Fate's Fault

I sit on this train of life
Moving too fast on the track
The blurred window to outside tells me,
Once gone there is no looking back.

I left my past far behind,
I sprinted onto that train.
But one thing held me hostage
Which never again could be the same.

How could I run far from it
Without actually letting go
My body was moving quickly away
But my heart was saying "no".

I was torn in two completely,
Into the impossible I was thrust.
How does one love to any measure
That which is in something I disgust.

I am tempted to throw the E brake,
To make my world come to a halt .
But it won't change what I left behind
I must leave it as fate's fault.

So I sit and watch the trees fly by,
I watch the world go on it's path.
I hold my breathe and leave it up to fate
With all it's beauty, pain, and wrath.

The Jump.

Anticipation.
I wasn't nervous, I was ready.
I needed this. I needed to live in the moment and become someone I had not met before.
I wanted to push myself.
Live so outside the box that some would say, she isn't going to make it.
There always is that chance, that one percent...
That don't land safely.

Risks.
I live for them.

It makes the ground that much more inviting.
It makes the beat of my heart not a noise to be taken granted of.
Sweet, beautiful, wonderful life.
At my finger tips.

I knew when I looked down, this was what I was made for.
So I jumped.
I flew.
I felt the wind take over me.
I became complete in that free fall.

I didn't know how it would end, I just knew without a doubt,

I WAS IN LOVE WITH MY LIFE.

No expectations,
No old sensations.
It was a brand new me.


This is my life.

Rockclimbing is my Boyfriend

I had an epiphany.

Lately my life has consisted of nothing but my hobbies. Bellydancing, rockclimbing, flag football, soccer, running, some boxing, sitting in the sauna..... You name it. Not only are they amazing workouts, they are what I live through. They scream adventure. They never bore me. They keep me entertained, and they get me in shape.

After a good heart to heart with a bestie, I realized I have lost sight of a life-long dream. Becoming a veterinarian. After years of straight A's, great test scores, and honor roll, high school days couldn't seem further out of reach. College has humbled me, has made me stop procrastinating, and made me work my butt off for something still to receive a C grade. Ultimately, the actual school part of college has made me feel like a complete and utter failure.

School does not fit well with my personality. I am restless, impatient, and always on the go. I have been so frustrated lately with the way the system of college, specifically for a Biology major, works. The way I do not believe in myself like I should is exactly where I begin to fail.

My hobbies have made me for once feel invincible. Like I can and WILL do anything. When I bellydance, my Bohemian-self storms out and I, for a second, feel beautiful. When I conquer the middle rockclimbing wall at the Mizzou Rec Center, I pride myself in my strong arms and stubborn addittude that got me up the wall ultimately. When I run three miles, I no longer see thunder thighs and jiggled legs. I no longer see the weak side of Emily. I no longer feel vulnerable in this huge world of Biology majors here at Mizzou.

My life is crazy, and I wouldn't want it any other way. But my lack of wanting to commit has finally hit home, because feeling like I cannot commit is only out of my fear of failure. Regardless of what I want to do with my life: a veterinarian, a dolphin trainer, a marine biologist, hell... Peace Corps... I cannot let my lack of self-esteem get in the way.

So I am taking my rockclimbing cockiness and applying it to all aspects of my life. I just gotta keep on truckin'.

P.s.
Soon to be added on the list: West African dancing and windsurfing.

My Ocean...

I couldn't tear myself away.

My feet became addicted to the sand caving from under them after a false sense of stability was given.

My hair adapted to the wind that blew it every which direction, making me feel so at home.

My eyes couldn't part from the unpredictable rythym of the ocean waves, the unharmonized beat that resounded in my ears, the beautiful randomness that doesn't falter far from the sounds of jazz.

My soul has become attached to to the overwhelming feeling I encounter every time I am next to such beauty...

The water hitting my feet
Traveling through my soul
Swelling up into my eyes...
As crying is the only reaction I have to such a perfect view.

I couldn't bare to walk away, even to express my emotions through this pen.

