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Big news: Tomorrow President Obama will designate a new national monument honoring women’s equality on Equal Pay Day.

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Weekly Obsessions

-Early Grey Tea 

-Sup3rfruit 

-boho heels 

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The days fly by like geese heading south. With my frosted porch steps and mittens out, I find that it is the time of the year where I fall into a sequence, where nothing is exciting and my days are bland. As I listen to my teacher ramble about the concentration of compounds, I day dream about flying away along with those very same birds, away to a  foreign place that holds adventure, a place where my days embrace the mystery of life.

FALL, CMA

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Maigrir à mourir on We Heart It http://weheartit.com/entry/29760035/via/sandrielle

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"You’re so fat”. seemed to be the song stuck on the broken record player of my life. because everyday for 4 years they’d sing these words to me. And for so long, I made myself believe that I was 150 lbs of beauty. But I guess I was wrong. Walks home alone were not filled with fear flamed by danger or the unknown but fear struck by the haunting words of those heartless long blonde haired girls. Loud whispers that say, “She’s so damn ugly.” And it’s funny how people think that I, can’t hear their remarks. Those remarks, leave marks indented in my soul. And I can find no way of unhearing them. No way of unfeeling them. No way of forgetting them. But I still tried to forget, I tried to change, after countless vomit filled toilets, untouched meals, 40lbs lost pounds and scales that read you’re still fat… I still felt no better, no prettier. And so their words got harsher, teachers got quieter, slits cut deeper, hope grew thinner, and ultimately my own self love diminished. I decided I had enough. So for the final time I let the tears drop, I let the tears shed the foul words that have been said, down my chest, down my hands. I let it wash away the slit arms that bleed apologetic drops, Drops that bleed farewell to my mother. Drops that cry sorry because I wasn’t beautiful enough for this world!” Drops that tint innocence with guilt when I sink to the bottom of this tub. Wine stained drops that drown 150 lbs of ugly. My name was Fiona and I was 14 years old.

FAT, Christiana Agustin 

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Edit, not mine x

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It all started with his countless lies, that night he said "babe, I'm just with the guys" and when he said guys, i never knew they had big boobs, long hair, and fat thighs. You should've heard my cries that night when he admitted I was right, that he did unforgivable things in the darkness, that would never appear in the light. God bless his soul because that night, he was not prepared for our biggest fight. We argued for hours, trying to figure out why he was so naive and unfaithful. I longed for him to hold me tight, my anger was his pleasure and delight. He didn't want me no more, See I was never faced with rejection before. For months I was fed, bullshit and dishonesty, I was played like a fool, or maybe like a tool. Only used when he needed a fix, I can't believe I fell for his tricks, so now I'm left with no trust in any man, because I assume they are dicks. So when some man thinks he's so fly, And decides to give it a try, I already know all he wants is this pussy of mine, to use me for one night, then leave me behind. He says I'm a dime, but here's a tip, stop, with the hey honey I think you're so fine, because bud, I'm sorry I already heard that line. see I am one of a kind, so please take your sweet talk and ugly state of mind, some place else, cause here you're not getting me this time. I'm not easy, like your endless line of hoes, the ones that you hollah at the dollar store. I have class, both mentally and physically. I get to work, with all these books I read, while you're high smoking weed. See I'm gonna be a successful, something you'll someday wish you could be, if you've don't end your foolish ways, from seducing some next girl then, never seeing her face. You need to learn that wheeling girls, isn't a game. We're just not "things" that you win. I pray that you one day you'll realize that even if think sex is all you want, it ain't all you need. you say you got bills and bitches, c'mon now, all you got is pills and witches. And I know this type of thinking will always keep me second guessing, but you know my trust grew thin a while back. So now it's confidence that I lack, that a man will love me, truly and whole heartedly. So I guess I'll just have to wait for a man who's willing to go on a few dates, before doing something up late at night.

