Posts in category "Thoughts"

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.

lila

“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.

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

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.