2013, here we go.

Thank you 2012. For the highs, for the lows. Thank you for the good memories, the regrets and failures. Thank you for the life lessons. I don’t expect any more or less, any better or worse for this new year. I just pray that I will soon find my way.

But thank you, for shaping me into who I am. My fears, my hopes, my strengths, my weaknesses. Everything about me, I thank you. Because one day I will look back and know that this year changed me. This year made me. Thank you, 2012.

But I’m ready. So 2013, here we go.


Somewhere in Portland, there’s a very old building, and that very old building has a very, very old basement. An incredible basement, a video-game-level basement, a set-decorator’s dream basement.

And when you walk past the janitors office, with the wonderfully decked halls…


And tromp down a sunken hallway…


You find a old room. Mostly empty, dusty, and dead quiet.


And then you start to look closer at the walls.

And you start to see things.





(You see that Brown didn’t often pay his dime for coffee.)


(You see that a lot of calculation was done right on the wall.)


(You see that World War I was front and center on everyone’s mind.)


(You wonder what was being tallied, and if it was better to win or lose.)


(And you learn the tongue-in-check “rules” of the room.)


And eventually, you crawl behind a corner, and discover a bundle of conduit.


Conduit for…

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The Perks Of Being A Flower Wall

Reason #1: You can be as high as you want.

Just kidding but not really. Don’t try this at home kids. Hanging sideways, while extremely fun, it makes for stupid conversation. And people won’t find the joke as funny as you do. What they will know is that you are high. It doesn’t matter if you’re a flower wall or not, they smell the scent on you.

Reason #2: You get to look down on others.

Literally, of course.

Reason #3: You can gossip and nobody will know.

I mean, you’re a flower wall, who could ever guess that you’d be talking about them? You can just look down and talk about the way that they’re drooping or the way that they aren’t looking so good in this weather, their color isn’t as nice as yours. You can say anything you want and nobody will ever know.

Reason #4: Every now and then, someone picks you out of a bunch…

You! Yeah, you. Someone puts their hand out and plucks one of those little suckers off you because they pick you for themselves, because they want you. You’ve just got something about you, you always will. You lucky flower wall, you.

Reason #5: …But only a few will ever get close enough.

Buzz kill but utterly true. It’s just easier for others to bend down and pick a flower out of a bunch, but for a flower wall: do you really believe that a lot of people will be willing to reach up so high? I mean, being a flower wall means that you can’t just be vulnerable to all the hands waiting to grab for a piece of you. No, you place yourself up high to protect yourself so that you can never get hurt, you don’t want to feel the pain. Only a few will ever get close enough, only a few will ever be willing to.

It’s the price you pay, but it doesn’t have to be all that bad. Some people are just willing to reach, some people are just willing to take the time to appreciate you for what you are. My dear flower wall, consider yourself lucky. It’s not a curse, it’s not that people don’t love you and don’t appreciate you for what you provide in this earth. You’re just better than that, you’re better than all those people that walk past you, heads turned away to something or someone more beautiful. No, you’re a flower wall and that’s something to be proud of. Because you are beautiful, and you are strong and you don’t need them to tell you otherwise.

You keep on telling yourself that and you’ll believe it soon enough. Because in the end, you’ve placed yourself just a little too high. So that only a few can ever get close enough. Consider yourself lucky, tell yourself that you’re lucky. At least you know that those who try, well they’ll eventually reach you. Just as long as they don’t give up. Just as long as you don’t give up on yourself.

Reason #6: Nobody will ever call you fat.

I mean. Wait. What?


How many years will pass until I do not miss you any longer? Is 11 not enough? Do I wait until the sun no longer rises in the east or until the ocean runs dry?

Do I cry and wait until I am old and worn and waiting do die? How long?

How much time has to pass until I can forget how much I loved you, how much you left when suddenly you left my life? Must I remember the pain over and over again?

I try, but nobody will let me forget the beautiful day when suddenly the world wasn’t so beautiful anymore.

I miss you. And I just want to be able to move on.

Do I wait until forever is through? Is 11 not enough to forget me and you?

when I stop and realise that my feelings are bursting

Sometimes I just need to cry. Nothing particularly life altering has happened. I might have gone through heartbreak but it was so long ago. No, it was nothing that actually happened. But I still need to.

