2018

As incredible as it sounds, today is the last day of 2018. 

I know, right? Crazy. It seems like the older we get, the faster time flies. Ten years ago, I never would have even thought of myself as a 31-year-old living this insanely busy and anxiety-filled life. Then again, when I try to conjure up the image of myself in the future--as a 41-year-old woman--I can't come up with anything. Just fog. 

But here we are. I feel as if I just wrote that depressing-ass letter to myself about 2017. But it's been a whole 365 days. An entire 365 days of this roller-coaster of a life.

I've been thinking a lot about what I want to write on here, if I should continue the tradition of remember all the ways the year has brought me to my knees. Strangely enough (or perhaps, some would say, by the grace of God), I can't find the words to articulate the pain this year has pummeled on me. In fact, I keep racking my brains for a single recollection--nay, a wisp of a recollection-- of the things that kept me up at night, the moments that eroded my cheeks with streams of tears. I know the suffering was acute, but I can't, for the life of me, remember why. All that remains is the soreness. 

I don't know that this is good news. I don't know if my coping mechanisms have taken over my memory. I don't know if I'm better off than I was a year ago. What I do know is that, just a week or so ago, I was talking to some friends who were eagerly complaining about the crosses 2018 presented to them, and that I found myself exclaiming--to the disbelief of everyone, including myself--that 2018 was a pretty great year.

And that's the thing, reader. Looking back on this year I only find the ghost of despair being quietly exorcised by the immensity of white. 

I don't know if you've ever experience anything like this, reader. White everywhere. Below you, above you, all around you. An all-encompassing whiteness that is peaceful and overwhelmingly terrifying. Terrifying because you are completely isolated from humanity, and, it feels, even isolated from the world itself. I knew I was standing up. I could feel the pull of gravity. Yet the whiteness made it seem like I was floating in a sea of nothingness. I could not make out anything ahead of me, and every time I yelled, all I heard was the opposite of an echo, like my voice was being swallowed by the whiteness. I stood there for a long time, as the snow fell down and soaked through my clothes. I felt the weight of the thin atmosphere. I felt the lightness of total solitude. It was, I believe, like being alone with God, in a very physical-mental-metaphorical-metaphysical-psychological kind of way.

You're probably wondering what pills I'm on? Here's where I was:

That is the Gornergrat observation deck in the Swiss Alps, and that famous peak behind it is the Matterhorn. The spot where I was standing is exactly where this picture was taken. Except, when I was there, it was not nearly as clear a day as this. It was more like...

Yes, that is a horrible picture. That's what the road looked like. I don't have any photographs from the spot itself because...well, it wasn't a time for pictures. It was a time for nervous laughter. A time for screaming into the void. A time for singing Salve Regina. A time for breathing in cold air and violently coughing it out. A time to just be.

This past summer, as I stood at the highest point of the Gornergrat, I did not wonder what was my purpose in life, or what had I accomplished during these 31 years, or what I would do with my future. I just stood there, wet and cold, and laughed at the revelation that it is all soooooo incredibly small and insignificant in comparison with all that monumental whiteness. The plans, the worries, the anxieties, the goals, the failures, the triumphs, the heartbreaks. My own self. So little in comparison to the enormity of that whiteness.

Now, mind you, reader, I've chosen my words carefully. Small and insignificant. Not unimportant. Not meaningless. Braving the snowstorm, I planted myself at the highest point of Gornergrat and faced that intimidating nothingness. The nothingness that so often has plagued my heart, my mind, and my soul with fear. The thing I'm most terrified of. Having nothing. Doing nothing. Leaving nothing. Loving nothing.

There I was. like David against Samson, facing it with an accelerated heartbeat and weak knees (literally). But, unlike David, I found that I didn't need to fight it. It was overwhelming. But it was not devastating. It was gentle and cleansing. It was, I think, something similar to what the prophet, at the top of the mountain, must have felt when he found God in the breeze, not the fire or the storm.

