Secret Place.

It’s 2 a.m in Tokyo. March 20th, 2017. One year ago today I accomplished my life’s dream.

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I think that everyone deserves at least one secret. Something that only they can hold on to. I forget that sometimes as more and more I let who I am reflect through my posts on various medias. What once was something very therapeutic, can occasionally now leave me very empty just as before. If I let go of everything, if I share everything, what do I have to hold on to anymore?

I thought getting older meant becoming wiser. But, I’m feeling anymore that that isn’t exactly true. I feel more lost and blurred than ever before with each passing year. I thought growing up would mean finding a place. Not feeling so different. I’ve found myself more complex than ever before. At first, I thought I was simple; accepting all for what it is. But recently I feel like what other people consider to be basic moral, I lack that now. Because everything this grey, and nothing is wrong or right. I guess that’s why I am a loner type of person.

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The past week I have had the urge to run in a specific direction. I kept putting it off. “I’m too tired.” “I’m sick.” Today I woke up with a stronger pull and decided that even though it hurts to breathe, I will go for this short run.

So I tried to run, and when my throat hurled with coughs I decided to stop and saw a path. Then off of this path I saw some concrete. And inside this concrete, I found a secret place.

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I’ve lived in this small city for some time and something I always hated was that I didn’t have a place for my own. Everyone assumes your business. People appear open minded, but talk rather badly. And when I want to hide from every one and everything, I never had a secret place.

I can tell this place is where others come to drink and do drugs. Which makes it all the more special. Because others are using it as an escape too. Somehow we people are led on the same paths. Places with peace and love etched into their walls.. I’m glad I found what my heart was pulling me towards. So I think it’s important to remember to listen to those weird pulls.

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The more I experience, somehow the more lonely I feel. But something that is extremely strange to me, is that the more lonely I am, the more I appreciate what is around me and in my life.

As the weather changes I’m happy to have this place as solitude. I want to enjoy my last months in this place and try to find appreciation in where I am before I leave.

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Sick days.

I don’t really get the physical “lay in bed all day” sick very often. So I guess when I do I become pretty miserable in my head. I always think, I should be working. Laying here is a waste of time. I haven’t done anything. And I become very anxious, even though becoming sick is supposed to be a sign that your body needs rest.

However I think I’ve just been stressed lately. I’m feeling the very big pressure of time and money the past two weeks. It seems that though I’ve been trying, I don’t get much room to save money. It all washes away in the waves of bills and time is ticking closer and closer to when I want to leave this place.

It’s like when you’re playing one of those games as the sand slips down marking how much time you have to answer the question or complete the task. I’m feeling really desperate to accomplish what I want to accomplish, so on days like this when I can’t work, I can’t make money, I feel worthless.

Then I become frustrated that money has this kind of control over our lives. A never ending circle.

I’m not happy or sad recently. But I keep trying to put this face of doing my best. But I just feel like I am going no where. I look around me at the people that lie and cheat to get what they want and somehow things always seem to work out for them. Are they happy? And I try to be honest, and kind, and treat everyone fairly and do things in a “justly” way. But am I happy? Am I going anywhere?

I feel stuck in this constant rut of dissatisfaction. I’m not learning anything new. I’m not meeting anyone inspiring. And I feel farther and farther away from my goal every day that goes by.

I guess even from home there are things I can do from this sad sick room. So I will do my best in being productive that way.

It’s not that I hate America.

One of the things we are warned about, but I’ve just recently fully processed, is that some people will get a sense of, “oh, now you think you’re better than me.” when you talk about your time abroad. I remember going home for Christmas when my dad said to me; “You need to watch what you say around the family. The way you talked about Americans during Thanksgiving made people feel like you were talking down about them.”

This beyond frustrated me. One, because most of my life I have avoided conversations with family because of judgements, but mostly because it offended me that they would ever think of me that way. I simply felt at that time that I couldn’t talk to people who hadn’t been abroad about going abroad if they couldn’t see past themselves. Friends that would say, “wow. You’re so lucky. I wish I could do that.” As if I didn’t work my ass off to do what I did. Or like I got to do the impossible, when anyone, with effort, can go anywhere in the world they choose.

I struggled for a long time how to convey my feeling to my friends and family in hopes that they could understand me more.

It’s not that I hate America. Of course a million things annoy me. And compared to the things I love about Japan, the things here are shit to me. But of course there are things that I adore about America that Japan lacks. However, all of the politics, accessories and people aside, it all comes down to how being abroad makes me feel.

Imagine doing something, going somewhere, whatever, and you were able to feel your own potential. No matter on the darkest days when you think…”I wish I was dead.”, something inside still tells you, “No, there is more.” You start to realise all of the negative things you ever felt or thought were simply just that. Thoughts and feelings, and that you can actually work hard and try to manipulate those things into bettering yourself. Most importantly, you establish a sense of self. Who you are and what you want and the feeling of loving yourself for the first time.

