Emptying.

I am so used to trying to be the strong one.

I always pretend that I know why things are happening or if I really don't know at all then I pretend that I understand that everything happens for a reason and just pretend to accept it. People think I'm fine because I appear fine, I sound fine, I seem to understand EVERYTHING. Sometimes my act doesn't hold. I slip up and forget my lines or add extra props to help me get through it. Sometimes when I'm trying so hard to be normal or strong, people wonder about me because being so normal during certain events ISN'T normal.

Sometimes I get horrible feelings and impulses that can only be overcome through sleeping. I feel the need to destroy things and myself. I want to throw things off my shelves, snap things in half, break my own bones and hear the satisfying crack and feel a new pain flood my senses. Something that seems to have changed since freshman year about these impulses is that I am able to still remain rational throughout them. Before, I never considered the consequences. Perhaps it's not rationality that prevents me from acting on these impulses but a keener sense of, "oh look! pain for people who love you!" And even when I'm feeling these selfish impulses to destroy everything around me including myself, I still care about the people I love and I don't want to put them through the same things that I've made them experience all through high school and into college. So I remain quiet, silent, strong and fight these impulses by retreating to sleep. I fight by retreating. I'm too weak to actually FIGHT what I feel and so I retreat to sleep and hope that the mere process of not dealing with those impulses is enough to get them away.

It's interesting to me that so many of my friends seemed to think I knew all the answers to their issues throughout high school. Now I realize it's because I pretended to be strong and knowledgeable. The reason I don't have many close relationships now is because I am afraid to show my vulnerabilities. I am scared to show that I am weak and that I don't know the answers because then I don't think people will appreciate me anymore. I think that one of the big reasons Missy and I are such good friends despite our differences is because she saw me at my lowest point. She's the one who called the hospital and rode in the ambulance with me. She's the one who stayed by my side the entire time I was in the hospital even though I was mostly asleep. And then when I got home, she took care of me instead of getting rid of me. I need to stop trying to hide my weaknesses thinking that people won't like me because of them. When I only have one person to whom I confess all my pains, fears and concerns, I weigh them down and it isn't fair for them. But then I feel like I should just be able to deal with these things, like I should be stronger, like I shouldn't share anything with anyone because they're not their issues and if just maybe I was a better person I would be able to handle them and I don't want to admit that I'm not a better person to anyone.

Everyone knows I'm not perfect. No one is perfect but I still feel the need to act as though I am.

Last night I talked to my dad a little bit about what's going on, and it felt so nice to just unload some of my feelings of confusion and frustration while not pretending to be strong at all, not pretending like I was trying to do a noble thing.
I also talked to an old friend, whose relationship with me has been rather strained and somewhat awkward since freshman year, beginning the conversation with, "I don't really have any friends, can I talk to you?" And we spoke and he looked at things objectively and presented them in that way. And something he told me really stuck with me. "It is what it is." What? You mean I can't change what's happened so I have to deal with it now? You mean this is the current situation I'm in and I can't do anything to change it?
Yes.
A simple, straightforward, "It is what it is" was all I needed to hear. He told me I can make the situation however bad or good I want to.

I have to stop asking myself, what if I did this? or what if I do that? or what if we change this or that? I need to accept it.

It is what it is.

Family

Yesterday we celebrated Brenden's grandfather's 80th birthday. It was wonderful.

It's difficult for me to express just how grateful I am for and how much I love all of Brenden's family. They've accepted me with arms wide open. I've only felt this kind of connection with one other family besides my own and it's because I've grown up with them in my life. How could I feel so comfortable and welcome with these new faces? Brenden's grandparents have especially been wonderful to me here in Utah. It's been nice to be able to get away from school once in awhile and visit with family.

As Brenden and I made a birthday card for his grandfather on Sunday evening, Brenden asked me to do the writing since my handwriting easily beats his on any/every level of neatness. It had been so long since I wrote "Grandpa" in a card. And the simple act of doing it struck me with such a sense of belonging and family that I cannot even begin to express my deep love and sense of appreciation for Grandma and Grandpa Binns.

After Grandpa Binns opened his cards and gifts, he started telling us stories of his life, little things he remembered and things that his mother recorded about him when he was a baby. His stories made me so happy and being with the family as he shared them made the experience even more meaningful. I saw Brenden's youngest cousin sitting next to his grandpa and hoped he would remember that night.

I didn't have that kind of experience growing up. Since three of my grandparents passed away before I was four, I didn't hear many first-hand accounts of their lives. My grandfather who passed away when I was sixteen was a quiet, prideful man. He was a good man but still very prideful and stubborn. I think his pride restrained him from sharing many stories from his life in the Philippines where he was too poor to continue in school to become the doctor he always wanted to be or even stories from his life once he moved to the United States where he was too poor to support his family without government aid. I will always regret having not asked him more about his life. My grandfather was a wonderful man. He found his greatest joy in his family. And I'm finally beginning to understand why.

