no one said it will be easy

Sometimes I wish you read this blog. Not all the posts are great, but isn’t that what best friends do? Support?
Every time you post, I find time in my day to read. You just keep my blog open, a tab among twenty, forgotten.
I know you’re busy, but you’re the one who pushed me to put my writing out there. I say I write for myself, but I like knowing you’ll be reading too.
But you aren’t and I don’t know how to tell you to. Isn’t it something you just do when it’s your best friend? You’re supposed to know what matters to me and make it priority in your life.
I learn about your favorite games and favorite albums, but somehow my desire to make you happy has overwritten me in our relationship.
I don’t ask for things because that’s not who I am. I can live without flowers and chocolates and surprises. I’m so happy just spending time with you. But I surprise you with gifts and give you what you need – you can’t write me a short love letter?
You tell me one day you want to get me a puppy. You tell me that you’ll sing a song for me. Your words are just open thoughts. That’s okay. I like one day because it makes me think we’re on a wonderful journey together.
Maybe. For my first dating relationship, I expected more romance. You’re one of my best friends because you’re a great conversationalist and a challenger of my comfort zone. I love that we’re more; when we are walking side by side you naturally grab my hand and you always kiss my lips and my forehead when we part. When I prattle on about my students, you listen wholly. You tell me you love me and those are my favorite words.
I just wish you read my posts.

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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.

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

don’t buy him

he heard the jingle of my purse
and followed, suave he did not beg
but coquettishly lured me
to open up my bag, his eyes on the coins
i wondered if i gave it away freely
would i have made a committed investment?
but you showed up to best the greedy fellow
told me riches worked for are for keeps
there is honor in who i choose to share my lot
only a fox wants handouts, a real man wants
a dreaming partner, the equal labor of both
sustaining their big picture

what do you do when a distant cousin contacts you?

My family and I are a simple power of three. We have family around the world and sometimes we travel to see them. Mostly it’s just us.

My parents are old school; they contact their relatives by phone or WhatsApp. For them it makes sense to be in touch; they’ve grown up with them before they moved here. But I’ve never met so many of them. Shy, self-conscious and uncomfortable, I make sure I’m not around when the calls are made. I have to answer the same questions: what grade are you in? I graduated! When are you coming to visit? Um…*awkward laugh, look at my mom for help*

With the access of Facebook searches, I’ve had cousins add me. I cross check with my parents to make sure they’re really my cousins before I accept their request. It’s how I see posts from my cousins from different countries. Yet, I can’t find my voice to establish a direct communication line with them. Just as a genealogy paper, we just appear to be family on the web.

But how can blood lines make up family? My parents and I are the nuclear family. They are a constant in my life. I have friends who are more constant in my life than my cousins. Blood does not negate family; they have to earn that title.

And that’s not easy. My parents are loners too. They are mistrustful of people’s intentions regardless of relation. Having seen their fair share of their parents’ gullible mistakes, when they do host dinners, they make sure the night is filled with cards, board games, movies and lots of food to keep everyone occupied from asking for handouts or weeping their woes to get my parents’ sympathy. Having witnessed this growing up, it takes me a long time to open up to people. I didn’t fully open up to my best friend Chit for two years! And I already called her my best friend.

Now as a pending message awaits in my Facebook inbox from a cousin, I contemplate how to address, “how you doing?” I predict the conversation to be short without details. But if I don’t give us a chance to warm up to each other, I won’t be giving her a chance to earn being family. Here’s to trying.