Feast of Love

“Do not feed your heart what the Lord has not shown you.”

But my heart is famished!
It is frail and feeble from fasting.
It grows covetous from craving.
Surely a slice, a morsel, a taste of what could be, would not be indulgent.

This wondering heart is made of fantasy and flight.
How long must it suffer denial?
Be tethered by yearning?
Begrudged even a bite?

This wandering heart of mine is woefully ravenous.
It will not be satiated with a simple taste. It will long for a spread – bitter or sweet. It will fall on love not given; ruminate on promises not made; dine on words not spoken.
And each treat, each savory crumb will only flame a hunger it can no longer satisfy.

“Do not feed your heart what the Lord has not shown you.”

For it will not delight, it will not gratify. It will not be a feast of love.

(Drafted in February) 


Poison and Wine and Whatever Moves You

So, I joined a writing group. Why? Because that itch, that need to be creative, that gnawing sensation of what I’ve not yet done, of where I’ve not yet gone, of who I’ve not yet been was clawing its way out of my skin and I was left with no other choice. So, I joined a writing group to help me help me.

I sat, giving eager attention, as the women seated around the small table took turns sharing their writings. A devotional. An inspirational blog. A self-help book. A memoir. Words written to help others. Beautiful stories created to inspire.

… Hmmm…

… Thinking and processing…

… I have “nothing” to share…

… Three days later… still thinking… and processing… and “nothing” to share

Enter The Civil Wars‘ Poison and Wine on my Spotify with the moment of truth.

I just want to write love stories. Fantastical, romantic fiction about the human condition in and out of relationships. I want to write about hearts meeting and breaking and mending. About longingly waiting and painfully letting go. About expectant butterflies and unceasing tears. Even if that doesn’t seem very… inspiring, it is what’s moving me.

Here’s a list (in no particular order) of what else is moving me:
Lisa Hannigan “I Don’t Know
aramore “Still Into You”
Rictor “Till the End”
The Civil Wars “Dust to Dust” and “To Whom it may Concern” and “Falling”

July 24th, a dream

I saw you in my dream last night. 
You came to pick me up, and we went for a walk. 
I had never seen you before, but in my dream, I knew you.
I knew I was comfortable with you. I knew I was happy to be with you.
I knew you were calm and confident.
I knew you would walk in a relax and steady pace.
I knew your smile was my favorite thing.
I knew your broad shoulders would be soft when I laid my head down.
Your eyes lit up when you looked at me, and I knew I loved that. 
You apologized for keeping me waiting. My answer, flowed from me so naturally, that it left me blushing. I didn’t mind. It was true.
I knew I would have waited forever.
You smiled.
My favorite thing.
And I knew.

A Love That Sets a Heart on Fire

I never thought I would write this. I always imagined my blog – though a blog about everything and nothing in particular – was a blog of… substance… maturity dabbled with quirky humor. A blog intelligent people could enjoy. But seeing as it is my blog about “life in no particular order”, it is my prerogative to blog about what’s going on in my life. And at the present, my heart beats with love stronger than ever before. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have a crush on Peeta Mellark.

While women were swooning over Gale Hawthorne, pining for his first kiss with Katniss Everdeen, I was nail biting at the edge of my seat secretly pleading for Peeta to be the victor. While they were rolling their eyes and sighing in exasperation at his puppy dog eyes, I was huddled with my stomach in knots over his wounded heart. And that first kiss with the handsome Mr. Hawthorne was an agonizing knife I had to suffer quietly while others rejoiced.

Now before you all start sending me hate mail, please understand that I like Gale. I would never denounce his rugged good looks. He clearly cares for Katniss, they have a number of things in common, and they are good friends. He’s a provider and a fighter. I have nothing against him.

I also have nothing against Katniss. She is caught between two worlds – loving Gale but having to be with Peeta. And to complicate the issue, she is slowly realizing that people are more complex than she previously assumed and that loving one does not equal hating the other.

But for me, while Katniss is the action heroine of the film, Petta is the embodiment of heroic and sacrificial love. From the first installment, every move, every alliance, every promise made or broken was done in an effort to protect Katniss – often at the expense of himself. He is not a good fighter. He does not know squat about hunting and seems like a lost lamb in the woods. In fact he is often wounded and usually at the point of death. But what skills he does have; (interpersonal and intrapersonal intelligence to start with) he uses to promote or protect her.

In The Hunger Games, while she made it clear she disliked him, while she was only worried about staying alive, he formed an alliance with the enemies in order to distract them from her trail. He had no way of benefiting from that and only got wounded and left for dead. In Catching Fire, we find that he is the one caring for Hamish. Knowing she does not love him, he is willing to play out his part in order to protect her family. And even more so, he volunteers, having been through that hell and knowing his chances of survival are slim so that he can increase her chances of surviving. Again, at absolutely no benefit to himself. How can you possibly fault me for wanting a love like that… A love that sets a heart on fire?

**If you have not seen part two yet, I will try not to completely spoil it for you.**

There is a scene in the movie where Katniss finally comes face to face with the reality of how devastating it would be for her to lose Peeta. Much like the rest of the movie, the scene focuses on Katniss’ emotions without giving much attention to how much more love must have been pumping through Peeta’s heart all this time. While watching the scene, President Snow’s young granddaughter comments, “someday I want to love a boy that much”. My simple reply to her is, “me too”.

Postcards from the Edge


Dear Sir,

I’m writing to inform you about a special invitation. You see, my mom loves Christmas! When the

holiday comes around, she magically becomes one of Santa’s little helpers; wrapping sweaters, PJs, jewelry and the like. In fact, we jokingly dub the dining room her workshop – the table, overtaken with gift papers, ribbons, boxes, and bags of various colors, shapes, and sizes. You are guaranteed to find a present under the tree for even the random, last-minute guest.


But, as exciting as that sounds, I actually believe my mom enjoys giving cards more. She loves picking out these Christmas cards and writing one for each of her children. And each year, the final adornments on the tree are the cards, carefully placed between the branches. Believe me, we enjoy receiving them.

This year was interesting. It was the first year everyone was a couple – except, of course,  yours truly. And this year, each child and each significant other had a card in the tree. And my mom, to compensate for the lack of another’s intimate significance in my life, did what you are now cringing to read. She wrote a card to my “future boyfriend” and very excitedly presented it to me in the presence of all my younger siblings and their others.

Open floor, bury self.

I have to confess that in the midst of the awkward laughter, I fought back a tear. It was a tear made of a combination of things, really. Embarrassment. Sadness. Awareness that this future person was so important to her. Refusal to let her see my bruised ego. Realization that I would cherish this card as some sort of special pass, only to be given to this future “him” when I knew he was the real deal. A combination of emotions flooded my tear. But I smiled, I hugged and thanked my mom for loving you already, and I saved your invitation card.

Oh! I should also probably inform you, Mr. Future Boyfriend, that there was a present included with your invitation, but like a proper future girlfriend, I needed a pick-me-up in your absence, so I used it to buy myself something shiny. Please be sure to thank my mom.

Ms. Future Girlfriend