adulting, blog, empathy, journal


I never reread what I write.

I understand actors that don’t like to watch their own work; and I don’t blame them. Because really: who would want to relive something they’ve already put on display, for others to critique — and are now left to conjure their own notes? I thought the hard part was over, facing the crippling fears, and all.

It is a bit naïve to believe there is some sort of m a g i c or mystery around leaving things we know we’ve put out there alone. We already know that all bets are off when we leave others in charge of our ideas and thoughts, letting them decide what bullet we should have struck them with when loading. (Well, we did pull the trigger, so we can’t ignore if they are). So, why add to the anxiety with our own second-thoughts?*

*also, I really just can’t read my own handwriting sometimes.

Taylor Swift had to have been very calculated when making her journals public — let alone turning them into a whole ass album — because I don’t know if I’d be as quick to hit that red button and launch my deepest thoughts…like, d e e p thoughts into the world like that. Why? For another self-reflection-turned-critique opportunity? (We can’t compare me to Taylor Swift, she’s just that good).

I’m already a bit shy to reread whatever I write to myself; let alone unveil my vulnerabilities to other vulnerable people that aren’t too shy with the opinionated notes. This just ruins the sanctity of journals and diaries! If things were worth reliving, I’d be reliving instead of writing about it.

I wonder if the same insecurites apply to authors recording their audiobooks. They had premeditations and critiques from their editors, and now have to deliver problems as polished, and try to make us readers get it?

*in the recording booth*

Studio Engineer: Hey yeah great stuff, but could we go over that Depression chapter again; and make sure to annunciate this time, thanks!

This facing moment must be the equivalent to hearing yourself on audio for the first time, being reminded of yet another thing that you don’t want anyone getting a glimpse of, ever.

Do I really sound like that?


There are so many vulnerabilities we face, and throwing in the voice we thought was safe from scrutiny, our own, makes for a very literal realization: we all have a voice, we are all vulnerable; but what can we decide stays on paper? And is there any true realness in our life’s monologue if we think someone is always listening?

I’m convinced that we are always rehearsing for an audience — polishing ourselves — so we really can’t be too surprised when the reviews come in. But: is everyone a critic, or just ourselves?

Maybe there is some literality in life being an open book, there always has been…

…and some of us just have some really good editors.




I always get in these moods – these creative, spontaneous, melancholy, mad-at-the-world, mad-at-my-body, I-love-my-body kind of moods. Conveniently seasonal, these temporary states of mind really persuade me that this is it — this is my personality now, I embody [insert disposition here].

I can say that this emotional indecisiveness is frustrating, not having a grip of who I am in that moment; but I’ve come to the realization that as easily as moods can change, so can the way we see ourselves — more prominently in those “mad-at-the-world, mad-at-my-body” moments.

The mad-at-my-body, mad-at-the-world kind of moods are the most inconvenient: being too self-conscious, too analytical or not enough of either when you are on your “best behavior,” that behavior of being forcibly aware of what I am consuming or which part of the body I am exercising at that time and DON’T mess up or we will be right back at square one.

Then the reality of this mental tug-of-war hits, the “mad-at-the-world” kind of reality where I am SO pissed that I even have to HAVE this discussion of healthy body-image with myself because SOCIETY is simply UNINHABITABLE under these circumstances; and don’t even get me STARTED on social media standards.

…exhausted yet? Don’t worry, these mood swings frequently occur more than once in a day.

Beyond these stress-induced episodes comes some positive implication that things are great and I am as creative and at peace with myself as ever! Those moods where you post on Instagram a bit extra than usual, or when you boycott social media all together because well, you’re edgy like that now.

Those moods when you read books because you respect literature as an art form and only succumb to stress while in an incense-smoked room; and you may have treated yourself to an extra trip to World Market this month for serenity in the “Italian Soaps” isle.

To me, this is the best seasonal state-of-mind to be in: its typically winter, you only use moisturizers that the LUSH counter girl told you was appropriate for your combination skin; and more beneficially, you care about your skin this month. Life can be calm and less congested when you surround it with lavender and chamomile!

Similar to your oils, the creative moods that are manifested in candle-lit rooms are essential to the next mood shift, the next temporary state of self that you will challenge your body and mind to uphold; but the candle-lit rooms sometimes burn out and leave these creative, spontaneous, melancholy, mad-at-the-world, mad-at-my-body, I-love-my-body kind of stenches behind.

