Freckled Freedom

Losing love is like mourning a death. A part of the heart is tainted, it continues to beat for that person, pulsing to appease the need to rewind time, to reclaim what was lost, to repair fragments that could never be fixed in the first place. I have been doing research on the subject matter for some time now and the conclusions I have drawn show the difference in losing a love over a life is that the pain eventually dissipates. There is a morning when the moment you wake is not clouded with what ifs, a morning when the sun greets your face and smacks you silly, a morning when your first thoughts do not relate to him but rather, are rooted in how you will conquer a piece of the world that day. The focus shifts from faintheartedness, frustration, and F-yous to remembering how intoxicating the journey of life is. The heart stops hurting and the pulsing changes its pattern and begins beating for you again. As the sorrow-stricken statuses on Facebook have revealed, two months ago, my amb...

Flashlights. Canned food. Gas tanks. Gutters. Windows. Sump pumps. Generators. Fear. Frenzy. Ladies and gentleman, brace yourselves. Watch all of your DVR'd shows and keep those macs a'charging. Get those gas tanks topped off and gather up your flashlights. Batteries? Fight to the death. Only the fully charged will survive. Most important of all, get your wine bottles ready to let those corks fly when shit hits the fan and Hurricane Irene comes to town.  New York is currently in a state of emergency as it waits the arrival of Irene... and when it comes to hurricanes, us New Yorkers do NOT mess around. For the first time in my 23 years of existence- yes, to be politically correct, I am rounding up a wee bit- the NYC transit has ceased services. The subways have shut down and evacuations have been enacted. Every news channel is saying goodness gracious glory be! Batten down the hatches because this bitch is going to be one bumpy ride. Well, perhaps they haven't worded it s...

ac·cept·ance 1. the   act   of   taking   or   receiving   something   offered. 2. favorable   reception;   approval;   favor. 3. the   act   of   assenting   or   believing:   acceptance   of   a   theory. 4. the   fact   or   state   of   being   accepted   or   acceptable. Just the other day I was talking with a good friend and former boss about acceptance. She grinned, telling me how her two year old has mastered this gem of a quality. Other children may take his toys, hoarding them, living like kings and queens of the sandbox. His response? A smile. A hug. His acceptance. The art of acceptance was one of the most valuable things my mother instilled within me. It has shaped so much of who I am. She taught me the truth about life and the necessity to accept it: The human race comes in all colors, shapes, sizes, and sexualities. People suc...

When you arrive home from an epic journey everyone immediately wants to know one thing: How are you doing? It's the number one inquiry on everybody's list. I've been analyzing the usage of this question throughout my arrivals back to New York and I've noticed major similarities in the inquiry. When most people ask, their tones tend to resemble the way people apologize for a death. I'm so sorry It must suck to be home How are you holding up?  You must be miserable People expect distress, depression, and debbie-downers. They look for the drawn face, vacant eyes, and melancholy Facebook statuses. The adventuring has ceased and home is Purgatory... or so they seem to think.  Well, without further ado, I grant you my well being, my thoughts, my feelings, and my response to the age-old question...  How are you doing? Since I've gotten home, I must admit, I've been a bit lazier than I expected to be, especially after being a CocoBaby. I pictured myself coming b...

When I first kissed the ''Silent Man,'' I thought I had found the ideal situation: a beautiful man that I enjoyed being with that could barely speak English. I assumed goodbye would be simple, no tears would be shed and my thoughts would steer clear of 'if onlys' and 'what ifs.' How hard could it be to leave behind a fling you could barely communicate with, right? I could not have been so wrong. Never would I have thought that the Silent Man would be the first person I'd say the words 'I love you' to. I remember the moment I first saw him; there we sat, the four surf students, cramming in pizzas and fresh juice before grabbing the board that would inevitably leave my teeth swimming in the sea. I sat in the corner, flipping through magazine photos when out of the corner of my eye, a burst of color flash by. My eyes followed and my heart skipped two beats. There he was, a Portuguese man filled with tattoos, piercings, and sense of style comple...

On the sixteenth of May, a few hours after my shift ended, Anika and I set off for a holiday of sunshine, spirits, and surf. At 6 pm sharp, me actually being early for once in my life, we meet in Central Station, Lola getting some fresh air for the first time since we arrived at Cocomama.  -> If you are just tuning in, Lola is my backpack, my one and only travel companion. She's been through it all with me.  We load the train, Schipol bound... so we think. Moments later a Dutch voice comes over the speaker informing us that there are no trains leaving the station heading to the airport. And so begins the series of unfortunate events.  We shuffle off the train to find another destination to transfer at. After much ado we arrive at the airport. We scour Schipol, devoting every last minute to buying duty-free gadgets, endlessly contemplating which of the five food options will satiate our hunger: Bubbles & Seafood, Wox Box, Mediterranean Sandwich, Sbarro, or B...

Just the other day I led mission of rediscovery. I rekindled a few joys that were put on the back burner for a bit. I forgot the pleasure aroused from getting pleasantly lost in a city. Forgot how lovely it feels to just journey and find your way; to be okay not knowing the specifics of everything, not knowing the details and directions. Everything is beautiful and in the end, the way will be found and all will be okay.  I ride along the canals, feeling for the first time that I am a car. My bicycle and I are a dream team, following the rules of the road. My arm extends to signal my right on red. My bell dings, alerting the tourists about to stumble in the bike lane that they shouldn't dare to step in my way. My balance is steady and for two seconds I loosen my grip, uncurl my fingers and let my hands drop to the side. My bike and I are in complete unison. Glorious. As we tip to the left I grab the handles, the seconds coming to an end. My grin is two-chubby-cheeks wide.  My...