How do I learn to love myself

I am hungry.
I have been starving for years and years.
I have been starving for love, for answers,
for validation, approval, attention, purpose.

I have been trying to fill my void with cheap compliments,
Slimy strokes to the thighs and hips,
Anything that would make me feel wanted,
even for a moment,
Even for the wrong reasons.

Everything that I am given disappears
into the abyss of my black hole.
My depression, my anxiety, my distrust, hatred,
self-loathing, sadness, insecurity, neuroticism, fear,
Squirm inside me like starving maggots,
Waiting for my thoughts to break down the compounds of all of the kind words,
Waiting for them to rot in the damp, cold, dark,
And then they eat until it is all gone.

How do I learn to love myself,
When I had been programmed at birth
to loath every fiber of my being?
When I have spent years and years,
apologizing for my existence,

To the ones who were supposed to want me here the most?
When I have been conditioned to believe that I was worth nothing without my capabilities?
When I have been taught that I as a person
have nothing to contribute
without breaking off a piece of myself and giving it to someone else?

How do I learn to love myself
The way I love others?

I want to fill my mind with songs―
Lullabies for the restless, love songs for the smitten,
And symphonies that harmonize with every feeling,
So no one would ever have to feel alone by my side.

I want to fill my heart with the sun―
Warm enough to melt away layers and layers of ice,
To warm the hands of those still freezing in their winters,
And to wrap around those who have never felt like they were loved.

I want to fill my soul with flowers―
An infinity of flowers that I could give endlessly,
As gentle reminders that my thoughts will always be with those who need them,
In their grief, and in their joy.

I want my eyes to see beyond what they are shown,
To see beauty even in the dark,
For my ears to listen for the truth,
To hear music even in silence,
For my voice to pierce through the static of propaganda
and distractions from the pleas for help,
To disturb the hush of censorship,
Believing that my words
Have value, too.

I want my hands to spill color onto grey asphalt,
And to stomp my feet into the ground wherever I go,
To leave the deepest footprints that I can,
Even knowing that my footprints will slowly fade
Once I am gone,
Believing that someone
Would like to remember me…

―by Sachi Johana Yasui via Artparasites




I have done things in the past that I am not proud of.

I have lived with my mistakes, and I have bathed in the consequences. I took paths that I don’t regret, but I wish I had chosen better. I am stitched with flaws, and they are a part of me now. It’s a burden that I am bound to carry throughout.

I wish I had some people still sitting next to me, but all I have today is their memories. I kiss the past even though its lips are fenced with barbed wire. I bleed every night through nostalgia and melancholy.

I do apologize for the things that I have done. But I don’t apologize for being myself. I don’t apologize for surviving through foggy nights and colder mornings.

-The honest musing



For most of my life I ran desperately from the reflection that said I was “different” toward whichever reflection called me “special”. I felt that I existed somewhere between tragically flawed and full of potential. After a while, I built up defenses against “different”. After all, I could be “special” instead, and people are more willing to accept different when it can be explained away with special. So I tried to live up to special while defending myself from “different”— by embracing the “fucked-up, emotionless, bad-girl that can’t be hurt because she’s smarter than you” character.

I pursued everything I was told I had a talent for. I convinced myself I wanted those things because the praise felt good. But I was unhappy, unfulfilled, and unmotivated. I thought that if I generally enjoyed it and I was good at it, that I was supposed to pursue it— terrified by the idea of being trapped in a boring, meaningless life, or of losing what made me “special”. I knew I would one day have to take care of myself, and the thought petrified me. But if I was special enough, and if I followed all the rules, maybe I could live an exciting life that took care of itself. And so I tried to fit into every role for which I was told I had a “gift”, and I felt helpless when I found that I didn’t want any of them— that they all led eventually to the same gray labyrinth of monotonous doing, and that there are no rules for turning those things into a career anyway. I was angry for having been told there are rules for the right way to live. I was angry that I had played along for so many years. Because here I was, having followed the rules, but they didn’t take me where they said they would.

I looked into that darkness with no net, with no one to save me, and with no desire to be found. And from somewhere, like the feeling of a child who has awoken from her death in a game of pretend, I suddenly remembered there was nothing to be afraid of. I had stumbled upon a second choice out there in the dark— either be no one and do nothing, or be anyone and do exactly as I please. I was free. The part attached to “different” and “special” was no longer my responsibility to reconcile or to fit. The part of me that was afraid to do as I wish and be the person I wanted fell away. I recognized my power to tell a different story and let go of the old one— that the past matters only for the knowledge, skill, and strength it gives you to navigate the present— not for its ability to construct a future. Because it is this singular moment that is the architect of the future, not our past, and it demands nothing of us but our attention to it. We roll our eyes at these realizations that are so often repeated that they have become cliche. We accept them as known truths and convince ourselves we already live that life. Or we write them off as fairy-tales told by the weak and irrational who will someday be disillusioned by “the real world”. But every once in a while, when you stop fighting, and walk to the edge of it all, and give up everything you think you know, the void will stare back. And you will laugh.

I now see the trap of living by someone else’s definition— whether good or bad.