How am I feeling right now, you ask?

All of the above, indecisively.

blog, poetry, short story

Poetic Boroughs

Now here I exist

Everyone is nothing, but

Will I become 

Yet another 

Ordinary passenger taking the

Ride to the place of never

Knowing how much it will 

Cost to maintain

Imagination and

Tell myself, I am not another

Youth chasing old dreams?

Being the eye of all that is

Ritual, thinking you need to be

Original by living in a place that is

Oblivious to life beyond

Knowing what you are told,

Looking for the journey

You only know for other people,

Never for yourself

Questioning the process, never 

Understanding that 

Everyone has their path,

Even those whom are triumphant

Neglect the truth that their 

Story was never written in a day 

Maybe it is a place of

Assumed struggle with opportunity,

Not similar to other places that 

Have no ignition or drive to

Articulate a plan – a 

Terminal map that can 

Transform hopes and dreams 

And chances into the reality you 

Never knew existed elsewhere

Arizona, blog, journal, peace

Something About the Rain

The sounds, the smells and the surge of creativity. Sensory overload can be our friend sometimes.

When you step outside, at first — you immediately notice the difference in the air. Your surroundings instantly shift from the day before, and you start to revel in the magnificence that you are typically driven mad from: silence.

There’s something about these days — rainy ones, that is — that offers more artistic energy than usual. When you allow this thunder-stricken treat to engulf you for the day, you see your outlets in a different light. Maybe its the atmosphere, you think; but then you start to analyze every bit of your surrounding, and that is the true difference that you don’t notice at first. It sneakily swifts you away, the rain, and your environment is immersed in immobile movement: as if every happening or haste has halted on this day for you to enjoy.

Submersing yourself in somber in this climate could be another way to ignite a creative spark, however it doesn’t typically suggest any interaction with the outside. This is another blind blessing, you can notice: quiet, calmness, candles and maybe even slight music in this background you’ve created for yourself. This loud muteness is enough to fill your thoughts with ideas and creativities that are usually muffled, however the cloud-filled skies have immersed your headspace with clarity.

If you experience these unexpected rainy days in Arizona such as I, you know to bask in all it has to offer, as you know the time you have with this newfound inspiration is minimal. It becomes sad to think of — the idea of having to firmly grasp days such as these, as if it transcends in your ability to hold onto it for so long once the sun comes out again. Maybe this is the idea, though: never inviting this rainfall as it may dampen your plans and keep you idle; but this torrent tricks you into thinking that maybe it isn’t a bad idea to let what usually engulfs your plans, engulf you instead.

Maybe Mother Nature has been on to something here…

As if she knew that we all need these days — days of precipitated peacefulness — to shake up our stability and jolt us where the lighting doesn’t usually strike.

adulting, advice, blog, help, journal, pleasing others, short story

Me, Myself and I

It may take two to tango; but making it to where I want to only requires three things:

Me, Myself and I

I’ve been told that making a blog would be difficult, time consuming and most likely won’t be successful because everyone is doing it.

Now, those first two doubtful remarks came to be true, I must admit; but I have already taken the first step necessary to dismantling the third: proving it wrong by ignoring it.

Sure, negativity and disbelief from those that you once thought were supportive of you and wouldn’t dare to speak illy of your attempt at doing something different can be a bit discouraging. However, the biggest hurdle I’ll ever have to jump over in achieving a goal that was deemed unachievable was choosing to ignore that opinion; and although I haven’t been met with overwhelming support since doing that, I’ve already made a stride in investing in myself by picking and choosing what will and will not influence my mindset.

Listen, I’m not a therapist, nor am I a life coach and I am definitely not the recommended chick to be the first to tell you when you’re supposed to be making choices. However, I am an individual — just like you — that has a list of goals to achieve, and some Negative Nancy’s behind me trying to throw me off. We’re always told to “ignore the haters”; and although I’m sure that saying has been made into 10,000 t-shirts and posters and are all sold exclusively at Claire’s — I say don’t ignore it. Instead, make it your fuel.

I’ve made a few mistakes in letting people decide things for me. I don’t mean just literal decision making; but emotional, mental and eventually physical — that is, i f you’ve let them engulf you that much already. At times, I’ve gotten so obsessed with what someone else’s opinion of me meant, so influenced by their lack of support or attention to what I was trying to achieve here, that I already became disengaged with the latter.

