we set the stage.

We often think of circumstances as the factor which we have no control over. The coefficient in life’s equation. Who told us this? Seriously? What a joke! More importantly, why did we buy into it? And why can we not see just what a mistaken train of thought it really is? I mean come on, we are so quick to underestimate the control we have over our circumstance and oh how quickly do we over-credit our externalities.

Thankfully, the more I live, the more I experience, the more I realize we are exactly where we want to be. I know it’s hard to hear because it requires accountability, but guess what? It’s true. We set the stage. We’re as happy as we want to be. And we’re as lonely as we want to be be. Period. It’s hard to accept because it implies taking a long, hard look at our actions. And once you see it, you cant continue passing on blame like a game of hot potato.

Therefore, when we find ourselves in ridiculous situations ( like I do now), there is no one else to blame but ourselves. When we stop and ask ourselves, How did I get here? The answer is one word. You. You got here. I got here! Newsflash! We set our own damn traps. What self-sabotaging, pain-inflicting beings we are!

I’m surrounded by relationships going nowhere. Relationships with not even the slightest possibility of a future. All of them! Coincidence? No.

Burns and other related things

I came home tonight mighty hungry. 8 o’clock and no dinner yet. Man. I could either rush and whip something in .02 seconds or I could exercise patience and take out the recipe I’d cut out from last week’s newspaper. As I pondered this crucial decision, I put some water to boil and turned the radio on. I stood next to the big window pane, feeling the cold draft seep in through the old, weathered cracks and I raised the volume a little louder. Wow, beautiful. What a great song. I didn’t recognize it, but it was just what I was yearning to hear. I immediately remembered, oh yeah, its Monday night. That’s when this particular radio station does album screenings. Excellent, I thought.

Great music changes everything.

I turned the lights off, all except for the small yellow bulb above the stove. I have a thing for doing things in the dark. Listening to music, showering, cooking… it’s a long list. I poured the boiling water into my favorite blue colored mug, raised my hair in a tangled bun, and took out my stain-filled apron. After taking a few sips from my steamy drink,  I stood up and walked over to the fridge. I took out what I needed, turned on the stove and allowed my hands to take over. Do you ever get lost in whatever it is you’re doing? I do. Often.

Then it happened. A perfect moment. The kind that is so subtle, you often fail to recognize it. Nevertheless, there it was. In the middle of my kitchen. At the end of a long, cold day. Just like that, the world got quiet. All the little voices died off and the mental white noise, the kind that follows you around all day long, simply drifted away. For a few minutes, the only thing present was the song playing on the radio and my hand’s rhythmic motion as I sliced through a nice, big, yellow onion.  The soft, buzzing sound from the oven heating up, the motion of falling snow catching the corner of my eye… Like I said, perfection.

Eventually, I opened up the oven door and reached inside to check on my culinary achievement. Kitzia mastering the oven baked, dill-sauce covered fish filet. Of course, I did not bother to pick up one of the pretty oven gloves hanging on the hook next to the door. I wasn’t exactly expecting to burn myself either. But I did. I saw the exact moment I bent my wrist and placed my hand on a collision course with the hot, iron brass. I didn’t stop it. I just watched. Then, illuminated by the red light of the hot oven, I observed as my ski changed color and sort of shriveled up. It didn’t really hurt at first. But I could tell it was a bad burn. I licked it. Once, twice, three times. I’d never done that before. Is that what burnt skin taste like? It was bitter. Really bitter. Maybe that wasnt the taste of burnt skin. It tasted so chemical-ish. Maybe it was the taste of  burnt lotion. Wait, I wasn’t wearing lotion. I licked an unburnt spot on m hand just to make sure. Tasted normal enough. I looked at the wound some more. It was sort of pretty. It was changing some more. Now it was a little puffy, a deeper shade of red, and perfectly formed. I touched it softly. Ow.

And then I thought of you. Out of all the thoughts this moment could have triggered, it triggered you. And in one split second my mind drew a million parallels between you and this burn. You were one and the same. Down to the same bitter taste. Unlike the burn however, there’s no way I’d bring my hand anywhere near the oven right now. Much less place it next to the brass, but you… you on the other hand were a whole ‘nother story. Can someone please tell me why I kept sticking my hand in the oven with you?

I don’t know. Self mutilation? Masochism? Some other equally twisted explanation? It doesn’t matter, I’m through picking at my wounds. I’m letting them heal. I’m taking my dish and I’m getting out of the kitchen.

Goodnight.

