Category Archives: From the heart

Things that hurt, healed, or just touch me deeply

From the heart, The Writers Block

My Daddy’s Vest

My daddy was born with a vest.

I’m not sure if it was in a warm bath or a hospital room where he first uncurled his toes. Or if he took his first breath in the hands of his doctor or his mere at home, all that I know is when they cut his umbilical cord, they forgot to take off his vest.

Maybe when he was young, as his sisters would dress him for kindergarten and walk him over with his hand held tight, they wouldn’t remove the vest since it was so big it never really made a difference to take it off.

I imagine as his legs lengthened and his afro shot outwards, as he answered math questions with a certain quickness that those who knew him would often comment on, that vest would shine with many colors. Like the technicolor coat we used to hear about in the old Abrahamic story of Joseph.

I wonder if he heard the same story when he used to go to the bible study, or what if he thought it was just a ridiculous tall tale. My dad is a practical man, but also a vault; you rarely know what he is thinking.

I imagine his seven sisters saw his vest and found it beautiful; perhaps they were even jealous, but ignorant to the fact that upon close observation, there were layers of cross-linked chains that lined his vibrant garb.

Maybe when escaping death at the beach, traveling from the warmth of Port-au-Prince to the frigid air of Jersey, or getting a divorce, the chains would increase in weight.

My father wore his vest with pride, I think, but I hated it.

Vibrancy can be deceptive, its beauty coveted but misunderstood. Everyone seemingly desires beauty but forgets the way it can objectify its host.

The beauty of his outer garments shone when someone needed him, or money, or advice, but the indents in his shoulders were ugly.

I longed for the day he would take it off, though in small moments he did when he was so happy at his surprise birthday parties or our family trips. I long for his retirement, for grandchildren, for old age, and worsened eyesight.

My daddy no longer wears his vest, but not by his own choice. I wear his vest to remember how amazing he is, but the chain-linked crosses inside, I will burn.

For J.R.B, my one and only princess, I love you.

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From the heart

Young Yet Older

The change in weather signals that the start of spring is soon to come, and it’s evidence, alongside the sound of groans as I get up from bed, that time waits for none.

I’m reminded of my father, a living time machine. When I visit home, I love to rub my fingers over the grey spikes that now litter his scalp. I feel the weight of nostalgia when I embrace him, remembering moments from my childhood: dancing on his toes, the look of disappointment on his face when I was distracted by everything but what mattered, the one time I saw him cry, and now, the strange WhatsApp messages we share. He’s always been an old man who yells too much, but now he’s fragile and forgetful, so much older than I remember.

I set out to write something poetic on youth and aging, but lately, something else has been weighing on me. I’ll write, assuming that if it’s meant to, the right people will read and understand to whom I’m speaking.

I think of dim sum, craft nights, and the sting of betrayal.

It’s hard to ignore the contrast between the people who once filled my days with joy and those who have become the source of my pain. There’s a heaviness in seeing people I once looked up to turn away from me, distorting the truth or using my flaws as weapons. Some probably didn’t intend to hurt me, but others seemed to take pleasure in pointing out every fault. It’s a bitter realization that those who were once so close can now feel like strangers.

Despite all this, I remind myself that guilt, though painful, is not our enemy, it’s an invitation to grow. I’ve learned that our mistakes, no matter how big or small, can’t erase us, but they reveal parts of us we often try to hide. Our insecurities, fears, and weaknesses come to light when we face the truth of our human nature.

I know that many of you are good-hearted, though like all of us, flawed and in need of growth. Still, I hold onto the hope that we can all do better. I want to offer grace, and in return, I ask for the same. I’ll do my best not to harbor bitterness or remember the passive-aggressive comments, and I ask that we try to meet each other with kindness, even when it’s hard.

In all of this, I will always cherish the good memories:

Talks about babies growing from a pear to a watermelon, weekend trips to the beach, nights watching Single’s Inferno, YA game nights with confusing prompts, prayer circles, stories of stealing boats with friends.

They are etched into my heart, and I will carry them with me. But I also recognize that some relationships might not evolve in the same way they once did. You’re always in my prayers. I am just not sure if we should make any more memories together. Maybe we will, or someday awkwardly greet each other and talk about how time flies.

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From the heart

Young & Perfect

Perfection is an interesting concept—difficult to attain, seemingly foolish to desire, yet something I have often strived toward. I hear ‘nobody’s perfect,’ but it’s hard to believe, especially considering that for much of my life, I was not often given the gift of being childish. I don’t mean this in a patronizing way, but as a woman who has been told (in a well-meaning way) that I am ‘mature for my age’ since high school.

My mother is stunning, still beautiful in her older years, but she’s not as soft-spoken as she once was. She has deep wrinkles beneath her eyes, evidence of a life that’s been through hell. Her hair, though, is frozen in the 80s, styled in an Elvis-like slick-back. I remember the day we found a place to live outside of her cream-stained Mazda. It wasn’t much—a small room at the end of a hallway. It had to fit my mom, my brother, my sister, and me.

“Mommy knows you’re upset; I’m upset too, so cry,” my mom said as my sister and I clung to each other in tears.

