If I hold my breath.

​If I hold my breath, I can hear my heart beat. And it's beating beating beating, the pulse tangible, echoing within the cave of my chest. I breathe, with each shallow inhale; each exhale, I create a syncopation between heart and lungs.

If I hold my breath, I can feel my thoughts slip from the synapses and slither their way down down down my spine, spilling into my stomach, simmering in the acidity, churning up sickness. I breathe, with each shallow inhale; each exhale, I feed the unforgiving flames devouring my fervent feelings.

If I hold my breath, I can smell the ocean as it disposes of its sediment along the contours of my face, waters rolling rolling rolling, and soon, I am drowning. I breathe, with each shallow inhale, the water fills me up; each exhale, bubbling

with the aftertaste of despair that overcomes me, the haze of anguish that blinds me

the symphony of palpitations of chatty voices of harsh tears crescendos into chaos and I am shaking and when the Players decide to stop

and lets me breathe

only then am I free

Untitled.

Written 5/29/14 for Neighborhood Watch, local podcast

So I was asked to write a thing for this thing, but the thing is, I haven't written in a while because it takes feeling and emotion for me to write and I haven't felt in so long. I've found each waking moment is filled with an emptiness that frightens me. Each motion I go through is void of emotion. Every tear I shed has no reason. And when I meet smiling faces in the hallway, part of me just wants to walk past them with my chin resting on my chest.

But it’s easier to meet them with a smile. And that’s why you don’t know.

You don’t know that every now and then, when I'm pensive, I take a solitary midnight bike ride to a parking lot with street lamps burnt out like me. Sometimes the asphalt hurts to sit on. Sometime a drunk stumbles across. But here, no one sees me. No different than during the day anyway, and it's how I like it too. No one is around to hear my attempts to feel, my dry sobs and my desperate pleadings with God.

But there's another façade, that I don't need Him and that I don’t need you. In reality, I wouldn't mind if someone sat with me and listened. Not necessarily just to me. I wouldn't mind if someone sat and listened to the rustling of the summer wind through the leaves of the trees above me, above us, unchained from time and obligations. There is a beauty in silence and in removing yourself from the world.

In that silence, I wouldn't mind if you asked me how I was and waited on me until I told you how far I am from "doing good." I wish you'd do that instead of run off with your studies, your pills, your work, or your lovers. Maybe you'd know how much I am also struggling if you stayed up with me a while. 

They say that man is not meant to be alone. But here I am, in the middle of an empty lot. Even the drunk has his alcohol to warm his heart. And I'm just shivering from the cold in mine. Shivering from the suppressed emotions of my present. And I'm afraid I've forgotten how to release them, because writing was how I did that.

And now you’re reading this. I'm afraid they'll only get worse…my lack of words, my emptiness.

So I’m here again, on a midnight bike ride, shivering, pleading, writing, waiting in a parking lot with street lamps burnt out like me, trying to figure out how to light up again.

Eternal Sadness.

It's been real bummy lately.

I'm crying for no reason.

And even when there seems to be a reason,

it seems trivial 

because,

at the root of it,

there is actually no reason at all.

Huggity Hug Hug.

I've been having a bummy time lately with feelings of not living up to my potential and blah blah blah, and how my laziness and fear of change keeps me from doing anything about it. I also feel that since graduating, I've become socially dumber, seeing as how I don't really talk to people throughout the 9 hour workday. Oftentimes, I go straight home and I sit in more silence. Day after day, week after week, I started feeling more and more isolated from everyone. I told my younger sister Illia this in an email. (She's currently serving a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.)

I wrote:

Apparently, one of the ingredients to happiness or fulfillment or whatever is 11 positive touches a day. Some days, I don't even get one. I know Heavenly Father is there and that Christ understands what I've been through, but I don't like this feeling at all. It was kind of like in June when I was feeling like extra sad because Po Po passed away. I cried in front of my friend, but she patted my back and then she left for three days. I was in my apartment alone, grieving alone. And now I'm just feeling alone, though my friends are all around me. Part of me wants to move away and part of me wants to stay because it's comfortable here. But I know I won't progress anymore.  

I got a letter from Illia today. It was three pages long, front and back. Along the margins, every point or thought she had, she numbered them up to 10.

