GABRIELA YARELIZ

Studio Update 24

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Today, we had the fiercest storm. It felt almost like a hurricane. The winds were bending the trees, tangling the wires and rattling everything in sight. At one point, I had to lock myself in my bathroom to take a call from my boss because I couldn’t hear her over the howling wind and loud sirens.

In these past few days, COVID-19 has hit closer to home base. I have been home in an effort to be smart, though part of it is fear. (If we are being honest). I check the mail once a week, so they know I am not dead. I still have to take the elevator to take down the trash. It makes me nervous. Everything takes ten times longer because you have to literally strip down when you come home.

I have learned to do more facial massage from the lovely French lady. I learned to do a Brigitte Bardot hairstyle, I watched Naseem cook Persian style eggs on IG live, I led a Bible study on Easter weekend, and I finally finished Giver of Stars. The ending was my favorite part.

I have been locked inside for more than a week. It feels safe, after today’s severe weather.

It was one of those days where you feel everything wants to destroy you— from the fierce winds to the shared surfaces in the apartment mailbox hall. But then the winds calm. And all is still.

Tomorrow is another day. The mailman will come. The sun will shine. And I will start another book.

That Nicholas Sparks Love

By: Gabriela Yareliz

He once said they had that Nicholas Sparks kind of love.

What makes a Nicholas Sparks kind of love story?

It’s not the meet cute. It’s not the passion. It’s not the affinity. All the stories are different.

You know you have a Nicholas Sparks love story when the love lasts forever.

If you aren’t healing, writing letters all the time, making someone else’s small dreams come true— if you aren’t there in sickness and in health and holding hands in old age— it’s not Nicholas Sparks. It’s another author, but not Sparks.

You don’t have a Sparks story when the story is legendary. No. You have a Sparks story when the love is legendary.

The Convenience of Religion

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I grew up in the churches where you could find half the church in a hospital room holding a prayer vigil, as someone held the sick person’s hand, while praying. It didn’t matter who walked by. The prayer was loud. Hell, we prayed for the nurses, doctors and whomever was sharing the room. We came so often they knew who we were and that we would be there as visitors as long as the patient was there.

They were churches where you could call the church at midnight and tell the pastor your brother went missing and that pastor would show up in a car at your house ready to start a search party into the dark hours of the morning.

Churches where we bought groceries for people, and we went camping together. They were churches where you would spend hours at people’s houses, and naturally invite them to every big event in your life, not as a formality but because you couldn’t imagine doing it without them.

Today, churches all over the world are striving to foster community. But I guess we should go back to the root of what community means.

Community— it requires being deeply inconvenienced. It requires love. Love always requires sacrifice.

We are proud of our stages, awesome billboards, digital announcements and marketing and our Zoom links. Churches are offering community, they feel. But community should go beyond our gatherings; even go beyond small community group gatherings.

Community is found in the darkest of nights. Community is the people around you at your hospital bed. Community is the person who shows you they care enough to be inconvenienced.

We can keep our Zoom links, if that’s what we think community is— if we think it’s singing worship songs together and discussing Bible passages, and making a list of prayer requests— we are so blinded. Community is the hand that holds yours when it’s too dark to see what is in front of you. We need to redefine community to what it truly means, and then maybe, we will find what we are so desperately trying to counterfeit.

Whose hand can you hold tonight? What perimeter can you walk and pray for with passion until your feet hurt? What can you lift up, even if your legs and arms are shaking? I want to go back to what I knew community to be. It was the knowledge that the beeping on the hospital monitor was scary but that the people who surrounded you made it less scary. Community— many stars coming together to light up a dark sky.

Studio Update 23

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Today, as many Christians around the world, I spent time deeply reflecting on the cross. It always brings tears to my eyes, not because of its darkness, its gory nature or the subject of death. None of these things alone are what compels a deep surge of emotion in me.

To me, it’s simply the love. When one experiences the deepest of wounds available in this human flesh— things like betrayal, abandonment, neglect and instability— one knows what it’s like to be shattered. Truly shattered. And in Jesus’ walk to Golgotha with His cross, I see a God whose love for me was so deep that He picked up every single shattered piece of my heart along the way. He did this for me. He loves me. And this knowledge has made it clear to me that in the end, it doesn’t matter what I face in this life, who likes me or doesn’t, or what I may think I have need of— it doesn’t matter because He loves me.

Love is an action, and God illustrated it because that is who He is. He embodies love. Love rescues us from the pits of our own hell. Love is so powerful that it tears us up inside when it arrives. It cuts us to heal us. When we experience the depth of love, we can never be the same.

I sit on this Good Friday, and watch the movie of my own life, up until this point. I see a love that has never let go of me. It moves me deeply because it has made me whole.

What faith in Jesus means to me, isn’t always easy for me to explain. If you have a couple hours, I would tell you significant details in my life. It’s something deep in my bones. A conviction that can’t be removed. A truth that impacts every aspect of my life. A shelter from the storm that is this life.

