the blog of myself

Goodbye WordPress

hsju — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 05:09:12 +0000

With grace and joy enough, I am leaving this wordpress behind. It holds thoughts and memories from the beginning to the end of a long chapter. A new and different chapter has begun, enough to even leave behind a little blog. I debated whether or not to delete it altogether but decided against it. If anything, it will serve as a reminder of someone redeemed.

day 363

hsju — Sat, 19 Mar 2011 23:06:21 +0000

a year this tuesday:

it is not so strange that time managed to pass as it did
why does it feel so strange?

it is strange how many times i have said goodbye
but i was never the one to let go
or ever the one who wanted to

a year this tuesday marks more a beginning than an end
because there really never was an end, was there?

whatever it was, it is.

with old and new burns and faded scars,
i have learned to dance underneath the shadow of your wing
and sing with all creation spinning

Only a kiss of salt remains

hsju — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 13:22:56 +0000

If, Ocean, you could grant, out of your gifts and dooms,
some measure, fruit or ferment for my hands,
I’d choose your distant rest, your brinks of steel,
your furthest reaches watched by air and night,
the energy of your white dialect
downing and shattering its columns
in its own demolished purity.

Alone

hsju — Sat, 19 Feb 2011 21:54:22 +0000

This is okay too.

Boring

hsju — Sun, 13 Feb 2011 22:03:41 +0000

Sometimes one of my fantastic friends becomes afraid that I might find her too boring. Though this was never true regardless of whatever passing lifestyle possessed me, I am sitting here, hangoverless, reading a book next to my sleeping housemate. I think I have come to enjoy boring. I hope I can become boring enough to enjoy knitting, kittens, falling asleep at a decent hour, getting excited over small things.

But I think I’ve become a little boring in the bad way: lacking inner resources. I think I might be afraid I am lacking in the ways that everyone tells me matter and so, in my fear, I’m letting rot everything I have come to recognize as honestly and essentially important. Perhaps the jump between who I am and who I want to be isn’t as rough as the tension. I know so well who I want to be.

Wednesday

hsju — Thu, 10 Feb 2011 09:31:47 +0000

Today was a strange day. I stepped outside without a sweater because I wanted to feel the cold rest on my skin. I started asking questions I don’t know how to answer: What do I want, really? Do I feel more empty feeling less? Could I be happy with him? Could I be happy with anyone? How is it that every happy moment seems anchored by some vague, ugly reality?

Degradation by reality: Why is it that existing anywhere in this whole world, this whole life, feels like wearing a pair of shoes two sizes too small; or breathing air too thin; or stuck in skin too close. Every second has a noose hovering over it, a pressure or lacking. Sometimes I feel like my existence would be a better fit exploded.

I am the nuclear man, dislocated from history or meaning. Our time is a time in which it has become possible for man to destroy not only life but also the possibility of rebirth, not only man but also mankind, not only periods of existence but also history itself. Future has become an option.

And then I came home and started talking Shannon’s ear off. I retold my favorite bits from the Narnia novels. I don’t think I helped her much but her listening helped me much. Maybe that’s all I needed: A reminder that I am loved with quiet attention—that even though the stories were irrelevant and badly told, what I have to say matters because I matter. I mean, even the guy I pay to help me with my problems doesn’t want to hear me. I think this might be why I don’t want to speak anymore. But Shannon listening to me and me reminding myself about Aslan made me happy. So happy I was going to cry. Have I been sad?

On another note, I have come to profoundly enjoy laughing. Being alive means being loved.

MIHNI

hsju — Tue, 08 Feb 2011 01:46:28 +0000

These past few days have given me a couple of reasons to remain unhappy.
These past few weeks have provided opportunity to bury myself in a mountain of regrets.

This morning I woke up happy.
I woke up happy because there is love.

From the beginning until the end:
Genesis 3, Revelation 21.

And nothing I do or refuse to do can stop this love.

dear,

hsju — Wed, 02 Feb 2011 16:18:13 +0000

i am the girl who realizes what a great person you are and regrets not taking a chance on you. i haven’t spoken to you for over two years now, but i don’t know what it was about tonight that floated you into my thoughts. i was eighteen, young, and afraid; you were eighteen, young, and too brave. perhaps it’s just my fuzzy memory casting you against this funny light of goodness. perhaps you really were that good. all i remember is the first time we hugged, you put your nose to the top of my head and inhaled deeply; you held me to sleep when i was scared to be alone; you whispered to me that i was all you ever wanted; i made you happy; you made me happy.

but it was what i needed these past two years: to be alone.

i don’t wish i acted differently. i wish our timing were more aligned, but you were always ahead of everyone else. don’t you see, buddy? i had to stop being your friend. you knew so clearly what you wanted, and i didn’t know anything. i would’ve screwed you over making you wait around for me. i’ve missed you. i still miss you. you were my very first friend in this mess that is college, and you’re still one of the dearest to me halfway through. i keep saying i haven’t found anyone extraordinary enough for my love, commitment, effort, but god damn it, i did.

but reality has it that we are both two different people now. i might be asking for much, but i want to be friends again. i hope we can be friends again. i’m not going to leave this time. i know what i had and lost in you, and i know most people don’t get a second chance. give me a second chance. regardless of what happens, i hope you are happy. from the bottom of my heart, i hope you are happy. you deserve happiness more than anyone i know.

love,
hanna

the most memorable unmemory

hsju — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 01:53:47 +0000

drowning in the night under the pressure of cheapening cheap thrills. sometimes it’s enough to come out on this side of the night with grace and kindness to myself, understanding that everyone has a belt of stories and mistakes. i’m beginning to think that grace is the only dignity we will ever have, which is not any sort of dignity at all. it is just forgiveness.

i am laying on a hammock in my living room with elise and shannon on their sofas. quiet solidarity.

i’m not sure why i like this so much, but i’ll end my post with this:

i want a library full of our stories
a ship to keep our memories afloat
i wanna hit rewind
playback a hundred times
the moment when our hearts aligned
forget the air
i’ll breathe you instead
fill up my lungs
forget to exhale

unaffected

hsju — Thu, 27 Jan 2011 14:10:52 +0000

what a strange quality; ugly, admirable, strong, pure, cold, quiet, graceful, desirable, and undesirable.

i’m not quite sure where i’m at right now, and i’m not sure how i feel about it. every time i begin to try to explain, i’m stopped by what it is. the what it is in the “i don’t know”; the what it is in the “let it go.” this mixed with “for yourself” or perhaps rather “be yourself”—it all boils down to “be.”
it has something to do with purity of the self. purity of identity (and reality) beyond what i do, what i have, what other people think of me: in deep and simple existence, simply I am. opposite of the exterior, to purge myself of this compulsion that drives me to chase after a person, that career, this image in hopes that finally this lust born out of emptiness will be put to rest. my heart will ease and lean into me. to allow myself a fair existence in mistakes, in emptiness, in honesty and truth.

a facet of this includes a certain solitude, an understanding that everyone has a place within them that is unknowable to all but herself. this reality nullifies judgments, evaluations, and condemnation from others, all which savagely crush honesty and openness. this reality allows love and the freedom to be deeply and wonderfully human.
while discovering the depths of what it means to be a living, breathing, human being, the definition of “dying to my neighbor” has obscured. i feel like i don’t allow anyone contact with me anymore, to the heavy places i used to walk people through always, like when samson told delilah all his heart. it feels less human of me.

perhaps there is one corner of this world where i can be free from measurements, competition, and preknit personas where it is safe enough to relax, to expose myself, and to give unconditionally.

is it just me or have my blog posts been vibing the same way lately?