#and having fun instead of wallowing in frustration and indecision

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Gosh, do I love discovery writing. The freedom. The sense of play. The way you have to hold the material lightly and follow where it leads, never being afraid to scrap things that don't work or to rewrite to emphasize things that do. You have the fun of discovering the story you're writing rather than the frustration of being unable to capture the ideas in your head. This way might wind up taking ages, but it makes the writing process such a joy.

[taikoturtle]

Trimberly Short Fic

From the tumblr prompt “Actually… I just miss you.” 

Requested by @clairebear1127 nearly four months ago and I’m so sorry I’m only getting to this now but I hope you like it!

read it on AO3

-

Trini doesn’t consider herself a needy person, but when she agreed to continue her long distance relationship with Kimberly after high school she failed to anticipate just how much she’d come to miss her. How much she’d miss waking up beside her on a lazy Saturday morning, cuddled beneath a snug blanket with Kimberly’s arms wrapped around her in a warm embrace. How much she’d miss being able to call her up on a sudden whim to grab coffee, or see her at the drop of a hat should either of them have a horrible day and need to vent.

And okay, when Trini says long distance, she really means it’s just a six hour drive that separates them and she should be grateful that it’s not a flight halfway around the world, but going from a ten minute bike ride to a six hour car ride is still a significant adjustment in her books.

After high school graduation, Trini and Kimberly sent out several applications to various colleges and universities both in and around Angel Grove, as well as a few that were out of state. Kimberly got into one of her top choices miles and miles away.

Trini did not.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Kimberly had said one day when they were in her room with acceptance letters scattered around in a mess of papers and ripped envelopes.

“You’re not leaving me,” Trini responded softly, “you’ll just be leaving Angel Grove. I don’t want to be the reason you hold yourself back. You’ve got so much potential and if you got into one of your top choices then you deserve to go.”

Kimberly looked broken, absolutely torn with indecision, but Trini pulled her into a tight hug and told her not to worry. She wanted to reassure her that everything would be okay, but she also wanted to prevent Kimberly from seeing the pain that was so clearly written on her face. It would be a tough road ahead, and as much as Trini wanted to be selfish, to tell Kimberly to stay by her side, it just wouldn’t be the right thing to do.

“We’ll make it work, I promise.”

So off she went to a four year college while Trini stayed back to attend Angel Grove University. By all means, AGU is still a tremendously great school to attend, however it’s just not the same without the gang all together.

Trini went in undeclared. She figured she could knock out a majority of her required general courses first and would settle on a major later down the road. Her parents want her to be a doctor or a nurse, just anything in the medical field that’ll be lucrative, but they obviously don’t know her that well. Stitching people up has never been her strong point; she excels at putting bodies in the hospital, not the other way around. However, she has another year or so to figure it out before she has to declare so she’s not particularly worried.

Instead, the thoughts that occupy her mind are more often than not, entirely Kimberly-oriented, like what is she up to right now, or what new friends has she made.

What crushes she might be developing.

And it’s totally stupid, Trini knows. She can trust Kimberly - she trusts her with her life - but Kimberly’s activity on social media had a nasty habit of generating a conflicting cocktail of happiness, jealousy, and insecurity. Slowly her Instagram feed was filling with strangers’ faces and unknown names.

It felt like Trini was being replaced, and though it hurt like a bitch, she took solace in the fact that as long as Kimberly was happy, then so was she.

In the beginning, they talked on the phone nearly every night, recounting the day’s events to one another. Kimberly checked out several clubs on campus ranging from casual sports to cultural focused and she sounded absolutely ecstatic. Everything was new and shiny and it always brought a smile to Trini’s lips as she layed in bed with the phone pressed to her cheek, staring at her bedroom ceiling as Kimberly gushed about every little detail. She looked forward to her phone calls and the occasional video Skype with Kimberly, it’s often what motivated her throughout the day, but as the weeks passed through the quarter, things started changing.

