my writing space
Speaking of If I were a Boy, our Spanish III teacher made us all sing it in Spanish and it was hilarious watching all of us struggling to hit queen yoncé’s belting parts as señora kept screeching MÁS MÁS
Shit mannnn
This Britney Spears documentary got the song “Sometimes” sounding real different
Sometimes I run
Sometimes I hide
Sometimes I‘m scared of you
But all I really want is to hold you tight
Lawdddddd
You can never pull me out of the ground
Sway me as you will
Scorch me with fire
Drown me with water
But you will never reach the bottom of my roots.
Press the fork onto the dough
Only twice, no more than that.
My grandma is beside me
She made the batter
I sneak in a lick
She pretends not to notice.
I press the fork onto the dough
Only twice, no more than that
Yet, I do it three times
She pretends not to notice.
The cookies bake in the oven
I squat in front of it,
maybe my eyes will make them bake faster
But no, an exact 9 minutes later she takes them out
I try just one
Or two
Or three
She pretends not to notice.
I say they’re yummy,
And I look for napkins,
excited to take some home
For papa
For mama
And she notices.
She smiles and tells me
that I did a good job
I don’t even remember when she did the dishes
But she still said that I did good
That I am a good daughter for caring for my parents
And an excellent partner in the kitchen.
She takes the recipe page out of her book
For the peanut butter cookies
And it feels like she is giving me a piece of herself
An honorable gift
I did nothing to deserve
So I will keep giving
As she gave to me.
“If a tree falls in a forest,
and no one hears it,
does it actually make a sound?”
And I always laugh
Because who are we to say
That the birds didn’t cry
The caterpillars didn’t curse
The flowers didn’t gossip
And the dirt didn’t gasp?
Oh human kind, always revolving the world around themselves
Remember where you come from
Remember where you will go
Then, you will be humbled
And you will know
That the tree indeed made a sound
You just weren’t listening.
That, when you embrace nature
And you see the truth of it
You must face your own.
未来 – mirai – future
미래 – mirae – future
I wanted to embrace both my Korean and my Japanese side..
And thus mira-ie has been born!
The thinking cashew days were good, but I’m starting to feel like I want to personalize my writing more now that more people are seeing it.
So hello world I hope you enjoy my writing and thank you for stopping by.
(:
absolutely crushes me.
I have never seen either my grandma or great grandma cry. It takes a lot to make them crack.
people have been romanticizing the idea of kintsugi- yes it is considered a beautiful form of Japanese art where broken pieces of pottery are put together with gold. It is a symbol of hope that even when you are broken, you can be made strong and whole again.
But I think people forget that you have to be broken first in order to practice kintsugi. I think they forget the part about how it is painful to be broken before it is made “beautiful, art”.
Clay and humans are not the same.
I think we are beautiful and strong on our own… please do not break us.
I’m not the type to avoid risks, if anything I run towards them.
The world is already unsafe on its own for someone like me, I’ve already come to terms with that, but I also know that I’ve been given a Spirit of courage and boldness.
But that is exactly why my home needs to be safe.
Where I come back to at the end of the day needs to be safe.
That’s why when you said you want to be a policeman, it wasn’t going to work. My mind at the time battled so hard between wanting to support your passion and also feeling unsafe. The mental exhaustion of fighting the world just by existing, and taking off my shoes to enter a home that “may be attacked, but it’s okay because we will have a life lock” was too much.
I definitely fought with those thoughts for a long time until I realized I can’t do it. The world isn’t going to drastically change anytime soon, so I need to protect myself so that I can also survive, so that I can also live.
The fact that you couldn’t see that was your privilege.
positive ease means that you have more room on your garment than your actual size. Comfort room, essentially.
I’ma say that next time “Excuse me, I need some positive ease.” LMAO
I got stung by a bee for the first time in second grade. I was out in the fields with no shoes, frolicking around and practicing my gymnastics while looking for a four leaf clover at the same time.
It started as a pinch, then a burning hot sensation as I fell to the ground and examined my foot.
A white dot was forming around a little brown splinter-looking thing on my heel.
“Ouch.”
I hobbled over to my teacher who sent me to the nurses office.
When I got there, the nurse took a card and masterfully scraped the sting out of my foot, patched it up then gave me ice.
