What to do, what to do?

I have so many decisions to make. . . .  so, so many.

It's literally drowning me.

I love writing. So much. I want to get better and to get better . . . you have to write more and spend your time doing it.

I can't write and do my medical stuff.

I'm taking EMT right now at MATC and I love it!

After the class, if I pass the state test, I can work in the emergency room.

While doing that I want to write. But both takes time.

I could take both. Get degrees in both my passions.

But I'm going to kill myself and is it really what I am suppose to do.

I have to choose.

But how do you choose between your two loves?

How do you choose between the two things that make you happy?

I could be a nurse who writes. Or a writer who does nursing on the side. Or I could be a nurse who likes to write. . . .

I don't know. I want both. So badly.

I want to write a book. I want people to read my writings and say "Wow!" But to do that I need a degree in writing. I need to get better.

I want to help people. I want to comfort them. Cry with them. Empathize with them. I want to heal. I feel this is my calling. To do that I need a nursing degree.

What to do, what to do?

Who we want to be, Who we need to be.

I believe that in our lives it is important to find balance. Balance between who we want to be and who we need to be. 

Let me tell you who I want to be:

I want to be a 5'8" model. I want to have green eyes. I want to be known as the nicest person to ever live (give Mother Theresa a run for her money). I want to be the kind of person who can learn something and remember it for the rest of my life. I want a photographic memory. I want to be photogenic. I want to be so good that you can't help but love me. I want to be athletic. I want to run a mile in 6 minutes. I want to be graceful in everything I do. I want my singing voice to be angelic that it brings tears to peoples eyes. I also want my singing voice to be like a black person's, strong, controlled, and powerful. I want to lift the soda boxes at work without struggling. I want to be able to lift at least 100 lbs. at the gym on all the machines. I want to dance and be so darn good at it that So You Think You Can Dance is just an amateur show for me. I want to know the scriptures like the back of my hand. I want to look at Isaiah and say "Piece of Cake!". I want to be so spiritual that people standing next to me feel it instantly, just like an Apostles. I want to be so freaking hilarious. I want to be able to crack jokes left and right. 

I want so many more things but alas you don't want to read it and none of it is either impossible or at least near to it.

This is who I really am: 

I am 5 feet. I have brown eyes that have a red-auburn tint to it. I am nice but I can never measure up to Mother Theresa or Ghandi's level of incredible kindness. I actually have to study over and over again if I want to remember things. Photogenic memory out the door. I can barely remember what I wore or ate yesterday. Photogenic, also out the door. I have to try to look good in pictures but still a fail. I wish I am a naturally lovable person. Alas I have haters and I'm not that good. Me, athletic? Oh no I can barely run a mile without dying. You are talking to a girl who trips over air, graceful is out the door. Unless you count falling gracefully :) My voice is average. Not bad but not amazing. Still a wonder how I got into Encore. I struggle with the soda boxes at work. Every time a co-worker walks in on me lifting something, they make a dead sprint towards me. I can barely do 20 lbs at the gym. Pathetic. I can't dance. Period. I suck. Nothing will ever change that. I read the scriptures and I know which ones I like but . . . I can't for the life of me remember where they are. I look at Isaiah and beg for mercy. I know I'm a spiritual person but . . . I'm not good at emanating it. I'm not funny. I think I am but I'm not. My actions sure are, I'm naive. That's all you need to know.


So yes. That's who I am, at least a tibit of it. 


Who do I need to be?


I have an idea but I also have no idea. 


Who we need to be is a life-long process. As humans there is always room for improvement. There is always lessons that can be learned. 


The first step to discovering what you are capable of is this:


Accept who you are. 


I will never be graceful. No. I'm too clumsy for that. I will never be 5'8", unless I get a very painful surgery done. I will never be photogenic. Nor will I ever be a model. I will never have green eyes. I will never be able to sing wonderfully or dance like those amazing dancers on So You Think You Can Dance. 


But I love it. 


It's who I am. 


I love being short. The hugs are like Teddy-bear hugs every time. People have a natural tendency to want to protect me because I'm so tiny. I love my brown eyes that when sun shines on it, gets an auburn tint in it. I love my brown hair that shines red in the sun. I love taking pictures, if I am ready, despite it turning out odd. My voice sucks but I love singing anyways. People will just have to deal with it. I can't dance but I love ballroom. I will never be graceful but I do admit I fall with style. I am very ticklish. VERY ticklish. I can't decide if it's a good thing or not. Still deciding that factor. I love reading the scriptures, despite my very sad excuse for a memory. I have made wonderful friends with the wall and floor. It is a friendship that will never be severed. Our bond is a strong one :)


Oh I have lots to improve on. 


But I'm willing to just live life and continue on with my progress. 


But in the end there is one important thing to know: 


We have to be able to, at any moment, sacrifice who we are for who can become. 


And there is so much all of us can become. If we were able to see the future oh how fast we will change. Because we will see a beautiful future. We will see the wondrous us. We will see what we need to become in order to fulfill that empty void in all of us that we strive our whole lives to fill. That empty void of satisfaction with who we are. 


