Thursday, March 8, 2018

Essay 8: What I Learned after Two Weeks in Bed With the Flu

To state the obvious: I am not invincible.

Though, I act like it.

This is not to be confused with immortal. I know I am not this. I know I will die some day. This is about me thinking I can do everything that I need and want to do in every second of the day and night. Even if it means I get little sleep. Eh, I think to myself, sleep is overrated.

And then the universe had other plans for me.

I came down with this season’s terrible Type B flu. An awful thing rife with aching so intense that it’s not the muscles that feel pain, but the bones. The only relief is sleep. And long Epsom salt baths. Acetaminophen and ibuprofen can only go so far.

Okay, universe. You’ve got my attention now. I’m listening. I am still. (Not like I have a choice.)

I stayed in bed for two weeks. Mostly sleeping, but I wrote a little. I also read a little, only a few pages at a time. I re-read A Wrinkle in Time (because, well, the movie. Duh.). And I’m revisiting Pema Chodron’s The Wisdom of No Escape, because, well, there was no escaping the flu, so I might as well work on trying to embrace it.

I got out of bed this past Saturday because my youngest qualified for Junior Olympics in swimming and I wasn’t going to miss that! Bone aches be damned! But oh, how strange it felt to be outside in the world, to leave my cocoon.

Being in bed for two weeks with minimal contact with the outside world was indeed a cocoon. It was like a long-ass meditation.

So here’s what I learned:

I need a new mattress.

Changing pjs every few days helps create a sense of improving health, even if it’s only an illusion.

I love wearing pjs all day and night.

It’s nice to be home alone in stillness.

I know who will come through for me.

Only I can heal and nurture myself. Yes, family and friends can attend to me through offers of hot teas and steaming soups, supplements and essential oils, but that only lasts so long. This experience of illness is mine alone. As is the case of any experience each of us has.

My relationship with time has changed. Because my recovery has been slow, I have been moving slower – I don’t want to risk relapse. Two weeks was good enough for me. I don’t need more. As a result, I am no longer trying to jam things into every possible minute. The things that I am trying to accomplish do not need to happen in an instant. I am trying to create and sustain more space in my life. I have only been “back” a few days, so I don’t know how long this change will last. I hope it is permanent. I will do my best to make it so.

I have gotten more clarity on what is truly important, on what really matters.

The dishwasher wasn’t turned on last night? Okay. Just turn it on now. In the past, I would’ve gotten mad about it and yelled at the nearest person. That was really about control, not about dealing with dirty dishes. Now, I think I’ve made some progress in letting go of some control. Notice: I said “some”. Haha!

Being present in the here and now means being still. I’m thinking about Pema Chodron’s invitation to a pause practice – where you take several moments throughout the day and just take a few deep breaths to notice the moment, to notice your surroundings, to pay attention to how you feel in your body. But also? I’m thinking about Tara Brach’s talk on FOF (fear of failure) and FOMO (fear of missing out), where she asks the question: “Isn’t what I’m longing for already here?” Which is another way of saying: be present here and now because in this moment, everything is as it should be – you have all you need.

Yesterday, I was scheduled to fly out to Tampa for a conference. They cancelled my flight on Tuesday due to the coming snowstorm. My new flight is tomorrow. I am missing half of the conference. At first, I started to get anxious about the snow, about missing opportunities to see friends, to make connections, to pick up a few new teaching ideas, to hear some poetry (it’s been so long! Oh, how I miss it so!). And to be in Florida sun. The anxiousness was more mild than usual (a sign of progress!), but I was still bummed. Then my friend Jen told me about Tara Brach’s talk and instantly, I was over my FOMO. “Isn’t what I’m longing for already here?” Because truly, what I needed was an extra couple of days to rest and recover. This conference is so insane and overwhelming (15,000 people attend) that I’m going to need to be as close to 100% healthy as I can get in order to navigate the melee (someone used this word to describe the conference and it’s so apropos! Hah!).

And the big lesson I learned and am continuing to learn: to trust in the universe. To stop grasping for things. Everything will unfold as it needs to.

How do I do this? Meditate. Keep that ego in check. No need to kill it, just keep it in check. Let the heart-soul remind it who’s boss.

What I need to do now is to be okay with the fact that my rituals and routines are no longer there. After two weeks, everything vanished. I need to create new ones. Ones that allow for more space, more breathing room.

