The Flowers

A few times a week, A. will pick me up a flower, send a midday photo text during lunch, and then present me with his gift at the end of the day. He began doing this in November after noticing that the florist next to his new job asked passersby to take a fallen bud from a table. Even though he says it takes him no effort or money, I not only adore the gesture, but have come to appreciate the thought he puts into styling each flower for its shot.

Three years in, it's a cute and lovely surprise. The man who's never been into the flowers, the chocolates, or any of that romantic Valentine's Day hoopla, has me suddenly smiling and feeling as if I'm being wooed all over again.

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Being True

These days I've been trying to become more in tune with my gut. To listen closely and then not go against what it's asking me to do out of sheer stubbornness.

When there's a decision to be made, I think we usually know what we're pulling for. It's like that trick where you flip a coin and before it even lands in your heart you already know what you're wishing for. I know I do. The asking for other's opinions and seeking advice on what to do sometimes just serves as validation, reassurance that it's okay to want what we want, to do what we want to do, that later on we won't find ourselves peeking over our shoulder to discover we're standing alone. (It also gives a direction to point a finger towards if things go awry.)

But I go against my own grain. There's several reasons for it - seeking attention, pity, comfort, unrealistic expectations, this crazy notion that everyone else comes first, etc. - but at the end of it all I just end up feeling unsettled, as if I'm not quite comfortable with where I am, who I'm with, or what I've agreed to. All because I couldn't be true to myself.

How much more happier would I be if I were always doing what I truly wanted? Instead of going out of my way to meet up with someone on a hectic day, I could just spend a quiet evening at home and be completely unapologetic about it. I wouldn't have to shuffle between excuses or relenting, but rather affirmations and acceptance, standing firmly in honesty.

Being authentic means being open about makes you you. Because if you can't even stand up for what makes you tick, then how will anyone get to know who you truly are?

Image: kal barteski

In a Swirl of the Classical

I've never been a regular listener of classical music, but in the last week have suddenly taken to it like a feather grabs the wind. It's been one those things you never knew you craved until you get that first shiver and suddenly you're swirling waywardly about in its clutches, leaping, crying out for more. It soothes my mind to such mesmerizer that if I close my eyes I can almost feel the pirouettes on my brain. Can I admit that I've nearly been brought to tears at the realization that such emotion could emerge from the fragile strings of a violin?

I always thought I needed lyrics to sing along to in order to feel connected to the music, but it isn't so. Now unless I look at the title of the composition, I wouldn't know if I'm listening to German, Italian, or French because it's all one and the same: concentrated beauty, bouncing between the space of heavy and light, making its mark through the air.

Classical music blends in too well. It so easily fades into the back of my consciousness until I come back to during an arrestingly beautiful moment and realize that it'd been playing all along. The music is happy to exist without competing for attention. It isn't exhausting nor jealous, but simply breathes and in turn allows you to flow freely through its space, at your own time.

When the music is over, the silence feels so still. Just like the darkness is defined by an absence of light, there's music and then, a sudden void when the movement has passed on.

Do you listen to classical music? Which composers do you love?

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Birthday: Celebrated

On Friday I begun my 31st birthday by receiving some relieving news (the cancer is not genetic!) and ended my special day surrounded by family, friends, and really good Thai food. I felt like such a cool kid sitting there knowing that everyone came out to celebrate me. Even the close friends who couldn't join us for dinner, but instead swung by the restaurant just to give me a tight hug or joined us at the bar later on to spend a few hours with the group, made me feel happy, loved, and these days I couldn't have needed a better gift. Their time, kindness, and laughter is what's gotten me through the weeks and while my friends have really come through one-on-one, to see everyone gathered at one table was really humbling. I couldn't believe my luck at having cultivated all these beautiful little circles of friends who have been cheering me on through the night. Where would I even be without them?

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Thoughts of Grandeur

When I went in for my lumpectomy on Friday I decided that I was going to put on my tough girl outfit and face this like a superhero. Although I was extremely nervous (and my morning injection for an axillary sentinel lymph node biopsy burned like hell), I wanted to pew! pew! past the fear, joke around with my mom and sis, and let everyone keeping tabs know that they could relax. Homegirl's got this.

I needed to act all "boom pow!" and put people at ease because in turn I needed them to be strong for me. If I showed them that this was no biggie, then they could feed that idea right back to me. And it worked. Through Facebook comments, text messages, and phone calls, I had a steady flow of kickass positivity that kept me going until those final minutes when I was ushered into the creepy operating room and laid out like Jesus on the table. My body shook from the nerves and cold, but before I could even start counting from 10, I was waking up, in tears, and looking up at my family.

This stage was finally over. I didn't have to pretend anymore.