TRUST ISSUES, Christiana Agustin

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The reoccurring response I hear when I ask a girl why she continues to date her unfaithful boyfriend seems to always be..."I don't know, it's because I love him." My mind can't seem to wrap around this whole idea, like the legs of the girls your "boyfriend" seduced yesterday night. Please explain to me,how can you love a man that doesn't even love you, because he's just infatuated by your boobs? How can you love a man who's brain resembles the size of his dick, that only looks for chicks who are willing to let him play his sick tricks on them? How can you love a man who's eyes always seem to wander down the bodies of girls, when his eyes should only be fixed on you, not stuck on girls who look a hell of a lot like you. How can you love a man who disrespects your morals and neglects your needs because he's too busy leading you on, as if you can't catch on, to his sneaky ways. A man who doesn't even have the decency to say I just don't have feelings anymore? How can you possibly love a man whose only demand is to have sex? That refuses to show you his texts, because "she's" only a friend? How can you love a man who's pastime is Cod, but don't you think it's odd that he talks to his "friend" more than you? How can you love a man that gravitates to a new girl like fresh meat? One that thinks he can just cheat on you with any girl that greets him. How can you love an unfaithful man?

CHEATERS, Christiana Agustin

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God is amazing. I am in, awe. His beauty is seen from the high peaks of the Himalayan Mountains, to the vast Sahara Dessert, toward the rapid Niagara Falls, and in the lights of the Aurora Borealis. His love is greater, greater than any mountain in the Himalyan’s, greater than every grain of sand in the Sahara, greater than every drop of water that cascades from the Niagara, greater than any vivid light that shines in the night sky. His beauty is every where, every where to be seen. His beauty is found in your mother’s tender voice on Sunday mornings, in your fourth period math class, in your best friend’s awkward laugh, and in your dreams as you lay asleep. His beauty is in me and you. Then tell me why, why do we neglect, not reflect, not dissect God’s true words found in the bible. Why do we push Him away? For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son. That died, that perished, that suffered before our eyes on that cross, because of our endless sins, so we may all have everlasting life with Him in heaven. Why do idolize celebrities? Worship money? Bow down before our ugly society? Why must foul words flow out of us like a river at every fault and flaw using His name in vain? Why? Why? Are we found at home sleeping, laboring away at work, shopping at malls, while we should be at church praising Him? Why? Do we refuse, abuse, and use the people that gave us breath? Why do we dishonor them, and treat them like they have no worth. Why, please tell me why, we send men and women to pull the trigger to end lives over seas in a never ending war that has no point anymore? Why, do we have the urge to kill, to permanently stop the beat of a heart that is loved and that loves? Why do we cheat, mistreat, defeat the person who we vowed to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for rich, for poor, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; until death do us part. Why do let jealousy take over when we envy what is not ours? Why is the truth always hidden because it is drowned by a wave of infinite lies? Why do we long for others talents, values, and looks, rather than cherishing what we already have? Why do we push Him away? Dear Lord, Please let me understand. Please open my mind, as long as the streams that have flown down your face because of the disappoint of your children’s actions on earth. God, answer my question. If I were made beautiful. If all people were made beautiful. If every single thing on this Earth was made beautiful. Then why do we act so ugly? So evil? So cruel? Now tell me why do you still accept us? Forgive us? Love us God? When we are nothing in your image?. It is because God is God, He nothing like us. We are humans. We stop accepting, stop forgiving, stop loving. While God never ever stops, because the love for his children is greater, greater than any mountain in the Himalyan’s, greater than every grain of sand in the Sahara, greater than every drop of water that cascades from the Niagara, greater than any vivid light that shines in the night sky. It is because. God is amazing.

AMAZING GOD, Christiana Agustin 

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You were always confusing to me. Like geography. I could care less about rocks and land formations, or what happened across the sky, I just wanted to explore you. I was willing to walk through sand, mountains, forests and swamps, through deserts during your heated days, through caves that saved your diamond like secrets. And despite the fact that I can't swim, I was willing to drown in everything that was you. Maybe it was just wanderlust. Actually, I wonder if it was just lust. Whatever you called that thing that happened between you and I. Were we even something? Or was it just a creation of the mind, because actually you were never really mine. Curse my imagination because it pulled, it twirled and it intertwined reality like the sweaty palms and rosy lips of reunited lovers. Lovers who were distant, who were separated by sand, mountains, forests, swamps, deserts, caves and seas. Lovers who only could meet in their sleep. So that "thing" between "us" was just a kaleidoscope of their dreams, of my dreams, that swirled and mixed my thoughts and feelings so when I awoke, I could not tell what was real. And I guess geography was always confusing to me because all I ever did in class was daydream of traveling to a place that never existed.

