Posts tagged Who Pronounced You Dead?
You're A Gifted Child, The Universe Told Her

You’re a gifted child, the universe told her. She was 1.

I have a feeling I won’t get along with this child, an uncle told her Father. She was 2.

There’s something special about this child, the adults crowded around her. She was 3.

I don’t want you playing with her, her aunt told her cousin as they were playing together. She was 4.

Could be a disorder, the psychiatrists told her parents as they observed her. She was 5. 

The kids in school won’t play with me, she told her Mother. She was 6.

Don’t ask for less responsibilities. Instead, seek more strength to carry, said the universe. She was 7. 

There are lots of people waiting for you to fall. You can’t let them win, an aunt warned her. She was 8.

I am meant to be alone in this life, she believed. She was 9. 

It was at a Best Buy when a stranger reached inside her skirt. She was 10. 

If you could carry their burden, maybe they’ll find happiness again, she told herself. She was 11.

Please, don’t take my Mom from us, she prayed on her knees for an hour each night. She was 12. 

The voices aren’t real, she assured herself as she trembled beside the light each night. She was 13. 

I don’t know who I love more, said her first boyfriend after she found out. She was 14.

My girlfriend doesn’t want me talking to you anymore, said her best friend. She was 15.

All you can do is show more compassion. Understand them even if they can’t understand you yet. You were created to walk through hell with a smile, she practiced in the mirror. You were designed to carry much more than this. The universe gave you the capacity to see, understand, absorb more. Your only job in this life is to color its picture with your own colors. She was 16. 

Why not? she began to ask. She was 17. 

Just love more, she told herself. The more it hurts, the more you must love, because only love can conquer pain. Love purely, beautifully, vibrantly. She was 18.

You can trust me, her best friend and third boyfriend promised for over a year as he carried a separate life behind her. She was 19.

Would you like to go on vacation together, a professor asked as his lips touched her ear. She was 20. 

I will show her that life is beautiful, that light and love always wins. I will prove to her the power of absolute faith, and she will pull through. She was 21. 

You’re beautiful. I think I’m in love with you, her boss told her as he ran his hand down her back. She was 22. 

She’s a lesbian, it’s all in your head, her fourth boyfriend made her believe for two years. She was 23.

What kind of world shall I build? Who do I invite into it? she finally asked. She was 24.

Before you embark on this next journey, take a deep breath. Relax. Give the child some space to heal, I tell her. We’re 25. 

Who Pronounced You Dead?

Hi, I'm Hillary. I believe in alignment, magic, creation, and expansion, and am terrified of being a fraud. I'm hiding from a child, behind a child. 


You see, the beginning of my life revolved around one single theme: The Gifted Child. Ever since I was a young gal, I've been told that I had this extraordinary capacity--adults in my family, teachers, peers, bosses, strangers with whom I shared a moment’s conversation…etc. And so at an early age, I promised the universe to do something extraordinary with my life. 

In my earlier days, my differentness caused chatter in my family, and I remember being instructed by a distant relative to stand strong in life because there were people waiting for me to fail. As a young gal, I felt isolated...isolated form my peers, isolated from the world, isolated from who I was. All I knew was that I had to do something magnificent with my life, and I had to guard this gift of mine, even if it was with elitism, deceit, isolation, self-rejection, shame, guilt...etc. 

There was also a deep need within me to protect the people who believed in me. In a way, I was responsible for their word and faith. They didn't pressure me to become great. They believed in meand that was so much more. (In fact, all my parents ever taught me to do was to use this gift of mine to follow my heart and build a simple, beautiful life). But The Gifted Child was everything I knew. 

She (the child) shaped me into who I am today. At a young age, she taught me to embrace my uniqueness. While other children were learning how to read time, she spent the majority of her time pondering the meaning of life. This child quickly grew impatient with the pace of life and boundaries of time, money, and such. She was to beat time, live outside of its boundaries. She was to live many lives at a time. And money? She was to create a new form of currency...The Gifted Child, she felt this unimaginable force within, this ability to see, feel, and understand things that no one else did. 


Ah, The Gifted Child. She was my most powerful asset and my deepest hindrance, a gift and a curse. 

She had trouble connecting with people. She was afraid to be who she was, and afraid to disappoint the people who believed in her. And worst of all, She felt like a fraud. Constantly. She never felt like she was good enough. 

Elitism, deceit, isolation, self-rejection, shame, guilt were just a few symptoms. The only time she felt at peace was while watching genius movies or reading Nietzsche, or Emerson, or Einstein...etc. That's still true to this day. 

