I'm Not Really Sure How True This Is

Sometimes I go through a phase where I don't write anything in my blog which is kind of happening right now. I think about writing in my blog a lot but then I can't think of anything to say. Don't worry though, here are some other things I haven't been keeping up with lately:

+ my budget (still haven't completed January yet)
+ my laundry
+ my journal
+ reading books

There is an explanation though and the explanation is that I have ADD. You think the above paragraph is short but it actually took me 11 minutes to write because I had to clean my nails in between every sentence. Is that gross? Sorry. It's my ADD.

I'm not entirely sure how accurate this "diagnosis" is because if I have ADD then probably everyone has ADD, but I am also of the opinion that everyone DOES have ADD and so do I, but because everyone has it then it's not actually a thing (except for people who actually have like real ADD) and therefore we should just start selling Adderall in pharmacies next to the Midol so that everyone can be super stimulated without period cramps and we'll be really productive and stop global debt, poverty, etc.

Oh no wait is that screwed up logic? Am I just talking out of my ass? Hmm. I'm bored.

The Year in Review: Sometimes I Disappeared, But I Want To Come Back

It's that made up time of year when I decide to look back at everything that has made me who I am up until this very point of writing. These times come for me usually in that gray area when one thing ends and another begins; right now it's school ending and summer beginning. In a week I'll be on a plane to China. I think that maybe this is important because it's the exact same thing I did last year.

I'm sitting in my parents' kitchen right now, drinking tea and eating stale raisins. The weather is cloudy and I think it rained this morning. I just got back from A-Camp on Sunday night and I don't really know what to do with myself. It's a lot quieter here.

The thing is, this year, I don't need to ask myself "how did you get here?" because I already know that inertia got me here. Does that make sense? What I mean is that I didn't do anything at all to get me anywhere. In September I thought to myself that I was a whole new person with realness, tangibility, and form and I stepped outside of my brain and decided I was going to crash into life.

But it turned out that life was just work. And I threw myself into that with all the force I could muster because it made me feel like a real person. It made me feel needed and important and like I was really doing something, even if it wasn't actually important at all. I could say to people "I'm working" and it could be a thing that people understood. You know? It felt normal. Like, God, I'm just so normal, going to normal work all the normal time. And I felt all the normal feelings, which is to say, I really didn't feel anything at all.

What really happened is that everything else in my life fell away. I wanted time to "focus on myself" but it turns out that that meant ensuring that I got the proper amount of sleep every night. Everything was just fine in that fine way, where I didn't cry I just sort of despaired when things were sad and then did whatever it was that I had to do. I believe they call this "going through the motions" and Buffy Summers sang about it on her hit TV show "Buffy the Vampire Slayer".

I feel proud of myself because I made + saved enough money to pay for my entire trip to China all by myself. All the money that I'm using is entirely mine that I worked for, and financial independence is something that I've always wanted so this feels like a big step for me. It's okay to feel good about that, right? Money makes me so uncomfortable and I wish that everybody had a lot of it or that nobody had any at all. But I guess this isn't really about money.

It's about how I closed up and disappeared and became a non-entity. I worked a lot but it was only about money in the sense that I needed just enough to pay rent and keep some in my bank account. I worked a lot so I could hold on to something that seemed to make sense to everyone else ("work") and I didn't let myself think about the other things that I wanted. It felt good to have a team at work, to be known and to feel solid. That was sufficient.

But before this year, my life wasn't about sufficiency. It was an overflow of feelings all the time and I cried a lot and that was a good thing. I wrote words and people read them and the words came from a real place in my heart. I stopped writing this year. My blog is almost empty and so is my journal because I just didn't have anything to say. There were no feelings that were pounding on my heart's door, demanding to be let out.

It's kind of the worst thing, to stop wanting. I don't believe for a second that I've ever stopped wanting, but I took desire and covered it up. Every time it knocked it was a faraway sound that I could shut out so easily, pretend it belonged somewhere else. I muted my desire to be anything, to be even a person. Was I a person who wrote? I had no beliefs, no identity, no passion. I didn't want to participate in anything, go anywhere, meet anyone. There was nothing for me to write.

I don't know if it was fear. I don't know what it was. I think it was just a mistake I made about myself, which I am okay with admitting. I think if I could go back I would love everyone a little harder, because I wasn't a very good friend, and I'm sorry about that.

