Written Christmas Day, 2006
I am used to defining myself with the relationships I am in–whether it may be a relationship with my family, my boyfriend, or my friends. I do things so my parents will approve of me, or so my special someone will still remain faithful, or so that my friends won’t even regret our friendship. My worth has been measured on how I measure up to other people’s expectations. I wake up everyday not knowing what my standards are. I have never really grasped the meaning of enough — I keep showing I can give so much of myself to others. I can only stop when my limits crash, when I find myself crying at night because I am already so tired of the predicament I set myself in.
I have lost love, for myself, to the child lingering within, and to the woman I have become. I have lost love to the fact that I love the day sky than the night, that I love my rice fried, that I never really love fish but vegetables are never a problem, that I love having profound conversations, but I also love to laugh over the most mundane, that I love to read and I love to write, whether my punctuation and grammar are in place or not, that I love dancing alone in my room, that I love exploring new places, that I love my man to be prudent and smart, and that I love dreaming big.
I set this to be published on a future date with the hope that I reach that day with a regained love of self. If not, I hope this will serve as a gentle reminder.
This is to remind you, dear self, that to comfortably deal with others, even with those close to your heart–especially with them–you have to treat yourself first with kindness and with high regard. When you fight your demons, when you question your worth, when you try to unlearn your bad habits, you must know that those who matter will, at all costs, safeguard your heart. They say people come and go, but the right ones will always stay. Live for yourself and for the people who will remind you that for them to stay, you have to stop trying so hard.