Blair Mahya Quiñones 3/31/24 Blair Mahya Quiñones 3/31/24

#7 Salt Water

Salt Water

maybe it will just be

warm, still water on the

skin of my face

washing away month-old kisses

and crossing paths without noticing

your step is where I stepped

70 seconds ago.

maybe it will just be

two steps in a

straight line, fractured

in the middle by a high tide

while I kneel

with a rosary between fingers.

10 beads of sweat

fly off my skin

when I pirouette under

the large arch in the hallway

of the church I grew up in.

maybe it is just that

I am nothing without sin,

without the hope: I’m on your mind.

now, it disappears

like water spinning down a drain.

maybe it will just be

my vision blurred by

damp eyes

and one deep salt water swim.

I can crash anywhere,

I can sleep anywhere

when all the noise begins to thin.

I have salt in my hair.

“Salt Water” touches on multiple experiences. I feel like I’ve been separating or forced to separate from so much all year, this isn’t about one single thing. This poem came to me a couple of months ago and originally told a different story, more of a sweater yearn. After editing it in its entirety, a new meaning formed, and I’ll leave it at that. Poetry is really good for that, I never like to explain too much.

Salt water is healing! It brings balance to our bodies. Its anti-inflammatory qualities discourage bacterial growth and rehydrate us by increasing electrolyte symmetry. Having salt in my hair after lying on a bed of sand or from simply being kissed by the ocean air is so precious to me. Something about it. And I haven’t danced in years but I still can do a perfect pirouette :’)

I wrote a few long paragraphs for this blog and finished a solid draft before scrapping the entire thing two nights ago. I was in the mood to write a poem more than a drawn out explanation of all the things I’ve been feeling and seeing and doing. This poem remains a draft and needs more editing before its final form, but it’s the only thing that feels true to me this month.

(I’m writing this while picturing the beach scene in Sweeney Todd, love. And the entire vibe of Chocolat, pure romantic bliss. AND the cute butterflies I used to get from Angus, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging which I watched last week—same feelings as Aquamarine.)

I loveee romance and sweetness. The smallest interaction will make me smile at the thought for days and hold me and kiss me through time and space. That’s all I want. This poem is not about that.

*song of the month*: Solange - Beltway

Lastly, I wrote and self published a book of poetry in 2023 titled Earth to Infinity. You can buy it in the “Shop” tab along with bookmarks and prints of my poetry, hand written and scanned by myself. If you enjoyed this blog or at least made it to the end, consider supporting me and purchasing an item (or a few). Thank you in advance ❤︎

Love 4ever,

Infinity

Write me with any thoughts or comments on this month’s blog. Click the “write me” tab and write away.

~ start to feel something ~

Blair Mahya Quiñones 2/26/24 Blair Mahya Quiñones 2/26/24

#6 Only Human

I have a feeling we’re not feeling enough. Not letting ourselves express these feelings. Not letting others feel comfortable to express their feelings with us. I’m feeling a bit of writer’s block. Possibly. Maybe, just a complete block in life. I’ve been avoiding feelings, of making sense of thoughts. Week 3 of 2024, I drank a cup of tea and screamed at the top of my lungs while driving to work on the 110N. Both were much needed. It felt jolting to hear my voice so loudly in such a confined space. I guzzled the rest of my tea swiftly, in hopes of soothing the brief stress in my throat, and drove the rest of the way with ringing ears in my silent truck.

Apart from what I was dealing with in week 3, my time feels challenged by my combative internal stream of consciousness. Anyone else have a lot of voices up there? It used to be a bit out of control. I know how to break up intrusive and negative thought patterns now. And sometimes I simply have to shush the tiny voice up there counting to the number 8 over and over again. So much information has to make its way through the bullshit. I imagine this is why I quietly observe more than I speak—why I love to write.