And I recognize the silliness of seeking permission to be as I am. I refuse to walk within the imaginary walls we are meant to accept as “the way things are”, or to live less than the life I wanted when I still remembered what I wanted. I no longer feel like I owe anybody an explanation for my behaviors, or fear that I’m wandering out so far that my tether to reality will snap. It is not that I believe I won’t feel the downs, I just no longer fear the downs, because they have always led me into the beauty of the next understanding. It is all an endlessly expanding, constantly shifting, remarkably perfect game.

But somewhere along the way, we forgot we were playing. There is no image you are meant to live up to, and no person you are supposed to be. So I no longer want to be understood by everyone, or to save the world. I want to understand me, and for the world to save itself. Because, ultimately, no one has the power to save the world; you can only love the world, and save yourself. But I will stand among the legions as we learn, and play, and destroy, and rebuild our long journey home. You can read the whole article here.

Written by Kelsey Rae Hartzell



The storm gathers as I walk home. Already it’s raining hard somewhere. I can see it happening from here. The way the clouds seem to dissolve and pour down like troubled milk. I like this kind of weather. Reminds me of a quote I once read: Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.


A Piece of Advice

Hey, please replace ‘I wasn’t good enough’ with ‘it wasn’t right for me’ in your thinking. Everyone’s talents and brilliance are differently placed, and if you’ve ever felt like you ‘weren’t enough’ for something, it just means it wasn’t right for you. There’s a place, position, person out there that you’re perfect for, and the only thing you’ve ““failed at”” is finding it yet.

— Meloetta

I saw this quote while browsing through my feeds and I thought: Wow! How different our lives would be if we could motivate ourselves like that. Telling ourselves that our chances are still out there waiting for us to discover and make a success of it. They say that if there is no opportunity, create one. It is one of those things that are easier said than done but the least thing we could do is at least give it a try. What we have got to lose?

This quote above reminds me of a person who was a contestant in an internationally well known talent search. (Despite of her enormous popularity) She ended in top five but failed to bring home the bacon. She’s good. But not mainstreamed. I wonder if it’s her gender (she’s a girl who is looking like a boy with a voice to match) which she is open about that had contributed to her not winning the title. I like her and I find it a pity that the world is not yet ready for someone like her.

I thought that was the end of it. But this amazing talented girl refused to give up. Against her family’s wish, she drops out from college (architecture) and begun pursuing her dreams relentlessly. She uses her popularity to sell apparels bearing her name, she added perfumes to her growing merchandise and elbowed her way to cafes and comedy bars sometimes performing for free. She did cover after cover and uploaded them in Youtube. Traveled around the country searching for gigs. Guess where she is now? Where she belongs. On top with the winner of the talent search, among other superstars. They call her The Voice Of Soul.

She impresses me. What if she had given up five years ago? What if she believed that she’s not good enough to be a winner. What if she let her gender and people’s judgment to be obstacles to her dreams? But she didn’t and she’s damn right!

We can take her example and tell ourselves that we’re good enough. My time will come and I’ll be there ready. For the now, I will walk closer to my goal one step at a time.




Train Of Thoughts

I can’t sleep. I’m suffering from sinusitis due to some viral infection. My nose is clogged and I can only lie in one position_ on my back. I hear noise in my right ear. It sounds like heavy breathing or a violent wind blowing from the sea. I can only hear it if I accidentally put my head in certain angles. Those (angles) vary every time.

I used to fall asleep faster inside a moving vehicle especially on a long distant drive. The thought that I’m on my way to some place (I’ve never been) somehow calm my nerves. In the past, when I could’t sleep I imagined myself in an airplane, going home. When was the last time I have been home? In reality five years ago. In my mind, in 2004. 2004 was the turning point in my life. That was the last time I saw Dimple_ a pretty  deceptive face that can fool almost anyone.

He’s married now (how that happened I have no idea) and has a one year old baby. It took him a long time to get there. But he made it. I knew him as a young vagrant, getting by his looks. Hardly literate. Not suited to be a father. Who could have known that after 12 years  He will board a plane and work abroad. Life is indeed a wheel of fortune. If I knew it then, would I start a family with him? Give him what he wants? Mother his children? I don’t think so.

Speaking of children. They are (most of them anyway) ungrateful bastards beings. They will always find a way to blame you for something. D. has ongoing problem with his father. Sometimes I understand, sometimes I don’t. He doesn’t feel loved by him he said. I wonder what love for him is. The smothering kind his mother bestows on him? Maybe. He said he stops being Oedipus. I have my doubts. There are pictures (very recent ones) to prove it. I wonder if it’s okay to look at one’s parent with a lover’s gaze. No, I’m not jealous. I find it fascinating. What is wrong and what is right anyway. I for my part decided not to go to the wedding of my only daughter which is going to take place next week. Too complicated to explain why. And I am not ready yet to talk about it. I make it my business not to talk about my children in my writings.  Out of respect I thought. Or afraid to open a can of worms.

Opening cans of worms and letting the skeletons out the closet dance naked. Even in that aspect I find myself choosy. Though I write about hard to digest thought provoking controversial to some subjects, I don’t write about the things that hurt the most. I have no explanation why.

I have to take a bath now to present myself decently to the doctor. I will continue my train of thoughts there and it will unravel until the wee hours till I fall asleep exhausted. Till the next time. Don’t go away. Ignore the errors in this article. No time (and no desire) to edit.