Love

Today I return to blogging... Not to have people read, but because I realize I need to express myself. Love is Supposed to be lovely, but today it hurts. I love so much that I turn away from it... I love so much that I can't bear to be loved while I'm not capable of loving others the way they derserve. It's an ongoing battle for me... Be present and disappointing or just be absent. Even romantically, I haven't found anyone who I can fully love. I look for love that is already restricted, only to find myself sad and yearning for more. I love deeply, profoundly, and really. I just can't find the magic balance to have it felt by those I love. Feeling sad.

On wanting the past...

I want the past. A specific place in time that I know is reachable. And I think the most painful part is that it is reachable. Maybe not the time, but the place. I just want a chance to feel it again. It's like falling in love... You just want a chance. Just a chance to feel it again. For me, that is a beautiful little island called Bali. It's not Cuzco, or Machu Picchu, or even Rome... It's Bali. Many people have compared me to the girl from Eat, Pray, Love. And to be honest, I hate that book and movie. I don't want the world to know about Bali, my deepest love. I am scared it will be ruined, and that when I return, it will no longer be my Bali.

And the days go by...

The last time I wrote on this blog, I was in the midst of Indian Ocean, palm trees, papaya for breakfast, a wonderfully lax mentality, and few worries. It hurts me to even think of it... I have since been in Chile and the U.S., not so bad off at all, but much time has passed, and many a tear have been shed.

Since my last posting, I survived the world's 5th strongest earthquake at the time (stood in an empty bathroom doorway in Santiago on the 11th floor at 4am, alone, and literally said goodbye to the world as the ceiling plaster fell upon my head, and the walls swayed like a falling card castle). My last "dying" thought, besides how to hold my body as to feel the least pain upon collapse, was "Why am I alone?" More figuratively than literally.

I have begun jobs and ended jobs, of my own fault. I have loved, and denied love, and loved again... too many times. I have betrayed those I love most, and ignored those who most need loving. I have hated myself. I have had magic happen, and I have blown out the flames of my own accord.

It hurts in the depths of my throat to even think of where I was when I left this blog off. I have been mourning the loss of a dream come true... not sure if it was the location or the feeling, but my gut tells me it was both. So now, the Leah who is 28, moving toward her first holiday season in the U.S. since god knows how long, is happy and sad, eternally incomplete... just needing an outlet, and blogging again will perhaps give me that.

So here we go again... Life Winks take 2, action.

Hot wax

Swift sting
instant knowing
it was all nothing.

What a gift…
how often do we realize
the pain is over?

Hey everybody who loves me...

I am safe! I am ok! I could not have chosen a better place to live right now, and despite being alone, all is really very lovely in Leah Land. There is less crime here than in the greater Washington Metro area. This is a peaceful culture. And though I may speak of my trials and annoyances of the human male species, I carry my head high when I walk the streets (with a slight grin always lurking on the inside). I have lived places where I couldn't even walk the streets without having a panic attack, and this is SO heaven in comparison. I have friends here... many. And no matter what, I am safe. Ok, done. Just wanted to throw that in the mix. Love you!

Now Playing on Leah's iPod

Jack Johnson, with a sprinkle of Mana. It just fits my mood... contemplative, imaginative, a little torn, but refolding the paper into some pretty cool oragami. :)

Would you like pride with that?

I haven’t sat down to watch TV in a really long time. Some of the shops and restaurants here have TVs playing, and I am just so over it. In the evenings, I sometimes catch a few glimpses of an Indonesian version of American Idol. There are young girls on the stage covered in make-up, and a flamboyantly “happy” judge on the panel that counsels them on their fashion faux pas, their hair styles, and their lack of voice training (which he demonstrates by singing their own songs back to them in a very feminine voice). I know many non-western countries tend to trail western pop-culture trends, but really… aren’t we globally over this stuff yet? Guess not.

Today as I hobbled with my bad back to get some food, I saw that MTV was on in one of the restaurants. “Pimp My Ride” is still on the air. Come on MTV, are we serious? Not only does this program have absolutely nothing to do with “music television”, other than its potted-out, played-out host “X to the Z, Xzibit!” (if you call what he spews music), but how many hoopties in south LA must we “pimp-out” with the latest 17-foot rims, 35-foot sub woofers, and theatrical hydraulics? It’s a cultural joke. And we are the punch line.

Am I over-simplifying the simpleness? Maybe, but it’s just too damn easy. Call me cynical… but somebody please remind me why I should be “proud to be an American” again? Because the word “proud” would imply some degree of deliberate identity and comradeship with the collective whole that is described, but I do not really feel that way. Yes, I am very often thankful to have been born within the borders of the landmass that is named The United States of America. I am thankful to have been offered a decent education, most natural human rights, and a relatively generous economy. But I have lived on 4 continents, and I have used my civil liberty of getting the hell out when I have so chosen. And when you strain your eyes to see the poetic American apple pie from afar, it starts to look more and more like a rectangular crust in a cardboard jacket from the McDonalds dollar menu. But hey, “at least I know I’m free”.