The stench of sweaty pits
my stained black shirt in exchange
for your stained grey sheets.
Mixed fluids and liquid feelings
I left unsatisfied, a little bewildered,
and a little inspired by brief flashes
of pleasure –
born of your ardent devotion
to the impossible challenge.
Tit for tat, make up for the first time
when I wanted it to stop and he didn’t.
Your perfect teeth remind of the first
set that grazed my nipples.
You are a do-over of a night
of unresolved tensions,
My body refuses what my heart confuses:
an entangled love with thrashing legs.
I could’ve taken the couch instead
but I wanted you to ask me to [stay]
come to bed.
Father, how we search for your embrace
that you would guide my shaking hand
and sit beside me as my mind whirrs and splutters
that you would wipe the sweat that crowns my head
and douse me in the cool waters of your laughter
mincing your thoughts and
garlic for mushrooms,
whistling in the evenings
some Schubertian tune,
there is no one that sounds
quite like you.
one hand steering,
the other hand holding
until we make it past
the chaotic street crossing.
a little hard to follow.
in the evenings,
breaking bread with aceto.
resting, eyes closed,
in the thick of strings,
I wonder where you go
when the music begins.
in a thousand tongues
I tell you,
I love you
The long awaited birthday post. I have begun to hate reflection because it is a harrowing process of pointing out all the things I could’ve or should’ve done better. This year I’ve come to another iteration of my True Limiting Factor: striving to change myself (ironically)!
The obsession with being better, of growing and having made progress has shackled me. Has made me depressed. And makes me depressed. Somebody I consider a mentor told me that she once regarded her eating disorder as a thorn in her side, something she wished would just disappear. Something she begged God or the universe to take away. Then, at some point the thought stirred: what if this thorn was meant to teach me something? What if all these vices and destructive habits are clinging onto me because they are attracted to my punishment-based, self-hating mindset?
How can I be with the things I loathe about myself, such that I no longer hate myself at all? How can I accept that this living, eternal being that I am is enough, as I am?
See, it’s the same track over and over again and I’m getting tired of hearing it. The driving impulse to fix myself and try harder – how ludicrous to think I have failed even at loving myself! I’ll stop fiddling with the thorns, entrapping them ever deeper. God will perfect me His own way, as the only doctor who can heal my hurts and habits.
Today, I am a new creation. 22 with some two grey hairs.
Sophie, you are loved when you are late to class, eat too much, speak too hastily, snap impatiently, lose your new gadgets, spend too much, neglect your responsibilities, procrastinate, sit idly, think inappropriately, selfishly, and carnally. You are loved when you have nothing to say, when you feel like you don’t know a thing. I love you still.
You were there with me, you were there with me, you were there with me Jesus!
I was curled up, eyes were dried up, I thought I couldn’t cry harder.
But you were there with me and you were crying with me
and you gave me my breath.
You are the one who sees me,
you are the one who defends me
– who can be against me?
You were there when I just wanted sleep,
made me feel like I could just be
in my pain and weakness.
Thank you for your peace today
You are my everlasting Father.
Might as well write a post, right?
The defining moment yesterday: I carried the laundry basket in my arms and walked across the hallway; a picture of the birth canal. I thought: twenty one years ago today, I was a singularity. From where there was no consciousness, I was brought to life. And here I am with the fullness of moments, strings of thoughts and feelings, present and past knit together. Here is a snapshot of life as I moved forward through to the end of the hallway, making my way to a graceful exit.
What do I do with a day of affirmations? Shouldn’t I have felt happier? Why wasn’t I able to embrace the love I was receiving? Somehow I couldn’t tap into the authenticity of people’s messages. I think I’ve always had this erroneous idea that I must strive in order to be loved- that I must give more in order to deserve kindness. If I truly understood their hearts for a moment – the thoughts of my brother, my sister, my best friends and my acquaintances about me – I’d be brought to tears.
I think we must remind ourselves of the absolute reality that we are intrinsically valuable. God only makes remarkable creatures and He delights in me. He likes me, no matter what I do- just because I am.
It is a privilege to be surrounded by such talented and amazing people in my acapella group. It is a privilege to learn French, even though it takes me five hours to type one page. It is a privilege to send out an email at 2am for my sorority. As my friend so wisely put it: “even on my worst days, my resting state is all the way up here”. Yes! I am resting perpetually on the apex; I am wonderful and I do not have to prove it. Thank you Jesus! If I am already loved, if I am already victorious, what is holding me back from loving the things that I am doing, the things that I am a part of? Nothing. I am walking in His light today.
my love might not be a showering of words
but a slow, observant eye.
it is not ‘i love you’
so much in letters
as in a splash of colour.
it is the every day,
the clapping of your heels,
almost imperceptible nods,
when you Google-searched the difference
between baked and roasted salmon.