Friday, July 11th, 2008
(This delightful picture was taken around Christmas time of last year (2007). There is no reason why I look distressed & why my husband looks so debonair & normal. I just can never willingly take a decent picture without making a silly face.)
My husband usually has amazing stories to tell. Last night, I asked him to tell me little Buddhist parables about finding enlightenment. He tells them so amazingly well & I enjoy them as if they were meant to be read before bedtime. I have to say, though, that I never understand these stories. Apparently, only those who have experienced “true enlightenment” could understand the vagueness of these parables — & I am not enlightened. Thus, they usually fly over my head so quickly that I barely have time to try to catch them. When I ask Lover to explain it to me, he just gives me this mysterious answer: “Once you perceive it without using your brain, you will understand it.” I loathe it when he says this.
In spite of that, I love them (& him) & always giggle when each story ends with “& then… he was enlightened.” I feel like that is too much of a dramatic conclusion for such a small tale! These stories are usually about desperate monks who desire to reach the highest level consciousness. So desperate, that they often cut off their arm or their finger, just to show the Master Guru (who has already reached enlightenment) that they are completely serious about wanting to be enlightened.
When the Master Guru senses their madness (& that’s really what it is: sheer & tangible madness, because really… who cuts off their arm, for Heaven’s sake, to prove a point?), he will tell them to do something completely off the wall — like purchase 3 pounds of flax, for instance — & apparently, that will show them the way to enlightenment. Suddenly, just as it’s getting interesting, Lover will announce: “& then… he was enlightened” which signals the end of the parable. These stories are often so serious that this simple statement from Lover sends me into fits of delightful laughter. & I can’t explain why it’s giggle-worthy. The way my husband says “& then… he was enlightened” just tickles me & makes me swoon, just ever so slightly. His voice is so deep & smooth; he never stutters when he speaks. Or… maybe he does stutter, but I would never notice because I’m too engrossed in the vibrations that his speech tends to send through my body. (This is quite true, by the way.)
A few months ago, my husband shared a story on his blog. This story is painfully true; almost to the point of disbelief. & when he tells this story, I do not laugh. I cry. Naturally, with every story there are 2 sides. In this case, one is his & the other is my own, because I was there as the story unfolded.
I wrote my side of the story in a haunting detail not too long ago, but threw it away; I couldn’t bear to publish it. Mostly because I didn’t want to immortalize it. Even speaking about it now, as vaguely as I am, it sends shivers down my back & reluctantly brings me back to the times when Lover & I had no connection; when there were nothing but secrets, lies & dishonesty between us. While I still kick myself for throwing such a decent piece of work into the garbage, I eventually realized that Lover’s story is our story together, no matter how sorrowful or shameful; that even though I didn’t tell my part, he is speaking for both of us. I am his wife, after all & it is his story to tell… not mine.
While I still play with the idea of rewriting my side to this story, I can never come to a decent conclusion. But that’s quite fine with me; everything in its right place, of course.
I admire my husband for having the courage to speak so candidly about something that hit us so terribly hard. I love him for his integrity & for his strength. I look up to him because of his ability to keep moving forward to become a better man for our little family & for himself. Despite our hardships in healing from the past, he is my hero, completely.
The story of his overdose on cocaine & his recovery is here.
Tuesday, July 8th, 2008
My life has been blissfully uneventful lately; & this makes me a pretty boring girl, because I never have anything to talk about. No stories to tell, no gossip to indulge in. Just everyday conversations, habitual chores & intimidating silences when I am alone. This is not to say that I’m complaining; I’m not. I enjoy my free time & I miss it when it’s gone. It’s just that wish I had something important to say these days. To be that girl to tell the funniest joke or the one who makes the best chocolate chip cookies. Something (anything!) at all.