I thought she was just super organized or something.

At the end of the letter, though, she wrote:

So, I'm sure you noticed all the numbers in dis letter. You said that one of the ingredients to happiness is 11 positive touches a day. So I've provided you with 10 for today. Now go and look for that 11th positive touch.

And even thought I got that number not necessarily right (family therapist Virginia Satir says, “We need 4 hugs a day for survival. We need 8 hugs a day for maintenance. We need 12 hugs a day for growth.”), the fact that Illia did that means so much to me. She did something for me and she's not even a phone call away.

I'm sorry I'm being selfish and all "Woe is me!" on you. That's the thing. I'm surrounded by people who care about me, but...I don't know. I don't know what I am feeling. I'm still processing feelings. I'm sorry.

(I took a personality test yesterday and it all boiled down to me being the ultimate contradiction. I don't trust people, but I am loyal to those who've gained my trust, even through the point where the relationship is destructive. I value security, but I am very insecure. etc. etc. It also said that it takes me a while to pinpoint my emotions...so...give me time ha.)

All I know is that sadness and loneliness runs rampant these days. But if we can at least make people feel ok in the moment with just a hug, why don't we do just that?

*insert conclusion that ties thoughts all together here.*

Hugs and One Direction will make things better, I feel. 

 

UPDATE—Oct 12

Tender mercies, man. God hears and answers our prayers. He is there to comfort us. I'm silly to have been mopey. Today in Church, I had friends skip their ward to come listen to my lesson in Relief Society. One great friend linked arms with me randomly during Sunday School, and it was as if God was saying, "Hey, you've got good people here who care." And I fell asleep to the sound of good friends singing along to "Muppet Treasure Island." Count your blessings, Eden.

Joy of Heaven.

In response to a month of sadness, my dad wrote:

[ . . . ] One thing that I want you to know, and that is, we must not underestimate the joy of heaven. Consider 3rd Nephi. In Chapter 10, upon the annihilation of the wicked Nephites, Christ was lamenting their destruction and loss. Indeed, great was His loss, as He had to send so many of them to their eternal damnation. And yet, atmost 3 days later, in Chapter 17:20, after seeing the righteousness of the survivors, and praying to the Father, He told the righteous Nephites, that His joy was full. How is that possible? The destruction of so many souls that He loved and died for happened so recently. How can He be joyful, not to mention, fully joyful, again just a few chapters later?

The answer, Eden, I think is that hell, with all its fury and sadness, is infinitely small compared to heaven. Hell has no power to deprive Heaven of its Joy!

Den, though hell is a sad place, and we’re experiencing some of it, let not your heart be set on it sadness. Let your heart instead be set on the Joy of Heaven! [ . . . ]

This is a gospel of truth with a plan of happiness. Christ lives, He loves us and He will never leave us alone.

Alone.

Lately, your nights end like this. All by yourself in an empty apartment, with only your sobbing to keep you company. Sadness is amplified when you're alone. And the recent air of death around you seemed to have pushed the closest people away from you. Or maybe they were never there for you anyway, and you're just now noticing it.

I've seen you fill your home with new friends and interactions in hopes that someone will notice you and catch you, in hopes of keeping your mind off of the night. But when the sun is down, you're falling onto your pillow, drowning in salty waters.

Heavenly.

I hope there are ton of mahjong tables for you up in heaven. Save a match for me, Po Po.

And I hope heaven is, well, Heavenly.

 

It's been a while, and it's been introspective.

When I first found out that she left the church, my roommate shared a scripture with me: Alma 31:31-35. The last verse brought us to tears.

35 Behold, O Lord, their souls are precious, and many of them are our brethren; therefore, give unto us, O Lord, power and wisdom that we may bring these, our brethren, again unto thee.

Her soul is precious, but I haven't the power nor wisdom. I offered a compromise because I didn't want to lose a relationship with her and her children. "I'll respect your beliefs if you respect mine." But since then, I've needed to always be on the defensive. With constant talk coming from her, my mind started getting muddled—my sword is small, but my faith is greater than my doubts.