“How did you even get stung there?”
“I was barefoot on the lower fields.”
“Ah… must have been one angry bee. Did you know that bees die after they sting something?”
I felt the blood drain out of my face.
“They die?”
“Yup! Now go along to your next class.”
I felt worse coming out of the nurses than when I came in. I had to stop at the benches right outside to process this information.
This bee just sacrificed its life to sting me and all because I was doing gymnastics and dancing and looking for four leaf clovers.
I put my hand over my dear heart, and vowed to be more careful on the fields so that the bees don’t have to die trying to collect pollen from the flowers.
I didn’t even care about the sting anymore; all I could think about was the dead bee on the field. Did it die instantly? Slowly? Did the bee feel pain? Why did it die?
I couldn’t come to terms with the fact that a bee would sting me, probably knowing that it will die.
Knowing this metallic tendency of nature, I, as the big friendly giant, also vowed that day to be kinder to nature and protect them from their self-sacrificial instincts. They shouldn’t have to die for the sake of me doing cartwheels. That just ain’t right.
I cut my own hair once.
Slime got into it and I was terribly distressed. So I took a pair of scissors, thought well it will grow back, and cut it off with a grimace. I grieved my hair and buried it deep into the trash where I thought no one would find it.
My mom discovered what I had done a little while later, of course.
“You could have washed it off! It’s just slime. You didn’t have to cut it!”
My mouth fell open and I felt the distress creep back in, heavier this time.
She was telling me that there was another option, one that didn’t take self sacrifice and time and patience and a laugh at the barber.
I guess when you find out that there was another option, the difficult choice you made feels all the more bitter.
There are looks that people give you that you just never forget.
One look I remember is from my third grade classmate, Austin. I can’t remember his last name but he was this blonde hair, blue eyed boy who always wore basketball shorts and would rage at every game he played, whether it was football or four square, or even a friendly game of tag.
He was kind to me, definitely took a liking to me when I helped him win a game of wall ball. The moment I swung my twig of an arm back and yelled SKIMMER, he was KO for sure.
He’d pair up or want to group with me in class, enough times for me to know that he likes me, but not enough times for him to not be cool with his bros.
Anyway one day, I heard the whispers of third grade gossip.
“Austin got spit blood!”
“What?”
“What’s that?!”
“I think it’s when you start spitting out blood! Or maybe he was crying blood? Or maybe–“
I heard enough to know that 1. Austin had gotten hurt and 2. He was diagnosed with something absolutely terrible.
I didn’t see him for the rest of the day. I didn’t particularly like him- he’s too much of a sore loser for me to have liked him- but I felt my youthful heart tug a bit to hear that he had gotten hurt.
I excused myself to they restroom (“can I go to the bathroom?” “I don’t know, CAN you?” “MAY I go to the restroom?”) and took the farthest route possible, closest to the nurse’s office.
The universe spun around me as I saw Austin sulk out of the nurse’s office, trudging back towards the classroom, blood on his shirt.
I opened my mouth, already forming the words “Austin are you okay–” but I stopped.
It’s that look he gave me.
His eyebrows were knit together, lips tight lined and turned down, his bright blue eyes a shade darker.
The look that said, I’ve seen and experienced things that you haven’t, and therefore you don’t understand me.
A look of dejection and embarrassment, frustration and loneliness all the same. My 8 year old brain had never registered nor seen such a look.
I don’t think I even waved, I just stopped in my tracks and let him speed past me.
I was struck.
I don’t know what I expected walking all the way out there. I knew I was probably going to see him, how did I not know how to react?
He stopped talking to me after that. Stopped choosing to be in groups with me or even choosing to be in my team for wall ball. Actually, he stopped playing wall ball altogether and the next thing I knew, he was moving abroad.
I couldn’t decide back then whether I should have said something, or if I was right in keeping quiet. Didn’t know if he stopped talking to me because I didn’t ask him if he’s okay, or because he was embarrassed I saw him that way.
Saying something might have been an extension of myself, to welcome him back into the human society, remind him that he is still youth and that experiencing something like that doesn’t make you alone.
But not saying something might have been important too. To not feign understanding something I did not understand, to allow him to decide how he wants to integrate back into society in his own time.
