Inner Monologue - Blog Posts

brushing my teeth after an interdimensional incident. I wash my face. I put the towel to my face and my skin flakes off as I turn to bone

"I wouldn't want to bother anyone," I say as the thing inside of me eats me alive.

There are shards of my childhood on the floor. I try to piece them together, but everywhere I step, I bleed.

parent-child dynamics are soooo crazy. i love you i resent you i can't stand you i adore you i pity you. and still watching your hair get a little more grey every time i see you makes my stomach feel weird

Franny Choi, from “Catastrophe is Next to Godliness”

𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑑𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒. 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒.

—I.B. Vyache, Conversations Over Sanguinaccio Dolce

Aren't we all waiting to be read by someone, praying that they'll tell us that we make sense?

- Ruby Francisco

(in tears) next year i will have so much fun!

Sharp Objects - 1x05 “Closer”

nothing new // taylor swift feat. phoebe bridgers

“being kind takes zero effort” Lies.

Being kind takes enormous effort. Being kind means humbling yourself- it means saying no to your pride- it means forgiving someone instantly- it means putting someone convenience over your own for some time- it means acting as if the universe doesn’t revolve around you. Being kind is hard. Being kind is not butterflies and sickly sweet, half-witted compliments. It’s work. It’s serving others. It’s being silent when you don’t want to. It’s being honest. It’s being gentle. It’s being true even if the other person disagrees. Being kind is one of the hardest things a person can do and we need more of it.

“I used to dislike being sensitive. I thought it made me weak. But take away that single trait, and you take away the very essence of who I am. You take away my conscience, my ability to empathize, my intuition, my creativity, my deep appreciation for the little things, my vivid inner life, my deep awareness of others’ pain, and my passion for it all.”

— Unknown

Strength is light ☀

Tell me how do I know that i’m alive...!!!!

Instagram 

oh teehee I'm in a silly goofy mood (I am hanging on by a fucking thread)

self + hope

Some steps need to be taken alone. It’s the only way to really figure out where you need to go and who you need to be.

Mandy Hale (via mentalquotes)

Susan Sontag, from “Reborn: Journals and Notebooks, 1947-1963″

 — To the Young Who Want to Die, Gwendolyn Brooks  

[ text ID: Graves grow no green that you can use. / Remember, green’s your color. / You are Spring. ]

Let the oceans wash away my guilt,

to the one that I rely on,

the one I felt so deep on,

this hand as my guidance,

this spirit as my home,

I feel them for once and last of all..

In a moment

silence broke

all the wishes,

it broke a path,

a stone of dreams,

hopes that lie on

my garden of peace.

Feels like terrible wedding

Where my heart's not invited

And eyes see nothing..

Toasts on barely lasting love,

groans of pleasure, in devor,

the day ends in defeat,

silence just fell asleep.

Everything visible

faded out of me.

-t.f.s.

The Spirit of Adventure

I was pondering about the spirit or nature of adventure; of play. And I think play is such an integral aspect within one's lifestyle but it is often suppressed with more work, more productivity—play is met with this subconscious mindset of needing to do more so we can possibly "earn" it. But play is not something to be earned necessarily. Play has always been more than a pass time...it is a basic necessity. It naturally invokes curiosity, exploration and this is how we stumble upon some of the most beautiful and unique experiences or discoveries in our lives. Think about it...when playing video games, often times along the way, we stumble upon secret achievements or hidden rewards for being playful; being silly. And often times, these are achievements we do not expect or foresee but they spark such joy and delight within oneself. Sometimes wandering off and exploring a game map culminates all these fulfilling side quests—throwing that random basketball into the oh-so-conveniently placed hoop, popping that misplaced balloon with a spiky ball you collected a minute ago or crawling into that weird space that's shaped oddly similar to the size of your in-game avatar. And what do we receive for our random spark of curiosity...? A reward. And other times we may receive or discover absolutely nothing special but at least we'd have something to giggle about and more to explore. I find that very precious. That feeling of limitless potential...that anything is possible if I at least try. To be able to allow oneself to venture into the unknown at times and let oneself be led by curiosity and playfulness is something we all need to some degree in our lives. I've found that life is filled with many of such side quests that, in hindsight, leave an irreplaceable impression—these experiences are truly invaluable.

~Elunara W.

The Mirror's Role

Perhaps we owe the mirror an apology. It was made for us to reflect with ourselves not to compare or degrade ourselves. The mirror exists to reflect the truest perception that we hold of ourselves therefore creating the reality around those beliefs. If we never had the mirror, many people say we'd have an easier time accepting ourselves and that can be true…if it never existed it'd surely make for an easier time removing that attachment to a physical lens we have but that's not the higher truth…the mirror shows us what we see and tell ourselves. The mirror has probably been the easiest target for the role of a scapegoat as we don't always like to face ourselves nor our truths…so we've projected a lot of resentment, hatred, anger towards something we created with our own hands. Our own creation suffered at the hands of its creator because we couldn't bare to give up our attachment to self-loathing. It's not our fault, nor is it the mirror's but in the end we are responsible for removing that distortion and for seeing who and what we are in all our glory; the good, evil, beautiful, ugly, everything.