The calls came less and less frequently. Between studying for classes and club obligations, Kimberly simply had no time or was too tired from spreading herself thin. It didn’t help that Trini applied for a job on campus at the convenience store near the food court so any respite from the hustle and bustle of work and classes was hard to come by.

Their conversations turned into sporadic texts whenever either could spare a moment and it was starting to take a toll on Trini’s nerves.

Once she had asked her mom if she could borrow the car for the weekend, to which June simply scoffed and denied her outright.

“The car is a privilege reserved for school,” she stated firmly, “and nothing more.”

It deflated Trini on the spot. She was this close to packing her bags for the weekend and toughing out a drive to go see Kimberly, but no car meant no road trip, so she skulked her way back upstairs and tossed herself onto her bed, dejected and full of frustration.

She wanted to talk about her feelings and reservations with Kimberly, but every time she tried, something held her back and she would end up having a change of heart.

I’m not jealous, Trini would convince herself, I’m not needy. Kimberly can hang out with whoever she wants. I’m not going to be that person who restricts her from having fun or keep tabs on who she sees on a daily basis.

“Dude, just tell her.” Zack, in his ever blunt yet insightful way, would advise. “If you guys are really that good with each other, then just communicate that clearly. Nothing good ever comes from bottling things up or assuming shit about how the other may feel.”

Zack remained in Angel Grove and got a job as an apprentice at an auto mechanic’s shop so he could help support his mom while feeding his interest in cars. This often made him the most accessible whenever Trini needed a friend to lean on, so they’d end up going to Krispy Kreme’s and Trini would treat him to donuts and coffee while she voiced her concerns. He’d try and respectfully deny the free food, but it was her way of paying him back for all the times she subjected him to her woeful rants.

“If it’s bugging you this much, you gotta say something,” he said before somehow shoving an entire glazed donut into his mouth in one go.

Trini cringed at his eating habits, but took his words to heart.

//

“God, why is this so difficult?”

With only a couple weeks left in the quarter, Trini finds herself lying on her back in bed on a Saturday night with books strewn every which way in preparation for finals. Carefully highlighted notes and open textbooks mean nothing to her when they look like ancient hieroglyphics given her current state.

It’s hard to study with Kimberly on the mind.

“Kimberly, can we talk? No, that sounds like I’m going to break up with her. Kimberly, there’s something important I need to tell you? No, that still sounds too… bad.”

Trini rolls over and angrily lets out a huff. Her phone rests inches away from her hand, the screen dark and inactive, and a yearning ache fills her chest with a swallowing, hollow emptiness.

She misses everyone.

She misses the gang altogether, she misses their hangouts and training sessions, and she misses that feeling of belonging, like a true family in many ways.

Her lecture halls at the university are far too large to make any true friends, and while her parents are trying their best to be more warm and receptive, Trini still feels like a stranger in her own home. The Power Rangers were everything to her, but now that they are fractured with their lives headed in different directions, Trini doesn’t know where she fits into the picture anymore.

Most of all, she misses Kimberly.

Warm tears pool at the corners of her eyes before trickling down the sides of her face. She doesn’t even try to wipe them away because there’s no use; they’re not stopping because the growing void in her chest isn’t going away.

She hates feeling so pitiful because normally people regard her as the strong one, where nothing can faze her, but things such as this strikes a deep chord within her. She knows what it felt like to be alone, but now that she knows what it feels like to have been a part of something bigger, she doesn’t want to go back.

“Why can’t things just be simple?” Trini mutters to herself quietly. “Growing up sucks.”

TAP TAP TAP

A loud rapping on the window startles her out of her wallowing musings and her senses fire on high alert. Memories of Rita flash before her eyes and fear begins to grip her nerves. Jaw clenched and fists balled, Trini slides off her bed and cautiously approaches the window.