Uphill climb

Three years ago my life hit a fork in the road. Cue in Robert Frost’s famous poem. Ta da! Inspiration. My fork wasn’t any old flimsy fork… it was the mother of all forks. And I knew it. I stood there, with my very own life altering decision and… pondered? No, not really. There was never a question in my mind regarding which road to take. Even though I knew the options I faced were like night and day. Even though I knew each one would take me down distinct journeys, each eventually leading to two very different destinations.  The answer was always clear. There was none of that, all roads lead to Rome type of mentality. No, it was perfectly clear to me that the end of these two paths would end up being thousands and thousands of miles apart (I say that not just in a metaphorical way, but in a very literal way too). So, armed with my feminist, independent, I-can-do-anything spirit, I took a deep breath and began walking down my very own “road less taken” knowing full well I was crossing the “point of no return” with the very first step.

I was so happily enthralled in everything I was coming across on my new adventurous life path, that at first, I did not notice that my chosen road was nothing but an uphill climb. That tiny, but rather important bit of information, did eventually smack me on the side of the head. It has not left my thoughts ever since. You see, the interesting thing about uphill climbs, as compared to pleasant flat-grounded walks, is that you have no way of knowing what lies ahead. There is no as far as the eye can see. Your view is rather limited. In my case, as far as I could see was three years down the road. Turns out, when walking uphill, there just so happens to be a big, fat peak standing between you and what lies ahead. The only real option you have is to keep your head up, keep placing one foot in front of the other, and hope that by the time you reach the top of the peak, you will be prepared to meet what comes next.

So here I am. My peak draws closer every day. Graduation. And I have no idea what lies below. I say below because I am a wishful thinker. I’m hoping that what goes up, goes down. As much as I have LOVED the last 3 years of my life, they have also been filled with enormous amounts of trials and difficulties. Most of which make me wonder, does any of this happen to other 22-year-old girls? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I’m perfectly aware that my extenuating circumstances are a big part of what have made me the unique individual I am today. All I’m saying is that I would gladly welcome some downtime. At least for a little while. A nicely paced downhill walk would suit me well, I think. Nevertheless, I’m perfectly aware that once I reach the top of my peak, I might just encounter a bigger peak looming up ahead.

Perhaps looming might not be the correct word. It sounds so dreadful. When the time comes, I know I might be tempted to just sit there, legs cradled in my arms, and stare at my new, tall, intimidating peak for some time. But that’s okay. There is no doubt in my mind that after a short-lived holy crap! moment, I would eventually gather my wits, pick myself up, and courageously take on any new challenge that came my way. Pause. I think I’m getting distracted from the point I was trying to make. Point:  it’s not what lies ahead, or what doesn’t, it’s not knowing!

Come to think about it, the last time I felt this way was 5 years ago. Flashback! My 18th birthday, April 18, 2005. I have never been more depressed than I am now. I’ve just come home from school and all I can think about it OMG! I don’t want to grow up. I’m not ready to be an adult. I have NO IDEA what I want to do with my life. I think that was the first time I had one of my little “nervous breakdowns”. Paulina walked in, my cousin who was visiting, and asked what was wrong. Bad idea. What followed was an emotional explosion of bottled up feelings, questions, insecurities, and fears. All of which were babbled incomprehensibly while I cried, no… wait, sobbed, gasped for breath, and laid on my bed. After such a firework of emotions, I was drained. I fell asleep in her arms and all I could remember her saying was, Kitzia, everything is going to work out. Trust me.

For reasons which I won’t go into now, I felt like my life was crashing down around me. Everyone I knew had plans. Plans for this, plans for that. And me? I was plan-less. I could barely tell up from down, much less figure out what in the world I was going to do once I walked up on that stage and was handed my diploma. The funny thing is, everything did work out. I never figured out what I was going to do, but I didn’t have to. I know that makes no sense. Let me explain. I soon realized, It didn’t matter what plans I made. I could make all the plans I wanted. It wouldn’t change things. The key was figuring out what plans He had for me, and then following those plans. The answer did come. As unconventional and illogical as it may have seemed at the time, He knew where to lead me. And thankfully, I was humble enough to say, Okay, I’ll follow.