I’m not sure why we cried. Maybe it was fear, maybe it was uncertainty, or maybe it was just the overwhelming reality of the situation. But it was one of those moments that has always stuck with me, and I am reminded of whenever I watch “coming-of-age” films. I used to watch those movies and think how immature the main characters seemed when they struggled with something that, to me, felt so simple. But then I realized—maybe they weren’t being immature at all. They were just being kids.

It’s strange how those times can feel so frustrating in the moment—like how absent-minded my mom could be and how much stress that added to us as children. But now, looking back, I see that she was doing the best she could, and we were just surviving, doing the best we could too.

When I see my mom now, hunched over and frail, I don’t know what I feel. I know I love her, but in a way, I resent her for burdening me with the need to be strong. I stopped complaining or asking for help years ago, since it often never came. Perfection—or the illusion of it—has kept me stable.

“Why can’t you remember things for me? You know how stressed I am.”
“You have to think of a career where you can support your mom, too.”
“Why isn’t dinner ready, and why is the hallway such a mess?”

What I learned is that my needs are always secondary to others’, and my purpose became being the perfect hollow daughter. Perfection, however, is inhumane. It makes it difficult to know when to ask for help, and I struggle to relax or open up—even to the coolest people. Sometimes, I think I have to be perfect, so they won’t leave, just like when I was younger.

I’ve learned to rely on myself. It’s hard to trust others and even harder to let go of control. I’m praying to learn how to do this—so the next time I feel myself acting immature, I’ll allow it, wonder why I feel so childlike, and give myself the grace to not be perfect.

A random one today, but I’ll leave you this verse;

1 Peter 5:7 Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.

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From the heart, The Writers Block

On Being An Young Woman

A note on my current love life October 9, 2023:

This morning I was rejected by someone I thought was really cool. I liked his laugh, his voice, and always had this overwhelming desire to hold his hand. I share this not because it feels awesome but because for the first time, in relation to my heart, I didn’t lie to myself. I needed to hear a “no” to let go and I didn’t beg to know why or try to prove I was worth his affection. While it hurts, I feel like a woman who is determined to protect her heart even if it means I have to be vulnerable. I think with the next man I’ll even be brave enough to say how I feel from the jump.

A short one today but with much love,

V

My favorite memory from my rejector; The way he seemed to look at me like I was the only girl in the room (or maybe not).

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From the heart

Young, Restless, & maybe Broken?

Hello unblended fam, Hope your doing well on the other side of this screen_

My mind has been every where lately, I wrote this title line to chat about how I have been feeling about year long heart break (sad I know but under my rock hard exterior I am very sensitive) but now I just feeling like typing.

I am a very interesting girl and I say this completely sarcastically as my dream would be to live on a quiet farm away from the noise of life. The part of me I don’t get is the need to be in control of everything (humanly impossible) while still having a mountain of anxieties and a propensity to worry constantly.

Worry about the first guy I fell in love with, was it even love, was it passion, lust, or all of the above?

Worry, that somewhere in my walk with Christ I walk back to the old me that has a habit of looking for love from anything and any person. Will I stay here with someone who loves me (Jesus Christ) or start searching for something that will eventually fade away to make me momentarily “happy”?

Will I be selfish and when things get hard or when I feel alone go back to my comforts of passions of lust, porn, or over eating. The old Mero she is a mess who is stubborn woman who thinks she knows everything. The old me is rebellious usually equating sex to love.

Am I smart enough to make it through a graduate program? Will I crash and burn? Will all my life consist of doubting God and His ability to make me whole?

I write this from a difficult place in my life when I desperately want to be closer to God but all my ugly struggles with my identity, attractions (opposite or same sex), intelligence, pride, and sanity are all in question. When I speak to the Lord about it I expect a million answers but all I get is (and all I really needed);

“The Battle is for the Lord, so why are you stressing yourself

the Battle is for the Lord, so stay silent

Better you place the battle in the hands of the Lord because you cannot endure the fight yourself“

and these verses;

1 Cor 6:9

1 Peter 5:7

Philp 4: 6-7

1 Corit 10:13

Rom 8:1

Because the truth is still the truth whether it stings and while every part of me aches to stay in the old me were I can escape pain or a thirst for intimacy in my habits of sin, God is calling me higher and I want to go. Because even through the heartbreak, confusions about my sexuality, rebellion and extreme doubts about my faith, there was Jesus.

Pouring out unbelievable amounts of love that made me understand why some people are willing to leave [every]thing that we think will make us whole for Him. He loves us so deeply it’s crazy, I never really understood that until the day He asked me to be honest about all of my struggles, he didn’t condemn me or hate me (He also made it clear I didn’t have the license to act on my desires) but asked me to trust Him, to trust that it’s lie to believe my affections, struggles, or doubts are Me rather than the new person He is creating in HIS way, in his image and HIS time.

While I currently wrestle with so many things in my life, there is Jesus speaking to me and being so patient. Even if the road ahead will be difficult and no matter how scary I really want Him to be able to count on me. So though certain parts about my life are more confusing then others, God is asking me to trust Him, will you trust Him too?

So here’s to one of the longest post I have ever written but I hope it encourages you to stay unblended. 

38 For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, 39 Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:38-39

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