I love my family so much. And I loved being with Brenden's family last night and addressing them the same way I would as my very own family. When I was trying to get Grandpa Binns's attention, I said "Grandpa" and he responded easily. My own dear grandfathers will never be replaced but being able to say "Grandpa" and having someone respond knowing it was me who said it, allowing me to call him "Grandpa" as one of his own grandchildren... what an exquisite feeling! That saying, you don't know what you have until it's gone, is so true. Sometimes I want to just grab people by the shoulders and say "APPRECIATE THIS!" especially when it concerns family.

These days, these moments are never coming back. Soon enough we will all be old and wrinkled and telling our own tales to our children and grandchildren. I won't forget Uncle Matthew's face as he laughed at one of Grandpa Binns's stories. I knew that Uncle Matthew was Grandpa Binns's son but when I saw him looking at Grandpa Binns with so much love in his eyes and heard his laugh at his story, I really understood with an even deeper understanding that Uncle Matthew was indeed Grandpa Binns's son. They were not simply two adults sitting near me conversing. They were father and son talking, laughing, loving. It was beautiful.

Sometimes someone may complain about being known as "So-and-so's sister" or "so-and-so's daughter" wondering why people don't know who she is as an individual. And while I understand that frustration, I think the depth of our relationships define us more than our hobbies or talents. I know that being Reuben and Irene's daughter means more than the fact I enjoy reading. I know that being Reuben, Chris, and Stef's sister is so much more meaningful than the fact that I can create images on paper. Our relationships make our lives more meaningful. They make us as individuals more meaningful.

a walk.

Walking back from school today, I found myself quite pleased with life. The day was a pleasant one, overcast and a little windy but not too cold. I find that those days make me feel the happiest. They bring back feelings from my childhood around fall. Fall was always my favorite season. People say that Galveston doesn't really have seasons and I mostly agree. And I've always categorized portions of my life not by the seasons as defined by weather but by seasons defined by the school year. And fall was always my favorite. And I've only ever associated overcast, windy days with learning to ride/continuing to ride my bike during the fall. Windy, overcast days were the only days the weather was decent enough for me to play outside. I love windy overcast days; they bring me back to some of the best memories and feelings of my childhood.

But that's not where I was going with this.

Walking back from school today, I found myself quite pleased with life. The day was a pleasant one, overcast and a little windy but not too cold. I just finished my last midterm for the semester (imagine that! a midterm the week before finals!) and had made an appointment with a counselor to discuss my new major and scheduling. Plus we talked about musical theater in my music class today! I plugged in my headphones and was listening to my ipod as I walked home. I occasionally smiled at strangers like I do when I'm in good moods. When I got to the intersection at Bulldog and University I saw a man across the street from me with a long, thin pole. He was blind and I began to wonder how he would know when to cross the street. This intersection did not have the chirping sounds that some did on campus for those that are seeing-impaired. Somehow he knew because shortly after the "walk" light came on, he began walking. I walked by him and felt like I should do something. He looked like a student, about 20ish carrying a backpack, should I walk with him the rest of the way to campus? Should I shout hello over the sounds of traffic? I didn't know what to do. I wanted to reach out to him with anything, he couldn't see a smile or a wave as a subtle greeting. If wanted to do something it would need to be bigger and a little more generous. But I just walked by. And as I walked by, I was flooded with emotions. At first I felt sad for him, I could not imagine losing my sight or never having it to begin with. My life would feel so empty without the visual memory of the beach at sunrise, or how Japan looked from the airplane as we were landing, or the sight of the kicking, tiny, chubby feet of infants. I tried to shift my sadness to gratitude for my sight and then for medical advancements that make sight better for some people. Then I began to feel happy for this man because despite his handicap he was taking the challenge of attending a university to get an education. And I began to feel more gratitude for this country we live in that makes it possible for those with handicaps to live more normal lives than perhaps those with those same handicaps in other countries. And before I knew it, I had tears threatening to spill over. I was just overwhelmed by so many feelings in such a short time. I didn't even know what feeling it was that prompted the tears to begin with. I just knew I wanted to do more to help this man and people in a similar situation and I didn't know where to begin.

These feelings are good for me. They help me remember that I have so many things to be grateful for and they prompt me to act in good ways towards others. These feelings tell me that I can experience feelings of unselfish love but I need to turn those feelings into actions somehow. I really do want to do so many things for people. I have a feeling that most people want to do more for others than what they are currently doing. But I let my busy schedule get in the way. I think that as soon as this class is over, or as soon as I'm done with this semester, I'll have time and energy to focus on others. I have time and energy now that can be better spent doing things like volunteering with some volunteer group on campus or working with children through BYU's TOPS tutoring program than using my "down" or "free" time to sit around lazily and watch a movie on TV or browse the internet or find myself completely consumed in facebook-ing. This life is not mine. It belongs to my Savior and I should be doing the things that He would have me do.

a memory.

