Stuck between Icebergs and Volcanoes

I struggle between deciding if I want to show my emotions or act like I do not have any. Most of the times I decide not to show any, but there are few people that I connect with and they see all of my emotions. I open myself up completely, but even then they feel as if I hide many things about myself. I do not. Unfortunately I do not know as much about my family as I would hope to know. My family is a family of secrets, with silence that would get buried into the grave with their bodies when their time has come.

However, now I am stuck between the middle of wanting to show emotions, but not wanting to scare people away. I fear that if I let people now about my crazy mood swings they will see that I am not stable or change my first name to crazy because of the slightest of things effect me. Many people do not see any issues with the small little things, but that is not me. The small little things say the most to me because there are actions that the person themselves do not even realize.

Suddenly, my calls aren’t answered and my text do not get replies or get very late replies. Do not get me wrong this was always consistent, but there came a time when I felt that changing back to how it use to be in the beginning. Now I am questioning whether I should leave it alone for the summer, because if I show my crazy emotions and stop being cold hearted then people might leave anyways.

I remember you beautiful, incredibly thoughtful

Timeless, in the sense that we forget why man made time or that clocks even exist when we are together

But after I started showing my feelings things became a little different

You asked me if I like flowers and I said no

They are beautiful things I get attach to and then they slowly die and I am only left with a memory

Well, today you are my flower and you are slowly dying

Ever day a petal slowly carresses the ground as you miss commitments you gave yourself

And the rain starts to pour on us

I am hoping our rain will not drown you, but instead relive you

So that we can be beautiful again

But my insecurities have become the thorns to your rose

And I feel the thoughts of other women, greater opportunities, someone you could spend more time with, pushing you away

And time becomes relevant again, I won’t see you in three months

So I sit here wondering is it your fault or mine?

Early Morning Thoughts (Parents, Grades, and Boys)

It seems that I am getting worse, academically. I just received my final grades and most of them were B’s. I was never a B student, always an A student. And I understand that the courses are harder and I am no longer in high school, but still. That is not something my parents understand, They are unaware of the intensity of the courses and how much effort I put into my assignments before I hand them in. However, I can say I know that I did not work as hard as I could have this semester. I know I could be stronger academically and that is my goal for next semester. I want to limit my grades to only seeing one B, instead of 4 B’s and 3 A’s.

I know I can do it. My parents have made to many sacrifices for me not to be able to accomplish receiving high grades. I need to make them proud because the only thing they ask for is for me to focus on my education and nothing else (this nothing else usually means boys). However, I did start talking to someone throughout the semester and I know that there were times that I rushed through my work to be able to spend time with him and that could have affected my grades tremendously. I left many things for last minute, and he even told me so. Next semester, I will not leave anything for last minute and I will be able to be an A student again.

I am so sorry for the rambling, I am just reflecting on what I could improve on for next semester and I thought I should share my early morning thoughts with you guys.

Voice is Lost

I feel like I cannot write anymore. I feel that  I have to go back and rewrite and edit everything that I want to say. And that is great because writing is a process except for the fact that I edit every single sentence before I even manage to place it on paper, or in this case, a computer.

Before, writing use to be a way to let out my feelings, to try and relate to others, to say all the words that I could not speak. Within my first year of college, writing became learning how to sound like everyone else in order to receive a good grade because my voice was not good enough academically. Which I completely understand, I am definitely grateful to learn about transitions and ways to make sentences sound better. But with all this academic work I lost my voice.

As a result, I do not know who I am as a writer anymore. That is part of the reason that I have not written as much as I wanted to. There have been so many times that I have something to say, but cannot find a way to write it. I will start a sentence and before it was even on the page I  already mentally erased it. I will shut my computer off with anger and try writing in a notebook like the good old days, but that did not work either.

It has been so hard to just let go. I was brought up in schools where my voice mattered more heavily than everything else.  But college is different. All the grammar and ideas perfectly articulated matters more heavily than my voice. In trying to focus on learning grammar and how to make my idea clear for someone else to understand got me to lose focus on identifying  and including my voice. Since I strived to be a good writer academically I feel that I have failed to be a good writer creatively. And that has gotten me here. Wishing that I could find my voice again or at least let the words flow like they use to.

Suffocating Without the Honesty that Use to Be.

To be honest I do not have a working title. I don’t have a title at all. I am so tired of identifying myself through other people and always having to live up to who other people want me to be. Sometimes I just want to be mad and be rude to everyone, but I cannot. I know I am going to hurt them and i don’t want to. I am just so stressed. It sucks that I cant even write like I use to. I cannot even be honest in my writing because my brain is too busy trying to correct every single word I put down on paper to sound more “intelligent”. WHAT THE FUCK! I have lost my voice, I do not know who I am anymore, not like I ever did, but it was much more clear in writing. And now I can’t even do that. Nothing feels good enough anymore.

