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Do What You Love With Those That Love You Back

This year I have witnessed magic time and time again.

I have forgiven many who have wronged me while taking away their power by not waiting for their apologies or bothering with their excuses.

I have climbed more than one mountain at a time, by learning many things at once. I always knew when someone said I was stretching myself too thin it was because they didn’t understand the power of baby steps, discipline and passion.

I have reached a point where I am addicted to progress. Or addicted to what many call the journey. I enjoy the walk to the destination so much that at times I just keep walking.

I Learned to use my ‘flaws’ as my strengths and learned to love myself not for the person that I could be but the person that I am.

I have learned to accept love from myself and others.

I have learned that an angry introverted child translates into a passionate disciplined adult.

I no longer regret not being different when I never had the option to be anyone but myself. I would never want to be anyone but me. This being something that I not just know, but understand is the gift of being able to live another year.

To constantly connecting.

To doing more of what you love with the people that love you back.

To understanding ourselves and the world around us more and more each year. Wishing my readers another year of magic! I am grateful for you all.


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Yesterday I listened to The Middle by Jimmy Eat World, a song I used to listen to when I was an outcast in high school; a song that, in my adult life, I always skip. But this time there was a huge train delay and I felt like I needed to hear it. So I played the song as I went through the tunnel. As I walked down the  subway tunnel that takes you from the red and yellow line to the blue line at 42nd street times square, a line I no longer take but needed to due to delays, I heard a woman with a guitar sing in a low reassuring voice.  She sang, “ It just takes some time, little girl. You’re in the middle of the ride. Everything, everything will be just fine. Everything, everything will be alright.”

In wanting approval from the people who should have loved me, I have taken little risks. I still don’t have the life that I want. And they still don’t love me unconditionally.  So this is me resigning. I am ripping apart the contract that held my dreams hostage for years. I am no longer adhering to their conditions.

It’s always been easy for me to do the right thing. I have always been the perfect student. The valedictorian. Career-driven and selfless. The perfect child, always home on time, never disobeyed. I went through a life crisis in the 7th grade when I got my first non-A grade. Those grades defined me. So who was I now that I had gotten my first B?

I’d been curbing behaviors in order to fit in. I thought I was growing as a person by shrinking down the weird in me. And now that I am able to pass as normal I regret not being a freak this entire time. Being normal is not for me. It’s hard. Every day is a battle. I respect those who others put down more than those who do the put downs. I want to be part of the first group. I will never fully fit into the second.

At the age of 12 I realized that I wanted to join a circus. I never felt like I belonged. And now that I pass as someone who does belong, I realize that I never will. At least not here. I am changing my life. By this time next year I hope to be the person that I truly am, all of the time, the way the world made me. No more fighting it. “Self growth” should not come at the expense of your dreams.

I went home that day and listened to The Middle by Jimmy Eat World. The song that came after was Hear You Hear Me, the song I was listening to when I found out that Mr. Gallagher, my 40-year-old musical theater teacher, had died of a heart attack the night before.

After 3 years of him being my primary teacher in high school, just a week before I got the news, I looked him in the eyes and thanked him. Not out loud, but in my mind. For some reason the universe gave me the opportunity to appreciate his presence while he was still alive. That moment of thanking him, although it was in my head, meant a lot to me. It was the first time I felt grateful to be alive; grateful to have known someone. He was the second person to ever make me feel like I had to fight for my life rather than submit to my depression. The first was my 6th grade dance teacher.

Thank you Patrick Gallagher for showing me that life is wonderful as long as you are doing what you love. You left us too early. I still add in “look at my buuutt” when I sing the lead song from Chicago the musical. Being part of your cabaret is something that I relive constantly. It’s something that I work towards living forever.

On that day, on the subway, things that never happen on their own happened together and they happened around me. The universe may not be on my side, but it is letting me know that it is there. To be honest, I don’t think the universe is on anyone’s side. It is just harmonizing energy that whispers as we live, like how plants  grow when we talk to them and give out a scent when we cut them too soon. It is non-bias. It exists with you, not for you. But on that day and other days like this, it spoke to me and I listened.

