After writing my blog yesterday about my miscarriage, Papa thought it was too personal. My father said it, but many others thought it. I like it when a random guy on the street tells me I look hot. My friend once said that for every guy who says it, there are many men and women who think it but don’t say anything. It makes me feel that I look good that day.
I’ve hit this “too personal” boundary not only with my father in my life, but with few other people. For some chemical imbalance in my brain, I want to be very personal. I don’t want to talk about politics or how hot it is in the city. I don’t even care what your plans are for 4th of July weekend. I want to get personal and quickly.
Sometimes, I share too much. Sometimes, I share too much with the wrong people. Sometimes, I share too much with the wrong people, at the wrong places, at the wrong time.
When I started writing this blog, it was like taking off my clothes in front of strangers. Not that I know what that feels like. My clothes kept closed to the world. I thought that taking off those clothes were going to bring me over the boundary’s border. But the boundary kept moving away. The boundary turned out to be not a vertical line drawn on the ground, but a sine curve. I though it would end at the dip, but it extended forward. A never-ending wave only hitting extreme lows of self-expression and extreme highs. Moving me forward, closer and closer to my truths and to my people.
Oh how I love the sea.