On Mistakes

ImageI don’t know about soul mates.

Are they something real? Or something romantics made up?

I actually had to look up what it meant and Wikipedia’s definition pretty much sums up what I know.

A soulmate (or soul mate) is a person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity. This may involve similarity, love, romance, intimacy, sexuality, sexual activity, spirituality, or compatibility and trust.

I think soulmates are people (yes more than one) in your life who know you better than you know yourself. They take the desires that you hide from the rest of the world (because they’re too vain, too selfish, too anything) and show you how beautiful it can be, held up in a different light. Soulmates are a messy business, however. They break you open, and end up hurting you (most of the time) to show you what you need to know (and not just want you want to know). They take you apart and put you back together again, not always the same way as you started (and not always the right way, either). They come in to your life, sweep you away in a maelstrom of emotions, and feelings and leave you feeling intensely over everything. They come in to teach you something, to break you open and force you to learn whatever they need you to see (whatever you need you to see) and disappear again, as suddenly as they appeared.

Some soulmates are the best things to happen to you. They shed light on dark areas of the world and let you see things clearer, let you see how beautiful the world can be and all the possibilities that are out there. They give you hope, and love, and light.

And then there are some that are mistakes. Some that take you apart, fix you up, just to take you apart again. They let you feel the most riveting of emotions. Happiness, passion, love, disappointment, hurt… So much hurt. That by the time they leave, you’re a mess. A mess that feels only the hurt. And all you want is for them to come back and make you feel blissful again. Your eyes are affixed on them, refusing to see how much hurt they leave you in after. Like a junkie, all you look forward to is the now. The high that comes with their presence. Damn the future.

Later on, when the high has subsided and you’re left alone in the mess you’ve made for yourself, you realize just how much of a mistake it was to continue. But then you reach for them again, because you can’t help yourself. You’re a junkie. A junkie for a mistake.

What’s your favorite mistake?

Day 8

(I didn’t post a Day 7– the one on Helplessness, because I decided to take part in the Weekly Writing Challenge. 😀 )

Teacher’s pet
Tell us about a teacher who had a real impact on your life, either for the better or the worse. How is your life different today because of him or her?
Teacher’s pet.


It always sounds like something offensive. An insult for those kiss-ass students who suck up to their teachers and give them apples (does that still happen?).


A lot of people would say I was a teacher’s pet growing up. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I was. Since I was young, I could just relate to teachers. I respected that they taught me things (most of them patiently) and that because of them I was more learned. As I was thinking about what to write for this post, I couldn’t even narrow it down to one teacher that had changed my life so significantly because if I thought about it (and I mean really thought about it), all the teachers I’ve had growing up, have been responsible (in one way or another) for making me the person that I am today.


When I got older, I considered most teachers as my personal friends. In high school and college, I hung out with my teachers outside the school setting. Maybe I was just blessed with really cool teachers but most of the time I never had a problem with them. I’ve always preferred older friends; I have a hard time to relating to people my age (my dad says I have an old soul).


That isn’t to say that I haven’t had my share of horrible teachers. Some of them were so full of ego that every time you disagreed with something they said, you’d be treated with suspicion and bias. Some of them were good people (nice and kind, etc) but just weren’t made to teach; they were so intelligent that teaching the same thing over and over again (for different classes, for example) bored them to death and they didn’t try anymore. There were teachers who made me want to stop school. There were teachers who needed (and still need to!) to be punched in the face.


And even those awful teachers have helped me become who I am today (for better or for worse, haha!). Though I wouldn’t really like to meet some of them again, I do want to thank all of them for being a catalyst in my life; they’ve taught me how to think, how to see the world, how to act, how to stand up for myself and for others…


And a bunch of other unimportant things like swearing, and good places to get breakfasts for the hungover. Ahahaha.

Day 6

I decided to postpone Day 5 for another day and moved on to Day 6.

Is that considered cheating?

I’m not one to follow the rules too closely anyway. Oops (Raaaaahh! What a rebel!)

Anyway.

Day 6 asks about a favorite person and how long I’ve spent apart from them.

I was attracted to this one particularly because it made me pause to consider things. Like who is my favorite person? Snap-second decision would have me answering my dad, or my best friend, or maybe even my cat (This requires an entirely separate post altogether but we’ll get to Johnny in due time). How do you decide if that person is your favorite anyway? Is there like a checklist? Or do you just feel it deep down in your bones? A gut feeling?

I feel like I’m over-thinking this now (I probably most definitely am, right?).

I think deciding on a favorite (especially if it’s a person) isn’t as black and white as people think it is. Off the top of my head, I could already name more than 5 people I’d consider my favorite; all for different reasons, different stories, different qualities that I love about them. They don’t fit a specific checklist and some of them are as different from the other as night and day.

But just to finish this ramble, let me name one.

My grandmother is one of my most favorite people in the world. When I was very little and my parents were still new at the whole parenting thing, she’d stay up late to hold me till I slept, and I never cried when I was in her arms. She always smelled like flowery perfume and baby powder and she hated my cats (except Johnny, of course). I’d sneak into her room in the middle of the night to play my video games and she was the only person I’d watch horror movies with. When my parents would yell at me, I’d run to her and she’d always take my side; she’d glare at my dad and demand to know what he did to make me cry. I fucking loved her.

She passed away when I was 15, 6 years ago and I’ll never forget the day she died. I woke up and my dad was whispering to me that she had passed in her sleep and I cried until I couldn’t anymore.

If I was to answer the prompt, then I’d say that I was apart from her the moment she died (6 years ago), but if I think further then it’s not really that true. Though she’s no longer physically with me, she’s still a constant presence in my thoughts and in my heart. All the memories that I had with her continue to prevail and as long as I remember her, and other people remember her, then she’s not really very far away.

I think we determine the time we spend apart from someone. If we really didn’t want to be apart, then we’d find a way to be close to them, to be with them again. Even if it’s through a phone call, or just keeping them on our mind. People are only as far apart as they allow themselves to be.

Day 5

“(I do not know what it is about you that closes

and opens; only something in me understands

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands”

– Somewhere I have never traveled, e. e. cummings

I think I fell in love with this poem the day I first heard it in English Lit, 5 years ago. I didn’t even remotely understand what it was supposed to mean then. Sometimes, I read this poem even now and still feel like there are parts of it that are difficult to fully understand. But I knew it was beautiful the first moment I heard it.

Does that make sense?

Knowing something is beautiful, even when you don’t know why it is so? Even when I couldn’t fully comprehend it’s meaning, I knew that I was supposed to feel something when I heard it for the first time and I did. It had sounded so sad and so hauntingly beautiful even when I wasn’t quite sure why I felt those things.

I think the best kind of beautiful things have that effect on us. We’re not really sure what sets them apart from the mundane day to day things we have surrounded ourselves with. We’re not sure why they affect us so but they do anyway. Sometimes we don’t even notice how different they are from the normal, until that one striking moment of clarity and boom. It changes you.

Your eyes are a little brighter, you look at the world and see possibilities, you feel more, you urge yourself to do more. Beautiful things like poetry, like words you can’t quite understand… They do this.

Or maybe it’s just all the coffee.