~Elunara W.

Fear and Ignorance

Knowledge Know- represents an awareness of something Ledge- a narrow horizontal surface projecting from a wall 'Know' + 'Ledge' = being aware that what you seem to know may still be very narrow sighted | it's an opportunity to expand oneself ⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆♡⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆♡⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆♡⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊ We sometimes fear what we do not know. Ignorance is really just a lack of knowledge in a certain area of life and that creates fear within us but should we always allow this fear-based ignorance to lead? Maybe we're one or two curious questions away from leaning into a whole new perspective that truly inspires our life found within the very things we refuse to look at. I think we rather stay ignorant because we are afraid of the very real possibility that we've been living in a world of illusion. We are scared to give up all that we've ever known...because we are, at times, more comfortable with our current "truths" I have been exploring the state of ignorance for a little while and I don't believe ignorance is an inherently bad state of mind to have. I think ignorance is yet another tool we use and it is necessary to have in certain cases. However, fear-based ignorance can lead to more dangerous choices and consequences. That's why I think curiosity can be a helpful elixir to curb some of the ignorance rooted in fear and a lack of knowledge. ~Elunara W.

Through My Mother's Eyes

tw// mentions of blood and slaughter (not graphically described) Sometimes, I look into my mother's eyes and I wonder what she truly sees? Does she see me or the sight of a little girl who once was free? A girl that soon was forced to clumsily grow up under the weight of familial expectations beyond extreme. Sometimes, I look into my mother's eyes and I wonder, I truly wonder what my mother sees when she looks at me.

Am I still her precious little girl? One created from the most delicate of flower petals, the warmth of the first rays of dawn, the patience of a familiar ordinary thing—a World's Best Mom mug. Maybe. Or does she perhaps see me as an accommodation? One I know her heart made room in a tight life; a difficult space to receive. Another burden. Maybe she sees a silly little girl handed not one, nor two, nor three…but six toddlers to take care of. Of course, still not yet counting all the other little children playing in oversized adult suits.

Sometimes, I look into my mother's eyes and I wonder what she truly sees? Perhaps I was being too soft, too idealistic with my words before. Maybe she sees me as the inconvenience I know I am to her somewhere deep down. A culmination of early regrets, a dozen of 'too soons', a handful of 'not readys', a pinch of resentment and a drink of guilt induced apologies to wash it all down.

What should I feel guilty for this time, mother? Your husband's indifference, your mother's relentless disappointment, the dreams you had to give up, the weight of the world you have been insistent on carrying? Perhaps I should apologize for being your only daughter.

What should I feel guilty for today mother? Just let me know. Because everytime I look in your eyes, I see the sweetest little girl who would serve her heart on a platter if it means another person could have one more moment to feel the comforting beating. I see a little body trembling but oh so filled with determination–to get this right; to bring everyone along even if it means pushing a boulder uphill. She wants to get this right. She needs to get this right.

But do you know mother, that when I look into your eyes I see nothing but a little girl deserving of tender love? A girl I would sacrifice my own heart for if it means she would get another moment to stay her curious and wonderful self. So what should I feel guilty for this time mother? Just let me know. Because although in your eyes, I may be a sacrificial lamb upon an altar of shame and guilt that was never yours to carry, I would still allow you to slaughter me upon that altar. Maybe the warmth of my blood would comfort you—maybe that warmth would finally reach you. Or perhaps it would touch the hands of all the women prior, who suffered the same fate as you.

To be fair, I indeed do not know; I am pondering after all. This can be full of assumptions, illusions or maybe some truths. One thing I do know is I would continuously extend my hand of unconditional love towards that little girl even in death for she deserves the world. If only you'd finally let her see it too.

~Elunara W.

The Return

"Nothing was wrong with you for having such faith or belief in things...the friends we do not see all the time with our physical eyes. Nothing was wrong about you believing you have enough love to create the dream world we wanted to live in eventually. Nothing was wrong about you not finding other things ugly. Nothing was wrong with you for always believing that when it comes to love...nothing is entirely impossible. You were always right...you were always sweet, you were also quite fearless because you were free. You were you...but at some point we all started to tell you that's not reality and that could never be reality and all those things that felt like you deserved them...? Oh no...that must be too good to be true because 'magic isn't reality'...that 'this is not a fairytale' and I am so sorry we did that to you. I am sorry we ripped off your wings and told you to grow up and grow a new pair made of the heaviest stones and steel. They were never meant to be ripped off in the first place so I carefully removed all the hard surfaces and one day I stumbled upon the little flaps of delicate, sparkly wings still remaining underneath...tender to the touch. And I helped you weave a new pair...magical wings sewn with the thread of love, compassion and warmth and told you to fly again...let's go create the world we've always known...show me again that world we always believed in. You smiled at me and I was a bit wary if I had done enough, if I sewed the wings good enough...if everything—anything that I had done to help you was...enough. Yet...you beamed at me, pulled me down and placed a crown of the finest flowers on top my head and you held my hand and said 'Let's go...I've been waiting, I knew one day you'd return' And within those words I gained a lot of strength...I gained so much more that others may not be able to fathom it." ~Elunara W. | [Written 03/12/24]

—Short excerpt from a letter I wrote to my inner child.