The cross to me is a symbol of being whole. My relationship with God is whole, and all gaps have been bridged. Because of Jesus. My heart is whole; all pieces were seen, found and loved. Because of Jesus.

Complete.

Studio Update 22

By: Gabriela Yareliz

It’s the 100th day of quarantine. Kidding. But that is what it feels like. I am ready for the weekend.

Today was a stormy day. It matched the whole Thursday before Good Friday vibe. Thunder. Black clouds. Rain. Hail.

I finally sat down and read for a bit. I spent like an hour doing facial manipulation and learning face massage techniques from La Semaine Live.

On my mind was this idea of the philosophy of minimalism. In times of crisis, this philosophy takes hold and gains more traction. We are all cleaning our closets and trying to find what sparks joy. (When in reality, Marie Kondo just wants us to buy her branded drawer dividers. Ironic.) I was thinking about how we can move around external things and chuck what doesn’t spark joy, but how this resolves nothing on the inside. You can still be a materialistic minimalist. Throwing out what doesn’t spark joy doesn’t mean joy remains.

I have been thinking about what it means these days to really return to the essentials, and that to me means seeking God and His righteousness and nothing else. He promises to add what we need to this search. Matthew 6:33 says, “Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you.”

It’s about searching for Him so passionately that we end up realizing that He is all we need. Nothing needs to be added.

Studio Update 21

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Hello from the land of virtual parks— they are still trying to sell us on that. I tried to make the Dalgona hot chocolate. It did not work. I ended up with a syrupy chocolate milk. I whisked and whisked. On the other hand, I was able to make a good decaf chai latte with my milk frother. So good.

I woke up from another nightmare. This time, I remember nothing except one of my brothers was calling out my name. I woke up, thinking he was in the room with me. I was alone. The voice had sounded so real that this was what mentally woke me up. What is it with these quarantine nightmares? And apparently, I am not the only one. Leandra Medine Cohen (Manrepeller) and Danielle Bernstein (WeWoreWhat) have also reported strange nightmare dream activity. Hmm.

So far, all of mine have played on fears. Being trapped, having something done to me against my will (when they cut my hair— it’s not the hair cutting that is scary to me— I have done that a million times), and now something regarding my brothers. What do I know. We won’t figure this out tonight.

I made biscuits today and ate a salad. I am impressed. I got a surprise letter in the mail from my love, and then sat down to study my Bible for a bit.

Throughout the day, I hear the birds chirping. Freedom. I did my yoga challenge of the day. It was all about synchronizing breath with motion. If I needed more proof that I am terrible at breathing— this was it.

I realized I grew impatient with the video. It’s not even that it was going too slow, though I have been known to be the girl who double taps the fast forward button on a yoga video. (I will come up with my own genre of it called speedy yoga). I know. But now, there is nowhere to rush off to. I am not speeding through a down-dog to catch the train I need to get to court. There is no hurry, anymore.

I think what frustrated me was the intentionality. Synchronization doesn’t necessarily require a slower or faster speed. Instead, what it requires is intention. Maybe part of what has frustrated us all about this lockdown is the quiet that requires us to see where we lack synchronization. When we see it, we grow frustrated because synchronization is not easy, it requires focus.

Rather than getting frustrated, hitting pause or fast forward, maybe all we need to force ourselves to do is breathe. Stick with it and breathe.

(exhale)

Studio Update 20

By: Gabriela Yareliz

Have you found yourself doing something you don’t usually catch yourself doing? Stress can sometimes make us do weird things. Sometimes, we clench our jaw, and sometimes, we even sort of hold our breath. I have caught myself, on occasions, reminding myself to breathe. Ridiculous, I know. I used to find I held my breath a lot at the library. I guess books take my breath away? (Take me away— Calgon. Oh man, do you remember this body spray that was available at Walmart? I can still smell it, when I close my eyes).

Word on the street has it that Joanna Gaines and Magnolia have a new cookbook out. I only got thirty copies of the same promotional text message, today. It must have been a glitch. I even unsubscribed, and I still received ten more. Fix it, Jesus.

I am going to reduce my work hours. I am putting in a ton of hours. I need to use this time to catch up on my New Yorkers. I am two issues behind.

I got a surprise care package today! This was so exciting. My boyfriend is the best. And then, I FaceTimed with my brothers and my lovely ma. We are all getting used to Zoom life.

My brothers have become nocturnal. I am feeling a new groove now, after two months of taking evening primrose oil supplement. I read about it in a French health book, and it has changed my hormone life. I love it.

I need to go back to reading nonfiction. I started a fiction book that I am dragging myself through. (It’s not bad; it has just taken me a while to get into it. And now, I am into it— but I keep filling my time with phone calls and workouts, and then, it’s time for bed). I need to finish it because I have some reportedly good books waiting.

I used to have my time slot to read when I was on the train. I would sit by the window, and read until my stop emerged in the tunnel. I always have words floating around in my head, at the top of the morning. That’s how it always is with me. Words. Words. Words. And while I don’t start the day sitting in my 70s yellow train seat with a book, at the moment, the rest has remained the same. The words still come.