So I suppressed her to the extent that I could. I rejected her. And she rejected me.

I turned 25 this past weekend. I still haven't changed the course of history

At 25 years, I sit here battling the inner child within me. The one terrified to make mistakes and expose herself, mortified that they'd discover she was a fraud, and all the lies I've ever told to cover up the fact that she was just another gifted child who couldn't make it through the scopes of society. Let me explain...


They pull out their telescopes to hunt me down. They capture me only to put me under a microscope. Had they looked through a kaleidoscope. They would have seen me. They would have realized that I'm everywhere. 

That we can't exist without each other. That we're a consequence of each other's thoughts, actions, and beliefs. That we live both for each other and from each other. That in this life of infinite love and change, all we're really looking for is alignment. 

Alignment with each other. Alignment with the universe. Alignment with ourselves deep within. 

Only after understanding that did my inner child put down her telescope. And microscope. 

I'm been afraid my entire life, running from myself and hiding from that child, the unfamiliar power within. I wasn't afraid of disappointing everyone else. No, I was afraid of disappointing her. I never had a life away from her. In a way, she had pronounced me dead before I could take my first breath. 

But I took my first breath, and the breaths that followed were inhaled with intent to suppress her. I had a bag full of ammunition: telescopes, microscopes, periscopes...the same ones she had used against me. 

I wanted for so long to pronounce her dead. To break free of the chains that contained me. To unleash the me beyond her, and to show her that she was the only thing holding me back from coming alive. Put an end once and for all to elitism, deceit, isolation, self-rejection, shame, guilt that she had caused by destroying her. 

But elitism, deceit, isolation, self-rejection, shame, guilt is not the means to that solution. What I can do is pull out my kaleidoscope and invite her to do the same. 

Should we put an end to all this? 

Who pronounced you dead?

...What does alignment mean to you?


A Ripple of Resurrection

My mood changes with the seasons, and on the colder days, I'm never really able to shake off the feeling that I'm a burden to those close to me. On my lighter days, I’m painfully aware of the negative energy I release into the world I claim to love; and on the heavy ones, I crave destruction.

It’s not only the seasons that determine my state. It’s the rhythm of the wind, the pattern of the stars, the way the blood flows through my veins at a particular angle of posture. Extreme hypersensitivity, I’ve called it since I was 3 or 4.

Nothing ever seems to help. 

Except this… 

There was a point in time when I spent my nights trembling beside a night light, haunted by the vibrations of my spiritual sensors. One fortunate Sunday, my good pal Fortuity introduced me to my teacher, Ying Lao Shi. (I’ll tell you about Fortuity later). My Lao Shi explained to me that what I possessed was the gift of a beautiful mind. Until then, I never realized that a mind could be beautiful—and could hardly see how beautiful could be used to describe the dark universe that tortured my sanity each night. He explained to me that he shared an experience similar to mine in his 40’s, and explained that the fact that I experienced this so early on in life meant that I had that much more time to control it and mold it into something beautiful. Ying Lao Shi taught me that my mind wasn’t to be feared, but to be understood, to be mastered. Almost like a superpower.



My teacher didn’t just leave me with those words. He devoted hours every Sunday introducing me to the world’s newest technological innovations, medical breakthroughs, ancient scripts on spiritual resilience, potential career paths, the power of pure love, the art of imagination, and also helped me develop practical skills such as public speaking and time management. Near the end of these sessions, we philosophized for hours and hours at a time—ideas and theories zipping across the room at the speed of light. And so one Sunday at a time, Ying Lao Shi tapped into the gift that he recognized within me. Funny thing is that a decade later, I’m just realizing that not only did he gift me 60 years of knowledge, but also a lifetime’s worth of wisdom. He opened doors to a universe of possibilities while teaching me how to close the doors that did not deserve my attention.  

I’ve often wondered about my teacher after the years of Sundays that we spent together. There are so many questions I never asked. Ying Lao Shi always carried a goofy smile on his face. He and his wife were both truly happy, and embraced so much love for each other and the world around them. Even when he was frail and barely able to speak after falling ill to cancer, my Lao Shi smiled and cracked jokes that made us all giggle. That’s when I realized that there was pain in his life that never manifested into his expression. Or maybe I just missed it.  

