Musings Before Bed

It’s been a while since my last post. Usually I will open up a word document and type and edit and relax and take days to collect my thoughts… But for some reason, at this moment, I was motivated to open up Live & Muse and write away.

I am feeling frustrated today. I am feeling sad, confused, lonely, pathetic and miserable.

Oddly, I am happy that I feel this. I’ve been so happy. TOO happy. Happiness is constant and I had nothing to write about. No motivation. After all, hearing about why someone is so happy can get excessive. Even I was getting bored with feeling so peaceful. I am happy that I feel something different- even if it is a tad negative. Negativity counteracts positivity. Eventually it’ll attract the good. Magnets taught me so.

None of these feelings have to do with Spain. I still love Spain. In fact, there were days when I wondered how it was fair for me to feel so happy while knowing that there are people around the world struggling to find food for themselves and their families. I would wonder how it was fair for me to feel so blissful when my Dad was back home struggling to make payments on our house and his business. I felt so happy that I felt guilty. I didn’t understand how it was fair for me to feel that good.

But now, I understand. And somehow, God always helps me find clarity.

The world is oddly balanced. There is an indescribable harmony that is formed from the intricate amount of human emotions I experience. That sounds confusing. So let me explain. Today, I am sad. Yesterday, I was over-tired. But a week ago, I was incandescently happy. Everybody needs a balance. The sadness I feel today will only seek to heighten the happiness I hope to feel tomorrow. I need variation.

I am a passionate person.

If there is one thing I can say that I’ve learned form being in Spain, it’s that passion is not constant. One cannot be continuously passionate about everything in their life. A person needs to experience highs and lows in order to reignite their passion. I realized that disillusionment and passion are similar. My current disillusionment towards my major and my academic responsibilities reflect my passionate nature. In regards to that aspect of my life, I am feeling immensely low. I was so high-strung in high school. I never gave myself time to recharge and analyze how I was feeling. I went a thousand miles an hour all the time. To the point where people didn’t even take me seriously anymore. I never want to be that person again.

I am happy with how I am now. I am real. I am me. I am not always happy. I am not always sad. I am energetic when I want to be and I am monotonous when I am tired. I am always real.

Despite all of that, I am so irritated with myself right now. Although I’ve grown to accept my personality, I still have days when I want nothing but to scold myself.

Today is one of those days…

I’m pretty over myself today.

When people describe me, words like nurturing or caring or loving always somehow get thrown into the mix. And I can’t say I disagree or don’t understand why I get described with those adjectives… Cause I do understand. I think at this point of my life, at age 20, I can finally say that I know myself extremely well.

I am passionate, loyal, loving, excessive, energetic, intense, emotional, logical, impatient, tolerant, insecure, socially oblivious, empathetic, and most of all, passionate.

I also used to be driven… I don’t know what happened to my limitless motivation. I think I am in a stagnant state of academia. I don’t know why I stopped applying myself. Well, I think I do know. But I have yet to fully face that. I haven’t even confronted myself about those issues. But tomorrow is a new day… So I’m going to let procrastination win yet again.

On the other hand, for the first time in a long time, I think I can say that I know what I want. Although that sounds uncertain, it’s true. I know what I want out of life. I know what type of person I want to become. I know what type of person I want to end up with. And I know what I want to do with the rest of my life.

First and foremost,  I want to learn how to put myself first. (True Story: I forced myself to put this in after I was already finished writing.)

I want to find the love of my life. (So I may put them first.)

I want him to care for me, to protect me and to force me to put my guard down. I tend to mother everyone around me and neglect myself in the process. I need him to put me first, even before himself sometimes. Of course there is always a balance. I need this future man of mine to realize when he needs to focus on himself, and when I need him to focus on me. I will never demand attention from someone. Instead, I need them to realize when I am in most need of affection. I need them to force me to take the affection. I tend to fight every form of comfort around me. I am so insecure about comforts. They never seem to be stable. I hate temporary things. I hate relying on temporary comforts.

I want to be a writer.

A speech-writer. A free-lance blogger. All I know is that I want to write for the rest of my life. I want to write about my emotions and the world around me and the experiences I encounter along the way. I love writing. It’s the only thing in this world that helps me collect my thoughts and feel worthy. I am so bad at expressing to people how I’m feeling. Most people don’t believe this. Although I can be eloquent with people and analyze and react and respond to certain situations… I am completely incapable of talking about relevant and important feelings I am having. I have never fully discussed my previous (current?) eating disorder with anyone. I have never discussed how my family makes me feel. I spend hours every day talking about useless stuff to everyone around me. I talk about my family or my friends or people I love (not useless- but not what needs to be discussed). But I won’t talk about how I am feeling. People never realize that. It is rare for me to describe, in detail, how things make me feel. I’ll express anger or frustration at an event, but I won’t talk about my personal thoughts or past events. It’s really hard to get me to do that. Writing is the only time I do that. The only time I pour my soul out. The only time I can soothe my tears. Or hold them back… By providing an alternate release. Words. I love words.

I want to be a mother.

I want to care for someone. A mini-me. A little combined version of me and the future man I love most in the world. I want to tuck my little future piece of me in and let him or her know that they are so loved. I want to embody my parents but refine the things that struck me negatively. I want to fix their mistakes. I want to make new ones- that aren’t too detrimental. I want to learn from them. I want the chance to teach someone everything I know so that they may be better than me. I want to instill them with morals and love and the desire to put others before themselves. I want to motivate them to leave a positive mark on this world.

I always have to remind myself that there is so much for me to do before I can realize my life-long aspiration of being a mother. I need to do volunteer-work, travel, and find myself… Do as much as I can while I can so I have minimal regrets. Yet fighting my maternal and biological instincts and the need to get settled and start a family is getting harder and harder year-by-year. And I am only 20. I think this is somehow attributed to my very traditional and Arab familial upbringing.

I want to love myself again.

I want to value myself.

I want to people to describe me with a loving fondness and an upbeat disposition. I want to be there to lift someone up when they’re feeling down.

Most of all, I want to leave a positive mark in this world.

Dear world, I am here. And after I die, I want the world to know that I WAS HERE. And I made a positive difference somehow. Even if the only thing I manage to do in this world is make other people feel self-assured and loved, that will be enough. Even if the only time I am remembered is for a brief laugh or a reminiscent smile, that will be enough. As long as the memories bring a small surge of love into the person’s heart- that is enough.

Sometimes I only wish that a person would make me feel that way. That a person would sit me down and make me talk. Make me open up.

Force me to open up. Tear my walls down. Make me cry. Break my dam and let the water flood out of the locks I’ve put on my heart.

Kill me with kindness, and I just might reward you with love.

A love unlike any other.

I want that. And I am confident that I will get what I want.

I think I feel my passion coming back. It’s seeping through my veins and filling me with a warmth that feels refreshingly familiar.

It has to be real. Cause there is definitely no sun to mistake it for in Spain.

Oh hey you, it’s been a while.


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