My writing has suffered tremendously because of my stagnant little life. I can no longer conjure up amazing thought processes or heavy-duty contemplations; it’s as though I’m on vacation. My brain doesn’t seem to register that sort of important-like goal making, that “lets get down to business” mindset. Again, I’m not complaining; whining, mostly. I just wish I could give people something to talk about.
My husband & I have been terribly out of sync these past few months. We never get bored at the same time anymore, & if we do, it’s completely sporadic, like in the middle of the night when we should be in bed. If I am sleepy, he is wired & wants to wrestle in the sheets. If I am full of energy & ready to people watch, he is reluctantly glued to the couch, half awake/half asleep, breathing deeply & insisting that he’s not falling asleep. So because of this out of sync-ness, we go in & out of moods. I’ll adjust my mood to be more calm like his, & right as I’m drifting off into relaxation & mimicking his deep breathing, he is ready to get up & go somewhere & do somethings & wreak some havoc. & vice versa: he’ll begin to amp himself up for a “gay old time” (as we like to put it) so I can finally stop pestering him to get out of bed; & then I’ll become so lazy all of a sudden that nothing gets done. Equally, we both get irritated & exasperated, & that makes for a very long weekend.
Tonight is nothing short from Typical. Lover got tired almost immediately — I cannot blame him, for he works so very hard, without one complaint — & ended up retreating to our loft to “rest his eyes.” He’s been sleeping there ever since (7pm) & I was left downstairs, cold & lonely, watching an Alfred Hitchcock movie. This usually happens. We never go to bed at the same time. It’s never too far apart; no more than an hour or 2, but still… we’re completely out of sync. I hope that this is normal; because it’s often misconceived that in wedded bliss, the sun sets & rises on each other & that we’ll be too busy wrapped up in each other to barely come up for air. Of course, this is true on some days, but on most… we’re usually involved in something opposite each other. Life, usually.
I must admit that I have been shying away from this little diary — getting too personally involved in it, I
mean — because I know that there is a listening audience. An audience of strangers, yes, but still… a listening audience. I have always been a bit timid when it comes to being put on the spot, & while I’ve tried to make sure that this place is the most safest of them all, I feel like the spotlight is constantly on bright here, exposing me to the world, making me vulnerable & susceptible to jeers (or cheers, maybe).
& to know that I am putting myself willingly under a microscope, not only within my own thoughts but within my massive, unimpressive wardrobe, well, that is far from my character. & by far, I mean… far. & that just makes this whole thing even more interesting because I’ve always been overly private. Again, I am not complaining; just whining, I guess.
Then, I begin to think just how many people actually read my diary & how many feel like they know me so well already, just on what I’ve revealed here. I’m curious to know, actually. I’ve often wondered who might these people be; what might they look like? & could we ever be true friends?
Button-down frock, from a thrift store; rolled up capris & sandals, from Ross; messanger bag (filled with all of my tricks), from Forever21.
Monday, July 7th, 2008
This weekend was terribly hot, terribly long, & terribly lazy. There were only 2 days that I got dressed up. On the other days, I was locked inside of my tiny, air conditioned apartment, wrapped in the arms of my Lover, clad in pajamas & bed head. & even then, he still calls me beautiful.
My 4th of July was nothing to brag about. Lover & I stayed indoors mostly, watching The Twilight Zone marathon all day. In the evening, we went for an alcohol run (Lover’s drink of choice was beer, while mine was root beer) & the only fireworks we saw was in our own front yard. We are impeccably low-key.
Friday: rummaging through Ross, keeping a low profile.
Dress, from long ago; vest/dress-thing, from Angl; shoes, from Ross; necklace is my own.
I found this dress at the same place I found this dress. The name of the store escapes me now, but this dress pretty much started my new-found fashion freedom. Up until recently, I had always worn it with jeans, because I found it too short. (I have a tendency of keeping my best assets concealed.) But with it being so hot, how could I wear this marvelous dress with jeans? I don’t think I could.
Saturday: running errands & a UFC fight.
