Something to believe in

Last night I was talking to a friend of mine about various things, and one of the issues that came up was her thoughts on how lucky I am to have found such a "good guy". I put it in quotes because it seems that so many girls these days all refer to the man of their dreams, whether he's currently in their life or not, as a "good guy". I actually think he's more than the all-too spoken of "good guy" and I would hate to limit his personality and character to that one description because he's so much more than a "good guy" to me.

I just woke up a little while ago from this kind of awkward dream. I guess the thing that made it awkward was that it wasn't entirely unbelievable. I could imagine myself in the same situation that my dream placed me in, and that's why I was so relieved when I came to my senses and realized that it was just a dream. A few years ago, though, that dream could've easily been a part of my reality. It was kind of disturbing, and I shouldn't really call it a dream because it was more of a nightmare. I've had dreams/nightmares like this before, and I think the reason why I'm referring to it as a dream now is because its contents doesn't disturb me as much as it would have in the past. So, what was this particular dream about? It was about my childhood, except in the dream, I was the same age as I am now, 22. I found myself living with my parents and feeling defenseless against my mother's husband, as I did so many times when I was a child. The odd part about it is that in my dream I WAS NOT a child, but I still felt like I could not find the right words to prove my innocence to my stepdad. He always did such a good job of making me feel bad, and I wasn't a bad kid. I did well in school, studied all the time (mostly to escape having to spend time around the stepdad), and I helped out around the house as much as I could. That wasn't enough for him, though. He still found something to criticize me for, whether it was my inability to put the right utensil in its designated spot in the utensil drawer, or my failure to use the appropriate amount of toilet paper when I used the restroom, there was always something...after awhile, the insecurity set-in so deep that I started to question my own worth as a result of not being able to follow all of my stepdad's requests as perfectly as he would've liked.

I spent some time away from "home" when I was in high school, but that only happened because my mom and stepdad temporarily separated. It was during that time that I came to understand my situation a little better, I realized more and more that I was not the problem, but that I was actually a victim of verbal abuse. There were other situations that more clearly indicated verbal abuse than the aforementioned ones. I wasn't the only one, my mother also experienced the same treatment as I did, but she was desensitized by it so it no longer influenced her the way it affected me. Despite the fact that my parents eventually reunited, I was able to get myself out of that environment a few years later, it was my junior year of college, to be exact.

It seems that this story about my past has nothing to do with the first paragraph in this little blog entry of mine, but it really does. You see, after I woke up from this dream that temporarily sent me back in time, I had a sense of peace. Of course, the dream didn't exactly give me that peace, but I found peace in my present situation. I don't really feel I am lucky to have found such a wonderful man, the one who I currently refer to as my fiance. I see him as an answer to a prayer. My faith in God constantly sustained me when I was young. I always believed that there was a being who was able to give perfect love, despite the fact that I was in a place where I rarely felt loved. As a result of having faith in such a being, I continued to pray. I made a constant request to God that I would be able to feel his love one day. I knew it would be hard to feel that kind of love in this world, where people incessantly hurt each other because they themselves are unhappy, but I kept believing that one day I would get a glimpse of it. I think a lot of people in my situation would have probably come to believe that there wasn't really a God. They would wonder how a loving God could ever allow one of his children to be exposed to so much hurt. Everyone experiences their own hell on Earth where it's hard to believe in God. Only few people continue to believe in goodness when it's nearly impossible to find in most places. But I truly feel that it's so much easier to identify real love after not having been exposed to it. I think the reason why so many people have a hard time identifying it even when it's right in front of their face is because their perspective on life and love has become tainted by the very people that hurt them the most. Negative people easily bring other people down to their level, but it takes someone with a belief in something greater than that negativity to refuse to be brought down along with it. Love requires us to harden ourselves to evil, not to goodness, but, as a safety mechanism, people usually harden themselves to both. Honestly, the only reason why I wasn't completely hardened was because I continued to believe in perfect Love, or God. So...why aren't I lucky as a result of having someone in my life whose love reassures my faith? Because I am blessed. I am simply someone who had their prayer answered, even though I prayed the same prayer for so long.

Happy.

Happiness is...to me, at least...

I know happiness is a fleeting feeling, and contentment/joy are more lasting, but when I think of happiness, these few things come to mind:

1. Getting a real hug from someone I love. Now, what is a real hug? Well, even though I only see her a few times out of the year, whenever I see my grandma, I always get the kind of hug from her that leaves me feeling like a teddy bear in a little girl's arms. You know, think of the stereotypical image of a kiddo hugging her bear; that's what it's like. I love her, I love her hugs.
   
