Roses. More and more, they seem to symbolize change. For example, I have a dozen of roses that my fiancé brought home for me three weeks ago. Thats right: THREE WEEKS AGO. They are slowly drying but they are not dead. They are beautiful in their ugliness. They seem to be fighting for life. They are sprouting new leaves and they are resting upright, defiantly looking at the sun through my window. They don’t seem to care that they look like they’re 100 years old.
The rose in the Beauty and the Beast. The very symbol of humility and change, slowly shedding its petals one by one to remind the vain prince that life is in fact a ticking time-bomb and time does not give a damn about you and your life. Time continues. Time goes on. Time does not pause nor wait for anyone. Time is the God of all gods, far mightier than fear or happiness. Far mightier than money and beauty. Time is always triumphant and arrogant and endless. Time simply doesn’t stop.
Roses simultaneously remind me of life and death. Of new beginnings and endings. Of celebrations and mournings.
My life seems to be full of those lately. Recent events in my life have me feeling the highest of highs; the lows are slowly creeping up on me. It’s a familiar, very particular brand of happiness. It’s special in its own way. It is the kind of happiness that hurts.
My little sister graduated from high school yesterday and is going to FSU on a full scholarship. I am so happy and gleaming with pride while my heart simultaneously aches anticipating her departure. Having my brother (who traveled from Seattle to be here), my mom and my sister at the same dining table this weekend made me realize how while growing up we easily take these simple, seemingly mundane moments for granted. And it occurred to me that families who live in the same city and can do this often perhaps don’t realize how precious it is. Time is what I pray for at night. Time with the people I love. Time with the people I need.
So, in between the joy of spending time with my family, my sister’s graduation, seeing my brother for the first time since Christmas, to then realizing that my sister leaves in 19 days, to hugging my brother good-bye (yet again), I’ve had quite the dose of endings and beginnings, celebrations and mournings. These pictures were taken a few weeks ago but the truth is I haven’t been feeling much like writing about style, or hair or even makeup lately. This sheer floral Kimono unleashed this train of thoughts and for therapeutic reasons I always end up here, on my MacBook, pouring it all out because I always feel lighter when I’m done. This is why I’ve been keeping a journal since I was nine years-old. The healing power of writing is what keeps me coming back here.