Going to A-Camp reminded me of the person that I was when I first started working for Autostraddle. And everyone remembered me as that person, which made me want to be that person again. I miss her, that girl who was scared but brave, in love with everything and everyone. It reminded me of a time when I really lived, or something, whatever living is. I mean, it was living with other people, being comfortable in my own skin, and letting things hurt. Life doesn't have to hurt if you don't let it, but then I don't think you'll feel any feelings at all. I mean, you have to let them all in.

by Robin Roemer
this is a weird picture of me and I don't even mind

This is what A-Camp did, what Autostraddle does: it gives you confidence to be who you are. If there's anything I learned from Autostraddle for the past 3 years it's that you have to let yourself feel. Your feelings are beautiful and you're beautiful and god it sounds so corny, but that's what it is, you are beautiful and you need to let yourself feel things because I'm going to start feeling things again and it's all going to be okay if we have feelings together.

I think maybe the whole point of this blog was my weird way of trying to tell you who I am, even though I don't know who that is. I'm figuring it out piece by piece, and the Autostraddle team has been a big part of that. Sometimes I disappeared, but I want to come back. I don't really know what that means, sorry.

I don't know. I guess this is just my life and these are the things that have happened to me and the things that I have done. I'm not going to say that I'm not going to hide anymore because I will probably still hide sometimes. But I know a little better now what I want and who I want to be and I think I can be that person.

by Robin Roemer

I know you can't see these people's faces, but I want you to know they are among the most beautiful faces you will ever see.

I am humbled, once again, by the magic of Autostraddle. I want you to know that I knew these things about myself before, I knew that I had disappeared this year and become a blank slate of nothingness. But I guess A-Camp filled me up again, reminded me of there's a rosy complexion to my cheeks.

Identity Crisis #3: Am I White?

This is a better written off shoot of one of my other identity crises. Despite being Chinese/having an "Eastern" background sometimes I still feel like I'm an Orientalist/appropriating other cultures.

++

When I look in the mirror I don't see a Chinese person. I don't see a Jewish person or a lesbian. I don't see a boy or a girl. I don't know what I see. I think I see someone who is just scared of being anything.

I was born in Canada to immigrant parents but to immigrant parents who themselves had been raised in Canada. My dad's family moved to Toronto when he was around 10 and my mother's family moved to Montreal when she was around 5. They were educated in Canada and have not lived outside of Canada in over 20 years or maybe ever (since they moved here)?

I was raised in the suburbs in a fairly white neighbourhood in a middle-class family. There was enough money for me to play sports and have toys and have food everyday and also pay medical bills because my mother was ill (though I didn't think of these things when I was a kid). I went to high school and there were, like, 3 black kids. I think there was one other Chinese kid in my grade. The "biggest" minority were the Jewish kids, about 5 or 6 in the sports program my dad had enough money to pay for. Everyone else was white. This is not to say "I'M SO OPPRESSED" this is actually to say I grew up in an extremely white setting -- so much so that I accidentally let slip "other white people" in reference to myself to Laura in February and she asked me if I considered myself white. And I've thought a lot about it since then.

This is the opposite of "I'm oppressed". When I fill out job applications and they ask me if I'm part of a minority group and list a bunch of options, I feel like I'm exploiting something when I mark off "Chinese" (I don't, however, feel bad about marking off "woman"). Being Chinese has, luckily, never limited my options, at least not that I know of. I don't think I've ever not gotten a job for being Chinese, though once I didn't get a job because I don't speak Cantonese.

I've lived my life in white neighbourhoods, gone to school with white kids, played sports with white kids, had as much money as the average white person, have been taught mostly the same values as non-religious white kids. If you went into my house without knowing who it belonged to, you would probably never guess "Chinese". You might guess "Jewish" if you search really hard and find our menorah, but then you would probably be confused by my step-mom's Christmas decorations. The Chinese food we usually eat is take-out. Just like other white people and Jews on New Year's eve (JKKK).

I have had the opportunities that white, middle-class people my age have had. If asked who I identify most with, between a Chinese person from China and a white person from North America, I would choose a white person from North America. But in some situations among non-asians I can't help but feel extremely Chinese. I've gotten weird questions like "Do you have statues of Buddha in your home?", or people will say something about China and might add in a "no offense" in there (what even?) or ask me if I know the answer (I don't). Someone once told my friend that she thought I was "pretty for an Asian". It used to bother me that people assumed I knew things about China because in my mind I was so clearly not Chinese that I just couldn't understand why people would think I would know. I understand better now (but that doesn't make it right). When the subject of China comes up I suddenly feel extremely conscious of looking like a Chinese person.