I want my writing to be good so bad, but instead I cannot even connect with what I wrote five minutes after I wrote it. I am always thinking too hard about what I am writing and not letting my emotions flow. It could be because I do not want to be a cry baby anymore, but being one does not seem to bad if that means I get to feel my emotions for at least five minutes of the day. Most times I am not in-tune with my feelings. I just walk around with emptiness. Most times I am not even thinking anything relevant, but when I do think of something to say. That is as close to honest as I could get, especially lately. College has ruined my identity as it tries to build up my presence to resemble white supremacy. I definitely do not see my reflection in the mirror anymore, but even worse, I no longer see my soul in my writing.

I wish my writing could just flow like it use to. Instead of having to think of the audience. And I am so sorry to those who read my blog before, I cannot promise you the same honesty that existed in my writing before college. You know, i never could see how people could start to lose their humbleness and roots when they achieved a higher ranking in life, but going to college opened my eyes. And boy is it difficult to remain authentic when you are living in a world where you are not good enough and you have to act like you think you are. Mostly so that you wont break or others wont see how your stones turn into straws that they could suck the blood out and leave you without oxygen. But it is hard to stop breathing for that long of time. I am suffocating trying to prove that I have a reason to survive.


My grandfather died in 2004, I was seven at the time. I remember how it happened vividly, but I vaguely remember why he died. I understood through conversations with my grandmother and aunt that he had lung cancer and was very sick for a couple of months, but I cannot remember one moment where I saw him like that. He was always strong, loving, caring. It pains me to say that I cannot remember a moment where I was there for them because I cannot recall a moment where I felt he needed help.

When he died, my cousins prayed for my grandfather to speak them in his dreams. They told me stories about seeing him on the edge of their beds and holding a conversation with him. I prayed for my grandfather to not come out while I slept because I knew I would be afraid of him and I did not want him to think that I feared him because I love him. I think he heard me because he never came into my dreams, until yesterday.

I had my first dream with him. He came up to me, held my hand, and we started walking. I woke with no clue that I had dreamt this until I spoke to my father and the words slipped out of my mouth. “I had a dream with grandpa last night.” And thats when I noticed that I did. “Sometimes we see those who have passed in our dreams” he replied. I never knew he saw him too.

Although it was a dream that lasted a short period of time, it was one that I have not stopped thinking about since I spoke to my dad. Why now grandpa? Am I ready to hear from you? Is 18 the age you were waiting for? Are you trying to tell me something?

Please, do not wait eleven years to speak to me again. I miss you.

Double Consciousness

Its been a while since I felt that I have had a safe place to write, and I still have not found that space. All of the pressures of society follow me everywhere I go and disturb my place of comfort. “You are too fat.” “You are too skinny.” “you are too quiet. “You don’t speak up enough.” “you are sweet and innocent.” “I expected better.” “You are…”

More likely than not,  I am turned into a product of those surrounding me. The double consciousness that Dubois expressed lives inside me every single day, as heat is added to my identity the more it grows, like bacteria. One that does not die, but only continues to evolve like a flu. Every year I ingest a flu shot filled with confidence and courage to speak out, but the growing ignorance changes every year through various experience. “Wow, you are actually smart.” “I’m glad to have you in this class because you bring in a new perspective.” “You should speak up more, your experiences could be very valuable to the other students.”

No one knows how my blood bubbles as the words struggle to come out. Each syllable an eagle growing in my stomach as the crow is not too far behind, ready to kill words that resemble my truth. People tell me that it is not true through their expressions because of readings they have studied in a different class. Many fail to realize that my truth is not in the hands of the many you have read. My ears turn hot as the words I say are watered down by my red cheeks. And After the silence, the words that I should have said slides the quick sand I nicknames my heart. Lost and never to be found again, not even a little bit; no matter how many times another situation comes again it will never bring up the words I once wanted to say. They are lost with my identity as I see it transform into what others say of me.

To be liked

It is so weird to be the girl that is liked. Boys always came up to me because I was the nice girl, the innocent one that they wanted to toy with. It is hard to think that someone would actually like me for me without their personal goals in it. The last boy I was with pursued me because I was a goal. He told me he saw me and told his friends, “She’s going to be my girlfriend,” as if I was his short term goal. The only success he had to hold on to until recently. I realized it was always a game and a test to himself to see how long he could keep me around. And once he got bored, there was no effort, and I got bored too.

But to actually be liked and respected and not a goal or some girl to pass time or have fun with feels amazing.

I am an Exceptionality

I am taking a course called Exceptionalities for Students in Elementary School. We learned that people who are disabled are to be called people first. That may sound crazy in the sense that it seems that most of us already do, but the truth is that we don’t. How many times have you heard someone refer to a child with a disability as “the disabled child,” as if they were their disability before there were people. The language of people first can change the worth of someone’s identity by simply flipping a couple of words around. I am learning a lot in this class, but one of the most important things I have learned is that I am an exceptionality.

