I Want To Go Home, But I Don’t Know Where Home Is

I’ll admit, it has been hard lately. I’m sure tons of people know the feeling, when you’re really down and all you can think about is how badly you want to go home. I wonder how many people feel like me though, and they don’t know where home is. No matter where you are, you just want to go “home”.

My life has been in a very severe state of limbo for a while. That has definitely wrecked havoc on me mentally, emotionally, and physically. It’s sort of like my life has been at a standstill and the world is racing past me.

It’s moment like these that I need to remember how I pull myself back up, and today I did just that. I took a shower and decided I would make a yoga video. Making the video forced me to do a full routine, and while the benefits are different, and it’s not as relaxing, it was 100% worth it. I felt so much better afterward.

I hope to record another tomorrow, to use videos as something to hold me accountable. Of course, this is where it gets hard and I’ll need to create different practices, but that’s fine! A challenge is good, and anything to keep me going is even better.

Now that I’ve been in my house for a while, I’m starting to establish a routine. I’m going to be able to work on getting my house together and creating a home, making yoga videos or simply doing yoga, and writing! Yes, lots of writing. I need to sit down everyday and write. Perhaps I’ll even be able to squeeze some dancing in there as well.

I know soon I’ll be heading back to California, and my routine will be messed up all over again, but I think it’s time I came back here for a while. I need to set up my life here so when I say I want to go home, I know where home is.


I’m a Grumpy-Goo

First, I have no idea what a “Grumpy-Goo” is, but it sounds cute and captures my emotions without being too negative and icky.

Lately, I have been extremely irritable. While it sounds negative, there’s a lot in this world that is irritating lately. Let’s just say being the child of a brown immigrant isn’t exactly fun at the moment. Especially when you see people from your country being shot and told “Get out of my country.” So that irritates me. Or I could go on a long rant about how being a woman is actually sort of hard sometimes, but I don’t think either of these are the reason I’m feeling so irritable.

I’ve written posts about depression before, but I purposefully am not using that term this time. I have been quite happy much of the time! Yes, I have sad days, bad days, days I’m depressed. But I have mornings where I wake up with a wide smile and don’t ever feel even slightly down!

It’s just that little things seem to get to me, and I’m fairly certain it’s because of this whole deployment situation. It’s really hard and it has made me very, very irritable.

It’s often just small things too, like other drivers being annoying will bother me for way too long.

I definitely get more annoyed with people I know too. I have no patience for conversations which are driven exclusively by me. I will always ask you what’s up and try to return all your questions to me back to you if it makes sense to do so, but I honestly do not have it in me to lead a conversation which you started!

I wish I wasn’t so irritable though, I know a lot of people mean well, and maybe they don’t want to bring up anything bad or they just want to chat and make sure I’m okay, but it’s not so nice when I feel like the burden to talk is on me. I don’t think most people I know understand how stressful this is and I’m not close to anyone who has any experience with this so I feel kind of weird asking anyone for advice.

My Life is Literally Crazy…

I’m sorry I’ve been away and totally missing from here and all my other social media!

Starting way back in June or July of last year, 2016, my husband was away in Texas for three and a half months, when he came back, we immediately started packing up and moved to Colorado! How fun!

In November, once all our stuff was packed up and we were getting ready to move in, my husband got orders for a nine month deployment starting in January. Yes, 9 months. So we found a house, moved all our stuff in, and flew back to California where we spent Christmas and where I stayed behind when he left.

So now, I’m in California, without my stuff, and totally all over the place and stressed out and HONESTLY, 2 months notice for a 9 month deployment? Army life is the worst…

So essentially, blame the army for my absence since I haven’t actually had a chance to settle down anywhere.

But with all that insanity, I’m having a good time with my family and friends in this area. We’re also 2 months into this deployment! So the end is coming closer everyday.

I am also surprisingly happy, I think it’s my new birth control. So anyone who thinks their birth control might be contributing to their depression,  that’s totally possible and you should talk to your doctor about switching.

I finally have time again though, so I’m hoping I’ll be able to blog a little more and make some more yoga videos! So let me know if there’s anything yoga related you have questions about. I’m really doing fine, so don’t worry about me, but it does mean I’m sort of not always writing on my blog or making videos.