But I feel like an impostor in a half-Chinese person's body. I know very little about China. Before I took a class on China last semester pretty much all I knew about Chinese culture was that General Tao chicken is not an authentic Chinese dish. I didn't even know which city my family was from or which dialect of Chinese they spoke.

When I look in the mirror I don't see a Chinese person. I definitely don't look Jewish. I don't even consider myself a real Jew, in fact, my half-assed attempts to celebrate major holidays are probably an insult to real religious people. I consider myself more "queer" than "gay" or "bisexual" because I'm still trying to figure myself out, but queer people can look like anyone.

I don't see a white person either though. I know I'm not white, I just have white privileges, for the most part, right now. What does that make me? (Answer: confused).

Identity Crisis #2: Hair

The last time I got a haircut was in the middle of August on top of a roof by professional hair cutter & stylist Laura Wooley Mammoth and I was half naked. Look, here is a picture from that same day.

my hair stylist and I are closepersonalfriends.

I usually get my hair cut every ~3 months as my hair grows fast and it is also short which means that I have to cut it in order to avoid the shaggy dog look. But this year I moved out of my parents' house and September, October, November, and parts of December happened and by that I mean my life disintegrated to the point where I was a frumpy mess of clothes lying in bed wondering if I actually existed. In between this and trying to spend as little money as possible, I seriously considered letting my hair grow out. I have not had long hair since I was 17. Mostly every time I think about growing my hair out, I think about the shaggy dog phase and then decide that I don't want to do it. In November I asked for a haircut for my birthday, which I didn't get. I don't remember what I was thinking at the time. I think I just couldn't be bothered to get a haircut/didn't want to spend money on it/wanted my professional hair stylist to do it until I decided that I wanted to grow my hair long enough for a full ponytail and then cut it off.

Okay, most of that is bullshit.

Here's what I noticed when I first cut my hair back in grade 11: people started calling me 'sir'. I have never been called 'sir' until I cut my hair. I have to make a bit of a stretch to see where people get confused with my gender, but I can see it. I get it, kind of. One might say that I have an androgynous face. I don't know. Some people are surprised when I tell them people call me 'sir', some people are not.

I also noticed that when I got a fauxhawk I got called 'sir' a lot more, especially at work. This led me to wear v-necks and boots with heels more often.

You see, this is the truth: part of me is afraid I am growing my hair out because I want to "pass". I'm afraid I'm doing it for the wrong reasons. Semi-consciously I've tried to pass at work because let's face it, it's fucking awkward when customers realize you're not actually a 'sir'. I've spent most of my life wanting to fit in with the "normal" kids, but I could never wear the dresses or heels or 234 different kinds of make up. But I could have the long hair. Right? A teeny tiny part of me wants to be normal.

But really, I want to be a person who is not afraid to be herself. Sometimes I am. I want people to recognize that there is more than one way of looking like a girl. I don't want to pass.

On the other hand, I want people to see that lesbians can have long hair.

On the other foot, I don't want my hair to be my identity. Does anyone really care about my hair that much. So while I sit here pondering the meaning of my existence my hair is growing longer. It's in a ponytail and it's really cute, if I may say so myself.

The other truth is that I will probably cut it all off and run rampant like a good angry queer feminist with a radical homosexual agenda and sweet combat boots. JK about the combat boots.

How To Cook Everything

Every day we wake up we promise to be better. We promise ourselves to make changes. We want to love more, love better, try harder. We can do anything we want to.

I will stop worrying about money. I will live better. Maybe not tomorrow, but today at least. That's all I can give. That's all I can promise. For today to be better, at least.

I am not growing in a straight line. I want to learn to love you more.

By now you're probably wondering why this is titled "How To Cook Everything" when there is clearly nothing about cooking here. The answer is that "How To Cook Everything" is a cookbook that is right next to me and I'm avant garde like that. JK.

When I Was Young Part 2: The Future & I

First: check it out! My top 10 favourite albums are on autostraddle!

++

When I was younger I didn't dream of getting married and living in domestic bliss. I wanted to live alone near the beach in a small town with one gas station and a bead shop owned by a gypsy. I wanted to wear black and red flannel and hiking boots and I wanted it to be autumn all the time. I didn't want a phone 'cause I didn't want to talk to people.

Then came the point where I realized that living in a small town meant that people might know who I was and they might want to talk to me, ask me questions. I realized what I wanted, above all else, was anonymity. I began to picture myself in a big city like Manhattan, walking the streets never seeing the same person twice. I imagined the kind of freedom I might have, living by myself in a small apartment close to a main street. I could walk down the stairs in my building and instantly disappear into a crowd of people.