So every now and then, I’m reminded of the beauty associated with those who have suffered and pulled through darkness. I remember that I shouldn’t be ashamed of the darkness within me because there is so much more light. Darkness isn’t something I can eliminate from my life—at least I haven’t learned how yet. And like taking a shower, detoxification of the mind must become a daily habit. There will be days when we’re stuck in darkness, and that’s quite alright. Sometimes we just need to stop fighting sadness so we can accept it and let it pass. The difference is that now I believe in myself, I believe in the light inside of me.

Since Ying Lao Shi, I’ve developed a habit of memorizing people's expressions—on my way to work, at a coffee shop, at a concert, during family events—the list goes on. I remember people by the stories of their expressions. And every now and again, I spot these troubled eyes with a touch of magic…love for life, love for tomorrow. These drowning eyes still full of faith and fight.

These eyes remind me that the most beautiful people, the very ones who allow me believe in life again and again, have all suffered deeply one way or another. Their expressions are of understanding, of purity. They’re eyes that whisper, “I don’t need to know your past to walk beside you.” These people walk through walls with a core of fire and a heart of gold.

And this heightened sensitivity that my Lao Shi has spent so much time cultivating, well it’s a gift. It allows me to feel what others feel, become what they are, visualize & absorb the possibilities of their imagination. My sensitivity is my superpower.

A Piece of the Past; A Peace for the Future

My Darkest Mask

Inspired by a conversation this week, a part of me has awoken. Call it the full moon if it eases you, but that evening I opened myself up to vulnerability almost unintentionally. I don’t know the purpose of this note, whether I’m asking for acceptance or merely seeking clarity and finding my place in this universe.

Among the topics discussed were my two fantasies growing up; one to be a nun, and the other, a prostitute. Having given this some thought in the past, it appears that what ties the two together is a level of detachment from basic human emotion. 

I've noticed that I often find it impossible to feel anger. Not so much because it's a useless reaction, but because punishing oneself over the fault of another doesn't seem to me a natural flow of energy. But I digress. 

Returning to human experience, it didn't come naturally to me. I remember very well the last episode of the British show, Sherlock Holmes. In the episode, Sherlock's sister, Eurus, shares that she had always felt as though she lived in the clouds. She paints this picture beautifully by setting a girl on an airplane in the sky where everyone else is asleep. The young girl is the only one awake in a plane of unconscious passengers, with no direction and a crashing plane full of lives in her hands.   

Now Eurus’ incandescence far exceeds my capacity, but my sentiment and apprehension very much mirrors her's. Growing up, there were patterns. People learn. People think. People understand. & Well...I see, absorb, and become. 

There's always lived a detachment from mankind in me. As a young girl, I remember watching man as if from the clouds, unable to grasp their essence. I remember watching children fight over toys, and I, unable to tear my eyes off of the little red object. Was it the color, the movement of the wheels, or man's unwavering desire to sacrifice their attention riddled in exchange for a moment's enchantment? 

Most of man’s concepts and actions I found to be foolish, but I was simultaneously simply and completely mesmerized by the power of the superfluous. The child in me made a pact to find man's secret, and I began by adopting all that was man. I started feeling man’s emotion, I started calculating transactions. And my maturity was nurtured with every emotion I felt, every character I played—as was my manhood.

Then I started falling in love with things and with people. But that wasn't enough. I wanted to live, and I wanted to write the story of life—not just chapters within a novel, but also short stories, poems, epics. Oh, how enticing it all felt. And gradually, an experiment transformed into something unstoppable. I became obsessed. And on my lighter days, I crave and starve for the human experience.

I wanted to hold the light and darkness. I wanted to know. I wanted to feel. I wanted to be. I wanted to die. I wanted to live. The heightened euphoria of intimacy, the dysfunctional depth of emotional dehydration. And oh boy did I love, and love, and love. I lost myself, I re-envisioned myself, I consistently compromised the limitations of my capacity. I watched as characters redeveloped around me, almost sadistically, as I starved myself with enchantment. 

Perhaps I've fully assimilated and have become one with man. Perhaps all the silly products of man are rather nice. And perhaps money and time, human emotion and love, all the little red objects on wheels that I play with now—well, they could be common miracles. Perhaps this is all imagined and I am just man. How beautifully terrifying would that be? If I am man, must these thoughts color me despicable?


Growing up, all the adults recognized my intelligence. Cousins my age were warned to stay away from me to avoid any visible line of comparison. The cousin who I was closest in age with growing up, he bullied me. And still to this day, he tries to dissociate himself from me. Am I so grotesque? I learned to keep my mouth shut and keep my observations to myself. So now I ask questions and stop there.