The Dancer – A Short Story

Note: I wrote this just as a practice piece. I’m not very good with description, and I just wanted to try it out. As you may know I’ve been working on a book, which I hope to actually do something with, so why not perfect my craft? I may update it and make small changes to it periodically to polish it a bit more, but I didn’t want to make a huge deal out of this since it is only practice. With that being said, please enjoy!

Charles was the kind of man who always styled his hair. The kind who wore cologne and cashmere sweaters with the sleeves rolled up. The kind where everything in his house had its place and never strayed far from it, but when stuff did, was immediately put back.
That night he stood on the paving stones in his back yard. Though the stones were put there so there was no need to stand on the grass, it still forced up between the cracks. Resistance is futile, even to grass. He was laughing and smiling between sips of beer when he heard the doorbell ring.
He did a little jog through the living room. With a big grin he pulled the front door open.
She stood wrapped in a long coat, a faint jingle escaped from beneath with every step she took. Her makeup was overdone, dramatic, perfect. She carried a bag, bursting at the seams in a feeble attempt to hold in its contents.
“Hello! Come in!” He beckoned to her and lead her to the perfect living room, with the chairs set up in a rectangle around the coffee table. “You’re June right?”
She nodded then set her sack down and dove into it, her bangles disappearing into its depths.
He blinked. For the first time since she walked in, he could take his eyes off of her. Of course he had seen her pictures and videos of her performances, but something was different about meeting her in person. She was radiant as she pulled miles of cloth from her bag and threw them across his couch. An accidental splash of color across his pristine monochrome life.
She popped out of her bag and held an old MP3 player to her nose, then thrust it into his hand, “Here.” She spoke, “The playlist called ‘set 1’ is for the first dance, ‘set 2’ is for the second one later, obviously.” She let her coat slide from her shoulders and crammed it in the bottom of her bag, then pulled the miles of cloth back in.
He stared at her wondering how her bag could be so full of more cloth when it seemed like she was already wearing an entire wardrobe. She had a long skirt with scarfs and belts that jingled around her waist. Her stomach was completely bare, and she had a top covered in beads and chain.
“Are you ready?” He looked her up and down.
“Sure, whenever you are.” She pushed stray hairs out of her face and tucked them under a beaded crown that drooped across her forehead.
He walked out, MP3 player in one hand, beer in the other. He pulled the speaker chord out of his phone, and plugged it into her player. His friends, caught off guard by the abrupt end to the music all looked up from their drinks and conversations and peered around wondering what had happened.
He hit play and shooed some friends away to clear a space in front of the speaker.
The music began and June bounced out of the house in all her glory. She danced to an Arabic beat and moved with hips that could kill a man. She twirled and skipped around and smiled. The guests watched clapping and smiling, and Charles stood in awe letting his beer go flat.
She ended with a twirl and her hands held high. She had danced for 20 minutes, but not a moment was dull. She skipped back into the house laughing and spinning, then disappearing back to where she came from.
The crowd laughed and started talking and praising her. They dispersed, taking over the spot where she danced, but Charles just stood staring at where she was. That was when he noticed something on the stones. A red smear across the ground. He followed it with his eyes, bouncing back and forth, then into the house. He ran to the speaker and grabbed her MP3 player, shoved the chord back into his phone and hit play on the music then scurried into the house. He followed the red smear across the carpet to the bathroom just off the side of the living room.
He tapped on the door, “Are you alright?”
“Do you have any paper towels?”
“I’m an EMT, I can look at it for you.”
There was a moment of stillness as he waited for a response, then she spoke, “The door’s unlocked.”
He pushed the door open and set his beer on the counter, the last sad bubbles trailing up the sides of the glass, now long forgotten.
She sat on the edge of the bathtub holding a wad of toilet paper to her foot. He kneeled in front of her, then she pulled the toilet paper off.
“Ouch.” He inspected her cut, “It doesn’t need stitches or anything, we should clean it and wrap it though.” Somehow, something managed to slice open the bottom of her foot. Broken glass from a previous party, or a stray stone no one had ever noticed.
“You’re not an EMT.” She leaned an elbow on her knee.
He smiled up at her, “No, but I can tell that you don’t need stitches.” He stood and rummaged through a medicine cabinet and pulled out some bandages and an antiseptic cream, the kind with painkillers, “I did take some EMT courses though.” He set them down on the counter and washed his hands.
“That doesn’t count.” She reached for the antiseptic, but he grabbed it away from her.
“You didn’t wash your hands.”
“Isn’t it supposed to kill bacteria?”
He sighed, “Yes, but you don’t want to rub dirt in, even if it’s antibacterial dirt.”
“Whatever.” She crossed her arms and slouched down, “Sorry about this. I can give you half of your money back.”
He sat on the ground in front of her and swiped the cream across the bottom of her foot, “No, I should be apologizing.” He pulled a bandage out of a box and placed it over her cut, “Better?”
She nodded, “I can read tarot cards. That way you’re not paying me for nothing.” She stood up and hopped around then steadied herself on the counter.
“Sure, why not.” She shrugged, “Please, let me help you.” He let her wrap an arm around his neck, then slid his hand around her waist. He felt the acidic tinge of adrenaline rush from her hand across his body.
They stood side by side, staring at the bathroom door.
She spoke, “How are we supposed to get out?” The door was too narrow to walk out side by side, and hopping sideways seemed a bit clumsy.
They looked at each other, then back at the door, and then again to each other.
“I’ll just…” He scooped her up then scooted out of the bathroom sideways. He walked her to the couch and set her beside her never-ending bag, “There.”
She dove into the bag once more and pulled out a pack of cards, “What do you want to know?”
“Oh no… Not me.” He waved his hands in the air. He slipped behind the kitchen bar, “Water?”
She laughed at him, “Yes, thank you.”
He pulled a glass out from a cabinet, and filled it from a tap that was separate from the one used to wash dishes. Because normal tap water wasn’t good enough, so he had to have his purified with 3 ice cubes, which was how he served it to her.
He ran outside to his friends. Some clapped in excitement at the thought of tarot, others raised an eyebrow, skeptical of the practice, but by the end of the night, they all had answers.
The party slowed, and people left. Charles hugged his last friend goodbye and sat on a couch opposite June.
She watched him as she shuffled the cards, “You sure you don’t have a question?” She smiled, “No one’s here. It’s just you and me.”
He scratched his head, and stretched his arms across the back of the couch, “Yeah.”
She slid the deck across the table, “Shuffle the deck while you think about it, and tell me what you want to know.”
He shuffled the deck a few times, lost in thought then set it down in the middle of the table. “Want to stay a bit longer?”
She flipped the top card on the deck, and without looking at it replied to him, “Why not.”