Now back to the present. I’ve spent the last 6 months searching for my answer. I’ve tried so hard to listen. I’ve asked in every possible way I could think of. And nothing. Lately, I’ve been wondering why it is I haven’t receive anything. Not even a peep. Am I asking the wrong question? Did I somehow miss the answer? I’ve thought a lot about the metaphor of the radio. They say listening to the promptings of the holy ghost is like listening to the radio, you have to be tuned in to the right frequency, or else you wont get anything. It leaves me thinking, am I not tuned in to the right frequency? Or is he waiting to the very last moment, the way he did 5 years ago? Faith is not real until it is tried, i know that, but it feels as though mine is definitely being tried right now. The predominant voice inside me reminds me that there is no way my Heavenly Father would leave me to fend for myself, ever, especially now, which is such a critical moment in my life. But there is also a little voice, the one I try hard to shut out, that questions, why isn’t he answering you? Goodness gracious, I can already hear my dad saying, oh kitzia, where is your faith?

It’s right here! Being tried, tested and strengthened. Man, if my faith had a body, it’s be a freaking bodybuilder. So where does that leave me? It leave me right here. T minus 5 months. Tick, tock, tick, tock…

Swedish Winter

I’ve never experienced winter for more than a few days at a time. I grew up in California, where people take out their “winter” clothes when the temperature dips below 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Do you get where I’m going with this?

Growing up, the word snow, was present in my vocabulary for two reasons, and two reasons only. Reason 1) Weekend getaways to Big Bear Mountain. Reason 2) Christmas vacations to some place with high elevation. And, as much as I enjoyed these winter escapades, it was obvious that a few days surrounded by icy landscapes was more than enough to make me long for the sandy beaches and constant sunshine of Orange County. I figured my body just wasn’t built for weather that didn’t consist of clear blue skies, a t-shirt, and shorts.

Needless to say, the cold was never my forté.

It came as no surprise to me, upon realizing I would be spending the next three years in the country of Sweden, that the first thing to cross my mind was, Crap! Doesn’t it get like… really cold there? I must admit, I was more than a little worried regarding how I would cope with my first winter season in the land of the Vikings. But fate must have smiled upon me. That or global warming was doing me a favor. The point of the matter is, the first two winter seasons I experienced in Sweden were not bad at all. OK, it probably helped that I took a month in Mexico the first year, and yes, I may have run off to California the second, BUT … ever year, by the time I would come back, the worst would always be over. Turns out Swedish Winters (at least in Jönköping) weren’t anything like what I had imagined. We didn’t even get real snow! We got slush… a lot of slush and a lot of rain.  Geez! All that worrying for nothing, I thought to myself.

Well, this year I wasn’t so lucky. Like I usually do, when the days began getting dark, long and colder than a witch’s t… I did what I do best. I jumped on a plane and headed to sunny Mexico :) During my 33 day long stay, I read and heard from friends what many called the coldest winter Sweden had seen in 23 years. Hehehehehe. Suckers! It was easy to laugh at their misfortune and their tales of minus 20 degree Celsius weather while I sunbathed in my backyard drinking virgin piña coladas. The way I figured, I was going to get the best of two worlds. First, I would enjoy a nice, long month in the sun and then, upon returning to Sweden, I’d enjoy the last days of the winter season. I’d Play in the snow a little bit, take a few pictures for my scrapbook, and then I’d huddle next to my radiator with a warm cup of tea in hand and anxiously welcome spring.

Oh! how terribly wrong I was.

Little did I know the worst was far from over. As for spring, I now wonder whether it will ever get here. I’m no longer anxiously awaiting its arrival, instead, I’m desperately pleading for it to grace us with its presence! I’ve lived through a month of freezing temperatures, struggled through snow that was waist deep, and been snowed in by a blizzard. You can say I’ve had more than my share of winter. I feel as though I’ve now experienced enough winter to last me a lifetime! No more freezing hands, no more snow in my boots, no more hat hair, no more slippery sidewalks. Enough!

Sigh. I know. I’m ranting again. But only because I just slipped and fell on ice.

I have a feeling that if I am to survive this winter, I must first make my peace with it. I guess it’s not all bad, right? Of course not! I just need to focus on the more… endearing parts of it. So, as much as I look forward to once again walking outside without needing 20 pounds of clothing on me, I cannot sit here, mercilessly bashing winter, without at least bringing up some of it’s more awe inspiring qualities.

Indeed, I believe there is something to be said on waking up nice and toasty in bed, looking out your window, and seeing every rooftop covered in a thick blanket of white powder. Besides, when else do I have an excuse to drink massive amounts of tea? I have to admire winter even if just for that. It’s introduced me to an endless number of Rooibus, Cinnamon and Herbal teas… and to Kahl’s, my new best friend. Also,  I cannot deny the tranquil beauty one encounters while walking home at night; the crushing sound of freshly fallen snow beneath your winter boots, the bite in the air which makes your cheeks burn red, or the contrast between a black winter night and a cover of sparkly white snow. It is quite beautiful.

