I don’t miss you.

I don’t miss you.

I miss love.

I miss loving and being loved back.
I miss loving someone and feeling safe in that love, like they could never do any harm.

I miss waking up excited to see someone I love.
I miss starting my day with your peaceful expression next to me, or timing my activities so I can watch your shining face bob up and down in the alley as you’re returning from work, then seeing your face light up when you spot me in the distance.
I miss feeling like the world is bestowing upon me a precious gift whenever I see you.
I miss cooking and knowing that I’ll be filling the tummy of someone I love.
I miss hearing your satisfactory groan as you softly lay down after I feed you.
I miss going to bed in glee as I look forward to spending tomorrow with you.
I miss having something – someone – to look forward to every day.

I miss sharing my thoughts with whom I feel is the most wonderful person in the world.
I miss being able to touch whom I feel is the softest, most gentle creature at will, and holding them as close as I want.
I miss admiring your every movement and every word that those magical lips form.
I miss worrying about you and expecting you to worry about me.
I miss talking about nothing at all but having the time of my life.
I miss cancelling other plans to spend more time with you because every minute with you is precious and lovely.
I miss walking with a spring in my step knowing that I’m the loveliest person to the loveliest person to me.
I miss gleefully whispering, “You’re my favourite,” into your ear with any and no excuse.
I miss feeling like every day is Christmas.

I miss thinking that having met someone like you, life wasn’t all that bad.
I miss knowing that with you in my life, it could never get that bad.
I miss imagining happier days to come with you by my side.
I miss dreaming of all the things we could do together.
I miss seeing hope with my future.

I miss what we had, and I miss how it felt to be with you, but I don’t miss you.

I don’t miss the selfishness and the lazy, calculating way you look at me now.
I don’t miss the hurtful words you heartlessly throw around to have me at my knees.
I don’t miss the way you so readily walk out on me at the hint of inconvenience.
I don’t miss the spiteful, aloof way you change your tone with the slightest trigger.
I don’t miss the cold, careless person you’ve become.

I don’t miss the desperate insecurity you harvest in me.
I don’t miss the time I spend worrying if you’ll text back, if you’re avoiding me, if one day you’ll disappear without a word, or if you’re just using me for my endless affection until you find something better.
I don’t miss the shock of finding a knife in my back when I lean in for a hug.
I don’t miss the casual disinterest you take when you rattle my core.
I don’t miss the dread of my every doubt confirmed.

I don’t miss the outright disrespect.
I don’t miss the compulsive lying, denial, manipulation, condescension, humiliation, and unfathomable self-righteousness.
I don’t miss the struggle to feel like a whole of a person.

As it turns out, I don’t miss you.
I miss the rosy past.


The year of straight A’s.
The year of straight F’s.

The year of leadership.
The year of new responsibilities.

The year of shirking responsibilities.
The year of repeating mistakes.
The year of secrecy.

The year of coming out.

The year of 18-year-old’s.

The year of new friends.
The year of reconnecting.

The year of going back.
The year of moving on.

The year of the move.

The year of opening up.
The year of hardening heart and building walls.

The year of sleepless solo nights.
The year of drinking to distract.

The year of exploration.

The year of feigned confidence.
The year of reclaiming power.

The year of doubt and pretense.
The year of admission.

The year of discovery. 2015.

2016: The year of self-sufficiency, structured adventure, and latte art.

Inner Monologue to J

I don’t want our meetings to be Q&A sessions about our personal lives, and I don’t want to be tied down with obligation as a volunteer tutor to listen to you get out a week’s worth of conversation.

I knew you were lonely when we met, and that you didn’t have any English-speaking friends. Today I learned that you probably don’t have any friends that you see regularly. I understand the urge to want to share your thoughts with someone that’ll listen.

However, I feel that you are exploiting the program. I’ve always felt uneasy about our unstructured meetings. Now I realize you’re abusing the fact that you have me at your service when we meet, and instead of trying to learn English, you are now simply using me as a free counselor, and an easy friend. I’ve tried to switch our focus to learning English by correcting you when you speak, but you always dismiss it as if I’m interrupting you in a one-way conversation in an unbalanced friendship.

