013// Relive Me

It’s lovely to me the way you talk about the parts of life that get you excited
it’s as if you are experiencing them for the very first time
over and over
Watching your eyes light up anew as you relive something that has already thrilled you once before-
it’s a privilege.
I find myself becoming increasing attached to the corners of your mouth
the ones that inch upwards when you talk about the clouds

Perhaps this is quite selfish,
but I like it even more when you re-live me
.

06.06.17 

Being loved is a privilege, a privilege, a privilege and I think more people should write honestly about how that feels. 

With Love, 

Kolina 

012// Missing Season

I should have known it when I felt it first –
when the colours on the leaves started changing 
and the air became real crisp in the morning- 
It’s in the glimmer of rays that shine onto windows
and reflect through condensation on a glass of water-
the one that I held to my lips right before I smelled it-
right before it filled me up and I sighed it out.
Then I wished I could have it back again. 
It lingers in the mist and rests among the leaves-
only to let its presence be known by the soft crunches that sound so familiar. 

She told me her heart
always aches this time of year 
and I said “listen, I get it.
Autumn is missing people season.
At least it’s poetic.”

With a sentimental heart,

Kolina

10.21.17

Recipe for Raw Grief

From the Kitchen of Theresa’s Heart
Serves: One

Ingredients:

1 heaping cup disbelief
1 tablespoon reluctance to say goodbye
16 ounces excruciating pain
3 cups brutal sadness
2 tablespoons confusion (substitute questioning)
1/2 cup constant obsessing
8 ounces anger (substitute feeling misunderstood)
2 teaspoons agonizing guilt
3/4 cup embarassment
1 quart lonliness
Dash of untimely and needless

Directions: Preheat oven to 1123 degrees. In a small bowl, mix disbelief with reluctance to say goodbye. Next, trim platitudes from excruciating pain and discard. use mixture to coat pain. cook in scalding cast-iron skillet until blackened. set aside. fill large pot with tears and bring to boil. Lower heat; pour brutal sadness into a pot and cover. Allow to simmer for weeks. When sadness is numb, remove from heat and drain tears from pot. stir confusion and constant obsessing into sadness and set aside. Use mallet to pound anger until tender. Cut into bit sized pieces. fry in pan over high heat with agonizing guilt and embarrassment. When anger turns red, remove pan from heat. Layer on the sadness mixture, then cover with anger, guilt, and shame. Top with loneliness. Season with untimely and needless. Place in oven and bake until loneliness turns into intense longing. Let sit for a lifetime.

Notes: Pairs well with absolute fear. Best served smothered in love and compassion (may need assistance). Garnish with a sense of peace.

– Excerpt from “Bearing the Unbearable; Love, loss and the Heartbreaking Path of Grief” by Joanne Cacciatore.

I’m sharing these words because if you’ve never experienced loss then these words might scratch the surface of what it’s like. And if you have? Doesn’t it feel like she took the thoughts right out of your soul?

Sending love,

Kolina

011// Look at me Now

I looked at the pictures she had taken of me in the Garden

— smile on my face 

sun beaming

And I thought to myself that if I could send

any picture to heaven it would be this one

“Look Dad and Oma, I shine just like the flowers do” 


Real talk on loss:

Perhaps the cruelest part of losing a loved one is that I do not get to show them who I am today. A strange form of self love that I have received from them? When I think of how proud of me they would be I am beaming with acceptance and acknowledgement of my accomplishments. They’re harder to recognize when I just think of them myself, at least for me anyways. What a strange and interesting lesson I have gained from this experience. The lessons never stop– for that I am grateful. Blessed really, to have to angels who teach me so much even in their absence. The ones we love are never really gone though are they? Not a chance.

With love,

Kolina

010//My Kindness is Raw

People say that I will change
As if the world can harden me

They have looked at me with the same knowing in their eyes,
since I was 15 years old
As if they can predict that one day my kindness will be all used up

it has been eight years since I first noticed it
the only difference between now and then
is that I cannot be used, stepped on or pushed aside

My kindness is as raw as ever.

 

 

With Love,

Kolina

 

 

What I Thought I needed

I like rainy days because they don’t carry any weight to them
It seems that the earth can just take a break and be
without any expectations but to grow and nurture itself
The flowers are blooming the way I imagine myself.
Slowly- with a great silent effort, and then? All at once.

“It makes me sad to think about how long I let myself suffer with the things that I have been through before I chose self care”

– you were doing what you thought you needed.


Today’s theme?

Compartmentalization.
What a word, safety net, and horrid space.

For me? My go-to, certified A+, one way street to a coping mechanism that is a full proof and easy way to make sure you can walk through hell with a smile on your face.
Put whatever happened in a box, seal it with a kiss, DON’T talk about it and NEVER look at it again. And there you go, you’re happy all the time because it just. doesn’t. exist.