But alas we can't. So we have to be content with the fact that we are who we are. And who we are is us on a journey. 

My first kiss went a little like this . . .

So it happened. Yes it did. The day finally came and you know what?

I don't regret it.

At all.

It happened over the weekend at work. I was on break with Madison and after she left, a certain person approached me. We talked and just like the movies said the fireworks came.

It just happened. Unexpectedly. I didn't even know what the crap was going on until five seconds after.

It was nice :)

Now all you are curious as to who this person is I bet.

This mysterious person is . . . .

*drum roll*

*more drum rolls*

No one. :)

Yes you read right. No one.

I'm just kidding. Did I scare anyone? If not I probably made you curious because who names their blog post this title and as many of you know:

I've not had my first kiss yet.

Nope.

Not at all and I'm proud of it.

Please, like I would put my mouth to some nasty boys lips.

Who know's where they have been . . .

*shudders*

No. My first kiss is going to be with my husband. He already called it even if he doesn't know it right now.

It's funny learning when other kids my age already have had their first kiss. And are fine kissing left and right.

Don't get me wrong. It's perfectly fine. I'm not judging or anything. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. I love hearing my friends stories about their kiss with their boyfriends or girlfriends. I think its sweet and makes me want to hurry up and find my future husband.

It's just that my mom taught me growing up that a kiss is something very special. In the Hmong culture if you even kiss a person you have to marry them.

If that didn't scare me just growing up with my "Once upon a time" imagination encouraged me to save my lips for someone special.

I know that my future husband will probably have kissed many girls. Totally fine. I'll just guilt him like my mother does with my dad :)

I know many people say that they regret their first kiss. I don't want to regret mine. So the key solution is to just save it. Or if you wouldn't mind kissing, make sure it's the right person.

Call me an idiot or look at me weirdly but hey, I'm a dreamer. A big one and I won't settle for less.

P.S. I would totally be fine if I was kissed on stage for a play or performance of some kind :) That's my guilty thought process around this :D

Laugh at yourself.

If anyone knows me then they know that I have an ability to laugh at myself. I guess you can call it a talent but I just am not afraid to admit that I am a big dork. This week has been full of those dorky moments more then usual but I can look back and laugh. So let me tell you stories of embarrassment about little 'ol me:


1. This past Sunday I did something that I don't think I can live down. It's pretty bad. It starts out with my dysfunctional father telling me that the youth session of Stake Conference was at 8 then my mother telling my sister it was at 7:30. I was still half-asleep and getting ready at 7:30 when my sister rushed in telling me we were late. We get there around 7:45ish and I peek through the doors and see that it is full. Not wanting to disturb the talk I decide to go through the back. At the sound of my sister's heels meeting the gym floor heads turn to stare at us. We sit but they continue to keep staring. All I could think was Rude . . . 


Then I realized one thing . . . 


It was all men. . . 

I had just interrupted the Priesthood session and while the Stake President was giving a talk and it was during a spiritual part . . 


Oh Crap.


I turn red and promptly make for the door as fast as I can with my sister, who was oblivious to everything, whispering at me, asking where the crap I was going. 


I turn back around to see my Stake President turning red, trying hard not laugh while trying to finish off the very, very spiritual story he was in the middle of giving. 


Later on after the youth session, which was at 8:30 mind you, my Stake President shook my hand and made a comment that very slightly referred to my mistake that morning. 


Gosh he made it sound like I wanted to go to a meeting filled with stinky boys learning how to be more gentlemen-like . . . 


2. We were at a restraunt. I had just come out from the restroom and I sat down at a table. I was texting someone very avidly, not aware of my surrondings. Then a voice spoke out


"Um that isn't your seat." I was confused. Why would my family say that to me. I look up to find that it wasn't my family but another family of Asians. 


My family was in the corner laughing their heads of. Worst thing was I've been sitting there for 5 minutes and they said nothing to me.


Jerks.


3. This happened while I was alone. It's not that bad but still pretty embaressing. It was super windy. I get out of my car and quickly move out of the way before the wind shuts my car door furiously and basically kills me. I get up and walk but I can't move. I'm stuck. My shoe is stuck on the ground. I could twist and slide but it wouldn't move from the certain spot. For 5 minutes I'm out in the freezing cold before I realized something. My dress had got caught on the door. I wasn't frozen to the ground. The car was trying to eat my dress. 


4. I can't go cross-eyed. My whole life I've gone knowing that I could. People laughed at me but who doesn't. I laugh at other people who go cross-eyes. 
No.
The real reason they laughed is because my left eye goes down and my right eye does this weird dance in my eyelid. 
If I'm feeling extra nice one day, you can ask me to show you :)


5. I can't control my body when I am being tickled. People have been victims of my uncontrollable abuse. Adam Mosely got punched where it counts. And some poor boy I do not know had my big EMT book thrown into his body, sandwiching him into a wall. He was basically bug who got squished by a fly-swatter. Plus plenty of other people. I also get scared easily. Way to easily. You can stand next to me and still scare me. My reactions are sometimes . . . . let's say embarrassing. 


