myemiamworld-blog

[myemiamworld-blog]

“The woman you are becoming will cost you people, relationships, spaces, and material things. Choose her over everything.”

— Unknown

[myemiamworld-blog]

Spearmint

I'm so close to a breakthrough

My whole being slowly creaks back into rusty movement

It's been a long time since I've felt a hint of the spark that used to be me.

I'm so close to it

It's somewhere with art

It's somewhere spinning murky gray into a cornucopia of color.

Paints splashed onto a page

Paper mache monsters

Or a low melody.

It's a place where I can touch a heart

Tell a story

Somewhere with the understanding of how different minds speak.

It's right there, I can sense it.

I cannot sing, my voice exits soon after a mediocre pitch.

I can barely draw, I missed the opportunity to mold, sculpt, paint and potter.

My voice has grown softer

And I believed I was weaker

But no

My life is just swirling a paint brush

Preparing the paste

Composing a new tune.

I have yet to memorize the lyrics and follow the tempo.

I've been in a cacoon

Still, quiet and supposed dead

But really transforming .

There are days I feel like nothing

But there's something truly beautiful and terrifying about

Finding who you are all over again.

[myemiamworld-blog]

The Little Things

People always say to slow down

Enjoy the little things.

The things that make you love life 

And remember there’s laughter during the storm.

People always say not to

Stress the minor things

And focus on the major things.

But what they don’t tell you

Is that sometimes the minor issues 

Have to become your major things.

On the days when it’s pouring rain

And all is gloom and doom 

And you’re staring death right in the face

What do you focus on then?

The things you normally view as 

Important 

And worthy of your time

Drift away into nothingness.

The clouds in your mind thicken

The rain takes form

Running down your face

And all you feel is a giant uncrossable chasm

A hole where your heart was.

On these days

The major things are no longer major

And the minor things become your focus. 

They take form as a gentle hand squeeze

Or a small grin as a response to a kiss 

Because even a hug is too painful.

They take form to lying next to you at night

Hand on your heart

Just being there.

It takes form in little messages written on the bathroom mirror

Or making a meal

A wink here and there

Or watching hours of Netflix on the couch as the big activity of the day. 

The major things can never be major

When facing death

That’s how anger appears 

And how it lingers.

The minor things

The things you’re told to slow down and enjoy

So you can clear your head and better focus on the bigger things

Are no longer small.

They are absolutely everything.

[myemiamworld-blog]

Art. When you hear the word you think about sweeping brush strokes on canvases, idyllic sculptures in museums, magnificent photography of wanderlusty locations and brilliant strums of music notes rising into the atmosphere. 

I am none of that.

My sisters have a knack for it. One creates gorgeous calligraphy, rustic watercolors and makes a living composing classy interior spaces into realty. The other is an art student, swirling paint and pen into elegant portraits and flipping furniture into above and beyond DIY projects. I remember finding a life-sized realistic pencil drawing of a man in my grandparent’s upstairs bedroom as a kid, which my grandmother boasted of my father’s artistic talent. My mother has handiness in making any space look like a magazine catalog while still making it feel like home. 

I struggle to make circles and my life’s major artistic masterpiece thus far consists of a stiffly drawn cartoon dragon on what (I think?) is supposed to be a mountain. (No, I’m not going to post it).

I’ve been thinking about that cliche quote about beauty being in the eye of the beholder. I know I’m not the only person who has gone on an art museum tour and scratched their head over the oddies the architecture holds. No one ever understood Cruella DeVille’s idea of art - a spotted coat made from 101 Dalmatians’ pelts. A grotesque and probably overly political issue, but nevertheless, fashion is deemed to be art. Even now as I’m writing this, I’m dreaming about the rough first paragraph of this blog post I had written before my laptop untimely crashed and how it was so much more artsy it was than what I’m writing now. 

I’ve been thinking about art and I have come to a conclusion that most people will probably scoff at. But that’s okay, I’m not writing to impress anyone.

Life is art. It’s a simple concept, but one riddled with what I’ll refer to as public loopholes. There’s so many terrible things happening in the world right now. I’m not going to list them, I’m sure a few things already come to mind. But I think people forget that there’s beautiful and wonderful things in the world too. One could look at social media and technological advances as a hindrance or one big step back. But now people are able to connect to each other, create ideas, share them and collaborate. Terrible things happen and we have the power to fundraise, protest, lobby, etc. for things we believe in. We can share to the world what it’s like to live with a mental illness and we can fight to end the stigma. While some may say life now is a shadow of how things used to be, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Life is dramatically changing, it’s not just a black and white photograph or a red and blue painting anymore. 

Do you ever have those days where you just get the tickling to clean? I’m not talking about wiping off counter tops, folding laundry or tidying up. I’m talking the deep clean. When your home has gotten so comfortable it starts to drive you insane type of clean. The kind of clean where you attack every pantry, closet, stain and smudge that dares enter your domain. The thing I’ve noticed about this deep clean process is your home goes from comfortable to a gigantic angry mess. You’re throwing out clothes, introducing yourself to foreign dust bunnies in unexplored corners and tearing apart every single aspect of your once preferred normal. Everything looks like a natural disaster solely focused on your domicile and decided to strike. Somewhere in the middle of your mad deep clean rampage you come to your senses (or your loved one comes home) and realize the horrific chaos around you. 

And that’s right now, ladies and gentlemen. 

The world seems like it’s going to fall apart. But maybe it’s just the beginning of something new. 

The way a painting looks before it’s completion just looks like brush stokes on a canvas. Even after the artistic process is finished, art is never perfect. Some may scratch their heads and look sideways at it, but yet it’s still art. And every single person holds a brush. It’s our choice to decide if we’re going to give up in the center of the madness or paint it to an imperfect completion. 

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