Javier Canale

❝Women are not naturally more empathetic, compassionate, nurturing than men are, although it is fun to think so when you are not in a position to disprove this.❞
"Feminism and 50 Shades Hangover” by Jessa Crispin (via spoliamag)


 Seiman C Photography

I want to be here.

I’m just not a nice person.

I think today was the first time I was honest enough to say that.

I don’t think that excuses me from showing the love of Christ, or from exemplifying the “kindness that leads to repentance”. I think one could be kind with out having a demeanor that is traditionally classified as “nice.”

And I also don’t think that not being nice takes away the romance in relationships… It just means that the romance has to be real and not contrived.

Yea. I’m actually quite abrasive and have little patience for small thinking. There’s patience for other things… but not for smallness.

I’m cynical. Specifically toward things that have the potential to live great and free.

I’m tired of translating things. Of always having to let people know they’re valued and worth my time while also trying to have the conversation I’m having.

I don’t mind cooing children… But when I have to do that with my peers I feel completely dishonest and disconnected.

I also realize that the reason why I’m nice most of the time is because I really want/need people to be nice back. It gives me some sort of illusion for safety in my life. And I’ve been conscious of this fact for a while… But I think I’ve been handling it like a pill that I haven’t swallowed yet.

I think finally I swallowed it.

Using niceness works for customer service jobs… But it leaves the door open for manipulative and unbalanced expectations in real relationships. You end up tolerating things that undermine your value as a person.

I don’t dig it.

I think I’m in a good spot right now.

All I’ve got to do here is grow. To evaluate,to actively wait, and change.

I’ve been a part of this music project for over a year now. “I am a percussionist.” "I am a percussionist". Doesn’t feel real saying.

Most of my life seems to be that way. I’ve been meeting really awesome people. People who are a lot “cooler” than I’d ever care to be. I’ve been traveling. Playing music. Working as a waitress. And a booking agent for the band.

I’ve been taking percussion lessons because I think that’s the best way to take care of this time of my life. Because I think it’d be awesome to do commission work for local projects.

I’ve wrote and recorded a piece for a friend of mine, Michael. Though, he could have only used a part of it for the end product, I’m still really glad I decided to put my brain to something I’ve never practiced before.

And welI, like doing things like that… deciding that I’m capable, and figuring out a way to do what what ever it is. I’m finding that I’m a lot more capable of doing things than I realize most of the time. And that’s definitely true for everyone if it’s true for me.

Anyways, I’m seeing the common denominators in my life. The things that are consistent even in my inconsistencies. I think that’s a good start.

It means that even the mundane parts of my life can be infused with practices that will be good for all other adventures afoot.

Eventually, I’d like to go back to school again. Studying things that help me build other things. Maybe housing, maybe decor. Maybe something even less useful than decor. I don’t know. I know those sorts of things are in me, though.

My small prayer is to have the rest of my life infused with meaning and good practice. To have a wonderful story. To make things. Yea.

If you come to the back of this Starbucks I’ll give you my other chocolate cookie, and you can smell my sticky, shoe-less, feet.

Therefore, putting aside all filthiness and all that remains of wickedness, in humility receive the word implanted, which is able to save your souls.

It takes time to not choose ignorance or bitterness. 
It takes time to choose not to be desolate. 
Most don’t have the longevity, or the patience. 
I’ll look out hoping to find those stories of redemption; 
I’ll hope to be objective for a second. 

Out there I’ll find the truth in here. 
In loving my neighbor, in giving, and praying. 
In practice I’ll find truth. 
In tight-lipped, strength-inducing, liturgy. 
I have little faith. 
But I’ll be what I was created to be 
regardless of what feels right “naturally”. 
For truth I will choose. 

I am daughter. 
I am sister. 
I am friend. 
And one day, maybe, 
I’ll be a counter-part again. 

I’ve had to wait and see 
if my love will return to me. 
He’s gone to the garden, 
marching around it’s walls. 
Thinking on all he’s lost. 
Streams he used to swim, 
and trees he used to climb. 
He remembered where he named the deer, 
why and when. 
He thinks on his old life. 
And I don’t know if i’ll ever see him 
like I did when we first met. 

My mother, Eve, was never without Adam. 
But I’ve been without him. 
I still don’t understand. 
Created for experience of
both design and collaboration. 

By the one true story, 
and by all the insane little stories that happen in between. 
I am daughter. 
I am sister. 
I am friend. 

It takes time to not choose ignorance or bitterness. 
It takes time to choose not to be a desolate woman.

I got to talk to my dad about his past. He had a wife and kids before he met my mom. And he’s going to be visiting the Philippines in september. Reuniting with family and friends from school. I was scared to ask him about his other family. I was scared because I didn’t want to hear him say that he just left because he didn’t know what else to do.

That would mean that there was a part of my dad’s heart that was on arrest. That was not available. That was hidden somewhere in the philippines. And I guess that’s okay if it is… you can’t change those sort of facts. And life still flows in one direction, regardless of how painful the past. You have to move on, even if you lose a limb or two on the way. 

That’s still really hard for me to understand. 

I wonder what sort of life he lived when he was out there. I mean, the streets that he traveled and the places he would walk. The people he was glad to see, and the people he was afraid to see. I wonder what sort of things he’ll be thinking about when he’s away. If he’ll feel detached from his family here, or if he’ll really miss us. 

I think I’m okay with being unsure of either, though. The last couple weeks has taught me to accept flawed humanity, even when it affects the core of us. 

Regardless of how my dad might feel at any given point about his current life, he’s still choosing to good with it. He’s working with what he’s got. 

Because of that my dad has always been a safe place for me. 

Sometimes I forget that he’s also a person in need of a safe place. That he’s someone who has deep thoughts and emotions. That he has a spirit that is leading him and guiding him. I wonder how free he feels in his own skin, and what could possibly hold him back if he didn’t. 

I love my dad a lot. Sometime the thought of him makes me want to cry. And I’m really not sure why. 

I think it might be because he’s always just wanted the best for me. And has always wanted good to come from me. I don’t ever remember feeling like he needed anything from me. Like some parents need affirmation from their kids, or the success of their kids to feel like valid parents. He’s always just served. He’s always just been good and consistent. 

And that’s not to chalk him up to be perfect. But he’s my dad. And I think he’s done a wonderful job so far. 

I wonder if he knows that.

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