The two projected visions of my future seem so different -- one is in the country, the other, in the city. The thing is, though my vision has changed, I've always wanted the same thing. Is there a name for it (privacy? independence? freedom? to be left alone?)? It sounds lonely, but that's what the future looked like to me.

I never wanted money. Maybe that's because I've always had money -- never piles and piles of money, but enough to get by. Enough to buy a coffee twice a week, enough to buy excess clothes. Enough to play sports and travel. For whatever reason, when I thought of myself in my 20s, I always saw myself as poor. It's strange because I like money. I like to save my money and then make impulse buys on things I don't need. And I like things. I like my macbook and my iPhone and my overpriced moleskin and buying new books.

I always thought I would be a writer. I wanted to write a book as good as Harry Potter and I wanted to be a poet. I didn't understand poetry. I wanted to stay up late and drink coffee and typetypetype a novel on a desk covered in crumpled up paper.

Other people never figured into my plans. One thing I always knew about my future was that it didn't matter what other people thought about it. I was sure, and still am, that it's my future -- not my parents', not my friends', not my teachers'. As harsh as it may seem, they were never necessary to my success. Success is happiness. I'm probably wrong about my parents and friends.

I guess of all the choices I might make or could have made, what I want is kind of strange. I was always a little less mainstream than that, though. I was always good at writing, at least I was better than other people in my classes. I liked to read when reading was unpopular. I liked to write in my spare time. When I was sad I wrote poetry and at first it always rhymed and then it was just a mish mash of words, clichés, and tears. At one point I realized that hardly anybody reads poetry and hardly anybody understands poetry and you can write this assignment in any way you want except not in a poem.

Part of growing up in North America is that we're told from the beginning that we can be anything we want. I can be a writer if I want to and you can be a firefighter or a pilot or a chef. I keep hearing that we're the next leaders of our country, but the truth is we're not. Only one person gets to be Prime Minister/President. Someone has to clean the Prime Minister's toilet and sweep the streets and serve you at McDonald's. They never tell you you might be a janitor. Do people dream of being janitors? Do people dream of being STM workers? Do people wake up every day and think "Boy am I happy I pick up people's garbage every Monday! This is what I've always wanted to do!"?

The thing is, you're probably not going to be Prime Minister or a famous actress. You might not even get a job.

Sarah: he’s right, the undergrad degree is the new HS diploma
also hard to get a job with
Laneia: um did a h.s. diploma EVER guarantee a good job???
Sarah: no, it guaranteed a job if you were willing to join the military
Laneia: right
Sarah: i think the high school diploma lost it’s appeal in the 40s

[autostraddle]

Maybe the point here is that having shitty dreams means your dreams are likely to come true. I mean, I'm probably not going to live in NYC, but it'll be a big city, and I'll probably be a poor starving writer, writing poetry nobody reads.

But I think the real point is that, for me anyway, I've always been this way. I've always known what I want and I've always sought to achieve it. Subconsciously I've paved my way towards the future I always imagined myself in. I've shed the negative people from my life, gotten rid of the things that make me feel like shit. I think all I've ever wanted was the chance to be myself. I want to stop being lied to. I want to be around people I like, and who like me. I want to be around nobody at all. I want to be happy. I want to step out of my heart and go walking beneath the enormous sky.

And I will.

It's My Birthday and I'll Cry If I Want To

Hello! On Wednesday I posted a bunch of lists about things. Today I'm going to continue that trend with one special list: 3290902 Reasons Why I Am Awesome. It's true that this list could make me sound really pretentious and stuck up but I have justifications, I swear. Firstly, if you know me personally I think you'll know that I'm a pretty modest person. I'm also honest. I think it's important to be honest with yourself, that's why I'm making this list. Also if you're Brooke Levin, you probably approve of this. Secondly, it's my birthday. Therefore, I deserve to feel good about myself. Notice I haven't made a list of my flaws. You can read that list at the shoreline receding.

