Chanda.

Tuesday afternoon my Aunt Chanda passed away.

She had stage four melanoma

(skin cancer)

and had been living with that diagnosis for roughly 4 years.

Now, I'm not going to sit here and say that her and I were close,

That I think she was incredible,

and that I'll have to figure out life without a best friend.

While I didn't hate her,

nor ever wish death upon her,

her passing wasn't a blow to my system like losing my moms was.

I guess thats "normal"

right?

My mom was my mom.

was.

I hate that word.

Back to the point.

if there is one.

I went up to my grandparents on tuesday,

after I recieved the text that she had passed,

I walked in and her body was still in bed.

I looked at her,

and while I was sad,

I was okay.

I looked over at my grandma,

and my heart began to ache for her.

I began thinking about how this was her second daughter that she was going to burry.

Someone

(my grandma)

who has spent her life trying to be nothing but good and righteous,

has experienced a lot of heart ache.

I continued to scan the room,

and that's when I saw my little cousin

Hazen.

The strong silent type.

He's not someone who's going to sob in front of anyone,

and he'll down play every painful emotion he experiences.

I lost it the second I saw him.

He's the same age I was when I lost my mom,

and his high school sweetheart just left,

like mine did.

His whole world is changing.

Just like mine did.

After I stopped crying over Hazen,

my other cousin walked in.

Corbin.

The sweaty teenage male version of me at his age.

My heart shattered.

His relationship with his mom,

is what mine was with mine at his age.

 His relationship wasn't great,

and while finger can be pointed either,

He's a teenager,

who never got a healing relationship with his mom.

So again,

I'm not going to sit here and try to gain a sympathy vote,

by claiming I lost someone near and dear to me,

or someone I admired and looked up to.

But my cousins...

... Their faces simply stop my heart...

because besides the fact that I love both of them dearly,

I know how this feels.

Losing your mom... sucks.

no matter what the state of your relationship.

So please,

if you're still reading this,

and your eye has teared,

or your heart has ached,

don't pray for me,

pray for my cousins.

because, speaking from experience, it's a long next few years.

I love you Hazer.

Love you Corbina. 

Dating.

So- here I am,

one thirty ish in the morning,

sitting at work and thinking way too much.

It's weird thinking though,

I've struggled today with completing full thoughts,

and I've been making some really strange mistakes.

The kind that the second I do them I look up and say

(to whoever is around me)

"...I have no idea why I just did that..."

I feel like that's what I'll be saying the second I finish this post.

But.

Here I am.

And Here you are.

So let us continue.

So, you may or may not know,

but after a good hunk of time being out,

I'm back in the dating world.

and..

I can't figure out how I feel about it.

I mean, obviously things didn't work out according to plan,

and that makes me sad,

but even that aside,

I sit an I think about it,

and I'm not convinced I should ever get married.

I've spent a lot of time reflecting on my last relationship,

and on my relationship with my high school sweetheart,

and I've come to a really uncomfortable realization that...

holy cow, I'm a lot of crazy in one person.

I've sat with tears in my eyes talking about those two relationships

and said

I don't even blame them for leaving.

even that aside...

Is my idea of love and marriage just off?

completely and totally unrealistic?

I want to be in a love

(yes I worded that how I meant to)

where,

we're best friends,

who just happen to want to make out.

I want to be missed when I'm not around,

I want "him" to be excited/proud to be with me,

...I want a strong commitment and devotion...

I want an understood freedom.

I want to sit comfortably in silence,

I want to argue about uncomfortable things.

I want to hear

"I love you"

"I miss you"

"can I come over for a minute?"

and

"I love that you never wear anything but bball shorts."

(see... not realistic)

I read all these poems,

watch all these movies,

and listen to all these songs,

where the guy aches for the girl.

Where he feels like he's crumbling without her.

Where all of her flaws are there and apparent,

but the longing for her outways every bit of insanity.

But!

Here's the kicker...

I smother easily.

Yup.

Goodluck right?

I know.

I just want to know that the deep soulfull love that I day dream about exists.

I want to believe that it's out there.

But... I'm not sure I do.

I'm not sure that these songs, stories, and sonnets are nothing more

than beautiful wishes,

words expressing a painful hearts desire,

not a mirror of any actual reality.

I'm done with these thoughts for the night.

I hope you've found your love,

or that your hope for such is still alive.

p.s

to top it all off....

I recently found this gem.