White shirt, a hand-me-down from my mother; shorts & sandals, from Ross; Om necklace was a present from Lover.
I like to think that this simple attire would be perfect for treasure hunting or lounging along the beach. But really, I wanted to wear something easy in order to accentuate my new little treasures: my gold sandals.
These darling little shoes are by Chinese Laundry, which doesn’t matter very much to me. What does matter is that I wanted to buy these shoes several weeks ago. They were $15 at the time, but I talked myself out of buying them. (Gas & groceries are of more importance, after all.) I thought I would never see them again… until yesterday. I was scouring Ross again & to my surprise, I saw the shoes hanging on a rack. The best part was that they were ridiculously reduced to $6! I think I may have squealed in delight, but I don’t remember. Now, normally, I wouldn’t be so excited about a pair of shoes — because they’re just shoes, for Heaven’s sake! — but I adored them the moment I saw them, & to find them at such a steal… I was just flabbergasted.
Lover even said to me, “See, honey? See what happens when you have patience? Now you’ve got your shoes.” & I thought, Yes… & they’re all mine. (If I knew how to mimic the perfect evil laugh, I would have, right there in the middle of that very crowded store.) I guess I did do a bit of treasure hunting…
I’d also like to add a few things, regardless if they matter or not:
- Ross has some very interesting shoes as of lately. Before I found my treasure, I was oogling over the exclusive brands of shoes they have to offer: a lot of Marc Jacobs shoes; heels, flip-flops, flats & strappy sandals, marked ridiculously low. Also, Nine West, Jessica Simpson & Chinese Laundry heels galore. I don’t know what they did to score such exquisite shoes, & if I wore heels I would have been in sheer heaven. But I don’t, so I wasn’t. Nevertheless, I was quite impressed.
- I am very surprised (& partially thrilled) at how tan I’ve gotten. I didn’t think I was getting that much sun. But apparently I am, since I am now sporting the perfect shade of bronze. I used to dislike the darkening of my skin; so much that I would rarely go out in the sun during the summer. & although I am still trying to get used to my new color, I think I fancy it a little.
This very long weekend with Lover was wonderful; so long & wonderful that I’ve become perpetually longwinded.
Wednesday, July 2nd, 2008
This little glimpse into my beauty cabinet is for your own sake, not mine; because seeing all of this gluttony pushes me to acknowledge something I don’t want to admit: I am a beauty product junkie. Yes, it’s true. I have a tendency of buying & trying new products just to find a new “must-have.” (It always seems like a good idea at the time.) Now that I’m married & living in an impeccably small (but chic!) space, I’m learning that collecting beauty items isn’t very practical. Not to mention, Lover hates this little bad habit of mine.
Nevertheless… here are my personal beauty essentials. Meaning: no matter what amazing beauty product comes out, I still buy these things because they give me the most satisfaction. & I think that is what truly matters most.
Going from left to right:
- LUSH: Tea Tree Water spray; I use this right after I wash away my makeup. It’s very refreshing & 100% natural. & I love the smell of tea tree.
- Sephora brushes: powder & blush brush; These are the best brushes I’ve ever used, but I loathe the fact that they are made from animal hair. They work beautifully, otherwise.
- Redken: Smooth Down, Heat Glide serum; Keeps the frizz under control & protects from the unhealthy heat of my flatiron.
- Covergirl TruBlend mineral powder bronzer: golden sunrise; After I dust Revlon’s mineral foundation all over (this is not shown) I apply just a dab of this bronzer on the apples of my cheeks, the tip of my chin, the bridge of my nose & a few swipes on my forehead. I use very little.
- Maybelline Great Lash Mascara: very black; I adore this product. Not just because it makes my eyelashes look naturally dramatic, but because it’s a classic.
- Nivea Smooth Sensation body lotion; Makes my dry skin silky smooth.
- OPI nail polish: Russian Navy; This color is appropriate for all seasons. It’s a gorgeous navy blue-purple color.
