from this spot on the couch, the only thing in this room is my ukulele.
the ukulele on my table tempts me
like the untouched inside
of your lover’s elbow
they all just smooth brown n rosewood
want to skip ahead in the songbook to when
i strum salt-and-sunburn songs like
twas living under my nails all along
make the wind change direction to my tune
n go on home
n ain’t u jus waiting for the day
u strum familiar yet unexpected
dimples n corners n in-betweens
like C to F to G back to C
till they sing
n no one goes on home
but we all just nerves fingertips
n wishful thinking
learning to touch rosewood
before it has taught us how
we’ll both find our way tho
all them wishes gonna breathe out of us
n leave the air stirrin with songs
writing love poems instead of doing overtime work.
ooooh baby is my day made.
this makes me feel good to write.
"I’ve made writing on business and personal finance a career for the last two years, and need to return to making writing my passion. I want to write articles in which it’s significant, in fact critical, that I am writing as a woman, or a Pilipino American, or a first-generation immigrant, or a Millenial, or all four. Or something else I’ll discover along the way.”
writing a cover letter to apply to be an editor at Hyphen. writing because i want to, not because my paycheck depends on it. boy do i miss that.
whether or not they take me, writing the above lines has already made this time worth it.
reminds me in one huge mental explosion exactly why i’ve wanted to be a writer. it’s been fuzzy for a long time. i remember now.
day is made, in fact, my whole week at work is made.
paid work isn’t everything… the work you do for your life… that’s where your day is. it’s what you’ll remember in your golden days, not the number on your paycheck.
how to find the bright spot.
i thought about what could possibly make my day today.
10 years ago today, i was sitting in 8th grade band class fixing my hair for picture day when my teacher announced that planes were flying into the world trade center. and i remember thinking that today will be a big, important day, looking back. but at the time, it was mostly numbness. i hadn’t heard much about the world trade center, or terrorists, or political conflict. but i’ve felt how death feels like… that’s the only part that felt real. someone’s family was dying out there, and that’s where the numbness set in… thinking… how would i feel if my dad called saying he wasn’t coming home today?
so i am thinking now about what could possibly make my day today.
and today its the mundane things.
kissing Josh good morning.
making a grocery list so we can make banana pancakes today.
texting my brother that i’ll see him next week.
looking out the window at another gray gray day in the Bay.
seeing a Facebook post from Risa.
moving around too much laundry in my new apartment.
and i take it back.
it’s not mundane.
its all the details that make up my life.
and its strange and simple thought: everything around me is so perfectly in place. even the loads of towels and underwear thrown on my couch.
today i refuse to complain about anything. i’m going to be grateful about everything.
my day is quietly, lovingly made.
[with love and respect for everyone on the 10 year anniversary of 9/11. keep finding the bright spot ya’ll.]
You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”
- Steve Jobs in 2005.
Today, Jobs resigned from Apple as CEO. But I’m guessing creativity can’t be contained, especially when you’re the genius and that’s your baby. This isn’t the last we’ll see of Jobs.
Till then… “trust in something” for your life. I trust in God and I trust my heart. What is YOUR compass to connect the dots?
feeling like the universe isn’t out of control and it’ll all make sense one day, cuz Steve Jobs told me so? dude, day is totally made.
I get it.
if i wasn’t so deathly afraid of needles, i’d tat this on my right and left wrist. i feel this like i feel sun on my skin. hella right.
cheers to future ink inspirations! day (and future body art??) made!
use nouns and verbs. they give writing its vigor.”
@danzarella via The Science of Social Media webinar
takeaway: write simply and plainly.
my day is inspired =)
"The group set a wooden lectern in bustling Union Square one afternoon and set a megaphone on top. The setup included a small plaque with three words: "Say something nice." Organizers then moved away to surreptitiously record the results." — via GOOD
“MAKE SOMEONE’S DAY! BRING THEM A COOKIE!!” - justine would say.
a Specialty’s black and white cookie, to be exact. yummm day made!
6am’s, you make
the perfect pb&js
day lifetime is made
(a haiku. for you fool!}
even beautiful can be boring.
so beautiful must also be unladylike, edgy, tough, ferocious, unapologetic, sometimes sarcastic, always different, and occasionally leopard-print.
today was almost a boring day. till i remembered that ukulele i would’ve brought home with me (if it wasn’t $400). in a world of mahogany, nato, and rosewood… that baby shined.
when in doubt, stand out.
and throw something leopard-print on.
cheers to the ones out who clash beauty with everything else and work it better. RAWR! our day is made!
talking to risa
(circa 2008! time flies… )
i told you i stopped writing poetry
because my best ones were self-destructive
i only spoke beautiful
when my voice was sad or mad or wanting.
you pointed out
i only listen to sappy optimistic love songs nowadays;
thursday was a day for confessions and captain obvious.
you understood though.
i broke up with poetry when i broke up with him
it was an unfortunate casualty i admit.
but built those poems like suitcases around our baggage
and didn’t want to travel into this next lovelife
with anything secondhand
so i left it all behind.
im writing this to tell you
that was a cop out.
i dont write sad or mad or wanting anymore
because i learned to speak out loud
instead of write it down.
i don’t write sappy optimistic love poetry
because i sing it nowadays.
i let myself forget what i want to write sometimes
because i can’t do it justice.
i don’t try to think what to write about
because i’d rather go live it sometimes.
but the point of all this is
i’m starting to writing again
thanks for the gentle nudge sis
to shut up and write
and to write poems to remember
instead of to forget.
to write myself alive
instead of bury excuses.
on both of our next lovelives
let’s promise to
build poems less like suitcases
more like wings
to the first poem i’ve written in a very long, a quiet applause. my late saturday/early sunday is made.