I hope nobody thinks this kind of thing is easy—unfurling thoughts and feelings online. It’s always easy to think, never easy to articulate. And especially not easy to share. Knowing that people often overlook honest stories and vulnerability because of their lackluster allows me to detach from the care of being judged from the start. My world, my rules ;)

And, on the topic of being overlooked! I know what I like, I do things according to what I like. I like writing about what bounces around my brain without thinking about who is going to take the time to read it; to get to know me through my words…without thinking about if I'm doing it right or who is going to care. This is my world!!! The world changes so much while we sleep, while we drive, while we sing, while we’re afraid, while we spend money, while we mourn and grieve, while we celebrate, while we think and overthink. I am used to the inconsistency of feelings. So, with really wonderful and loving and honest intentions, why would I change how I feel like understanding my world? Why would I change my art? Questions I ask myself when I doubt myself.

If I talk about feelings again, will you stay to read the rest? I just can’t help but share these fractions of my thoughts, of my life. And often, I just can’t help but to think about if anyone even cares – I mean really, truly, deeply. Just another intrusive thought I have to hush away.

Lately, I've been more observant of what the future means to me. And, while I won’t get into the meaning I’m still looking for, I will say that my insecurity of it is prevalent. In this case, I’m talking about my own future: what I'm looking forward to, the topic of a career, where I want to live next, where and in what capacity do I see my passions thriving? I recently expressed this to a loved one and they talked some sense into me without knowing. But the obvious is what I needed to hear: 1. I'm young and it's only the beginning for me, 2. “The beginning” can happen over and over again at any time in my life, 3. I need to celebrate the things I’ve accomplished thus far, and 4. that I have people cheering me on even when I am distracted by the loud silence. While I find looking toward the future to be vital, I can only achieve rational and healthy expectations so long I remain present and firmly grounded…quite the balancing act.

I have said this time and time again: I share my feelings as a form of self expression, enjoyment, healing, and with the hope to inspire others to feel something as a result. I don't expect anyone to care, I think it goes without saying that I don’t care about that, nor do I expect that all people will appreciate what I have to say. But! Love it or hate it and anything in between—you’re feeling! You’re human. And that’s a great place to start. I thought I was going to write about celebrating the love I'm lucky to experience and its ethereal gravity in honor of celebrating love this month. But, I feel weighed down and worn out. It was hard enough not to write and share last month, let alone act as if I'm not currently on the same steep incline. I started this blog early February, and since then, so much feels so different.

2/22 I screamed in my truck again. Maybe it’s something about the 110 freeway going north that sends me into a rage and not the thoughts doing cartwheels in my brain all day—a distraction I allow for the sake of solace.

This helped me today. I do hope this helps others in some way.

So, here are some things I'm keeping close this year:

Ins:

Screaming in your car when you're alone
Encouraging others to scream in their cars when they’re alone
Writing about the writer’s block to get out of the funk, as cringy as it might feel
Being honest with yourself
Keeping things simple
Starting over
Reminding your loved ones you’re cheering them on
Laying outside on your back in the sun
Replacing every negative feeling with a loving thought (this will feel repetitive if ur anything like any other human being, and it works)
Simply telling your brain to be quiet for a moment when it gets weird up there
Making daily lists (I do this every night before bed and prop my notebook up beside it so that it’s the first thing I see when I wake up. I have fun writing it out the night before and I feel good when I check things off. Even simple and obvious things like “wake up” and “brush teeth”)
Picking up a hobby for fun and joy
Resting when you feel overwhelmed
Making handmade cards to celebrate loved ones
Drinking lots and lots of hot tea
Quite and fully disconnected alone time
Getting tea/coffee with your last bit of cash until your next paycheck (I’ve been doing it for months) (st*rbucks is a no)
Acknowledging where you need help and support in life
Asking for help and support! (I don't naturally do this but will try it out more this year)
More arts and crafts!
Platonic relationships with other genders (I personally think this is very healthy if you find it, even if it doesn't last long. It’s been valuable and nourishing to me in my life even while being in a healthy romantic relationship. Maybe I’m just lucky :) it’s nothing to feel guilty about)
Shamelessly plugging your work and skills when appropriate
Daily journaling
Taking deep, intentional breaths
Supporting a ceasefire in Palestine

…and some things I’m not:

Outs:

Avoiding feelings
Worrying about what others think
Caring about popularity
Making people feel weird for being honest
Not acknowledging the present moment for what it is (at the very least, you’re alive & breathing no matter what. Take a deep breath & remember someone who loves you is cheering you on.)
Taking things personally (me asf)
Telling yourself you're lazy (when you might just need to rest)
Not listening to your intuition!
Not thinking before reacting
Reacting instead of understanding
Not supporting your friends!
Holding onto grudges (very taxing on the body and spirit)
Going to sleep late for no reason (I’m pointing at myself while I write this dizzy-headed and 1:36 am)
Not keeping promises with yourself
Messy living space
Not wearing all the clothes in your closet
Not having platonic relationships with the opposite or other genders simply because people think there is a hidden agenda! Be fr…
Having a hidden agenda
Not supporting a ceasefire in Palestine

This year finally feels like it’s starting. After two full months, after heavy rainfall and now seeing growth in places once rootless, after being quiet for long periods of time, after breaking the quiet by singing little ditties, after breaking the quiet by crying loudly, after becoming a homebody again, after being cuddled while I fall asleep and only dreaming of it now, after worrying about how to begin, after feeling forced to mourn the end [of the year], I feel rested and ready to actually begin year 2024. (this is my world.)

*song of the month* (& forever, really): Wait It Out by Imogen Heap

Love 4ever,

Infinity + ℬlair

…One in the same

Write me with any thoughts or comments on this month’s blog. Click the “write me” tab and write away.

WE’RE ONLY HUMAN — THIS IS JUST THE SURFACE

~ start to feel something ~

Blair Mahya Quiñones 12/21/23 Blair Mahya Quiñones 12/21/23

#5 Bitter + Sweet

Where We Are Now

I thought I’d want to write everything I ever felt, but the leaf falls and the time is lost for the right words to complete the thought, the feeling, the memory; to honor any of it. I keep my lips sealed and my fingers moving on to the next moment or I’ll never keep up. And my mind will do me the favor of replaying all the rest in every quiet moment.

Do I think about the process when I’m in the middle of it ? Do I reflect on the ways I felt and the ways I grew, the ways those feelings changed and made me? The Process—during, is the sweet part, right in the middle. And I always forget that until the very end.

What can I say about the end? What can I say about the beginning?

I am happy with things as they are. And then the beginning comes again and I lose my step. It’s not easy to make sense of either, the end and the beginning. Both can be bitter, both can be sweet. Things come to have different meanings and importance when you’ve understood more, when you take time to analyze. When things are new to you, the slate is clear. And by the end, things have more meaning, but, where you don’t have patience to understand, to feel and to anatomize (to a degree) is where you will only feel confused. Through a well rounded understanding, and the acceptance of change, we can become balanced. Just like when reading and writing poetry.

..*—————————

It’s extremely hard to say goodbye to things, I wish my hands could hold them, you, all of it all at once. And become stained a million layers deep from the feeling.

With my eyes shut, I give this year one big, HUGE, sweet kiss and a thousand long, warm waves goodbye.

— Love 4ever, Infinity

Where We Are Now

*・•✧..~ ~..✧∙・*

Can I read my book in the quiet

while you drink the last sip of pomegranate

juice out of a clear, thick glass?

My hands are stained burgundy.

Each page painted with fingerprints

faint and fading

and fading

and with bare hands, I polish away

damp rings in forever symbols

all over my wooden table

stained a million layers deep.

My head felt clear

and my vision felt new

as I watched the seeds decompose—

in an earthy pile, fleshy, sweet

and rotten.

They reclaim the ground,

on which we struggle to balance,

—outside my bedroom window.

Under the yellowest light.

You were in my dream last night.

— start to feel something —

Blair Mahya Quiñones 11/19/23 Blair Mahya Quiñones 11/19/23

#4 When I’m Not With Him

An Ode To My Father

November 14, 2023

I cried like a baby last night at 8:43pm. My dad texted me a song on saturday that I hadn't opened and listened to yet because the days have been long, and I find too many distractions. “For you” he said, with a lullaby to follow. I layed on my belly, with my face smooshed into a pillow, and pressed play. I knew I’d get to feeling. This day was no different than the rest, long, quiet, hard. Nothing that met my ears this day was worth the attention I paid. No, I never know when it’s too much, until it is. That’s why I sit in silence with joy. I listen to my thoughts and spread them out in my mind and pick which ones I should flesh out, which ones I should leave behind. This is how I remain honest with myself.

