The Beauty of Life

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom”

Sometimes I sit and I wonder if anyone really knows me, if anyone really gets me. Is there anyone on this planet who carries a part of me with them wherever they go? I don’t think so. And sometimes that hurts, sometimes that makes me feel lonelier than I could ever tell you. But then I realise that someone does know me. I know me. And I’ve learned that sometimes that’s enough.

It’s okay to love yourself. It’s okay to be your own best friend, it’s okay to allow yourself to explore who you are, on your own. It’s okay.

I think everyone’s searching for someone to share their lives with, to share their self with, and I think that a lot of people hide behind protective walls. It’s funny how it’s those same walls that are binding us to ourselves, we’re all wearing masks to avoid getting hurt but if we don’t remove those masks, and break down those walls then we can miss out on so much.

Maybe the thing to do is to break down the walls and the barriers for yourself first. Allow yourself to feel, allow yourself to get to know who you are. If you’re happy, allow yourself to feel and revel in that happiness, even if it’s just for a second. If you’re sad, allow yourself to be sad but know that you don’t have to stay in that place.

That’s the beauty of life. It’s ever changing. And with every day you’re still on this planet, you grow that little bit stronger, that little bit smarter; a new facet of your being develops. There’s so much of you left to know. And one day, seemingly the same as the last, your life will collide with another, and you can find yourselves together. And, I don’t know, I think the possibility of that, makes the lonely moments bearable.

There comes a day when you realise that the risk it takes to blossom may be worth it.

A Mother's Joy

On the whiteboard that hangs in our kitchen, my mum scrawls a reminder to herself in black marker that squeaks its imprint onto the white space.
She puts the lid back on, a smile playing on her face.
A sudden laugh bursts out of her, the happiness lighting up her eyes.
"Isn't it nice to have a mother who can write?" she asks me.
I laugh back bewildered and with it embarrassment and something akin to shame masks her previous joy.
I cringe. Stop. Try to understand.
She slowly explains:
"I was just thinking how amazing it would have been if my mum had been taught how to write".

Light

Let the light touch you. Let it infiltrate your body until every shroud of darkness within you has to run and flee from every crevice that it clings to.

Let the light touch you. Let it burn its way through the worry that plagues you, and revel in the peace that follows. You deserve it, I promise.

Let the light touch you. Let it be a reminder that, like breathing, light is an intrinsic part of who you are. Look around you, the universe reminds us of that with every new day.

Let the light touch you. Let it illuminate your soul until the days it’s not there become the rare ones instead.

Let the light touch you.

Vulnerablity

Sometimes I get hit by the fact that we all live in this world where we feel like we cannot truly be ourselves. We’re conditioned from a young age to conform to be someone based solely on a specific combination of qualities we are said to possess. We all wear masks and have problems that we feel we cannot share with other people because we fear judgement. Because we live in a society where being judged is the norm. And God, do we try and deny it. We all pretend that we’ve got it all figured out, while we unknowingly watch other people do the same, and we convince ourselves that they’ve somehow truly got it all together. And it’s only in the dark of night, when the masks seem to slip away from their rigid guard over our imperfections, that we truly see each other as we are. Human. It’s only when you have that 4am conversation with the person you could have sworn you knew, that you wholly understand that we are all going through life the best we can. And none of us have it all figured out. It’s in that moment, I think, that we breathe a sigh of relief as we realise that we cannot, and we should not, be defined by a list of set qualities.. We’re ever-changing and there’s beauty in that. We’re human and we are not meant to be copies of one another. How many times can you say that you’ve looked at someone else and wished you could be more like them. Or you’ve looked at yourself and you’ve cried because you just can’t seem to get it all worked out, and why is it so difficult for you and yet so easy for others. It’s funny how vulnerability is said to be synonymous with weakness when in actuality vulnerability is precisely our salvation. It’s in the moments that we are most vulnerable that we are the strongest, because it is in that moment that we let our masks down and we truly become ourselves. In my eyes, vulnerability is synonymous with beauty and I hope one day it’s not something that I fear so fiercely.