   
2. Seeing the face of the love of my life is a wonderful thing. Every time! I treasure it more than I would the diamond engagement ring he can't afford to buy me because we're both poor college students and he's on his way to law school. Yes, every single time, seeing his face is like sipping a hot cup of cider when the weather and the world are colder than anticipated.
   
   
3. Getting a letter from my little brother. We are 12 years apart. I don't care if stick figures aren't appreciated as art, they're my little priceless possessions, but only because he makes them for me.
   
   
4. Volunteering as a HOST mentor. I don't do it anymore, but when I did it, I realized why it is that teachers don't get paid much. (Teachers acquire intangible riches in the form of memorable experiences.) Now I'm working on being an elementary school teacher. It's a blessing, really. When you can teach a kiddo to appreciate even the little things, like how unique the smell of each book is, then you realize that YOU really DO have the ability to change the negative outlook on life that so many adults have. It's true, children are easily influenced by those around them. So, if they learn how to discover beauty in their youth, it will be easier for them to identify and foster its existence in the world much later.
   
   
5. Faithful friends. I love getting letters in the mail, or in my inbox, from friends who I haven't seen in years but who've still managed to keep in touch. Because I moved around so much when I was younger, I learned pretty quick what I wanted in a friend. So each time I found someone who was worth befriending, because of their sincerity, uniqueness, and honest desire to live a life of love, I'd consider it a small miracle; it'd make me happy. To this day, I still feel the same way. In fact, it seems I appreciate my friends more now than ever, probably because it's hard to keep in touch with people because I'm moving on, i.e., graduating from college.
   
   
6. Music and prayer. They're instantaneous mood-boosters for me. The music should be loud, and the prayer should be completely candid, of course.
   
   
7. Having a meaningful conversation with someone. A talk that consists of something more than the superficial discussion over how nice it is that it finally feels like Christmas time in Texas, or how much either of us loves Gilmore Girls (sorry, dedicated fan since the first season). I ESPECIALLY despise gossip! My goodness, that should NEVER be considered meaningful to anyone, but it's sad that so many seem to think so.
   
   
8. Beautiful things. Is that vague, or what? So many "things" fit under that category, but "these are a few of my favorite 'things' :)": Poetry, good books that make me love words more than before (and I LOVE words [I'm an English major, so it's a given]). What else? The aforementioned, music and prayer. Oh yeah, GOOD FOOD. I love to cook. Cooking is a beautiful thing, it's my favorite art form; my favorite kind of science. I love experimenting in the kitchen.

I could add more, but I'll end this on the number 8. Why? Because when people make top 10 lists, usually the last two ideas on the list aren't as good as the other 8. Ever noticed? As if they're only adding the other two out of obligation, or a societal expectation (possibly?). Eh, maybe it's not always the top 8, maybe for some it's 7 or 6. Why stick with top 10, though? I don't want to. The fact that I have the freedom and ability to make decisions like that makes me happy too. Get it?


I'm lovin' the shirt,
but the boy in the shirt is better!



This is my fabulous gunea pig, Mochi.
He makes me happy as well.
I had to give him credit!

22 yrs.

12 years ago, 22 seemed old. Seemed is obviously the operative word. Everything always seems big when you're a little over 4 feet tall, and that's why age 22 seemed like a big deal. 22 was one of the many ages that I associated with wisdom; basically, 22 was old and I was intimidated by that number (remember, I was 10 when I thought this). It's also important to note that I entertained this silly idea just a few years after realizing that babies didn't come out of bellybuttons...still, I find myself surprised at how I've failed to live up to my childhood expectations that I'd be a wise old woman at the ripe age of 22. Nope, I'm not exactly anywhere close to ripe. Though if you did compare me to a piece of fruit, I'd be in that deciding stage where I could either go sweet or sour; in spite of the few bruises I acquired as a result of being dropped one too many times in the produce aisle of life. To carry this analogy even further, right now, it kind of feels like I'm in a fruit basket. I am surrounded by a bunch of overly ripened bananas that are ready to be thrown into a bowl of ingredients that'll make for a nice loaf of banana bread. But I'm not a banana. Nope. I am a kiwi. I am fuzzy and brown, but colorful on the inside, if you only take the time to peel off my weird layer of protective but necessary skin.