You're Supposed To Write This

I keep seeing the ghosts of things I've wanted but could never have. I think I have a knack for preparing people for their next best things. Or, at least it always feels that way. And since this is clearly the era of seeing, remembering--frequently, at that--even when you don't want to, I suffer. Memories real and hypothetical wring at my insides. I saw a Him I wanted once in the train station today. He still looked like the gentleman that I knew him to be. Button down shirt, slim jeans, dress boots. Tall and lanky with the swagger of a Harlem trumpeter. A quirky tangle of locks that had nearly doubled in length since we were last in each other's midst. Engaged. Invisibly, of course. You can't tell on the outside--the She was not there--but I know. Thanks to the joy and unwanted charity of social media, and that we remained "friends" on one the most visual platforms of our generation, I see constant proof that the flame I'd hoped for three or so years ag...

my life doesn't feel like my own. it's a funny thing to wake up in the morning, feel around in the darkness with my fingertips, trying to find orientation from the safety of my bed, walk over to the mirror, flick on the lights and see nothing. not literally of course. there i stand, looking back at myself, wiping the crust from my eye corners and staring down a shell. a big ball of empty housed by a brown body prepped for a daily routine of busywork, and a wandering mind, brimming with problems both real and imagined, blocking a purpose.   what am i doing? why am i doing this? wordlessly, the refrain haunts me as i fight morning fatigue, standing soapy under running warm water, fixing eggs and tea, slipping on one shoe then the other, setting foot outside, already looking forward to when that same foot will step back inside the house at the end of the day, and my bed's call will be answered. repeat. i am 28. i am 28 and lost. i am 28 and lost and living like I have to be t...

In 2017, I sat in the pews of three churches or the rows of fancy reception halls watching two people in love become one union. And for the weddings I didn’t attend, I saw enough of the ceremony on social media to make me feel like I was there, dodging the thrown bouquet per usual. I always wonder if their special day came close to (or exceeded) what they drummed up in their dreams prior to. Culturally, we joke and say that from youth, us women, prayerful brides-to-be, spend years planning for their weddings, regardless of if the husband part of the equation has been factored in yet. We know the style and cut of engagement rings, possible surprise engagement scenarios, the type of dress and hair, locations and venues, months, seasons, guest lists, table decor, honeymoons, you name it. And it’s a fun and wonderful thing to imagine. I love to chime in to the building of this fantasy as, through age, we inch towards their realities. All my life I’ve wanted to become a best friend turned...

This is not a typical trip review with do's and don'ts, but a inward reflection and the sights and sounds of my trip. Glimpses of recommended places to go are bolded throughout. I haven't sat in a rocking chair in years. Or not in recent memory, at least. The thought of rocking chairs is paired with ages high in numbers, the bodies of whom are rich in wisdom and memoirs hidden behind tired, wrinkled eyes. Vaudeville films flashing of a life wholly lived. That, and inner peace. Tranquility. Satisfaction with the way things are and a sound peace of mind. The swaying forward and backward moving to the natural metronome of the heartbeat. Back, forth, back, forth. The rhythm is just so. No missteps until it is time to get up. My time in Cuba has treated me well, offering me that stillness I couldn't achieve prior. That content and ease. Betty [of Chez Betty ] and Abuela ("Alla," as Betty would call down the hallway at any given time) and mama have opened t...

Lying is really easy, disgustingly so at times. But even more than it is a fleeting trick, lying is unhealthy. Especially if you're lying to yourself at the same frequency that you're misleading others with the things you say and the way you behave. So, I'm going to be honest with myself for a change. My eternal quest is to not just find happiness, but to find it exclusively within myself. You should see all the self-love quotes that decorate all 12 of my journals and occupy the back of my door in Post-It form. My living space literally looks like a scene out of Being Mary Jane . I know that in order to attract love in my life, I must be totally okay and in love with myself first. But honestly, honestly , a huge factor in my self-love quest is my body and loving that. It's... okay. I don't hate it. It could be much worse, but I don't love it. It's functional and, as far as I know, has gotten the technical thumbs up from my doctors, but I don't love i...

After the first flight and first layover, I was less anxious and annoyed than I had planned to be. In fact, I was smiling. Subtly, of course. I expected to feel alone, lost, vulnerable, but sitting on that plane from Panama City to Sao Paulo, I was everything but. New York spoiled me, yes, but whether I thought it did or not, it prepared me to look at myself as a global citizen. Sitting on the train and walking down crowded city streets in different boroughs, it’s uncommon to only hear one tongue spoken in passing. There will be conversations that you technically can’t understand or jump into, but you feel it.  Foreign sentences don’t feel foreign, so sitting in this aisle seat hearing a black man speak in Portuguese—a language my ear was never trained for—to a white Brazilian after being told “Gracias” by an ethnically ambiguous fellow while in Panama’s airport felt like magic. I don’t feel lost even though I don’t fully know what they’re saying; I feel enamored. Inspired. Ju...