Looking for kindred spirits.
It’s so incredible how you can watch people’s beauty unfold when they speak. There are people out there who are just amazing, even if they’re fucked up, even if they stand for things you can’t believe in. And it goes beyond pure goodness, beyond pure kindness — there’s just something precious and rare and whole about them that makes you want to stick around hours after you thought you’d leave. You show up to their doorstep years after you’d last seen each other and their new home is just like the old home. A place of light — light of day, lightness of heart. You watch old stuff and odd stuff, and you laugh laugh laugh.
What I’m trying to say is that sometimes, people are worth the time, the risk, and the effort. Even if you don’t want to trust anyone for a while. Even if you just want to avoid everyone for a while. And all you need is a small leap of faith.
I’m incredibly lonely again. I feel like an ocean trapped into a wire cage, an ocean held hostage into a shot glass. There’s a scream stuck in a place far more dangerous than my throat — I feel it swelling in my ribs, I hear the sound of crushing bones. Lonely in my ideas, lonely in my ambitions, lonely in my utopias and gambles and dreams and inclinations. Just an ocean amassing hollow interactions with people of former warmth and importance. And me, myself, I — just an ocean of low significance.
Friday night I was a mermaid in a blue bath by candle light. The light was soft and the water warm. I watched disease turn into beauty in amazement; skin full of scales, scales full of glory. I was so in love with my whole body. I let a cold shower rain into my bath — and there was the whole world in my bathtub, and there was the whole spectrum of beauty held inside my wrists, around my thighs, inside my scars, and there was all of youth and all of peace and all of light.
There aren’t enough words in both the languages I know to explain how full my heart is and how good it is to talk to the one friend who is my definition of home. I’ve been lost through and through, but I’m always better knowing he’s around.
I don’t know what to make of this.
Everything is hunger, every day, all the time.
Oppressive hunger; a constant search,
an endless mess of sticky and sweet and sour and salty and bitter.
I keep eating without knowing why.
Sometimes I want to throw it all up,
feel the difference between food and flesh,
between fact and fiction.
Nothing feels real until it’s been devoured.
I think I have a lover, but I’m only sure once a week.
I’m only sure when I hear him pant and breathe.
I’m only sure when I lay back, when I lean in,
when I exhale what’s left of him.
Only lovers left alive — all love aside.
I carve myself a piece of his neck,
a chunk of his flesh,
I eat the words right out of his mouth.
I bite my tongue, he bites me back,
I tear into his back.
Only lovers left alive — all mercy thrown aside.
I colonize. Divide and conquer inch by inch.
I bite his lip because it’s the oldest trick,
the oldest game, the oldest theme.
I wake full of hunger.
I keep trying to write about cosmic things and feelings and beliefs and everything that is so much bigger than me that it swallows me up. I’ve been feeling incredibly, marvelously, fantastically small and vast and limited and infinite and it is all so good — too good for words, really.
I’m about to go to sleep, but but but
I just want to say my heart is incredibly full of love — for you who is reading this, for my incredible friends, for myself, for all the possibilities this life has to offer. I think this is a different kind of year; some of the people I love and trust most can feel it too. One of them sent a text around 11 that said “This next year, we’re gonna creatively rock it; I can feel it in my bones,” and I really do believe her. I’m surrounded by beautiful people who are bound to do incredible things. Even if we don’t talk often, even if we only reach out to each other in passing, we have incredibly love and admiration for each other, and we support one another. And I really hope that we all get to take over the world little by little — the people I admire from up close, the people I admire from afar, me, you, every wonderful person I haven’t met yet.
But anyways. If you’re reading this, I’m sending a LOT of love and well wishes and good vibes your way, because I’m sure you deserve it and I’m sure you’re going to kick ass and I believe in you.
~ The day I put the past behind me.
~ A thin envelope from the only school I could (and wanted to) attend that surprised me with an acceptance. I sang stupid rap choruses while leaping around the house.
~ The second that saved everything for crumbling.
~ E.’s birthday, with the photo scavenger hunt and the espresso brownies that were my biggest baking success.
