Ink

Dear Blog, Don't hate me for being the worst blogger ever.....Love, Jas

Writing in a journal has been wonderfully freeing. It's a release I didn't remember or couldn't obtain on my blog anymore. It's where the truth is not at fault but at ease and fluent. Scratching out a misplaced word in ink does something to that emotion. It lets you accept it and doubt it and feel it all over again.

I am still working on my first chapter and have delved completely into my sixteen year old psyche as I tell my first real love story. It was foreign and fresh and first. The first time I was ever really kissed and wooed and stranded in beauty and in lust. It is apparent to me as I introduce my family how they played such a nudging role in my thoughts and actions. The stories and assumptions I had about them flow naturally in the way I fell and fall in love. I always wondered when my journals and diaries would find their way into my adult house. I'm glad it was this way. I've been reaching far back into my catalog to read about my daily stories at different ages and bringing journals home from my parents house one by one. The experiences I created for myself are amusing and hilarious and agonizing and unabashed. As I read on I can still identify with sixteen year old me. I have years of insecurities notched in my belt but for the first time I think and look and read back and I am proud of the young woman that I was. Insecure as hell but so honest. Even if I shared that honesty with no one, I always let myself in on it. To embrace and own what I believed was my ammunition then and still is today. Although I was naive to the world. Naive to the power of drugs and sex and bleached blonde hair. It doesnt seem as I read that I was ever naive to the power of love. It made me tick and breathe and dream and believe and give. Love, for me, has never changed.

July 10, 1999

What if I don't have the chance to say goodbye? Federico came in like a dream and it ended like one. In the middle of everything, exactly at the climax, as your heart beats faster while you sleep, you start to worry, toss and turn, sometimes cry, sometimes scream. But with the wink of an eye it's over. You're calm. You're in control. This is how its going to be - it will be such a sweet memory, such a perfect thought in the back of my mind - ALWAYS. I wont ever forget the passion in the kiss of a true Italien. To tell the truth - the thought was better than the actuality. It'll be hard to digest -to tell the truth- I prefer the drawn out ending, it leaves no mystery, no wonder on what would have been - but this time I am challenged by a broken ending. We'll see how I mend of if I bruise to a slap of reality!

J.S.

requiem

Our wedding day was the most exquisite day of my life. It was truly overwhelming with happiness and love and sincerity and unity. It has changed my life in a few obvious ways and thousands of minuscule ways. After the day was over, Greg gave me a gorgeous journal with his vows written on the first page. One of his requests in my vows was that I would write “The Next Great American Novel” in that journal. While we all know, that could never actually happen: a promise is a promise.

I have been running my fingers over the bronze medallion on the front for weeks. Touching the leather and contemplating. I am terrified. I know I have always wanted to write a book, but that came and lingered somewhere in between wanting to be a pediatrician and a teacher and a wedding planner and a graphic designer and a hair dresser.

I wonder if traveling back down the road of my life is the smartest thing to do at the beginning of a new chapter. I wonder if it will be torturous or nostalgic or humorous. What I do know is that my life has been rich. I do know that the love in my life is so powerful that it can and has reached down into hell and dragged me out by my extremities and my organs. I know that the failures in my life are deep and beautiful. I still feel them on me sometimes like shaking water out of your hair or dirt off your hands. The life that I have lived secretly or openly or publicly is mine. The hardest part has been forgiving myself for my choices.

When I envisioned writing a book, I never envisioned the money that may come with it or the torment of writing it. I, instead, have always envisioned having a daughter sitting in her room barefoot and broken hearted able to read about my life. About my youth and my angst and my fuck ups and my victories.

I don't know what this means for my blog. I know that I could never take it down, I know that I know every word of every post and I can feel fingers lingering on my back, I can smell the city and taste specific cigarettes by just reading them. I know that I will be visiting it deeply and frequently while I write. I am thankful for the outlet it has been for conversation and honesty and sharing and snooping and loving. I have put off the requiem of my past in terror that it will be just that: The Past. But I guess that is just the shame and the grace in truth.

Yours,
Jasika

the nicest thing

I requested a copy from my friend and business partner, Alicia, of her maid of honor speech from our wedding. It moves me to tears when I read it. I had to share:

I have known Jasika for almost three years now and from moment we met at our jobs at Market Baltimore, we became instant friends. Within days of knowing each other, we had stories that would make you laugh until you cried, inside jokes that would confuse you, and a bond you would be envious of. We even had the ultimate symbol of best-friendom—a secret language.

The Jasika I’ve grown to know and love is strong beautiful woman, who refuses to conform, is a martyr for her beliefs, and above all will do anything for love. She a woman who knows what she wants, but won’t harm anyone to get it. She is brave enough to tell you you’re making a mistake but empathetic enough to hold your hand while you do it. She is the person you want fighting on your side, and sharing in your spoils. She is the true definition of a friend.

Friends of Jasika’s caliber are very hard to come by, so as I tell Jasika regularly, you are only allowed to have one friend, and the position has been filled by me. So I’m hoping everyone here right now is family, otherwise, Jasika, we need to have a conversation. I am already sharing you with Greg!

