Musings

Only in my mind?

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh what a way to die

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss

How I long for our trysts

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

I keep these longings locked

In lowercase inside a vault

Someone told me

There's no such thing as bad thoughts

Only your actions talk

These fatal fantasies

Giving way to labored breath

Taking all of me

We've already done it in my head

If it's make believe

Why does it feel like a vow

We'll both uphold somehow?

What if I roll the stone away?

They're gonna crucify me anyway

What if the way you hold me

Is actually what's holy?

If long suffering propriety

Is what they want from me

They don't know how you've haunted me

So stunningly

I choose you and me

... Religiously

I hate being like this. I feel ashamed, lonely and scared at the same time. I know it's childish to ask someone to come with me to appointments, but do you ever feel like a hand to hold would make all the difference? Well, sometimes I do.

The thing is... It's a vulnerability to ask such a thing, to show your fears and insecurities to others. I did it today and heard that I haven't grown at all.

It's not a lie, but it does hurt.

I wish I could tell the whole world how much it hurts to be without you. I wish I could scream at the top of my lungs until the pain leaves my chest and I feel as raw outside as I feel inside.

I wish they could understand you. Understand us. Understand the love we shared and share still. Our soul bond. I wish they could understand that love can have many forms and to love and be loved by a pet is a blessing.

But your love was for me, only. You loved me more than anyone else. So in the end of all things, I'm the only one to feel your absence like someone ripped my heart out of my chest.

This hurts so, so much. I miss you every single day. I see you in dark corners of my room, the sunlight you loved, your favorite places, the things you touched, your blanket... You're everywhere and nowhere.

I didn't know before how quiet grief truly is. I used to think that grief was loud. Screams, tears, anger, despair. But no. Grief is quiet. Is the absence. The silence. Is the pure, unconditional love turned into endless pain. Love with nowhere to go but the wind, the stars.

I don't regret you. Never, never. I would accept the pain over and over for the privilege of loving you, of being loved by you. I accept the pain. I'm grateful for your shining existence.

I say your name out loud and I thank the Lord for you. And I hope, oh, how I hope, that I'll see you again, someday.

Be well, my love. No more suffering, no more pain. Mommy loves you, always.

"You taught me true love. And true loss."

Yesterday, I was 17.

10 whole years have passed in a blink. A whole decade went by.

I started college, made new friends, became a aunt, a photographer, a director, a reporter. Had a part-time internship, learned, said goodbye. Lost some friends along the way too. Finished college, survived some of the darkest days of my generation, became more introverted than I had been.

Then, I was lost. Between who I was, who I am, who I should be. All the pressure, all the versions of me that I had to be because others needed me to.

But where was I? Where was the girl who used to dance alone in her room? The girl who sang so loudly, even though she can't really sing? Where was the avid reader, the one who devoured books so quickly? Where was the stargazer, the dreamer, the one who could see magic and possibilities everywhere?

Today, I'm 27.

And I'm also 17.

And 7.

Those versions of me are not gone. I can see it now. I can see them, hand in hand. Hello, me. Hello, us!

Happy birthday, dearest me.

Make a wish!

Sometimes, we just need a hug. Or someone saying that it'll be alright. That you are not alone. Or, even, just a shoulder to lay your head on and a comforting silence of acceptance and understanding of your feelings.

Just ask what they need. And if they don't know, give them options. Sometimes, things are just too much for "should or shouldn't do" .

The most important thing is to feel safe and grounded again.

And I thank you for reading this.

Sometimes, I don't quite know who I am. Sometimes, my mind feels too heavy, loaded and empty at the same time. Sometimes, I can make out some of my thoughts, but mostly, I don't.

Sometimes, I'm terrible melancholic. I just want to be okay, but I don't know what exactly would make me so. Sometimes, I feel a spark. Something, from deep within, that makes me feel strong and hopeful that I can do anything. What that is, I'm unsure, but it feels good nonetheless.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm terrible boring and normal in the most awful way. Sometimes, I feel rare, alien, unworldly, as if I don't belong.

