The Transition From Chronically Homeless To Not, Part 1

July 17th, 2018:

Spirit buried down deep in our pockets. Sadness permeating the environment as per usual. Deep breath. I drive up the big hill with the clock now taunting me and my anxiety rising. We are gonna be late and we are gonna miss him. Shit. This maps app just said we arrived but the address is not correct. I park on the side of the road. The fear of the car falling off the side of the cliff side runs through my head like a movie scene. I distract myself with looking for the correct numbers. We walk down some stairs and still with no luck we walk back to the car defeated. Spirit being shoved deeper and deeper. Just a waste of time. We should just leave, who cares. Deep breath. I take my phone out and sent a text that we can't find the place. Moments later a reply with directions. Lets just go, text back never mind. We have to be somewhere. Who cares, we wont get it anyway. Deep Breath. Try Again. We drive through an alley like street that's part dirt and black faded road. I better not get a nail in my tire. That's all we need. I find parking and my anxiety is making my hands shake. The dogs better not bark and nobody call the cops cause we are going to be right back. Yes, I know its really hot outside. Deep Breath. That's it! That's the address, we've found it. As we walk up I've already picked 5 things I don't like about it. The newly painted baby blue trying its best to conceal the age and decay of the building. Its working, mostly. Its upstairs. This is stupid. We won't get it so why even apply. Why did we waste gas and energy coming over here. Lets turn back before he hears us coming. Deep breath. We hear a deep voice yell out come in from the top of the stairs. Here we go.

An hour later we walk back to the car in disbelief. He liked us. He really liked us. The dogs didn't bark either. The place is perfect too. I mean, to us it is. The hardwood floors and outdoor space. He waived the application fee when I hesitated. Interfaith, the organization that's helping us find a place said they would cover these costs but since it was all last minute and I had exactly $13 in my account, I had to stall. I tried to play it off with the I don't have any cash on me sorta thing but he simplified it all with "Go the ATM and come back". I don't quite remember exactly what I said in reply but it did not make sense whatsoever. I'm great at this sorta thing. He ended up deciding to waive  the fee and also said he would put our application on top of the pile. We said our thank yous but still felt disappointment. Holding our spirits hostage. Shoving them down deeper in our pockets as to not have a slip up. Not believing this was finally it. It always ended the same. We fall in love with the place. We have a great conversation with the owner. They say excitedly how we have a good chance of getting it then to no ones surprise we don't get it. Its a heartbreak game and this time around we didn't have much left for them to break.

The next day I received a text at work asking if we could come to the house to meet again. My spirit busting out of the darkness upon reading it. Oh shit, he was serious. We might actually get it this time. Whaaaaaaat.

This isn't real right?? We are gonna go meet with them and one of us will end up saying no. There were so many moments during the conversation with them where I wanted to abort mission. Oh, we pay water every 2 months? That's too bad, never mind, bye! Oh, the neighbors are nice? That's probably bullshit, BYE! Yes its close to the freeway but its far from my work so BYE! "What the hell is happening right now and what are we doing???" Kept replaying in my head.

We were outback when the landlord turned to me and asked who would be the main one paying the rent. I tried to seem confident as if i'd done this before. Holding my back straight and trying to keep my voice from cracking I answered. Then with the sun beating down and a smirk on his face he said, "Well, yes. You got the place." It felt surreal. It felt like a play by play from The Price Is Right. Yes, Analaura you are the winner of this not new but new to you houuussse!!! Moving in sold separately.

When it came down to the money talk. I was nervous how do you tell your landlord your reliable but also that you have an organization that's going to pay for the deposit and some of the rent because you can't?

I led on to tell them that an organization helps low income families. Although a little confused they accepted.

This is where it all began. As we walked back to the car I made sure to soak up everything around me. I needed to remember this moment. This walk back to the car knowing this was the moment we had all been waiting for so many years.

Please, Join me next week with the next installation. I

 am very excited to finally be sharing this beautiful change in our lives. Its been long overdue and awaited and dreamed about for so damn long. 

At some point look out for a compilation video of the moving in process. 