Everytime I was alone with her, she attacked my beliefs. And after she attacked, she came to me with an olive branch to lure me back in and give me the feeling of "Everything's good between us" or "I respect your point of view." This abuse was abused. Each attack, she would always reach out to me after. These gave me hope that she wouldn't attack again, though it made me more cautious.

But when it turned out she was furious I turned to our parents for support and told me to "Leave my parents out of my life," I began to see the patterns. And sure enough, her olive branch came. And I decided not to take it this time.

Tame.

"What does that mean--'tame'?"
"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties."
"'To establish ties'?"
"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world..."
"I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower...I think that she has tamed me..."

--Antoine de Saint-Exupery, "The Little Prince"

The Little Prince

I hate saying goodbye. Sometimes my fear of saying goodbye is so overpowering, it prevents me from getting to know people. Because once I get to know someone, we would create that bond and we would be unique in all the world to one another in some way. But the only thing constant in the world is change and with change comes goodbyes, both temporary and not.

Last Friday afternoon, I said goodbye to my boss who is leaving to work with the homeless in Salt Lake. In mid-December, I will commemorate the beautiful lives America said goodbye to in Newtown. In the new year, I will say goodbye to friends graduating. Years (hopefully lots of them) down the road, people will say goodbye to me, and not after saying goodbye to friends along the way.

Goodbyes make life daunting.

Someone told me they believe that in heaven, every person we ever tamed in our lives, who tamed us as well, will reunite with us and it would be as if we never said goodbye at all.

I choose to believe that as well.

Why did I post this on Thanksgiving day? Good question. I'm not sure. (Also, fyi, I'm writing this at two in the morning so if none of this is making sense...that is why.) I guess I wanted to thank you for your friendship to me through my 21 years. Wherever you are (and I am sure we know each other if you are reading my personal blog ha), I hope you are well. I am sorry if our goodbye came abruptly and I ask for forgiveness if I am to blame for that.

But I am glad that our bond did happen and for how I've grown through it. I am thankful for the kinships I have right now and for the love and support they give me. Most of all, I am ever grateful for the relationship I have with my Savior Jesus Christ and for all that He has done for me. He lives.

Happy Thanksgiving, my friends. I truly love you all.

Hide-and-Seek.

When I was younger, I played a lot of hide-and-seek. I would hear the joyous reunions of the hiders and the seeker from my own hiding spot, and my heart pounded each time I thought they would find me. But I was never found. I was ok with it then. It made me feel like I was a good hider.

Now I am older and sometimes I make sure no one can find me. But I am afraid of those times because I can hide for a long time and I am more afraid that no one would ever seek me, or that no one would ever realize I am gone. I am the most afraid that I will disappear and that when I am asleep, no one will be there to hear my staggered breathing, heavy and withdrawn, no one will be there to touch my fingertips wandering in the dark to let me know they know I am here, and they found me.

To my Illia.

My dear Illia,

Congratulations on your mission call to Denver North!

First, let me just say, I love you so so so much. Second, woohoo! Denver! And third, you know that I sometimes have a hard time expressing myself when so much passion fuels my words. So I am writing this. (Also, I am more eloquent writing than when I stutter.)

Illia, I am so incredibly proud of you and your decision to serve a mission. I just want to let you know that I love this Gospel so much. We've never really sat down a lot to talk about it, (at least, I don't remember telling you) but I want to tell you about a spiritual experience I had this past winter/spring.

Back before Easter, I experienced the horrid unfeelingness, yet perpetual sadness, of depression. After some pivotal news, I was pushed from being relatively normal to depressed, I forced an emotional barrier to surround myself. Nothing was getting through and I was not going to let petty emotions get to me. And it worked for a little bit. But when it came crumbling down, and it broke a couple times, several people witnessed many emotions at once from me. What they got mainly, though, was my sadness and a subtle anger. I hated everything and I disliked everyone.

One Sunday, my Relief Society president came up to me and asked me how I was doing. I hate public crying, but I did it. I burst into tears in front of several people, one who literally took a step back and said, "Whoa." My RS president took me to the bathroom and held me as I cried and as I told her everything. In the midst of it, she asked me if I had faith. I said that I thought I did. She told me that I needed to have faith that Heavenly Father had a plan. I scoffed internally. I wanted things fixed now. I didn't want to go through this.