There’s no way it could be Rita again. They knocked her into the sky ages ago so it makes no sense that she would return now, let alone have the common decency to knock. It could be a new enemy that Zordon didn’t inform them of, but once again, why would they even bother to knock. Unless…?

Gulping heavily with uneasy anticipation, Trini’s clammy hand grips the curtain and yanks it aside in one swift motion.

“Kimberly?!”

Grinning like a kid, Kimberly waves excitedly at her from beyond the weathered glass.

What the hell is she doing here?

“You going to let me in or not?” Kimberly asks through clattering teeth. “It’s freaking cold out here.”

Shaking off her stupor, Trini fumbles with the locks on her window before hastily yanking it open. A chilly gust of crisp winter air fills the room as Kimberly hops over the sill and lands on the carpet beyond the cluttered desk. Trini closes the window securely and gapes at her in stunned disbelief.

Her hair is longer than the last time they skyped, resting a few inches below her shoulders, and she looks absolutely amazing in her dark washed jeans, cranberry colored shirt and sleek leather jacket, but those details get tossed to the wayside the moment Kimberly’s lips come crashing down on hers.

Trini stumbles backwards from the sheer force, her back bumping into the desk, spilling pencils and papers everywhere, but she doesn’t care because Kimberly is pressing against her hungrily as if making up for lost time or the long distance that’s come between them.

In some ways it feels like it has been years since Trini’s felt the warmth of Kimberly’s body, smelled the comforting scents of her tropical shampoo, or heard her light, breathy moans. She’s missed how familiar her lips feel against her own and how her hands seem right at home clutching at the small of Kimberly’s back.

It leaves Trini wanting more, craving to dive deeper and lose herself to the fire running through her veins, but she has so many questions lingering at the back of her hazy mind that she can’t ignore.

Trini pulls back, breaking the kiss and causing Kimberly’s lips to give chase for a second before she pauses and gazes at her. Chest heaving in and out, gasping for air, Trini swallows thickly as she maintains eye contact, searching for the right words.

“What are you doing here, Kim?”

Flinching at the question, Kimberly chuckles weakly. “Not happy to see me?”

Trini presses a soft, gentle kiss to Kimberly’s lips and smiles. “Dummy. I’m always happy to see you, but…” Her words trail off in hesitation - where does she even begin? “...Why now?”

“I… uh…” Kimberly’s brow furrows, her eyes now averted. She’s biting her lip as if contemplating the heaviest question in the world, but after several more beats of silence - save for their now even breathing - she continues on. “Okay well, actually… I just miss you.”

“You do?”

“Of course!” Kimberly breathes out instantly. “And I know I haven’t been the best at keeping up with our calls and everything, but I’m going to work on it because god, I just miss you so much. I didn’t want to bother you since I know you’re busy with work and your family, but I think about you everyday and I finally couldn’t take it anymore so… here I am.”

Her glistening eyes are downcast through the whole confession, and it isn’t until she takes a deep, shuddering breath does she dare look back at Trini. “I’m not being too needy, am I?”

What an ironic turn of events.

Those very same thoughts that had been plaguing her mind for months on end had been the same thorn in Kimberly’s side.

A muted laugh escapes Trini’s mouth and at first it draws a sour, hurt expression on Kimberly’s features, but she immediately explains herself.

“Honestly, I was feeling the same way,” Trini starts tentatively. “I didn’t want to come off as too clingy or controlling and seeing how much fun you were having on your instagram and snapchat stories I was just… jealous? Afraid maybe? I don’t know, but whatever the case, I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t know whether Kimberly can hear the pain in her voice or feel the trembling in her limbs, but at that moment she knew precisely what was needed.

Pulling Trini into a crushing hug, Kimberly squeezes her tightly and whispers just for her.

“I love you Trini.”

It’s sincere and vulnerable and exactly what Trini needed to hear. Beyond the words, the hug itself is charged with unspoken emotions–it says reassurance, it means unending devotion, it’s the promise of a future together.

