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Hi.

I still have a tumblr! I forgot about this.

Things that have changed since I last posted:

-> I moved out of my parents' house and I live on my own with a roommate!

-> I have cycled through 2 roommates, the first one had 3 dogs + a cat and the house was a zoo and it sucked, the second sucked as a human being and now I'm onto my 3rd roommate and we are vibing

-> I have 2 cats now: Haku and Echo! They are the best!

-> I work a corporate HR job, full-time as a Senior University Recruiter!

-> I started pursuing my fitness journey.

And the biggest one:

-> I sought mental health help to stop lying, to be honest with myself, to be honest with others, and to get my shit together. It's involved confronting my depression, anxiety, and PTSD; I've started to learn better coping skills to be a better person that I can be proud of. I've made a lot of progress and it will be a never-ending process.

I'm doing my best with things. I feel that who I was even 5 years ago, let alone 10, is wildly different than who I am now. I would like to think I am more compassionate, empathetic, and present in the moment; I can acknowledge my mistakes and my awful actions in the past (some days, they haunt me; others, they are an acknowledgment and a motivation to keep going), and I try to feel more love in everything I do.

I just wanted to write this because I saw my blog post from during the pandemic. And I hated how I felt during that time, and I remember how I felt. I figured I wanted to update it so that if I do stumble upon my own Tumblr again, I'll remember that I made strides; that even if I feel stagnant, stuck, and trapped, that it will get better.

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When my dear friend Natalie passed away a few years ago, my world was rocked in a way that I had not anticipated. I had woken up at 3AM and groggily looked at my phone to browse social media; I had to open at my job then at 4AM, and I used to wake myself up by binging on social media for a few minutes while I woke my mind up. That was the last day that I did that because I saw post after post on her timeline, tagging her, or photos of her - all inscribed with the words, “rest in peace”, “rest in paradise”, “rest easy”, “I will miss you”.

“I will miss you”. I was too sleepy to really feel anything that early. I was still waking up. I don’t know what I felt in that moment, but it wasn’t anything deep. It was just shock. On my drive to work, the shock slowly faded into understanding what I had read. As I opened the store and worked, the understanding turned into the realization. And that realization turned into grief. I took my break at work and I sat at the desk at work, reopened Facebook to see the posts, and realized it: she’s gone.

One of the longest shifts ever (even though it was only 4 hours) and an awkward encounter where my coworker came into the back to see my crying later, I went home and let myself fully grieve this loss. One of the most vibrant souls I have ever encountered lost her battle to cancer. She had set up a blog when she found out so she could log her journey through chemotherapy. I felt naïve; her posts were so uplifting and optimistic that I had no doubt in my mind that she would overcome it. Yet, here I was, grieving this loss. My heart ached. I started to recall every memory that I could, almost like picking them up one by one from a pile before a gust of wind would blow them away. I remember how she would call me at 6AM to wake me up to go to my previous job that I hated so much. I remember talking on a walky-talky app (I forgot what it was called, I think it was Zello) and talking to each other throughout the day. I remember how she would laugh at the silly things she did - things I similarly did but felt a lot of shame and embarrassment - and appreciative of how she could just love herself enough to laugh.

That was all gone. I felt so much guilt. Why didn’t I keep in closer contact with her? Why didn’t I tell her how much I appreciated her? Why didn’t I do something to help her through her battle? It was every “why” under the sun going through my mind. Was I feeling guilt only because she passed away? Would I have felt guilt for missing so many opportunities to connect with her if she survived it? Ultimately, I reached a conclusion that it wasn’t my fault for not knowing how it would tragically end, but also realizing I do the things I should be doing when they’re too late. We never had a falling out, but we both started living busy lives. Why was it so hard to take time out of my day to just send her a text? To say hi, to ask how she’s been, to ask if she’d like to just talk on the phone for a bit? 

These emotions are still raw. I still feel them very fucking vividly. I still think about her almost daily. 

I think about her even more now, because on Monday, October 12, 2020, I received a text from my mom regarding my cousin, Fariba, in Iran who was fighting cancer. She had been fighting it for 3 years but it kept coming back. This last time that it came back, chemotherapy wasn’t working. 2 months ago, she was given 3 weeks to live because the cancer progressed and she was in pain. Last week, she was admitted into the hospital for internal bleeding. 

The text: “She’s in heaven now”. 

I felt it all again. Every. Fucking. Emotion. Every single thought, every emotion that I could discern, was the same when Natalie died. I questioned why I didn’t keep closer contact. I questioned why I didn’t visit Iran more often; sure, there’s political reasons that made me feel unsafe as a gay Iranian man to do so, but the familial obligation should have been greater. Why didn’t I talk to her more? 

On top of the guilt, I felt a moral and familial obligation to comfort my grieving family. I didn’t grow up close with her because we lived in different countries, but they all did. My aunt cried. She screamed. She sobbed. Through her wails, I remember her saying, “nothing brings my relief. I just want Fariba” - and my heart sinks and breaks every time I think about it. 

Why do I wait until it’s too late? And why do I feel guilt for asking to talk about this? Why do I bottle this up? Is it because I feel like I deserve to feel shitty for not doing things to show my appreciation when these wondrous people are alive? Is it because I don’t want to share these feelings or thoughts because I don’t want anyone to feel even a fraction of how awful this feels? Or, am I just being selfish and this is my coping mechanism - to withdraw and isolate? 

I’ve lost two people to cancer. And the losses feel so deeply profound. I started adapting the same outlook in live as Natalie: there is always something to live for and look forward to. How will I honor my cousin, Fariba? Can I honor her? Who else can I lose to cancer? I think about this every time I talk to someone, look at someone, or think of someone I have a connection with - could they be diagnosed with it? Will I lose them, too? Will...I be diagnosed with it? 

I am afraid. I’m afraid of who I could lose. I’m afraid I will never get over the loss of Natalie or Fariba. I’m afraid I’m losing myself in the grief. 

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the guy in the audience SNAPPED

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Link ~~~

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what do you know?

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Don’t speak to me or my children ever again

Maya

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i almost fucking gagged laughing so hard

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YOU WROTE THE RULES. READ THEM. 

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“Maybe home is nothing but two arms holding you tight when you’re at your worst.”

— Yara Bashraheel

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Exodia the Forbidden One, seconds before game ending his opponent (1886, colorized)

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hero