onehundredhomes-blog

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100. My Eight Tips For Uprooting From Home: A First-Handed Guide To Get Through The Life In Between

     1. Write. Hence the inspiration for this piece. I’ve found it exhausting to keep thoughts rattling around my mind without an exit. It can be writing letters (sendable or not) to the people being left behind or met ahead, or simply a self-reflective work for future indulgence. But words deserve to timestamp the transitional moments; let them flow. Write imperfectly, write stumbling, just write.

     2. Move. Before moving big, move small. If you have a car, drive; if you learned how to use a bike, ride; if you own a scooter, scoot; if you’ve got determined legs, walk. Get out and around to see your desired destinations in their finality (for now). Maybe it’s the statue downtown that you’ve glanced at every time in passing, or that cool neighborhood house you’ve been meaning to soak in - go there now and study them intently. 

     3. Look at the water. In tandem with moving, if you’re able to move in the direction of water, you should. You really should. If there’s an ocean where you’re leaving from, go there as much as you can. You can bring a mini-picnic (like I), you can listen to music (like I), you can sing along to said music as loudly as your heart desires towards the waves (like I), and if you’re feeling brave you can even go into the water, even if just your feet (unlike I). If there’s water where you’re going next, make friends with it. Tell it your fears and secrets and wishes for your new life and location. If you’re really lucky, there will be ocean both for our past and future. Say farewell and hello to them both. And the water doesn’t have to come from a coastal side it can come in ponds and rivers and wetlands, even raindrops (actually, especially raindrops). Water has some sort of magical cleansing gift, making us feel both small and connected all at once.

     4. Smile. It’s not that there isn’t room for feeling sad or bad or worried or whatever else comes with the migratory transition. But it’s important to remember to smile: those faces that pass you by become so much more when you’re sharing a joyous moment together. It can be a healthy reminder that home isn’t solely a physical entity of buildings and roadmaps, but it’s the people that make it something special.

     5. Eat your favorite food. You’ll find new favorite restaurants and cafés and take-out destinations soon enough. For now, celebrate those sentimental dishes you’ve come to love in your home... if you’re lucky to live in a yummy town, you can repeat this step again and again. Even if you’re not hungry, go ahead and order that scrumptious dish anyway and find someone hungrier than you are to share it with. Who knows, maybe it’ll become their favorite dish, too.

     6. Buy a souvenir. It may feel strange to buy something tacky from somewhere you consider home... you’ve been a local here, not a tourist. Whereas home isn’t really a vacation, you can still commemorate your adventures with a new daytime or nighttime tee that has your city and state proudly printed somewhere, or maybe a whimsy mug with a cartoonized local critter to start your morning coffee off in. It doesn’t even have to say anything about your home on it, it could be a simple pair of sunglasses you’ve needed from that ute little boutique you’re always window shopping in. I’m not usually one for accumulating stuff, but I can appreciate some good symbolism especially in the midst of moving.

       b. Take photographs. iPhone pics, disposable cameras, professional equipment: whatever you have, use it to document your surroundings while you easily can. Sure, the internet is savvy in that you can find pictures of many landmarks and scenic views from just about anywhere (thank you, Google!). But, there’s something sentimental about seeing your world through our own lens; remember your home as you saw it. It may just be the most intimate souvenir you can get.

     7. Get a haircut. I can keep track of time periods in my life based on the haircuts I had during them (I try and block out the six-month window that was tween-age “DIY side bangs”). There’s something liberating and definitive about getting a haircut when embarking on a new journey. The actual cut can take place right before moving, leaving behind many inches of locks (amongst other things), as I did. Or it can be a celebratory new-do once the move’s been made. Either way, it’ll be a physical expression of an inwardly emotional experience. Plus, if you ascribe to my cosmetic theory, everyone looks better with shorter hair.

     8. Be gentle with yourself. Whether it’s your first big move or your hundredth, the feeling of redefining home is a new experience each and every time. It comes along with a whirlwind of emotion that can shift anywhere from month-to-month down to minute-to-minute. Be gentle; enjoy the ride when you do, and remember it will pass when you don’t.

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99. A Fearlessness Of Heights

I have an extensive list of worries

So lengthy I sometimes fear it exceeds that of my strengths

Like how public speaking can turn my cheeks into freckled heirloom tomatoes

And how I’ve let a tarantula grace my palms once before

Yet never ever would I calmly accept a re-invitation

I sing often walking on city sidewalks and from behind shower curtains

But the idea of belting karaoke puts my tone-deaf nerves on edge

Now while falling would be an unpleasant consequence

The thrill of heights doesn’t anxiety me like the rest

If anything, there’s something seemingly soothing about looking at the world

Through a birds’ eye lens

Where people become figurines and cars and buildings and freeways become miniature models of a busied world

I often scrunch my nose up to airplane window-seat windows

Admiring the Hershey’s kiss looking mountains and Crayola drawn waterways

And find myself gazing towards similar views from transparent elevators and visitable vistas

A refreshing reminder that this whole thing isn’t so big after all

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98. Dear My 22-Year-Old-“Baby Fat”

Thanks for sticking with me through thick and thin.

