Year #2

His early mornin' loving

You have to leap out of bed with him

His curly hair and knobby knees

The way the sun gleams his smile

He looks at me with those big eyes

He got me in the palm of his hands

He smiles with that full of joy smile

There's no denying he's my child

Without him I don't know what I'd do

He melts my heart,
That tiny discoverer of everything

He is in awe of all that he sees,

And he taught me more that he could ever know. 

Makes me laugh at the perfect time

That boy is everything to me

Happy 2nd birthday! I love you, kid. 

Love,

Mommy

There is a Girl in Every Woman

I came across this piece I wrote for KissFist Magazine a good number of years ago. Made me smile, reminding me of who I truly am. Who I always will be.

"I remember Monica. After reading Icy Sparks, I am brought to fond memories of this small and skinny girl whom I loved when I was a child. Monica wasn't normal but she was my friend. Even though I was much stronger and bigger than she was, I loved hugging her and playing with her. Teachers oftentimes would have to make sure I didn't get too rough on Monica. She was that fragile and me, that playful. What was it about Monica that I loved? Why did I play with her while nobody else would? I was aware of how different we were. Yet, it didn't matter to me. Every morning during my kindergarten year, I would scurry to a small Monica and give her the biggest hug I could ever give anyone.

Those were the days when I was a child and everybody called me Jessie. I had a furious passion for everything. I loved being naked, getting dirty, and threw frequent giggling fits. I remember how I would climb on people and snuggle in their arms, even onto people I barely knew. I also begged for stories. I would flop on the floor and crave a story. I demanded them, and wouldn't take a no for an answer. I knew, back then, that every single human being had something waiting to be told, something to reveal, and something for me to learn. I wanted to know what was occurring in their minds, what kind of imagination they had, or if they had any at all. My most favorite storyteller of all was Daddy. He still is nowadays. I remember I had a handful of questions solicited with a constant curiosity. I wrote about sex at five years old without shame, and asked my mother questions like "Why are the trees here? Why are we here?" I wasn't afraid of the truth. In fact, I wanted to challenge it. I told what was exactly in my mind or how I was feeling at the moment. I wandered alone a lot, too. I loved having attention. When I had eyes on me, my shyness would creep on the bottom of my spine but I knew I was captivating enough to give a great show. I secretly had confidence. I would constantly give my family shows. I was innocent and pure, always wearing that torn but willowy aqua dress, and went outside barefoot catching fireflies. In the middle of the living room I would spin, spin, and spin until I got so dizzy seeing the room spinning around me as I stopped, but then I would do it again. I spent hours and hours in the bathroom being my imaginative self, painting my face and singing to myself. I sang out loud. I was too much even for a little girl. I knew I had the whole world to live my life in, and I wanted to cave it all in.

Not too long ago, and when thinking nobody was looking, a thought came slowly into my mind and, without realizing, I broke into a giggle fit. When I turned, there was Mom smiling and inquiring as to why was I laughing. Embarrassed, I refused to tell. All of sudden, she said, "You looked like a little girl when you did that. Except for the fact that when you were little, you would proudly tell why. What's there to be afraid of?" I am not a child anymore, I wanted to protest. I wanted to say I do not know her - I only recollect the mishaps of her memories, her shadows, but she is not me anymore. I have run away from the picture, which has been stilled only in the meshes of my whole yesterdays. But the giggling fit gave me away and I was still Jessie, that little girl who wasn't afraid of the world."

And, that little girl who isn't afraid of the world is here to stay. :)

Day Number Twenty-One

A picture of something you wish you could forget.

Instead wanting to forget some things, I'm certain of this. :)

Day Number Twenty

A photo of somewhere you'd love to travel.

Well, it's been quite confirmed... I'm going to Hawaii!

Day Number Nineteen

A picture of your biggest insecurity.

Most of the time, I do not care what others think of me... but I care about what I think of myself. Ah, I think I am a different brand of insecure.

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Day Number Eighteen

A photo of a letter.

Cute... real cute.

My New Years in a Nutshell

I absolutely love getting all prettied-up... especially to a ball with Black and White being its theme. It was less than twenty-four hours before countdown when I was notified of this party; without a second thought, I booked the tickets. Next thing I knew, I was off to New York City and then to New Jersey to celebrate New Years... where I definitely had a ball.

I remember the turn of 2010. I was in Louisville, Kentucky... and January first was the day of Meg's wedding. I remember being teary-eyed. That old favorite college roommate of mine looked positively gorgeous. Funny, I also wore that peacock hairpin. I had no New Years resolutions, and had no idea what two thousand ten was going to be like.

A year later, although I'm more settled and secure -- I know what I want out of life (not just the rest of the year) ... I'm also aware I may have no idea what I'm getting myself into.

I'd consider that exciting. Last night, I was telling a friend about how people would live their lives based on "years." For instance, I'd say: "Wow. 2010. What a year." Then again, every year is "Wow, what a year." As years roll by, you grow; you gain wisdom and insight (well hopefully).

Things simply happen, especially circumstances that are beyond our control. We cannot avoid the "common facts of life"... during those months; I learned so much about life, death. Love, hatred. Friendship, relationships. How you cannot judge someone based on their past. About people, about forgiving, about acceptance. About letting go. About what we should value the most: what is important to us. Being able to understand others, to understand myself.

Years are some numbers that scientists decide to come up with. I say forget numbers. Forget how many years you have lived. I could say, based on what I had gone through, I've lived a million lifetimes at the age of twenty-six.

Instead of years, I am living my life based on moments. On the other hand, I have acknowledged this year as a chance... to be surer of myself. To be more determined and give my absolute best to what I want out of this year.

The turn of a new year does give people a sense of hope, new beginnings, second chances. Last year I had no resolutions. I told myself to expect none. I precisely said resolutions are excuses for people to wait for a year to make some changes.

Of course, I am not perfect. God knows I'm just as flawed... I break every resolution that is known to humankind. In this case, instead of resolutions, I've decided on several personal oaths (albeit simple ones) for 2011:

1. Take risks, a.k.a. do huger leaps of faith into the unknown.
2. Swallow my pride.
3. Think right, eat well.

Day Number Sixteen

A picture of something you want to do before you die. 

I have a long bucket list, but these are something I'd love to do in the near future.

See the Northern Lights and go on a hot air balloon ride.

Day Number Fifteen

A photo of someone who inspires you

First Lady Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy

Day Number Fourteen

A photo of someone you could never imagine your life without

My dear Mama. ;)