She Who Will Rise Again

Sometimes I wonder if people want to be with me because of who I am, not because of what I do. It's a question that comes up every now and then, and it's something I'm still learning.

I made the decision to be an actor when I was 9, and to be a film maker when I was 21. Ever since, the work has never ended. The classes, the workshops, the networking. Non-stop. And I love doing it...

But it's been such a huge part of my life, that people sometimes forget that outside of all this, I'm still a normal person. Who likes to do normal things. Like sleep. And eat. Or just do nothing and watch bad television.

When the operation happened, that's when I was forced to see who I was outside of the films and all that good stuff. I was a human being, that bleeds and gets hurt just as much as the next person. And it was during that time I was starting to see things for what they really are. And seeing the truth is scary. Honesty is scary.

But it doesn't take a stay at the hospital to make me feel as if  I'm weak. The rewards for taking risks are absolutely wonderful, but there are days (weeks, months) where you feel as if you've fallen and you don't know how to get back up again.  And it's in these moments that reveal who are meant to be in our lives.

It's in these moments where people show you their true colors, and when people show you their true colors, you better believe it and make your decision then.

Because if I had lost my ability to film, who would still want me? Who would still want to be around me? I've asked myself these things during my many, many failures.

It's no wonder famous people get crazy. The minute you reach success, it's wonderful. You relish in it, and people just want to celebrate every moment with you. But people can turn on you the minute you make a mistake, or a bad movie.

I think that's why I went on this little spiritual journey of mine. To figure out who I was outside of my passion, when the production ends and the cameras aren't rolling. Who I am when I'm not escaping to create.

And I must say, the search for one's self has been incredibly revealing, and it is painful to open up old wounds that never truly healed. But for the sake of me and my art, it had to be done.

And what I've learned about myself is that in no matter what I do, I give it my all, even if it my "all" isn't a lot. However, I seem to be more active in helping others than in helping myself. I guess I had always figured that's just what someone does so that they'd never be alone.

But as soon as I fall, if I failed, I had started to realize that the number of people that helped me get back up did not even come close to the number of people I had helped.

Like I said, the truth is scary, and it hurts like hell. But now that I've seen that truth, I can't go back. Nor do I want to. I have only one life to live, and I was lucky to get a second chance to live it, and I  refuse to live a life that's based on lies I wanted to believe.

I want the real thing.

The Next Step

During the first few months in my new city, I once said that the darkest thoughts come during the quiet moments of my life, which is why I always try to surround myself with noise.

It explains my impatience. Why I get so antsy when things stay the same, when nothing happens. Why I can't just sit down and truly give myself a break.

Escaping into a world of fantasy is easy. To get lost in one's art can create a feeling of euphoria. Of purpose. But what happens when a project is finished? What happens when you get back in to real life?

That's what I wanted to figure out. When I lived back home it seemed that art was an excuse to run away. When I came back, so did the thrill. At least for a while.

But there was always that part of me that just wanted to stop running, and face the inner demons so set on consuming whatever it was that kept me going in life. I wanted to explore that light that came out after hitting rock bottom. Even if it meant going through the darkness.

I don't know exactly how I'm going to do it, but the important thing is I've been given a second chance to figure it out.

She Comes Home

I feel like I lived an entire life in the span of one month.

But I guess that happens when you've almost faced death. Life starts to come at you fast.

Really fast.

And sometimes, it's hard to get others to keep up with you. And many times it seems you're doing too much, too soon, too quickly. And they are not at fault for thinking that way. That's just how it works. Their experiences are different than yours. They have a different journey.

I've always said that the world I've envisioned is a great place to be. My problem was always convincing others to come with me. I can only show them through my actions, which many times I've had to do on my own. I had to be my own support system. My own cheerleader. My own coach.

It's why I love collaboration. I can only give them a taste of what I'm thinking, have them interpret what I mean, make minor adjustments if only to push them further, and bring them closer to my world. Because the closer they are, the more they can see and understand me, what I'm all about.

It can be extremely scary though, to show a piece of your heart. To put yourself out there, and to expose yourself to vulnerability. But I think I've learned heartache after heartbreak, that it builds some kind of resilience. You have no idea what you can survive until you actually go through it. And it seems to me that the heart is much stronger than I give it credit for.

My Uncle once told me that the reasons why artists go through pain is because when we create, we can create the ending we were hoping for. And for a very long time, I've wondered if I was cursed to go through such pain for the sake of writing stories.

I come from a long line of great storytellers. Those who have lived through such times as the war and persecution, with nothing but their imaginations to entertain them. Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to be that person to do a little song and dance if it meant that it would help people forget about their problems (Or at least acknowledge what they were going through to know they weren't alone), even for just a moment. I guess that part of me never died, even when I developed the complexities of the grown-up world.