Getting back to my meditation practice has been shaky at best. My mind wanders all over the place! I’m a little sad about this because it felt so good to be still, to acknowledge the thoughts (which were less active) and let them pass through. Now? Now it’s a running to-do list with full-on sports commentary. (“Here comes a hairpin turn into a narrow aisle. Sometimes these garment racks get pushed too close. Will she make it? Wait – here comes another mom, coming in for the same pack of tights. Who will get there first?? She steps up her speed, careful not to look too obvious. She grips the cart handle and drives it into that turn, pulling a hard left. She makes it without knocking anything over! She makes a grab for those tights. She scores!”) I guess this is how I was in the beginning – I just didn’t know it. Now that I’ve got more awareness, maybe that chattering will diminish in less time and I’ll be back to on track.

Getting back to writing has been hard too. I feel like I’ve forgotten my way. What am I doing again? What am I writing? I feel alone. Isolated. While writing is an individual act, it is still very much rooted in community. At least for me. So being sick in bed for two weeks only emphasized my isolation in an area that feels like an artistic desert. BUT. The lesson here is that perhaps I need to look in the not-so-usual places for community and connection with other writers and artists where I live.

Oh, the things I have learned!


This is "Deep Thoughts #6" for 2018. I have taken Vanessa Martir's 52 Essay Challenge, and tweaked it a bit for this year. Instead of an essay a week, I'm just going to write some so-called deep thoughts. (Sometimes serious, sometimes jokey.) :)

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Essay 7: We Deserve All of It

This is "Deep Thoughts #5" for 2018. I have taken Vanessa Martir's 52 Essay Challenge, and tweaked it a bit for this year. Instead of an essay a week, I'm just going to write some so-called deep thoughts. (Sometimes serious, sometimes jokey.) :)

A friend of mine was just accepted into the MFA program of her dreams, a program which she thought was out of her reach, but said “Fuck it” and applied anyway.

She is in shock.

Legitimate shock where she’s now experiencing anxiety attacks and restlessness and insomnia. Of course, there are other things feeding into her anxiety as well, but this seems to be one of the big factors.

Last week, I attended a talk given by Deepak Chopra; I’m still processing what he discussed. The topic was tied into his newest book, The Healing Self. He talked about physiology (from conception to birth and how quickly the body develops) tying it in, naturally, with cosmic energy and spirituality. I was riveted. There was so much goodness in what he was saying – I took notes with a furious speed. I wanted to capture everything. It wasn’t that everything he was saying was necessarily new, but the way in which he was saying it –the language!—I wanted to make sure I had it.

One thing that stood out most for me was what he said about anxiety. The root meaning of anxiety is “of a narrow place” or being in a narrow place. Not a place of fear, as most people think. He said that when we’re born, our first experience is that of anxiety. We are trying to pass through a narrow place in order to arrive in this world, in order to be born, to start life here. (Yes, not everyone is born vaginally, but there are still stressors, such as labor contractions. That can’t feel good. Haha.) So in thinking about anxiety in this way, maybe we can be a little more friendly with it – thinking about it as a passage into a new chapter of our lives, being born into a new life. What vast possibilities await us!

Of course, change is scary. The uncertainty frightens most of us. And so we cling to what we know. We resist change. And what do you get? Suffering! Yeah! Hooray!

Haha – I make jokes. But that’s because it’s easier to laugh through our pain than to allow ourselves to cry. At least for me.

The point I’m trying to make is that we are a funny bunch. We want certain things in our lives, we make dreams, ask for blessings –and when we get them, we freak out. I know I do! And I know, for me, that has a lot to do with my programming (of which I am currently trying to revise). When I got that residency fellowship to Millay Colony, I was in disbelief (I still kinda am), thinking: are you sure you’re talking about me & my work? Are you sure you want to give me this? Me?? Who am I, even? You’re sure? A lot of that is me thinking that I’m not good enough or I don’t deserve something like this or the good old impostor syndrome or or or… blah blah blah… I’ll tell you –and I hate to admit this—but, on a subconscious level, I probably apply for less opportunities and submit less often because of this kind of thinking. The “I’ll never get it, so why bother?” crap. I’m better now than I was, even just a few years ago. More often I think: Fuck it – I’m applying/submitting anyway. That’s what a mediocre white guy would do. Hahaha!