I just need to sit and think about myself about everyone else. Am I happy? Am I sad? No, I’m neither. I’m just me. And I just need to let the tears gather in my eyes and  let my shoulders fall. I just need to put my head in my hands and just stay there.

I’m not sure why but I’m scared. Of something. Is it the future? I’m not sad. I’m just. Afraid of all these emotions.

Summer is a time of reflection. Alone time.

But I’m not sure if I’ve been alone for too long because maybe I’m over thinking about thinking. There are so many expectations for the coming year that I know I cannot meet. I’m so afraid that I won’t be the person I’ve tried to be.

I realise just how much I hate stopping and just looking at myself.
I have my insecurities and I tell my friends to relieve myself. But then I push forward, doing something to distract myself from the troubles.

There’s never a time when I do nothing but look at who I am as a person. I’m always reading or watching something or showering. My alone time, my free time. I spend it trying to avoid myself.

I’m so fearful of actually stopping and looking at who I am as a person. Summer is the worst. I wallow but still I avoid the hard stuff. I’d rather do nothing than think of myself. So that is what I do. Though my mind calls for my intellect to be tested, though my heart tells me that I need to slow down and let all the feelings catch up.

But there are just so many feelings and I’m so scared. Mostly I’m afraid for love.

Can I love others too much? Can I ever love myself enough?
I’m trying to be happy because there is nothing wrong with my life. But I’m just. Not.

I’m not sad. Maybe I’m confused. Maybe I’m so devoid of emotion. I don’t know. And it scares me. The future scares the heck out of me.
Will I graduate? Will I make it into varsity? Will it finally be my year? Will someone love me? Will I ever love me?

It’s so selfish that everything is about me. But I’ve so shallowly spent my time caring for everyone else that maybe I just need this. For me.

I don’t know. I’m so confused. What do I want in my life. Honestly, what? This is what I hate so much about summer.

I have so much time to think about myself. My wins, my losses. My never ending loss. Summer isn’t enough to replace all my innocence lost. But it’s enough to remember, reflect, regret.

And it just makes me scared for the future. I’m sad for things I’ve done, yes. But that’s not what I cry for. I cry for the uncertainty of everything.
I cry because maybe I just need to. I cry because I’m dramatic but I never give myself a chance to be.
I cry. Because for once in my life. I can register that I’m selfish. I’m so selfish and I’m looking at myself being selfish.

Am I unhappy with my selfishness? No. But I’m cautious. Because I fear myself and all my vulnerabilities.
This past year, I’ve been so afraid of everyone. But really I’m afraid of myself. I’m afraid that I will always be weak and needy and selfish.

And I’m afraid nobody will ever love the girl I’m looking at.

Sometimes I just need to cry. I’m not happy or sad. I’m merely afraid of the girl I’ve become. I’m merely afraid of the girl I will become. I’m afraid of myself and everything that comes with me.

I already hate myself. I already fear that nobody will love me. What if I stop and suddenly realise just how much I don’t deserve the love I write about?

Love: The lack of. The soon to come. The unconditional.

I’m not an endless ball of energy. But I’m continuous. My mind is alert to the troubles of others. I need the distraction, any distraction. Because I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the nothingness. I’m afraid my nothingness. I’m afraid that I will never be enough. For anyone.

And when I stop and look at myself, it makes me realise just how little worth I am.

That’s why I’m crying. I’m not sad. I’m simply afraid.

Life of the Lonely

Excuse me if I’m writing this but I seem to have misplaced (deleted in a rage) your number. And I’m watching a movie that should have the least utmost relation to you “The Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants 2.”
Haha, joke’s on me. But there you are, in the form of Brian. You fucking bastard.
Why must you remind me of how single I am at the loneliest time of the year? You know how vulnerable I am over summer. And you’re taking complete advantage of it with your abs and the way that you’re tanned even through you’re Asian (which I still find weird because you’ve got an amazing fucking tan. Thank you, soccer). I’m just here at home while you’re partying with your friends, watching movies on friendship like a single girl.
My emotions are acting up and though I don’t miss you, per se, I sure as hell am missing the thought of every single particle in your body.
Congrats, bastard. Keep on doing what you do best: breaking hearts by doing nothing.