These were too advanced of higher thinking for my 8 year old self.
Regardless, I did learn one thing that day: when someone experiences extreme pain, things change for them. Things also change for those around them in ways they may never realize.
This is the experience of human connection.
In elementary school, two of my friends and I spent a whole lunch recess staring at our shadows.
“Don’t close your eyes! You can’t blink! 10…9…8…7…”
My eyes were tearing up. What was the point of this? My tears would ruin the result anyway. Yet I persevered, widening my eyes even more to fight the urge to close them.
“3…2…1… okay now look up!”
We looked up at the blue, blue sky in unison. The shape of our shadows were dancing in the sky.
“Whoaaaaaa,” we all giggled.
“Okay let’s try different shapes! How about we make a word out of our bodies?”
“3…2…1… now!”
We looked up at the sky, unable to make out the word because our small bodies could only contort so much, but delighted all the same.
“So cool!”
We continued on for the rest of the half hour we had. Must have looked crazy straining our eyes at our shadows and then staring at the sky.
But honestly that was the first day I thought, I don’t mind living in the sky some day. Seems like it could be fun. Sometimes I feel like an alien, after all.
The salty breeze and the friendly sun. It was a perfect day for fishing.
Me, my uncle, and my little brother.
I was determined to bring many fish back home so that we could keep them in our aquarium. I looked at the water below and could only see the small ones with black stripes. They look different in the water than they do when you catch them. If you can catch them, anyway.
Finally the line pulled.
“Yes!!” I exclaimed. My brother and I looked upon my uncle in curiosity as he reeled the beauty in.
A rainbow fish.
More beautiful up close than what I could see when it was in the water.
I dragged the plastic bucket over, “We gotta bring it back!”
My uncle frowned, and gently unhooked the rainbow fish.
“No, we gotta let this one go.”
“Whyyyyyy” my brother and I whined in unison.
“Because, I feel sorry for this fish. Too young. It looks like it should enjoy the big ocean, not get stuck in our small glass box.”
I looked at the rainbow fish for the last time.
“Okay, I hope you enjoy the ocean!”
And we let it go.
I learned that some are created for freedom, for vastness, for the unknown. I learned to recognize that in others that day, the importance of letting the rainbow fish back into the sea.
Everyone has had that thought, at one point in their life or another, that they have super powers.
You can’t deny.
I mean, I thought I had the power of controlling water at one point. I’d be in the shower, letting the water trickle down my arm and into my hand and past my fingers. Water bender.
But there was one time in 4th grade where I REALLY thought I had powers, I just had to master them. And this all started from my dear papa.
I remember one day, papa sat me down with a tissue paper in front of us.
“If you focus really hard and sync your breath and put your hands out like this, your energy can move the tissue paper.”
I watched as he did as so, and it MOVED. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was deeply impressed and also very hopeful that I can learn this new trick!
“You can also heal people with this same energy. Keep making that heat and put your hands out like this, then… breatheeeee.”
I wanted nothing more. I’ve seen the shows- I’ve seen the super powered humans. And the ability I loved the most was to heal.
So I continued to practice my new found skill and was ecstatic when the opportunity to try it out presented itself.
It was a cold day in Tokyo. I was sitting next to Bree Marley, an Australian doll of a girl who was apparently allergic to the cold. Her arm was swollen up and her veins popped out and…
This was my chance.
“Hey Bree, I can heal you!”
“What?”
“Yeah!! I have this energy called ki in my body, let me show you”
I took a piece of tissue paper and put it in front of me. I took a deep breath, put my hands out in front of me, laser focused my eyes, and…
The tissue paper moved!
I disregarded the fact that I knew it was my exhale that had moved it because Bree’s eyes were popping out of her head in amazement.
“Wow!”
“I know!! My dad taught me. Here, give me your arm.”
I rubbed my hands together, took a deep breath, and put my hands out towards her arm.
A few moments passed.
“I don’t feel anythi–“
“SHHHH shhh I’m still working on it.”
I started to make my inhale and exhales louder, ending my exhales with a loud “KA!” sound like my dear father taught me.
Another few moments passed.
“Mira I don’t–“
I frowned. “Maybe it’s not working today.”
I set my laser focus eyes to normal and looked up at Bree’s face.