But I want to shed this thinking entirely. I want to set my intentions for larger dreams and to not be afraid, to not freak out when they are manifested. I’m also working to shut out the voices that are not encouraging, the ones who question what I do (how do you earn a living?). Sometimes one of those voices is my own. That’s some tough work right there.

So in this moment, I am aware –which is always a terrific start—and I am working on being kind to myself. And then hopefully soon, I can truly celebrate this gift of a residency from Millay Colony. I hope that my friend is doing the same.

And that maybe our mantra is this: we deserve all of it.

Friday, February 9, 2018

Essay 6: Thinking, thinking

This is "Deep Thoughts #4" for 2018. I have taken Vanessa Martir's 52 Essay Challenge, and tweaked it a bit for this year. Instead of an essay a week, I'm just going to write some so-called deep thoughts. (Sometimes serious, sometimes jokey.) :)

I don’t have much to say this week. Not because there is nothing to say, but because there is too much to process. And one must process before one (namely, I) can speak. It has been a very full week for me.

Last weekend was Kundalini teacher training during which we discussed the mind. The three minds: the negative mind, positive mind, and neutral mind. And how meditation is pretty much the solution to everything. Hahaha! (Half joke, half serious)

I attended Marwa Helal’s one-night-only class at the Asian American Writers Workshop on the lyric essay and was really taken away by her knowledge and understanding of the lyric essay. I learned so much and I’m so so eager to get to work on some projects that could use the lyric essay as structure. Because there was so much goodness, I need some time to digest it all.

The night after that, I went to see Deepak Chopra give a talk on the healing self (the name of his new book). He started out talking about the body –from the moment of conception to birth—and how our bodies are engineering wonders, designed to repair itself without too much trouble. Halfway through the talk, he shifted to talking about awareness –the shift was seamless, really, a beauty to behold. In talking about awareness and physiology, he brought in ways in which we can maintain a state of wellbeing –all around. And then the yoga nerd in me kicked into high alert – he was talking my language! (To be honest, though, he was talking my language the whole time. Some of the metaphors –I wonder if he talks like that in everyday conversation…)

So yes, this week I am thinking, thinking (though my teacher, Mahan Rishi, discourages this – ego shouldn’t get so much attention. Haha! I tend to analyze and question and try to assign meaning to things that maybe don’t have meaning beyond what they are. Can a mountain simply be a mountain? Must it always be a metaphor for your life?). I am processing and digesting.

Some questions I am mulling over: if the present moment is what matters, if the goal is to focus on the now, what is the purpose of memory? If we are discouraged from clinging and encouraged to practice non-attachment (we are never the same person in any given moment, even if it is from one second to the next), what is the purpose of remembering the past? I don’t know if there are any answers. I am only pondering. (See above. Sometimes thinking gets me into trouble.)

But don’t worry, I won’t think so much that I will miss what’s happening right in front of my eyes. As for right now? Nothing is really happening in this very cold Starbucks (is there no heat in this place??).  One guy, in a long black wool coat, just walked out the door, coffee in hand, keys in the other, letting in a gush of cold air from outside. One person said thank you to the barista. The person next to me is reading something from his laptop while eating from the brown bag in his hand. There is a table of four people having a meeting of some kind. Yes, there are things happening. (I lied – haha) And while these things seem ordinary, if you take a moment to really look, to really see the ordinary, these are all people who are alive, who are breathing, who all have full use of their arms and legs, who might be having a hard time, or who might be having a celebratory time with no one to share it. So yes, be in the present moment. And don’t forget to breathe.

Sunday, January 28, 2018

Essay 5: On Being (Not) Still

This is "Deep Thoughts #3" for 2018. I have taken Vanessa Martir's 52 Essay Challenge, and tweaked it a bit for this year. Instead of an essay a week, I'm just going to write some so-called deep thoughts. :)

I cannot be still.

I know, I know: what you say is what you will become. I should, instead, say, I try my damnedest to be still and sometimes it happens, sometimes not.