But I was feeling crummy, so I took her advice and I asked for a Priesthood blessing from my home teachers. And it was...nice. (This is in no way a reflection of my home teachers at that time, but I think more of a push for more faith on my part because I am a lazy person.) But I didn't feel "fixed" and so I continued to feel the darkness of depression.

Then, a good friend came in town. That was the most beautiful Easter ever, Illia. He offered me a priesthood blessing. And at first, I said no. I thought that I already got a blessing. It just needed the time to settle in, or whatever. But the more I thought about it, the more something inside nagged at me to ask for one. I needed to exercise my faith and ask for another blessing.

Newtown.

Written 6 months after the tragedy:

I remember sitting in the back of the cold room. It was always cold in that church building. Children's chatter filled the air as I sat there, glancing at each Primary teacher to make sure they didn't need my help.

This was my church calling when I was home summer of 2012. Primary helper. I aided the children's Sunday School teachers if their kids were ever rowdy or if they just needed an extra pair of hands. And so I sat in the back, looking out for the panic in teachers' eyes and for children wiggling about. That was my cue to assist them.

At the front, the Primary president was giving an object lesson. I don't remember what it was, but she asked for a couple volunteers. A sea of small, eager hands waved frantically, each one hoping they would be picked. A small, blonde six-year-old's hand rocketed into the air ahead of everyone else's and she was chosen. As she was walking out of her row, I thought to myself, she must be a Parker, that blonde hair and high voice. I was in Nursery just the Sunday before helping her youngest sister slide down the slide and in Sunbeams the week before that taking another sister and her classmates to get a drink. The way each of them chirped filled my ears and quickly became a part of each of my summery Sundays. Blonde, beautiful and beaming, all three Parker children.

As she was heading towards the front, another child bumped into her. She turned and said something sassy.

Her mother, who was also a Primary teacher and who I knew only as Sister Parker, chuckled to herself. Brother Parker walked in then to drop off something with her and she relayed the story of their sassy daughter. They laughed.

"Oh Emilie."

It was that moment that I had a sudden urge to be married with children and to be able to sit back with my husband and watch our kids learn and grow to be people like us.

December 14th, I was in the Salt Lake Airport when the tragedy at Newtown hit the media. I landed in Hong Kong when plastered all over the televisions were videos of Newtown, the place where I spent some of my weekends, where some of my very good friends lived, where I went to church every week for many years. Anchors commented in Cantonese on the other side of the world. Pictures of Emilie and her classmates were surrounded by Chinese in newspapers. Brother Parker was on TV. And I cried in the little Hong Kong apartment, filled with sorrow, filled with grief for the young lives that ended too soon, too brutally.

I am home for the first time in almost a year, and six months after the tragedy, I am in Newtown, sitting in the back of the cold room, remembering.

This really isn't a post, but after, in a sort of way, paying homage to the place I met the Parkers, this is my way of saying, rest in peace, Emilie, and God comfort the Parker family and the families of the children.


December 14, 2013, one year after the tragedy:

theparkerfive.wordpress.com

The silence.

My best friends are the best out of those I have made in my life. They understand my quietness not (solely) as introverted awkwardness (because let's admit it, I am sometimes awkward when I converse), but as just thinking time for me, as time for me to just soak in what is going on around me and to just be with whoever I am with. Other people, even you, may misunderstand this quietness as a barrier between myself and the world, as extreme introverted-ness, or an unwillingness to get to know you. One of my high school Spanish teachers once described me as "nice, but not friendly." I am sorry if I come across to you that way. I promise, I am friendly once you get to know me (and that was high school...wasn't that a weird time for everyone?). And I can't really explain why I am so quiet. I did take a personality test for my class this semester and it said I am an ISFJ, which, I guess, kind of provides an answer to the why. Upon reading more about what psychology had to say about my personality, I came across a segment in the Wikipedia article saying that my "reluctance to open up to strangers can lead others to misread them [ISFJs] as standoffish." I apologize if I ever come off as standoffish. This is not me. So, as my remedy to any misconceptions you may have of me, I decided to periodically post about my thoughts and emotions as a way for you to get to know me without me having to really talk about my thoughts and emotions.

I have always preferred writing to talking about my emotions.

