching?  Mothers, teach your daughters and sons, Fathers support the mothers and fight for change.

But anyway, I realize that I don’t need to belong. I don’t want to belong to a society that is sleeping. they don’t want truth. They are allergic to wisdom. None of this make any sense. Anyway, I’m changing.

I game myself a tight hug because at lest I made it. Two random girls I didn’t know walked past me calling me a slut for no apparent reason, but I made it.

I can’t believe you would make those kind of assumptions just by looking at me. Open your eyes, you people are cowards. You don’t want to see what is there. Or let go of what is not.

I release and let go of every pain and pang of anger and fear. I now live in peace with myself (at least for now). I am learning to be patient with myself, especially when I understand how hard it is and how far I have come. I say I am proud of myself for taking a step further than last time.


Self love: relearning to write

I’ve declared myself celibate for a few days now. I left my boyfriend. Sometimes I feel like I’m scared that I am making a mistake. My goal is really to date myself, get to know myself and love myself. So here I am, on this journey. Now I am outside of town in the middle of nowhere. The deep, dark forest that seemed so far away is now before me.

I have forsaken everything I have ever known, owned and touched. Everyone I thought I knew is gone. I left them all to venture out and fulfill the lust of my adventurous heart. I am alone but not lonely. I am scared. But most of all, I am willing to learn.

The forest is a symbol that I use to represent my shadow self. I am leaving the town of everything I knew and now entering into unknown territory; I am discovering myself.

I learned one thing about myself just recently: the reason I don’t write as much as I could, or as much as I should is because I have been afraid that others would judge my writing to be bad. And in turn, I would deem myself a bad writer. As a teen I wrote a lot and I prided myself on the poetry and short stories that I had written and that have gotten a lot of votes from my teachers and my mom. But now I feel like I’ve lost my juice. I feel like life is trying to squeeze the juice out of me like a lemon. I put off writing a lot even though I enjoy writing. In the past my writing was the one thing I identified myself with and that kept me afloat in the deep waters of high school, where I didn’t belong anywhere. So criticism of my expression hurt me deeply. Maybe this is where this has come from. I’ve had trouble ever since.

Now at this new job, I am experiencing some difficulties. You see, I’m a diversity trainer. My job is to do diversity workshops based on historical figures of African-Canadian history. It’s a new program. We have to come up with new activities and ways of teaching the material in a fun way, and I have to put together a report for someone who may begin to animate an after-school program, based off of what is called the ABCs of Canadian black history. I’ve taught teens, elementary aged kids and preschoolers and it’s been a challenge for me especially since I’m meek in nature and I am especially prone to anxiety when faced with social situations. Now what’s worse, I am teaching. I’m In front of everybody. I’m telling them what to do. I know this is what I’m in University for. I’m in a specialised program for Early childhood and elementary education and so far so good, but being around a whole lot of people tends to make me plain nervous. I think it’s a good thing that the universe/Spirit/God(whatever you want to call it) has pushed me in this direction because it’s the estage before my estage that I’ve been avoiding for a few semesters.

Now when It came time to write my report this week, my boss looked over my work and she said that the syntactical order of the words in my sentences were formed as if I was speaking french. Now, I know we are in a French province, and it is possible that I’ve picked up some french ways of speaking and doing things, even the spelling of certain English words, (vice versa for the francophone residents here) but I wasn’t even trying to do that. I just wasn’t sure of the tone that the report should take. Should I write in first person? First person plural? I just wasn’t sure. Of course I knew she wasn’t trying to insult me, but in retrospect I can’t help but be a little hurt by it. She wrote history books. It’s a rough copy, for crying out loud. She’s so educated with her Phd and I’ve only just finished my freshman year at University, and about to go into my sophomore year. I’m not there yet. Yes, I’m a writer. But what I don’t understand is why do I have no problems writing down streams of paragraphs on blogger or on wordpress, but when it comes to work or school essays when I really need it, why can’t I write? Am I too right-brained to function?

How can I do this? it’s not fair. I know people who can vomit an essay. I used to be able to do that but now I’m…what happened to me? I feel like I’ve lost my linguistic touch. My coworker can vomit ideas while I end up feeling like I’ve got nothing up my sleeve and I’m afraid of looking like I don’t know shit. Right now I should be working, not blogging.

I’m not a bad writer. A good write puts in work. first drafts always suck. It’s about the work I put in.

http://goinswriter.com/the-difference-between-good-writers-and-bad-writers/ :

A good writer is humble. Regardless of skill, she is committed to seeing the writing process through to completion. No matter how grueling or hard, she will write. And she will get better.



I am so thankful and grateful for you, traveler, who stumbled onto my page. 😉 please tune in. I’ll be back on this site for more on my new self-love series in which I will record and share what I have learned about myself.