Sincerely,

Someone who’s learning to unconditionally love her tummy.

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97. Hell is wrapping 34 presents in 7 hours...

But then again, so is heaven

When you’ve got a plethora of ribbons and wrapping paper to play with

Combinations of glitters with neons and subtleties with chromes

And while our mothers told us not to judge books by their covers

We can’t help but get excited about good gifts in great wrapping

All these wrapping thoughts roamed my mind when the world graced me

With a prolific female presence, and a handful of presents

She’s wanted for both herself and others, and we talked about music

And neighborhoods and other little things as I concentrated harder

Than I had all day, my heart tapping from iced coffee and joy and adrenaline

Tugging taut corners and crisping folded edges into continuing lines

Finishing on double layer bows pulled with pristinely level tails

Sending her on her way with taped and tied boxes in all sizes and styles

And she left with me a truly sweet smile

Gift wrapping can be fun, sometimes

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96. Mulling Muse, A Thought Excerpt

Platonic love isn’t plateau-nic

Nor an earthly, vulgar love

Rather it’s a transcendence into divinity

A Love for Supreme Beauty kind of love

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95. Too Much Heart, Or Too Little, For A Coup De Grace (2017)

“Don’t look long at the mound of ochre and foam speckled fur, keep your head straight and your eyes tunneled.”

If I cried every time I saw a dead deer on the side of the road, I’d be leaving rivers along the bends of Topanga Canyon. Highway 1 wouldn’t just be dotted with fragile doe, but my waterworks would glisten like the shattered windshield fragments remaining from a wistful war.

When I was little, growing up meant realizing life’s ephemerality like time’s stolen pets and old familial photographs. Learning that those ants crispened by a magnifying glass’ concentrated rays were living before — part of a plan, a purpose.

Now growing up means no longer breaking down for death, accepting that my being comes with the price tag of happy kids’ meals, a neglected fish tank, a jutted squirrel, or maybe a roadside deer.

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94. Add, Edit, Erase

Lists: I love them. I solidified it when upon thinking about this theme, I wanted to make a list of all the reasons I find their ways useful. I often feel this impulse to fill up notebooks with their concise lines on worldly travel dreams or dreamy new tattoo ideas. And if I’m on the go, then my notes app becomes my trusty comrade, holding onto reasons why it’s important to listen to my comfort zone and then stretch it away. 

We buy fancy novelty notepaper pads for our lists, and yet still scribble them on back of greasy receipts. 

Lists can be serious, divided down the middle for the pros and cons of a monumental decision. Also sometimes not divided evenl, rather weighing heavily on one side or the other, which the handy-dandy list visually helps to represent.

They can be as simple, sudden, and short-lived as a grocery store checklist. They can be as sweet when writing down the many reasons why you love someone, or a reminder on reasons you love yourself. Or swerved in the direction of a passive aggressive fantasy of three ways you wish to seek revenge on the car blatantly blocking your driveway as you’re trying to rush out to work.

Some lists stay mental, looped on sporadic intervals throughout the day to ensure they’re remembered when needed. Sometimes those same lists are muttered to ourselves for auditory reassurance as we move between place one and place two (and three and four). Lists are...

1. Practical

2. Punctual

3. Precise

4. Not always alliterative, but

5. Often perfect

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93. New Shoes

I haven’t been a lot of things in my life yet Including reigning the title of a “shoe person” I’ve kept my collection to a bare minimum in a barren closet over the years One pair opened toed, one pair with laces, one pair of boots and one pair with heels (reserved for a special occasion) Each has served me well and plenty in their purpose, but their lifespans wear thin when day in and day out they get worn and worn again And so When one pair of shoes begins breaking down, it becomes a domino-ed destruction Until my minimal collection minimizes Which is how I’ve justified the triple digit spending my credit card has endured in the past several weeks To reinvigorate a dwindling shoe collection

I spent late nights scrolling through footwear websites at the speed I’d be racing down size 8 and a ½ aisles in store Taking in dozens of heel heights and sole patterns and tones and textures And cuts and customer reviews Deciding if this year I’d become a runway bootie rocker Or skater shoe styler But, per usual, I ended up with the simple basics Including a pair of black flats with white trim, which will eventually (sooner than I hope) become tinted with a taupe tinge The shoes looked great on my computer screen And felt even better when cradled in my hands And slipped onto my feet They were right Until They weren’t

I could feel their stiff backboard Rubbing into my achilles’ heels A crescendoing sting with each step Until It stopped And out came a warm, wet feeling While I thought for some time that I had won over a battle with the emerging blisters on my feet I, in fact, was losing, having busted through my protective layers and leaving a ruby red puddle just underneath my ankles I waited until I was safely seated somewhere next To scramble for bandages And something to wipe away the mess My new shoes had been unscathed in the tussle Whereas my usually tough feet were whimpering I spent the rest of the day barefoot And the rest of the week opting for one of my couple other new closet additions Which sturdily did their duty But how I wanted those slip-ons to work Maybe with thick socks or preventative and strategically placed band-aids They will be revisited again And those new shoes will become my shoe Staples in my closet

