Why She Will Be Loved

Personal Note~ I originally wrote this article for a blog I work for, www.literallydarling.com. However, I've decided to also share it on here because of how much it means to me. I am not quite sure how relatable this was, but it was honestly one of the hardest pieces I had ever written (aka 2 1/2 hours of crying, drinking coffee, and staring at a computer screen at 3AM). 

I just want to address upfront that, regardless of the past, some memories should remain recognized within the moment-- not after the fact. Anyway, I hope you guys like this one! 

xx Ella

Suitcases and boxes sat in an assembly line fashion in my bedroom. The two-week mark into my summer had approached, meaning that spring cleaning was far overdue. I was finally ready to unpack, but first I turned on my all-time favorite song, She Will Be Loved by Maroon 5.

“Beauty queen of only eighteen
She had some trouble with herself
He was always there to help her
She always belonged to someone else”

They say there is nothing like your first love. That must explain why five years later, the walls of my bedroom still gleam the fluorescent bright green color we painted them, despite the not so bright outcome of our relationship.

“Look for the girl with the broken smile
Ask her if she wants to stay awhile”

I thought to myself– okay I can worry about my wall decorations later, when lo and behold, I stumbled upon my sophomore year yearbook that’s titled “What I Have Become” in big red letters. Interestingly enough, my sophomore year signifies the year I fell in love for the first time. Anyway, as I read through the two-page note written by my first love in my yearbook, something hit me. While there laid the notes and memories spelling out what I had become at that time in my life, I could only wish to read words printed in big red letters spelling out what I will become for the rest of my life. Something else hit me too, I still needed to unpack.

“I know where you hide alone in your car
Know all of the things that make you who you are”

My bedroom used to be the one place I was not scared of being alone. However as I was spring cleaning, I was distracted by the realization that my safe haven was suddenly threatened by that very fear. Whether it was due to a flip of my yearbook page or a blink of an eye, all of a sudden it had dawned on me what I had originally thought made my bedroom so safe. What I had conducted to believe would make my room a place of security, in fact, made it the complete opposite as a result of coping against the thought of being alone. My bedroom wound-up being my biggest contradiction as it had evolved into a memorial for all my past relationships.

“I know that goodbye means nothing at all
Comes back and begs me to catch her every time she falls”

I still have the one thousand paper cranes that my first love folded for me, which is located in the same room where my second love’s plaid shirt is folded for my keeping.

“Tap on my window, knock on my door
I want to make you feel beautiful”

As the song concludes with the words,

“Please don’t try so hard to say goodbye”,

echoing in the background of the chorus line, I cannot help but recall all the instances when I had tried and succeeded at saying goodbye– all the more reason why I fear being alone in the end. But the mere fact that, without even trying, my bedroom had practically been transformed into a gallery of others’ hearts that have come and gone, only further indicates that my fear is illogical.

No big red letters need to be printed in order to spell out what will become of the girl that was once loved in the yearbook, because she will conquer her fear of being alone since she knows that:

“She Will Be Loved”.

How to Celebrate Mother's Day Without a Mom

“There's a story behind everything, but behind all your stories is always your mother's story... because hers is where yours begins.”
-Mitch Albom

I praise Mitch Albom as a man of words, because he phrased my outlook in life much better than I ever could. Albom is the author of The Five People You Meet in Heaven, a novel I read in 8th grade, as well as a novel I could not personally relate to until a few days after my 8th grade graduation, when my mom became one of the five people I would hope to meet again in heaven. 

Six years have passed since I last celebrated Mother's Day with my mom. Whereas, for the last five years, I have spent that holiday hiding in my sheets hoping that by keeping my sheets hidden shut, it would in turn, keep my heavy heart hidden and shut as well.

Let's be honest- Hallmark created this holiday simply as a business tactic. And for the sake of Hallmark, they should feel beyond fortunate that in the past, I chose to spend this day by wasting it in hiding from a world that banished the one woman I look up to. Because if we lived in a world where my imagination was justified and acted upon (which to certain extents could and should never happen), I would riot against Hallmark and all the nonsense holidays they have created. However, right when I am ready to get out of bed and riot, I remember the one woman I look up to and realize that while I look up to her, she would hate to look down on me in these conditions. Indeed my mom lays under a tomb, yet she would never wish for me to spend a single day of my life as if I lay under a tomb with her.

With all the above said, the best Mother's Day gift I can give to a mother that cannot celebrate the holiday with her daughter is to get out from under the tomb I have created and not riot. 

Six years have passed since I last celebrated Mother's Day with my mom. Six years have passed since my little sister and I recorded a video, in which we took turns exchanging some of the various reasons why we love Miss Milagros DaCosta Cajayon, aka the woman we are fortunate enough to call Mom. I will never forget watching my mother cry as she watched us in the video. That was the first and only time I had ever seen her cry, which is why I will not riot against Hallmark. Their creation of made-up, nonsense holidays may be tearjerkers, but the tears relinquished on these holidays do not necessarily have to be tears for a tombstone.

This Mother's Day, my gift to her is that I will not let her see me cry, and instead, look forward to the day she will be one of the people I meet again in heaven.

Cooler Than a Wallflower

"Au rire on connaît le fou."
 -French Proverb

At a young age, I was taught to never eat with my elbows on the table and to walk as if my head and shoulders were attached to strings connected to the sky. From the moment I could talk, I was told to always think before I speak, annunciate the words "please" and "thank you", and count my blessings in moments of silence.

At 20 years old, I won four awards within the same week, and consequently all these awards seemed to reiterate on a common theme of positivity. Upon receiving these awards, I could not help but elude how proud I was of myself, since I have always portrayed myself as a wallflower. On top of that, I was almost positive that I had relinquished my title of a wallflower, after I won first place in the only real competition I have ever signed up for in my entire life. However my thoughts completely shifted when someone admitted that their favorite aspect about me was not when I am poised, which would credit to my awards, but rather when I am outspoken. 

This made me question whether or not I have truly exceeded past my days as a wallflower, and in fact made me ponder if maybe my infamous positivity and bubbly spirit have merely confined me even more so as a wallflower. As bizarre of a concept that may seem, it quickly translated into common sense that is as simple as my everyday decision on whether to buy coffee or not. Just like the coffee I drink that runs through my veins, eventually the caffeine I consume will wear off leaving me exactly where I started.

At a young age, I was introduced to coffee, too. Hence, full circle.

No matter how much cream and sugar I add to my coffee, my coffee will always start from coffee beans. Just like no matter how positive I am, or whether I eat with my elbows off the table, or walk as if my head and shoulders were attached to strings connected to the sky, or think before I speak while annunciating the words "please" and "thank you" as I count my blessings in moments of silence, who I am will always rely on where I started. 

I may be poised or I may be outspoken, and that is what makes me cooler than a wallflower.