Aphantasia – So It Does Have a Name

A while ago I wrote this post. In it I detailed my inability to picture faces, though the more I think about it, I can’t picture much, faces just have the most detail which is obviously lost.

Last night, I was talking to my mother about drawing, I can’t remember exactly what she said, but it prompted me to reply with, “That’s the weird thing. I can’t picture faces.” Without missing a beat she said, “There’s a name for that.” Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember the name.

There’s a great moment in this video by the Game Grumps, these two men just randomly get really deep and one of them starts talking about dealing with OCD. He essentially says that he found out about OCD by just Googling somethings and next thing he knew he was crying because he finally had a name for what he suffered from. That was me last night.
(Note on the video: Please do not throw away your medication without talking to a doctor. They address that in a later video after fans pointed it out, but I’m going to also put that out there.)

I believe, the best way to define aphantasia is the inability to picture things, and instead thinking more in concepts. A lot of people like to use terms like “mind’s eye”. People with aphantasia don’t have one, or it needs some serious glasses.

I would say I fall in the almost aphantasia, or not complete aphantasia part of the spectrum. I can get vague images of a lot of things, like outlines, and bits and pieces of an image, but I can’t picture things how they truly are.

It seems like such a small thing. Not being able to picture things isn’t a big deal, right? And it doesn’t effect my life most of the time, but you feel weird and different because of these things. Finding out that there are people like this is a huge relief. I don’t think I’ll even join a support group, or actively search for other people with this, because now I know that I have walked past people who are the same, if not met them. (If you do have aphantasia and want to talk about it, you are more than welcome to reach out to me. I’d love to learn more information and I would be interested to hear your experiences as well!)