Starting over is never easy, no matter how many times you do it. It's always scary to start from scratch, to pick yourself up again and begin anew. It's uncomfortable, it's weird, and dare I say, lonely. And many times I miss the cozy life I once had, where everything I needed and wanted was within reach.

But that is exactly why I left that life. Because I was tired of being too comfortable. I wanted adventure,   the epiphanies, and a life to say that I built with my own two hands, no longer being in anyone's shadow, but stepping into the light.

I wanted my own story. And if this is what it takes, so be it.

I'm not done yet. Not even close.

Cabin Fever

2nd week of recovery brought on a horrible case of cabin fever. I didn't realize how appealing (and scary) the outside was.

Staring at the ceiling should be considered some kind of torture. It's amazing how dark the mind can go when one is left with their thoughts. All the doubts, fears, and issues all come flooding at once, it's no wonder we try to keep ourselves busy to forget all about it.

There are days I questions the decisions I make. The fear rushes in, telling me that my mistakes are going to cost me my future, my dreams. That everyone was right about me. That I am not as good as I think I am, or that I don't do enough. That I am wasting my time with my silly self-discoveries.

But then again there's always that part of me that says: "Who the fuck asked them?"

I need to remember why I made these decisions about my life. Because it's MY life. Plain and simple. People can tell me that I'm no good, that I need a makeover (or need to lose weight, cut my hair, etc.), or that I need to do more with my life, but seriously...If none of these people said anything (or if I just didn't listen) I would probably be really happy with where I'm at right now.

Yes, I just had an operation that could have been fatal. For a condition I had no control of. But I'm alive, aren't I? I'm alive, and I get a second chance. To continue to do the things I said I was going to do, without anyone's input of how it should be lived.

Yes, the path I chose is harder. Yes, the life I left was more comfortable, and I really do need to start all over again, and it's not going to be a smooth ride. Things won't come as easy as they did in the past. I may have to double the effort. Yes, it's going to be lonely. And people are going to be disappointed in me. But it's not their life. It's not their journey. I have to start somewhere, and if somewhere is the bottom then so be it. I can't give up just because my path suddenly got harder. If anything, I should be excited that a new adventure has begun.

I'm tired of being scared. I'm tired of looking back and wishing I had approached something another way. I'm tired of listening to others, and their opinions of me regardless of the fact that I am perfectly aware of who I am and what I need.

And what I need right now is me.

Post-OP

I keep forgetting that this is the age when we're still trying to figure things out.

Sometimes life has a way of telling you to stop, when you feel as if you're going around in circles.

In my case, mine came in the form of a surgery. An unexpected surgery.

It was called Meckel's Diverticulum.  For once in my life, it wasn't something I did, or ate. It was something congenital. I really was just born with it. And apparently I was part of the 2% that ended up getting problems with it later on in life.

And I must say, it sure as hell came at the most inconvenient time. At least that's what I've been thinking on the surface. But that back part of my mind seems to be telling me something else.

I was given 6 weeks of recovery time. I'm only on my first week, and I'm already I'm going crazy. I can't work. I need to walk, yet I can only be out for limited amounts of time. I can't do any "streneous activity". Writing and creating seems more like a chore than something to look forward to, because being busy is what flows those creative juices---Blah, blah, blah...

Now, this may seem like whiny ramblings, but I do believe something is at work here. A story, perhaps. Or maybe a discovery.

It begs the question: Who am I, when my ability to do things is taken away?

I don't have an answer to that yet.

But I do know why that is why I moved to this strange land.

To figure that out.

Welcome to week one.

20-Something?

Dear 20-Somethings,

I get scared sometimes.

I get scared a lot actually.

As a matter of fact, I got scared today.

I was having a day. You know... Those days where just about everything that could go wrong, went wrong. You don't need me to tell you how much those days suck. You already know, because you've had those days.

I was going to write this whole spiel about how days suck, but we should suck it up. But I noticed that there was still an unfinished draft than I had written a few days ago (That happens a lot.) :

 The Universe is funny. Here I am, writing another one of my 24 year old thoughts, simultaneously watching Inside the Actor's Studio (I like to multi-task) and I hear this quote by Jim Carrey: 

"Sometimes you have to divorce yourself from the things people want you to do."

Well played, Universe.

People give us 20-Somethings a lot of crap.

"They're wasting their youth! If I were that age..."

"When I was your age, I did this, I had this..."

"You're confused? Get over it already. Figure out what it is you want for God's sake!"

I can understand their frustration. I see kiddies riding with me on the bus, and roll my eyes at the things they find problematic.