P.s. I am currently focusing on my career in UX and Digital Marketing. Thus, the sporadic posts. If you have any leads for NYC feel free to contact me. I appreciate being part of this community and will pay it forward. Thank you! 

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Sinking Ship

We both filled our buckets with water
Struggling to stop this ship from sinking
But you weren’t working as hard as you said you were
Instead you spent your time making tinny pricks
As you stabbed the floorboards while I wasn’t looking
So I kicked you off our ship for trying to sink it
There are better things to focus on
Than filling buckets with ocean water and throwing it back into its body

Toxic Friend-Ship



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False Sisterhood

“She’s weird, so it’s ok.” Was the response I got when I tried to defend the intern from the sisterhood of the stagnant work stations. From having worked in two mostly female offices now, and written for one all-female website full time, I came to the conclusion that most women do not know what sisterhood is.  To start, I will tell you what it is not.

1. Sisterhood is not coming together for the petty cause.
It is not the backstabbing and shit talking about other women. The fact that Amber wore red lipstick or Krista said something strange should have no effect on the way you feel about yourself or their character.  Also, just because it’s not being said to their face doesn’t mean it’s not breaking down someone’s character. Smearing campaigns often happen when the third party is not around.

How to recognize when a smear campaign is happening:
When someone asks you trivial questions about another female while submitting their negative views of the person such as, “so and so is so strange, right?”  They are starting a smear campaign. When this happens, it is not only your response that matters, but remember to not let that comment disguised as a question affect your perception of said person in question. Your reaction also matters, because even a dismissive “yes” will not only make you an accomplice, but now the leader of the slow moving, unsettling rumor mill.

2. Sisterhood is not finding artificial things that we like and molding together to fend against anyone who values a different opinion.
The fact that Amber wore red lipstick is not a good enough reason to dislike her. However, the fact that Laura is coming up to you in a nice tone and a scrunched up face asking you how you feel about Amber’s lipstick is reason to stay away from Laura.

3. Sisterhood is not blaming one person’s drama on all women.
When girls say they aren’t friends with girls, because they don’t like drama, this is why they say this: It comes from a place of hurt. But rather than try to understand their reasoning, we attack them. We tell them they are self-hating woman. They do not hate women, they just dislike the girl world that we live in. I make it a point to reach out to women who say this, form our own bonds, and learn to heal together. We create a space where we can be ourselves away from the negative girl spaces we have little control over. We must learn to forge bonds with each other without the need to ostracize other females.

4. A group of mean girls is not sisterhood.
it’s sad that it has to be said in today’s public feminist world, but it has to be said. 

5. Sisterhood is not excluding men from the conversation.
There are many theories as to why the girl world is the way that it is and the most common one is that men have pitted us against each other. I see how this is true in the grand scheme of things. But the places that have little-to-no men are the places where mean girls thrive the most in. For example, catholic schools and all-female corporate offices.  So we need to ask ourselves why that is? What is it about the way we were brought up in this world that makes us so catty? I don’t have the answers, but this is just one of the questions that we need to start asking ourselves.

There is hope for the future.
I see that the environment is changing with the new generation. We are becoming more loving. Both in public and private to each other. This starts with getting out of the golden cages we have been put in.

Women are no longer afraid to be artistic. To get messy. To be comfortable. To stop shaving. The beginning of the end to this catty behavior is us truly acting as equals. And the first way to do that is by breaking the chains we have mentally kept within ourselves. When we point out how messy another woman is perhaps we are deflecting. Because deep down inside we wish we could be that way in public too. Because we are all humans and humans can be messy. Humans say strange things at times, humans try out different ways of being and looking even if it doesn’t work for them. Humans grow….constantly.