Reasons Why I Am Awesome

1. I have feelings and lots of them.

2. I can write relatively well. I write poetry and short stories and this blog and sometimes I write for Autostraddle.

3. Also I work for Autostraddle. I should just end the list here (but I won't).

4. I play the guitar kinda okay ish and I write bad songs. But points for trying, right?

5. I can also play the bass and drums and keyboard kinda okay ish.

6. I take pictures.

7. I have good taste in music. Srsly.

8. I like to travel. Traveling is fun. It also makes me cool.

9. I'm a good friend (I think/hope?). I love them, anyway.

10. Even though it scares me I do it anyway. Cause I seize the day. Most days.

11. I'm funny.

12. I have an open mind.

13. I can use a computer. You might be like "obvs" at this one, but srsly some people are just slower than others. Don't judge them.

14. I'm kinda cute/I have a nice ass. OK NOW THIS TIME IT'S NOT ME TALKING, I have multiple sources that tell me I have a nice ass. So there.

15. I have fucking nice teeth.

16. I'm smart. I also have justification for this statement, read:

"i think emily choo is a very bright, 'poetically inclined' girl who pays attention to everything and knows almost everything (the point of stuff, how to read, how beautiful things feel, how scary things feel, etc) but doesn't believe/accept/realize yet that she knows almost everything. it's actually better that way because she'll keep wanting to know more stuff. i think of emily choo as a "girl we like" and i "feel she is kickass" and that she "has a name that sounds cool so we like to say it as much as possible." and "i feel personally i would be sad if emily choo was really sad." i also 'feel like i am stoned right now' and 'probably talking crazy' while 'consciously writing in a style reminiscent of the Great Tao Lin'"

- marie lyn bernard

Probs the greatest compliment I've ever gotten from someone stoned. Also if you won't listen to me maybe you'll listen to her, but you should listen to me anyway because I know almost everything.

So yeah, I think that's it. Clearly you can see I'm almost perfect. Single ladies you better put a ring on it.

fiction about women

I wrote this in August. I mentioned it once here and once here. I've been scared to publish it because I think it's good but I'm worried that it's not. This story doesn't apply to me anymore. It might have been true at one point, but now it's taken its place in fiction. Anyways, here we go. Deep breath.

"It's the daydreaming that does it. I'm doing the usual thing -- imagining in tiny detail the entire course of the relationship, from first kiss, to bed, to moving in together, to getting married (in the past I have even organized the track listing of the party tapes), to how pretty she'll look when she's pregnant, to names of children -- until suddenly I realize that there's nothing left to actually, like, happen. I've done it all, lived through the whole relationship in my head. I've watched the film in fast forward; I know the whole plot, the ending, all the good bit."

- Nick Hornby "High Fidelity"

++

all i know how to write about are the women i’ve loved. there’ve been a lot. every woman i’ve ever seen i’ve fallen in love with. the ones i’ve met for 5 minutes or less or more, but not much more. There’s the woman i met for a day and then i loved her for a month. there’s the woman who came up behind me on the escalator, then i wrote an entire love poem where every other word was ‘love’ prefaced with ‘i’ and ending with everything you do. these women break my heart. they destroy me. it’s only the ones i’ve missed that tear me apart like this. you know, the missed opportunities. all i can do is write some kind of fiction about women, all the women i’ve loved inside my head.

what i really mean is there’s one woman i want to talk about right now. that’s it, right? it’s never women in general, not for anyone. there’s always someone specific in mind. well, there is here, for me.

it would make sense to start the story from when we met. that would be logical. but the real story starts when i was born, because this is my story and that’s when i begin. so i guess meeting people and women comes in somewhere in the middle. or ‘late start’ since the story’s not over. there’s no real start to anything actually. i mean this whole life is like a circle or something anyways. there’s no starting point. the important part is this: there’s this woman, and then there’s me.

if i knew how to explain it, i would. but i don’t, so i can’t. i’m making it up as i go along. i don’t know what i’m talking about, but no one really does. if they tell you they do they’re lying and the world is full of liars and believers, and you need one liar and one believer and that’s how you get the truth. are you listening to me right now? are you believing this? what did i just tell you? pay attention. this is about love which doesn’t exist except inside your head.

so this is some kind of story about something. this is my story within a story. it’s about a woman or women or love. (it’s about the love i created inside my head).

let’s make a list. the list is called “things about you” but it’s not about you, it’s about this woman i’ve been talking about, you know? the woman in the story. see if you can figure it out. i know it’s a boring name for a list but it’s late and i don’t think the name is very important right now. i mean, it doesn’t matter. the list is still the same.

things about you: a list
blonde
crooked thumbs
distorted
low
round eyes
small teeth

i could be describing anyone right now. if you know who i’m talking about maybe it’s obvious and you are probably thinking i’m crazy right now, you’re making a mental note, suddenly you think differently of me. that’s fine. i’m fine with that. either i’m in love with everybody or i’m in love with nobody.