The Loss of My Abuelita, Final Part-3

Rosalia Solis Nisperos, born June 21,1938 in Michuacan, Mexico to my great grandmother Nicandra Lopez Cortez. She was the result of love and false impression.

I knew that I had to soak up the life stories of my grandmother because forgetting my ancestry wasn't going to happen to me. So every chance I got I would ask her to tell me stories and there were plenty times I needn't ask she was constantly retelling stories like it was her duty. Maybe-probably was. I can still her picture her sitting on my canopy bed pushed up against the window in my room when we had an apartment. With her dark brown curls creating a small afro and her hands with the rings around her fingers that she would never take off. Her hands had her whole life story illistrated on them. Her back now curved from age and an injury from when she was young. She had on fuzzy white socks that I gave her because her feet were always cold. She had one foot straight on the bed and one hanging down. She would look at me with her big eyes and say "Mira, cuando estaba chicita y estaba con mi papa me trataban muy feo. Me humiyaban y me yamaron la bastarda." (Translation: Look, when I was a little girl and I was with my dad and his family they would treat me really bad. They would constantly humiliate me and call me the bastard child) then her palm and forhead would meet and she would sigh as she relived the painful memory all over again. 

My grandmother was born out of love. My great grandmother was crazy about the man who ended up breaking her heart when she discovered he was married. The details are a little iffy but at some point my grandma was taken to her fathers house to live with his family since they were a lot wealthier than my great grandmother was. They were the high class part of society and my great grandmother was a humble hardworking woman who had little to no luxury in her life. My grandma was taken in by her fathers family but he was never home and his family was unwelcoming to the idea of a child that came from adultery so they mistreated her. Treated her less than and she would never forget it. She would make toys out of trash and at one point created pots and pans out of an old vegetable can. She would go to school and they would call her the orphan and the bastard child. They would bully her and tell her horrible things like nobody loved her and she was depraved of love and admitted to me that she often asked God why she was even born. One day my great grandmother came to take her back and she said she hugged her mother so tight while she cried begging her to take her with her. She said she told her she didn't care if she didn't have much she just wanted to be with her mother. Skip ahead some and my grandma was in her early teens when she was taken by an older abusive man who raped her and threatened and beat her into fear of leaving. I can still remember her aged hands covering her face and she shivered and cried while reliving the many rapes. She became pregnant with her first son Moises. Im obviously missing many details in her story but at some point my great grandmother came to visit my grandma and found her bleeding because the abusive man had broken a ceramic pot over her head. Without a second thought or a moment further to waste my great grandmother got my pregnant grandma and her son Moises and left town without thinking of what they were going to do or the fact that they knew nobody they traveled their way to Mexicali. The abusive man still on their tail but they walked and walked miles. My grandma would often tell me how she was so tired because not only was she pregnant but she also had a baby on her hip the whole way. My great grandmother and my grandma pushed through I'm sure unbelievable obstacles. Giving up was not an option for either of them. Move forward or nothing. 

The second child she was pregnant with was my mother Maria. She would often tell me how all she wanted for my mom was for her to be happy, for her to have a good life and be treated well. She called my mom her "brazo derecho" her right arm signifying her importance to my grandmas ability to survive. My mom took care of her brothers and sisters while my grandma worked 2-3 jobs everyday to take care of her 7 kids. My grandmother worked in the fields picking vegetables and she worked at Motel 6 and she worked her ass off at a restaurant because she was a badass cook. In an alternate universe shes a culinary chef, I just know it. She was an exotic dancer. She worked her ass off for her kids. Her childhood was little to none and she always kept chugging along. She was motivated and hella creative. She would create art out of pine cones and trash to sell in order to make money. She would knit and sew dresses. She would alter clothes. She suffered most of her life yet she was the funniest, silly woman. Pain was never a stranger to her. Difficulty was never diluted in her life. She was the queen of pushing through, of endurance, of RESILIENCE. She had bad assery embedded in her dna. From the second she took her first breath she was influenced with the power of a hope that was tenacious, sharp minded, creative, stubborn as hell, and beautiful.

