doe-eyed doll-face

she has lashes that almost touch her eyebrows
i thought to myself
silently cursing my genes
that gave me barely there
wispy little things
& not wispy in a, “cute, exotic, untouchable” way
but in the, “they look like someone plucked beetle legs,
broke them,
& sprinkled them onto my eyelids” kind of way.
hers are full, and healthy, and long, and make her eyes wide.
her eyes.
They look like they could swallow the world whole with her doe-eyed gaze
not slanted
& uneven
& the losing card in my deck of features
featured on my face.

are they natural? are they extensions? how does she do it?
i must emulate, & pray
that with all the serums,
primers, solutions, & tricks
that my lashes could at least strive to be 30%
of what hers are.
so i investigate
video after video
FINALLY! a makeup tutorial
im hopeful in discovering the secret to long lashes

but wait..
her perfect
sunkissed freckles
that bridge her perfect little nose
that she wears proudly in ever photo
every vlog
every “i woke up like this” moment
are drawn in
with a brand-less
brown
eyeliner pencil.

Bare-faced,
they’re not just “barely there”
they’re nonexistent
i thought to myself
silently comforted in my genes
that gave me true
sunkissed freckles
sprinkled over my bridge-less asian nose
& speckled on the apples of my too-round cheeks

Roosevelt may be mostly right
when he said:
“Comparison is the thief of joy.”
However,
in some rare cases
it may also bring solace.

His & Hers

“there will be two sets of knives
one for you, & one for me,” he says
because he’s seen how haphazardly i stack the dishes in the dish rack
& leave the drying towel unevenly folded on the counter

he’s noticed my frizzy fly-away hairs
that i wear proudly in protest to hair spray & pomade
& my black eyeliner that pools in the corner of my eyes
when i’ve yawned too much on our red-eye flights

he’s observed how my toiletries slowly claim unused counter space
& how he wakes up with my fine, long, hair
woven between his toes, & the fibers of his blanket

he doesnt have to tell me why
there will be two sets of knives
i know all the reasons why.

what i dont know
is where the compartmentalizing
of his & mine ends
& where the sharing begins.

doing life over sushi

he starts his prayer
before devouring his eight plates of sushi
as i match him– with my measly four

he starts his prayer
with thanking God
for getting “to do life with” me.

& i smile
with my eyes closed
& squeeze his hand a little tighter
because that’s the prayer i say
before i fall asleep.
before the asks,
for keeping him healthy
& happy
& safe.

they say God hears consistency
if that is true
then your name
must be the most prominent thing
God has heard from me
in years.

the ways in which he loves

He always stands in front of me on descending escalators,
& behind me on ascending ones
because he knows I have a propensity for falling.

He packs an overcoat even though he knows he’ll never use it,
because he’d rather carry the extra garment
& give me the option of having an added layer to protect me from the cold.

He sends me videos of himself,
welcoming me to whatever country,
state, city I’m flying into
so that however bad of a flight I had,
it’s always remedied with his bright smile.

He writes me notes with the sweetest sentiments
& sends them via email when he knows im still sleeping
so as not to wake me with a text notification.

These are the gestures
however small or large they appear
that lets me know
he chooses me.
each and every day.

the internet is for

the greatest contradiction about social media,
is everything is eternal
yet fleeting.

once its out there;
it can be screenshot
shared
reposted
or just glimpsed at
by anyone.
by everyone.

but it documents
our transitions
our aging
weight gain
single
in a relationship
its complicated
single
and so on & so forth

the interweb remembers
the stranger who stumbled upon my facebook remembers
the ex stalking my instagram remembers
so maybe i just always wanted less of me… out there.
to be found, to be seen, to be remembered.

those who matter, know.
i dont need social media as my walking bulletin board, i told myself.

but something about you,
makes me want to open all the windows
& shout from every single platform
how crazy about you i am.
in that annoying,
in your face,
probably bold,
all caps,
don’t-fucking-care-who-unfollows-me-after-this kinda way.

you make me feel
incredibly lucky to be with you
& its the first time
i want to share this moment with the world.

unraveling

“It just didn’t seem like she wanted to share a life with him is all…

This part.  The conclusion. Lacking in so many details left out of a half-lived story, is what keeps me up at night.  that seam you keep thumbing over in your favorite jacket pocket that you wish you could just cut out but you know you run the risk of carelessly undoing the stitching. it’s a flaw. you know it’s a flaw. but you can’t part with it, because it’s a part of a bigger, greater, whole.

finances. not sharing incomes. i get it, people get funny when it comes to money. but like all other things in a relationship, you eventually learn to become comfortable with it right? like farting around one another, or confiding in one another about that one odd cousin you just wish would learn some table manners.  but if im perfectly fine keeping what’s mine as my own, and yours as yours, & not asking for loans from the bank of You, and vice versa.. and we take turns buying the groceries and splitting the electricity bill.. how is that not sharing?

the more scary, resounding truth for me, is not that the argument is about finances. but more, that two people, who are “ready” to spend their life together, can still have such disjointed views on what it means to “share a life together.”  people go through the motions, sharing what they believe, in checking off the boxes of what they are, aren’t, try to be, don’t want to be, but when it comes down to that grand scale of weighing out who’s giving, who’s taking, who’s getting enough, and who still needs more …  can someone really be in the wrong?

i have this thing about support and time. so the other stuff, the shared finances, the romantic gestures, the monetary gifts, are all minimal to me because i need someone to be my rock– sometimes when it’s not the most convenient for them.  maybe its a barter system in my head. i forgo-ed those, so let me have this. maybe its unfair. but ive never been in a relationship before, where what i gave in exchange for needing my other half in that way, wasn’t enough.. or unfair.

until this, i’ve never had to reason out why what i know to be a true way to win my heart, is important.. and why it should stay. or convince someone that i know what’s best for me, & no it doesn’t need more understanding on my part, or flexibility, when majority of the time i’m ok playing backseat to your other plans, your future, being your cheerleader to your successes & your ear to your failures (although there are few. see how much i look up to you?) i take a lot of energy, & a lot of talking myself out of my corners of defeat & off ledges of what i make out to be insurmountable fears.. but ive never been afraid of disclaiming that early on, so that anyone who doesn’t have the patience, or tolerance, can walk away risk free.

Maya Angelou once told Oprah, “When people show you who they are, believe them.” 

i feel…
like.
sometimes we stand on uneven playing fields.
& you see that we are
but i dont.
& you’re telling me to share,
play fair,
do it like you do.
& for the life of me,
i cant seem to get the coordination,
the gravity of the situation,
to get me to you.