little victories
Remember when I used to write about everything? When there were a million distractions to keep me warm, and all the lyrics captured a moment I never wanted to forget. The changing seasons, the goosebumps beneath my fingers, the taste of affection; it all lived on in my songs, and I wanted nothing more than to put it all on paper.
I’m trying to get there again. Not with dramatic, sweeping changes, but by rebuilding brick by brick. I can make it if I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, living day by day.
So I’ve been cherishing the little victories, cause they all count. And luckily, life is full of them.
the other side
Lila’s been my inspiration lately. Her photos are of such routine subjects, but every frame is more than that moment. There’s something about them that exudes glamour and intimacy, as if her entire life was filled with champagne and Channel.
I asked her what theory she follows, what equipment she uses, expecting to learn some basic technique I’ve somehow missed. Instead, she tells me she doesn’t do or use anything special. She doesn’t even know what she sets for exposure and tone, cause she always plays around and changes them for every photo she takes. A true Taoist when it comes to photography, and a true photographer after my heart.
“best birthday ever.”, “coolest guy on the block”, “he is the one”, “London, I love you”.
One of my favourite subjects is her perfectly-coifed, impeccably-dressed Norwegian boyfriend. Sometimes he’s just lying by the window, and with his shirt off you can make out the fabric creases that have marked his back, revealing that he’s recently turned over on the bed. It makes you wonder what’s happened, or what’s about to happen. These are the details she’s chosen to capture. These things were important enough for her to pick up her camera. There’s such affection under it all, and perhaps that’s why it’s so fascinating to see how the girl looks at the guy.
It’s the same with Aurora’s old entries:
Rolf is sitting a few feet away from me on a Sunday night and we’re about to play Settlers Of Catan online together. He’ll wake me with a kiss in the morning and we’ll drive to work together. I’m full of a tasty new supper that he introduced me to. We’ve just fucked on the floor.
Do I love him? Or do I love this? How big is the difference?
I’ve always wondered what a person would say if she ever wrote about me the way Aurora wrote about him. To see a lover learning and growing, figuring out their life and the world, and discovering what part I play in all of that.
Sometimes I hate the word love
cause you speak of it like it’s the answer, when you define yourself by your singledom. It’s a status you try to wear proudly, but how much you talk about your ideal mate only reveals how much you hate being alone.
What you’re looking for is hard to find. That’s your excuse. But your “high standards” are defined by the most petty things, and all those petty things keep holding you back, a hypocrisy that makes you the victim. That’s why your life is filled with part 1s and never any part 2s. Then you talk as if we should be shocked that you’re single, vulnerable, and lonely.
You think love is something one does, instead of something one means. You can see the beauty in a gift, but not the thought behind it. Then you pass off your ideas on love as wisdom and advice, when they’re simply the things you want, cause you don’t have the wisdom to know what you actually need to be in a successful relationship.
It’s the most shallow form of love possible. That’s why I hate the word. Not cause of the way you define it — I don’t judge anyone by their definition of happiness — but because you think it means the same thing I do every time you use it.
And I want to tear it from your throat.
so here we are
I realize that every time I write about you, it’s just me saying that the door’s still open and that I’d take you back in a heartbeat with no questions asked, in case you ever came here again and read the words.
It’s hard to believe I’ve regressed this much. I remember when I had to make a conscious effort not to think about you. Every. Single. Day. It’s a ridiculous contradiction, something that becomes impossible as soon as you try. Then I flew to Europe, where I hit my lowest point, cause it didn’t feel right that you weren’t sharing those Paris nights with me. I had to find strength in myself for the sake of my survival, and after that, I didn’t think about you for days, then weeks, then months.
I was free.
In that time, I met another girl. We dated, and we were close, and I genuinely thought we had a future together, and she broke up with me. I don’t think about her at all now. It’s you I go back to again and again. I’ve met other great girls, but you always remain the one that got away. Every ping on my phone makes me wonder if this is the message I’ve been waiting for, cause you’ve thought things over, and you’re ready to start over again. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to end? When true love is proven by the one who always waited faithfully, and that’s what wins her over?
Of course, you never call or write, and I can only guess at why you’re staying away. Is it cause you don’t want to hurt me, or you can’t stand the idea of me, now that I’ve written so much about this unrequited love? Is it cause I was the one who stayed away because I couldn’t deal with what was left of our friendship? Or is there some other reason I haven’t considered and likely don’t want to know?
I made an uneasy peace with myself when I realized how impossible it is to completely give up a person who played such a big role in my life. You’ve become the dividing line in my historical narrative, and my life is now pre or post-Julie. It’s no wonder that I still go back to you, especially in these times when I’ve been feeling so unlucky in love.
I would have thought you were gorgeous in your aviators, and you would have hated the way your hair looked, and I would have been so angry at you for not loving yourself the way I loved you.
