Sharing Food

In many ways, we share our food as we share our lives. That first meal together, neatly cutting things into halves and swapping gracefully across plates: half my burger for half of yours; my hopes and fears for your greatest insecurities. We traded big, without a second thought.

As we have grown together, we have learned the rhythms of each other's chewing and the exchanges have become smaller, less formal: the unconscious reach of my fork snagging a bite of your macaroni, the natural movement of your hand stealing one of my chips; a story of your mom for a story of my uncle, one embarrassing moment for one proud one. There is no need to cut our meals neatly into halves; the swap has become so seamless I hardly notice the end of the meal sometimes, as it always inevitably stretches into wine, or gum, or cigarettes.

We're framed differently each time, depending on how crowded the place is — the only ones in the entire restaurant, or crammed at a communal table for six; our voices dwindling to whispers exchanged in a corner booth, or roaring to laughter at a table with friends.

Each time I am enchanted by the new flavors and tastes dancing on my tongue, and the way new memories with you sit in my heart for a long while afterward. Despite the delight of it all, our meals are paired perfectly with longing, as I venture to a place of new menus and specials, where I will eventually order a meal too large or too boring for just one person, where the rest of the food will sit by itself, perhaps too rich or too salty or too by itself for its own good. Hmm...

It is a beautiful thing, to be always craving and be always full.

Champagne Supernova

I used to hear this song and feel a swell of longing and pain ride in my stomach and sit, crawling through the depths of me and making me think of how much I missed you.

Now, I am hearing this song for the first time, dreaming of you and I, the world set out before us, a boundless story waiting to be written, our love stretching across rivers and oceans in different directions and meeting in the middle like two estranged birds, departing for seasons and always trusting that they will come home to one another.

This song is kind of stupid, and I don't quite understand it —

but it's nice to hear it for the first time. It's nice to see the world for the first time. Everything looks different, and better. Blessed.

Harrington

I have missed this.
The distant sound of Odwalla lids screwing on bottles,
sitting next to the whispered chatter of
midterm papers and lab reports spinning out of
tired college fingers on
tired Macbook keyboards.
The quiet arrival of 1am,
the feeling of detaching your soul from the screen
for just one moment
only to realize the overwhelming emptiness of
the chairs surrounding you.
Where are you Francisco?
I remember finals week, spring 2012
welcoming the sunset
and greeting the sunrise
all in one sitting
with potato chips and half-open eyes,
smiling warmly, victoriously
at the procrastinated products on the desk before us —
we were warriors, then.
Now, I'm sitting alone,
at one of those tables
too high for comfort
staring into the glassy black of the
window reflections
sleeves still rolled up to my elbows
this hulking lack of productivity
looming in front of me.
This is hard sometimes,
and I am tired,
but boy, have I missed this.

Tangles

I am combing through my selfishness
With an afro pick,
a wide-toothed comb,
weaving seamlessly through
the largest of knots, yet
passing over the tiniest tangles,
in hopes they'll go unnoticed,
by everyone but me.

At the end of the day,
when I am worn and weary
from a day of thinking too much
and not loving enough,
the knots will still be there,
tiny, tiny reminders
of how messy
my messiness
is.

Things I would like to remember...

(-)
1. It is hard to understand grace
2. It is hard to give grace
3. It is hard to accept grace
4. Everything we do affects someone, somewhere
5. I am selfish, often
6. I am loved, always
7. There is beauty in saving some things for last.
8. I am not good at painting my nails
9. Spanish is important to practice
10. We are not as resilient or capable as we think.


(+)
1. Rolling hills & tall grass
2. Spaghetti
3. Sand on gym floors
4. Cheese
5. Red, black, plaid, green
6. "Mirrors" by Justin Timberlake
7. Soap & musk & beach
8. Coffee
9. The Head and the Heart / Death Cab / Young the Giant
10. That feeling of coming home to your favorite friends.

Readjustments

Learning time and time again how to recognize my limits and readjust my goals.

I am not invincible.

This is not Joanne vs. paper, or Joanne vs. sleep, or Joanne vs... anything, really. Listening to myself (with a disgruntled heart). I need rest. I need to make things easier sometimes.

I can't help but feel a little bit saddened, like I'm giving up, or not capitalizing on this amazing opportunity, or wasting other people's time and energy (not to mention $$$).

Somewhere along the way though, I had forgotten completely about the process, and focused entirely on the product; ironically playing testament to the sort of thing I'm criticizing in my thesis. In fact, I am wasting my own time and energy, trying to do the impossible in the next three weeks: stay sane, love others, and take care of myself.

Time for readjustment. There isn't enough time to regret the fire of the fall that withered into stagnant ash during winter quarter. I don't have time for that! So onward -- writing, writing, writing.

So, okay. I can do this. Maybe it will be 40 instead of 60. Or 30 even. (NO! Okay, I can do 40.) That is okay. I will write a book another day, if I really want to.

Readjustment is important. Humility is important. Still learning, all the time, to set my sights on different moons.