Greg is the type of person who embodies caring. He is a guy you can a conversation with about anything, and for any period of time. He makes you feel comfortable and is so welcoming you seem to always feel at home. It is not a coincidence they found each other, and it was only a matter of time until this day came. They are that couple who you just know is simply meant to be. I know this firsthand because Greg was never just Jasika’s boyfriend to me. He was a friend. And I knew that because, without hesitation he knew how to speak our secret language. I am truly happy to be able to share this day with both of you. Thank you.

Sugar cube/Italian Wedding Wish: to sweeten the marriage.
Armenian Wedding Blessing: may you grow old on one pillow.





I also have to say in here that I am so amazed that this blog has brought so many unbelievable people into my life. The stunning photos posted here are by a wonderful, amazing, talented, helpful, beautiful friend I have met through my blog. It's a wonder that she even got a chance to dance or eat or be a guest while taking so many gorgeous photos.

Our officiant for our wedding was someone who traveled a great distance to perform our ceremony. I met him through blogging, as well and we are honored and blessed to call him a friend.

Enjoy photos HERE!

06.06.09...

It actually stops like a chapter. Said all pretty and tied in a bow. In all the ways I thought it would feel, it didn't. You are standing there across from him and you can actually feel it move in you. The love. You are awake and alive and absorbing. And you can hear every word loud and clear, you can actually see the faces in the shapes of the crowd, you can feel his pulse by his thumb and you can feel every tear burning in your eyelid. In all the places I thought it would be, it wasn’t. It wasn’t in my dress or in the crowd or even in words. It was inside of me; Thick like moss, concentrated and brimming from my fingertips. His hands in your hands feel permanent and like you would just fall without them. Your limbs are his limbs and there is nothing separating your bodies or your minds or your hearts or your souls. Your pulses quicken and slow down together. You nod and smile and laugh and cry simultaneously and you just know you are one. You are one.

Then the change happens like the flip of a page. You could be anywhere. You could be in an oasis. The most breathtaking place in your life. Bursting with flowers, dripping in candlelight, cutting through a steak with a butter knife , licking sugar off the rim of your champagne glass and tasting strawberries. You are in a tent and the night and the summer is endless around you. The woods and the vineyard and the wine and the music and the dancing have consumed you into a secluded place. It doesn’t feel grand. It feels small like a village feels small. United with a purpose. So small that you feel the room might shatter with intensity. It might actually burst with love.

Then the story always continues even when the pages run out. You could be anywhere. You could be in Baltimore City and the Nyquil hasn’t knocked the flu out of him. You are squeezing lemons into a coffee mug, discovering cuts on your fingers and wondering why you didn’t register for a lemon squeezer. After you’ve brewed the tea and added honey you add milk. And then you ruin the tea you’ve just made because lemon curdles milk. And you cry because you just wanted to do it right. It doesn’t look and it definitely doesn’t taste like champagne, but it all comes from that same place. That place where his cough makes me ache and his restlessness makes me uneasy and his flu makes my heart hurt.

And you just know you are one. You are one.

bliss.

fuck

yes

I am having the absolute best coffee I've ever had in my life right now. It is a life altering moment. I just walked in the house from the coffee shop directly across the street. The bag of coffee felt a little warm with the fresh grounds packed tight in the paper bag.

I've only made tea in our new French press but I'm afraid, as of now, my coffee addiction doesn't stand a chance. It's warm and rich and perfect.

Life has been busy and there are so many things I hate that I haven't had the time to write about. More on life, love, wedding, and the city, soon!

T-minus 22 days til the big day!

art

My new mission in life is to have a painting by this artist. Her work is so kitchy and nostalgic.

Yes, please.

http://www.hollyfarrell.com/

Here Comes The Sun

I love creating it with you. I love designing it with you and sanding wood floors with you. I love dreaming it with you and eating in it with you. I love being there with you and singing with you. I love caulking it with you and restoring it with you. I love tearing things down with you. I love standing back and looking at with you. I love getting paint on my jeans with you and whistling with you. I love home with you.

an open letter to you and you and you and me

I want to write. I want to write. I need to write. I can feel my veins pulsing. I can't sleep. I can't eat without stopping. I can't talk to you without crying. I wish I could just talk to you without crying.

I wish I didn't have to prove myself constantly. I wish I didn't have to work so hard for you to believe me. I wish you knew more about my life so you could trust me. I wish you would put me at ease. I wish you would compliment me. I wish I could sleep at night. I wish I was there. I wish it was it was mine. I wish I had anything that was mine. I wish you didn't dissect me. I wish you wouldn't reject me. I wish I wasn't that girl who feels too much. I wish you knew my feelings have meanings.

I wish failing felt like living. I wish I could define things the way I used to. I wish I wanted to be defined. I don't want to define you or crucify you. I just want to talk to you without crying.

I wish I wouldn't dream that way about you. I wish you weren't there like that. Laying on me and not knowing me. I wish you didn't look so angry. Looking at me through that window all pale and blue with a noose. I wish I could forget you. But you're here now. More than ever. You're here and I get it. I was wrong. It was you. You weren't wonderful, you were selfish most of the time. I wish I didn't waste so much time wishing for an answer. There isn't one. There never was.

I wish you wouldn't flaunt it. I wish you would tell me I'll be o.k. Just tell me we'll all be o.k.

I wish I knew what it is to be satisfied. To lose and lose and be satisfied with old wounds. I wish I had the space to express what it is that I want you to understand. I wish I had that freedom. I wish I had the right.

The right words.

I wish you could see I'm not like you. I am you.