That is my most vivid image of 2018. It isn't painful, and it isn't exhilarating. It just is. And once I mull over it, and really ponder it, and set it aside, all the memories that come after it are quite rosy: a sunset over the Pacific Ocean as I stroke the surgery wounds on my leg; the feeling of hot tears rolling down my cheeks as I see the fireworks over Cinderella's Castle; the ache in my stomach after a fit of laughter with my baby sister as we drive through Florida; the sheer joy of holding not one, not two, but my three nephews (Benny Boo, Damiaan, and Lil Red) in my arms; the empowerment felt the first day not using my crutches; the salty taste of my sweat after a session of physical therapy; the love flooding my heart as I held my best friend one last time before she entered the convent; the utter relief when seeing the final grades of my first-college-semester-after-four-years; the soreness of broken bone and tissue that ushered a new wave of hope after surgery. These are the snapshots I see when I look at 2018. Or, at any rate, these are the ones I'm choosing to see this time. I hope, dear reader, that you stick around so that I can unfold each one of those snapshots in front of your eyes one day. Hopefully in the near future. I really do need to write more, eh?

In short, I hope you are able to find the beautiful snapshots of your own 2018, reader. May you take them up in your arms and hold them close to you. Happy New Year. 

To my soul-mate

This is a post I've dreaded to write for quite a long time... perhaps even for years. I've known that this day would come for so long, yet I do not think I wanted to think about it much. It's not that I didn't want to accept it, or that I hoped and prayed that things would change. No. It's just that nothing can prepare you to lose your best friend. 

As a teenager, I went through the pain of losing my two closest friends (more like sisters). I was prudish and self-righteous, so I must have seemed like an obstacle to have a good time. This loss triggered depression, anger, and bitterness in me that stretched over several years. I was so hurt and so broken, constantly feeling like that betrayal made it impossible to trust anyone anymore. 

Then I had an encounter with Christ. Things couldn't be the same anymore. Begrudgingly, I had to let go of all those negative feelings that were poisoning my heart in order to find joy again. However, I couldn't help but feel lonely. It's not like I didn't have friends. It's just that there was a space in my life (and in my heart) that needed to be filled by someone special--someone I could not only laugh with but who could really be there when the wind howled and the tide rose and the waves towered over me. 

So I started praying for God to send me this person. Year after year, as I begged and cried out to God for this special friend to enter my life, I started losing hope that there was such a person out there who would care that much about me. 

Then, one Saturday night, when He had placed me in the corridor of a retreat house on the other side of the world, something in my heart told me I'd found this person. We had awkwardly ran into each other as we were both making our way to bed that night. She was quintessentially British in style and demeanor (so basically it was impossible for her to be rude to me and not follow along with my small talk). A few minutes into the conversation, though, we were no longer just talking about trivial things. I was venting, talking about my worries and fears. And she listened. More than that--she gave me advice. This virtual stranger was giving me empathy. It was strange and refreshing and absolutely alluring. 

Then I heard myself tell myself: "Yes, I like this one. She'll be my best friend."

I know, I know--what a creeper. I admit it proudly. I did everything I could do to get her to keep me, too. Talked to her every chance I got. Bribed her with food. Send her memes and videos and GIFs. I couldn't keep away. Her sweetness and her warmth were such a stark contrast to my sass and my cynicism. And I could see I wasn't the only one. I've never seen anyone light up a room the way she did (and still does). Around the chaplaincy, we all looked up to her as this sort of motherly figure who was just always willing to help and love others, despite her age. 

It's been 5 years now since I decided to keep her in my heart. Five years that have been so rich with day trips, dancing, desserts, tea, scrapbooks, photos, music, books, late-night talks, Skype sessions, re-encounters, goodbyes, laughs, tears, forgiveness, kindness. Love. 

A love so selfless and so giving that just thinking about it makes my eyes fill with tears. Outside of my immediate family (my mom, really), I can't think of anyone that has shown me such love. 

Always checking up on me.

