Being Beautiful Means Being Our Crazy, Silly, Embarrassing Selves and Loving Every Moment of It
Every now and again I feel this restlessness, as though there’s this pressure cooking up inside of me that needs to be released. When this happen, journaling doesn’t always feel like enough, and I feel this need to run until my legs protest, and then …
Over the past few months as I’ve struggled to find the words to write, I rediscovered my love for sketching and playing with colours. I began with putting pencil to paper, before moving on to experimenting with pastels. But recently, for my birthday I was …
Yesterday I read a story about a girl and about her love. Love for a boy who she fell for much too quickly, and love for a new beginning of which brought her more excitement than she’d felt in years. It was a new adventure, a promise of a better future, a story of love much like the others where the doe-eyed main character dives in head-first, believing that this was it, that this was the real deal.
The past couple of weeks have been very much up and down. For the first two weeks I was miserable, and albeit probably just as miserable to be around (bless my family for always being so patient and understanding). I had a very difficult time adjusting to the changes that were unfolding because it felt as though some of the best parts of my life, as well as the parts that I was looking forward to were slowly vanishing. It felt like a domino effect, one thing leading to the other with a succession of change that felt completely beyond my control.