Influences (or Why I Write the Way I Do)

Natalie Goldberg (free-flowing writing)
Clarissa Pinkola Estes (wild woman writing)
Jane Hutchison (direct-to-the-point writing)
Ernest Hemingway (simple words writing)

Friday, January 8, 2016


it's this getting conscious of emptiness. to walk the streets at night, alone. to wish that there is someone at the other end of a dining table. to plan movies, picnics or just wallowing over sunsets. mulling over if a blessing from heaven will come. and then, i see my cellulite. my legs covered in it. 'i have lost my legs.' and i know, seen first hand, the look of men, as they cringe whenever they see the real me, this way.  and then as i walk home, alone, i become thankful. i no longer have to contend with waiting, disappointment, the fear of reality settling in. that perhaps, i am now on exile. exiled from true love, that will never be mine, in this lifetime. and it's a sad thing to reckon with, everyday. that i will always wake up alone. that embraces will be a luxury. and that men, will only remain good, as long as they're just friends. it is too early to be 'widowed' this way. seeing the next 44 years of my life always wishing for what will never be. to console myself with writing about the sadness and loneliness of being alone. being alone, that pain in my heart, no words can capture and breathe over. exile. i am on exile.

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