Friday, November 9, 2012

why do i always miss what i don't have, or what i've moved on from? why can't i ever be in the present? in THIS moment? why can't i be thankful for what i have, not what i'm lacking?

Thursday, August 18, 2011


I loved this blog, but really I have a tumblr now that I use to be honest with myself. If you want some honest words, check out or my passion,

To Be Filled In Later is officially laid to rest.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Here I sit, again. Once again another curve ball and another decision to make. I've never felt like more of an adult, but then at the same time, I've never felt like more of a child. Life hit hard in May, and now we are half way through July and I have a decision to make. Do I move in September, or in January? This should be such a simple question, but like everything, there is way more complication that I wish.

January makes sense for many reasons. In January I could transfer with a stable job, maybe even in a higher position. By January there would be a lot of time spend with my family, helping my mom cope with the current situations, and spend time with my little brother.

In reality, my family is amazing and I know they can do it all on their own. In even more reality, my mother is pushing me to move. She says my life shouldn't stop because of the recent events, and I hate how much my heart agrees.

I want a new city to learn the streets of. New shops and forests to get lost in. I've been looking up things in Portland, Oregon all day long. A bookshop that covers three blocks. Coffee shops that are open 24 hours. Vintage shopping and farmers markets. Constant music, constant shows. I want the adventure that I feel I can find here. I want something new.

I turn twenty in a month and my life can't stop. And if it's not completely Portland, it will be Vancouver, all while living in Camas. Then eventually it will be Seattle. This feels selfish, but at the same time my mom is right, this can't cause my life to stop.


Thursday, June 9, 2011

Silently I'm angry. Silently I'm furious. Silently I give up on a god, but I don't really mean that. Silently I really want to give up on a god.

I want to yell and I want to scream. I want it to be me. I know the bad is over, and I should be so thankful that he's alive, and I am, but I'm still angry. I still can't find any reason for this, and I know I never will. I know I shouldn't turn a blog to let these things out, but my fingers are tired from attempting to not fail this semester and a keyboard is the only thing that is making sense.

He will go through life differently now. He hurt his head, and we don't know if that will heal. Shell shock.

I wish screaming 'fuck you' to whatever is up in the Heavens would save my problems, would heal him in a second, because it's how I feel. He did nothing to deserve this. Nothing to get his life stopped. Nothing to make his life harder. His life has been hard enough. It's just so unfair. So fucking unfair.

This is pointless. This won't change anything.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

or better yet, date a girl who writes

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

Rosemarie Urquico

Thursday, May 19, 2011

a list of letters

- you've disappointed me more than any friend in a long while. i expected more, like i always do, but i should have listened. i never listen. you don't care about the friendship. all that matters to you are surface problems that really don't matter in the long run. you think you're so wild, so mature, but really you have a lot to learn. you care more about what you could say, rather than what you say. when i reached out to you, you ignored my plea. once again life has showed me that i cannot put important titles on anything because that ruins everything. turns out junior year version of me was right. the only think i have to thank you for is showing me what i should have remembered.

- and here we are, yet another disappointment. i never regret that you're not in our life, and just because one of us cannot speak yet, does not mean you can pretend as though you've always been here. what is it with everyone pretending to make their own selfish egos seem important? you aren't, any of you. it's just like the situation where someone passes away and people who hated them like to pretend like they were best friends with them. why try to fool yourself while simply making yourself look like a fool? you're not wanted, you never have been, and after this, i promise that you won't be.

- to you, thank you for being my genuine friend even when we go without speaking for weeks. thank you for putting sense to random texts that i send you when i feel as though i'm over emotional. thank you for genuinely caring about someone who means so much to me, even though i'm fairly certain you never met him. thank you for just being one of the most wonderful people i know. i've tried to tell you, but i'll probably never get it across like i want to, but just know that your friendship has meant so much to me.

- thank you to everyone who has sent a genuine message, text, comment, right down to the @replies in regards to how my baby brother is doing. the people who honestly cared that he would live through this, cared how my family was doing, and said even if it was the littlest thing that they'd be here for anything. this has caused me to learn so much about people, and every single one of you has meant the world to me and my family.

- and to you, finally, my amazing little brother. our relationship is strange, and we spend way too much time getting on each others nerves, but i love you with everything. i couldn't imagine this world without you in it. you're a strong motherfucker, and i believe that you are invincible. nothing can beat you and you will get through this. i love you with everything, and trust me, i've written more than this little paragraph to you in these past few weeks. i can't express how i feel in words, i'll just have to show you the rest of your lives. i'm so excited to see you grow up and live your life because you deserve to. you weren't taken from us for a reason, bud. you have way to much to offer in this world.

Monday, May 9, 2011

c'est la vie

this was created for real writing, real feelings, and honestly i need to put this somewhere. tumblr doesn't work because then it becomes a cry for attention. i can't write in my journal because my brain is too tired to remember how to use a pen. and as far as vocalizing it goes, i've done enough of that to last me a while. this week has been the longest of my life, and it started last tuesday when my baby brother was hit by a dodge 1500 truck while riding his skateboard.

i'm not here to write about the details of his accident, or even his condition in the hospital. i'm writing about my little brother, P.J. or Jon Italy Black, depending on what you know him by. he's seventeen and a down right pain in my ass. no one in this world has ever irritated me more or made me scream louder, and honestly, what else can you expect from your little brother? but i also never thought that he would be hurt, that he would be laying in a hospital bed not being able to talk to me, that i would ever really have to worry about losing him. the kid is near invincible. i know few who can top his level of bad ass-ness, but many who try. that's something i really love about him, he doesn't try. he's the most honest, real person because he's never thought about not being that way. he's never desired to be anything except what he felt was him, what he wanted. in many ways i'm envious of that, envious of how he can just be. just be him.

not to be cliche, but i also never realized that these incidents, these accidents, these horrible chances of fate make you see peoples true colours. i've had friends ask every day how my brother is, and others not mention a word. people who ask about details about the accident, and people who ask about my baby brother. there may not be much of a difference, but when you're the family, there really is. you see, this past week my younger brother has really fought for his life. in all reality, he has yet to be declared as 'stable'. he's a bad ass who hit the nurse when he was in pain, but whose body couldn't control his own blood pressure. yes, he could squeeze our hands when we were with him, but he can't eat and he definitely couldn't breathe on his own. in all honesty, my family could have lost their baby this week but thankfully due to prayer and good thought, we didn't.

it's not over. he's going have to be a trooper and a punk to get through this. there's a long road of recovery, and plans for my personal future are pushed aside for his recovery. things change, and c'est la vie, we are here.