“I love you too.”

//

It’s nearing four in the morning by the time Trini flops on her back, gasping for air and with a thin layer of perspiration coating her skin. Her face is flushed and fatigued, but clearly satisfied. “I’ve definitely missed this.”

Kimberly stifles a laugh, not wanting to wake anyone in the household - especially in their current state of undress.

Rolling lazily onto her side, Trini frowns slightly as she stares oddly at Kimberly. “You know, I’ve been wondering something.”

“Yeah?”

“How exactly did you get here? You don’t have a car and the buses don’t run this late.”

Kimberly inhales sharply. “So... funny story, but I might have borrowed the Pterodactyl Zord.”

“You what?!”

Zordon gave Kimberly the biggest scolding of her life about abusing their powers and risking exposure, but damn was it worth it.

[pravasiga]

June 19, 2017 - Wabi-Sabi: (Im)perfection.

Wabi-Sabi: (n.) "the quality of being attractive because of being imperfect in some way...wabi-sabi suggests that we see the flaw as being part of what is charming. Can apply to pots, furniture, houses - and whole lives." Origin: Japanese.

Trigger Warning: Body Image and Expectations

I wasn't sure how to start this post to be frank with you. I spent a few hours aimlessly looking around for a word to inspire me to make sense of a whole collection of experiences that I've felt since I've been here. Perhaps the most personal post I've made in a long time, I realized that in the last few years, I've lost my confidence in writing because as I grew up, so did my insecurities, so did my stress levels, and so did my ability to self-doubt. Part of my journey towards writing again is the willingness to be honest, to go deeper, to go pick at the scars that haven't healed properly.

As evidence by the slew of Instagram photos that I've been spamming you all with, being in India meant a change in what I'm used to wearing. For those of you that go to school with me, you know that I stick to a steady stream of sweaters and sweatpants because quite frankly if I have to suffer at college, I might as well be comfortable and warm while I do it. When I go shopping, I go straight to the larger and plus sizes. I thought I had learned to stop being disappointed at finding few items that fit and learned to seek out alternatives. But in India, where I have had to buy new clothes and adjust to a brand new style, I've had my fair share of struggles with body image, grappling with an age-old insecurity that has only worsened with the years and only has been exacerbated by hurtful comments, overactive paranoia, and the desperate need to prove to myself that I can do and be better. One of the biggest things that this trip has forced me to confront was a personal journey that I had long been avoiding - the burden I have borne my entire life regarding Asian-American, feminine, and personal expectations on body image and size.

But I don't owe anyone the debt of feeling sorry for who I am, and wearing my first sari, an ensemble that asks me to bare a part of my body that I have spent most of my life hiding, gave me a burst of confidence that there is so much that I should not and will not be ashamed of. I thank you, ahead of time, for reading this post, and hope that you recognize that this post is an expression of freeing myself from some of the worst thoughts I've had, in pursuit of self-acceptance and integrating the imperfect into the (I'm)perfect.

*If you would like to talk, if this post triggers you, I am here for you. As much as I can be with this spacey wifi. :)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- When yet another size XXL kurta (long shirt) barely made it down over my chest, I was prepared to shed a few tears. The straight, narrow cut of the cloth was not made to fit me and in the dim-lit dressing room, I could only stare at my reflection and feel the same old thoughts come back. If only you had actually used your gym membership this year instead of being lazy. If only you could have foregone that McDonald's meal at the airport. If only you could have just, for once in your life, been smaller. Coupled with a time constraint and limited inventory, I was absolutely exasperated with myself. I had to somehow, find enough salwar kameez combinations to make it through the rest of the summer and so far, all I could be absolutely sure of was that my dupatta (scarf) was not going to be a problem. Though I later was to learn that most Indian women would tailor their clothes or alter it in ways to fit, the pain of quite literally, not fitting into, the new culture and society that I was going to engage with, was enormously difficult to bear. Even at 20 years old, having been overweight all my life, I was not immune to the dread of yanking off a clothing item that didn't fit, praying that no seams would rip.