So right now, I am feeling very anxious. The same best friends are leaving for their home, for their internships abroad or for their mission. I am very happy for them, don't get me wrong, and I am excited for this summer. But I am also scared of change. And although I have done many things by myself--I love the quiet of my room, of my apartment, of my world--there are moments when I am alone where I feel troubled and suffocated by the silence. And I am going to be alone soon.

But this will be good for me. And it'll only be for a little while in the grand scheme of things. That's what I keep saying to myself. That's what everyone keeps saying. I just need to stay focused on the good that will come from this and not let my mind go to a dark place. I have a new calling in church, I have neat classes that will keep me busy, I (may) have a job, I have more time to read books and take up new hobbies. I have you. I have future me. I have God.

Dear friends and readers, my closest of friends are leaving so please be patient with me if I seem even more overwhelmingly quiet in a couple weeks.  But I will come out to play soon.

Wednesdays.

The fluorescent lights flickered above me as I laid sprawled on the floor. My chest was rising, falling, gasping for air as I thought to myself, My innards are about to rip...I can't go on.

I shut my eyes for a second and I felt my breathing slowly return to normal. An odd rendition of that one "Harlem Shake" song was playing in the background. I was feeling lightheaded and the music began to fade. Was it the end of the song? Or am I losing consciousness?

Suddenly, a voice.

"Alright, if it hurts to go on, go to your happy place."

My happy place? My mind immediately began to trace an image of...of...of the most delicious chocolate cake I have ever seen. I began to taste the gooeyness of the chocolate chip cookies, fresh out the oven. Betty Crocker appeared in my kitchen and handed me a spatula and a bowl of brownie mix. Her eyes twinkled and spoke to me, saying, "Here, eat."

I closed my eyes...the corners of my mouth twitched into a smile. The chocolate was numbing my pain.

"Eden! Did you really just fall asleep?" My eyes flipped open, I lifted my head and looked to the left. My sister, legs propped up on an exercise ball and in a shaky V-position, was staring in disbelief.

"Hold for one more set, ladies!" The voice at the front of the room enveloped the "Harlem Shake."

"3, 2, 1 and alright! You're done!" Sighs of relief filled the room and finally, the Wednesday morning abs class was over. I closed my eyes again.

Betty Crocker reappeared.

--------
Let's give a round of applause for my first three guest bloggers, Nicolle, Sam and Michelle. Absolutely brilliant. They made this past month incredible with their words. (More guests coming in the near future!)

And now the reason for this blog: my life. I thought school was my biggest obstacle in this past month with the most time-consuming midterm project of my life (honestly...we ended it with an all-nighter that taught me Red Bull causes me to stutter...).

Some nights.

Some nights....some nights I think too much....I'll get to that in a second.

Onto Some Nights. fun. just released a free streaming of their not-yet-released album. I've listened to it multiple times already and I absolutely love love love love love this song. (And I apologize for the f-bomb in there.)

First, some comments on the musicality:

2:07 - 2:34 ish is what I love the most about Nate Ruess. He just gets so personal in his songs and isn't afraid to talk about his fears. I also love that he sings about his parents a lot.

3:11 ish. I have to admit, I was really thrown off by the autotune, was sad for a couple minutes, but after listening to it a couple more times, I think Nate uses it to his advantage. I mean, in "Be Calm," about every 15-30 seconds, he switches up the song. The autotune created another instrument out of his unique and wonderful voice.

Now onto deeper thoughts:

I don't know. I just love this song. I think it's because I can kinda relate. Not in the way where he doesn't know who he is in the music business, but in the sense that honestly, some nights, I don't know......some nights, I also ask myself, "What do I stand for?"

In an era of conflicting and passionate ideas all throughout the spectrum, when one side says one thing and the other another, it's easy to just cover my ears, hum to myself and merely watch from the sidelines.

I realize now that I need to pick a side. And after thinking aloud, having a fervent prayer in my heart and being with a great friend--a best friend, I know now what I have to do, what I stand for.

I only pray that God provides me with the strength to see it through, to help me stand firm in my convictions.

I love you, my friends.

(I realize that I could have expounded and gone deeper...apologies if you were expecting more.)

Good night.