Always reassuring me that everything will be fine.

Always reminding me that I am enough.

Always cheering me on.

Always challenging me to be better, kinder, holier.

Always thinking of ways to brighten up my life.

Always eager to see me.

Always ready to listen to me vent without judgment.

Always knowing what to say.

Always willing to share what she has with me.

Always loving me even when I feel I don't deserve it.

Always loving me even when I definitely don't deserve it. 

How can a human being be like that? Only by God's grace. The prayers that I shot up to Him were answered in this magnificent yet small young woman who I can literally carry with one arm, I'm pretty sure. God put all the pieces where they needed to be and I was allowed to choose a soul sister who has been a healing balm to my mind and spirit. How many people are as lucky as that?

It's incredible, really. That we found ourselves in this crazy world. That, at the end of the day, I didn't really come to England to get a Master's degree, but to meet her. People tend to use the word "soulmate" to refer to their significant other, to the love of their life. But I can't think of a better word to describe the best, dearest of friends, whose friendship is hands down one of the best things that has ever happened to me. A person that knows me so well, who has been there in the darkest days, and who still chose to stay. A person that chooses to love this broken mess that I am, much like God chooses to love me. 

We've been through so much, she and I. We've seen each other at both best and worst. I'm pretty sure we've hurt and broken each other's hearts, too (at the end of the day, we are only just human beings). But the bond that exists between us has endured all that. So I supposed it's unfair to say that I'm losing her... because I know our bond will endure this too. 

Not long after we'd become good friends I found out that she was considering giving her life entirely to God. Should she discern the religious life?  I didn't think much of it, probably because that's a legitimate question that every devout Catholic woman should ask herself. But the wondering grew bigger with the months and the years, until it could no longer be ignored.

Fast-forward to 2018: my best friend is entering the convent on Tuesday, September 11. As part of her preparation and training, she will not be able to have a phone or write letters to anyone but her family. This process takes around three years. The only means of communication between us will be the letters I will write to her (to which she won't be able to reply).

If you think this prospect of going on a friendship fast for three years must be breaking my heart, you'd be right. I am gutted. But for every moment I feel devastated there is an instant moment of sheer pride and joy in my heart to know that the best human being I know has been called by Christ to be his bride. Why wouldn't Jesus put a ring on it? She's the best woman I know.

To know that she has accepted that call and is willing to leave the world behind to follow God brings my shattered faith some consolation and hope. Knowing that she is following her gut with joy also brings me inexplicable joy. I love her, ya'll. I want her to be happy.

What's left for me to say?

Dear Elena,

You've changed my life. Even thinking that there was a time when you weren't in my life seems so foreign and bizarre that I can't comprehend it. I'm a mess because you won't be a text message away. But I will be fine because your prayers and your love will sustain me. I am so proud of you for exploring your vocation. You are the bravest, kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. I'm actually blown away by how far you've come and how courageous you are. I will think about you every day. Thank you for all you've given me in the past five years. I do not know when I'll see you again, but I cannot wait! Thank you for being a friend, a mother, an accomplice, a sister. Thank you for being who you are. This life won't be enough to marvel how lucky I've been in having you. Here's to a lifetime of the purest friendship. Please ask your boyfriend Jesus to send me a  good man so I can give you a godchild.

I love you with all of my heart.

-Nugget

I KNEED to tell you about a thing that happened

First, I would like to start by apologizing for over six months of inactivity. I even forgot to post something dramatic and narcissistic  for my birthday--

ANYWAY, I do plan to make amends, particularly after a quite active summer. Therefore, allow me to tell you, dear reader (actually, first off--how are you? It's been ages, hope you're well, love ya, etc.), about the very surreal thing that I did about six weeks ago.

You're probably thinking: what did she do, that daredevil? If so, well, thank you for calling me a daredevil, and also, yes, be intrigued. It was a really good thing that I did and I do not regret it.

I did do it, reader. I did...

I HAD KNEE SURGERY YA'LL!!!