November 9th, just earlier this week, my truck was broken into. This was the second time and somehow, I let this really hurt me. With my understanding and honesty, I'd think I would’ve talked myself down. Instead, I let myself fall and fall and not like how it feels to fall in your dreams –I wake up laughing. This fall hurt. And honestly, wasted my time. I love feeling and feeling and feeling so much, to then come out of it, like a trance. I love coming out of the trance. I love not wasting my time.

I felt like a baby, curled on the couch, awaiting comfort and coos from the guitar of James Taylor. My dad sometimes sends me songs when he’s thinking of me, this alone always makes me cry—before even pressing play I will burst into tears. But still, the song begins and the tears stay. Always about longing and love. I know he feels the same way I do when he hears songs like that. He feels so much, listens to every word, every note, every chord and beat. My dad used to poke right at my heart whenever I was sad to leave him and tell me that’s where he is. With me all the time. He’s there, I’m here, and I imagine he’s sitting next to me, tapping his fingers on my knee and one foot against the floor to the chords he knows by heart. He sings along with his eyes closed. And I cry when the tapping stops and the song ends. I miss him when I’m not with him, when I fall, and when my days are long, and quiet, and hard.

I love you 4ever,

Blair Mahya Quiñones

Daddy’s Baby - James Taylor

Daddy's baby, what's got you thinking?

What's got you sinking so low?

Is there something I should know

Something new to you?

Daddy's baby, fussing and fretting

Keeping on getting it wrong

She can only last so long

She's going for a song

So sing her a lullaby-by

Baby, don't like to cry

So sing her a lullaby-by

Swaddle and swing her

Sing her a lullaby

She makes her feelings known to me

Her every side is shown to me

And in our time alone

My love has surely grown of its own

Solid as a stepping stone

As silently as the dawn was breaking

Soft and clear

And my tears were dry

And my fears had flown

So I called my love, my home

~start to feel something~

Blair Mahya Quiñones 10/18/23 Blair Mahya Quiñones 10/18/23

#3 Under My Ceiling Fan

I’m rearranging my room again and keeping all of my stuffed animals. For my birthday, I asked for sonny angels and I got 5 of them. I keep buying furniture for when I get to live alone and it's all in storage. I can’t let go of the color pink and fun fact, all of my bedding is a dusty rose color. I still sit with anxiety for a long time and wonder if it’s because I keep procrastinating on that one task I can’t get out of my mind, or if I'm just tired. I wish the answer was always that easy. My truck’s check-engine light has been on since the beginning of this year. She’s okay, so strong…I tell myself. I drive in silence because I like to sit with my thoughts, talk to myself out loud, make up songs. Usually, I just try to let the sounds I'm forced to hear all day escape my eardrums. That ringing can be so loud in a quiet space. I own too many things and still don’t feel complete. And that line will always be true, because I’d like to think I'm meant to be a “compulsive minimalist” (I read that on twitter the other day and cringed) instead of the compulsive trinket collector that I am and always have been. Not to mention, I think I’m realizing I’m addicted to buying clothes. I don’t want to believe it but I’m really good at being honest with myself.

I’m rearranging my room again and the last time I did was in 2021. Much needed. I repainted the walls, bought a new dresser set, sanded it down, repainted that too. I moved everything around over and over again. And again, everything needs to change. I have to shed every couple years. Every year I detach myself from more and more and more. In hopes of needing less. “This year is different'' will always remain the same sentiment. But back then I had more time. It happened with ease, I had the time to feel the way I wanted to feel in a day because I had time to do the internal work it takes. And, I welcomed change as it made its way inevitably. My days are different now.

I’m rearranging my room again and every time I’ve done it I’ve always taken feng shui into consideration…by googling for a few minutes and ultimately doing whatever I want anyway. This time I crave peace of mind and space. I won’t look at my phone in the morning and I’ll abide by my long lists of daily tasks.