Whatever.

I’m sorry, but warm and sunny tops cold and pretty any day of the year. So, I’ll continue to make enormous efforts to see the best in piles of 7 feet snow, but lets be honest, I simply cannot wait for the day I walk outside and am not greeted by monotonous whites and grays, but rather vibrant greens, pinks, and yellows. Specifically one yellow, THE SUN!

Hope

Hope is a tricky thing. It’s a funny, two-faced, little creature. On one side her face shines and beckons, while on the other she frowns and patiently awaits to lay her grasp on you. An old Arabic proverb makes hope seem like a life necessity, stating that those who have hope, have everything. Emily Dickinson compared hope to a bird,

“Hope” is the thing with feathers —
That perches in the soul —
And sings the tune without the words —

However pretty Emily’s words may be, I don’t think they adequately portray hope, at least not in its entirety. In my opinion, it is author Leonid Sukhorukov who portrayed Hope most accurately when he wrote, Hope gives us wings but does not teach us how to fly. Bingo! You see, I think hope can be a beautiful thing. It can feed our dreams and aspirations, sure, but it can also tear them down.

Like I said, hope is tricky.

Too often do we forget that hope is contingent. Contingent upon what, you ask? Well, upon truth of course. However, people fail to acknowledge this all the time. Sadly, when this fact is not present in people’s minds, the way it often is not,  hearts are left vulnerable and out in the open. And so, like the foolish man who built his house upon the sand, we mistakenly place our hopes on weak foundations. On things, or more often on people, who do not merit such actions. Unknowingly, we welcome it, give it a home, and allow it to nest within our hearts.

Too late do we realize that this type of hope does not make us fly, but instead ties us down. It keeps us waiting. and waiting. and waiting. And with every passing day, we allow our hearts to become more and more heavy. Until one day, we open our eyes and see what we’ve been hoping for will never come because it was never there to begin with.

The Spanish say that hope dies last. Maybe. Maybe not. I think hope is a lot like love. Love doesn’t die. It should not. It cannot not. Instead,  it springs eternal within the human breast. Hope, like love, like matter, like anything good, cannot be destroy… it is simply redirected. Reinvented. Rediscovered. So here is my recommendation, take your hope and guard it. Remember that it is both the source of your greatest strength and your greatest weakness. Search patiently, steadfastly, lovingly and find a strong and true branch to perch it on, and then teach it to fly.

Late night car talks

“… when you got up, I guarantee you, there wasn’t one boy who wasn’t looking at you.”

thank you for that.

and thank you for meaning it.

outcomes

Sometimes things don’t go the way you planned.

You take all the measures you can. You take your time. You asses the factors involved. You are careful and mindful but most importantly, you don’t rush. Once you think you’ve gone through all the steps in a correct and orderly fashion, you know the only thing left to do is to take that leap of faith. Action is the hardest part. Once you do it, you know it’s out of your hands. All you can do after that point in time is wait and see, hope for the best and allow things to run their course. Some courses are longer that others. Some are long and windy. Some are calm, others are rough and shallow. Many take unexpected turns, while others come to a premature stop. However, there are certain things in life which cannot be done alone. Relationships are are one of these instances where one leap is not enough. Sometimes one jumps and having faith, does not look back and cannot see the other stayed behind. In cases like these, the outcome is always

heartache.

sjuk

Swedish entry word: juk [sju:k] sjukt sjuka adj.

English translation: ill, sick as opposed to healthy

On saturday I woke up with a hoarse, sore throat… the same feeling you get after a night of excessive singing or screaming. The funny thing was… there had been neither the night before. It wasn’t too bad, so I didn’t give it much thought and went about my day as I usually do.

Anyways, my day was rather uneventful.I went about doing my saturday chores, had lunch and then went on a teach with the sister missionaries. We taught Stela about the importance of baptism, the pre-requisites (faith, repentance, etc.) and on the gift of the holy ghost. I was asked by Sister Roberge to share what having the gift of the holy ghost meant to me and how it had changed my life. I wasn’t sure how to explain the influence of the holy ghost. Its kind of like… how do you explain the taste of salt? But I think I managed quite well. I bore my testimony to her and among other things, I said to her that the gift of the Holy ghost is a blessing you cant understand until you have it and once you have it with you, you can’t understand how you ever managed without it.

