living a simple life

Ten Things I Would Tell My Young Self if I Could Go Back in Time

/ inkspeare / 1 Comment
“Enjoy a plate of homemade cookies from time to time.” Photo by M.A.D.

Rainy days make good thoughts. Sometimes, I go back in time and observe the younger version of me, through my memories. I can truly detach and see her with kinder eyes, every step, dreams, goals … through good times, not so good times, and even scary times. In times of wisdom, confusion, loss, fear, naiveté, and even doubt, of happiness and growth … In moments of pure bliss and in times of desperation but always striving for more. Then I think, if I could only go back and tell her; hence, the title of this blogpost. Although there is much more that I would tell her, here are ten things (me-truths) I would definitely tell her (in no particular chronological order).

You are never too little or too much; God made you with value for Him.

Life is not a race against time; it is a celebration of time, slow down a bit.

What you truly think of yourself is more important than what other people think of you; really, it is.

It is perfectly ok not to achieve the ideal of perfection because it is a lie.

Most so-called experts make it up as they go.

One day, you too will be old, in the blink of an eye.

Evil-intentioned people do exist in real life.

Religion is man-made, but Jesus is not.

Never hand off your agency to another; never!

God will never abandon you, no matter what.

What would you tell a younger version of you?

It is the Little Things

/ inkspeare
Photo by M.A.D.

It is the little things that make life sweet. If we only waited for the big things, the big successes, the big surprises, or the extraordinary things to be present, living would not be as sweet and meaningful. The little things that we sometimes fail to notice or take for granted, usually in the pursuit of something bigger, are the ones that take our breath away when we are present enough in living to notice them. An unexpected bloom in winter, the sunray illuminating the face of a child, the play of light and shadow in the woods at dusk … these are countless, unlimited moments that sweeten one’s day, when we care to notice. A big achievement brings joy, and a sense of pride and satisfaction, but it is the little things that remain after the big moment has passed. It is these little things and moments in life what refreshes a weary soul, sweetens a hectic day, and appease a restless spirit.

Love and Light

At that Age

/ inkspeare
photo by Maria Antonia Diaz

I find myself at “that age,” when I finally feel that a bridge has been crossed, and the perspective from the other side of the bridge is very different from the side left behind. I can surely say that life takes a different meaning from that point of view. The things I wanted then are very different from the things I want now. One of “those things” that I have learned is to stop trying to “fix” people. What I thought in my younger years that people needed to hear, was not necessarily what needed to be said. Advice should not be given unless it is requested. Pretending to know what people need in their lives, how they should live or fix their problems, even when it is meant with a good heart, is wrong, especially when the advice isn’t requested. When we are young, we want to change the world and we might take that feeling and desire and translate it to offering wisdom from our “fresh” point of view, especially when the person is happy and satisfied with how a life is being lived. Why assume another person’s life is broken? Because it is not suitable to our standards? Why assume that our way is the only way, and the other person needs anything from us to be fulfilled, not left behind? Why “fix” their existence?

With age comes maturity. Many steps have been taken and the soles of one’s shoes are worn enough. I’ve stopped giving advice that is not solicited. I’ve stopped thinking that I have the right answer. I’ve learned that there is no need to prove a point, unless someone asks for my opinion. I’ve learned to love and shut up, to enjoy my way while accepting other people’s right to live their way without harming others, even when I don’t share their opinion of how they handle situations. There is a modern say, “You do you.” In a way, I understand it. It is not to say that I don’t care about what goes on, consequences, moral issues, the illnesses of a society … all of that is real, and needs to be addressed, first, in our life and circle, then by supporting the agencies that fight against the injustices and crimes committed in society, however, that is another subject, and very different from the topic of this article.

Crossing the bridge gave me a sense of peace and understanding of having been once at the other side. With peace comes understanding, with understanding, acceptance, with acceptance comes the realization that what I thought was good for me is not necessarily good for another in their own journey. Although many suggestions and opinions come from a place of love and genuine concern; however, it is not a “one fits all” reality. I might be hot-tempered at times, maybe somewhat opinionated, still dreaming of a better world, but no longer do I give or take unsolicited advice. The bridge has been crossed.

“Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye but do not notice the log that is in your own eye.”

Matthew 7:3 ESV

Life Goes On

/ inkspeare

Everywhere we look, there is life going on, even at the microscopic level. Spend a few minutes outdoors and look around. From foliage to tiny critters moving around and about, our existence is full of life; isn’t that wonderful? I have been observing a Mama Bird caring for her babies for the past three weeks or so, and I have avoided using the side entrance so I would not disturb them. At first, I thought there were two abandoned nests in each of the flower pots hanging at each side of the entrance, although one of the nests seemed as if it was started and left halfway through undone. It is a shady and cool area, and I have not been able to grow anything on those pots despite several attempts, so this year I placed artificial flowers inside. I noticed that the halfway done nest disappeared and the other one seemed bigger and fuller. I assumed it was being built, and the nest material was being used, so I let it be. Later on, I would see Mama Bird flying back and forth, and chirping; later on, I heard a few chirps but did not want to go near the area in fear that I would scare the birds. On Saturday, I did not hear anything, or see any movement, and on Sunday, I discovered an abandoned nest. Wanting to preserve this lovely memory, I sat down and attempted to paint the flower pot with a few watercolor pencils I have around.

The nest is behind the artificial foliage.
My rendition, although I did it by memory. I thought the flowers were purplish and fewer, and the pot ornament is the one on the opposite flower pot, which have fewer flowers. I guess age creeps on you.

It was relaxing, and I preserved a beautiful memory. I used to draw and paint when I was a kid, and for some reason that I cannot recall, I suddenly stopped. As a young adult, I tried to get back to it but was hesitant for some unexplained reason that puzzles me and I cannot comprehend. In my late twenties, I even bought an easel, several types of paints, and other materials but always felt something stopping me, and it all sat waiting for me to pick it up. I carried the stuff from place to place. On my last move, I got rid of 70 percent of my stuff, but for some reason, I could not let go of the painting materials. I had attempted a few drawings and paintings, on and off, but It wasn’t until a few years back before my last move that I started, and I pushed myself to paint something, despite my “hesitation.” It has been very diluted and sporadically, rudimentary, but I am feeling a bit more at ease with it. I cannot recall why I stopped, or anything negative associated with painting or drawing, other than a teacher in third grade making a big deal in front of the class because I painted blue hair on a coloring book. Another teacher telling me in class that it wasn’t me who did the drawing on a novel we were reading in 7th grade (we were supposed to draw or paint a scene), even when it was all me. So I have no clue as why I stopped painting suddenly, but I intend to keep on painting something from now on, and enjoying it. For some reason, it feels as if I picked up where I left off. No Picasso here, just the joy of it. Life goes on in ways more than one.