That was my grandma;my abuelita. We fought most of the time but I loved her so much and wanted her with me all the time. I wanted to take care of her and I always did when she was around. When she wasnt with me she was always on my mind. I dreamt greatly of having a home and having her live there with us. I dreamt of coming home from work and seeing her sweet smile. I dreamt of taking her on another roadtrip. I wanted to take her so many places. I wanted life to be sweet before she left us and unfortunately that was far from the case. 

I have decided to withold the greary details of the days leading to her death and the backlash from our so called family in respects to her. Just as many times and people did her wrong she would forgive them all the same. I may not get to the forgiveness part but I can restrain myself this time around. 

I hold onto the memories of just months before with her and the laughs and arguments we got into. I hope she rememebered them too during her last breaths. I can only hope. 

"Me vas a extranar, mija. Cuando me muera yo. Vas a eztranar a esta viejita." She looked at me one Christmas eve as I handed her her hot tea. "No, porque nunca te vas a morir." I said playfully with a humph. She burst out laughing unable to take my optimism and denial seriously. 

I never thought I would lose her this soon. She died worried that we didnt have a house. She spent days declining, alone. She passed without us there. So many things I wish would have been different but no amount of griping will change any of it. 

My grandmothers life is a grand painting of how much resilience one human being can have. She reminds me that I'm doing alright with my life when I feel like I'm fudging it all up and letting it go to crap. That I can always continue when I feel I can't. That aching hearts aren't broken but aware. That dogs really are the best things in the world and we don't deserve them. That I'm worthy of love and I'm smart even though she felt she didnt/wasnt. 

My abuelita was a great woman. She made all those came into contact with her laugh and she was always so grateful. 

If I die with anything to my name I hope its just like that too. That I could make you laugh and I appreciated people. 

Hasta cuando nos vemos en el cielo, Abuelita. 

Te amo. 

The Loss of My Abuelita; Part 2

Continued.....

Driving all over Clairemont looking for a tire shop that would sell me two tires for the change I had in my pocket. I had no luck until finally I remembered a shop that I had driven past a hundred times. I drove into the small parking lot and I took a deep breath before I walked out. I was nervous but I asked him how much and as he went from one side of the car to the other I hoped that this was it so I could begin the drive. The bright sun in his now squinted eyes looking my direction now. Sixty was exactly how much I had in my pocket. Done deal. I moved the car into the garage and sat on a rusty old bench they deemed their waiting area. I felt as thin and fragile as a gift wrap paper. Any slight move I'd tear or blow away. Careful. Gentle. 20 minutes later and he came up to me letting me know it was ready yet it somehow didn't process so I sat there looking up at him as fragile as I'd ever been to be suddenly awakened by a sudden jolt of his apathetic voice repeating to me that my car was ready. "Okay...okay" I said a little bruised by his flat tone. I paid him and as I drove off tears began to fall again. I was ready to start my journey to El Centro but my anxiety was filling me up and I was on the verge of a panic attack. I had no where to go. No one to turn to. So I did what every other person would do and I went to the Post Office. 

I don't know what it was but something about going there felt safe.To my surprise there was a notice that I recieved a package. I closed up my box and gave the bookmark resembling slip to the clerk. She came back with a small brown box. I tore open the box as soon as I got in the car. It was from my friend Reyna she had sent me some stuff to keep warm because she knows how cold it gets in the car. I smiled weakly to myself remembering how optimistic she is and how it couldn't have come at a better time. It was just the gesture I needed to gain confidence to start my trip. I got on the I8 east to begin my journey. 

Two and a half hours later even with my fervor speed of 70mph the winds were too strong which forced me to slow down quite a bit.  I arrived and instead of having the need to flee to my family I wanted to be alone. My mom called and said they were at the big park in the middle of town. Memories of spending time there as a child flood me. I park in the parking lot away from where I know my family is and I sit there and cry. My migraine pounding my head from the crying on the way here and my dry cracked lips from severe dehydration. 

She's gone. She's really gone.

I sit in my car and stare at the trees swaying in the breeze. My phone continues to ring and I keep letting the calls go to voicemail. I don't want to speak with anyone. I can recognize my feelings of anger which makes me cry even more. I'm mad at everyone. Its us against the world but its also not because my grandmas gone so now its just me or so it felt.