Later that night I decided to go to sleep early since I was not feeling too great. I must have slept for about an hour before I woke up feeling plain AWFULL. My tonsils were extremely swollen (I literally couldn’t swallow without cringing) , I had a major migraine, my nose was all runny, and to top it off I was running a fever. I felt as though my whole body had short circuited. It was one of the most horrible nights I’ve ever experienced.

Around 4am, I was close to my breaking point, both physically and emotionally. I was frustrated at not being able to get a wink of sleep and tired of feeling so bad. And even worse than the physical pain I was feeling, was the emotional pain of being alone in a foreign country… of not being able to walk down the hall, knock and my fathers door and receive a father’s blessing accompanied by a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

It was at this moment that a thought came into my head, “Who can I turn for peace?” (it’s my favorite hymn). I automatically went on my knees and offered one of the most simple, short, but faith-filled prayers I’ve ever said. I asked my father in heaven to ease my pain and make me well so that I could get some rest and make it to church in a couple hours.

Relief came almost instantaneous. I crawled into a fetal position, closed my eyes and could feel the power of the holy ghost. I knew I was experimenting the blessing of having this wonderful gift.  I was able to sleep for 3 hours, it wasn’t much,  but when I woke up my headache was gone and my tonsils were not longer swollen. I sat up in bed, reached for my scriptures and read in Isaiah 66:13

“As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you… ”

I closed my scriptures and tears began streaming down my cheeks. I must have sat there for a good 10 minutes just crying. They weren’t tears of joy or of sadness or of pain or frustration… they were tears of amazement. Amazement at how one sleepless night had served to strengthen my testimony. I realized that the prayer I had given had not been filled so much with faith but with knowledge. I knew my prayer would be answered. There was no doubt in my mind. Why? Because through the years and through previous experiences my faith has been tried and it has grown from a “hope in things not seen” to a “perfect knowledge”.

I did not receive a miracle healing that night, but I was well enough to go to church and ask for a priesthood blessing. I was also able to finish my fast, which meant a lot to me.  More than that, I was reminded of the importance of having the gift of the holy ghost… of having a source of comfort at all times, in all things and in all places, and of not being alone, ever =)

Karma is a bitch?

Karma: Through the law of karma, the effects of all deeds actively create past, present and future experiences, thus making one responsible for one’s own life, and the pain and joy it brings to them and others.

Even though karma is a concept belonging to Indian religions, such as hinduism, I am still a strong believer in it. It’s a topic my mind often lingers on and it’s a topic of discussion frequently held with my dad, especially as of recently. Alejandro would say it’s the California hippie in me talking… “kiki y sus teorias fumadas”. LOL. Nevertheless… I stick to it: life is a cycle and the things you do to others eventually make a full circle and come back to you.

Why do I bring this up? Quite simple. I’m on the receiving end of my karma right now.

Any human being over the age of 12 can testify to the universal truth that relationships are hard and often times, rather painful. Each relationship is different, from each one we learn but since there is no manual or rule book , most of the learning is done through trial and error. Lots and lots of errors. When we enter our young adult stage in life and the relationships we maintain with those around us increase in complexity, things tend to get messy. Especially when it comes to dating.

And I am no exeption.

I must admit, I have done some pretty stupid things; I’ve acted selfishly. I’ve Lied. I’ve given false hope. I’ve been mean, rude, nonchalant, and everything in between. On several occasions I’ve even been guilty of LITERALLY running away from certain people in order to avoid uncomfortable conversations.

However silly, dumb or immature my actions have been, the number one spot goes to the following err: opening up my heart to the wrong person. That’s definitely the biggie, and oddly enough, I think its a faux pas that many of us make. The number two spot goes to: moving forward in a relationship with someone you care about but know you don’t love. And guess what? I’m guilty of that one too.

A few years ago, I  met this great guy. He had all the qualities a good mormon girl (such as myself) was looking for. I really couldn’t find anything wrong with him. And even better.. man was he head over heels in l.o.v.e with me. I liked him well enough, but would not take that step forward with him and formalize our relationship. I played dumb with him and with ME for months! The truth is, I was waiting to feel that spark… that BOOOM! that “something” for him. But I didn’t feel it, and I knew I never would… no matter how great he was and how much I really wanted to feel that “something” for him- it just wasn’t happening.

Long story short. I know I really hurt him. Fast forward to now… and I’m suffering from my top two mistakes. I opened up my heart to the wrong person and in return the wrong person dropped a big, cold bucket of water on my by saying, ” I really like you, but you just don’t inspire a “spark” in me. There’s nothing wrong with you, you’re such a great girl… I don’t know why I feel this way, but I do.”

Karma. Ain’t it grand?