But I forget that I was at that age too. And their problems were my problems too.

Though I must defend my generation. After all, I am a part of them. As frustrated as I can be with my own kind, I can understand why we live at such a confusing time.

We live at the age where we are always coming and going. We're expected to be one way, yet we are told to be another.

We are at the age where we are constantly trying to figure out how the world works. We're always in our head, analyzing, in a passive-aggressive world that expect us to be mind-readers.

We are expected to work a bazillion jobs + get a degree + network + survive in the outside world, and yet we are still considered lazy when we decide to stay home and rest. 

If we knew what we wanted, and did everything we could to get to that point, we're wasting life being too uptight and too selfish for thinking of no one but ourselves. If we didn't know what we wanted, we're bums. We're failures.

We are told that we are young and should have some fun, and then we are told be responsible and act like an adult. We should experience, but we have our whole lives ahead of us.

We are told that we are too young to know any better, yet we are also told that we are old enough to know better. I know. Who the hell wouldn't be confused by that?

We're constantly told to find that balance.  But how the hell can we find that balance? Especially when expectations are on opposite sides of the spectra?

Hence, this spiritual journey of mine.

I lived majority of my life based on people's high (and usually impossible) expectations. Truth be told, there are days I can't tell if I'm living up to my expectations, or those of others.

The rough days... Where I feel like life is going to slow, I'm wondering if I feel that way because I'm allowing myself to listen to other people's inputs on how life should be lived. Rather than maybe taking it as a cue from the Universe, as if it were saying "Take a break. You deserve it."

I used to hate days off. That meant no money was being made. It meant staring at the ceiling, dealing with the thoughts you didn't want to think about (Therefore keeping yourself busy with work). I could never relax. I always thought all this time resting, was time that could be spent being productive.

I used to hate solitude. There are times I still do, but I realize how essential it can be. I can sometimes equate it with loneliness, though there were many times where I was surrounded by people and yet I still felt alone.

Maybe because my mind was elsewhere. Maybe constantly having to be present was just exhausting. 

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I didn't have an ending to that piece. I'm pretty sure I was about to make a point, but like most of my blog entries, the toughest part for me is always figuring out the ending. Maybe because at the time,
I'm still trying to figure out the point of it all.

But it's amazing how my contemplative thoughts of yesterday can help cheer up my dark thoughts of today, and open the path of a better  mindset tomorrow.

But I'm guessing the point I have to make is that there comes a point in your life where you have to believe that you have all the tools you need to succeed. And you don't need to prove yourself to anyone but yourself. At the end of the day sometimes all it takes is just being your own cheerleader. Reward yourself for your attempts of the day, no matter how small. Know that sometimes baby steps can get you closer to where you need to go, than taking big leaps every day with a chance of missing the big picture.

It's ok to let yourself rest once in a while. To overwhelm yourself with constant self-improvement can lead to a self-sabotage if you constantly adjust yourself to satisfy the needs and hopes of others when it comes to your own life. That's right, YOUR LIFE.

You have to understand that there will be times that people won't understand the path you chose, or the choices you make. Sometimes even the people that you look up to will say something...not so uplifting.  But that happens. Because we're human. We're not meant to understand all the time. Don't let that derail you. Don't let that determine the rest of your journey because of one bad judgment call.

We pick ourselves up, and we move on. And you get back in the game that you chose to play. And you pat yourself on the back. Because you deserve to be recognized. Even if the recognition comes from yourself.

I need to remind myself about this every day. That the time I spent during the day was time well spent, regardless if I'm just at home resting, knowing I'm going to need that energy for the rest of the week. I know in my heart I work hard. To others, it may not seem like the case. But I can't change what people choose to see. I can only continue to do what I think is best for me.

Because even in this confusing time, I know what I want.

I just need to trust the fact that I know that I'm doing what I have to do to get it.

<3 Fiji

Improvise.

What do you do when you can't afford a decent microphone?

You sing in the bathroom.

I always like to work with what I have. :)

Song: "Why Do You Let Me Stay Here?" by She and Him

I always imagined a land I could call my own.

A place where people could come visit and feel free. A place filled with color and art. Where I can sit in solitude and not worry about the outside world or people's expectations of how you should be.

A place I could call home.

I knew that land existed. If it was conceived in my mind, it had to be possible. After all, that idea came from somewhere.

The older I grew, the desire to live there grew stronger. Little by little, that desire turned into action. It took me a while to realize that I was slowly building my land. The world moves so fast, and sometimes we get frustrated thinking nothing is happening, that we fail to see that we've already made things happen.

But as I wake up every morning, I am surrounded by art. I am surrounded by color.

And I see that I am free. And it feels like home.

<3 Fiji