Earrings and Ambition

I've had the same problem my whole life...I have too much ambition and no self control. As a child I would run into walls, fall, and do it again. It didn't matter how much it hurt, or how much I finally realized I could not walk through walls, I was going to do it until I succeeded...or more likely, passed out. And now as a psuedo-adult living a pseudo-adult life, my problem remains unchanged. For example, right now at this juncture in my life, the career plan I seem to be aiming for sounds a lot like photographer/amateur jewelry maker/part time florist/freelance writer/unprofessional travel blogger/pastry chef/college professor.

And no, I have not made any attempts to whittle down this title. Because, like I said, too much ambition and little to no self-control.

So this Monday morning, do I wake up and go to American Lit?

Nope.

Instead, I wake up, find a screwdriver, a handful of broken jewelry, a mixed media wood fixture my dad and I started months ago in my carpenter phase, four old license plates, and some metal clippers.

I actually screwed stuff into my walls. Like with an actual screwdriver. In the hands of a 5'4 1/2" girl, what could this possibly begin to mean?

And then, immediately after I relinquished the power tool from my hands, I sat down and made earrings.

So my point, if I even have one, is that at 19 and a half years old you are going to make A LOT of mistakes. Change A LOT of plans. Date A LOT of people you probably shouldn't. Pick up A LOT of great talents and hobbies. And give your parents a headache as they try to keep up with the side effects of your growing pains.

But this year I'm just going with the flow. Because this feels like change, and I'm always up for change (as long as it includes lots of cupcakes and power tools).

xoxo Yaz

Les Fleurs

Ever since I can remember, flowers have been a defining part of my life. My Mom started her own business when I was just a little kid, opening up a flower shop and learning the ropes from the ground up on her own. Pretty soon her business became a full-fledged event planning operation, housed in....our garage!

Plastic buckets of hydrangeas, alstroemerias, and dusty miller greens took the place of our cars, and her friends joined in the process to help put the magic together. I would sit on overturned buckets and watch these women speak in spicy Farsi and delicately place each stem where it belonged until there was a delicate, whole, and intentionally pieced floral arrangement or bouquet on each shelf.

I guess we all grow up saying we want to grow up to be exactly the OPPOSITE, or at least as close to it, as our parents. At least in respect of their occupations. We see the stress, turmoil, and long hours on their faces and think of how we can diverge from whatever genetic inevitabilities that string us along with them in order to live more comfortably, less a prisoner of our jobs.

BUT...I guess that was never to be the case with me.

Working with organic, living things is so gratifying. It is ephemeral art that connects you to the Earth, AND in turn connects two other destined-to-be-together people.

It's magic. And that's how everyone should feel about their jobs, right?

xoxo Yaz

Writing

This blog will be the comparatively lighter twin to my previous blog, which houses a lot of my little writings over the past few years. But If you would like to check it out here is the link:

http://fallingasleepbehindthewheel.blogspot.com/

To Remember

I predicted that they would be able to read in between the lines, that I had enabled them somehow to do so. That's what I selfishly expected of them. Yet, in the meantime, I had been living with the people I created. Ostensibly I waited impatiently in solitude, yet I was leaning on the shoulders of my imaginary spectrum of personalities. I will admit I have built so many walls over the past few years, but if one were to look closely enough they would see that the walls themselves were made of transparent and malleable material, like plastic. Taking into account the actions of those around me, whom I do not believe have blind eyes, I must conclude that this facade has become a perverse reality. Against my better judgement, I feed and nourish this malicious demon and its basket of fallacies. I stand back and taste salt on my cheeks as I watch it grow and envelope each facet of my being with its shadow. How can I stand in full view of this horror? I call myself a martyr, yet cannot identify the cause to which I have bound myself to. It is well known that loneliness will drive any man or woman mad, but it seems so candid. It seems too conscious of a decent to make the trek without an anesthetic. I am wrought with a dissociative sadness that inundates itself into to every new cell that groans it's way into my pores. I drive long distances and think this through, philosophical skepticism paired with ordinary skepticism ,and no conclusion is derived. I park in the garage, get out of the car, and think "fuck, I'm alone".

I live with the people I create and it has always made my essential loneliness less keen. Carson McCullers

copyright Yasamin Aftahi 2011

It seems that at 19, it is easier than ever to make mistakes. Especially when the year was 2012. But it was last night, through a parade of incomprehensible and circus-sized dreams, that I decided to face my fork in the road head on and just go with it.I realized, "Yes I loved a fox, and yes he bit me, but if I choose to see this as a fact of life the sun will come out"

Last year was a train wreck of self-pity and taking every little thing too seriously, and I don't feel that way anymore. I don't feel like the same girl I was even two weeks ago and, in summation, the way that I approach my life has to change along with the changes in me. Because I don't wake up feeling sad anymore, I don't use words to hide from all the aspects of my life that I am too fearful of to face, at least as much as I used to.Writer of short stories, singer, poet, baker, amateur photographer, hoarder of secondhand clothing, mom obsessed 19 year old. I don't want to compromise a single part of me. I'm so tired of feeling every single thing with such ferocity that it hinders me from really feeling anything at all. Hit so hard you become numb. So from now on I shall try to open up the french doors of my chest and let everything flow through as they please. The messy, sticky, painful parts as well as the joyful, awe inspiring parts.This may not be the first time I've promised myself these things. But I'm not a child anymore. These decisions are completely in my hands. If I want to be happy and full, no one can stop me but me. I promise future blog posts will not be as corny and gag-inducing as this one.Beginnings are often harder than goodbyesxoxo yazP.S check back this week for some flower arranging how to's