Thursday, March 31, 2016

waiting for the funeral

At every occasion I'll be ready for the funeral
At every occasion, once more, it's called the funeral
At every occasion, oh, I'm ready for the funeral
At every occasion, oh, one billion day funeral

 - the funeral, band of horses

for e's birthday this year i surprised him with the first two BOH albums. everything all the time was an album that was on repeat not long after we started dating. i love it from beginning to end. listening to the funeral last week as the album played struck a new chord with me. 

it's been two years since my sweet gram left. i guess there's some part of me that's waiting for that funeral i didn't get to attend. some part of me that is still practicing that goodbye, that i never got to say. 

i miss her everyday.

Thursday, January 7, 2016

lose some to win some.

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.

– Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore
2015 was a shitstorm. i mean a snowstorm. i mean a sandstorm...

if 2014 was my year of disruption, 2015 was the year of rebuilding and rebirth. i set out to redefine who i was, knowing there was plenty of the "old" kbf left inside and trying to find how it could co-exist with the "new" kbf that was undeniably dominant. there's not much else i can say about it that i haven't said here before. there were good times. and bad times. and happy times. and sad times. but man-oh-man it was all so beautiful. there were moments i'd like to write off, but never would because... c'est la vie. and in the end, i gained so much more than i lost.

adios 2015. you were a whirlwind of wonder and realization that left me stronger, sweeter, smarter and softer. on to the next frontier. and no matter how this year may have left me weathered, i can't help but repeat my tradition of welcoming the new year - and all that it brings - with arms wide open. 

happy new year to you + yours.