General, love, Personal

Seven Feet Deep

An excerpt from a journal entry written on August 13, 2006 at 8:19 pm, while I was on vacation with Marvs and my sister:

“On Swimming

You wake up sore the next day, wondering what you’d done to be in such pain. It’s sort of like sex that way. Right now my shoulders hurt after showing off my skills in the water. The butterfly stroke is not as easy as it used to be.

I like deep water. It’s more of a test– of my strength, of my commitment. Sadly, I always forget:  the deeper the water, the more difficult it is to come up for air.

[Redacted] was probably only seven feet deep. Deep enough to completely cover my head. Deep enough to drown in. Deep enough that I can’t just pop out of the water and gasp for air. So I shouldn’t beat myself up for wishing that things could be the way they used to be. That I could be here, on St. Maarten, missing him and his grin, while he’s back at home, missing me, too.”

I take great pains to avoid the subjects of dating and relationships entirely. If you’re not my sister, Michelle,  or Johara, you basically have no idea what’s going on in my romantic life. Most of this is just due to my secretive Scorpio nature (“But,” you protest, “you write a personal blog!” I know, I know. Perhaps that’s why I don’t post very often?).  The other part of it is… the more I discuss dating and relationships, the more I have to examine the reasons why I am the perpetually single friend.

I find myself reading A Belle in Brooklyn‘s Ask.FM page nearly every day for two reasons: 1)  because people ask some outlandish questions and 2) her answers are straightforward and often HILARIOUS. A few months ago, a girl wrote in asking her what to do because the dude she’d been dating and wanted a relationship with was flying to another city to visit some woman. She was understandably hurt and asked how to get past it. Demetria told her:

You get through hurt. You don’t pass it by. Sit with it. It’s okay to hurt. Just don’t sink in it.

I read that, and something clicked.  I found my journal from that summer and read the whole thing. And I realized– I allowed myself to sink.

It wasn’t that deep. But I let the crushing weight of my hurt force me to the soft, sandy ocean floor, just yards away from the shore. And I’ve been floating here, for years. I learned how to breathe. It’s nice and warm and peaceful. I am alone and I prefer it that way.

After him, I chose a long string of unavailable men. That worked just fine for me. There was the startlingly handsome guy whose last girlfriend had cheated on him (and humiliated him, apparently. I don’t remember all the details) and so he became an avowed bachelor. There was the artistic guy whose girlfriend had also cheated on him; this one took her back and cheated sporadically with me for revenge.  Then there was the dude who’d been in a relationship for over five years, was newly single, and just wanted have some fun. He was the one who pointed out to me how utterly unavailable I was. He was really into the law of attraction and told me, “My dear, I don’t believe in coincidences. You keep meeting unavailable men because that is who you are. You’re not available at all. You’ve got a fucking fortress around your heart and you don’t even know it.” I’m pretty sure I just laughed at him and brushed it off.

It’s been eight years since that trip to St. Maarten, and a little over six years since I sat in E’s car, and he turned up the volume when Omarion’s “Ice Box” came on the radio and he pointed at me, laughing, saying, “This is so you.” The last guy I dated told me he’d never met anyone as cold as me. I have to admit, it kinda hurt my feelings at first. But I dismissed him, telling myself that he was just mad I no longer wanted to date him, that he was just desperate to push my buttons, to elicit one last reaction out of me before I walked away.

But what if he’s right?

What if I can’t be anything else from beneath this sea?

love, Personal

The Moment

We were in his car, a brand new Mercedes Benz SUV. He changed lanes, and someone honked wildly at us.  He seemed bewildered; he didn’t know why this person was so angry. I said, “You cut him off.” He said, “Oops.” He hadn’t looked. And in that moment, I saw my future.

I saw more Saturdays like this. Brunch dates and hand-holding and awkward kisses and clumsy sex that was never rough in the right way. Me, realizing that he refused to acknowledge when he was wrong. Me, planning our every outing because he never seemed to notice what I liked to do. Him, inviting me to Sunday dinners at his mother’s house. Me, driving us everywhere because I didn’t trust him not to get us killed. Him, telling our mutual friends that I was his perfect girl. A  year, then two, of this routine. A diamond ring, pretty, but nothing like the kind of ring I’d ever wear. Me, saying yes, because he was a good guy. A lavish wedding, because he could afford it. And me, frustrated and bored, finding my way back to my old friend. An affair, brief and painful and illuminating. Me, realizing I’d been lying to myself. Me, hurting him when I walked away.

I saw this all play out like a movie montage, scene after scene, quick flashes of what my life would be like if I didn’t end this now. I looked down at the angry driver, then over at him, as he fiddled with his side mirrors. My stomach dropped.  When we finally reached our destination, he helped me out of the car and grasped at my hand. I let it slip past his outstretched fingers.