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92. Me, A Little

Did you know

I don’t have a signature scent, nor do I want one

As I’ve found I like collecting recollected memories

Based on the phases of perfumes and body splashes I’ve been wearing

Buying a new bottle once one empties

Lately, I’ve been in between scoring a new one

I didn’t know

I like to eat breakfast as soon as I wake up

When there isn’t someone else to dreamily wrap up in

Or that my favorite vegetable is an al dente cooked green bean

Preferred in a black bean sauce

I forgot once how much I love to sink into sudsy bathtubs and stand in scalding showers

With a cool water bottle

Just like when I was a kid

And feel as it flows from the top tips of my lips

Over my tongue

Down the back of my throat

Through my sternum

And into my stomach

Like a waterfall under the rain

I now know

I sometimes fall asleep to generic romantic movies

Eyes closed, cheek cozied up away from the screen

Letting the sounds of other lovers weep into my dreams

I didn’t know this about me

Until I found myself falling asleep night after night

An unscooped body sprawled out

No longer a big nor little spoon

In the arms of Morpheus

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91. Small Talk (Even Mansions Look Mini In The Distance)

This week, I found myself in small talk with big people in my life. We went round in circles of hugs and “how are you’s?” celebrating our migration from college town to big city living. I listened proudly as friends recounted their recent adventures, turning maybe dreams into defined new jobs and houses and lovers and lives. The circle rotated like a classroom conversation until the “what about you?” reached my ears. And, like a dam on marionette strings, my mind tried to unscramble the past few weeks for patterns of progress and intrigue. If I’m being honest, much of my routine has been calm; simple tasks I can handle while feeling like a new mind in old skin. Or new skin with an old mind. I’m (re)defining what it means to be a daughter, a housemate, a chef, a worker, a friend, an Angeleno, a woman, me.

“If I’m being honest...” I began, redefining what small talk means for me, too.

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90. What If?

I had to go

Because I need to know

That you make me better

Not that you make me complete

There’s a hole somewhere inside me

Where a part of me lives

That I’ve been nervous to meet

It feels wrong not to talk about you

But it can hurt if I do

And it doesn’t help that everything now

Somehow reminds me of you

I’m learning to love my body

The way that I love yours

I’m learning that one is enough

For filling a bed

And that loneliness isn’t a chore

I thought I had to wait

Until I fully loved myself

To be able to do cool crazy things

Like striking up conversation

With an incomplete stranger

And going to concerts alone

And dancing my heart out to music I love

And singing along loudly to every song

I’m learning still

That all these things can get done

Should get done

On the journey to loving myself

Not just after I’ve arrived

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89. Movie Theater Musings

1. Up until a movie starts, everything revolves around time... there’s finding a show time, factoring in the running time, calculating the commute time, often getting validated parking time, and depending on the occasion there’s making post-watching dinner reservation time. There’s the “how long do we think the trailers are going on for because this concession stand line is long but I want my refill popcorn now so I don’t have to get up in the middle of the movie” time management time. All this scheduling. But, once the lights dim and the movie begins...

...there are no clocks on the walls,

...phones go untouched for durations,

...we let our lives continue by the length of the story before us.

Time is escaped, at least for the time being.

2. I always use the restroom only after watching a movie theater movie, for two reasons. One, because the thought of stepping away from a story and not knowing if I’ll miss a funny bit or a big bit or “what could’ve been my favorite” bit simply isn’t worth it for me.

But really, even if I bypassed the frosty cherry ICEE and didn’t urgently have to go once the credits rolled, I still would head in the direction of the masses to the ladies’ room. It’s for the waiting in line and listening to the fellow experience seekers reminisce on their takes with the same flick. I love hearing how three rows back they disagreed with the main character, or their friend wishes we could’ve seen more of the sidekick. It’s like an instant, intimate review time. It reminds me of when my dad nostalgics about his old art classes and favorited seeing how everyone around interpreted the sameness live model or still-life composition.

I feel like the line-waiting and patron eavesdropping is an added bonus feature for going to the movie theater.

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88. An Ode To My Tub Of Aquaphor

I didn’t know when I first got you

That you’d be by my side

For three tattoos

Of my own

And seven tattoos

Of friends

I knew you were too big to lose

Unlike my many abandoned lip balm tubes 

Fallen out on bus seats and classroom chairs

You’ve been with me for years now

For seasonally-chapped lips

And chafed elbows

Both assuaged by your presence

You have been their remedy 

To my driest days 

And cold-ridden noses

Your label has since worn and weathered

Peeled to leave a mere generic white jar and plain navy lid

But you still contain most of your promising protectant

Cheers

And here’s 

To many more years

Together

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87. Music and Lyrics

You’re someone who loves music

I’m someone who loves lyrics

You say songs need to move you

Whereas I just need to hear it

I keep my poems tucked away

And your music stays in your mind

We could write sweet songs in tandem

If we were only the kind

I hear you play guitar behind closed doors

I could listen to your songs forever

As I sing my dreams on bedroom floors

We never make our music together