loners and holidays don’t mix

I love Thanksgiving food. I love Christmas trees and presents. The overwhelming number of people who suddenly want to be festive together? Not so much.

At work, we had a Friendsgiving yesterday. For weeks, I hesitated sharing what I was going to bring. I like eating by myself in my classroom; it’s the ten minutes of calmness I have in my day. But I worried about others not having enough food. Caving, I made thin mint cookies.

We ended up with enough food to cover us for at least three meals. There weren’t enough chairs for all of us to sit, but in the autumn decorated room, the pork chops and egg salads and samosas served wonderful variety for our taste buds and made the atmosphere homey. I stood in the corner of discussions about relationships and what we should drink at the holiday party at my boss’s house. I tried to chime in, but in retrospect I don’t know if my voice didn’t work or it was too loud to be heard.

The first ten minutes it was nice to be a part of the group, to be a work family. But as the clock ticked forward and I sat with my plate empty, full, I got restless to do more than just sit. Especially when I had nothing to vocally contribute. So I took my leave.

This Thanksgiving is the first one my mom and I are cooking the entire meal. She got up before me, and I jumped in helping to cook since 6:30am. I need a nap. More than that, I need quietness.

My idea of fun is eating good food, finding good articles or shows to read or watch and doing it with people I love. The people I love are people who are actually a part of my life. Not family who comes by during the holiday season and ask me how’s work and after my response be weighed down by dead silence.

In 8th grade I was told it was quality that mattered over quantity when I wrote. But that philosophy can be applied here too. I would rather have a small close-knit family than an extended family I have a surface relationship with.

As I hide in my room before their cars and vans begin to arrive momentarily, I find solace in knowing the dinner will be greatly appreciated.


shoutout to readers

To all my fellow writers!

Thank you, thank you, thank you for stopping by this page. Writing for myself primarily, I never thought my writing could surmount to anything to anyone else. While I am trying not to let my notifications affect me (as I wrote in this is a rest stop), my fellow readers you give me hope my message of positivity and belief no one is truly alone is valued.

Special shout out to Vasa and Ypres, Dirty SciFi Buddha, and Little Fears. I love your writing and I’m honored for the time you take to read my blog.

PrinceSparklot, I know your home is on Patreon, but thank you for taking the time on WordPress to check out what’s happening.

In this blogsphere, I may not know all of you personally, but I am grateful to you all. Thank you for hearing my voice.

Keep writing, keep dreaming, keep reveling.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Hope Standing

Eddy the Teddy was sure he had the fluffiest fur and perfect button nose and brightest red ribbon. For that reason he knew he would get picked first to go home with a loving family.

But this was not the case at all. As he sat regally flaunting his attributes, all the teddies beside him were picked. Sad, he ran away from the shop desperate to find a family. But boys and girls already had teddies of their own. Desolate he trudged back and got stuck in rose bush brambles and lost his nose and ripped his ribbon. Now Eddy was Raggedy.

Back at the store as he sat slumped, the bell rang at a new entrance. A little girl closely peered at each one and paused at Eddy. He tentatively offered her a smile and it got wider and wider the longer the girl smiled back at him. She picked him and hugged him. Eddy never stopped smiling after that.

Since the age of four, I remember that story. When I see a portion of a store with stuffed animals, I look through to see if there is one with sad eyes. It’s the one I always pick and bring into my family. Their eyes may not be perfectly aligned, there may be a hint of lopsided mouth, but everybody deserves love.

It was with this mentality I hesitated leaving a beautiful white reindeer behind in the work staff room. Gotten in a Michael’s grab box, she wasn’t needed as decor and with a broken legs she wasn’t wanted. But in the same leftover material was white plush twine. Using coffee stirrers I made makeshift legs for the reindeer and wrapped the twine around her legs to hide the wooden leg. The rest of the twine made for a coat.

I carry her nimbly, but I love seeing her able to stand tall all by herself. When I carry her around work, I get comments of how beautiful she is. I don’t reply; she was left in a bag dismissively. Now I share her with my family instead, my stuffed animals and Rich. Love only heals when beauty is seen in its pre-primer state. She’s my Hope Standing.

this is a rest stop

Everyone has the power to influence, but what if you were getting influenced along the way?

I created my first Facebook profile when I was in 8th grade. At the time it was a cool thing to do and a way to talk to a crush; it was addicting writing posts and deciding what pictures to put up. Collecting number of friends by a click was addicting; it portrayed popularity – falsely.
I realized in time I had begun to post things that would garner me likes or comments – any attention at all. I was acting like what I thought people wanted and eventually I stopped.