A Chinese-American woman, I learned at a young age that I didn't fit the mold. I grew up seeing skinny women on runways, in my magazines, and TV-shows. I was fortunate to grow up in a family where my grandfather used to touch the skin on my arm and smile proudly, telling me that my yellow skin ('jing huang pi fu', he would say), golden and luminous, was beautiful. My grandparents were always the most insistent that their grandchildren never forgot to appreciate and love their roots, to continue a proud story that had crossed the Pacific Ocean, weathered world wars, and landed in a strange new country. Save for a brief infatuation with Cinderella where I stubbornly stated that I wanted blonde hair and blue eyes because "that was what princesses looked like", I grew up in love with my long, straight black hair, especially when I could brush it until it gleamed. I used to stare in the mirror at my dark brown eyes, trying to discern the exact rich chocolate brown-black shade of my irises. I decided early on that no matter what color they were, they held light and enthusiasm for life. Enveloped in love, emboldened in a household of two tongues - English and the warm embrace of my ancestors' Mandarin - I was raised in love with my Chinese heritage. But with this, I inherited expectations that would prove to be most constant source of my self-esteem issues - I have never been petite, slender, or thin.

I take a second to dodge questions about my health to simply state that regardless of that condition, it has never warranted the kind of overwhelming pressure to have collarbones that could hold rolls of quarters (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/…/Country-goes-wild-new-social-m…) or a waist that could hide behind a sheet of paper (http://www.nbc26.com/…/asian-women-are-pressured-to-be-peti…). I have never felt quite at home within the Chinese-American community because I have never been able to shake the shame of not fitting what I saw as the ideal Chinese-American woman. It is assumed that our bodies are meant to be a certain way and that it is woven into my DNA to be a porcelain doll, slim and well-proportioned.

I come from a family where love is shared in food, love is communicated in asking about health, and love is given by pinching cheeks and unfortunately, openly asking about my body weight. When my family comments on my waist before my college experience or when I get asked questions, I get asked about my SAT, my GPA, my weight, the amount of times I've gone to the gym far before I get asked about my mental well-being and happiness. I grew up understanding that this was how love was shown sometimes, even when it would twist in too-round stomach and curb my appetite. I have grown up always feeling like my answer was never good enough. I have grown up understanding that this was something I had to desperately change, not simply out of concern for my health, but because - what would other people think? "We just don't want other people to make fun of you," relatives would assure me, "You're a beautiful girl, but you should lose weight."

And so it goes.

I scrambled to find kurtas that fit and while I was able to find some, I couldn't lift the feeling of defeat that followed me out of the door of Big Bazaar, onto the van, and back into my hostel room. I had been so excited to go shopping for those loose garments, wrongly guessing that such loose fabrics and clothes would be easier to fit into. Even though many of my team members expressed similar frustration of finding clothes that fit, I tuned it all out, I tried to hold myself above wallowing but I couldn't help but sink in. That night, I ate less than half of what I had been given for dinner. I felt like I could have burst out of my skin every single time food passed my lips.

When we got the chance to buy saris, I tried to put a lid on the excitement. A sari is a long piece of fabric (anywhere from 5 to 9 yards), often beautifully decorated, meant to be wrapped around the body to form a skirt and to drape over the shoulder. (Side note: it is so hard to tie this damn thing, I tried and ended up hopping around the room trying to keep everything in place). We had been invited to the wedding of the son of a local technology company, known for its dedication to employing those with mental disabilities and pushing for similar practices in other companies. But I was focused not appearing lumpy, misshapen, and enormous in my sari. I was most afraid of what my rolls of stomach fat would look like, hanging out of the skirt, or worse, not fitting in at all.