I suppose I have some explaining to do. For starters, in case you have not known me your entire life (shout-out to my mom, dad, grandpa, and my tias who read this), you might not know that I completely screwed up my knee when I was 16-years-old. I was a natural athlete since I was little, so playing sports always came naturally to me. I was a skilled footballer by the time I got to high school, and 2004 was going to be my year: first year playing in the Girls Varsity team (as a sophomore). Of course, I had no idea at the time that the difficulty and breathlessness I had while running was due to a BIG ASS TUMOR THAT I HAD IN MY BELLY (for which I did have surgery, so worry not. We even named my tumor and made pregnant jokes about it, so it's totally fine).

Anyway, back to the knee business. I was 16, talented AF, and a freaking douchebag (honestly, teenage athletes who do not compete at a professional level are big old jerks, for the most part. We are full of ourselves, feel we're better than everyone, are very attractive). So, of course, I had to have my dreams of becoming an Olympian be shattered by a career-ending injury during practice, three days before the season started. I was careless and decided to go to practice wearing tennis shoes instead of cleats. It had been raining the night before, and the field was soft. I was running after a long pass, and once I reached the ball and tried to shoot it into the box, my support foot (the left) slipped inward. I heard a loud pop and felt something snap inside my knee. I fell on the ground, face first, and started wailing. I tried opening my eyes but all I could see was flashes of white light in a black background.

Long story short, we didn't have insurance, so I didn't go to the doctor. My dad basically said it was just a matter of letting it rest a couple weeks, so I did. Then tried to play again, with the same outcome. And again. And again.

I am 31 years old. I have carried this broken knee for fifteen years now, and let me tell you, it has been nothing short of  an ordeal. I have lived my entire life limited as to the things I can do physically: no running, no team sports, no high-impact exercise, no extreme activities (skydiving, rock climbing)... not even having the pleasure of dancing Latin music as it ought to be danced--with so many twists and turns that you'd get dizzy. Not to mention, always having the possibility of dislocating your knee at the simplest sudden lateral move, a throbbing pain every time it's cold and rainy, stiffness to the point of complete immobility.

So, you must be thinking... why did I wait so long? Well, mostly because I had no money/insurance for the majority of that time. But also out of fear. I've heard horror stories from people that had the surgery and ended up just as messed up as before, or--even worse--had to have multiple surgeries.

However, everything changed at the beginning of this year. At a friend's wedding, I completely busted my leg, and I mean COMPLETELY. It felt like the lower part of my leg was only attached to the upper part by skin. My patella got completely out of it's socket, and my leg was alarmingly swollen. I spent five days bed-ridden after that, literally crying my eyes out in my apartment, wondering if I should just call an ambulance (which I did not do because, in the words of my mom, "what's the point? They'll give you Advil and charge you five thousand dollars..."). I spent 3 months having to wear a knee brace and use a cane because I felt my leg would snap in half at any moment.

It seemed pretty apparent that I had no choice. I needed to brave it. If the surgery didn't work, at least I would know I had done what I could to be better. But if it did work... oh, reader... if it did work, it would be the first time I would be whole again in 15 years (physically speaking).

So I contacted a physician, I booked an appointment, I nodded when I heard him say "we can do the procedure on Monday". By the time it dawn on me, I was already in the operating room, highly drugged, laughing my butt off.

Do not worry, reader. I will post an entry just about all the crazy and hilarious and embarrassing things that happened during my hospital stay. But for now, let me focus on the seriousness. It was gruesome (especially hearing the sounds of the drill), it was grueling, it was hella painful. It was also super boring, being on bed-rest for two weeks. Yeah, the whole thing really sucked.

But, surprisingly enough, despite the pain and the tears and the boredom, I felt... joy. Joy of knowing that perhaps I had a shot at being healthy again, a shot at being an athlete again, a shot at being able to go to a party, put on some nice shoes, and dance... my butt... off. I felt so excited to just know that I could have a more normal life. Ya'll... I do not think I can emphasize this enough... THE PROSPECT OF BEING ABLE TO DO MORE THINGS IS SO EXCITING.