This also explains a lot of my writing style. As some of you may know, I’ve been playing around with writing fiction lately, and my style was very talky. As in, lots of talking, not a lot of description. My mom even said it was a bit like reading a movie script. I’ve tried to include more details, but I sometimes can’t picture what would be happening exactly. If you ever see me pacing around gesturing wildly, or typing away at my keyboard making facing, I’m literally acting out what’s happening so I can describe it. Though I’m willing to bet people without aphantasia do that too, it’s definitely been vital to my writing and understanding what to say is happening. Also explains my obsession with character’s eye color, but lack of facial features.

Discovering there’s a name for what you’re going through is no longer being alone. At least for me it was.

I’m Saying This Once

Stop being a dick.

Excuse the language, but it’s the best way to put it.

There’s a lot of fear in this world right now. Uncertainty as to what the future will hold, in the U.S. we’re dealing with a presidential election in which many people aren’t happy with either of the major candidates. People are getting shot, there’s racism, sexism, and just general hatred toward each other. (I am not going to express my political opinion.)

You should stand up for what you believe in and express your opinions. You should share your ideas, hopes, and dreams with the world. Present solutions you think would work. Don’t forget to listen to others though. That’s how we get to a solution, is by listening to each other, working together. By. Not. Being. Dicks.

This post is for those of us who take it too far in our disagreements. Who decide to throw conversation out the window and be rude, uncivilized humans.

Name calling, insults, anything like that is NOT the answer. No matter what you believe, who you support, your opinions, you should never insult someone. You should never stoop so low as to call them names. There’s no need for sarcasm or snide remarks. Being passive aggressive is out too.

In times where it seems no one agrees, we need to be kind to one another. Talk, offer support, and be welcoming to new ideas. And above all, be willing to have your mind changed, and accept that others have done the same.

It isn’t hard either. I’d say it’s actually much easier. I understand that when one person resorts to being rude it feels easy to respond with the same animosity, but you shouldn’t. I’m not saying you should show them kindness and be all sweet and wonderful to them, but you have options of non-dickishness.

Ask them why they disagree with you. Try to start a dialogue about what they think rather than letting the rudeness continue. Maybe you two can talk it our, or perhaps they felt attacked by something you said even though you didn’t mean it that way. Misunderstandings happen, and people can also channel their emotions into constructive conversation. Just don’t say “Calm down” or anything like that. That’s a bad idea and implies their anger is poorly founded. No one needs that in their life. If you think they need a minute, just say “Maybe we should come back to this later” or something along those lines.
Call them out, say that what they said was uncalled for. If the have a problem with what you said, they should give you a good explanation or not say anything at all. Like I said, rude remarks are never OK.
Or don’t say anything to them at all. Someone who’s resorted to insults probably isn’t worth your time, and there’s a good chance you won’t get any good conversation out of them if their opening line is an attack.

By continuing the berating, you aren’t any better than them. You should be where conflicts end. Not where they escalate.

This is also stuff you should remember when you see or hear something you disagree with. Bring up points why you disagree, be respectful about how you do it, and actually listen to them.

What is really important in this time, is we stick together, no matter what. We have to support each other. It doesn’t matter who wins the election, or anything else, if we can’t be nice and live with each other. The president is just one person, but the rest of us, we need to get along. We don’t need to be friends, we don’t even need to like each other, but we can’t be cruel to one another. If you disagree so much that you make each other’s blood boil, step away. You probably shouldn’t be interacting anyway, unless you can have a constructive conversation and put those feelings aside.

No matter what, take the high road. Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. Whatever other saying you want. What it all boils down to:

Don’t be a dick.

A Single Coyote

I could hear a single coyote howling earlier. I felt like finding him and saying, “I feel you, dude.” That whole desperate cry in to the vast expanse of space. Of course, little buddy was probably saying, “I’m hungry” or “I’m horny” or “This is my piece of land”, but this is why we don’t take metaphors literally.

