I want to say I sleep better when you’re with me.
I can’t.
I’m so used to being on my own.
Taking up space.
Sleeping like a starfish.
But I have to say, I’d rather sleep poorly with your body next to mine, than well all alone.
Tag: Love
NPM 2
When cooking you measure spices with your heart not with a tablespoon.
- Just the right amount of cayenne to nip at your lips and tongue and remind you you’re alive.
- Add enough garlic to make a vampire fear your blood.
- A dash and a sprinkle of cumin the way your great grandmother added.
- Adobo because why not?
- And enough salt to tie it together.
Because a recipe isn’t law but a guide to follow as you please.
Your Name is Love
“Hate begets hate; violence begets violence; toughness begets a greater toughness. We must meet the forces of hate with the power of love.” – Martin Luther King Jr.
Every weekend, Friday night and Sunday morning, I sing in the choir at my church.
There is a song by Christian artists, Evan Craft and Banda Horizonte, called Su Nombre es Amor, and I love when it comes up on our song list. My favorite part being the pre-chourus and chorus:
“Mis ojos fijaré en aquel que ya venció
Me asombraré, mis cadenas Él rompió
Su nombre es amor,
Su nombre es amor,
Jesús
Su nombre es amor,
Su nombre es amor,
Jesús”
“I will fix my eyes on He who already triumphed. I am in awe, He has broken my chains.
His name is love, His name is love, Jesus. His name is love, His name is love, Jesus.”
We are proclaiming He is love. Because this is what we believe and this is what we know.
I’ve had love on my mind a lot lately. All kinds of love. The divine love I sing about, the familial love I feel for my family and friends, the romantic love I feel towards my boyfriend, the fraternal love for my fellow man– my neighbor.
Because I spend so much time reading about the pain and suffering my neighbors are going through, hunger, poverty, violence, homelessness, murder, depression, suicide– a laundry list of heart-wrenching pain. And I feel hopeless in my inability to help these strangers who are so far from me.
These people are in dire need of a demonstration of love. And I’m not trying to be cheesy or cliched. I’m not talking about sitting in a circle, holding hands, singing all you need is love with our eyes closed, and an acoustic guitar. I don’t mean going around saying “I love you” to everyone you see. You see words mean nothing if there isn’t any action to back it up.
Love isn’t just an abstract noun, an idea we spend a lifetime searching for. It is concrete, an action verb. We need to love. It is something we do. Love is a weapon we can bear to combat the hopelessness we feel in the world around us.
Instead of doing nothing but scrolling through headlines and feeling sad I can take a look around at the people that are within the reach of my love. Being love for them with a kind word, with an open ear, with my money, with food, with supplying a need that needs to be met. I want to be love for the people around me.
Because when everything feels like chaos, there is always one thing you can control, the way you react and the action that you take.
So choose to love.
“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”- Martin Luther King Jr.
NPM 12: This Girl I Know
Let me tell you about this girl…
Do you have a crush?
I dunno. Maybe I do?
Let me tell you about this girl…
The first time she told me where she was from, I laughed. “That’s not a place,” I said. “You’re making it up.”
Let me tell you about this girl…
She’s all vowels and foreign rhythms. Phrases that don’t translate. And slightly mispronounced words.
Let me tell you about this girl…
The one with mischief in her eyes and laughter on her lips.
Let me tell you about this girl…
The one I tease about her Liberace rings and blazers with jeans.
Let me tell you about this girl…
The one whose smirks and winks make me blush in spite of myself.
Let me tell you about this girl…
Let me tell you about this girl…
Let me tell you about this girl…
Do you know the one I mean?
Love is a Four Letter Word
I’m very open with my feelings.
I love my friends and my family vehemently.
I say “I love you” with ease, and I always mean it.
However, with him I’ve been cautious. I’ve held my tongue. I’ve kept my “I love yous” to myself. Guarded and restrained. These cannot be shared. There is a certain protocol for this kind of thing.
Rules to be followed.
So I stayed quiet. Good nights and good byes left pregnant with the I love yous I could not share but could only feel.
It’s our anniversary. One year together.
One year isn’t much.
But for me it is a milestone.
One year. A man has stayed with me for one year. A man has remained attracted to me for one year. A man has put up with my mood swings and my jealousy for one year.
I wrote him a card. I didn’t have time for a present. I hadn’t remembered. Life has been busy and hectic. I hadn’t even realized September was ending. But I wrote him a card and I put it in there. I snuck in my I love you, and I waited for him to read it. For him to react.
I gave it to him and watched as he read it. He laughed at the part about our first date coinciding with the purchase of my IKEA couch and he smiled and hugged me.
I looked at him waiting for his response. He kissed me.
“‘Your princess.’ I like that. Thank you.”
It wasn’t what I expected.
But I let it slide.
It hurt. But I know better than to force someone.
I put it out there. It was on the table. I was not afraid. He could say it. I was ready to hear it.
We went to dinner at the restaurant where we had our first date. We even sat at the same table. On our first date I was able to get him to try new food– Cuban cuisine. This time I got him to try my favorite Cuban dish.
It was a good date.
We went for ice cream and then came home. he walked the dog while I got ready for bed and I wondered if I should say anything.
He came to bed and wrapped me in his arms.
There in the darkness together, because only in the quiet could I bear to ask, only without having to look him in the eyes could I even muster the courage, yet still I barely whispered, “Do you love me?”
Silence.
And immediate regret.
I was stupid. I knew better. If you have to ask, the answer is not what you want to hear.
“Do you love me?” I ask again. I did not learn my lesson. I never learn my lesson. I ask and I pry, because I have to know, because I cannot be content by simply not knowing. This was important information.
Desperation made me stupid.
There was an intake of breathe, “Jem,” he whispered.
With my name I was broken.
Quietly I sobbed in his arms as he held me. I shook with the pain of knowledge.
What are three words?
They are a vast desert when you are lost, barefoot in the sand. They are the impossible.
“I’m sorry.” I heard the tremble in his voice. “Baby, I’m sorry.” I turned to face him. I held his face in my hands. How strange it was to see the face of a man who was crying because of me.
“Don’t cry.” I whispered. Hushing him like a baby. Wiping his tears while my own were still hot on my face. “Don’t cry.” I repeated. Kissing his cheeks. “Don’t cry.”
His eyes pleading for my understanding.
I rested my head on his chest. He stroked my hair. I cried as we fell asleep.
What is love?
Love is enduring. Love is understanding. Love is. Love is…
There in my bedroom, quiet, save for the white noise of the trains rattling by and fluffy dog snoring in the corner, we were two broken people trying to answer that question and holding onto the hope that maybe we could find it together.
The Secret Life of Pandas 