so i’ve written stories in my head. stories about this one woman, this blonde with crooked thumbs, a distorted sense of perception, low low sweet n’ low, round eyes and small teeth; one of them is about how we fight all the time. this is the beginning of the story, i guess, if there was a beginning. the beginning is in the middle because we’re already fighting and i’m making it up.

it’s the middle of winter. i think winter is perfect for breathing close to someone when you’re outside and hiding your hands somewhere. see, this woman, i shout at her in the snow but she never shouts back and that’s very frustrating. and i tell her that. i tell her she’s a robot and she has no feelings. she tells me i have too many feelings. i just shout a lot. it’s okay to shout in the winter because the world gets bigger when it snows. all i need is one believer now to turn my lies into truths.

in this shouting scene she’s wearing a hat and i’m not. but i have a scarf on. we’re on the sidewalk near a main street across from my school but there’s no one around because it’s winter. the world is bigger so there’s more places to hide and that’s where the other people are. or maybe someone is walking by but they just keep going. i don’t know because i’m too busy shouting. she’s not answering me, really. you know why? because this is a one sided conversation because it’s not real because it’s happening in my head because i live there. and i can’t think for someone else. not even for this woman that i love but don’t know at all. we just go to a hotel and drink wine. red for her, white for me. i know that much.

on the way there it starts to snow. i can tell we’re not really mad at each other, we’re just mad at each other. there are red patches on her cheeks but it’s from the cold not because she was shouting. that was me. that’s why my face is red. i’m not wondering if she’s going to hold my hand. it’s like we’re pretending we’re not going to the same place. i know she is just waiting for me to apologize.

either everything is true or nothing is. how much of this are you believing?

inside the layers of clothing come off. i never really thought about it but i guess i’m wearing a jacket and a sweater and a shirt and probably an undershirt because it’s really cold. (i want to say more about the cold and this woman but i can’t because that would give it away. i’m only giving some things away, not little truths, just little lies. stuff that makes up a story, you know? it doesn’t matter because i’ve already classified this as fiction, turned this into something that exists on the fringes of life, the edges of my mind. and maybe it’s based on a real person (blonde with crooked thumbs, a distorted sense of perception, low low sweet n’ low, round eyes and small teeth) or maybe it’s not. whatever you want to believe, i guess. whatever you choose to think about me. who am i trying to convince?)

we undress each other and make peace – i mean love – and then i take a shower and we order chinese food. we eat chinese food in the boxes and drink cheap wine and time sort of fast forwards. i can just skip this part. let’s just say that we’re both quiet and she’s been quiet since she got here, since i shouted at her in the snow, and i know she’s going to say something soon. i can’t say what because i don’t know her very well even though i’ve known her for a year. it’s amazing what you can talk about when you don’t talk about anything. we lie in bed and hold each other and watch the news but i’m not really watching, i’m just looking. i’m looking at her and thinking and knowing that we’re probably going to fight again soon, except it’s just going to be me by myself. i’m always shouting at the wall and she’s always calm and quiet until she gets her word in and that’s it, i’m defeated.

we walk around in the fresh snow again outside the hotel. i’m wearing these shitty converse with holes in them and my feet are freezing already. this is based on real life, this is actually a fact. the one truth i’ve told is about my holey shoes. i guess it’s better than nothing. i already said this was fiction didn’t i? it’s all about love which only exists in my head, and barely

there

at

all.

i’m making tracks in the ground, walking in a circle around this woman. she’s talking now, about worldly things. i touch her here and there, kiss her here and there. if we are puzzle pieces we don’t really fit together, but at least we’re in the right box, part of the same picture. we never tell each other lies because we don’t need to, instead we just say things and i don’t know if that’s worse.

i imagine our friends talking about us, saying we’re crazy for each other. they say that i’m crazy and i show it and she’s crazy but she won’t admit it and that’s why i’m always shouting. that’s why she’s never shouting. they say that we’re two extremes and i’m not talking about ‘opposites attracting’ because we have a lot in common (we also have nothing in common but that matters less), but we work because we need each other. it works on this paper because i wrote it, i made it, i’m the writer who turned fiction into fact. fiction into truth. this works if you believe me.

the truth (or...?) is that i can’t not be in love with anybody. right? either i’m in love with everybody or i’m in love with nobody and the latter can’t be true, it just can’t. i’m in love with every woman i know and i’m writing the same story over and over again. i’m rewriting my life over and over again.