I’ve been reading (on and off) Deepak Chopra’s Seven SpiritualLaws of Success. I can’t quite get myself to just sit down and read it all at once. I don’t know why. Could be the layout of the book. The manner in which is it written. Or it could just be me, not in a place to receive the messages he’s telling me. I read a little and then I put it down, carry the book with me everywhere, but don’t open it up again until days later (if I’m lucky). Instead, I open Ellen Bass’s The Human Line. Or Maggie Nelson’s Bluets. I don’t get it. I’m all about the yogic philosophy and spiritual practices. Chopra’s book outlines things I’m already aware of and reinforces these ideas –and maybe that’s it, the reason why I’m not done with the book already. Maybe I'm looking to learn something new. (Though isn't everything an opportunity to learn? Perhaps it's something else then.)

Anyway, I digress.

In the book, he talks about the Law of Pure Potentiality. (Yes, that’s chapter 1. This is how slow I’m reading a short book, which I “started” in the fall.) He talks about accessing this potential by being still, by sitting in silence, by meditating. Sounds good to me, right? I meditate every day. Twice a day.

But wait. My meditations are not sitting in silence. Often, I have a chant or mantra playing (or I’m chanting myself). There is power in sound and I am using it. On the other hand, there is also power in silence. Quite a dilemma.

I know, I know: I can hear the peanut gallery now: you meditate twice a day – just make one with chanting and one with silence. But that’s not the problem. The problem is stillness.

Lately –since the start of the new year, actually—my meditations have been difficult. My mind refuses to be still. Which is not to say that prior to this, my mind had been successful in achieving stillness, but that I have been able to go deep within and connect with Self, even if only for a few moments. Now? Now, I am all over the place. Like the Road Runner caught in a labyrinth trying to find my way out but moving so fast that I go down every path and miss the turns and slam into dead ends and try to back up but forgot where I came from and so end up repeating certain paths.


My friend Eugene reminds me that the most important thing is to just show up.

But you know, the judgmental ego says: yeah yeah whatever – that’s not good enough.

I have so many things I wanted to write about for this week’s essay. I’ve been thinking about the soundtracks to our lives and once again, wondering if we can reset the memories associated with certain songs. I’ve experimented and I wanted to write about that. I’ve also been thinking about race (what else is new??), but specifically in two instances: 1.) as a mother of color to biracial daughters – thinking about what messages our culture sends to them (white & thin is beautiful, for example) and how to, not only subvert that, but equip them with tools that challenge the status quo while celebrating who they are as they are; and 2.) the relationships across race that have been tested and possibly broken due to our current political landscape (I’m being intentionally vague here, because there is a lot to unpack –and I will write that essay for sure.) Also, I want to write about depression and anxiety, about people’s relationship with mental illness, about how stigmas and presumptions can cause real damage, about how we need to figure out the best, most effective ways of interacting with those in our lives who suffer on the inside.

See? There’s a lot brewing in my head. But I can’t sit still long enough to just listen to the silence, to be in the silence. Because perhaps there is something (likely the Self) whispering in that silence, telling me something important, something useful, something loving.

Being still sometimes feels scary because of what we might hear. Because what we find may be the thing we want to deny. Maybe the thing we find is the truth of ourselves that we do not want to face.

Eugene asked me: how do you do it? How do you do it all? I’ve been asked this question on more than one occasion. I do a lot. Between raising three kids (and acting as mom taxi for swimming, basketball, piano, and ballet), a teaching job, teaching yoga at two studios, going through Kundalini teacher training, running a household, and, oh yeah, writing – I don’t know how I do it. Honestly, I don’t. I know I get less sleep than most people. So there’s that.

But this is what I see: I do all of this because I am running. Whatever is chasing me (demons of all kinds), I am trying to outrun them. Which is why I think I have a hard time being still. Sure, I can sit on my cushion and physically sit still. But my mind? Wheels are spinning at a thousand miles per hour. But you know what? I can’t outrun them. They’ll catch up to me pretty soon. And then what? I don’t know. Maybe I should work a little harder on that stillness. Which means I have to also work on surrender. Eek. Maybe I can get through Chopra’s book to arm myself for spiritual success so that when they do catch up to me, I am prepared.


(*Side note: I also have to work on being more kind to myself. This is for another installment of "Deep Thoughts".)