My lists always start like this:

Wake up
Say thank you
Quick stretch
Go outside
Drink tea

And then I’ll add whatever random things I absolutely have to get done that day in a step by step fashion that will guarantee zero distractions:

Brush teeth
Wash face
Drink water
Eat breakfast
Shower
Get dressed
Take plants outside to water
Fold laundry
Put laundry away
Put give away clothes in a bag
Drop off at goodwill
Drive home
Send invoices
Reply to 5 texts while drinking one cup of tea
Lunch by 1pm
Drink water
Write for 20 mins

And so on.

I’m rearranging my room again and it will take months because I try to do too many things on my days off. I tend to forget about my daily lists faster than it takes to write it all out. I called my dad today and we laughed and made jokes that only we would find funny. My phone broke and I worried about all the poetry I've written in it, that have never met paper, nor an ear. I saw someone I used to know, and cut the greeting short, and didn't let myself imagine how the rest would go. Today, I challenged myself in ways that tomorrow I’ll be thankful for. The mess in my room has continued growing since Monday. I can't wait to finish rearranging, and eliminating. Now, I’m sick in bed and hoping I’ll recover before the weekend to do the things I said I’d do. I’d rather sleep for now and wake up in a better mood.

–Under My Ceiling Fan–

A pile of clothes I no longer want

kneels at my feet

caresses my ankles and kisses my toes.

I just got rid of two more exactly like it.

Shedding cloth like reptile skin

or after a long day of work.

It lays limp, helpless, and I crave

nothing more than to lay across my bed,

bare flesh,

feeling goosebumps come and go

under my ceiling fan.

I crave the jazz music I heard while walking by

the flower shop at breakfast.

I've had the wrong notes stuck in my head ever since.

I crave a kiss on every round edge of my body,

where I bruised myself

last night while dancing in the kitchen

and where I remember the bruises from 2018.

Every candle in my home flickers

and 3 of them billow aromas of buttery rose,

clean and fresh and rose.

What makes me want,

does not stay for long.

I’m aware of the dreams I breathe life into

and the ones I remember through tight teeth.

I hate to hold on —I forgive myself for it.

What was worn is now gone,

what once was in no longer

in this room. There's no room

in this room.

—Love 4ever, Infinity

—start to feel something—

Blair Mahya Quiñones 9/18/23 Blair Mahya Quiñones 9/18/23

#2 Twenty-Six

Well, the website is up, the book and bookmarks and prints are up. And on the same day that I turned 26 — 9/9.

26 feels so impressive to me. It feels feminine, truly. To age another year, on the same day that I made my poetry book available and accessible to the world, feels like the mightiest weight has been lifted from my back. Like my eyes can flutter closed and open instead of feeling forced. Like my past is a stone from my collection I've allowed myself to give away. And I did, I got rid of my favorite rocks from when I was young. They were heavy and took a different shape in my space over time than intended. Sharing is a part of this healing process after all. I gave away enough to change. And, if you ever knew me, no you didn’t.

I turn 26 this year feeling more mature than ever. I’ve always felt like a baby. Not for any lack of responsibility, but because my youthful spirit leads me through most days. Until the end of my 25th year I felt like I was still 22. And until the end of my 24th year, I felt like I was still 18. There was a limbo year at 23 where I was able to finally settle into being a college graduate, being in a long term romantic relationship, living at home and finally having a free schedule. Totally off the clock. For a long time I never felt my age, and I think that’s a beautiful luxury. I think older people would probably agree that it's easy to not know what being 22 should feel like, except for young. —To them it's far away and is usually tied to a feeling of longing. It once was there and now its 30 years later, way too fast. That luxury remains as I love feeling the sense of responsibility that has come with all of my growth from the last 3 years. It’s quite a relief, to be honest, to finally feel this mature emotionally. I’ve noticed I’m more decisive, level-headed, and balanced. After all, the entire journey that writing my poetry book took me on was in search of balance. Friendships feel rewarding because love feels mutual, even while we’re distant. And please, know that my scattered brain on a good day will always think of you while simultaneously not even considering that a phone exists. The love remains and I’m grateful that my loved ones know this.