we’re rolling in the snow and my jeans are wet. the snow is a good kind of cold, you know, that kind that you can hold in your hand and you won’t get shivers. i’m chasing her and shouting and i’m cold and hot and happy and warm. we lie in the snow. she’s wearing her hat, i’m wearing my scarf. some snow goes down my neck and i shake and giggle. the rest of the world is hiding, somewhere in the white spaces where we haven’t walked yet. i’m not wondering if she’s going to hold my hand, i know she’s just waiting for me to kiss her and i do. we lie on our backs and watch and feel the snow cover our faces and bodies and they’re just like white falling stars. tomorrow our tracks will be gone, replaced with something clean, a fresh new hope.

we go inside and make love – i mean peace – i mean tea – and we sleep and dream of space and snow and each other. and it’s warm inside these blankets and her body’s warm and the tv’s still on. i can hear it subconsciously. in the middle of the night i wake up and turn it off. i kiss her shoulder and bury deeper into her heart and into the sheets and it’s still snowing outside but not in our bed.

so here’s what i’ve learned: either everything is perfect or nothing is. and the answer is both at the same time because they’re the same thing, you know? everything is perfect, and nothing is. so she’s either everyone you know, or no one at all. believe what you will.

I've Waited a Lifetime Now Maybe I've Learned

(Before you read this I want you to know that today is the first day of October and therefore you should go eat many candy corns and also there is no real point/profound meaning to this post. Enjoy.)

++

"How do you know if it's worth the risk? I haven't learned my lesson. I can't tell the future. I will make my own choices and take the blame."
-journal; april 5, 08

"This is neverending. I'm the same person I used to be. I haven't learned, I haven't grown. I'm walking in circles."
-journal; sept 8, 08

"should i
should i
should i
call
you
if i do --
crying, stupid, fumbling, no words
i.e idiot
but i'm 16 again
and this is the same
i will not learn."
-journal; may 21, '09

++

So this is what I know: I know very little. I'm unsure of the things I'm sure of. I doubt my memories, wonder what is real. I wonder who the hell are these other people and what it means to exist. And I know I'm not alone. That's the terrible irony about being alone, though, is there are 6 billion people who all feel the same way, standing next to each other, not talking.

It's easy to feel alone. All you have to do is just .. be alone.

I've learned how to deal with loneliness in a way. I used to truly think I was the only sad person on the planet. It seems ridiculous now, but then, everyone was smiling and I was broken. Now I know better. Now I know we're on the verge of breaking, alone, together. I used to think the only people who understood me were far away.

They don't understand me.

But then again, neither do I.

I've learned not to think about it too much. The simplest way to move forward is to let things go. The heavier your heart, the harder it is to just do things. It's hard to breathe sometimes. If you just shrug your shoulders, if you sigh and take a nap, maybe you'll feel better. How do you grow up? Grow up. You just do.

"There's no way to grow that don't hurt."
- Iron & Wine "Sacred Vision"

++

I never felt like I learned much at the time. School seemed kind of pointless. There other things I would've liked to learn, things I was confused about but didn't know how to ask. I had feelings I couldn't put a name on. I wish someone would've told me it was okay. I wish I would've had the courage to stand up for myself -- if you think the only kinds of people who get picked on in high school are the shy, overweight kids, you're wrong.

"It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies,
but just as much to stand up to our friends."
- Dumbledore "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone"

I read Harry Potter in elementary school but so did that "overweight, nerdy" type guy so I never told anyone. In high school I found out that half my friends were reading Harry Potter secretly. We just didn't want to be "uncool". We didn't want to be associated with that guy we made fun of every day.

I would hate 2001 me now. But that's just how life is, right? There's no way to not grow.

There is no such thing as uncool. The people I love are all different. I'm proud of the way I've grown. I never want to judge another human (as hard as it is) for the rest of my life, because I know what it's like. I always felt like I was on the outside looking in on something so much better than whatever I had. This is what I've learned: there is nothing better on the inside of someone else's life than what you have inside yourself. Being myself is the only way I've ever found happiness, if that's what I have at all.

"Though we say goodbye and wonder
what's to know and who's to blame
but to be myself completely I will love you just the same."
- Belle and Sebastian "Be Myself Completely"

++

I hope you learn humility by being humiliated and honesty by being cheated.

I can love you better now.

love goes a long way..