She looked terrified and quite disturbed. “I’m just gonna go to the nurse,” she mumbled as she quickly gathered her bright purple backpack and rushed out the door.
Hm, I thought. I guess I didn’t practice enough.
***********************
Bree avoided me for the rest of the year after that. I would have felt embarrassed or awkward even, but honestly, I decided that I just didn’t practice enough and that it will be better next time. I found out some 15 years later that my dad had actually done all this as a joke, something he found funny and thought that I was just giving a good reaction to. Didn’t know I believed it.
But I did.
Lost a friend cause of it.
Do I regret it?
Hell no.
Cause I’m still practicing.
There were tears streaming down his little face. His fists balled up, his lips a tight line, his face crumpling.
“What happened?”
“I-I-I don’t know. I think I bumped into something”
“Show me”
He turned his leg towards me and revealed a small scratch, bleeding micro beads of red.
“I’m scared”
“You’re so strong! It’s nothing a bandaid can’t fix!”
His eyes widened, but his lips were still trembling.
“Really?”
“Yeah! Come on over here. Think you can walk?”
“Y-yeah.”
We walked over to the cabinet and opened it. Dozens of boxes of bandaids were sitting inside.
I immediately reached for the Neosporin antibiotic ointment bandaid and pulled one out.
I felt a pair of timid eyes on my back, so I turned around.
“Well, mom usually gives us the one with the characters on it.”
“Oh shoot sorry! Do you want those instead?”
He started to wring his shirt with his hands.
“Well… that’s what mom usually gives. But what’s that one?”
I looked at the Thomas the Engine bandaid box and then back at the Neosporin bandaid in my hand. I decided to really sell it.
“Well… it has medicine on it! It should heal your cut faster than a normal bandaid. It has pain relief too! You’ll be running in no time. We can play more!”
His eyes widened again.
“Um… so which one do you want?”
“Usually I use the one with the characters on it… but… I want to use the one you’re holding today!”
I laughed, and tucked away the thought of being a neosporin bandaid advertiser.
“Are you ready for this?”
I smiled as warmly as I could, sheltering him with my reassurance and led him towards the chair.
His leg started to shake again so I said, “don’t worry this won’t hurt one bit.” I gently placed the bandaid over his scratch, then squeezed his shoulder.
“That should do it.”
He grinned and started running up and down the stairs.
“That didn’t hurt at all! I feel all better now!”
Amazing.
I laughed, delighted by his energy.
“That wasn’t so bad, actually! I won’t be scared next time.”
Bandaids really do make kids feel like everything is okay.
Thing is, I know that bandaids don’t heal everything. I know the importance of thorough healing, whether it be a scratch or deep cut.
But sometimes you just need that Neosporin antibiotic adult bandaid. Sometimes, you need that magic cause it gives you a step of courage to keep going.
Can’t seem to get enough nostalgia these days
You have to be strong to be with me
Because I love deeply
“That’s all I have to say”
These words are so powerful
To know when you have said all that you wanted
And feel like it is enough
Whereas for me
I overexplain
I wring it out and soak it and wring it out again
My past has taught me as such
To want people to believe me
But not know when or if they do
Because when I’d think that I’ve said it all
They claim that I have not
“You should have told me”
“Now you’re hurt”
Makes me believe
I never say enough
Wish I could say
You didn’t hurt me too much
But instead how I feel is that
you hurt me
Just enough
It’s 10:59
Way past my bed time
You laugh at me
And say goodnight
And as I drift to sleep
I think of what you said to me
Wish I could change your view
Of life, death, and you
So darling hold my hand
You can close your eyes
I’m by your side
You don’t have to be afraid
I know it’s been hard
And I can’t take it away
But I’d love if you stayed
I’ll be right here
No need to fear
“Therapy is scary”
Gives me anxiety
Ha, the irony
but believe me, I get it
Cant see the end to this
But believe me, it’s there
its just that you gotta climb up mountains
to get out of damn valleys
if you can’t believe me
about these things
then at least believe me about this
I hate strangers too
but I was once a stranger to you
my mom would say, stranger danger
but now she tells me to believe them
listen to what they say
I’m tryna listen to what I say
Rest easy, darling
Breathe deeply, and smile
Knowing that sleep
Is a gift from God
To remind you that this is how life works best.