The sari store was stuffed to the brim with gorgeous fabrics and I remember my breath being taken away as I ran my fingers along the ornamentally decorated trims of red, blue, purple, golden - every color of the rainbow - saris. I had long decided to go with a red sari, taking a lesson from my prom dress shopping fiasco that red, in fact was my "power color". I tried sari after sari, and as the women who worked at the store hastily tied and rolled me repeatedly into increasingly beautiful fabrics, I couldn't help but focus on everyone around me, finding their perfect sari. Between indecision and an inability to be satisfied by anything I had seen so far, I began to feel that same sense of dread that I had experienced the week before in the dressing room. I began to feel like a little girl trying to play dress-up, attempting to mimic an imaginary standard that was always meant to be above my grasp. Time was running out and I was among the last people to choose - and of the few I had tried on, I just felt completely out of place in all of them. I begged the women to let me try one more on - a red sari with tear-drop gold embroidery, and a golden-green trim. I reviewed the photos a friend helped take of me, and still couldn't bring myself to love it. But in all honesty, I don't know what I had more difficulty loving - the sari, or myself.

I bought the sari anyways. I didn't have time to find another one and this was the best I had found from the bunch. I kept my negative thoughts deep in my belly, swallowed to prevent them from reaching the surface. I told myself that I would just have to learn to wear it, learn to love it for all the other aspects. The fabric was beautiful - there was no doubt in that. I would have to do my best to fit myself in its folds and present as little trouble to the tailor in the next few weeks.

The week flew. We got fit for the tiny blouses (which were MUCH shorter than I expected) and patiently waited for our first chance to wear our beautiful new garments. In my room, I clumsily tried to imitate what I had learned from the women at store and "tied" my first sari. I have a long way to go. Getting those folds perfectly evenly and crisp much be a superhuman talent, honestly. I have incredible respect for anyone who can do it perfectly.

But of course, this is a blog post with a happy ending. The first time I was properly tied into my sari, with the little red blouse, my hair swept back, and my favorite red lipstick on, I was floored. I had tried pulling my petticoat up as high as I could, to hide as much of the skin that peeked out, a fact that the women helping us tie our saris noticed. They originally had pinned part of the draped fabric to my blouse, to form a curtain over the expanse of waist that I had hidden for so much of my life. Staring in the mirror, turning and feeling the fabric swirl around my feet, I unpinned that little curtain and tucked it back into my skirt. And I gave myself time to appreciate the form in front of me, a force in red, gold, yellow, and black. In that moment, I thought little of the expectations that I had carried on my back all my life. I didn't feel hidden under the beautiful fabric nor did I feel that the sari was wearing me. The body that I had spent so many years of my life berating, squeezing, hiding, was perfectly displayed.

It was a breath of fresh air, it was freedom from a restriction I had long placed on myself. And you damn well know I had to take a million photos to celebrate.

But more importantly, it is a reminder. It is a reminder that for all the comments of my family, I come from a long line of strong, sturdy women. Women whose hands and arms bore equal weight as the men in my lineage, women who were mothers and doctors and businesswomen and accountants and caretakers and brilliant and brave. Never had I once questioned whether they were fantastic role models. Never once have I questioned their beauty, their grace, their strength. So size zero be damned, I know that I may never fit into anything at half of the store I stop by, but what there is of me, I will love, I will cherish, and I will protect. And so should you, you fantastic, incredible, wonderful human being.

Dhanyavada galu (thank you) Ninna gelati (your friend), Winnie

PS: The wedding was also amazing and great and wow so many people I can't believe they just literally let 30 random Americans in at the last second. Congratulations to the bride and groom!

PPS: I learned the hard way how hard it is to pee in a sari and let me just tell you it involves a lot of folding, clutching, and praying.

PPPS: Photo credits to my least-favorite person and kind-of favorite photographer, Anant Sriram because bless that camera and his patience for dealing with my idiocy and basicness.

PPPPS: I love all of you, just the way you are.