Sunday, January 21, 2018

Essay 4: Writing that MeToo Story

This is "Deep Thoughts #2" for 2018. I have taken Vanessa Martir's 52 Essay Challenge, and tweaked it a bit for this year. Instead of an essay a week, I'm just going to write some so-called deep thoughts. :)

There is a writing contest being run by Memoir Magazine. This is not unusual for a literary journal to hold a contest. Writers and poets submit their best work, an editorial staff reads it, a judge –usually one of established reputation—makes the final decision on a winner. We’re not going to get into the complications and problems of writing contests here – that’s for another post. What I want to talk about is Memoir Magazine’s contest. They’re calling for submissions of MeToo stories.


I’m all for women speaking out about their experiences with sexual violence and sexual harassment. I’m all for each person to tell their story. These stories matter. We need to hear them and we need to see each person for who they are, for the experiences they had to endure. We need to believe them and to support them. We need to think more critically about how to work towards changing our cultural norms, about what’s okay and what’s not. (Don’t get me started on the whole "Grace" & Aziz Ansari crap and how people are trying to define what happened. You weren’t there so shut up. I have thoughts about this but I am too exhausted to put energy into writing about it. Plenty of people have already expressed my same sentiments. Here is one example.)


Is it me, or does it feel weird to enter a contest with your most personal, traumatic story about something like sexual violence? I feel like I’m pimping out my trauma for some cash and recognition. While Memoir Magazine does its best to state that they “love Truth” and they believe that “your story matters”, why does this feel icky? Is it just me? It’s already difficult enough to tell our stories, to have to relive our traumas in the writing and telling of our stories. But then to have it “compete” against other stories in which the authors have likely been re-traumatized in the retelling? It feels vicious.  Yes, our stories matter. Yes, it’s important to tell them. Yes, it’s important to hear them. But in a contest? I don’t know.

And then imagine winning that contest. “Hey everyone! Great news! I was just won a contest where I trotted out my worst personal trauma for all the world to see. How cool is that?!”

Uh, yeah. No.

I understand that Memoir Magazine is trying to honor the voices of those who choose to speak up and speak out about sexual violence, but I don’t think this is the way to do it. The Rumpus is a good example of what is helpful. They have a new weekly column called “Enough” that appears every Tuesday in which they feature a handful of MeToo stories to spotlight just how rampant rape culture is. Each person is given a place to speak. And importantly, not in competition with another’s story.

I just read Alison B. Hart’s “How to Write a MeToo Story” in LitHub. It hits the mark.

I’ve been thinking about writing my story for some time now. I’ve written about it for the last twenty years –mostly in poems, mostly through really obtuse metaphors. I’ve never written about it in prose, in a straight up “this is what happened” story. A couple of years ago, Roxane Gay put out a call for submissions for her new anthology, Not That Bad (which is coming out in May. Yes!!), asking for stories that relate to rape culture. This was well before MeToo. I took that as an opportunity to write down my story. It was fucking hard. On all levels. You want talk about re-traumatized? Damn. But I did it. I wrote it. Kinda. It was framed as a cautionary tale to my young undergraduate women students. Not quite the bald-faced “this happened to me” story, but it was a start. No, the story did not get accepted by Roxane, but that’s okay – the writing needed a lot more work. What I was grateful for was the push to write the story in the first place. That helped start the ball rolling for true healing. And so much has happened since. Good and difficult things.

So while I will not be submitting my story to Memoir Magazine, I will write it down and share it as I see fit. We need to ask ourselves if what we share will help us in our healing or if it will hinder us. After all, look at what happened to "Grace". We need to choose actions that will benefit, nor harm, us. And if that means telling our stories to our best friend and no one else, then so be it. As long as our silence is not held within.

Sending love to my fellow survivors--

Sunday, January 14, 2018

Setting Intention (Essay 3, or the new Essay 1?)

This is "Deep Thoughts #1" for 2018. I have taken Vanessa Martir's 52 Essay Challenge, and tweaked it a bit for this year. Instead of an essay a week, I'm just going to write some deep thoughts. :)

The year is fourteen days old. We’re practically halfway through January. It is the start of Week 3. Here I am, writing my first post. I am a tiny bit late. (For the record, I did write Essay 1 & 2, but felt "meh" about it. So why not start fresh with something I feel good about ?)