I listen to it at least twice an hour.

This song is one of "those" songs.

(it's ruining my life.)

Hulk

For as long as I can remember,

The Hulk

has been my favorite super hero.

Like... my garbage can is "Hulk"

.... I have a giant framed picture of him snarling....

....I have binders for school that are covered with his muscles...

I HAVE ACTION FIGURES!

(sorry for yelling)

Needless to say... I geek out a little bit whenever I see his face.

It always fascinates me what people decide to be

Obsessed over..

Infatuated with..

Passionate about;

So, I've decided to share a small portion of why the Hulk is my Favorite.

Let's start with who he is,

He isn't "The Hulk"

He's Bruce Banner.

Bruce is a fairly reserved physicist,

who can easily come off as cocky or arrogant

because of his emense understanding of his line of work,

but in reality he thinks little of himself,

and is in a fairly constant fear of forming close relationships

with anyone,

fearing that they may one day see his "dark side"

his "Hulk."
He thinks himself a problem,
Basically... He's got a lot of confidence, but no self esteem.

I love that "The Hulk"

is never fully defined in the "Hero" catagory.

I like that he,

in many nerdy books about comic books,

He is RARELY defined as a hero,

but he's never (least not that I've found) labeled fully as a villian.
He seems to fit in this odd section where
he's a good guy... but causes a lot of harm.
(which only reinforces Banner's self loathing when he "comes to")

But more than anything,

I've always loved the idea behind "The Hulk"

The idea that Bruce hates "The Hulk,"

and equally, "The Hulk" hates Bruce.

Bruce's constant struggle and fight to be rid himself of his
"monster"... his "Frankenstein" 
And "The Hulk's" equally powerful determination to
overpower his "weak side."

I love the passion in the story.
I love how everyone can relate to it,
how every person I've ever come in contact with,
everyone has a demon in them that they hate,
that they fight,
and they'll fight till they die.
How when this demon takes over...
it's almost life consuming,
How huge and powerful it seems to us.
How we all feel...
".....if people knew....."
How this demon doesn't make us bad.
 Just makes us Green.
and like Kermit said...
It's hard to be Green.

Eh Tu Brute?

Have you ever been taught something,

whether it be in school, or church, or your own research,

and you take away from this learning experience

some of the most powerful understandings of life,

in general or your own,

and this lesson had nothing to due with what you were actually being "taught?"

Example:

I was in my second semester of college.

My teacher brought in a Holocaust survivor

and essentially conducted a personal life history interview with her (the victim) in class.

The interviewee was a sweet old lady,

with a thick polish(?) accent.

She told little stories from various times of her life,

often about how her day dreams about dancing,

which was her life's passion,

kept her going throughout various hardships that she endured during the war.

I sat in awe while listening to her speak of her life,

how there was never traces of bitterness in her words that so vividly described various tortures.

Her words were very factual, and very realistic. 

Yet when she spoke of dancing,

her face would light up, and her voice became intertwined with a hopeful giggle. 

I remember thinking

"I love this class.

I love this teacher.

I love this little old lady.

I love that I'm understanding the lesson."

And I was understanding what was being taught.

I was going to be able to write a paper about this,

get an A, 

and move on to my next semester.

Just when I was feeling great about everything,

the little old lady said something that caught me off gaurd.

Not something that was worse than anything that she had said before;

This story actually seemed somewhat mild to the previous stories.

Yet... there was sadness in her voice now,

there was pain in her eyes,

and bitterness in her demeanor.

I quickly looked down at my notes 

to see if I had missed some great detail.

I hadn't...

The war had ended, 

the soldiers had come to save them, 

they were on a many day journey back to (insert rescue place)

during the nights, a few of the soldiers would rape her.

(rape wasn't a foreign thing to her life) 

She continued on with her story,

but I stopped listening.

 I couldn't get the look in her eyes, or the twinge in her voice out of my head 

when she talked about that part of her life. 

Finally she finished her story,

we all thanked her, 

and that sweet little old lady, 

crooked back, noby knees and all left. 

The class discussed her strength,

the pleasant air that surrounded her,

and the importance of passion in ones life

(hers being dance)

I stayed relatively quiet during the discussion.

 Continuing to replay that small portion of her story over and over.

As I walked out of the classroom, 

I turned to walk the long way out to my car.

I needed more time to think.

It was surprising to me how little time I actually needed

before I was sitting  on the steps in the school,

with tears streaming down my face.

