Wednesday, September 28, 2011


When I'm sitting at my great-grandparents' house I find myself always entertaining the same thoughts. Who could be sitting next to me right now? I think of the empty spot beside me on the sofa where my non-existent significant other could be.

I don't know why but when I'm there it inevitably comes to mind. Part of it is I am always thinking about how they probably wouldn't approve of anyone I could bring for them to meet.

I love them dearly but they are very, very traditional Southerners. (They're also in their 90's) I know that if they knew my real thoughts and stances on things it would break their hearts and make them disown me. That's probably why I don't say anything upsetting or controversial. Then again, I am a middle-child so I am naturally a peacemaker. I don't like to upset anyone about anything. This is why I don't voice so many of my thoughts. I fear offending people.

I just want everyone to be happy and get along. I like to stay friends with everyone and (as far as I know) I don't have any enemies.
Like everyone else I have friendships that have fallen apart, but unlike most everyone else, I usually stay acquaintances with them. I wish them "happy birthday" and will always, weirdly, be available to talk to. I stay on good terms even if it turned bad for awhile. Because I can't stand to have someone unhappy over me.

But back to my great-grandparents; they can't hear and can hardly see so conversation is futile. Explanations impossible. In all likelihood, they will never meet my significant other anyway given their ages and my lack of relationships right now.

All-in-all, I think about possible significant others whilst sitting upon their sofa. And I will always wonder what they would make of "him."

Friday, September 23, 2011


One of my biggest accomplishments right now in my life is that I am cooking. Not just cooking, but I'm pretty decent at it. I used to fear that I would never be able to cook and up until a couple of months ago I couldn't really. Then I started to. Slowly at first. But now I cook regularly.

I enjoy cooking. Then I enjoy eating the food. And I really fancy sharing the food though I rarely, if ever, say so. I love seeing people eat what I made. (Well, as long as they like it.)

Not only am I cooking but I am cooking healthier meals than I grew up with. No, they're not perfectly healthy but they are getting closer step by step. And they are so different from what I grew up with. I made Moroccan food last week and loved it. I find that I crave foods I have never tasted. I keep taking pictures of just about everything I make because I find it so beautiful. I never thought I would come to the day that I found food beautiful. Or that I was the one to create the meal.

For once, I am really proud of myself.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Untold and Unknown

I was standing in the shower thinking about me. How people don't really know me. My thoughts wondered to my parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, how surprised they would be to know "the real me." Then, as if someone heard my conceded thoughts, slowly materialized in my mind a reply.

Do you know the real them?

My hands froze in the middle of lathering my hair. No, I don't know them apart from their relationship to me. All I know of their pasts are facts. Ones I could have picked up from legal documents.

I know a few random stories, told time and time again. As if those are all they can remember to pass on. Or perhaps those hold more significance than I have previously realized.

I see pictures. I am told what was going on in the picture. Why they were dressed that way or who they were laughing at. But I don't know what they were thinking. Hopes, dreams, emotions... they don't get told. There for I learn very little about them, either from my negligence or theirs. Maybe both.

I am very close to my mother. We talk about everything. But as I stood there in the shower I could feel the absence of what I know of her past. The woman before the mother. Once again, all I know are facts and unrelated stories.

I have always felt that there should be a novel for every person's life. A summery from their perspective. So they could at once be immortalized and understood by those around them. It is at this time that I so strongly wish to find the novels on my family's lives. I shall have to resort to questioning them. And hopefully they will tell me what makes them who they are.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Open Book

I’ve always thought of myself as an open-book. Easy to read and unable to keep my own secrets. But over the years I have been told numerous times that I am hard to figure out and constantly surprising.

Somehow, I didn’t notice until a couple of days ago that I don’t say half of the things I think.

Somehow, I am not an open-book.

This blog is my attempt to say the things that have gone unsaid for so long. The things that I didn't realize I wasn't saying.

Please fasten your seat-belts to reduce the risk of injury. Here. We. Go!