“To Conform Correctly To The Shape Or Size Of”

I remember the day so well. I guess you could say I was window shopping, and although intention was clear I would probably buy something, I knew deep down I really didn’t have the money to do so. But just as I was about to leave the store, I saw it. The perfect dress. Exactly what I was looking for. In fact, this dress fit my standards so well, so fast, it was hard to remember a time when I didn’t have it. I wore it everyday. It fit my body with every curve, every dimple, every muscle. I felt empowered. This dress was becoming a part of my identity. It slowly defined who I was. Now of course, there were times I had to hang it up, (I’m thinking of one day in particular). I slipped the dress off of my body and put it back in my closet, only for a moment, a brief second I hadn’t spent with it’s fabric wrapped around my waist. I soon returned to the closet to retrieve this part of me, and in my despair, it was gone. My dress was not in my closet. My dress was not on my floor, and my dress was not in my bathroom.

I’m nothing without this dress, I thought.

I’m no one, when I’m not wearing this dress.

Who am I anymore?

I spent the next few weeks searching for it. Knowing it couldn’t be far, and I would find it again soon, I had hope, I did.

I promise I did.

I wasn’t going to give up on it. But life throws things at you everyday. Shoes, bags, jewelry. I had no control over anything. And every day it got easier to be apart from the outfit. My routine changed and I was wearing new things. They weren’t the same as my dress had been, but I was soon forgetting the feeling it gave me. Let me cut to the point. I was sorting out my bedroom on an average day. Shuffling through average garments, and average old things. Suddenly, I notice something that catches my eye. Can you guess what it was? Yeah, it was my dress. I grabbed it and stared at it in disbelief. I couldn’t believe it was in front of me again. It was the strangest feeling. But it wasn’t happiness. I didn’t feel the relief I imagined I was going to. My god, I was disappointed. I had waited and waited to wear this dress again, and when presented with it, I didn’t even want to. I held the dress in all its glory up next to me. It looked a bit small. I slipped it over my head and it was stuck on my shoulders. I pulled it hard and I could hear it start to rip at the seams.

Why is this dress so small? It’s only been 4 months. I haven’t grown.

And maybe I hadn’t. Maybe the reality is I made myself small to fit in this dress. The dress was never my size. It never fit me, but I always forced it on. Memories come flooding back to me. The crying, the angst, the stress of fitting this dress over my shoulders to fit me the way it always had. The way I thought it did on it’s own.

Or maybe I’ve grown. And to some extent I know I have. So why am I still trying to make this dress fit? I’m squeezing, crying, holding my breath. But it won’t change. This dress will always be this way. But it’s time to fold it up, and put it back in the box it came in.

Maybe one day I’ll come to love you again. Maybe one day you’ll fit. But there’s no use in making myself smaller, today. No use in trying to fit you, when I’ve outgrown every inch of your fabric.



I had a dream last night that all of my teeth were falling out. Enter this into Google, and you’ll receive over 18,100,000 results. I think I’ve interpreted it as a control issue. With myself, with my life, my loved ones. I’ve also interpreted it as a fear of making a decision, fear of letting life pass me by, fear of big change, losing someone close to you, and just an overall cry for help. All of my teeth are falling out and I know not one dentist. I know teachers, and nurses, chefs, and makeup artists. But no dentists.

My teeth were shining white when he came home. I smiled more, I showed them off. For 10 days the stories that escaped my teeth were those of hope, and future happiness. When he said he would be back in a few weeks, my teeth bit into an idea that they had been carefully fed for months prior: an everlasting love that awaited me at the end of all of this. All I had to do was sit still, and keep smiling.

He left again, and my teeth would grind against each other at night, when I didn’t know where he was. One text a day kept the conversation limited, and my teeth stayed hidden behind the comfort of my pursed lips. But then something changed, as it notoriously does. Something took the ground beneath me, and left me open, and again, vulnerable. A text. A single text that transforms everything. The text read:

“I’ve been extended, I’m going to have to be here for longer than we anticipated.”