For it is in your night
That your body is healing
Your mind and spirit at work
To prepare for what comes
When the sun rises again.
So rest easy, darling
You are safe
In this very moment
That you are here with me
You are safe
And you are allowed to receive
This gift of sleep.
When you say that you need me
It echoes all of those in the past.
The greedy fingers
the black hole eyes
Sinking into my flesh
Eating me alive.
The pushing and the shoving
And the murdering of boundaries
Just so that they can have me
Because they claimed they needed me.
The betrayal
The disregard
of them whom I once trusted
And the slow death
Slow, painful, numbing death
Of belief
In myself.
I used to want to feel needed
Now I get scared.
So tell me
Not that you need me
But that you want me
That you are good on your own
But with me you are better
Like primary colors
You can be yellow
I’ll be red
On our own, we are essential
Original
But together we can create all the colors of a sunset
I’m learning to master the art of being present. I’ve learned how to reflect, and God knows how much I can guess about the future. So I am working on embracing today’s beauty, soaking in that which is the now.
“Don’t mistaken being planted for being buried. You are being planted to grow, not buried to die.”
I don’t know what the original source is but this gave me chills. Appreciation to whoever wrote this.
I am thanking my body for carrying my soul and my spirit today. Thank God for this body.
I often feel as though I am the sun
Get too close, your skin will get scorched
Too far you’ll freeze to death
So let us be at this perfect distance
And I can warm you in my light
When I’m at the start of release, I start by crying. A lot. Like two-three days. Then one day I get up and I’m like nope, we are not doing that shit today Mira, we did that yesterday. Today I’m inspired. My heart is raw. I’m moved. My heart is extending more to others because my heart has grown. And then I’m getting myself up. I am dancing.
I feel safe by your side
But not in your arms
What with the
Excitement and the photos and the
Nerves and the plans,
The obstacles and even the
Security that X-ray visions through your baggage
Really picks out the toxins
Really examines it you know
And then you get sent on your way
Only to do it all over again
And want to do it all over again
I vividly remember holding a huge flat clam with the tongue trying to stick out. Held it at the very corner so I can avoid the tongue. There were a bunch of small little clams around me but for some reason I was holding this one. Carried it around until it suddenly broke and I didn’t even feel guilty about it, I somehow just put it back together.
Anyway so then my therapist goes, dreams about big clams in the middle of small clams may indicate an experience of you sharing something with someone senior of you, and tongue trying to stick out might indicate you feeling as though your loyalty was betrayed.
Which really are the two things that happened this week. My subconscious is over here trying to make sense even in my sleep, please rest your mind so you can dream about other things I’m tired of clammy dreams
I just realized that I stopped writing paragraphs to people. Like, it used to be a love language to express how much someone means to me. But now, if I type a lot, it’s gotta be at least broken up after each half a sentence, and even still I would rather voice message AT LEAST or talk to them on the phone about it or, best choice, face to face. I realized today that I stopped doing that after I received a literal 7 page document from my ex-fianceé-ex-boyfriend around the time we broke up, and I have been TRAUMATIZED yall, that is NOT the way to deal. If you can, try to talk face to face. Communication is only 7% words– the rest is tone, gesture, energy, etc.
I need the other 93% cause then words start lookin blurry and my eyes squint and my forehead scrunches up and my lips purse up like “nope, no we not doing this again”. So yeah. I stopped doing that lol. OUT WITH THE OLD MIRA, IN WITH THE NEW? Maybe my new thing is writing in ALL CAPS jk that is horrifying that’s not the energy I’m going for AIGHT WE OUT
It feels safe and comfortable when people know how to keep a space with a purpose. Like, coworkers who know to only talk about work, at work. Or these girls in the book club chat knowing to only talk about books, nothing else, no “so how’s life” or “did you see how ____ got engaged” no, none of that shit. Sticks to its purpose. Keeping it sanctified. Pure. True. I dig it.
someone: so how are you?
Julie:
Me:
(2 seconds later)
*Julie and Mira have left the chat*
For a while I was scared to be alone, because then I would have to be with her.
Like oh god, you tellin me I gotta be ALONE with THAT fucking tornado over THERE? Have MERCY.
