May 27, 2015 / 12:00 PM
I have a couple of drafts I’ve been working on for the past year(s) that I’ve completely neglected. It may be my fleeting interest, my sparse (even nonexistent) emotions, my lack of passion, my post (full-time) work exhaustion or all of the aforementioned.
I’ve spent a copious amount of time staring at my screen, purging words and ideas that aren’t there in the first place, and when they are, this voice inside my head stops me from continuing because why should I? No one even reads (my) blog(s) anymore.
In this Instagram obsessed culture, who would even take the time to read a blog post – hey, I can’t even be bothered to read a lengthy caption. Our audience has evolved – as my best friend would put it. We are bombarded with easy information, easy advertising, easy marketing through a perfectly curated feed, validated by the ‘double tap.’
This phenomena makes long-time bloggers like myself – six years and counting – lonely, irrelevant, and uninspired.
I tell myself it doesn’t truly matter because I started my blog – post-heartbreak and all – for no one else but me. I’ve been in denial for the longest time but let’s face it, it does matter, my God, it does.
Over the years, I’ve garnered a following, I’ve gained friends, and most of all, I’ve discovered myself because of my little blog. I do not exaggerate when I say tumblr completely changed my life.
A few weeks ago, I received a very special letter from a long-time reader. An excerpt:
“I was in 6th grade when I came across your blog. I was just starting to explore the online world and you had that apple green Springfield theme.
…I just wanted to thank you, my coming of age inspiration, for always keeping me attached with the world. I find peace reading your posts. I’m now in college, all busy with my academics, but with my spare time I still read your posts. You’re like the Dumbledore to my Harry Potter, and I would always adore your blog, Ms. Elisa.Thank you very much for inspiring me.”
I cried after reading it because I’ve been feeling immensely irrelevant the past months. Her words reminded me how much of myself, my heart and my soul, I’ve poured out to my blog.
It was there as I penned down my late-night heartbreak over a clumsy boy thus cleansing me of unforgiveness and anger. It was there whilst I tethered word after holy word upon rediscovering Jesus Christ, my everything. It was there as I screamed and cried of joy upon getting my very first A, my entire college life, from my year-long thesis.
My blog was, is my constant, and knowing it is for other people too, means the world to me.
The year is 2015.
I have been blogging for six, emotional, exhilarating years.
I started writing this lonely, irrelevant, and uninspired. I end this feeling loved, appreciated, and inspired.
This was inspired by London Beauty Queen’s similar blog post awhile back. This may have focused on her life as a full-time blogger, which I am not, but it pretty much resonated something greater within me, thus this.
February 24, 2015 / 12:00 PM
Please don’t give me love when the kind of love I desire is something I want to possess out of fear – fear that nothing better will come, fear that it will end up just like the others I have received, and fear that I deserve to “settle.“ Please remind me that the kind of love I should have is love that is supposed to be desired, rightly, out of faith – faith in Your perfect timing, in Your faithfulness, in knowing that You know what is best for me, which I do not see.
Please don’t give me love when I am drowning in myself, my loneliness, and my selfishness, that I forget that You will always be the endless ocean who gives me the love I yearn for and the love I undeserve.
Please don’t give me love when all I desire is companionship and togetherness that I completely forget that there are others who already provide this kind of love, others who want to give me this love yet I put their love aside – blind of the love they can give my longing soul.
Please don’t give me love when I want to be told I am beautiful. There is so much beauty that You have placed in me – in every piece You have faultlessly designed that my eyes are unaware of – because You are the magnificent Artist.
Please don’t give me love when I yearn for attention, that I easily forget that though there are billions under Your care, You give me unceasing amount of it – as if I were the only one You have to look after.
Please don’t give me love when the love I have in mind is fleeting because it relies so much on what I feel. There are moments when I am so unhappy that I want it and realize that it is just a thought created by dullness.
Please don’t give me love when I am blind to my own self. That I need time to grow, time to learn, and time to love others and time to love You before loving him or else I would be preparing myself for estrangement.
And, please don’t give me love, when I need another person to be sure of You because I need to be sure of You alone. One day, I will be prepared for this love but until then, please don’t give me love.
September 01, 2014 / 12:00 PM
Yesterday, I was asked to share my life story with my Church.
I was hesitant at first. That was a part of my life I’ve completely let go of and unearthing it felt unnecessary. Furthermore, I’ve heard more powerful testimonies than mine – getting raped by family members as a child, losing (both) parents in a tragic accident, struggling with immorality and vices, worshipping the Enemy before finding Jesus, and so on – how could I compare my silent albeit blessed story with theirs?
I felt indifferent coursing through my story summarized in two pristine pages – 1.5 single space in perfect Helvetica – to a quiet audience of teenagers. Finding Jesus as a teenager through heartbreak – how evidently groundbreaking. My story has been told a million times, with different characters, in a variety of scenarios, yet with the same glorious ending: salvation.
How could I limit and undermine God’s work in my life when I have constantly been the object of His relentless affection? How could I mistake my God to be a God of mediocrity?
Our individual journeys are uniquely designed but we all fall short of the goodness, the love, and the glory of God. We are all so unlike Him that it takes a lifetime to achieve an infinitesimal speck of His goodness, and at the end of our lives, we all know that even on our best days, we sin.
Some people were called to a life of noble struggle that takes losing all things to discover that God is everything. Others were born into Christianity but it takes years of endless, brain wracking theology and practice to transform his or her life.
A story of one man’s struggle may end up being the subject of history books while my quiet work in progress may only resonate with a single person in a room full of people. And, I am finally okay with that.
Our journeys are so diverse yet the path to the pursuit of Goodness and Light is something we all end up chasing. His power is equal in our weakness yet my God is the God of glorious difference.