With that mindset, I've started doing physical therapy and killing it like a boss. I am driven and confident and super into it, even though it means being a gym bro and making my knee hurt and swell. It's gonna be okay, I can feel it in my heart. I am going to be so. freaking. okay.

One Year

I've been meaning to write this all day, and now that I've finally managed to sit in front of my computer, I feel I don't know what to say or how to start.

Because, really, how do you even approach writing about one of the darkest days of your life? It should be ridiculously easy, really, since it's still so fresh in my memory. But... How do you put into words the feeling of knowing that the life you had dreamed for yourself is never going to become a reality? How do you articulate the pain of knowing that you gave your wonderful self, with all your hopes and dreams, with your best and worst parts--making yourself so vulnerable--to a man who completely and consciously abused your trust? How do you express the utter anguish of knowing you weren't enough for somebody, knowing that you took mockery and humiliation from loved ones to defend a vile human being, knowing he won't be in your life anymore, knowing that you've just wasted two years of your life praying and worrying and giving someone your all, even when he wasn't around?

I laid my numb body on the bed, almost as if I was outside of myself, and let the despair take over me. I shook and trembled and choked on my own tears and gasped for air. The trembling was terrible. I couldn't stop it, couldn't calm myself down. More than anything else, I felt deeply hurt and abandoned by God.

Paul broke my heart more than once, it's true. But all along, as he came and went and returned and apologized, I constantly kept looking up to heaven and asking God to guide me, to show me, to give me a sign. I asked Him to drive him away if he wasn't for me, and I asked Him to help me move on if it wasn't for me. I asked him to protect me. As I bitterly cried in my bed that day, I realized that He hadn't. He had allowed this man to come back into my life to give me the final blow. Utter desolation crept into my heart. Yet, somehow in the throbbing ache of my heart, I held onto my rosary with all my might, gripping those beads as if my life depended on it. At that point, it probably did depend on it.

It seems that ever since this day my life became just a shade darker and my cross a bit heavier. The clarity that I had had when I thought I was going to be a wife and a mother soon(ish) disappeared. The determination to do right, get my act together, be a grown-ass woman, vanished. The will to keep fighting simply died off.

Yet... here I am. Broken and missing parts and not-so-pretty. I am here. Sure, I am not in the best condition, spiritually or emotionally speaking. But this throbbing, grotesque, uncomfortable mess that I've become is, well... alive. I know now that I've probably will stay like this, on my own, for the rest of my life. I'm pretty sure marriage and a family aren't in my future. I know that I can't find enough of myself to give away again.  But, strangely enough, I am okay with that. Most of the time, anyway. Most of the time I flaunt my loneliness around and embrace the solitude along with the independence of being on my own. Most of the time I rage against a world that wants to marry me off, to lower my standards, to have me settle down with whatever I can find. Most of the time I dance around in my apartment and talk to my plants and sing along sad songs and celebrate that I can do as I please.

Once in a while, though, I don't. I feel the weight of this cross. I feel the fresh wound of disappointment. I can touch the very tangible silence. I drown in the pain of knowing that the God who promised to be my protector left me out there to be hunted. And I scream. I kick. I wail. I ask why and get no answer in return.

I don't know much  about faith these days. All I know is that I can't not believe. I can't pretend that God isn't there. Maybe if I could, my life would be easier. But I know I can't and that's the end of it. I know He's there watching, in the silence. So, since I can't do much else, I try to find solace in the psalm: "He heals the broken-hearted and binds up their wounds." I don't know when, and I don't know how. But I have no other choice but to believe He will. That's my only life-line.

It's been a year since this man who had promised to love me betrayed me and bragged that he wasn't sorry. It's been a year since the day I finally accepted that I was in an emotionally-abusive relationship. It's been a year since I decided I would move on. I do not wish him well. I do not wish him ill. I know if life is always as it has been, he is probably much happier than me. I do not care.