I’m on a bit of a self journey at the moment (… isn’t life one big self journey…)  and that’s why I want to talk about what we can recognize in ourselves as methods of coping that we mask as healing.

“It makes me sad to think about how long I let myself suffer with the things that I have been through before I chose self care”

I thought I was saving myself. Now I realize that there’s a lot of grief and loss in my life that has never gone away. It feels like a breath of fresh air to say that. To recognize that it’s okay, but what I thought was self care… well it wasn’t. I’m not even sure I know what I’ve learned from this yet other than that I need to not do it.

What is self care to me now? I don’t know if I have the answer to that yet.
Right now it comes in baby steps. I get more sleep, do yoga, I (try to) say no when I don’t have time to see people, I eat ice cream more than once a month, I take myself on walks and sit with trees, and most importantly I give myself permission to feel and do my best not to apologize for taking the time I need to do that.
OH.. and I cry. A lot. Not just about sad, but when I feel joy as well.

This isn’t a self help blog. I’m not here to teach you how to practice self care, or tell  you that you compartmentalize or cope in certain ways. Because that would imply that I know what I’m doing or that I think the way I live is the way that others should.

What I’d love to start is a conversation. How do you see self care? How do you implement it into your busy life? What are ways in which you have learned from dealing with HARD, earth shattering shit. How do you recognize when you’re dealing with something in an unhealthy way? What do you do about it?

I think the ways in which we cope are undeniably human. I want to know more about it. I want it to be something we aren’t scared to talk about.
Share with me?

With Love,

Kolina

009//My Mother is a Shapeshifter

How can i understand
what it means to provide a home
when i have not felt
what it’s like
to have
two hearts beating
together

i age, and think to myself
that i understand
sacrifices
willpower
strength
and resilience

without ever having
the expectation to reciprocate
the way She has
moulded Herself to fit my life

when our souls were empty
she was the river that filled me first
when i was tired
She would rise as sunshine
to help me grow
when i was weak
She became my energy
only to give up what little She had left

how did i get here
if not for Her

She is a fortress 
a barricade that rose
around me
that fought against the world
for a single soul
the wall that has held me strong

My mother is a shapeshifter
and I am trying to flow
into the ebbs and waves of who she is

so that i too
can lay myself down
and ask
who do you need be to be?

With all of the love for my angel Mama on earth, and my angel Oma in heaven.
I am the luckiest to have you both.
Kolina

It was Romantic

Recently, I took the train to Toronto and immediately felt nostalgic. The sun was rising like a bright orange globe hanging over Hamilton and glimmering just.. ‘so’ through the windows.  This was the first time I’d been on a train since I returned home from galavanting through Europe with my family this summer. I felt that old familiar ache you get in your chest when you’re ‘happysad’:

happysad
/ˈhapē/ /sad/
adjective: your gut is clenching because you’re just so giddy and every experience is flashing past your eyes as if it’s just happened. But your heart is also sinking because it won’t happen like that again.

It was wonderfully peaceful, being on the train, and made me reflect on how lucky I am to have had that time to travel with my family– a gift that not many get to experience.

On the way home I stumbled upon the poem “Dead Poets” , by Lang Leav. The story goes that a young girl pledges her life to the poetry that lives among the shelves of an old library. They are filled with authors that have now passed. The poets are sad for her as she doesn’t realize she will now relive heartache as it happens to her throughout her life.  She ends the poem concluding that “poets are among the damned… having hands that do not know what they seek”.

I resonate with this. It seems that people who experience hardship somehow make beauty out of their lives. It’s incredible to me and I want to do the same. However, this hardship can become a safety blanket. A warm space to crawl under when the world seems a bit smaller and darker.

There seems to be some preconceived notion- through media, books & films that the main character must overcome great sorrow, heartache and hardship to make the story riveting. There was a big part of me that romanticized hardship as a child. I used to put so much weight into yearning for a tragic beauty. For a life that threw me around, beat me up, and spit me out a strong independent women who could take on anything. Realistically, that’s exactly what I got, but is it romantic? 

Much of my poetry is quite sad, or reflects on hardship that I have experienced or witnessed. Sometimes I wonder what I would write about if those events where not part of my life. What will I write about when I get to a point in my life when there is no sad or heartbreaking poetry left? Why is poetry better when it’s sad? Would I be the person I am today had I not been able to persevere? Probably not. 

I started a new book the other month and in the beginning I wrote “I want to fill this with book with happiness.” A harder feat than I expected considering I spend a great amount my time during the day actively seeking out good. Why is it easier to dwell on the bad, rather than zero in on the good? It seems to me though that we need more celebration of happiness. To make a choice to consciously know it, see it, feel it and remember it.

I want to romanticize happiness. 

Perhaps if poets are meant to re-experience as they create their art, they can then relive the good as well.

Wishing you all a lot of good & a lot light this Monday morning.

With Love,

Kolina