I've been wanting to write again, for a while now. I suck at talking to people and as I get older it seems my anxieties and fears only get worse. While I still have friends, I find myself having a hard time trusting most everyone, myself included, and from time to time I'll shut myself off completely with the exception of my art.
As I was lying here giving myself the indulgence of a couple days off, pigging out to my hearts (dis)content, my old 3 year plan came back to me. The one I had put together just before I met the one person I trust these days, my boyfriend. My partner in crime. My bear, who makes sure I never feel like Goldilocks, Mr. Bird.
It's been almost two years already. He's been amazing in giving me space to heal and grow. He's a smart one. He broke my code on the day we met, figured me out and got me to fall in love with him by being who I needed him to be. In other words, he put in the effort. It almost makes me feel guilty sometimes I can't do more for him than being a sweet escape from the hellish battles he seems to fight everyday. Apparently it's enough for him, that I can be a pink glittery oasis in a world of self absorbed blood suckers and entitlement.
I remember I was at a point my shell was getting harder by the day when we met. I was learning to self preserve and seemed to be on a path to become a lonely amazon. That timeline was disturbed and the present timeline was created when two unlikely fellows became acquainted over something as nerdy as Star Trek.
I liked her, the woman I was becoming. She was strong, albeit lonely, and more powerful than I'll ever be. Her plan was to work like a mule for 2 years and move to Asia to study the food to become a proper food writer. She's in there somewhere, grumbling while I watch anime to fall asleep, beckoning to go to Asia. She is also very selfish, which makes me worry that she will come out at a bad time. I guess to be self preserving is to be selfish.
I've been in a very interesting place in my mind since we decided it was only logical for me to move to Vegas. When was that? Somewhere around this time last year, I think. I had just had one of the best summers and if three months of daily coexistence didn't hurt the flame, we figured this would work out.
Yes, it will work out. But ever since this time last year I've been waiting. Not passively waiting. Actively waiting. But still, waiting. It's an unique position. Short term plans only. Anything farther than a year away is more like a day dream than a plan.
Now I have 8 months left. Left on my lease. Left to tie loose ends in Brazil and make preparations for my life in the US. Obviously I plan on returning, maybe twice a year, to tour for a month or so and share the knowledge I am in an unique position to gather abroad. I have a linguistic advantage I'm well aware of when it comes to my area of study, burlesque, and my peers in this country. I never dreamt I would move to Vegas, but a closer look at the history of my art form and it makes sense.
The legends are there. The museum is there. And now I will be as well. To build a life. To have an actual nest. A suburban sized home oh so different from my cozy 344 sq feet apartment in Sao Paulo which now looks so much like me it's painful to start taking it apart. But I can build a bigger world out there. I'll even have to face new challenges. I never thought I would be eager to learn how to drive, but now I am. Driving means independence in America, and I have had to come to terms with that.
Writing is an interesting way to unravel the mess of threads in my mind. I'll be back here, with my nightmares and dreams of Asia, burlesque, my eating issues and what not.
This is a personal journal. I just choose to leave it out in the open. But these are musings about my life and here and there, a daydream or two. Proceed with caution.
I like the quote of the day on my desktop App:
"Life is simple. Are you happy? Yes? Keep going. No? Change something."