6. There is more but I'm lazy to type anymore. Just ask I have plenty. My embarrassing stories have given people prank-ideas to do to other poor, innocent creatures. 


But I've learned to laugh at myself because yeah it's embarrassing but . . . in my sick, twisted manner of thinking, as a friend tells me, it makes others laugh. I like making people happy. Though I refuse to intentionally go do something to embarrass myself. It has to happen naturally. And it it happens. It happens :)

You are not who you are.

I watched as they unfolded their face.

A mask.

A gasp of horror rose from my mouth.

But not a horror in the sense of fear.

It was horror in the sense of betrayal and a loss of what I thought was a kindred spirit.

They just shook their heads at me and nodded at me to take off mine.

So I went for it. Beneath was the same thing. Again and again, all my masks of emotion and situation were the same.

I thought you were who you were. But it wasn't so.

You thought I was who I was. It was so.

I just beat you but I had to spill my soul for you.

Goodbye Blog . . . Maybe . . .

What if I were to say that I was going to stop writing? . . . 

Jar full of Stars

Fear. Plunk. Anger. Plunk. Sadness. Plunk. Frustration. Plunk. Abandonment. Plunk.

Every scary feeling of self-doubt was held in each corner of the stars she made. Each new challenge was a jar. And every hope and dream was a star. But like all dreams, they seemed impossibly small hardly able to match up against her trials. Trapped behind glass, they were worthless and . . . not reachable. 

She sighed as the last star was popped. Turning from a 2-D to 3-D object. 

She dropped it into her small mason jar and sealed it shut.

A piece of paper labeled “No Motivation” was taped on and then put on the shelf with countless other jars, each holding a label of worry. 

She closed the blinds slowly, her fingers trailing the string attached to the window, gazing outside. She watched as children played innocently on the empty road, laughing, time having no bounds in their eyes.

Suddenly the blinds snapped shut as she turned around.

“Stupid,” she muttered. She stood there for a while, leaning against her desk, mind wandering. She felt the ache coming again. She bit her lip repressing the painful emotion back inside of herself. Not now, she thought. But it couldn't be avoided. Those hundreds of jars stacked on her countless shelves all shattered and she broke down. 

Tears of guilt and pain filled up her eyes. Leaving trails of acid as they slid down her cheeks. She curled up and wrapped her arms around her knees as she fought to control the traitorous tears.

The pain however took over. It was then, finally, she allowed herself the moment of self-pity. She felt abondened. She felt as if no one was there for her. She felt un-loved. She felt stupid. She felt ugly. She felt as if she wasn't worth anything. She felt like the pieces of garbage kids at school leave on the floor of the lunchroom and kick around. She felt like a hollow-shell. And nothing, absolutely nothing, could fill her up. 

She slowly uncurled herself as the tears dried up. A dull, persistent ache still present in her chest making it hard to breathe. 

It was then she noticed something in one of her jars. A slip of paper. She stood up shakily and plucked the first jar she ever filled off the shelf. She turned it over and read it: Shy. 

She remembered now when she started this habit. Sixth grade. New, scary people. The teases. The taunts. The stares . . . 

She unscrewed the jar and took out the slip of paper. Bright red stars falling out and scattering on the floor. 

Shy.

It's not a terrible thing.

Being shy means you have more time to listen.

You know people's worries and are an observer.

I wish I had that gift.

Yes you do have to be more open 

but 

take your time. 

Let yourself come out as you grow to learn

and see your amazing gifts. 

Her eyes twitched. Who wrote this? Who even knew about her jars? 

She set the jar down with the paper and moved on to the next. 

Clothing.

Walking.

Glasses.

Braces.

Eyes.

Teeth.

Hands.

Fingernails.

Confidence.

Ugly.


Tears.

No dates.

No boys.

Everything she hated about herself. Every physical feature. Every habit. Every emotion and pain. It was counter-acted on a slip of paper. 

Who would do this? This question ran through her head for a long time. She stared at the pieces of paper lying everywhere. She thought they would disappear. They weren't real. They couldn't be. 

But here they were. Written out. Clear as day. 

She sighed a huge gust of air out. When she breathed back in, she noticed the ache. It was gone. Disappeared. 

She breathed again, not daring to believe that the pain was gone. But it was and she felt . . . free. 

She stared the pieces of paper again, a small smile on her face.

She went into the closet and grabbed another jar and more pieces of paper. She opened the blinds and watched, her hands weaving the paper together, the children play, their minds not caring about the world around them. 

Again she dropped each star into the jar. Plunk. Plunk. Plunk. Only this time, each star was a piece of hope. Each corner holding every feeling and emotion she failed to see in her life. 

Happiness. Plunk. Joy. Plunk. Hope. Plunk. Beauty. Plunk. Life. Plunk. 

She sealed the last jar and went to the empty shelf she reserved long ago for happy memories. She hesitated for a second as she went to place the jar on the shelf. Took back her arm unsealed the jar and dumped the stars out. 

There, She thought. That's better. They're free.

She walked over to her door and gave one look back before backing out and shutting the door. 

More making of stars, happy stars, on her mind.