And the people that I respected most, they recognized something too. And they wanted to nurture whatever it was that they saw. It was my new weapon. Or rather, a shield. Whatever it was that people saw. It was always different. I didn’t care, it gave me power and momentum. And sometimes, momentum shadows clarity.

I've been asking Who am I for as long as I can remember. When shall I muster the courage to ask What am I? Or must I surrender under the illusion of personality disorder? Oh dear, please somebody wake up, please. After all, I am just a little girl in the sky with little direction and a fear of crashing the plane full of sleeping souls. 

And this concludes the most vulnerable, darkest mask I wear. My hands tremble, my eyes water, my breath hesitates.  


A Piece of Today’s Peace

What I'm trying to say is that I've gradually fallen in love with what it means to be human. At my purest state, the word imperfections stands completely hollow. This manmade illusion of perfection averts us from simply existing and vibrating as energies. I am a compilation of vibrations. Aren’t you?

Most days, I feel like The Little Mermaid in this world so foreign, so magical. And I worry because being human feels foreign, even after so many years of falling in love with it. After my short stories are complete, I must again return to my cloud. After writing and writing, I lay down my pen and let life speak. My dimension is calling.

There are two reasons why this is relevant now:

1.       Relationship

About three years ago, I fell in love with a kind heart. He was rather simple—an intellectual and voracious learner who carried his virtues with much soul and playfulness. Such energy was to be absorbed, and I did so almost immediately. So foreign, so sheltered, my last three years have been of light and cheerfulness. And I thought, “Wouldn’t it be nice to spend my life in this story, as this very character?” There were times when I felt completely content writing chapters of a novel. I closed this novel two days ago.

Within those three years erupted endless wars between the protagonist and the writer of my story. Day after day, I found myself short of breath, drowning in the air of man, yet I continue. For three years straight, I lived in a constant state of sleep paralysis. Screaming and kicking and begging, trading all my attention to move a finger or toe. Every day, I found myself chanting, “What the hell am I doing here?” And yet again, every day, I chose to be there. And how could I not, every moment was beautiful! 

A few months ago, I also met someone with a little bit of magic, almost dark magic it would seem. What I want from this person is completely different, but he chose the black dress, and I knew he held the first paragraph to a story I want to write. He opened a door, and I exploded in agony. It was like tasting snow for the first time. My entire body drops as I embrace a ground full of falling winter, snowflakes raining as stardust. Often times in life, we meet people who emerge from thin air, staying but a moment’s time to open a window or sit beside you. And so I continue to remind myself in all my interactions with man, we destroy things by trying to make them last forever. How beautiful it is to dissolve in a moment’s time and call it infinity?

2.       Work

Entrepreneurship has always been arousing, challenging me in the most devious of ways. Commitment and organization were hardly faces I could recognize, not to mention the rallying of man support. So naturally, I was drawn to this brilliant adventure. But how can I embark on this journey if I think so ordinarily of mankind's fight for attention and competition? Encounter after encounter my identity withers challenged, and I stand here today directionless before the man-made concept of business, paddling against nature’s currents. What shall motivate me to keep impelling?

Perhaps the reason for my insecurity and deep fear of abandonment is that I don’t belong in this world. And at any moment, they will find out. And when they do, it will just be me in the sky with a crashing plane.

I’m not so delighted as to think me any different. There have been a great deal of those before me, people who saw and felt more. Many of us have assimilated into roles of man simply out of awe by the innocence of man. Some became scientists, some became writers and philosophers. Where do the rest go?

What we’re composed of is a little different. We have a little bit of magic in us.

It’s not intelligence, and that’s what we need to realize. My parents thought it was intelligence, people label it IQ. It’s simply not. So don’t call us artists, as artists are defined by what they create. Don’t call us anything, and simply coexist with us because we share a home in this magical universe.

What we’re composed of is an overflow of energy and adventure, completely and erotically vibrant. And this is what I wish to tell my partner. I feel so much, and to project that onto a relationship just isn’t fair. I travel between dimensions, and to have you wait simply couldn’t be. I tell you this as I’ve tried to tell you each day since we’ve met, I was born and raised in a universe different from the one we know, and occasionally, I must return home. I was never meant to stay in one place for too long, even though I fantasize about it every day, and will never stop asking why not.  

How many times must I arrive at this destination until I can find my journey? Or is the secret to recognize that the passengers are happy sleeping, that perhaps if I steer through the rhythm of my heart, we will safely land. What if they wake up and cannot breathe the air that I breathe. What then?