Monday mornings en mi casa

Monday mornings en mi casa.

I try to create peaceful spaces amid chaos and unpredictability. I am surrounded by people who don’t think mindfully and who aren’t considerate of other peoples’ spaces, or the fact that they share space with others. We are all adults here, with the exception of one, and yet, no one seems to think enough about others to clean up after themselves.

So, in the mornings, when I get home, in the middle of the day, I feel that I am constantly chasing the feeling of peace and tranquility. The feeling of having enough space for me to breathe. Most of the time, I find these spaces early in the morning when I’m the only one awake. Or on the weekends when everyone is away, and I choose to stay so that I can have this space. To myself. For myself. And I’ve had to fight like hell for these spaces. Otherwise, I’d be just like them. Continuing to be buried in their own mess and struggling to keep my head above water in my own home.

I cherish these moments of peace. They keep me alive.

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Friday Reflections #4 [On a Sunday]

My highlight this week:

I like to think that I have mini highlights every day because it helps me be more grateful of the little things in life; however, I would say my main highlight this week was getting to see my best friend. We made a short trip to Little Tokyo and spent a sunny Saturday in Los Angeles. ❤

Biggest challenge:

I haven’t written about this here, but I started working out at the gym about 1 month ago. This had been a plan/goal of mine for the past couple of years but somehow, I would never make it to the gym. A month ago, I finally made the leap and joined the gym. I even scheduled a personal trainer for 3 months! Who am I? Now that I have about a month under my belt, I can reflect and say this has been my biggest challenge. First of all, I am a Mexican girl whose family owns family restaurants. I grew up on tortillas and hot Cheetos for 25 years and suddenly this White trainer wants me to drop all of my “bad habits” and convert to healthy eating in ONE month? Excuse me, no. I really like this trainer, she’s cool and all, but I don’t think she understands this struggle.

Joining the gym already was a huge hurdle for me, and I have to admit, I’m actually privileged in that sense as I am considered to be a “skinny” woman. I have never been overweight, but honestly, no one (besides my parents and ex) has ever known that despite my “skinny” status, I was a borderline diabetic at the age of 21. I may not be overweight, but my eating tendencies were not the healthiest. And I think that eating and my relationship with food intersects so many layers: my culture, my family background, my family’s livelihood (restaurant business), and my love for hot Cheetos (ha ha). I can’t simply let go of this in 1 month. Maybe after 3 months, I’ll have a better grasp on things. I don’t want to discount the efforts I did make and accomplish in this 1 short month, but I guess I’m just saying that I need to be more patient with myself as this is only month after 25 years of the same habits.

Happy moment:

I have been struggling to find happy moments lately. My heart hurts as I am still grieving the loss of many things. The only happy moments I can find are the moments in which I am connecting to my friends. Real, honest, heartfelt connections.

Personal passion goal:

I have made the first step towards starting a book club with my best friend! Our first book: Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.

#Adulting:
Screw adulting! This is hard.

 

for you.

you can overlap.

you can continue unweaving the past. and the hurt.

you can erase my memories. with hers.

you can, and you should, as you are allowed to breathe free of me

you can travel to a place I loved. still love.

make memories. with her. make love.

but that city will always be mine.

as hard as you try, continue to try. san francisco will always be mine.

and engrained in your memory, it will be.

 

Feminine

The thing about being a young woman, or an older woman, a mature woman, or, a young girl

Is that everyone thinks they have a say in what you do, how you dress, what you can and cannot say, what your body looks like, how you choose to spend your time

Like, “why are you so angry?”, “why don’t you smile?”, “what’s wrong?”, “why are you so serious?”, “where are you going?”, “where do you work?”, “how much do you make?”, “what are you doing with your life?”, “do you have a boyfriend?”, “WHAT! You don’t want to have children?!”

Most days, I don’t even know if that’s my true answer anymore. I just do it to get a rise out of people. Because out of all the wonderful things I have achieved, not achieving “children” and “a family” is somehow the most important.

Then, there is the “seriousness” of my face. I was maybe 13, or even younger, when an older woman told me I should smile more as I cleaned up after others at my parents’ restaurant.  I looked up at her confused. Man, maybe something was wrong with me. Maybe I should smile more.

You see, it’s not just older men, mature men, young men, or, little boys that tell you to smile more

It’s everyone.

Because everyone feels so entitled to your body all the time, like, “you are so skinny!”, “don’t you eat?”, “comes bien poquito!”, “how do you eat so much and not gain any weight?”, “I’ve never seen you as fat!”

Yes. These are actual comments people make. People. Everyone.

Because for 25 years I have seen the eyes of strangers scan me from head to toe, sometimes pausing to stare at some places longer, taking more time at others, staring a little too long

fuck you, for thinking that my body or my face is yours to judge.

I have been so intertwined in the confusion of what it means to be little girl, a young girl, and now a young woman.

It’s like, at one point I felt confused because I liked the attention from men, I craved their glances and their admiration, and then I felt shame or self-doubt when I somehow didn’t “meet their beauty standards.”

Why? Because I NEVER WILL. I will never be your cookie-cutter version of standard beauty because my nose and hands are my dad’s and his are his grandmother’s, so I have my great grandmother’s nose, and for some people, that’s not beautiful.

And I have my mother’s butt and people felt like they can freely comment on it all my life, and because for a long time as a teenage girl, I thought this was the only “positive” quality I had.

Because my face is round, and asymmetrical, and I have a slight lazy-eye, and my hair is poof-y, and I’m not that tall, and I constantly, constantly, CONSTANTLY find flaws in my whole PHYSICAL BEING every time I look in a mirror or at a picture of myself.

And then I hate myself. Because I come to believe that I cannot be beautiful.

And yet, I still care. I care because sometimes I like to pick out a nice outfit that I feel pretty in, that hugs my body in all the ways I want it to be hugged

Or because I put on eyeliner and lipstick and I do my hair.

And just when I think it’s over…. it’s not.

Like, “Why do you look so cute today?”, “who are you going to go see?”, “Who did you get ready for?”, “ugh! You’re so pretty!”, “Did you get a boyfriend?”

As if whatever I do can’t ever just be for me.