- glomineral blush: sheer petal; This shade is very pink, so I dilute it & I wear it over the bronzer I applied. It gives a very natural flush on my already bronze skin.
- Wet ‘n’ Wild eye pencil in kohl; I very lightly fill in my eyebrows with this pencil to match the color of my hair.
- Kerastase: bain satin & masquintense, #3; After using these luxurious products, I’ll never go back to drugstore shampoos & conditioners again. This is my only splurge; it is far from cheap.
- Chapstick: spearmint flavor; My most favorite staple of all.
- Neutrogena Oil Free Moisturizer; Very lightweight but strong enough to moisturize my dry skin.
- LUSH: The Honeymooner Massage bar; Just the scent of this little bar alone reminds me of intoxicating nights with Lover. If you never buy anything from Lush, at least buy a massage bar (or a bath bomb).
- Bath & Body Works: Coconut Verbena body spray; Victoria’s Secret’s Vanilla Lace is my signature fragrance, but I feel that coconut is the perfect summer smell. Lover cuddles up closer when I’m wearing this.
So, there it is; my disgusting, shameful display of overindulgence.
Today, I was seen in this. Obviously, this isn’t the most daring thing I’ve come up with, but I like it because it suits me. I think everyone would agree that simplicity overrules glamour in 100 degree (F) temperatures, no?
Tank top, from American Apparel; shorts, from Ross; flip-flops, from Payless; jewelry, miscellaneous; headband, from Target; sunglasses, from forever21.
Tuesday, July 1st, 2008
I’ve been struggling to find words to describe my mood & my inner feelings. (I get like this when I begin to feel insignificant.) It’s as though my heart wants to cry out at the top of its lungs, but my fear of rejection silences all attempts. I have been terribly on edge because of my inability to let go & just say.
This morning, I opened my little red diary, in the hopes that maybe I had written something in the past that could express what I feel today. Surprisingly, I found one. Although it doesn’t precisely describe how I’m feeling, it’s fairly close. A bit too close, I think, for comfort.
July 11, 2006 - Tuesday
What happened to my confidence? Suddenly, it has gone to a place that I can’t exist. I hate that more than anything. I feel so incompetent & silly all the time, in almost every circumstance I am in. I feel as though I no longer have an understanding of who I am. I yearn to be what everyone else. I don’t like knowing that I am [still] so easily intimidated & tongue-tied. At the same time, I want to remain true to myself & continue to be “Ev’Yan” because she can be powerful. But, I am timid & unsure of myself.
Boys intimidate me & I am jealous of the pretty girls. I stay quiet most of the time so that I won’t say something I feel is stupid; I am my own worst critic, obviously. I am overly conscious of the stares I get, & I usually imagine that they don’t like what they see. I hate that I don’t belong to a certain “clique” & that I don’t have a label because if I can’t identify with myself, than surely, no one else can either. I hate rejection; being taken advantage of has caused me to become quite conscious of that familiar letdown feeling. I don’t feel “cool” or like I belong. Inside, I feel more like a square. I stutter when I am put on the spot & I say things I don’t really mean to make up for my insecurity feelings. I am very hard on myself about these things; I haven’t ever tried to deal with it since I was in 6th grade.
It brings me back to the first time I was ever at summer camp. I was the only black girl there, in a swarm of blond-haired beauties. I remember crying one night because I felt lame & out of place; I didn’t have any friends. I was deeply intimidated by everyone who conversed with me, because I felt — & almost knew — that they were better than me; they were desired more than me. I walked with my head down; I felt very small.
I feel small now. —E.
This revealing of my innermost thoughts is me trying to be more courageous in identifying & admitting my emotions, even if they are unattractive & melancholy. I need to become better at admitting these bad feelings, remembering them & embracing them; telling them that it’s okay, that I love them & that this, too, shall pass. Most importantly, I need to start accepting my true self.
Because, for some reason, I am just much better at being introverted, than gregarious.