When I was sixteen years old, I saw my grandfather die. The day before he died the hospice nurse told us that with the levels of pain killers he was on he would no longer be able to understand what was going on around him. Even so, I continued to sing and play his favorite song on the piano for him as much as I could. As I was playing through it once, I noticed tears were forming at the corners of his closed eyes. I rushed to his side and held his hand and whispered into his ear how much I loved him. I wasn't sure if the tears were simply something his body was doing to take care of itself or if they were an emotional reaction. But after telling him how much he was loved and just holding his hand for a few minutes, his tears began to steadily stream down his cheeks. I stopped talking and just hugged his arm and cried with him. My uncle realized that my grandfather was crying and he grew angry with me and yelled at me for making my dying grandfather experience even more pain. I immediately got up and ran to my bedroom where I began to cry even more heavily into my pillow, this time alone.

That night I had a dream in which my grandfather was neither dead nor alive; he was present in some kind of state between life and death. He said he had to tell me something. He said, "I love you, Nining." In my dream I thought, nining, what does nining mean? Then my dad woke me up and told me that my grandfather's breathing had changed, his breaths were more shallow and further apart. My dad said that he would probably pass away within a few hours and everyone was gathering around his bed to say goodbye. My mother's side of the family had spent the night to be with my grandfather so we were all there, gathered around the portable hospital bed in our living room on which he lay. I remember holding my youngest cousin as he cried quietly. We all took turns letting my grandfather know each of us were there with him. Then my mother promised him that we would take care of each other and that he did not have to hold on for us anymore. Almost immediately after she said that, my grandfather took his last breath and was gone.

Later that day, my mother was in the kitchen preparing something to eat for my great aunt and uncle who were flying in from California originally to be with my grandfather before he passed away but now to help my family with funeral plans. I told my mother my dream and when I got to the part about what my grandfather said I told her I wasn't sure if I remembered the word right, that I thought he said "nining" but I wasn't sure because I'd never heard the word before. She looked at me with a strangely amazed look on her face as she told me that "nining" was a term of endearment in my grandfather's native language. He called me "nining" when I was a baby, much too young to remember.

I truly believe it was my grandfather who visited me in my dreams that night to tell me what he had wanted so desperately to tell me the day before. I have the firm belief that he is with my grandmother today. I know that death is not the end and that families can be together forever. I am so grateful for this knowledge and for a loving Heavenly Father who created a plan so that all of this is possible.

A Moment to Write

It's about 12:30 as I begin writing this. I meant to be in bed about 3 hours ago due to a migraine I could feel coming on. I still had dishes to wash and some floors to sweep and then my mom came home and we stayed up later. Excedrin was taken and caffeine began working. Migraine is gone and awake I stay.

Reuben isn't home yet. It's strange to me how he can function rather normally the next day after being out all night and then doing it again and again. Last night was his turn for family prayer, I took his place and then Stef said it tonight since he wasn't here. I wonder when he'll be home. The kitchen and dining room lights are on for him. I almost want to turn them off and hear him stumble on his way to his room just so I know when he gets in.

Sometimes I enjoy this caffeine-induced inability to sleep. I watch cars drive by on lonely roads and wonder where they are going. I don't like when cars drive in clusters. I get distracted by the several headlights and don't know what to think. They're unwelcome as I watch them pass. I lose track of their identities. Was it a truck or a van? Was he racing home or leaving? Is the family alright? Did her children go to sleep tucking themselves into their beds because Mother wasn't home?

When I was younger and I had difficulty sleeping I would find myself in our living room counting the cars driving down Ferry Road. And later as I grew a little older, I would find myself walking the streets of my neighborhood when I couldn't sleep wondering why people were driving passed me and where they were going so late and whose family was missing him or her.

I listen to the rush of cars down 3005. I would liken the sound to waves, speeding waves. Perhaps a recording of waves fast-forwarded to sound like cars rushing down 3005. Oh wait.

I'm not sure what to do. This drug-induced insomnia makes me feel alive. The near-silent black of night holds more magic for me than a sunrise on the horizon or the majesty of the Rocky Mountains or a symphony performing the most amazing piece of music.

This darkness presents opportunity for light to reveal itself.

filling in the gaps (copied from handwritten journal)

Life is composed of events. Today's doctor's appointment, tomorrow's movie, next week's election. Viewing life in this way makes me disregard the moments, hours and days between these events. Which means that probably more than half of my life is spent not realizing I'm living, unaware that this moment, even this scratching of pen on paper, is significant. I need to somehow start living in those moments and appreciate them for the life they contain. I think the meaningful laughter I experience in casual conversation holds more value than the cleverly-planned-joke-generated laughter from a comedy show that I'd held in higher regard simply because it was a planned event. It's been my experience that the events I plan my life around aren't as fulfilling as I expect them to be. My most cherished memories tend to be composed of little things that I wouldn't originally have found important.

hello.

sickness.