Almost healed, but again, a wound resurfaced. My teeth felt sensitive, and cold. My mind played ping-pong with leaving and staying. If I stay, I will never know the next move in this game, I will always surrender. If I leave, this was all for nothing, and I lost him. In the end I brush and I brush every single tooth until I’m choking on toothpaste, and a decision begs to be made.

I need help. I need you. I need a dentist. But I know no dentists.

And until then, I have nothing but thoughts, and words tied between my tongue.


Romance is in the Air…port.

I’m in love. More or less, I’m in love with an idea. A suit and a tie that fits effortlessly around all the right places. I’m in love with his shoes, and the size of his feet. I’m in love with his belt, and how it hugs his waist before I can. I’m in love with his hair, and how it barely cascades down his neck, only to be picked up again and styled at the front. It’s dark, and when the light hits it, it shines barely, but enough. His lips, the perfect size for his face, that hold his stubble like a trophy on a shelf. The arch of his eyebrows furrows towards his medium sized nose. A freckle, one…two. That’s all.

Perhaps he is the mere image of what I embody as a dream. Nowadays I’m so focused on who will I choose to guide me through marriage, kids, family life. I forget that maybe I’ve never met them. Maybe there’s a reason that love goes to waste on my tired heart. It’s as if the harder I try, the quicker I fail. So who is he? He is a stranger, and if you had asked me half an hour ago, I’d be confused between love and lust amongst my mental list that I carry, with pros and cons of the familiar. 

But it’s just turned 5 in the morning, and I think that I’m in love. But it’s not with Mr. Touchscreen Watch. It’s with the idea that his strong hands might hold mine one day, but I’ll never know because once the flight lands we will go our separate ways. This makes it more dangerous, and the idea of a future with someone unpredictable. 

Whether I’m in love, in lust, or incapable of knowing, I’m ready. I’m ready to be…surprised. I’m ready to be accepted, and confronted with something I don’t know about. Someone I know based off of the way they hold a suitcase, may have taught me the lesson that therapists have exhausted themselves over. Why would I stress about something I ultimately cannot predict? I may be able to imagine his hair color, his suit, his lips, but I’ll never know his name, until I am supposed to. And when that day comes, nothing else will matter, and it will feel indescribable.


Sunrise and Sunset: Part 1

In a sea of vulnerability, I had been left. One year had passed since the break up, and one year later, the complete undoing I invited to stay, was unpacked, and living with me. I assumed by month 3 it would find a new home, and I wouldn’t lose consciousness every time I heard his name, but I did. By month 5, I knew it was over, and a few trips to the gym would soon leave me utterly independent, but they did not. Month 9 came around, and I was sure that my undoing was getting tired of there not being any food in the fridge, or clean sheets on the bed, but it was not. Month 13, and I become friends with it, what choice did I have? A part of me knew that I needed it to leave. My heart had been so numb, tossed on the ground, rubbed in soil, and buried 13 feet underground. Sometimes, my undoing would forget to follow me home, and I had a few hours where I awaited fresh water, and sunlight, hoping it would grow. But it always came home. I searched day, but mostly night for a something I could touch. Every Saturday night began with false eyelashes and hope, but ended with cold bathroom floors, and empty bottles. My eyes could always detect good vs evil, but my soul chose to look the other way. Though, one night, I opened both, when sunshine had approached, and asked me to dance. Of course I said no, everything that I am was owned by the one who left. I had forgotten what light looked like, so I turned it down at the welcome mat. But he persisted, and I was too broken to stand up by myself. So he let me rest my heart on his for a while. I became fond of this new pitstop. I didn’t feel cold when I left, and it soon felt familiar. Sunshine burned in my loins and left me warmer, and comfortable. A few months had passed and I couldn’t help but smile when I thought of him. My bones were stronger, and with the help of his touch, I could stand again. Each breath I took was easier, my lungs thanked me for this. Each food I ate tasted better, my appetite thanked me for this. But each nerve that was kissed, was not pain, so my heart began to apologize. I was not numb, I was alive. I latched myself to this feeling, with the strongest grip I could muster. My knuckles were red and the look of despair in my eyes let him know my secrets, without saying a word. He’s a smart man, and he understood, so he held me tighter. He even said that he loved me, and he wasn’t going anywhere. The sun rises everyday, and it was so beautiful, so how was I supposed to remember that it sets?