One of my biggest problems with feeling like this, is all this speculation. I really want to know what’s wrong with me. Beyond feeling…well…poopy… I have this horrendous PMS I’d really like to figure out, and I have to put it off right now, so moving is really inconvenient for me at the moment. Like, REALLY inconvenient. I decided to wait until I get to Colorado to go to a doctor again and figure all this out, but now I’m sitting here like, “Do I have depression? Do I have endometriosis? PMDD? AM I DYING?!” (Note: I’m not dying.)

So on top of being stressed out by all these possibilities, it’s also scary to think about moving while I could have bigger problems. Like, what if I do suffer from depression? Maybe it is actually a bad idea to move. Or if it is something else and I need to get treatment, or putting it off is allowing it to progress farther like endometriosis building up or whatever it does.

I also just wonder if I’m sort of an emotional train wreck.

Is that a thing? I don’t think it’s really a thing.

With all that being said, I think this is the first time by post’s title has been better than the post itself! Pretty impressive since that’s usually the hardest part for me, but I’m totally fine with that.

Down in the Dumps

I’m going to be honest with you here, I’ve been really down lately. I know these past few years I’ve really struggled with being happy. I’m usually a happy person, but there always seems to be something looming in the darkness. Sometimes I forget about it, sometimes I put it away, but know it’s still there, and sometimes it just makes me feel really bad.

This is something I wonder if I should seek help for. I like to tell myself that it’s just a phase, there’s been a lot of stress, but even then, I should still talk to someone. Right?

Either way, I think this is why I find it so hard to write and make videos, apart from a few other reasons which are unrelated to this thing I seem to be carrying around with me.

The worst part of this is seeing all the horrible stuff going on in the world. People are honestly dicks. I know, I know. I’m supposed to be all yoga, love each other, wonderful hippy love. That’s just not happening lately.  The happy hippy juices are not flowing, and I think they’re being blocked by all this hatred, anger, and stress in the world.

Tonight is just one of those nights where I feel like no one else feels like this too. I don’t even want to hear about the horrible things happening in the world. I can’t talk about it anymore. I’m spent. I have no more fight in me. I can’t be alone in this though. Someone else has to feel like this, but all my other friends seem to still have fight left. They still want to talk about whatever upsetting topic has sprung up today. And I simply can’t.

And these topics get to me too. It’s not that I’m tired of hearing about it happen, this stuff scares me. I don’t even live in a place like Syria, and the world scares me. And no, I will not “think about how much better I have it” because no one should ever feel like their feelings are trivial and small. I’m thankful I live in a place where I probably will never have a bomb dropped on my house, but that doesn’t mean I’m not scared, because I am. I’m scared, and upset, and angry, and stressed.

But mostly tired.



Sick Days

I wanted to record a video or write something, but I’ve been really sick lately. I don’t even have the energy right now to turn this into an eloquent blog post unfortunately, so I’m leaving you with this dry and boring apology.


I don’t feel so good.

I’ll talk to you all later. Send healing vibes please.

Dance, Dance!

[Insert Fall Out Boy lyrics here]

So class has started up again, which for me means I’m dancing again. That’s about it though. I’m not taking any other classes this semester because we need to move in the middle and I am a mess right now.

I am glad to have dance again, AND a performance coming up at the end of September. I’m so excited for this. I also need to work on choreographing a solo, or “learning” the music so I can “improvise” on the spot, but that’s just for my class. I promised my instructor I would do a solo this semester before I left and I plan on keeping that promise.

I honestly don’t mind if she doesn’t remember. This is something I need to do for me. I want to do it for her, kind of like a thank you, to show her how far I’ve come. But I need to do it for me to prove that I can do a solo.

Let’s be honest, there aren’t any mistakes in solos, they’re just improvisations. My issue is that I love choreography, but can’t seem to choreograph my own dance. I try, but it never really works for me. I stop halfway through, or I just grumble and give up. It seems the best method would be just doing it, no choreography. Perhaps knowing the song, and figuring out a general structure, moves that go well with it overall, and small parts of choreography, but I really just need an outline.

Now I just need to pick a music piece. I would love something short, but I can only seem to find long pieces that I like, like Sonic Muse by Govinda. Like 4min long. Which isn’t that long for a song, but when you’re doing your first solo, it’s long… And no, I am not going to dance to a Fall Out Boy song.