1) I don’t understand how or why people fall for cut-out girls. The ones who copy and paste a look from a magazine. The ones who pay for hair, color, and cosmetics to look…generic. I don’t see what’s there, inside these women who spend all their time being unoriginal. Wouldn’t you rather love what’s true, even if it’s unpretty?
2) Bloodline – My mother understands the pain I feel. The gnaw that eats inside of me. My uterus. My back. The gush I feel in between. The sickening feel, the overflowing, of being a woman. Once a month. My mother can spread her sympathy, because she was given none, because her genes seeped into me and into my bed sheet this morning. Awaking me, glaring red, on my blue sheets, like an angry sun. Yes Ama, thank you, I’ll have some miso soup please.
3) Half my love of music is the way it makes me feel. The other half may be the way it moves the person who is performing. I meant to write about this a while ago, but of course, I didn’t get to. So here it is now, a synopsis of music.
I love watching the creator of a tune move to the sounds they gave form, notes, and a name to. There is so much pleasure for me, as a viewer, to see how different people keep time differently. Moving their bodies to let the music bleed from lips, limbs, finger tips. There is so much more to hear in the music, if you watch the person on stage perform not for an audience but for the song itself. I admire the quirks of musicians, for not thinking about how they may appear, but just letting arms fly, heads bob, feet tap, all because it comes so naturally. There is much to genuinity.
4) It turns out I can’t sew my aches away. Drawing thread though slices of fabric doesn’t mean it’ll hold me together. It couldn’t hold me in. I spent a timeless period crying, of letting my pillow absorb me. It’s strange, to me, to not be able to stop tears. To remember breathing on your neck, breathing you in. It’s stranger to erupt at a pinnacle, just when I was thinking to myself, this is how thing should be. Used to be. Comfortable. I thought I was done crying. Too busy for tears, you see. But that wateryness I was feeling–it just seems so damn silly, these words read as so damn silly, I feel so damn silly. And alone.
Why does heartbreak feel…embarrassing?
5) There’s my best friend, who made herself available, when I was melting into misery. And I thank God for technology, for allowing it to let me have her at my fingertips. For letting her feel less far away, for having something real behind glowing screens. To remind me that I am understood, that I am loved, that I have soul and a soul mate and that everything, really, is okay, it’ll work out, eventually.
I can’t believe she’s getting married. I can’t believe you’re getting married. I can’t wait for your life to begin with him. P is so lucky.
6) In keeping myself so busy, so tightly wrapped into work, into commitments, into projects I can’t really afford to spare hours a week for, I wish I had left myself more space for writing. But that would involve thinking, and that’s something, for once, I’m avoiding.