The past year was the longest state our blog has been in hibernation. Whenever I’d get nudged by friends or family to get back to writing again, I’d smile and give a generic excuse about how I’m just too busy with my job, or for days when I’m feeling quite obnoxious—the entitlement of being on a break that I deservefor blogging consistently for 2 years.
There are different definitions of break, but this one is right on point for what it meant to me pre-brunette era (I consider 2 years of being a redhead an era. That was serious commitment to hair.).
break
verb \ˈbrāk\
to rush away from a place; an attempt to escape.
2012. The year I kept finding myself always lusting for a break. I’ve been accustomed to my daily routine that I lived Mondays to Fridays on autopilot mode: getting up, getting dressed, going to work, doing my job, going back home. The week would start off with me feeling like R from Warm Bodies. I’m pretty sure that’s how I looked going to work too—all sloppy and dragging every step, dreading as I had no choice but to be taken away by my feet to the office. Looking presentable during weekdays was not something to be bothered with, as I was just too caught up with the stress and the triviality of everyday life to do anything else than what was required.
And, the truth is… I let the surprising changes of life get the best of me that I didn’t want to accomplish anything else beyond work.
2012. The year I kept finding myself always lusting for a break. I’ve been accustomed to my daily routine that I lived Mondays to Fridays on autopilot mode: getting up, getting dressed, going to work, doing my job, going back home. The week would start off with me feeling like R from Warm Bodies. I’m pretty sure that’s how I looked going to work too—all sloppy and dragging every step, dreading as I had no choice but to be taken away by my feet to the office. Looking presentable during weekdays was not something to be bothered with, as I was just too caught up with the stress and the triviality of everyday life to do anything else than what was required.
And, the truth is… I let the surprising changes of life get the best of me that I didn’t want to accomplish anything else beyond work.
On Thursdays, the emotional cocktail of boredom and dread would wear off as I’d start getting excited because coming next was what I lived for—Fridays.
I loved Fridays.
And as I’ve said, I lived for it. It was the highlight of my week, and no bad weather or flaker friends can stop me from relishing the first day of the weekend. I would greet its commencement by posting whatever photo I had stolen online glorifying Friday itself and all the YOLO activities that it sparked.
Fridays for me meant getting all dressed up to party, drinking to get drunk, and just having fun. It was all about me living it up. After all, my ultimate partner in crime/sister/BFF preferred staying home on weekends. Heck, she preferred to stay home, every day.
Fridays for me meant getting all dressed up to party, drinking to get drunk, and just having fun. It was all about me living it up. After all, my ultimate partner in crime/sister/BFF preferred staying home on weekends. Heck, she preferred to stay home, every day.
My twin was in looooong state of depression that seemed to last forever. It came to a point that I didn’t want to be dragged down by her hormones, her emotions, and what she was going through anymore. It sounds harsh, I know, but the real reason why I wanted to do away with it is because it hurt so much. It was painful to see Danah lose her old self—that bubbly, not-so-little Miss Ever-Bright-Sunshine whose presence was felt wherever she went because of her sheer positivity and cheerfulness and loudness and crazy sense of humor, etcetera, etcetera,—to a sad, inconsolable person. Nothing I did, from taking her out to dinners to planning a surprise beach trip for her, worked. She was just wallowing, constantly sobbing, and I guess I just couldn’t handle it.
Add all that sudden tornado of change to all the stress I was drowning in and what happens?
I waste my Fridays getting wasted.
I longed for an escape, a break from it all. So I started going out every weekends, partying until the sun rose. I lived a vicious cycle of working hard and partying harder—chasing every massive rave and party, one after the other.
Eventually it came to a point that I just wasn’t enjoying it anymore like I used to. Different day, different place, different crowd, same shit.
Eventually it came to a point that I just wasn’t enjoying it anymore like I used to. Different day, different place, different crowd, same shit.
That was all there it to it. The friendly faces, the stupid level of fun that intoxication brings, the new “friends” who drunk gets your number and drunk promises to text you so you can both party again soon—these all last in one night. Make it two when I’m on hyper-energizer-bunny mode to party until the morning on Friday and Saturday. But it was what it was even if I denied it—merely an escape to last me happiness for a couple of hours. It could only last so long, but sooner or later I'd have to go back to my reality and deal with the truth.
Problem is, I am one of the biggest denial queens out there (pun intended). I have strictly imposed upon myself to always have a façade of how fine and how great things are going in my life—even at times when it wasn't. Cowardice at its finest. Add a little bit of pride in that bitter mix of crap too. I was scared because I, Anastazcia Gutierrez, a body love advocate and feminist, has enforced upon myself that my life MUST always be filled with happiness and excitement, and no room for anything negative is allowed to enter. If there’s something ugly that I didn’t like happening in my life that is actually happening in my life, I’d hide it under the carpet of denial, walk out the door, and pretend it doesn't exist, delaying the return back to reality.
Eventually (Thank God), I started feeling sorry for myself. Is this all I’m living for? Weekends? Getting wasted with people I barely know? In my heart I was assured that there’s more to life than how I was living it. A life with purpose and meaning. And I’ve been there. I just wandered off for a bit, but I know exactly what my purpose is here on this planet, other than spending all my time and money feeding my hedonistic whims.
Thing is, now, I don’t want to be Houdini anymore. I am taking a break from this break and I would like to make my reality very beautiful so I wouldn’t find myself scampering off to another pursuit of temporal happiness. (Don't get me wrong, I still enjoy going out and partying, but I don't want to do it anymore if the only reason why I'd do it is to escape and delay dealing with my reality.)
I am glad that my twin is back to her old self. To be honest, I don’t think I’d come to this point of realization if things didn’t transition from bad to good. I also don't think our relationship would be as strong as it is now if it weren't for all the crazy obstacles that we faced last year. We're much more open with each other now, knowing that nothing has to be hidden from each other anymore because we unconditionally love each other.
I’m thankful that my sister’s sanity (lol) and health are restored. I’m grateful that we’re now getting back on track, ready to fight for our advocacy with our passion ignited once again.
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I want to be real this time around. We have been blessed to have loyal followers who patiently hung on to our word when we said we’ll be back, and well, here we are.
Zeus Martinez Photography
Kaycee Lim Make Up
Shekinah Bangsil
Stacy