I am your English tutor. My goal is to help you improve your English. [Train of thought is lost here.]

Confronting J: A Rambling Practice


Let me stop you right there.

For the past couple of our meetings, I’ve been noticing some things about your attitude towards me, and before we continue, I need to set some things straight.

You do not know me through my parents, and I do not know you through your child.
You need to stop thinking about yourself in relation to my parents and comparing me with your 12-year-old child.
We are two adults that gather on Saturday afternoons with an explicit goal.
Your questions about my parents are personal, inappropriate, and unrelated to the goal of our meetings.

You also need to stop asking personal questions about my life outside the scope of our meetings.
My role is to help you learn English, not to share my life with you.
That is what this program is about, and that is what I signed up for.
If I wanted to make a friend, I would have joined a club, not signed up to be a tutor.

Also, you need to stop questioning my motives as a volunteer.
I volunteer because I want to. Even if I had other motives, that is none of your business.
I am an adult that freely gives up her time to help you improve your English.
That is all you need to know to appreciate what I do and to respect me.

Like I said, my college does not require me to volunteer.
I don’t hope to get a job as an English teacher.
I like to give back, and I think teaching English is a good use of my skills.
If that is so difficult to believe, that is your problem, and you need to stop pestering me about it.

I am your English tutor, and I want our meetings to be about learning English.

If you can’t accept any of the things that I’ve just laid out, you need to find either a new tutor or a different program,
because that is not what I’m about, and officially, that’s not what this program is about either.

*not real name

“Slap her”: Fanpage.it video objectifies girls, exploits boys, and trivializes domestic violence

I admit, I felt conflicted watching the video. I wanted to be moved, and I was, but the way they were using the girl as a prop made me feel undeniably uncomfortable.

Dr. Rebecca Hains

A new anti-domestic-violence video created by the Facebook page Fanpage.it is being widely shared because people find it heartwarming and touching.

I find it sickening.

The video’s description asks, “What happens when you put a boy in front of a girl and ask him to slap her? Here is how children react to the subject of violence against women.”

Fanpage.it: What's your name?As the video begins, it seems promising. An off-camera male voice asks five charming young boys questions, one at a time:

  • “What’s your name?”
  • “How old are you”
  • “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
  • “Why?”

Thanks to this line of questioning, each boy is brought to life for the viewer. With a range of personal demeanors and interests, it’s easy for viewers to see each boy as a unique and lovely individual.

Then, each boy is visibly surprised when a tall, blonde, conventionally beautiful young girl joins them in front of the camera…

View original post 2,585 more words

You’re not an abusive boyfriend that I’m desperately in love with.

You don’t get to have me at your mercy.
You don’t get to dump me, and then still be welcomed back with a routine.

I don’t need you.
Not having you doesn’t make me anxious, or feel empty.

You don’t cause me the same kind of pain anymore.
The anguish, if that, lasts only a moment.

Your abuse doesn’t make me want to hurt myself.
Your actions don’t decide my sense of worth.

Your words are poison-tipped arrows, but I’m standing behind a glass wall.
I have my own sense of worth now.

I’m over you.


I’m loving the fog in this city. The sky is spotlessly white, with a grey tint. The whiteness with which it illuminates causes all the colours to pop, and everything appears with more depth. I feel like I’m seeing everything for the first time, and I can see why: everything looks ever so slightly different, like a Photoshop-enhanced photo in contrast with its original. It’s as if I’m seeing things in their true colours.

It’s all mesmerizing. I wish I could take a picture of everything. I wish I had my DSLR with me.

To be truthful, though, I haven’t even opened the box my DSLR came in. I feel this immense pressure to produce worthwhile photography, something that induces, “Wow”, and that takes time and heart.

Maybe I’ll take this as a lesson. If I had used my DSLR beforehand, and had it with me, I could have captured this moment.

It’ll Be Okay

I think I’ll be okay.

I think the very fact that I’m constantly thinking about things and thinking about myself – aware and reflective – instead of acting rashly and passionately, outlines that. I haven’t jumped off the cliff yet, and no matter how much I whine, I don’t think I ever will.

I’ll keep on thinking, doubting, realizing, changing, and growing, and eventually, I think, the worst pains will be over, and I’ll be okay.