++

Other Books I'm Reading

Okay, last time I read three books and was in the middle of reading the second Redwall book, Mossflower. Since then I've finished it, read the next one, Mattimeo, and then read three more books. That makes a total of 8 books (see? I can count). If anyone would like to suggest something to read, that's nice, put it in the comments and I'll add it to my list.


The Life of Pi by Yann Martel

My dad bought The Life of Pi for $2 at a garage sale. This is a book that won a very prestigious award (which means nothing to me) and other things, rave reviews, blah blah, and claims that it may make me believe in God. Doubtful of that I read it anyway hoping to be entertained for a bit. It made me lose a couple hours of sleep during the middle of the book when I absolutely couldn't put it down, but the beginning was a bit long and uneventful and I found the end disappointing. Overall it was a good story but yeah, that's it. And even though I have weird/mixed feelings towards God, it did not make me believe in him I don't know why someone would claim that.



On the Road by Jack Kerouac

This book made me feel high. Like I physically felt like I was on drugs when I read this. Some of my friends have said they only want to read On the Road when they go on a roadtrip. Obviously I didn't do that. I like the idea of re-reading it if I ever go across the country -- one of my favorite things about books is that reading it a second time is always different than the first. I'll probably be in a different place (metaphorically and physically) when I read this a second time and I can't wait to see what new meanings it will hold, because this book has a lot of meanings and secrets waiting to be found in its pages.

"I could hear an indescribable seething roar which wasn't in my ear but was everywhere and had nothing to do with sounds. I realized that I had died and been reborn numberless times but just didn't remember especially because the transitions from life to death and back to life are so ghostly easy, a magical action for naught, like falling asleep and waking up again a million times, the utter casualness and deep ignorance of it."


The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall

If you didn't gather from the title, this book is fucking depressing. It's at times long and brutally honest. It also provided comfort and made me angry, made me weep, made me shameful but also proud, it evoked a self-pity but also pity for the world which can be so horrible, and it humbled me. I can't explain it in any other way except to say that this book made me feel.

"Our love may be faithful even unto death and beyond -- yet the world will call it unclean. We may harm no living creature by our love; we may grow more perfect in understanding and in charity because of our loving; but all this will not save you from the scourge of a world that will turn its eyes from your noblest actions, finding only corruption and vileness in you.

Because there is only toleration for the so-called normal. And when you come to me for protection, I shall say: "I cannot protect you, the world has deprived me of my right to protect; I am utterly helpless, I can only love you."

Day 9: The Inner Workings of my Brain (I can do so much better)

I had three posts written for today. Two were prepared, both do not fit my current mood and therefore will not be posted. The third was written and erased in 8 minutes. I fucking hate people and their fucking expectations. The world is not anything, people are just people, I am tired I cannot be two people at once, why would anyone expect something from me. I don't expect anything from you.

I went to the library today and sat there, words crept into my head and all I had was my notebook for school. I wrote the shit in my brain down in my notebook next to the Principles of Math and Logic. It's ironic, I am not logical. I haven't felt this way in a long time, since the beginning of November. I knew it would come back, it always comes back. So what happens now. I'll never be able to sleep at night, I'll stumble my way through the day, shadowy faces in my peripheral vision, I'm not really looking for anything.. I've figured out what I want. I truly have. It is strange, how those things happen, the realization. Yeah, like, maybe I've got something figured out now. I see myself in the future, I see it, I see it, there it is, I can walk towards it, I can crawl towards it, I have a direction. I'm going somewhere. I can't tell you what I want. It's mine, all mine, I would never write it in my journal though I've been thinking about it since i was six. All the time. You know, that's why people say you always miss the things in front of you. It was sort of relevatory, all of a sudden I knew that this thing that I had dreamed about, imagined, dwelled upon for all my childhood, suddenly I knew that it was possible. That it is SO possible. It's easy. It's hard.

"I love the logic of oxymorons, and how paradox helps us not to feel insane."
- Stephen Dunn "Loves"

I'll be what I am. I'm sorry I hate political correctness, I hate formality with strangers, politeness when the person serving you is a bitch, faking gratitude, I hate presenting a side of me that I'm not. We all have to make our way in life, I know that. Don't get hung up waiting for other people. Don't expect anything from me I'm not who you expect me to be, I'm not that person, I'm not, I'm not I'm not.

I have put this off for far too long.

"I listened in, yes I'm guilty of this, you should know this.
I broke down and wrote you back before you had a chance to.
Forget forgotten I am moving past this, giving notice.
I have to go, yes I know the feeling, know you're leaving."
- Tegan and Sara "The Con"