365 Attempts (At Life)

Yesterday on my flight home I re-watched Before Sunrise, a movie that epitomized love and romance for me when I was 18. Twenty years later and I still got butterflies at the same parts. But it felt so strange now. To understand how time and experience can alter your perception of a love story. To understand how much easier optimism is before you've really loved.

It’s still a novelty to me. Being in the sky. Flying. Watching the world below. The airplane casting the tiniest blip of shadow from 40,000 feet through candy clouds. I’m flying with my mama, taking her to Florida for a little vacation. I’m immensely grateful she was granted leave by her doctor to have a warm getaway. Some happy normalcy in a year that has been anything but. Her smile comes fast and easily when our eyes meet. She’s so damn cute. Wearing her running shoes and pearls. You would never know of her struggles. Not by looking at her. Sun fills the jet and, for now, everything feels just like it was before cancer made its presence known. I’ve said it before, but we don’t appreciate the “normal ordinary” moments enough. They might be mundane and boring but they mean everything is ok. You’re not in crisis. You’re not diving into worry, stress, anger or sadness. You’re not feeling sick. You’re just living and breathing. Like normal. Or in my mom’s case, you’

I was taken by surprise that he made me blush. As if my skin knew something I hadn’t figured out yet. Realizing he noticed, only made the shade deepen. Then even my mouth betrayed me with a smile.

It’s the heartbreaking thing nobody tells you. That growing up is mostly learning to cope with loss.

It’s been a rough week. With very limited sleep. I just wanted to hurry through my busy day and get home to take care of my mom who has been fighting the flu and fever. When my sister texted and asked me to pick up my nephew after work I was a little annoyed. It was a detour and I was exhausted. But the minute I arrived and saw him waving and excitedly doing his fortnite dance in the freezing cold, I couldn’t help but laugh. He threw his bags in the backseat and began babbling about his day. After a while, Bruno Mars came on the radio and he just started singing along. Loudly. With all his heart - and he sounded great! I looked at him and marveled. I don't have kids, but seeing my nephew sing the way I used to at his age made me so proud and nostalgic. I started to harmonize with him. He seemed pleased. Before I knew it, we were on the highway in traffic and both of us were singing at the top of our lungs. If you would have told me this morning that by nightfall I’d