Its dark now and I think its finally time to drive to her house. I'm panicking because this will be my first time going to her house without her being there. In fact she will never be there ever again. I can hear my brothers and mom outside on the porch having a conversation. I slink down in my seat and continue crying. My mom comes and brings me Penny and she greets me with kisses and then begins to play with Percy. My migraine is unbearable at this point so I go buy some tylenol. I fall asleep slouched in my car with Penny and Percy cuddled in my lap. I am in and out sleep and counting down the minutes until I can take some more tylenol. The next morning we rent a hotel for a night because I'm not the only one who can't bare being there and all of us are exhausted from grief. My brothers eyes are red and swollen and my mom is in shock. No one slept again. We weren't speaking with anyone outside of us and none of us want to. 

Funny how people start caring when you're already gone. 

We didn't go to the funeral or the wake because we weren't getting along with the rest of our family. We had our own weekend of being together and holding space. Perhaps I will go into that in the last part of the series.

Thanks for making it to the end. 

Please stay tuned for the next post that will have some of my abuelas life story. 

Life, Struggle, Love, Death - The Loss of My Abuela; Part 1

Sitting in my office chair instructing each single breath. In then out. In then out. Watching the life of the office continue on outside me like a movie. Losing my grip as everything starts to blur together. I grab Julieannes bicep and I look to her hoping to gain some stability. She looks to me eyes open wide in surprise as if by touch she could feel the despair. “What happened?!”

I look to her with my eyes glazed over in shock. my voice rigid and robotic “I just got a text, they are taking her in an ambulance. Shes unresponsive.” Julieanne sighs with sadness and says sorry. The seconds accumalate and she grabs the clients chart behind me as the doctor leaves it. I’m pale and out of breath. The doctor looks at me then to Julieanne asking a question with his eyes. I get up off my chair and walk around the corner where I’m out of sight from everyone. The bustle in the office lobby continuing. Dogs barking, the phone ringing and ringing.. I lean against the metal shelf trying to find a place for my hand to grip onto something. The breath in me fast yet shallow. I feel it take over me, a rush, a huge wave and it takes me down. I slide down until I’m on the cold cement floor. I can feel the dirt stick to my palms. I begin to sob and as soon as I start I’m unaware on how to stop and if I ever want to. I call Lori and ask her to come to me. I can hear her breath through the phone cut short. She agrees and makes me aware it will take her about an hour and a half. I agree. I just needed to go and I also needed someone to stay with me. Mark comes to the back room and tells me to do what I have to do. Of course I will I think to myself. Everything seems so trivial. Nothing else matters. This whole stupid vet office is so frikkin stupid and nothing even matters because I just lost…...her.

April 5, 2018 is the day I lost my Abuelita.

I sit outside near the back door of the building and I hug the tissue box as if it will save me. I look over the parking lot beneath me and I continue to sob. I’m aware the technicians inside can see me from the window and they can hear me but again nothing matters. All of my insecurities and all of my fears of letting people see me cry vanish. I use up the entire tissue box and Lori still isn’t here. My mom and Celest on thier way to El Centro and my brothers already there. I feel so alone. I continue to wait until finally I hear footsteps behind me then a hand on my shoulder and I look up to Lori my cheeks wet and heart broken. I walk to her car and open the door and it amazes me how everything still works. How my legs allow me to walk and my brain can still formulate a sentence. I am broken-shattered, I should not be able to continue functioning. Lori goes inside and asks Julieanne for the rest of my stuff. She comes back and I can feel the vibration of the engine stream through me. She starts to drive and I slunch down in the chair and curl up. She drives until shes found a resteraunt. I have a migraine now and every movement is physically painful but it feels right this cohesion with how I felt on the inside. She gives me a shake as I drift in and out of sleep. I leave Percy inside the car. Lori made sure to park in the shade as to not worry me. We walk to the Pho restaraunt and I am in a daze. Nothing is real yet everything magnified at the same time. Lori apparently had been calling my name and I heard none of it. She grabs me roughly by my bicep and pulls me to her side and leads me out of the way to an oncoming car. Oh, sorry I turn and say still not paying attention. We sit in the corner and I make sure to choose the seat where I can lean against the wall because holding myself up is something I was quickly forgetting how to do. Lori places her order and I get some hot tea to help with my stomach ache I’ve now developed. I look to the people sitting around and as if asking them with my eyes how can you guys act like everythings normal when NOTHING is normal. Dont you guys know?? Doesn’t everybody know my grandma is dying??!! I tell Lori that I might throw up and I see the panic set in her eyes. She hands me the keys and I leave miraculously finding my way back to her car. She stays to pack up the food. She drives me to the Jack in The Box praking lot where my car is. Where we stay. I’m curled up on the seat again and I cry and I am in and out of consciousness. She tells me its time to go pick up her mom and she has to leave me. I didn’t understand how she could leave me at such a time. I can’t be alone rightnow tell your mom to figure something else out I wanted to whimper. My whole body aching and the sadness swallowing me whole. Abandonded, again. I surrendered and went to my car. Lori drove off and I curled up in my chair tucking my head into my chest. Percy trying to cool off in the back of the car as Im sure it was a good 90 degrees out and in the shade we were not. I heard the twinkle of my phone indicating a text. I shut my eyes as tight as I could because I knew that any news now would’nt be any better. I mustered what courage I had left in me and looked at my phone. It was from my mom and the texts read, “I am halfway to El Centro. “ And then the last one.. “Just got the call. Shes gone.”

