April 21, 2012
Things we mean and not say
There are things that I won't tell you: of how I turn around and expect to see you there; Or that I hold out my hand expecting yours to clasp mine. Or of how I see the brightness of your eyes, or your smile, or the strength of your shoulders on people I see in passing. I won't tell you how my gaze lingers even when my brain is already convinced not one of them is you. I won't tell you any of that. I'll just tell you that I miss you.
Moving on
It's been a year since I've last posted something and a lot of things have happened since then. To recap: I've graduated from Nursing school (finally, to my mom's delight), passed the NCLEX (even better), got accepted as a new graduate nurse and almost off orientation, was unfortunate not to attend my sister's wedding in Canada or my brother's in the Philippines, met a guy at a friend's wedding, went to Disneyland, celebrated some, cried some, argued some, laughed a lot, learning a lot, dating above mentioned guy, breathing and actually happy.
I still can't believe that I am done with Nursing school. I still wake up on odd days thinking that I have to go to school or turn in an assignment or that I don't have an RN license yet. And since I started working there are days when I ask myself why am I a nurse, especially during times when I feel dumb, or overwhelmed, or when I suddenly feel young in front of patients much more older and weathered by life. But there are more days of exhilaration that yes, I am a nurse, and that I am a competent, mature, and professional. Sometimes. I am learning a lot about Nursing, about myself, about life, about people, about relationships, and how to be patient with myself. I'm moving on.
I had a friend ask me years ago of what came first: moving on or letting go? I remember answering that we let go and then move on, but I think it's a process of moving on and letting go and letting go and moving on. I think we can't ever stay stagnant as people, we'd be too bitter or too bored. I've had people tell me I grew up too fast but growing up is never over. I still have all these questions, notions, concepts, abstract ideas, and emotions trying to settle down like bones, like how people grow into their bodies, gangling qualities turning into grace. And sometimes lessons are painful and seeing my flaws out in the open make me want to burrow deeper but I want to be better and so I choose to be better.
I stopped writing partly because I was busy, partly because I was mourning, and mostly because I wanted to live out my life outside of written words, beyond computer screens. I wrote for myself as therapy and I like writing but I was starting to write more than I was living, even if that doesn't make sense, so I stopped. Just like I stopped drawing because it hurt to remember my grandmother, only to start baking more to remember another. I stopped writing to my family because it's easier to shut away feelings than be emotional and hurt. I have all these ineffective coping mechanisms and as I examine myself, I feel discontent. I feel like I have all these rooms that I shut off and only sequestered myself in a corner, wasteful really, and disappointing.
I want to move on, let go of myself, and grow up and settle into my body. I want to be all these marvelous things and I am slowly changing and it's process but I'll get there. I can't wait.
I still can't believe that I am done with Nursing school. I still wake up on odd days thinking that I have to go to school or turn in an assignment or that I don't have an RN license yet. And since I started working there are days when I ask myself why am I a nurse, especially during times when I feel dumb, or overwhelmed, or when I suddenly feel young in front of patients much more older and weathered by life. But there are more days of exhilaration that yes, I am a nurse, and that I am a competent, mature, and professional. Sometimes. I am learning a lot about Nursing, about myself, about life, about people, about relationships, and how to be patient with myself. I'm moving on.
I had a friend ask me years ago of what came first: moving on or letting go? I remember answering that we let go and then move on, but I think it's a process of moving on and letting go and letting go and moving on. I think we can't ever stay stagnant as people, we'd be too bitter or too bored. I've had people tell me I grew up too fast but growing up is never over. I still have all these questions, notions, concepts, abstract ideas, and emotions trying to settle down like bones, like how people grow into their bodies, gangling qualities turning into grace. And sometimes lessons are painful and seeing my flaws out in the open make me want to burrow deeper but I want to be better and so I choose to be better.
I stopped writing partly because I was busy, partly because I was mourning, and mostly because I wanted to live out my life outside of written words, beyond computer screens. I wrote for myself as therapy and I like writing but I was starting to write more than I was living, even if that doesn't make sense, so I stopped. Just like I stopped drawing because it hurt to remember my grandmother, only to start baking more to remember another. I stopped writing to my family because it's easier to shut away feelings than be emotional and hurt. I have all these ineffective coping mechanisms and as I examine myself, I feel discontent. I feel like I have all these rooms that I shut off and only sequestered myself in a corner, wasteful really, and disappointing.
I want to move on, let go of myself, and grow up and settle into my body. I want to be all these marvelous things and I am slowly changing and it's process but I'll get there. I can't wait.
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