Studio Update 19

By: Gabriela Yareliz

My Fitbit thinks I am dead. I haven’t charged it since we started this shelter in place. I log in my daily exercise, into the app, but I haven’t charged it because let’s face it, I am not taking a lot of steps. It’s me going from my desk to refill my tea cup. Extra steps if I decide to froth the oat milk.

The city keeps telling us this may be getting better but to stay in because we may see the worst days this week. There is a strange dread that lingers in the back of the mind.

Today, I found myself singing a really good song that I later realized I made up, and yet I knew all the words to it. Quarantine is maddening.

My love recommended a great podcast, WeCrashed by Wondery, on the fall of WeWork. If you appreciate a close examination of bullsh*t and greed, I highly recommend. I love studying human behavior. It’s a seven-part series, and I am already on episode 4. Devouring it, like these mini breadstick snacks I got. My snack game is strong.

Last night, I watched a Mosaic church Q&A. One of my favorite responses was when Erwin McManus said, “Don’t pursue or follow Christianity— be a follower of Jesus.” I loved that so much. That’s how I have personally described my own spiritual journey. There is only one person to follow. Jesus.

Something that was very evident in the Q&A on Zoom is that we are all on a spiritual journey seeking answers. These times are tough, but God is always redirecting our attention toward Him.

Studio Update 18

By: Gabriela Yareliz

I woke up from another nightmare. This time, someone had cut my hair while I was asleep. When I woke up, my hand went straight to my freshly blow dried hair, pinned up with a Drybar alligator clip. When I felt the whole Rapunzel there, I let out a huge sigh of relief. These nightmares, though. It’s probably because I go to sleep after listening to Andrew Cuomo press conferences.

After making sure I wasn’t bald, I proceeded to the next matter of the day— the ginger sign. Yesterday, before I went out for my prison break walk, as I was tying my shoes, my eyes fell upon a scarf I had worn last week to the grocery store. I had used this scarf to dramatically cover my face and make a little head/face wrap. There was something dangling from this scarf, in my entryway. I was like, What is that? Guys, it was a ginger sign. Apparently, ginger was on sale at the store, and at some point, my dramatic scarf came in contact with the (sticky part of the) sign, and it stuck to the scarf. I took the ginger sign home.

I was mortified. Had anyone seen it attached to my scarf? (If they did, they must think I am nuts). Should I return it? Would they laugh? Was it even still on sale?

This morning, I suited up in my puffer jacket (my version of hazmat— it’s plastic enough), and my bandit scarf, and I went back to the scene of the crime. Kidding guys, there was no intent, therefore, no crime here. I gave them my business, as any good sale-ginger-sign remover does. Got my perishables. It was early, and the store was full. My waking up early was pointless. I wanted to avoid people. By the time I was there though, I knew I needed to grab my stuff, pay and go. I ran into my neighbor who is always yelling at his kids. He was blocking the lemons for the longest. He took half the stand. Yes, I can judge because his yelling has interrupted my peace on many occasions. And now, I find out he is a lemon hoarder… not cool, man.

I participated in two church services (I basically livestream church 24/7, on weekends), read three interviews out of Influence (by Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen). It’s such a brilliant book. Half the people interviewed in there are now dead. I read an entire cookbook, and now, I am going to cook my meals for the next few days. NYC is still inviting me to enjoy virtual parks where the sun does not shine.

I am still laughing about the sale ginger sign. There are small absurdities we miss until we stop, tie our shoes and look up.

Studio Update 17

By: Gabriela Yareliz

This morning, I woke up, out of breath, from a nightmare.

I never dream. I slowly rolled over and saw that it was Saturday. That instilled some calm in me. It was a strange nightmare about breaking free from being stuck. So vivid. So scary. So real. I never really dream (and if I do, I don’t remember it). This one was too real. Very on theme. I was screaming in the dream, when I woke up in reality.

Before tuning into the church livestream, I was sucked into a rabbit hole of making Dalgona coffees. I saw articles, including this funny one from India, and then YouTube videos. I may try to do it with hot chocolate.

I was still exasperated from my bad dream, when I tuned into the La Semaine Live, where a French facialist was describing anti-aging face massages. She did it in such a feminine, French and sensual way. It was amusing and very informative. I discovered parts of my face I didn’t know existed. I could feel under my cheekbone, guys!

NYC sent me a text that it wants me to “enjoy” the NYC parks from home. Who are they kidding? Not sure what the heck that means. My love came, and we did our social distancing walk. I wore my bandit scarf. As always, he spoils me with a care package because he is the sweetest soul.

Before we went out, I stood there debating whether I wanted to wear prescription sunglasses or my glasses. I decided I wanted to see the world and flowers in all their brightness. Can’t waste an opportunity. Sometimes, we shouldn’t have another lens. We shouldn’t distort, even if the filter makes it look more golden. We should see the world as it really is. It’s actually quite beautiful.