Waking Up One Fuzzy Sunday Evening And Deciding to Pick Love

for yourself and for others

Twitter

To see oneself is to allow oneself to feel, and to do so without a devouring sense of lack or want.

It is easy to go on one’s knees and pray for love, easy to stare at cute couples on Twitter whispering hungry "God Whens," easy to stand at the door of another’s heart, pining for, knocking, demanding love while firmly keeping the doors of our own hearts shut and thick with cobwebs.

We forget that love stretched out is double-edged, preferring to subsist as a bridge, a link, a beaming connection. It would rather plant itself between two presences, growing and flourishing under the photosynthesis the space offers.

We forget that one must steady oneself to be loved, lest when love comes in its revealing light, one recoils like an earthworm that has tasted salt. We forget that standing in that light takes courage because, like all lights do, love lights will reveal scars, open your chest, and unrelentingly chase what you are hiding.

Love carries you as much as you carry it. And how can it carry you when you have presented yourself weightless? When you have hidden yourself, tucked in small portions underneath the different masks you wear. When you have warped your sense of being into something tight, stubborn to untangle like a forgotten earpiece at the far-reaching bottom of a school bag.

Seeing and loving, like two essential wires powering up a TV, must mesh together, curl around each other. You have to see and be seen to be loved correctly. The thing about seeing yourself is that it springs love; it’s like finding your color tone after an intense analysis. And so, one must bring oneself to a mirror and loosen one’s screws to discover the layers they are made of: the soft, the stony, the sinewy.

Next, you paint all parts with love till they glisten. Then you give them to be seen. You must stand at the spot, surrender yourself to be searched, give yourself a chance to bounce even with your old bruises, even with roaring fears scraping your eardrums.

And when you go on your knees to pray, pray that you bear the courage to not just love but to allow yourself to be loved.

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Listening:

• The Moth Podcast: The Moth is basically a StorySlam where individuals gather from all over the place to share real-life stories. I'm enjoying podcasts more because of content like this.

• C, XOXO: This brand new album from Camilla Cabello hits hard. Gosh, her voice is everythingggg! That nasal, Spanish-drenched accent is seriously addictive and makes me imagine sunsets, moonlights, beaches and fun parties . Plus, there's this sorta match of harmony she has going underneath her music that I love. I can't properly describe it, but this is what I live for!

Reading:

• Our Men Do Not Belong To Us - a poetry chapbook by Warsan Shire who is a Kenyan-born Somali poet based in London. I love why Shire writes. Her poems remind me that truth can be dressed with stories to deepen truth’s acceptance.

Thank you for reading.