All I remember was the feeling of a bullet going straight through my heart. I can’t breathe. I was yelling and crying oblivious to the fact my windows were open and people were listening. I can’t breathe. Where am I? Percy? How do you breathe again?? I’m light headed. Will I pass out in this oven of a car? OH, well good thats fine let me pass out. Wait, no...Percys here he’ll die in this heat. Call the ambulance. I fumble for my phone and everythings blurry. WHERE AM I?? I begin to dial 911 then I stop and think what I would tell the operator. Hi, my grandma just died and I can’t remeber how to breathe please hurry? No. No. Plus, what would happen with Percy? I try to calm myself through the sobs. I remember that I can call somebody and even though Im uncomfortable with it I can ask for help. I look through my contacts as I realize I have people in my phone but none of them are someone I can confide in. I call my friend Carrrie and she doesn’t answer. I call my friend Lyz and she doesn’t answer either. I text Julieanne and shes not available. Lyz texts me back and ask me whats wrong. I tell her and as I read that shes in Denver I begin to cry again. I am all alone. Am I breathing? Oh yeah, I should probably be doing that.
I sob for another 30 minutes and my heads pounding as if any second it could burst and my shirts wet from both tears and sweat. Percy is dying for water. I gather myself as much I could and went inside the Jack in The Box to get Percy water. Then I decide that I need to drive to El Centro. Now. I needed to leave. Im here alone and this isnt working. Fuck work. I need tires before I go. Two front tires. Lets do this. I turn on my car trying to stay focused to the task at hand then drive off...

Part 2 coming soon.

(I am doing all this off my phone so bear with me. Thanks)

It Doesnt Always Rain Like It Thunders

I know I have been missing posts on Friday and well turns out that with my laptop being out of order its a lot harder and close to impossible to get posts done. I am still awaiting a miracle when it comes to my dear laptop.

If you have netflix I suggest you go watch "The Breadwinner" it is an amazing, really well choreographed story. Which is, by the way, where my title came from. The main character is a young girl whose father is imprisoned without charge and so she pretends to be a boy in order to work and get money to feed her family. Its a story that I believe everyone should see. This is a narrative that is ever rarely if at all given a chance to be seen and showcased on such a platform.  Anyway, it inspired me to come on here and write. SO here I am.

I have had quite a week where my work situatiin isnt getting any better. The coworker that has been making work life unbearable seems to be unable to work in a profesional manner. Just on Friday as I was sitting in the employees lounge eating after my shift she came and began to complain very loudly to me. After letting her kniw that because she was beijg unreceptive that I was not and would not participate in a conversation with her but still she went on, I was so close to cussing her out and any minute more I would have gotten out of my chair and slapped her. But because surprisingly I know how be professional and act like an adult, I didnt. I didnt want to incriminate myself with such a reaction that she could use later on against me in her will to tear me down. With three tacos in my belly I stormed out of there.