The second I stopped thinking about her trials,

and began to think of my own,

how many of them I could speak factually of,

yet there were some that would always make my heart ache, 

I understood it. 

Finally.

These soldiers.. had promised to save her;

they promised happiness,

they promised freedom,

and they hurt her, just like everyone else.

Now.. I'm not sure if anyone is still reading 

because, lets be honest, this is really long;

and those of you who are still reading,

are you understanding?

Are you understanding the difference in the pain?

The distinction between pain caused by someone who only promised pain,

and the pain caused by someone who promised things in contrast of pain?

The contrast between Julius Cesar's conspirators

and his close friend Brutus.

 I recently have sat in my car

a few (many) times

remembering that sweet little old lady,

and empathizing with her 

(to a very small degree);

I sit there in my car

with those familiar hot tears staining my face 

and uttering

"you too?"

 

Eh Tu Brute?

Musicality Monday 6.10

Good morning, good evening, good whatever it is to you.

Welcome to the first of many "Music Mondays"

I'm not really sure what this really means...

or even what I want it to mean,

But here's what it is right now:

I'm going to introduce you to my favorite

1...2...or possibly 3

song(s) of the week.

I might write more about the song than just posting the video.

I might not. 

 (I'll do whatever the heck I want)

So this first song isn't a new song in my life.

It's the kind of song that you dance to with the lights dimmed, 

the kind of dancing where you throw your head back and let the song consume your heart.

The song that your stomach turns when you listen to it,

but sometimes it just fits.

I didn't like this next song the first time I heard it.

Or the second time.

or third.

Honestly I still don't know how I feel about it,

but for whatever reason I find myself humming it

and it's hard to dispute her unique voice

What do you think?

What are your favorite songs right now?

 

identity

I have 3 blogs.

yeah. 3.

t.h.r.e.e.

I have this one, which about 4 people read

(shout out to my faithful readers!)

Bunkkbeds.

And then one more (it's a secret)

This blog is where I get on and write whatever. 

I write about missing my mom. 

I write about my cousin.

Sometimes the posts are funny,

Sometimes they're dumb.

They usually have something to do with music.

The point is... This blog will never make you cry,

and never tell you much more than you already know.

Bunkkbeds is different...

there are 5 authors

and our identities are secret. 

The idea behind that is to help create a false sense of security. 

Ya know... allowing us to say what we want,

creating a rough layer of a "secret identity"

And then I have one more.

I have a fake name on that one,

and everyone I mention in that blog also has a fake name. 

That blog is gut-wrenching-ly-honest.

No one that I know personally knows the address to this blog,

nor ever will.

The reason I bring all this up is because I find this fascinating,

That the blog that people know it's me,

Hillary Ivie,

this blog doesn't share a whole lot of information that I don't talk about anyway,

and the less my identity is known...

the more open I become.

Interesting isn't it?

It's like that line from 

"Perks of Being a Wallflower"

where Charlie turns to Sam and says

"do you ever think, that if people knew how crazy you really were that no one would ever talk to you?"

yes. That's exactly what I think.

On Stage.

I figured something out!

No.. Like... this is HUGE

I figured out something that has potential to save my next relationship.

Ok, background stories first.

Story #1

(not really a story.. just more of a fact)

I love performing.

I always have, 

I love dancing around, singing, and taking on a whole new role of "who" I am.

 I would rather be on stage dancing,

or in front of a camera lip syncing,

Than just about anywhere else at any time.

  I feel most comfortable in my own skin when I'm performing.

(note: if you egg me on at all... I will perform. It's not hard to get me to put on a show)

Story #2

I was eating dinner with a friend (of... 7 years?)

and he sat there and talked about how frustrating it is to be around me because

I can not take a compliment. 

(I got him to admit I've gotten a kabillion times better over the years)

And it's not that I'm bashful when someone compliments me,

I just flat out don't believe them. 

I try.

I want to.

But I don't. 

Or even if I do believe them, I don't think it's anything special.

It's frustrating for everyone involved and I hate it.

So. 

My realization.

The man I marry... will just have to know this about me,

(while I will continue to work on just taking a compliment)

He'll know the way to tell me he thinks I look nice is in a dramatic applause. 

No.

 looking nice = golf clap

looking really good = real clap

Happy to be with me, thinks I have a good personality (er something) = standing ovation. 

People lie when they talk,

but no one lies when they applaud.