“We have to go,” I said. “We’re going to be late.”


love, Personal, Writing

Random Things I Think During a Conversation With My Crush

  1. Why are you so cute?
  2. Those dimples. Don’t smile at me because I’ll blush.
  3. I forgot to wear mascara today.
  4. It doesn’t really matter that I forgot because I have on my glasses. You can’t see my eyes. Would it be very obvious if I were to take off the glasses and bat my eyelashes at you?  They’re pretty long even without mascara.  My eyes are among my better features. Yes. I’ll take the glasses off.
  5. Great, now you think I have something in my eyes. Yes, I do. My eyes are clouded by visions of that smile.
  6. Note to self: suck in your gut.
  7. Are you flirting with me? I can’t tell.
  8. Am I flirting with you?  I don’t think so.  I’m just talking to you. Because, you know, I don’t date men like you. I just think you’re so. freaking. cute.
  9. You just sold me two boxes of your daughter’s Girl Scout cookies. You are NOT flirting with me. You just want my money.
  10. But then I complained that I didn’t need two boxes, what I need is to go to the gym and you looked directly at my hips and said, “I don’t see what for.”  That’s kinda flirty, right?
  11. I think I forgot how to flirt. This is a sad state of affairs. I once went to a flirting workshop with Johara and I already knew every tip that came out of the speaker’s mouth. What happened?
  12. Okay, let me think.  I’ll mirror you. You smile and show your dimples, I’ll smile and show my…dimple.
  13. How did I end up with only one dimple? It’s so weird. I’m so asymmetrical.  This is why I’m not exactly pretty. Attractive, yes, but pretty, no.  Don’t look at my left cheek, there’s nothing there but acne scars.
  14. That reminds me. I need a peel. Must call dermatologist ASAP.
  15. You play with your pen, then turn to face me.  Your belly button is pointed directly toward mine.
  16. That’s a good sign.  That’s a good sign!
  17. I love the way that sweater drapes over your biceps.  You’ve lost some weight and you look amazing.
  18. I also love that you always joke about how smart I am. It makes it seem like you are somehow in awe of me.
  19. I really want to touch you right now. Your hand is so close to me.  I could laugh, hard, and my hand could land on yours, lightly. But that would be too much, I think.
  20. An interruption.  We’ll continue this another day. Yes. Smile at me again.  Thank you.
Personal, Poetry, travel

Excuses For Why We Failed At Love

More from Warsan Shire.

This video makes me want to go to France. My parents took me to Paris when I was two and a half.  My father likes to tell the story about how, in the crowded Eiffel Tower elevator, I looked over his shoulder at the city below us and said, “Uh oh.”  My mother likes to remind me that I made friends with the German girl whose family stayed in the room next to us. And Japanese tourists at Versailles wanted to take pictures of me.  “Maybe they’d never seen such a cute Black baby before, I don’t know.”  I haven’t been back to Paris since. I know I’ll make it there some day.

My excuse?  Oh, there are many.  Too many to bore you with right now…

News, Personal


I had my day all planned out.  I was going to:

  • wake up early.
  • detangle/shampoo/deep condition my hair.
  • work on my homework for yoga teacher training.
  • cook a white bean and kale stew.
  • write a post here, about last night’s meditation class. Laurie read our energy again. This time my energy presented itself to her as a tiny, trickling waterfall. She surmised that it meant my mantra work is beginning to take effect.  That little cascade is divine love,  making its way into my life.
  • take Lauren’s Vinyasa class tonight.

Instead, I woke up late, at 9:45.  I suppose my body needed the rest.

I languished in bed, reading The Path to Love and scrolling through my twitter timeline intermittently. I got out of bed around 10:15,  parted my hair into eight sections to begin the process of detangling.  Checked the mail, made myself some lime-flavored water with my Citrus Zinger. Then I returned to my room to see a breaking news bulletin interrupting a daytime talk show. Shooting at an elementary school in Newtown, CT.

At first it seemed that the situation was under control, that most of the children were lead from the school unscathed.

Now we know better.  Twenty-seven people are dead. Most of them were students.  Babies.

And now all I can do is pray.

love, Yoga

Smile! It’s Monday.

I woke up this morning feeling quite ill. I’m still queasy and a bit lightheaded. Hopefully I’ll feel better after some tea.

While I recuperate, try out a free online Pranayama class with Kia Miller.  I haven’t done it yet, but I think I will later today.  During yoga teacher training on Saturday, we had a lecture called Pranayama Basics. Laurie, the head trainer and owner of the program, wants us to practice Viloma and Ujjayi just to begin our pranayama practices.  I got lucky and found this practice  on Yoga Dork yesterday.  I already do ujjayi throughout my Vinyasa classes.  I’ll try out viloma before bed.

I’ve got work to do, so I’ll just leave you with this little gem from Henry Miller, found on my favorite blog ever, Brain Pickings:


Real love is never perplexed, never qualifies, never rejects, never demands. It replenishes, by grace of restoring unlimited circulation. It burns, because it knows the true meaning of sacrifice. It is life illuminated.


Have a great day, loves!