Now suddenly you are ripped away from that. You are thrust backwards into what you left behind. Some things happy of course, but you aren’t who you were when you left, and now you can’t be who you were while you were gone. You are trapped inside of this box of expectations from both yourself and the people around you. And most days you don’t know what’s next, what’s best, or who you are even supposed to be. You feel back at square one.

Only recently has the war inside my head calmed down from this feeling.

I could finally say, it’s not that I hate this place, but I know the person that I can be. These surroundings I know in my heart do not allow the Holly I know I can be to flourish.

And some people think that is selfish. They only see it one sided that way. But I’m seeing that for me, in my way, it is the least selfish way I can be. To be the best person, so I can support those in my life with good advice and love. Even if I can’t be 100% what people want, I think that being the best for myself I can express what they need.

As I’ve said before, I love best from a distance. And though it’s lonely, and I’m always parting ways, I think I have been able to smile the most I have in my whole life after living this way.

I haven’t been doing my best since coming back here. I honestly haven’t even put in the effort to try. But I would like to have dreams again. And I want to be the best possible me that I can. Even if I fail a lot. And I hope that everyone else can do the same.

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In the time it takes to bloom.

I met you as a seedling. Roots as delicate as snow. Released from a pistil into this fragile world of big feet, stomping around relentlessly around me. Stomp, stomp, STOMP. They crash around me, unaware that I am here. No one stops to look down… No one had a care.

In Summer’s heat I was meant to thrive. His healing hands created to keep me alive, but I was tossed aside… Alone and afraid. My roots struggled to find steady ground. Too cold, too hot, too hard, too soft. And suddenly, there was you.

17160206_10154408445623404_783624572_nMy roots tucked in, however thin, to the upward curve between your lips, the way your belt wraps around your hips, and how your hair falls to one side. How your skin was smooth like Summer’s sun. And warmth inside me, had begun.

My body stayed wrapped tightly in a twirl. But every laugh that spilled like liquid gold from a special place, softened my overbearing embrace. A seed should not grow in night, but you projected the warmest of light. As you held me close, and closer still, until I wasn’t feeling alone anymore.

You told me your fears and insecurities and instantly knew mine. The difference between how some stars align. And my design was fascinating to you. I know in the end, you were just alone too. You told me how being a flower was hard. How beauty is perception, one not all see the same. And how eventually I would learn how to play this game.

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You protected me when I was small and weak. Watered me down when I couldn’t face the heat. Sang me songs that I had never knew. How much I wished I could open up for you.

Winter came, and you left me too. But my roots had become too strong in you. And I waited as the days turned to months, as your smiles faded in pace with the snow, and the sun began to shine, but not with the glow of your smile.

Still a measly young sprout, the wind carried me over mountains, oceans and plains, to a land I thought we could remain. I bloomed alone, on the darkest of nights, after death, I came to be. Nothing can care for this flower except for me.

A flower born in darkness, thrives in darkness, they say. And I hope I can see you again one day. Because now that I’ve bloomed, there’s nothing much left. Except to droop back to where my roots are kept.

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Do you believe in demons?

“Not all demons are bent on the destruction of humans.”

I talk about myself in detail often, but a lot I still only skim the surface of. I wanted to try and write about something that I often think about.

Previously, I could blame a lot of these ways of thinking on things like self-hate, and self-harm. That I only thought in such odd ways because I wanted to believe I was as bad as people around me said I was. But I don’t think I truly hate myself anymore. The more I get to know others, the more they open up to me, I realise that, I’m not all that different in what I was lead to believe was wrong. We are all that way as humans.

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But I’ve always wondered about myself; why me? Why do people want to get close to me? Why do people I do no more than say “hello” to randomly message me on Facebook for advice? Why do strangers open up about their lives, and why do others want my attention?

I have always called this ability a curse of mine, to where as my mom calls it a gift. A special ability of knowing. My strong sense of intuition. Knowing one’s own feelings before they do. Sensing grief behind a person’s smile. Etc. Etc. Just as those types of people open up to me, I find myself attracted to that type as well. Something in me so desperately wants to help others.

Since coming back to America, I’ve struggled with this ability. I’ve previously allowed others to become close to me knowing I will only be caused pain. And I’ve also allowed people to become close to me knowing that I will cause them pain. And I still haven’t figured out if that’s right or wrong of me. To help others in the grand scheme of things at the sake of their emotions or my own.

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When I was little I believed that I was a demon. Parts of my family attended church typically twice a week. My cousin was my best friend at the time, so I always wanted to follow him along. Then the day for me to become baptised came. They took me to a room where the priest talked to me about what would happen and the questions they would ask and what my answer should be. I remember thinking that even if I was a demon, I could go to Heaven now. But I also had a lot of questions. Getting baptised made me think more about who God was supposed to be and why the world was the way it was and why kids like me saw and went through certain things, and worse.