My superstitions tell me that this will be an indication of what my year will be like: I will be late. To everything. (Which, to be honest, isn’t much different from last year – haha!) I try to resist this thinking, but it’s hard when you grew up in a family whose existence is braided with superstitions. I mean, do we really believe that we’ll have an unexpected guest if we drop a utensil on the floor? (If it’s a fork, it’ll be a male guest. If a spoon, female. I have no idea why. I asked both my parents & grandparents and they have no idea. Filipinos & their superstitions, man.) Still, we superstitious folks hold on to these things as, uh, “interesting” ways to set our intentions. I’m curious: does anyone else put quarters out on your porch on New Year’s Eve to draw in prosperity (a custom Hubs did as a kid – its origins are unknown)? Or wear red, again for prosperity (a custom we Filipinos borrowed from the Chinese)?

I want to do two things here:
1. I will not let these first two weeks determine the outcome of the next fifty.
2. I will deliberately, purposefully, mindfully set intentions for 2018.


Expectations are a funny thing. What are they exactly? We’re often told to have high hopes but low expectations. What does that really mean? Hope for the best. Expect the worst. What kind of thinking is that? How confusing to the Self! We all do it, I know. I also know that it’s a protective measure. Apply for the job –go all out—but prepare yourself to not get hired. At least the disappointment won’t be so bad. Isn’t that setting yourself up? If our thoughts help create our reality, aren’t we already defeating our efforts by thinking in this way?


Last year was quite a feat for me. To write 52 essays in 52 weeks was nothing short of a miracle. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when I agreed to the Challenge. I was eager to write, brimming with plenty to say. I was eager to let go of perfectionism and just publish rough drafts. I just didn’t know how much actual time –as in, actual minutes and hours—it would take to write these essays. It took a lot. So I’ve been thinking about the Challenge for this year, turning it over in my hands, examining its weight, its crevices, its curves like a river stone.

Because I know what it was like, I am a little hesitant to commit to 52 essays in 52 weeks. I want to make use of my time in a different way. And while the practice of writing is, in and of itself, useful, I already spent a year doing that. Now I’m asking: how will I engage with the practice of writing this year? My dear dear friend Ross wrote what he calls “delights” – every day for a year. That book, The Book of Delights, will be coming soon from Algonquin Press. I could try that: write a delight each day. But I am not like Ross, who sees the world with such joy even in the face of tragedy and despair. He is a gift of a person. Truly. If I were to attempt this, I would probably just grow resentment in my garden of failure, watering it with tears of “not good enough” and “this sucks” until I had a full bloom of pitch black blossoms, packed with thorns.

Yeah. That’s me. This garden sounds about right. Hah!

So what to do instead? I’m not sure. I’m mulling it over. But in the meantime, I will jot down some thoughts here –maybe on a weekly basis. Just to keep the writing practice going regularly. Maybe something like “Deep Thoughts With Leslieann” (I was reminded of that old SNL bit “Deep Thoughts with Jack Handy” on a friend’s FB page – it was pretty funny). That title alone gets me in a playful mood so I won’t feel pressure to have to be thoughtful or serious. I could just joke around about whatever was on my mind that day. Or muse over the latest spiritual breakthrough (or cry about it, depending. Haha!)

Yes. This will be my writing intention for the year. At least for this blog.

The other writing? Well, I’m hoping to finish my poetry manuscript. But that can only happen if I’m actually writing and revising it, actually working on it, instead of doing whatever else I do with my time.

(Come to think of it, maybe I should do a time audit. See where I’m at and then plan out my time accordingly. To be mindful, intentional in how I spend my time. For real.)

(And no, this is not me being hard on myself – this is me trying to hold myself accountable. Me being hard on myself? Hah! You should see that one! Hmmm… maybe that’s the next “deep thoughts” so-called essay. Heh heh…)

So while the first two weeks of the year have been slow-going and really rough for me, I will not let that dictate the next 50 weeks. I will acknowledge it and keep moving. We cannot change the past but we can learn from it. We cannot predict the future, despite what our past experiences might tell us –nothing ever goes the same way twice. We can only be here, present in the now. (How’s that for deep thoughts?!) So, sit back, sip that tea, nibble that chocolate and enjoy your time here. I want this to be a year of self-kindness and love.


Disclaimer: There may be posts in which I’m in no mood for love or compassion or joy or peace of self-kindness. I reserve the right to say “Fuck” a lot and bitch and moan and vent… as long as I bring a little self-awareness to the table. J Namaste, bitches! Hahaha! *muwah!*

my intention bracelet with the word for 2018: authentic