I am not the most religious of people. To be perfectly honest, I go to mass because my mother wants me to. While I cannot profess a close and loving relationship to God, I love my mother, and if me going to mass makes her happy, I’ll go to mass. I’ll attend the processions, pray the rosaries, and partake in Holy Week traditions while other people my age are off to the beach or out of the country because we hardly get vacations that long in the span of a year.

I started and finished my education in Catholic schools. I pray at night on my own. When there are things that I am extra thankful for, or when things are rough, I open conversations with God, hoping for guidance, and maybe just a little help or just professing gratitude.

I have to admit sometimes that it’s hard. Sitting there listening to things that I do not agree with. Mutely absorbing things that I feel very strongly against, and not confronting the person spouting all these opinions to an audience that will take him at his word because of his job. Sometimes, priests make it really hard for me to be a Catholic.

Today was one of those days.

You see this man:

with his holy water and shiny white robe told us in his sermon today that God brought Yolanda upon us because of the passing of the RH Bill.

Yes. He attributed the biggest storm ever to hit land in the Philippines to lawmakers signing a bill allowing people to take control of their reproductive health.

He told us that this was God telling us that we were sinners and that He is still God and to stop sinning, to stop living a life of sin.

I was fuming. On two fronts. The first because I am a staunch believer in reproductive health. Life is precious, sacred, and should be taken care of. If you can’t feed a child, or are not ready for one, I believe you, as a responsible, logical adult should take steps to make sure you don’t make one. That means being protected against diseases as well, and making sure your health, when you are ready, is fit for taking care of the baby, or giving birth to it when the time comes.

The RH Bill will prevent children being malnourished, or having to resort to desperate measures to feed themselves, or being left alone to die of hunger while their parents, who were unfit to have them in the first place, free to make more because they didn’t have the means to have their tubes tied, or just have basic birth control.

But I digress.

I was extra angry in behalf of the people in the provinces trying to rebuild their lives, the people flying in all over the world trying to help them, and those far away from the front lines but are still trying their best to make sure that the provinces stricken by this typhoon have lives to get back to.

While here we were in mass, in an airconditioned room, in a mall, cushy, comfortable, and know where our next meal was going to be, here was a man of God, blaming a bill for the disastrous events of November 8, 2013 that have changed millions of lives in our country.

It was extra difficult to be a Catholic today. And I do believe that God up there didn’t sic this storm on the country to “punish us for our sinfulness”, and I wouldn’t even begin to try and understand why this happened.

However, in my mind, the God that I believe in isn’t a vindictive, petty god that wanted to “teach us a lesson” that day.

I love the God that I know, and that wasn’t Him.

As a sometime girl, I truly understand the power of retail therapy, and the happiness of finding the perfect shoes to go with the dress you’ve had in your closet for ages but can’t seem to wear. How pretty prints seem even prettier when you try them on and they actually look good on you.

However, as a fairly bulky girl, and a year round tan in my late 20s, I know my limitations. So please stop me should I attempt to wear the following:

1. High waisted shorts:

With an ample booty and womanly thighs, these reincarnation of mom jeans will only make me look like I gave birth three times over. And cutoffs, really? I’m 27. Cutoffs with strings hanging down from them should have an age limit if you’re not 5’11 and 125lbs.

2. Drop crotch pants:

As a 90s kid, these still resonate as hammer pants. And no, I can’t and I won’t touch those.

3. Cropped tops:

Because it’s been a decade since I’ve had a flat stomach. My muffin top will stay inside its lining thankyouverymuch.

 

4. Heeled sneakers:

One, they’re expensive (this one costs $89.97). Two, they’re wedges (I am not a fan of wedges). Three, they’re sneakers you can’t run in. Four, these need sky high legs to pull them off. They’re pretty, but thanks, no thanks.

5. Fringe

While fringe has been here since the 1920s and actually can be very classy, I would feel too much like a broom.

 

6. Clogs

Pricey bakya. Nuff said.

7. Rompers

Nevermind that they’d be hard to pull off, but for a person that constantly needs to pee, this would be a nightmare.

 

To be fair, the fashion trends I’ve posted look amazing on people that can pull them off. I think with enough panache, confidence, and an IDGAF attitude, people can pretty much wear anything and have it look good. But I myself am 27 and have worn crazy trends the past decades that I’ve come to regret when flipping through albums, and don’t have the patience to suck my gut in for four hours, etc, etc.

Not really a “problem”, but we’ve all been pretty laden with heavy stuff these past two weeks, and figure, a post about something light can’t hurt. Here’s to fashion that looks good, and me knowing when to stop.

But then again, I am a glitter girl, so when I pile on the sparkle, just avert your eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

Life is difficult. Everyone has their battles, their own struggles that they have to survive every single day. While some obstacles are harder than others, comparing your pain to other people is difficult and a waste of time and emotion. Don’t belittle other people’s problems because you think yours are bigger, or belittle your own pain because you think theirs is more important.

Pain helps. It reminds us that we’re still human. It makes us appreciate the joy when it comes in. It helps us grow to be stronger people. However, for me, the length of emotional pain we choose to go under is at some point a choice.

People deal with loss, grief, depression, and all other forms of pain in their own way. Some choose alcohol. Some food. Some through tears. Others denial. As different people, with different support systems and perspectives, we have our own coping mechanisms to get through it.

But when is it dealing with pain and when is it wallowing? When do we say stop, and realize that it’s doing us no good to focus on the bad and move on to the good?

What I think is, when you decide it is.

It’s a personal choice. When to stop. When to move on. When to choose getting up in the morning and going to work, or just staying in bed crying.

I read somewhere that Arthur Conan Doyle said, “We can’t control our love, but we can command our actions” which I think is where I’m going with this. Our feelings may not be our own, shit happens and our hearts choose the most unfortunate of people to fall for. We hate the things that should help us succeed. We don’t feel connected to God, which is a frustrating, debilitating feeling for those who want desperately to be.

So what am I trying to say? I guess that I know I can tap into pain and suffering anytime I want, and wallow in missed opportunities, life choices and decisions that have maybe put me off the path I was supposed to, but today, I’m choosing to not wallow. Thanking my lucky stars I’m still here and able to even write this. For all the happiness that I’ve encountered when I’ve tried to wallow. For all I’ve learned with all the punches life has thrown me. For life. For love.

I’m choosing the good today. And maybe that’s enough for now.