“When I was a child I made up my mind that no one loved me — that life may not be worth it and that love was a conditional transaction between people. When I grew up, I soon learned I was wrong. Children learn wrong things about the world; about life; about love, but I promise you that children don’t think that way without good reasons.

Fortunately, I did learn people do love me and life’s worth living. But I felt that second learning developed much later than early on, because I know when I’m stressed out, when I’m hurt, when I feel betrayed or when I’ve really screwed up something or hurt someone, I relapse into being that little child who believes there is no love in this world.”  ~ Jee Hyun Kim

“Loneliness is not found by having no one to touch, but instead in letting yourself be touched…” — www.ricksreviewz.wordpress.com

“Louis Moore was used to a quiet life. Being a quiet man, he endured it better than most men would. Having a large world of his own in his own head and heart, he tolerated confinement to a small, still corner of the real world very patiently…

“I used rather to like Solitude—to fancy her a somewhat quiet and serious, yet fair nymph; an Oread, descending to me from lone mountain-passes, something of the blue mist of hills in her array and of their chill breeze in her breath, but much also of their solemn beauty in her mien. I once could court her serenely, and imagine my heart easier when I held her to it—all mute, but majestic.

“Since that day I called Shirley to me in the schoolroom, and she came and sat so near my side; since she opened the trouble of her mind to me, asked my protection, appealed to my strength—since that hour I abhor Solitude. Cold abstraction, fleshless skeleton, daughter, mother, and mate of Death!

“It is pleasant to write about what is near and dear as the core of my heart. None can deprive me of this little book, and through this pencil I can say to it what I will—say what I dare utter to nothing living—say what I dare not think aloud.

“I know this is the talk of a dreamer—of a rapt, romantic lunatic. I do dream. I will dream now and then; and if she has inspired romance into my prosaic composition, how can I help it?

“What a child she is sometimes! What an unsophisticated, untaught thing! I see her now looking up into my face, and entreating me to prevent them from smothering her, and to be sure and give her a strong narcotic. I see her confessing that she was not so self-sufficing, so independent of sympathy, as people thought. I see the secret tear drop quietly from her eyelash. She said I thought her childish, and I did. She imagined I despised her. Despised her! It was unutterably sweet to feel myself at once near her and above her—to be conscious of a natural right and power to sustain her, as a husband should sustain his wife.

“I worship her perfections; but it is her faults, or at least her foibles, that bring her near to me, that nestle her to my heart, that fold her about with my love, and that for a most selfish but deeply-natural reason…”  — “Shirley” by Charlotte Bronte

What is important for friends to know about me?

I have an overbearing sense of responsibility toward others. I enjoy honest and meaningful connection where noble values prevail.  I learn most from those who are honest about their struggles. I find myself needing solitude in order to appreciate the company I keep. I am selective when it comes to showing my playful and humorous side. I need a high level of independence in a relationship.  I am open to new experiences when I don’t feel rushed or pressured.  If I don’t have my own space to retreat to and recharge, I get fatigued and irritable.

As far as my temperament goes, it is artistic and colors the way I see the world. I seek beauty in the commonplace. I align creativity to my spiritual calling.  It’s a side of me few take time to get to know.  I seek substance over style. I shun doing things in a run-of-the-mill way. 

I am called to attend to what is invisible to most, in a culture that has little or no understanding of the calling to spiritual and creative attunement.  My faith can be summed up in the Incarnation.  God descended to earth to show us humility, grace, servanthood and serendipitous wisdom. The teaching and challenges I have received for the past years at church have been lightweight and repetitive: so I have been searching greater depth to the Christian life.

Having a low threshold for sensory stimulation, I want to develop greater coping strategies. I have an aversion to loudness, triteness, small talk and ready-made scripts.

I admire literary authors and how they delve the subterranean currents of the human heart.  I never tire exploring the forgotten world of classic literature. I am skeptical when it comes to convention, the media and consumerism. Writing (as well as Classic Literature) is intimately connected to my spiritual walk. Since my youth, it has been a way of exploring my faith and personal growth. I admire how authors view life through an inner lens. I enjoy reading classic literature over contemporary appreciating how authors infuse feeling into words, creating word pictures through the five senses.

To the artist, each entry is a love letter that provides a sacred space for contemplation. It is twofold: what you plan to send and what no one but yourself will ever read. ~ vincenzo ©

As a child I sensed I was different and somehow set apart from the herd.  Although I sought to camouflage myself, sometimes my emotional sensibility would leak out.  I didn’t know what sensory overload signified back then, yet I vividly recall how too much stimuli could leave me overwhelmed, incoherent, and exhausted.  On top of that list I also had few social skills.  In my family of origin communication was overshadowed by emotional upheaval and the need to keep up appearances.

My life was a mix of childlike joy and competitive misery.  I remember summer vacations, the playful titillation of sunshine and breeze on my icy cold wet skin after a long swim, trekking home with my best friend — our fingertips dipped in bright orange from synthetic cheese puffs. However these and other Disneyesque scenes interspersed themselves among many boot-camp segments where I had no idea what was being asked of me. Coaches and fellow players yelling or ridiculing me for my latest blunders. I never questioned these uncivil acts, but assumed they were fully justified.

Although school life dragged on in its tiresome/tedious way, one day something unusual happened.  I don’t remember what the speech was about nor the name of the student. I just remember the effect her storytelling had upon me. We were in third grade. She was a slim East Indian girl with charming Asian eyes and an intelligent sounding soft voice. I remember her unassuming literary style, disarming me with her playfulness and uncommon wisdom. After that speech, a subtle creative process of mitosis began. A love for words awakened. Little by little, I started enjoying classic literature, creative writing and dabbling in motivational talks.

Later as an adult, I began reading about the Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) and how many HSPs are creative/gifted. The challenging side however, is they also have neurotransmitters making them vulnerable to emotionally intense environments. I was most relieved to finally view my childhood through this benevolent and insightful perspective.

~ vincenzo

How do you come to terms with the way it was — the way you wished it had been?

Some losses are beyond recovery, because you seek qualities in another he or she never possessed. You hold on tightly maybe for years, only to discover it brings you instability, desolation and untold stress until you can no longer hold on any more.

Grief appears and reappears when you least expect it. Wherever you go, it is a subject too foreign for the general public. Reading about it online only magnifies the pain as most websites approach it through a generic, scientific lens. It looks nothing like the dark forebodings gripping your heart.

Although writing helps to clarify thoughts, you often collide against your own perceptions, unable to trust your senses. No matter how you arrange the words, they look back at you with trifling glances. The deeper you excavate, the less justice accorded to the lived experience. ~ vincenzo ©

my little pet dog

is a quiet creature

who speaks with his eyes

he is attentive

to my every move

and studies each habit of mine

when I lay his little mat

for furry bodies to rest

each minute of each routine

he tells me he’s contented

with common simple things

every little pet dog loves

~ vincenzo ©