As I thought about what happened through the rest of the day I realized I felt like screaming "I quit" because of the lack of consequences that my intolerable coworker recieves. I although for one didnt want to give her the satisfaction, again, because by the way a coworker has already quit before due to a similiar situation and second my family and I cannot afford for me to quit. I can barely afford life now and I get paid!

Also, my car needs more work done and although it takes all my time and money, did I mention money? I have to do it. This car is our entire life. Without it our lives would go from kinda shitty and tough to what else is there besides shitty and shitty again? So I am doing it little by little. Getting car parts one at a time and having to wait until I have a pair or so to begin repairs. Things take time, I know, I just hope that my car can hold it together inbetween times.

I also finally went and got us some gym memberships. We came to the point where we were running on 2 weeks without a shower and I had run out of friends to ask. Friends who were readily willing and available. Its going to become an extra big expense but I feel like we've gotten some of ourselves back with it. The feeling of not being in control of your hygeine is a heavy and tasking weight for a person. The feeling of not being able to enjoy the shower for fear of taking too long or making too much noise takes from a person.

Take. Take. Take.

Seems like all everything knows how to do is take and you have to constantly rearrange the pieces to keep from crumbling over.

I think thats where exhaustion is. In the rearranging of ourselves. As creatures of habit the unavoidable everchanging rhythm of life keep us on our spirtual toes. Right when we think we got it handled and coherent something goes awrye. But I also think thats where our power is made. We become imaginative and resourceful. Resilient.

We get taken from and so we find a new way to recieve. 

Before I start to overthink everything here I want to say that I think everytime I feel like crumbling, I do, but then I re-adjust. re-arrange and without even realizing it I get on my way again.

 I think people are graceful in that way, in all of our clumsy dances to find out we can in all the moments we thought we couldn't.


Song of the week:

Sweet Creature - Harry Styles

Until next time
-Analaura

What Makes Us Feel Okay

Photo taken by L.M.

So with my laptop still being "under the weather" I have resorted to my tablet until further notice. Which in retrospect sounds a bit privileged so I will refrain my complaints about this.

This week I wanted to explore the idea of what makes us feel "okay" in the context of when someone is particularly unhappy. What relieves the ache. What diffuses. What allows us to breathe again. What in the middle of everything can make us feel like we can easily take a breathe again.

I know the answers are different and ever changing for everybody so please know that what diffuses for me may/can/will be different to what diffuses for you.

I find myself always at a constant of searching for more in myself than the numb and sadness. What else is in that huge hoarding pile of feelings. There has to be joy or peace or something like that somewhere in here. I always seem to be blind to it as if my sight is selective. I think from feeling numb for so long I've felt at a loss when it comes to much else. I mean I let out a laugh or two day to day and find amusement in random things. I feel kindness to my friends so I get stumped when I think back to those things and try to convince myself that is one of the many ways joy can look like. I seem to feel this emotion that can't be described in any other way than the lazily shrugging of shoulders. Its like I remain unmoved by the evidence that joy is not the stranger I claim it to be.

Hey, um didnt you hear???? You aren't just a walking talking robot built from fuckery buuut nope all that I get is just the metaphorical shrugging of my souls shoulders

I think I can come to discover that I can feel much more than what my current range of emotion allows me to. I think I have to become more trusting and believe that the times of laughter and kindness and peace are not or will not ever be forgotten by my soul. Perhaps my soul has found the loop hole to misery. MAYBE just maybe this entire time I thought I was failing at feeling okay I had been completely ignoring the fact that I was even able to participate.

This week has been pretty straighforward. Go to work, get out, pick up Celest, go get some wifi then head to our designated lot for the night. Of course days like yesterday when we went from picking up Celest to the storage right up until they closed is a nice change of pace. My work week hasn't been stressful, I actually really enjoy my co-workers company so when I get to work with her 3-4 days out of the six days I'm at work I'm grateful. I made a co-worker laugh once or twice and that always make me feel okay for a couple seconds. It reminds me that I can be funny. My dogs are always happy to see me and taking them to an empty park where they just ran around made me so happy. You should have seen their faces. Watching new episodes of our favorite shows on netflix and hulu with my mom and Celest make me feel okay. Hearing from Lori, my best friend, makes me feel okay. Organizing things putting them where they belong or making a space for something is comforting to me.

