Broken strings & Pretty things

The world, seen through a young girl's eyes.

Archive for the month “January, 2013”

Brave.

Being brave is waking up every morning, getting dressed, and standing tall even though you know that the day ahead is going to be painful.

Being brave is the day you stop using your pain as an excuse, but an incentive to strive further.

Being brave is knowing that there is no shame in crying when it hurts, and allowing to let your walls down even when they are the only thing keeping you strong.

Being brave is living by yourself at seventeen, when the rest of the girls your age don’t even know the meaning of an empty house.

Being brave is standing back and letting your mother shine, no matter how hard it is.

Being brave is sitting through the loneliness, even when it feels that the night won’t end.

Being brave is knowing that life will get bigger and bolder and brighter, and surviving the days when you hit rock bottom.

Being brave is smiling through the travesty. Being brave is being fierce when everything feels numb. Being brave is standing up for that life that you so desperately wish to achieve.

Being brave is not taming lions, or climbing mountains, or standing in front of a large crowd.
Being brave is never losing sight of your dreams, even when everything goes dark.

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A little motivation.

Fear doesn’t tell you when you ought to stop. Fear is the little voice in your head that tries to hold you back because it knows if you continue, you will change.
Don’t let it stop you from being who you can be. Exhaustion tells you when you ought to stop. You only reach your limit when you can go no further.

Speechless.

Today, for the first time, I saw my mother cry.

As I held her there in the kitchen, her sobs pulsating throughout our bodies, I finally saw the strong woman she always strived to be crumble in my arms. The woman who had always been a superhero and role model in my eyes finally became mortal: she finally showed her potential to break down and break apart. I saw that teenager inside of her who once loved a man and felt him throw her heart back in her face a multitude of times. I saw her vulnerability; her fragility; her heart-break; her loneliness.

And I promise you, there is nothing agonising than that.

Because my mother is a true inspiration. She is the most wonderful and inspirational and intelligent woman I could ever have the opportunity to meet. She has courage that makes oceans roar, and faith that moves mountains. Watching her cope with one of the toughest things in her life is the most heart-shatteringly inspirational thing that I have ever encountered.
Everything she does, she does for God. Everything she strives for, she strives for me. Nothing for herself, but everything  in order to protect everyone else around her. She is so noble, so humble, so wonderful.

She renders me speechless.
All that I can say is that:

I love you mum. I really do.

On perseverance.

“Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.”

-Mary Anne Radmacher

Golden.

Some moments in life can only be described as golden: so exuberantly beautiful and precious, the memories of which will forever stain the walls of my heart. Moments like this make me truly treasure my youth; the moments where I feel infinite, where we all felt infinite, and felt like that time would never catch up with us: that we would never grow old, that we would never have to stop being young. Moments where we wished the night would never end, where we could have danced until dawn and played in the snow until frostbite devoured every last muscle.

Moments like these are so eternally inestimable, attempting to describe them will never be adequate. Moments like these are something that you feel; something you breathe; something that absorbs you. They’re the purest form of happiness, the most splendid glimmer of starlight, the only thing that matters in that very time and very place. In moments like this, everything is forgotten. Everything is perfect.

Everything is, and seems like it forever will be, right here and right now. Everything is golden.

Effulgence.

One of the most perfect moments is when life blows you a kiss, and everything around you just seems to glow. Sure home life may be a bit tough and I know that I could have scored a bit higher in that biology paper, but when is life ever flawless? In fact, it’s the moments where things are just that slight bit pressured where everything is so much bolder and brighter, because it’s at that very moment when you lose something where you realise how much you actually have.
Today as I walked around, everything seemed to shine with some form of golden effulgence, and that’s when I realised it: I’m content. I’m truly happy. The warm glow seemed to spread throughout my whole being, and I began to become engulfed by some acute euphoria. I saw my ex smile at another girl for the first time, and it made me happy. Happy for him. Happy that he has finally found someone again who radiates some kind of pleasure into his being. In my peripheral, I saw my friends and realised just how much I owed them, and just how moved I have been by them over the past years. I saw all of their beauty. I saw one of them in her boyfriend’s arms and was happy for her, because she deserves to remain innocent. She deserves to remain untainted from the unpleasantness so many of us have had to endure.
Then before me, I found the warmth and comfort of an embrace. For the first time in a long time, I no longer had to seek reassurance or self-worth or approval, but received just care. Just enough. The amount to know that someone is there to hold my hand when things are a bit scary, and just enough to know that I don’t have to sit at home and think that I’m alone, yet not enough for me to believe that this where all happiness comes from. And that’s just right.

I could be crumbling at rock bottom. Yet I’m not.
I could be wallowing and mourning and wanting the world to stop. But I don’t. Because the day that you realise that you cannot put your life on pause is the day which you realise just how much potential you have: just how far you can actually strive. In a time of crisis, don’t deflate yourself and see the negatives, but endure for the ones who love you: the one’s who stayed. Giving up and giving in would be too selfish when everyone else has given so much to me.

Life is wonderful.

Eternal gratitude.

Dear God,

I just want to thank You for just how wonderful You are. I thank You for always having the most perfect timing, and for always coming to save me just in time. Thank You for never letting go. Thank You for always turning the darkest tragedy into the sweetest symphony.

Thank You for being so perfect.

Amen.

[Image sourced from Flickr]

Inferno.

I want to be able to scream, and cry and turn tables and shout “Look at me! Look at how broken you have made me! Can you see what you have done?” I want to be able to have a voice; to be able to make an impact; to show how I’m slowly crumbling.
But when true tragedy occurs, that’s not what you do: there comes a point when emotions rise to such a point that you can no longer feel anything anymore. Everything is numb. Everything. True tragedy springs your body into survival mode: you live each day as it passes as you realise that you can no longer to trust yourself to live too far in the future in the fear that something else may choose to destruct itself, further shattering the framework of your life. You get up, you work, you sleep. An unending cycle driven by your primal instincts take over as your body no longer wishes to compute anything else in fear that it may too destruct like everything else around it. Sleeping becomes the foundation of the routine: you get up, so you can sleep. You work, so you can come home to sleep. You sleep so that you can get away from it all. Everything just becomes too exhausting.

But the problem is, the anesthetic of pain soon begins to wear off and slowly you start to regain the blood chortling tears of pain throughout your body. Your insides become to be a vast white-hot inferno of pure emotion, yet there is nothing to extinguish the flames. Because that is what pain does. It reduces you to the fetal position. It reduces you to yearn for your mother to fix everything, because you desperately believe that she knows how.

However, the hurt means that you don’t let it show. Instead, you walk around in the empty shell of your being which is still paralysed from all of the shock and pretend that everything is okay even though you know that you’re close to breaking point. You listen to other people’s problems and try to help them as you know that you can’t fix yourself. You become to live a life of listening to avoid feeling what’s inside your core. And every so often that voice comes back in your head to shout “You’re upset because of an exam? You’re crying because you pulled a muscle in the game last night? Well my father left me. But no, please go on because you’re clearly the one that is suffering right now.”
But no. That isn’t right. So instead, you continue to be patient. You continue to listen and you continue to help until it’s finally time to go home, sleep and face it all over again.

You continue life in survival mode.

Difference.

I want to know you. You seem like someone worth knowing. Every day I feel like I’m surrounded by people with hard edges and sour faces but I get the sense that you’re different. Too often people seem to think that they have the answers to everything. Their faces are trapped in permascowls and they can’t be bothered with anything besides their own narcissism. You aren’t like that. You still ask questions. You’re still looking for the answers.

-Ryan O’Connell

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Change.

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colours. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.”

― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

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