GEOGRAPHY, Christiana Agustin 

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They said success was never easy, but they never said the taste of failure was so bitter. I tried. I trained. callous toes and blistered heels. aching pains and dripping sweat. I tried. gallant meals upon gallons of water. late nights and early mornings. white shoelaces and and checked mark socks. black shorts that hug thighs, killer sets that I question why. I tired. panting bodies, and patting steps that peck pavement on city hills. hands and knees grasping grass, grasping for air after laps. I run for 6 days a week, no matter how weak my legs are. I run far, two feet and one heart, coupled with hundreds of lonely miles. I tried. days and weeks, passing months, passing seasons. rained soaked socks, sweat soaked tanks, sweaters soaked with snow. I tried. hours stretching, hours of As, Bs, and Cs not for school, but for the track. I tried. hurdles that I stumble upon, falls that block starts. stupid decisions turn into plum coloured bruises and trips to the physiotherapist. ziploc bags filled with of ice, and ice baths. elevated knees and bandaged ankles. limping walks and a discouraged soul that keeps you up at night. I trained, to try to beat numbers on that clock. tick tock. clicking to the rhyme of each step. I tried. singlets and long numbers. booby pins and trips to the washroom. gun shots, white lines and the sound of spikes kissing the track. elbowed ribs and stern coaches. Air filled lungs, and dry tongues. numb arms, and wobbly legs. paired with inner voices that scream to not give up, because you trained and you tried. And it sucks, when this all goes to waste when seconds determine your fate. because that clicking clock says your not fast enough. But I will continue to try, and train until I taste the sweet taste of success.

-RUN, Christiana Agustin 

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The day my biggest critic confesses “I am proud of you anak” will be the day I feel good enough. I imagine the words soft and true in his crisp Filipino accent. His arm will hold tight around my shoulders never wanting to let go of his daughter because she is finally “perfect”. My ears crave to hear these words. They long for these words so much so that they dissect every word he says, because maybe just maybe they hold the key to the box of his acceptance. . 15 years, 15 years of waiting for this one moment. 15 years of disappoint. 15 years of your emotionless face and mediocre compliments. 15 years of wanting my father to love me for the daughter that I am, for the child that he created. And my fingers and toes combined can not compare to the amount to the times he has congratulated me with meaningless lies like “good job”. But Mama raised no fool, the significance of those words are nonexistent, like your support. Never have I seen your face at one of my games. Never have I seen your hands clapping after a performance. Never have I seen your hand sign a test you were satisfied with. Never have a I felt the unconditional love of my father. And you wonder why I am searching for a guy. It’s because the man that’s already in my life just can’t accept me. Maybe, I’ll find someone that will take me under his wing, and treat me like I am his queen and he is my king. Maybe, I will at last have a man whose love for me is “unconditional”. But right now, under your imprisonment those dreams are beyond me. There is always something that is incorrect, that is wrong about me. And you seem to think that if you shouts enough directions, suggestions, or instructions then maybe they’ll a compose list that will drown my flaws so that no man will ever see them . But the truth is every time you give me a piece of advice to fix these “wrongs” I have done, a piece of my heart breaks because I can never do anything right in your eyes. And I remember all the fights, all the times when you scream at me and say “I buy you everything you want, why are still not happy?” Because dad, I want love like you want perfect. If you think money can buy happiness, then I should go to the mall and buy you a Barbie that looks like me, than maybe you will have your real “Perfect daughter”. During in moments like those, my tears begin to fall, when I am treated like one of those dolls, as if I am not human, That I am just a machine that you continue to tweak and fix until I am everything you have envisioned. But dad, I have feelings. I get tired. I get cranky. I make mistakes. I am your daughter. I am human. I am imperfect. And the truth is I don’t think you’ll ever understand that no matter how hard you try to transform me into the “daughter of your dreams” I will never be perfect. And I guess that means, I will never hear those genuine words “I am proud of you anak.”I guess that just makes me wish that you loved the imperfect me.

DAD, Christiana Agustin