Many things have happened since that awful day to keep me down, writhing on the ground. By now, I've kind of gotten really good at successfully crawling my way around.

Ultimately, all that matters is that I can look at myself in the mirror and feel no shame or guilt. I can look at myself in the eye and see all my brokenness and put my arms around me and say, proudly, that I am a glorious, mesmerizing, beautiful mess.

Here are your GIF-infused 2018 Resolutions!!!!!

HELLO, 2018 ENTHUSIASTS! How do I know you are a 2018-enthusiast, you ask? Well, you are a person who is alive in this year. That pretty much means you qualify. Anyway, since it is imperative that I avoid doing any real work this evening, let me flood you with a slew of nonsensical New Year's resolutions.

NUMBER THE FIRST: Buying a piano.

Spending a thousand dollars on an electronic piano (otherwise known as an expesive-ass keyboard) will ensure that I discipline myself enough to practice my scales every day. "C-dawg, you can't not practice tonight... you spent bloody ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS on this gadget!". It will work just as well as my 18-month membership to Gold's Gym! I mean, have you seen my muscles?!?!?!?

NUMBER THE SECOND: Beach body!!

Let me clarify: I do have a beached body. I would like a beach body. I will accomplish this by finally turning up at the gym two months before my 18-month contract expires, eating industrial amounts of protein, and then complaining that society is too focused on unattainable beauty standards that objectify women.

NUMERO TRES: Finding the positive everywhere.

That should be easy, right? Everyone is obviously doing it! I see it on all of your social media accounts, ya'll. You guys are turning herpes into beautiful unique stripes, like those of a majestic Bengal tiger, and diarrhea into organic fuel and eco-friendly flower food. I want to be like that. I want to leave this God-forsaken world where all these refugees drown and Donald Trump tweets at 3 in the morning and go hang out in gorgeous wheat fields and white-sanded beaches that are riddled with inspirational  #wordporn. I hereby declare that every time I am drowning in paper work at 6pm on a Friday night at a school where they turn off the A/C after 5, I will play some Tina Turner and dance around the room, praising life for a fulfilling job. 

FOUR OR WHATEVER: Be more compassionate and kind.

When another student asks me "what do you mean a verb?" or exclaims in disbelief as did the previous ten students that walked in before him, "we have a test today??!!" I will not clench my fists. I will not clench my jaw. I will not clench my arsehole. I will smile and nod and tell myself softly, "they are just little. This one just turned 16 last week". I will then levitate to my desk and do yoga for five minutes while they obediently do their warm ups. I will go home at 2:45 every day to meditate for two hours and will my head follicles to resurrect and produce lusciously thick Indian hair. 

FIVER: Open my heart and date!

Michael Phelps will have nothing on me because I will turn dating into an Olympic sport! I will finally listen to everyone around me and ditch my ridiculously impossible standards, loosen up, and be the little dainty lady I was always meant to be. It will be like being a newborn baby all over again, except with boobs and a moderate laugh. The creepers of the internet never had it so good! 

SIX: Lock it down, fam!

From the pool of men I meet after marathon-dating, I will choose the one who showers most often and marry that sucker. My momma ain't turning younger. She needs grandkids! Plus, someone has to pay for that ridiculously expensive piano I just bought!

LUCKY NUMBER SEVEN: Buy a house!!

I will stop worrying about crippling debt and a 30-year commitment to pay off ridiculous amount of money and just YOLO this shenanigans. There will be shutters, a picket fence, mold hidden behind the walls. I will not chicken out like the last time I was about to buy a house (oh yeah, I almost bought a house, ya'll... but I chicken out...not gonna happen again). This house will literally become the inspiration for me to go to work every morning and to never let my clean yet creepy husband touch me after the second kid (we are Catholic, people. That's how things work). I'll be living the dream.

So, 2018, I am coming for you! All of you, brace yourselves. I have clearly lost my GD mind. 

-Cris