We often go to our favorite thrift store and so often I see small dining sets and wooden bookshelves that if I had a home I would refurbish and that does not make me feel okay. In fact it tears me a part inside because I'd like to have a home that I can make homey but instead I stand back and watch everyone else do it for theirs.

My sadness is ever present but hopefully I will never stop looking for the things that make me feel okay. We need those things after all so recognizing what those things actually ARE is really important. Maybe one day I can look back to the things that make me feel okay and not have a shrugging of shoulders reaction. Maybe I can have the reaction that my dogs have after running around at the park. Pure contentment.

One can only hope.

I hope to have a more interesting in depth much more revised post next week but for now this is all I got. Sorry, kinda.

Until next Friday,

-Analaura

Songs of the week:

Stay- Sara Bareilles

My Love Is Like A Star - Demi Lovato

Surviving Wont Be The Hardest Part

I have never been shy about sharing the uncanny, witty interpretation of hope I have. The stumbling, ruffled, unprecedented hope I believe in. In fact, a while back I stood in front of a church full of people with a microphone and declared how I believe, "Hope is a relentless bastard". I also often write how my hope seems to be walking around without its head and continuously bumping into walls. Imagery people, its everything. Yes, hope is blind but do not be mistaken it is very aware of whats it stands in front of. Hope is pretty much a bad ass. 

Hope is important and most of the time anything important and/or significant is at one point or at other times entirely painful. Sad AND happy is the paradoxical normal of the universe. Pain and healing go together. Hope being painful is not always the truth in every situation but in a deprived, suffocated, and overwhelming period of ones journey it can be. 

Hope being painful is for the people who have learned how to make a home inside the storm. Not out of choice but by severe necessity. Hope at first is motivating but eventually hope just gets annoying and annoying I mean too painful to bring around. Hope is the dream of it getting better. Hope is looking forward to the brighter tomorrow. But what happens when tomorrow doesn't get better? After a while its too difficult to keep believing because its much too tiring. Life can make you feel like a fool too. When you are in a upheaval to get your life to a safe place dreaming ahead can be helpful. Hoping to ones highest ability for a change of course can be/is a helpful tool. I do not discredit this but also in a long journey there is a point where it becomes easier to just continue moving instead of enthusiastically hoping. 

That was something I wrote up a month or two ago. I must have had an extra rough week. But I must have fell asleep before i could finish. I did say something though that struck a cord in me after reading this today. 

Enthusiastically hoping.

Is that how hope works? Is hope only enthusiastic? I think that is how its advertised to us. Hope is the shiny and bright during the bleak. So does that mean that hope can't be be dreary, weak, maybe a bit dirty or confused? Am I doing this hope thing all wrong then??  

Hope and Grace are the most powerful forces in the universe. Do you think they would conform to one specific definition? Nah, thats way too boring and exclusive. Hope fights to stay with us. Hope fights to stay alive in us. Hope grows and shrinks in the same way our lives fluctuate but it will not wither and die. No matter how determined you are to believe it has. 

Continuously through the extreme, rough and bumpy through the impossible we think now how the fuck am I going to get through THIS? but we do. No matter what way we went about it. Wearily, quietly, kicking and screaming, crawling, angrily, gracefully, quickly,slowly dammit we got through it and then its just right along into the next adventure. Whatever the hell that may be. 

Hope doesn't sit anything out. Hopes attached itself to us forever. It becomes whatever it needs to be in order to stay within us. So no, enthusiastically isn't the only way hope comes. Hope is the badass in the leather jacket and its also the weary kind friend. 

I think I maxed out the number of times one can use the word hope in an essay but zero fucks given. 