But church never had those answers. And I found myself believing that if I couldn’t even trust God, then I truly must be something awful. So I stopped going. I was weird to my family. I was weird to people at school. And my only redeeming charm to the public was that somehow, something in me seemed good and easy to trust. Why would people feel that sense towards something so destructive as myself? I still wonder that.

So the quote from above, I heard that today. And somehow felt reassured. That maybe I am awful, but it’s certainly not my intention. And for a lot of people, intentions are supposed to be what matters. I didn’t mean for this to turn out as religious sounding as it does, but truthfully, I’m not too concerned about it.

Even if it’s chaos, thus far at least I can say I have helped others.

Also, not to all of you, but to a you, I felt like writing, I love you.

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I want to love you like the 90’s.

Conversations over lunch bring a lot into one’s mind. How many times he has to check his phone. How his girlfriend is insecure. He’s with a girl. He’s with a girl he loved. How many minutes is he taking to respond? 1, 5, 10. What could they do in that time? A kiss, a touch.

I hate myself for my body. That other girls hate me too. That I was born small and thin. That my hair never needs to be brushed. That my eyes can either show brown or green, and that makes people comment, “you’re unique.”

I hate myself for my personality. Blunt, sarcastic, mysterious. I am not trying to woo you, I am simply being myself. A girl that says how she feels and tells you what a piece of shit you are to others. I do not want you to follow me. I do not want you to love me. I do not want you to cheat with me.

I hate myself for what life does to us all. You were born in Spring, but I in Fall. And you know what happens in Autumn? Everything dies. Much like how I feel inside. And everyone thinks that is beautiful. Everyone wants to cure who I am. But once they take their reward, no one stays in the end.

I love myself for being a girl with blurred lines. Trying to understand everyone’s insides. Accepting people for the wrongs that they do. And loving everyone for being an un-named “you”.

How I see the sun in a light no one else can. And how I would never refuse lending a small hand. That even though who I am gives me such distaste, I love her regardless, I love at my own pace.

I want to love like the 90’s. The years I was true. 143. Me and you. A walk where we would stand side by side. Not me in the lead, not you as my guide. A love with no title. No tags, no likes. No left or right swipes.

Because love today, it doesn’t exist at all. The 90’s are dead. Perhaps it’s true after all.

Not exactly alright. But not, not fine.

I haven’t posted random photos in between my random melancholy thoughts in awhile. Recently, in order to express myself as I always feel I must, I have taken some photos here and there to cope with just another phase. I guess I’ll talk about it a little. They say that it helps. And I started social media platform for that reason in the first place. So.

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After finally getting over my distaste for the people I was surrounded by, and re-learning my acceptance of others and who they are, I’ve been fortunate to observe a new group of people. How they support and care for one another moves me a lot. Kind of like a movie of rag tag kids with no one else in the world but each other. They feel like a family. Though I’m a person that keeps others at an arms distance, watching them together makes me feel warm and smile a lot inside.

If baffles me when I realise others watch me too. And when they approach me and say things like, “We’ve noticed that you haven’t been quite alright.” I guess since coming back to America, of course I’ve changed, but recently I guess I have been a bit of an empty shell.

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To put it extremely bluntly, maybe seeing a dead baby does that to you. Being able to hold my nephew in the palm of one hand maybe broke a piece of me that I still haven’t been able to regain. I guess I can’t ever regain it… but patch up somehow as we must do in every tragedy life brings.

We as people never like to admit that we are struggling. We want to be strong and show others that we have no weakness. And I suppose this thought leaves us to slowly destroy ourselves.

On top of trying to heal from our tragedies, life keeps moving. Work, studies, travel, dreams, job hunting, relationships of all kinds, finding ourselves.

I’ve been given an okay to begin cutting medication out of my life. Somehow, being able to say that I’m not okay has earned me that. And I’m facing the problem I was worried about when I first began taking medicine. Am I strong enough to go alone? But that’s another discussion.

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Emotionally I’m not exactly alright. Tears happen randomly. I am angry. And mostly I’m just not feeling much of anything at all. I shrug everything off as, well.. life simply is.

To feel or not. That is always a place I return to. But we still keep on moving forward as we must. Interviews. Friends. Tears. Art. Expressions. Goals. Dreams. What do I want? Who do I love? What is important anyway?

Of course, these times do pass. And I’ll look to the people I care about and internally thank them for always standing beside this existence that is me. And we will smile and laugh again.

I think I need to chase more sunsets like before. Recently I just haven’t been feeling quite alive. So I suppose it’s time to learn to fix that again.

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