Never Give Up

Not mine but someone else's. 

"At age 23, Tina Fey was working at a YMCA.

At age 23, Oprah was fired from her first reporting job.

At age 24, Stephen King was working as a janitor and living in a trailer.

At age 27, Vincent Van Gogh failed as a missionary and decided to go to art school.

At age 28, J.K. Rowling was a suicidal single parent living on welfare.

At age 28, Wayne Coyne (from The Flaming Lips) was a fry cook.

At age 30, Harrison Ford was a carpenter.

At age 30, Martha Stewart was a stockbroker.

At age 37, Ang Lee was a stay-at-home-dad working odd jobs.

Julia Child released her first cookbook at age 39, and got her own cooking show at age 51.

Vera Wang failed to make the Olympic figure skating team, didn’t get the Editor-in-Chief position at Vogue, and designed her first dress at age 40.

Stan Lee didn’t release his first big comic book until he was 40.

Alan Rickman gave up his graphic design career to pursue acting at age 42.

Samuel L. Jackson didn’t get his first movie role until he was 46.

Morgan Freeman landed his first MAJOR movie role at age 52.

Kathryn Bigelow only reached international success when she made The Hurt Locker at age 57.

Grandma Moses didn’t begin her painting career until age 76.

Louise Bourgeois didn’t become a famous artist until she was 78.

Whatever your dream is, it is not too late to achieve it. You aren’t a failure because you haven’t found fame and fortune by the age of 21. Hell, it’s okay if you don’t even know what your dream is yet. Even if you’re flipping burgers, waiting tables or answering phones today, you never know where you’ll end up tomorrow.

Never tell yourself you’re too old to make it.
Never tell yourself you missed your chance.
Never tell yourself that you aren’t good enough.
You can do it. Whatever it is."

I Choose Me

I mustered the courage to walk up to you and talk about ‘work’. I know that I had to find an excuse because we haven’t had the chance to talk after quite sometime. I am so thankful you asked if I had the time or if I was I going home already. I managed to get my heart to beat normally as I said I can stay and chat with you. I try not to stare too much in your eyes because they are just so blue and adorable and I don’t want to find myself dreaming too much of something that is over. I want to enjoy your company and the possibility of being close again but not too much for comfort, at least for my own good. 

I like talking to you because you are one of those men who I feel is so in touch with their emotions. It is very easy to like you, but you are a dangerous kind to women like me. You like women very much; so much that you play around, fool around, and juggle one from another; and that I feel is not something that will sit well with me. There obviously were things that we talked about when we were ‘playing’ around that touched me and endeared me to you. I still keep thinking if those were normal things you share with all your women to make them warm up to you. I feel my heart has just uttered a silent prayer hoping that at that moment those were different words and that I was special, but who am i kidding? I am exceptionally and quite sadly familiar with unrequited affection that it is ridiculous that hope still exists in me in this area. 

So we talked, and I try to prolong our conversation because I know that this is all that I can have and all that there is to be. I had hoped that every attempt you had to touch me was an effort to connect to me, to be close because you feel something for me too. Who am I kidding? I have held on so tightly to that saying that men will always let us know if they like someone; there is no room for confusion. And if it comes to that point, he doesn’t really like you at all. I am not even confused. There is nothing beyond our passionate but playful nights and that makes me sad, just a little bit. I wished there were more to it and there is none. 

As I walk home to the train station, I think of how wonderful it would be to have you as a partner. And then I started thinking of what I need to do to keep that attention on me; the work that I have to put in just to feel wanted by you and I feel as if life has just been drained out of me. I don’t want to put myself through that anymore; I don’t want to feel less than my worth; I have been there and I thought I’d never come out alive. 

I know I am worthy of an undivided attention, of a loyal affection, of love and effort. I am not perfect but I do not want to feel less than anyone anymore because I am not liked or loved for who I am and what I can offer. I deserve to be loved and taken cared of. I want to stand up for myself. 

In as much as I like you, I realised that I cannot live my life chasing other people. I don’t want men to chase me anymore. I want them to respect and love me, to choose me because I am enough on my own. 

I like you a lot but this time, I am choosing me. 

A light babble of a broken heart

The heart is cunning. It commands strongly and most of the time insanely. It is relentless. For someone like me who is ruled by emotions, it is a constant struggle to be sane, to live within reason. People don’t see the agony I go through because I act normal, I try to, all the time. Some get a glimpse, and others maybe understand that I love, love, love life; and that love rules me. I feel so much emotion and passion towards my advocacies, my passion, my gifts, my life, the life of others that touch my heart. Love, loving is excruciating but it is fulfilling. It is exhilarating. It makes me feel alive. 

So what happens when my heart gets broken? It feels like dying a little and living a little. It is beautiful and yet painful at the same time. It is almost like grasping for air, as if I am drowning, yet I am breathing above water. I used to want to run away - as fast and as far as I can, until my lungs give out, until I throw up for lack of breath, until my legs give in, until my head pounds and until my sweat meets with my tears. 

Every heartache and heartbreak brings a familiar and new lesson at the same time. I must be learning little from my past experiences because I seem to repeat the same thing over again; or maybe I’m just a slow learner; or maybe it is a beautifully woven story with its unexpected twists and turns, never destined to end with a heartbreak. I am a feel-good movie; I am the funny story in a romantic comedy; I am the heartwarming scene in an amazingly written love story. 

This is my story; story of love unrequited, or love that just isn’t right at the moment. 

My heart is cunning. It is relentlessly in-love. It aches for love and for love it lives for. And with it, I am alive. 

As I ascend the stairs

As I ascend the stairs from the platform to the station, I find myself realising two things: that I no longer want to run and that I choose”oops” than a “what if” in my life. 

My memory is still serving me well and I can remember very clearly how it felt in the past; how a heartache like this felt. For the first time since my very first heartbreak, I no longer want to run. 

I am staying put. I am going to see through the end of this. No more running. For the first time, I don’t wish for this to be over. I want to understand what this is all about and I want to live through it, and not just be done with it. 

It is never a fun feeling. It is always excruciating but it makes me feel so alive. I ask myself, what is this teaching me? 

For the first time, I am actually choosing, the experience, over what if. I am living rather than overthinking. The goal is to have something to reflect on, and not just overthink.