This week was something. At work I was blamed for all the things being wrong by another receptionist which caused anger and frustration and even insecurity. Then out of work I am overwhelmed with bills and exasperated by how even homelessness can't escape the wrath of bills. The lottery would solve this. Hah, wishful thinking. But we also got offered a blanket yesterday morning by a woman in a military uniform while preparing to head to our destinations for the day and the fast food restaurant we frequent gave us 2 free things the past two days. We were able to cook with our camping stove today and eat a "home" cooked meal. Percy got really tummy sick this week and cars broke down. My best friend lost her best friend-her doggy and I wept while leaving work to grieve with her. I got a house sitting opportunity in May and I was ecstatic upon hearing the news but also grief stricken because I'd love to be in a home by then. January is almost gone and I'm terrified. Take care of us 2018.

Until next Friday.

-Analaura

Song of the week: "26" - Paramore

Hey, 2018s Here

Hey there 2018.

Cute puppy-AKA-Penny

Although I am not one for resolutions I did promise myself that this year I would begin to write again. I seemed to be a gray blur in 2017 and maybe that was just my healing process for that moment in time but these past few days my soul has been tugging at me like a 4 year old on a mission to write again. My conscious blowing up at me because it knows that I'd feel better if I just wrote something. Ah! I wanted to come up with a title or an idea that I could center my thoughts around but then I remembered that was the very reason I felt I couldn't write in 2017. 2017 was the year that all the crap and turmoil thats always been hidden under the rug got uncovered and so of course this caused the world to believe the world has turned to shit when in reality all of these things were already there and happening. It was a year of eye opening. It was a year where people discovered how far their compassion for "the issues" would really take them. It was the year people rose up to activism and others turned their backs and stayed silent. It was the year when people finally made those who are silent realize they are on the side of the oppressor. That there is no limbo when it comes to justice for black and brown lives, for women and so on. It was the uncovering that the world needed to begin a better revolutionized healing process.

I have a job now. I work part time in a medical office. I like it although it hasn't came without work place drama I'm actually quite impressed with how I've done and how I have been handling being homeless and working at the same time. Some days it takes everything in me to breathe and not to start crying but others are a breeze and I am able to clock in, do my job, clock out and leave it all behind. Some days my mental health is on the brink of giving out so I'm grateful that I am able to bring one of my dogs to work to hug when I feel like being alive is just way too damn much to handle. Some days I work at the office and then later as a nanny. I'm tired and empty and overwhelmed all at the same time but I keep going because what the fuck else am I going to do. Food for us and food for the dogs and gas for the car and laundry to wash and storage and insurance and cell phone won't happen by itself. My transmission died during thanksgiving and that caused a whole bunch of expense. I brought my grandma and had her stay with us. We were able to supply a hotel room for 2 weeks or so before money was gone and the car was broken so she stayed with us through new year. I was actually relieved to have her with us where we could make sure she was fed and interacted with and showered and taken care of. Shes losing her memory now and at home unfortunately she can't provide herself with the self care she needs. Its a very complicated situation so even though she drove us all insane and we were almost always arguing at the end of the day my shoulders felt a little lighter knowing that my abuela was being taken care of properly.

I stopped going to church in 2017. I think I finally came to realize pushing myself to go when it drains me isn't taking care of myself. Plus, my spirituality was dragging just like my situation. I was visiting with a friend from San Francisco during Christmas who had asked me why i no longer attended and I eventually figured out that I felt crippling loneliness when I visited church. That is not the reaction you are supposed to feel when going to a place like that although to be fair I feel quite alone in the world too but you never wanna willingly place yourself in a place that creates that feeling. Not to get too real or dark on you here. You still there? I dont come into contact with a lot of homeless young brown women like myself. Not to say that they aren't out there but the lifeline I wield hasn't given me that gift...yet.

This is more of an update post than a reflective one and I am quite okay with that now. I think I would put so much pressure on myself to make a great reflective post every single time that I didn't even wanna try anymore. I realize now that I'm not going to get more than a couple views and that feedback just isn't happening but regardless I need to write. Besides having it out in the open is so subversive.and freeing that I'm going to learn how to make it feel enough.

I am making it a plan to have a new post every Friday and I hope those of who you reading now will check in, read and reflect with me.

I suppose life would really suck if I didn't take advantage to grow and learn from all the pain. The day I decided to use my pain as fuel instead of an anchor is the day I created a million and one opportunities.

Healing is everyday and chosen and uncomfortable and difficult and hard work but so is the alternative.  At least healing gives you freedom.

-Analaura