It was Christmas time, and I sat in the airport by myself. Saying my goodbyes over the phone as if I were never to see him again, although it would only be two weeks, and I was going to be okay.

“I love you, but I have to go now, my section is boarding, I’ll talk to you when I land tomorrow”, I said.

“Theres something I need to tell you before you go”, he pleaded, persistent as ever.

“Can it wait, I really have to go?”

“Not really.”

Hesitant, I accepted and told him to make it quick.

“I’ve signed up for the Marines, and I am going to have to go away for a while, in the new year. We can talk about it tomorrow, but I needed to tell you. Goodbye, have a safe flight.”

And although I was aware of what he had just said, suddenly, nothing was clear anymore. The people who stood around me in line became one large void. My ears blocked out the noises that they once heard. My palms were sweaty, and my forehead felt cold. My aching heart tingled, and I was no longer there. I was back, where I used to be, the world was dark once again, and it had never felt so familiar.

xx Mai


Why is it that when we are working our hardest to forget something, or someone, they seem to pop up in every situation life presents us with? Is it irony? Is it a greater power playing tricks on us? Or does it mean nothing? In high school, my English teacher told me about my “Reticular Activation System”. This basically meant that once our brains have been introduced to something, you start to see it everywhere you go. Do you believe that this is the case when it comes to forgetting a lost relationship? Whether that may be a friendship, or a romantic relationship. It’s driving me crazy. Someone from my past, whom I have fought hard to forget, keeps showing up in everything I do. Their name appears on Instagram accounts that we have both recently followed, their watch shows up in my mothers car, their name even goes as far as showing up in the search bar for an online shopping website I am on! It’s been over a year since I have had an interaction with this person, so why are they showing up again…now? Is it a sign? Or simply a coincidence? My mother says not to worry, and that I will find closure when I am meant to find it, not to force it. I can’t help but overthink (thanks anxiety) this entire occurrence. This individual in particular has broken me down to the most raw form of myself, and since then, I have built myself back up to the new and improved “me”, the best that I can be. It’s been enough time where I don’t wake up and think about them. They aren’t the leading role in my dreams anymore. I have always believed that everything happens for a reason, but I can’t ignore the fact that I have found a new happiness now, but its making me think that perhaps I haven’t.

xx Mai

Opening Act

You know that feeling, when you’re so tired, that you could just laugh, or cry? That’s almost a summary of what I feel like at the end of each day. The things that happen everyday are so particular, it’s as if they have been perfectly choreographed, and rehearsed. How many times do you find yourself saying “this is like a movie scene”? It’s been an impossible year, and yet here we are. Rehearsing, growing, and confessing to strangers to cope. I named this blog “Bring Mai Flowers”, because I think of the phrase “April showers bring May flowers”. I imagine that April is a metaphor for the events that have happened before now, and I’m embracing the flowers that should be presenting themselves…anytime now. My middle name is Mai, so that’s a simple play on words. I hope you come to enjoy this blog, as you’ll be learning the intricate details of my theatrical life. You’ll find yourself laughing out loud, and if you’re anything like me, tearing up at every inconvenience. I blame it on hormones. Brew a pot of tea, and treat yourself to a fluffy, gooey, extra melt-in-your-mouth slice of cake, and enjoy. Indulge, Relax. It’s just me and you, no filter this time. 

xx Mai