The Wisps of Life

We sat, it was both of us alone in there. I asked, “Do you regret it, do you regret any of it at all?” She stared at me with an almost unreadable smile As if—as if I already knew the answers to that. As if we both knew the answer to that question.

“Not really,” she laughed with this carefree spirit. Head tilted back with uncontained mirth and all. I wondered briefly if the shadows of life had ever truly graced her, Or had the upturns of her lips tasted the weight of the world exponentially. Perhaps one too many times—one too many.

Our eyes locked and for a split second, I saw it. The intricately woven tapestry of life—threads of gold beyond the void. Clumsy fingers red and sore from the unexpected thorns and pricks. I understood it all. I smiled in return, of course she had, I’d know that more than anyone, wouldn’t I?

“Do you regret any of it at all?” there’s a knowing glint in her kind eyes. Brief memories of cold eyes, wet pillows, sleepless nights, homesickness. Suffocating silence, tearful letters, words—so many words left unsaid. Tremors of an empty stomach, deepening shadows, the complete isolation. That dreadful feeling of being too different, the unforeseen weight of generations prior.

Yet—I’ve always known something else. Something more, something warmer.

There’s a faint but steady pulse against where my hand lays on my chest. Tearful laughter, wind in my hair, dirt under my feet, chirping of birds every dawn, Clammy hands in mine, a comforting shoulder, broken facades, the gentle whisper of weary but hopeful hearts connecting, the glimmers of hope—gold amongst the dark. I breathed in, then out and suddenly as our eyes met again, I knew. I was alive.

Reaching out, cold meeting warm, our palms connected for a moment in time, “No, not really,” I echoed with a giggle, pulling away a second later. I got up, facing away, sore hands reaching out towards the cold doorknob now. As the cold surface thawed against the heat of my palms, I took one glance back. A foggy handprint, the only remnant of our brief moment shared together. ~Elunara W.

My Diary Friend

“And most may say the life of being a diary friend is uncertain and possibly unfair but my little girl just really needs me here. So here I’ll always stay for a long, long time until we meet again for a giggle, cry or even her cute little smile.” Connecting to the heart of my precious Journal~ I have personally always loved to journal ever since I was a little young Earthling and I've viewed my journal as a very close bestfriend; an extension of myself. My journal or diary has always provided me a safe haven and I'm proud to say that they've been the prime guardian of my inner child's heart and our dreams. It may be silly from an external perspective, calling my journal a friend but it's another subtle form of unconditional love that exists within my reality and for that I am most grateful.

~Elunara W.

Concrete Memories

Dear little one, I see you laying here again today. Another day passes by and of course I’m here to stay. We’ve been through it all, more than anyone would know. I’ve seen your smiles, your cries and the tears in yourself you tried so hard to sew. Yes, I’ve seen it all, whether messy or pretty. All of it. You’re adorable, little one, you must know you truly are even with all the wrappers from chocolates and candy bars. I’ve been here since the moment you were taken to me. From then on our relationship has never ceased and even in the silence of the night, you’ve never been truly alone. I wished every time little one, oh so desperately wished to wipe your tears and give you a little kiss. I’m always here and here I’ll of course always stay yet, sometimes I worry. I’ll surely miss you when you need to go away. I start to wonder at times if you’ll miss me like I’ll miss you, then I remember your glistening eyes and the warmth of your lingering touch. You reached out and for the first time, our hands pressed together like a light embrace. You smiled at me, oh so tenderly little one, so gently sweetheart, I almost missed the firm promise you tucked into the folds of my concrete heart. “Thank you, for being my home” those simple words. Six simple words in that soft tone of yours, little one. I knew that those words came from your heart that shone, resonated from the memories we hold together. Missing you, indeed I’ll miss you more than I’ll ever be able to say but my heart, my love, my safety raised you to fly away. With the bright lavender of my skin, I’ll always keep your lofty words here safely, waiting. Waiting. Waiting patiently for your return, I know I’ll see that lovely smile of yours again someday. After all, home was never truly this whole house but the space we created within my four walls. ~Elunara W.

—Letter to my inner child from the perspective of my childhood bedroom~

"As an artist...why do you create?"

I think the simple fact that there's so much to envision…there's so much ideas, stories, messages waiting on an outlet to bring them into the physical. The fact that we have an imagination and can dream about so many things and express it here in the 3D. The beautiful feeling of connection that bridges the gaps of separation when we share our creativity with others as well ~whimsicweaver