The norms that have been put on women by men are now being enforced by other women.  Newsflash! Most men don’t care if your nails look messy from time to time or if you haven’t done your eyebrows. The fact is that some of us do this in order to not be left out by other women. And it is hard not to care when we are left out, because deep down we all want to be part of the sisterhood. But please know that what I just explained is no sisterhood.

What I explained above, is a pit where growth is stunted and the golden cage is enforced. Where you have to look into the sea of catty-ness and try to find others like you. The rebels, the true feminists. The humanitarians, the artists, the weirdos, and the tomboys.

The more women allow each other to be tomboys, the more we will just be and tomboy will no longer be a word we use to describe being comfortable and fun and as implied, like a boy. This way of being belongs to girls too.

In traditional environments, it is very much like The Handmaids Tale out here in the girl world. You never know who will be your friend and who will rat you out and have you fed to the dogs. So exclude yourself from the false sisterhood before you are offered a red cloak with a hat to match.

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The Power of Resting Bitch Face

The walk from my apartment in Washington Heights to my junior high school was no longer than 15 minutes. Yet, every morning I would have to go to the building across from me and wait for this tardy girl so that I could walk to school with her. I don’t remember having any conversations with her, because we were completely different people. I hung out with the skaters and she hung out with the hood rats. All I remember is that her apartment smelled of vapor rub, old magazines and slow death.

Fun fact: From the age of 25 the number of newly formed cells in your body is less than the number of cells that die and every year the dissimilarity grows (much like the economic disparity in America). No need to fret, just start a revolution and moisturize… #themoreyouknow

Anyhow, I kept telling my parents how insufferable this morning routine was. The girl was a morning person with conversation topics I had no interest in. I wasn’t a morning person and preferred nonverbal communication. Also, being a valedictorian with perfect attendance, I hated arriving to class late, especially when it wasn’t my fault. So after almost a year of having to walk with her to school I was able to walk alone. Just me and my music.

The walks to and from school became the best part of the day for me. I’d walk alone to school every morning and with a huge group of friends on the way back. A group so large that we had to stop for headcounts every other block. My home life sucked, but the outside world was beautiful.

Yet, it seemed like every week or so in the morning, some asshole walking the opposite direction would tell me to smile. The first time this happened to me, I smiled. I thought the guy was just being nice and I was young so seniority ruled. However, the more this happened, the more I thought about it. I went from thinking that they were being considerate to thinking that they were a bit rude but had good intentions, to being just plain irritated at this. Who the fuck are these men to tell me to smile?

I began to notice that no one ever told my male friends or brothers to smile. Why aren’t men or boys told to smile? Most men look like they are ready to punch a wall or already have punched a wall. Hide yo kids, hide yo walls. But it gets brushed off as men putting on a tough appearance so as to not become prey. I was told that it was just “natural.” When you grow up in an environment where almost every one of your male friends has gotten jumped, you just let them own their experiences and leave it at that. So again, I began to brush off the joker-esque comment.

Until another man told me to smile. This time I snapped. If men get to own their experiences for appearing tough then why can’t I, as a woman, own mine? As someone who consistently fears getting violated by the other sex, ironically the sex that is constantly telling me to smile, I have a right to not look friendly.

Machismo doesn’t benefit anyone. It doesn’t allow men to experiment and hinders women from feeling safe. But here’s the thing; machismo is an invisible shackle, much like the invisible cage of beauty standards women have to live with. Women have to be nice, pretty and enthusiastic at all times or we’re considered bitches. It is ironic to me that women are called female dogs when we refuse to act like house pets.

In my years of being on this earth I have learned that the nicest people not only can be the most wicked, but often are. Yes, Taylor Swift, I am looking at you. Being nice and being kind are two different things. All kind people are nice, but not all nice people are kind. Nice is easy, kind requires some elbow grease, whether through working on yourself or helping others. But this article is not about the myth of nice. This article is about resting bitch face and the men who want to change it with their intrusive comments. Owning RBF is revolutionary, because only women are told to smile. So if I look disinterested or ‘not nice,’ I have the right to look that way and sometimes, I just fucking am.