And I would do anything I could to not be with her,
any distraction to not have to look her in the eyes
protecting myself from her
avoiding her at all costs.
But recently, I’ve grown warmer, brighter, happier
over time, I’ve become my favorite place to be.
I’ve become my best friend
I’ve become my home
that’s not third-person her,
that’s first-person me.
I feel safe in me, and I feel happy, and I feel powerful
I feel ready to live again.
The first time we met,
I was in a dark place
within me.
On the outside, I shone bright
kind of like a star and how it shines in the night time
you know, that cliché saying
where the star had actually exploded a long time ago
and is probably now in a million pieces
but how all that people see
is an accessory in the sky
yeah, so
I felt that.
Like my insides were in a million pieces
and no one gave a damn
cause I was an accessory.
So I put my best face on,
smile, so no one feels uncomfortable.
And then we met for the first time
and you felt like home
and I found my shattered heart
starting to embrace hope again.
So I held onto you
all the pieces of my heart following you
like fallen petals being carried by the wind
into the sky
the sky that you are
and it was fun.
Then he tried to put it together
swept all the pieces into a bag
tied it up real nice
with a ribbon, even.
And though there were sharp corners poking out of the bag
piercing my insides
I was relieved.
I was relieved that I finally felt cleaned up
like I could be lovable, understandable, presentable,
but I knew the truth.
The truth of how in the process of being tidied
I lost myself.
I lost my heart and how
what took its place was a trash bag
with a nice ribbon.
Then one day he ripped that ribbon off
took some pieces out of the bag
held it in his hand
poked me with it until I bled.
I desperately reached out for it
cried out to please
please put it back in
please tie the ribbon back on.
But the present slipped through my fingers
and I looked up into the future
looked behind me in the past
and knew.
So then we met for the first time again.
Felt like the first time because I knew
I was a different me.
I was trying to put the pieces together
futile, like trying to put together a puzzle
in the dark.
I was raw
vulnerable
dying.
My heart was racing so fast
my lungs couldn’t keep up.
I thought to myself, maybe I will never know what it’s like
to live and breathe normal again.
I was overwhelmed.
Is this a corner piece? Where do I put this one? Have the pieces changed over time?
Is this all even worth it?
All these words had circulated my mind
none were spoken.
Yet, you knew
of course you do
because you are the sky
and I am a star
and you embrace me
and you tell me that you love me
you have always loved me
and you tell me that I am not a mess
rather,
I am beautiful
I will find myself again
I will not only piece things together
but I will shine brighter than ever before.
Why?
Because I am not a star
I am the light.
If you don’t think that I fought for our love till the very end, then you didn’t know me at all
You are reconnecting with the best version of yourself except you’re stronger and more confident now, and also your humor is more refined.
Transformation looks good on you.
“So yes, sometimes making art is a horror story. But other times, you will fall head over heels in love. Either way, you’ll probably laugh.” -Emily Henry
“In reality, every reader, while he is reading, is the reader of his own self. The writer’s work is merely a kind of optical instrument, which he offers to the reader to permit him to discern what, without the book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself. The reader’s recognition in his own self of what the book says is the proof of its truth” –A Tale for the Time Being, Ruth Ozeki
“Grandly romanticizing my life had stopped serving me, but my fatal flaw was still riding shotgun in my dinged-up Kia Soul, narrating things as they happened.” –Beach Read, Emily Henry
“I wanted to know whether you could ever fully know someone, If knowing how they were– how they moved and spoke and the faces they made and the things they tried not to look at– amounted to knowing them. Or if knowing things about them– where they’d been born, all the people they’d been, who they’d loved, the worlds they’d come from– added up to anything.” –Beach Read, Emily Henry
“Sometimes we lose the ability to create simply because we’re tired. We need to rest and recover. But other times, we can’t move forward because there are hard questions we have to ask first. Hurdles in our path we first have to jump or walls that need breaking down– interrogations demanding to be made. And when we’re brave enough to do so, we can make something beautiful. Something we know we were capable of before we began.” -Emily Henry
“‘That’s the key to marriage. You have to keep falling in love with every new version of each other, and it’s the best feeling in the world.’” –Beach Read, Emily Henry
Mira-ie 