I recently found photos from my 11th birthday party. I invited my best friends over for a Hello Kitty themed birthday celebration in the dining room of my mom’s house. Hello Kitty cake, plates and cups, hello kitty party hats. And a big ol jumper in the backyard. I was wearing a red spaghetti strap tank top from Forever 21, and a very short pair of faded black denim shorts with silver studs on the pockets from Hot Topic. The shorts were my favorite. That was 15 years ago. None of this had ever won a position in my recurring memories until I saw the photos again.

This year to celebrate, I wanted to keep things relaxed and chill. I took 3 days off work and decided on the 7th that I would have a picnic on the 8th. I wanted to have my friends come together in a way that wasn't at a dinner table and wasn’t at a bar. Interactive but still wholesome and relaxing. It’s so easy to take birthdays too seriously, and while anything can stress me out, a picnic takes the pressure off a bit. Kevin suggested a jumper because he knows how much I love them ;’) 10 online searches and 5 phone calls in, we found a place that could service us the following day. And viola, we had Hello Kitty’s house at the picnic party. A girly picnic with way too many snacks and drinks. Laying in the grass under the sun. Gentle conversation, gentle background music. I felt like a little girl, wearing a big and long red and white gingham print dress, with an outfit change into short shorts and a tank top to jump around the jumper in. I reminisce on my childhood too much, but this was my way of bringing that feeling back. A reminder that I can always feel that same carefree youth, in any moment I desire, when I do what makes me the happiest and lean away from the unnecessary pressure.

I spent the day of my birthday at a tea house for breakfast, publishing my website, and jumping in my sister’s pool over and over again. Which was exactly what I was craving: relaxation and family time.

— Love 4ever, Infinity

Photos by Johanna Recinos <3

Blair Mahya Quiñones 6/10/19 Blair Mahya Quiñones 6/10/19

#1 Only After Feeling First

Laying in bed at home with the sun shining through my windows behind me, cuddled in my soft violet blanket. It’s 1:40 pm.

I know this for certain most days—well, most days I know something is for certain, and that thing usually changes, not its certainty. For example, I know that I’ve lived days I love more than days I do not. That is a fact in my brain. That fact mends me, most days. And on a day like today I know that I am okay with lying in bed writing this and doing nothing more. Some days that would only upset me and I’d think Why am I not doing something more interesting with my day? or Shouldn’t I be cleaning something?— I know today I feel content with the trajectory of my day so far. I’ve shared my morning with loved ones, eaten a meal, layed on my back in the sun, I’ve been hugged, I’ve heated up and cooled off, I’ve indulged in a mystery—in a book and on the television—I’ve held my cat’s paw, and I am warm and comfortable. What a privilege it is to feel comfortable. What a privilege it is to feel. I have the pleasure of feeling and feeling and feeling so much, and letting that empower me. Letting that make me feel human and grounded and small. Small in relation to the size of the planet, that is. Because I feel so many complex emotions, and I work them out in my brain, and it gets sticky and messy. And while I’m looking down and looking in, distracted by the mess, I interrupt myself by remembering there is so much life going on around me. I’m not the only person feeling this exact “complex” feeling, thinking this intrusive thought, being hard on myself. Not so complex after all. I find it’s much easier to let go. To let it go. To surrender. Only after feeling first. And this is my superpower. In feeling small, I remember how to feel big and to grow and grow and keep growing. While I lay on my bed and write everything I’m thinking, seconds pass and I’m happy to say I’m happy right here, with the course of my day, the comfort it’s brought. It’s only 1:43pm. Wow, that’s my angel number. I just happened to look at the time in the moment that I needed to fill in the blank and there it was staring me in the face. I found those numbers staring me in the face for the first time in 2018 and I never looked for them, but still they appear and I let them speak to me because who wants to feel just human all the time? I love run-on sentences, they express my excitement or confusion. I like short, staccato sentences mostly. And I love the way a brain’s thoughts train away further and further from the point just to get back to it. Sometimes it does not. I notice often that my thoughts have their main points and then disappear into crevices of thoughts that reveal the opening end for the final thought to express itself. It happens so fast. I might just be running the fastest train in a brain ever known to earthlings. That is an exaggeration but a fun fantasy, because I can picture it. Can’t you?