I concocted this image in my head that if this person doesn’t like me, I’m not going to like me. This subconscious self-loathing digs so deep and strikes your emotional cords so roughly, that this obsession of mine had now made me focus more on someone else‘s thought of me, rather my attention to the goals I was so pissed about them not supporting. This was their goal. Once you realize this game — this tug-of-war between loving yourself and your ideas, against one person who’s support was never yours to begin with — you can start to analyze their invalidations as their insecurities; and begin to dissolve yours.

There’s no greater feeling than proving someone wrong. The second greatest feeling is turning that narcissism into empathy for the individual that just wasted your time by consuming all of your energy — because you know you have the creative hand that they cannot even high-five themselves with.

We can start to feel sorry for them, maybe even regretful that they didn’t see your ideas fully or spark something in them to change their mind or involvement in your projects sooner; but instead we should feel empowered by their lack of belief in you or your goals — remember, the fuel? You’ve proven yourself capable of bulldozing the wall of insecurity they’ve subconsciously built for you; but know it was concreted with theirs.

I may make this blog about random anecdotes, my trips to New York and other inspirations that I find best translated in this format; but this is my format; and although I may not reach every audience, conquer every platform and satisfy every person, I know at least three people reading will be:

Me, Myself and I

…and you know, they always say that three’s a crowd.


New York Poems (Collection)

I’m Moving to New York

by Toni Borkovic

I’m moving to New York; and do not try to stop me!

I want to be around the hustle and bustle,

Where only I can define me

Where the rectangles of yellow light from up high beam

Though no one is ever home in those buildings, it seems

Because they are all out here, talking their talk

With their quick-paced stalk

Their impatience devouring the crosswalk

Constantly moving, that’s where I want to be

I’m moving to New York!

And — please — do NOT try to stop me!

The Village

by Toni Borkovic

If you stroll on a June day, it can be very tricky

To try and help yourself from becoming all humid and sticky

Because when your mid-summer walk

Makes you take frequent pit-stops,

Your day can zip by without grabbing a cone from the Big Gay Ice Cream Shoppe

If you know what Village is mentioned

Then you know not to question

That yes, that one show was filmed here that one time

So you may want to skip 90 Bedford

And stroll in a different direction

If You Take the Subway

by Toni Borkovic

If you take the subway, then you know not to stare

If someone is eating a Gyro in the corner, who cares?

This isn’t your train

And trust me — no one will refrain

From letting you know

You are letting your tourism show

Even though you’ve been here for while

Can you believe the A train runs thirty-one miles?


It is Selfish to Want to Control Everything (Journal)

I am frustrated because I don’t know what I can and cannot control. I want to be able to decide what I do, which I can; but I also want to be able to decide what the outcomes to my choices are. I realize this is naive, as we can’t be the judge of our own actions, I understand; but why can I make a decision, but not the outcome? This inability to predict, I feel, is a power we are all lacking. We can choose what to wear, but cannot tell if we are going to be comfortable in an outfit without trying it on. An outside opinion of the outfit I am choosing to wear is unprecedented, too; however it isn’t the particular opinion I care about. I care that I have the ability to choose what I want to do, and I care that I want to be able to predict and see what the outcome of what this decision will bring me; but it is only for my own knowledge that I care for. I now realize that this isn’t just being naive—it is selfish. It is selfish for me to assume that I can do what I want, wear what I want and also have the power to know what I will eventually want. You see, there are many things we have the capability to have control over: the outfit, the attitude, our tone, our hair, our feelings and most importantly our self-reflection. I can choose what I would like to reflect on in this moment of time, and maybe cut-out and make a pile of scraps of things I chose not to choose at that time. This is a power in itself, I understand, but I now have another ability to make a decision on what an outcome of something will be: the pile of scraps I have swept into a dustpan, abandoned to collect dust—or, missed reactions—that has now been deemed the unprecedented outside opinions that I chose not to care for previously. It is selfish, yes, to assume that I can know everything and anything I would like to know about the past, present and future self; but it is cooperative to accept outstanding input that I once decided was not necessary to my own control—that I once swept into the dustpan and left to collect that dust—those reactions—that possibly could have deemed themselves useful in my time of frustrations. So, no, it cannot be solely up to me to pick and choose the responses and reactions I receive on actions and decisions I wanted to be able to control myself; but it is up to me what responses I sweep under the rug, and what I choose to allow to help ease my frustration.