I want to touch.
I want to hold it within.

Nothing matters here...
pain, failure, heartache.

Just as the sand rinses off my feet, these emotions tagged with all confusion.....

dissappear.

I want to find myself here.
As the sand caves from under my feet,
I realize my stability in life resembles that false sense of security.
Our unpredictable lives are unreliable,
and the beauty in that fact-
that in one second our feet could easily be put on new ground,
slams me into the reality that life
unknown.
undecided.
Is the most stable life chosen.


When my feet touch the thing so collosial.
So fierce and so beautiful,
I will know.

because when my feet touch this ocean, I feel COMPLETE.
Despite it's scariness, despite it's unpredictable ways.
It is what I crave for my life, in all aspects.

No pond
No river
No lake
will suffice.

My ocean will come.

The empowerment along with the humility I feel as I walk closer and closer to these waves is a constant reminder of this.

I can't tear away.
It calls me in.
I refuse to tear away.

The Way We Take Our Coffee.

I sit here on my couch, laptop in my lap, my mom in sight.

Minus the way we take our coffee, mine black with one ice cube and hers slightly tan from a little non-fat milk, we look identical as she is on her computer feet away.

I don't think the phrase "becoming my mother" is appropriate. She has showed me through the years a strong personality and helped me develop my own sense of self all while loving (present tense included) me unconditionally. Although not opposite, I never felt relatable to her. We were just two strong people and she was just a ton more bad ass.

A text from her the other day read, "Am I stubborn?". I without hesitation texted into my phone: "Yes, when there is conviction..."
Sent.
Stop.
Lightbulb.
It was a revelation. Her gene of stubborness was very much in my veins. Mine possibly undeveloped and a little less mature, lets face it, ALOT less mature, it was something I had in common. (Minus the texting: yes people, my momma texts.)

I saw her reflection in Michelle's common sense. I saw her compassion ministered through Amy's hugs. Being a little bit of an odd bird of the three girls: tomboy/sporadic/doing-my own thing, I just had never seen my mom in me. I have very much wanted to. I never have met someone as amazing as her. Strong and courageous. Insightful. Beautiful.

I have been grown up since a very young age, knowing what I want and who I am. Becoming my mother is not in the cards for me because she has helped me develop into my own person. Which is why I love her so much. Knowing that I owned her stubborness made me feel triumphant, relatable, content. The little odd bird had finally flew home.

Maybe coffee, a little different colored from the milk and taken different ways, deep down is always coffee.

I am very okay with that fact.

Explanation of Title.

Last night I flew in from Texas. The crazy, wild Spring Break island of South Padre is known for the nights one won't remember, drunken embarrassments, and five days turned into a blur that will be reflected upon years later with only head shaking regret.

My Spring Break 2009 could not have been any more opposite.

I do not recall where the switch happened, but somewhere from not knowing where I wanted to go in my life and seeing the ocean for the first time since last summer, my insides screamed at me, bubbling within, demanding my fingers to pick up a pen. To ignore this urge with all its intensity would be disastrous.

A while ago while in Barnes&Noble, doddling like always when it comes to an overwhelming number of books in one place, I found a journal. I don't know why I was drawn to it particularly, it was one of hundreds on a wall. Looking at it now, it just screams peaceful. Maybe at that time all I wanted was peace. Regardless, this taupe-colored Buddha pictured journal became my best friend. My peace. My outlet. My breath of fresh air.

My Buddha Book came with me to South Padre. It smells of salt from the ocean waves splashing upon its surface as I walked the shore for hours. It became my constant. And best of all, it holds my thoughts, my emotions, my heart rythms.

I don't write because I have wanted to since a young age. I don't write because I would love to be a published novelist. I write because it is a necessity. My soul CRAVES to be poured out. My bubbling insides will burst if not, somehow in someway, released.

I write for my sanity. I write to understand myself more. I write so I can maybe figure out this big, huge world, if even just for a second.

So please, read my breath of fresh air. And hopefully wherever you sit at this moment, that air can minister to you as well.