It is called Culturally Linguistically Diverse. it is when a child from a different cultural background starts to have trouble in academics because of the cultural difference. To expand the understanding of how native culture can interfere with secondary culture I will use a boy in the text book we read. The boy was asked, “what are the four seasons?” He answered, “fishing season, deer season, duck season, and rabbit season.” Technically he is not wrong depending on the culture, but he got it incorrect because of the Americanized education. This does not mean that he is incompetent or does not understand the question, his answer simply represented his culture.  Getting a question incorrect is the bare minimal of it. most of those  especially Latino and African American, are placed into special education because they are believed to have a learning disability. It is present in the educational system because it was built to benefit the majority, but I am the minority.

It is difficult for a child to grow up in an education that benefits the majority because culturally it is different. Being a first generation Dominican American, I found getting an education extremely difficult as early as kindergarden. Spanish was my first language and I learned english through cartoons. I was doing well in english when it came to conversations, but my brain could not connect the letters and sounds to words because I did not even know the english alphabet. I was pulled out of my classes for a year and half to learn how to read and write in english until I was at my grade level, but that was the least of it.

Growing up I had no one to rely on at home to help me with my assignments. I knew as early as five years old that I would need to take advantage of my teachers to make sure that I knew everything that I needed to know before I went home because I knew I would be on my own. My mom would not be able to read me the task or help me understand the sounds of the alphabet because she was not familiar with the english language.

My native language, facial features, and skin color all contribute to the prejudice I receive in America. My knowledge is questioned because of my ethnicity as if I cant be Latino and smart at the same time. This is the issue that is raised in the American education system because people do not acknowledge how other cultures affect a child trying to live an American life. People forget that we are exceptionalities.

Granted.. love story of confused help and no Google definition to help

Have you ever slept too much your eyes hurt? Well, this is not one of those times. My eyes hurt because of the vagueness that I am seeing in my relationship. It is hard to ask for something and not get it four months later. It is hard to be with a person and still not know everything in their life. It is hard to try to understand things that go on in their life when they have not even told you. It is harder to understand someone who only sees the now when you see ten years down the line.

Yet, he says he pictures us together, a family in a two bedroom apartment within the bedford neighborhood where on one side is the water with the landscape of the city and on the other side are the thrift shops and cute cafes that will later be saturated with our future memories. And I can see it too and that is the worse part. We are only eighteen and to think I have found the perfect man seems absurd. But he is everything I asked for, he is deeper than most people see him and more intelligent than he knows. He has amazing theories about life. The most special part about it is when we are together, he aims to kiss my forehead or my cheek. But lately he does not reach out his hand to hold mine, he does not think about my happiness before his own. He has times when he gets sidetrack and I feel like I am an asset to his life he has forgotten. It has not been just me and him for a while, its been me, him, and video games. The ones he gets lost in with the memories of when we use to lay in separate beds miles away from each other, but still feel as if we were right next to each other. We use to talk about our futures and our past and everything in between. We use to reply back within seconds, he use to tell me his life and it was not like trying to sustain the life of a fish out of water.

I just want to know his thoughts and opinions and how he actually feels. They say actions speak louder than words, but what happens when both are saying the same thing and you are trying not think about them too much. I know I am cared for and I know I am loved but that does not always show. I want a phone call without having to complain about it, I want him to ask me for my fee time so we can Skype. I want him to come surprise me at my school. In all honesty, a lot of the things I use to do as a cute girlfriend, I do not do anymore because it is just scary to put myself out there and have him respond with just a kiss face emoji or an I love you that seems force. I do not see how he wants to spend forever with me when I do not want to spend forever with myself. I do not want to be this person forever, I want to evolve as time goes and I do not know I will be able to do that when I have someone accountable of what I use to be. I want to dance, not with anyone in particular, just dance. He does not like to and that is really hard for me. Dancing is the only unexplainable thing that makes me feel pure, happy.

I sent him a long paragraph this morning, but I am sure he is only going to reply with a sentence. And when he does I will send him this so that he may reply with a sentence as well. I just do not understand what went wrong. I do not understand how he could be content with just texting and nothing else. It makes me wonder if I am really that important to him or just some time to pass by. I am scared to leave because I know I will never find anyone who supports me like he does in everything I do. I am scared to leave because I do not want to realize the wonderful man I have after I lost him. I am scared to leave because he might be the only person to actually understand me. I am scared to stay because it may all be a lie. I am scared to stay because at times when he says I love you I can smell the roses through his text but I do not feel his heart in sync with mine. I am scared to stay because one day if he ever does leave I will remain so heart broken it will be hard to put my heart back together again. You see, my heart is like a glass cup, once it breaks it is difficult to find the small pieces. All you find are the bigger pieces. Everyone knows the cup can never really be complete without the small pieces that you have lost forever.

To come to conclusion… there is none. I know that if he did cute little things to show his appreciation, called, and Skype, that I will be in the perfect relationship. But, right now it seems as if I’m giving and he’s taking. I am reaching out my hand to trap something, but come out empty each time. I want to be known as valuable because I am an amazing woman. I need to be known as one.