When I was in high school, when I was constantly hidden away in my journals, I was content. I’ve always dreamed of publishing, but I realized it was too big of a jump for a girl who’s closed off to sharing with people around her for years. It’s why I started blogging – to find a balance in opening up while remaining true to myself.

The first likes I got on my posts were the best feeling ever. Knowing someone out there was reading, their heart warmed or inspired, I was proud of my writing. As time went on, I started keeping track of what people liked and didn’t. Lot of idea flash, but I began to cater to what could be appreciated the most.

Except this page is for those who are lost. It doesn’t matter what age you are; there will always be a challenge that you must overcome and you need hope or consolation. I write so I too can remind myself that I am not alone. All I want is for any of my pieces to serve as a spark plug in reigniting positive self-belief.

Followers are nice because it makes me think we are in it together in this journey of self-fulfillment. But this page is meant to be a rest stop for people to stop by and read as they please, find what they’re looking for when they need.

Nowadays a writer’s dream is to be famous, to have a book series and a movie franchise. Some days I wish that; it would be an exhilarating life. But I find beauty in what is not expected. To write without any obligations is the best gift I have. So I turn off my notifications from WordPress to uphold honesty in my words. I believe it is only in honesty you can selflessly inspire.

My favorite quote is by Emily Dickinson, “If I can keep one heart from breaking, I will not die in vain.” Journaling helped my heart gain grit and learn I am capable of overcoming all obstacles. Now all I want is to spread that. From my quiet corner of the world, I embrace being an artistic recluse in hope this rest stop serves readers well.


best friends

the excitement got to her
the puppy bounded all over her man
before she lay sprawled on her back
on top of him catching her breath
the boy looked at her sloppy grin
do you have enough room
the puppy nuzzled and yipped
curling into a comfortable ball
as he watched Dota 2 videos
he petted her head until she fell asleep.
midnight she stirred as his head went down
eager to play she wiggled and nudged
and the boy put her arm around her
she settled down for a minute
before she jumped on his tummy
with her front paws, ooof, her wagging
tail hit the boy awake, half groaning
he succumbed to playing
the reward of her kisses worth it

in a land far far away

Have you ever woken up from a dream and reality didn’t feel real?

I had a pet cow named Bessie. She was magnificent, too big for me to wrap my arms around her but that didn’t stop me from trying. Cream and brown spots, her eyes drooped at the corners but I was sure her mouth mimicked my smile when we looked at each other.

For her, I built a whole new room in the house. Glass panels for her to see outside, new wooden shiny floors and bales of picked grass. I tried to potty train her. But as I watched her skid across the room, I knew she was a free spirit. I set to build her own little farm in the backyard.

I’d grown up with a pool and as much as I loved it, it took up the entire center of the yard. It had to go for an open range. Determined, I set to work on creating a pasture, Bessie watching from the large sliding doors of her room.

Bessie kept growing, her plodding in circles could be heard around the house. She was an addition to my family I loved, but her moos told me of her restlessness. I worked frantically to create a mini farm, even wondering if I should buy her more friends. I had to save up more money.

Finally, she was ready to experience the great outdoors. She took an immediate liking to it loping around the edges. In the shade, she rubbed her back on tree trunks. Bessie didn’t go into the shed for her first rainstorm. She blissfully blinked her sleepy eyes wagging her tail.

Still, within a few weeks her moos decreased. Like a child outgrowing a playground, she trudged around the edges burying her nose in wilting flowers. Despite giving her a daily bath, she welcomed flies, her only friends.

Calling an upstate farm was the hardest choice I made. When they came, they were kind to let me ride with Bessie in the back of the truck. I petted her nose and kissed her face telling her of all the wonderful animals and open space she would see. She only blinked at my tears.

Paradise Farm was 350 acres. A communal farm it consisted of smaller ranches of various vegan trade. I’d specifically chosen a place where the animals would never be the produce; they were friends of nature welcomed by people with similar taste.

That day was picture perfect; sparkling blue sky with a cool breeze; chickens, pigs, dogs, and horses of all ages roamed. Bessie spotted her crowd quickly, her moo the loudest I’ve ever heard it. She stamped her feet impatient to get out of the truck.

I never got to say a proper goodbye. Opening my eyes to sunlight streaming in my room, it took me a while to remember the apartment I lived in was not the house I had shared with my Bessie.