Spoilers bellow, folks.

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I absolutely loved how badass Djarin (whaaaat??) was fighting, and even more when Grogu went to his rescue and helped his dad fight the bad guys. This father and son duo is amazing! I love, love their dynamics and adored the final cottage scene.

I confess, I was unsure about this season. I missed everything that the last episode showed. I missed our man kicking ass and just more of him and his tiny green baby. I like Bo Katan just fine, she's great. But I love the father and son relationship far more than any complicated plot.

Now, the reason why I made this post is this: the scene where Grogu is formally adopted and it's now named "Din Grogu".

I mean, I was so confused! Just like most people, probably. Years calling this man "Din" and bam! His first name was "Djarin" this whole time?? What??

I was kind of planning on ignoring that and keep calling him "Din", what we totally can if we want! But I think it would only be fair to acknowledge and accept that it is in fact his last name.

He came from a different culture, a different planet. He's a mandalorian by choice, not birth and he loves his people. But! His name... His name comes from his family. His dear mother and father that died protecting him.

"Din" means that conection that not even death will sever. He never shared that before, but he did with Grogu. His precious last name, his long lost family. Grogu is a part of his Clan and so much more.

"Din Grogu" means all of that love, everything Djarin is willing to give and share with his son. It's beautiful and heartwarming.

And hey, "Djarin" is not an ugly name either. We're just not used to it, after calling him by his last name unknowingly for years. Keep saying it aloud! How it rolls on the tongue so beautifully, especially if you give it a more Spanish like accent and rolls the R(in) sound. It sounds foreign and strong, if you ask me.

I think I understood more about that after reading this article, so I'm leaving it here in case anyone else wants to read it:

That's it, folks! Let's embrace the plot twist and the beautiful story of Din Djarin and Din Grogu! I miss them already and can't wait to see more (hopefully soon) in the future!

10 posts!

It's like... There's no danger, but your body just act like there is.

You feel weird, but can't quite explain. Then your heart races, your hands shake, there's a lump in your throat, goosebumps on your skin, and you just feel like you're definitely dying. Oh, and your head feels light.

It sucks when you have to deal with it yourself. When you can't tell others exactly what you're feeling (or why), that you're scared, because you're actually ashamed of being so vulnerable.

It sucks, because you get stuck inside your own head, while trying so hard to feel grounded to the outside world.

"It just sucks and I want a hug", I think, while sipping my chamomile tea.

Deep breaths, folks. We gonna be alright.

Last chance...

In the dream, I watched as someone stood at the middle of the water, noticing how magical it looked with reflections of green, white and blue in the soft sunlight. The person learned their fear and left afterwards, head low. For some reason, I decided to go inside as well. Curiosity, probably.

It was shallow, reaching my waist. My hands were open, palms skimming through the clear water. I walked to the middle of it, took a deep breath and looked down.

At first, there was nothing but a normal lake and its currents. Then, slowly, blurry at first and then clearer, I could see the image of the old clock that's hanging on my living room wall, its hands spinning faster and faster.

I laughed in the dream. Time passing was my greatest fear. The fear of losing time, of losing important moments. Time itself.

I laughed not because it was funny, but because I felt such a relief! It was like... Knowing for sure my fear made me learn more about myself. It was freeing.

There was more, but I can't remember. It was a nice dream, nevertheless, and very accurate.

If someone ever reads this and know about rivers that can tell your fears, let me know. Maybe I could use this and write something dramatic in the future.

I mean, look at them!

So thank you for creating a safe harbor for all of us, sorry creatures that get sick and can escape from it for a couple of hours in the Dreaming, Lord Morpheus. You absolutely rock!

Also, if anyone is interested in writing a comf fic about this, please and thank you.

Wishing you all to fall in the arms of Morpheus (yeah, that's a thing! I've read this in a book about cursed dolls and werewolves!).