But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier. It’s only natural that I care how you’re doing (and I’m still devilishly curious), but I avoid visiting your page or any kind of social media outlet you have, for fear that I’ll see a photo of you embracing a significant other, and spontaneously combust. I even avoid my own photos, because each one can take me back to a specific day when we were together, only to have that moment taken away from me again when I realize how long ago it was.
So here we are. Living in the same city, but worlds away.
coming up for air
I didn’t know I needed a weekend like this to feel again. To dance in those little moments between brushing your teeth and getting into bed. To pass on the right and speed away to a chorus that grows louder with every shadow cast by every street lamp.
I can’t say it’s been due to any one thing. There’s just so much that seems to be happening lately. The days pass faster than ever, and I’m left wondering where life will take me next, cause I’m always surprised by every new friend and unexpected experience.
Wild boar pizza at Tennessy Willems, one of the few wood-burning pizzerias in Ottawa. A combination of boar sausage, caramelized apple, sage, roasted garlic, and sharp cheddar. The sweetness of the apple and the savoury character of the sausage make for an interesting mélange, but the use of cheddar is what really gives this pizza a unique taste.
When I’m drowning in emotion, it feels like I’m perpetually coming out of the water, emptying my stale lungs before taking in as much air as I can again.
This is when every breath is beautiful. A rush of life coming at me.
frame of mine
I’ve made peace with this body. It hasn’t been an easy peace to come by, as I seem to get constant reminders about the diminutive size of my stature. Most recently, I met an older Chinese woman who admitted that she thought I looked sick and weak only after she discovered I had colitis. It was as if she thought colitis caused some kind of malnutrition that stunted my growth, and she didn’t want to bring up the fact that I was this size because it would have been too embarrassing unless it was caused by a medical condition.
I’ve been dealing with all kinds of similar comments since I was a kid, so when a girlfriend would say that she liked a particular part or portion of my body, I always thought they were just blinded by love. Eventually I realized that if they could come to love this body, then I could too. It will never look right in anything but slim-fit extra smalls from Mexx. It will never be good enough for my parents. But it will always be who I am, and I’ve learned to accept that.
a short break in adolescence
I’ve been feeling like an adult.
This isn’t due to my fiscal responsibilities or my tidy home or any other things I used to use as a measure for maturity, but from feeling like everything makes sense. Like I have all the answers the way adults seem to do, because I can see the big picture, I understand what truly matters, and I don’t sweat the small things anymore.
It’s only now that I’m at a point where I feel like a grown up. Like this is finally who I’ll be for the rest of my life.
That’s not to say I’ve finished growing, that I’m not human or infallible, but there aren’t the same struggles or changes that I used to have, so my emotions and attitudes have evened out.
For a while I wondered if I’d just become another turning-30 cliché, but I realized it was never about age. Various things have brought me to this maturity, from conversations to relationships to trips far away. It all happened to be around the beginning of a new decade in my life.
Maybe I’ve been feeling this way only because things are going so well. It’ll take some hardship to test how far I’ve truly come as an adult, but until then I’ll try to live like a child, cause too often youth is wasted on the young.
cause you're bored and you can doesn't mean you should
I always wonder if I’ll ever reach such a complete peace that I’d stop writing completely. One of the reasons I started this blog was to have a place where I could get things down and sort my thoughts out on a page, but I don’t need to do much of either nowadays.
I know so many people who’ve continued writing, even after finding that kind of happiness in their lives. Unfortunately, happiness has robbed them of literary inspiration, and now they have nothing interesting to say. It wouldn’t be so bad if they stopped writing, but they post for the sake of posting instead of having something to say or express or vent, and it reeks of desperation and insecurity.
I used to worry that happiness would make me a boring person too, but now I wouldn’t mind as long as I realized it and gave up this blog. It’s so embarrassing to write out of a belief that it’ll make you interesting. Or even worse, to be oblivious to the fact you’re writing about the most inane things.
everybody's gotta learn sometime
It’s strange to feel like I’m ready for a relationship at only this point in my life. It didn’t seem right that anyone should love me if I didn’t love myself, and that didn’t really start until recently.
It also took a good round of therapy to figure out that I was sabotaging my relationships so no one could have the chance to hurt me. If I consider which ones would have worked out had that not been an issue that caused me to break up with my girlfriends in order to protect myself, I can only think of one. But that was a long time ago, and while we may have worked then, it’s no guarantee for the people we’ve become, as I’m sure there’s been a lot of growth on both our ends. It’s only now that I feel like my personal evolution has reached a peak, a place where I’m satisfied with who I am, and there won’t likely be any more drastic changes that may affect the dynamics of a relationship.
I’ve been able to recognize that the risk of getting hurt is inseparable from the trust we place in the people we love, and that risk is always worth it. I’ve left behind my baggage, something no one else should have to deal with, and I’ve had enough experience to know exactly what I’m looking for in a relationship and what kind of people work with me.
Took me 30 years to figure it all out, but everybody’s gotta learn sometime.