~ It was summer and I decided to walk the long way with C. to show her the prettiest part of my neighborhood, right after a storm. We walked barefoot in the middle of the road with water halfway up our calves. We took the wrong bus and walked on an empty beach under a grey sky.
~ The night I slept over D.’s house to help him build his bed. I built the whole thing. We laughed a lot. We never wrote that script.
~ Second day of orientation, halfway through the chorus of “Home,” when I realized no one could take this away from me.
~ Mutual interest from very attractive person.
~ The time I didn’t hate math.
~ When I was no longer gluten-free and ate a lot of crap.
~ Every time I decided to be bold and daring and to risk it a little.
~ Coffee runs and life talks Downtown with L.
~ That first A of the semester.
~ Forcing A.F. to become my friend the minute I realized his music and movie taste were absolutely flawless and that his style put every other guy on campus to shame.
~ Clicking with my therapist.
~ The downpour of love and chocolate on my birthday.
~ Dancing and singing and screaming all day at Coastline Festival with the most extraordinary people I’ve met on campus this year.
~ That date that felt like a movie — laughing while messing around, listening to classic rock with my feet hanging out the window of his car in a parking lot, feeling really free, feeling so damn young.
~ Three days of pure bliss and enlightenment; the short era of healing mantras; everything coming together for the first time ever.
~ Everything damn thing my English professor ever said.
~ Eating the best carbonara pasta I’ve eaten since I left France, with my mentor, and having the moment of ecstasy she’d warn me I’d have.
~ Helping E. with her erotic stories and being bribed into writing flashcards by lipstick and French pastries.
~ Alabama Shakes nearly blowing the roof off Fillmore.
~ Blowing off my paper to hang out with D., and the absolutely mad scramble that ensued the next morning to assemble 5 pages of a research paper that I miraculously handed in on time.
~ Handing in the last final, just to get a call from my tutee. Realizing I love helping even more than I love rushing home on my last day of school.
~ Christmas Eve with D. and his family (that will forever be my second family); feeling whole and home while hate-watching The Holidays. Our quarrels feel very far away. I cry on his bed about the future and allow myself to be human and fragile for a minute. We laugh about everything.
~ Christmas party at A.Q.’s house with D. and his family. Vodka gummy bears, jello shot, decent catering, rain, music. Some girl says I look smart; D. rushes to call me brilliant, turns to me, smiles, and says “I love bragging about you” before turning back to her to discuss my SAT scores. I get drunk and we agree there are two of me in that very moment. I leave with his family. I’m happy. I feel like the world has gone full circle.
~ So much laughter, so much love.
I’m so incredibly lucky to have grown up where I grew up. I think every American I know romanticizes Paris in a way that feels so foreign to me. Even those who went saw what they wanted to see — nothing I was ever interested in. I was barely ten when I left. I only cared about the Eiffel Tower when it lit up at night. I can’t see the city of postcards. I can only see home — and home is always so complicated. I know how dirty the streets are. I remember how we fled the library, that one time a kid threw in a stinkbomb. And then, when the trashcans turned to clear bags closely watched by policemen riled up by bomb threats. Those blinkering lights in subway stations we passed by to transfer — how I knew it felt like a movie before I had seen the movies; how I knew fear instinctively. My elementary teacher tried to teach us about the Holocaust by telling us how many kids the Nazis had taken from that very school. We would have had five kids left in that classroom. But I know endless parks in which you forget there’s ever been cities. Warm bread. Old windows. Running around a science museum touching everything I could get my hands on. The bookstore I was all eyes for, the same my mom had to routinely refuse to buy from. Artifacts at the Louvre. The Christmas storefront windows. Hot chocolate from vending machines.
I keep an eye out for those photos tourists don’t take, so I can point and say “that’s my Paris” like I have sole ownership of a city I haven’t seen in a full decade. I can only see my childhood in flashes — I keep trying to match those whatever I can grab online. I try to keep the memories alive. One day, I want to tell my children. Let them know that the city I come from is crass, is stone trees metal, is beautiful.
Deeply uninterested in participating in my own mundane life.
I think I’ll always feel somewhat oppressed by my inability to be everything and everybody at once.