how the other half lives
bogota blackberry,
fruit sangria, black satin, ski teal, espresso, second honeymoon, and elephantastic pink all
wiggle at the end of their toes, taunting me, flexing their beauty, glistening
in dedication. a good chunk of time and patience goes into these ten centimeter
masterpieces; precious time being something I don’t contain.
girls being
how girls are, I too own a collection of petite painting polishes with various
colors even more daring such as silent mauve, big apple red, bring on the
bling, mojito madness, and very cranberry. but yet, lonesome they remain in a box,
dusty untouched on the highest shelf in the farthest corner of a closet I hardly
ever open.
but I long
to. I long for the days when my biggest decision was deliberated while
inspecting my hair in the mirror wondering if there’s any way to salvage it. I
long to take the time to blow a calm breeze on my wet toenails, not really in a
hurry but more cautious of smudging the surface with my absentmindedness. I
long for days of sleeping in past seven, having the time to talk to the birds
in the morning. to share glances with myself in the mirror so lines or dark
circles don’t surprise me when I catch my reflection at the corner of my eye.
I long to
live. I long to breathe. to enjoy moments instead of stressing over deadlines and
success promising myself, “…just one more week. just one more week, then you’ll
have time to..”
…time to do
what? to laugh? to cry? to call your best friend whom you haven’t spoken to in
months, to jog off your winter pounds, to go to the eye doctor, to pay rent, to
do you laundry you haven’t touched in eons, to call your mom on her birthday,
to stop by your dad’s office to just say hi and not ask for something for once,
to hug your boyfriend for an extended duration, to squeeze your kitty one more time
before passing out from exhaustion.
to celebrate life.
but instead, all I can do is go through the motions and
complete the tasks that are expected of me.
so I remain
envious, almost bitter at the bright obnoxious colors glimmering just to spite
me, coaxing me saying, you don’t have
time--
leaving
me to wonder: which is truly living? having the time to pamper the tips of my
toes or being so caught up in furthering my education, contributing to society,
and bettering my future that ironically, I ignore myself. I ignore crucial
components of life that are essential for functioning properly. Who is Truly Living?
