for touch, for nights & for the things we still have no words for
You are going to be sad.
You’re going to want to scream and punch things. Do it. Let out every ounce of anger you have. Sit on the floor and cry until you feel numb. Listen to songs that make your heart sink to your feet. Write angry letters to all the people who have broken you, left you, ignored you or hurt you. Throw your hairbrush at the wall. Do it twelve times. Do it until you feel like you can breathe again.
You’re going to be sad. You’re going to want to hurt yourself. Don’t you dare do it. Sit on the floor and watch cartoons like you did when you were little. Listen to songs that make you want to dance around your bedroom in your underwear at 3 A.M. Make paper airplanes out of those angry letters and watch them soar into the fireplace. Brush all the knots out of your hair and say “I am worth it” into the mirror. Say it twelve times. Say it until you feel like you can breathe again.
You’re going to be sad. You’re going to get through it.
Sometimes people come into your life and you know right away that they were meant to be there, to serve some sort of purpose, teach you a lesson, or to help you figure out who you are or who you want to become. You never knows who these people may be but when you lock eyes with them, you know at that very moment that they will affect your life in some profound way.
And sometimes things happen to you that may seem horrible, painful, and unfair at first, but in reflection, you find that without overcoming those obstacles you would have never realised your strength, willpower or heart. Everything happens for a reason, maybe sometimes you'd like to know what those reasons are but I guess it just doesn't work that way. And maybe sometimes things happen by chance or by means of luck but mostly for a reason. Even the bad experiences can be learned from. In fact, they are probably the most poignant and important ones.
If someone hurts you, betrays you, or breaks your heart; forgive th…
Here’s to the security guards who maybe had a degree in another land. Here’s to the manicurist who had to leave her family to come here, painting the nails, scrubbing the feet of strangers. Here’s to the janitors who don’t even fucking understand English yet work hard despite it all. Here’s to the fast food workers who work hard to see their family smile. Here’s to the laundry man at the Marriott who told me with the sparkle in his eyes how he was an engineer in Peru. Here’s to the bus driver, the Turkish Sufi who almost danced when I quoted Rumi. Here’s to the harvesters who live in fear of being deported for coming here to open the road for their future generation. Here’s to the taxi drivers from Nigeria, Ghana, Egypt and India who gossip amongst themselves. Here is to them waking up at 4am, calling home to hear the voices of their loved ones. Here is to their children, to the children who despite it all become artists, writers, teachers, doctors, lawyers, activists and rebels. Her…