Here is an Essay/Musing Collection I wrote on change
Names Changed to protect the privacy of others
You know that scene in our town where the girl goes around to her favorite places saying goodbye? she is dead and also alive in a sense walking back into this world that was once so familiar to her. That is how I feel. I feel myself fading from this world I once knew. I am cutting off connections hoping to save the people I am strung too, but only being hurt in the process. I feel a tug from every person as I slowly break away.
Today, for instance, I said goodbye to two people. I said goodbye to a friend I had made only a few months prior. I gave him my water boiler. Daniel said he wanted it to spice up his room. Just the other day we had gone on an expedition to find an orange jumpsuit. It was found, and will never have the opportunity to be found again. Never the thrill of running through downtown Berkeley at night, only to sit down and eat pizza 2 hours past curfew.
This Monday also brought with it a sentencing for a friendship that will remain untouched in the physical sense for at least a few months. I met Kira at a theater event, the same time I met two of my lovers and dear friends. Someone told me that she liked me, I told myself that she made me giggle. The little things like holding my bag or asking if I needed help were breathtaking. I am the one asking to assist. Getting help feels weird. I tend to adventure alone and I am not used to it when someone wants to be with me, carry my things, carry my heart, ask what I said. The BART train wooshing away at Ashby station signaled our goodbyes.
I said goodbye to a place today too. The Berkely bowl will probably never get my attention in the next year. I loved it with ironic passion. That lady who once sneered when I was taking too long picking out bulk alfalfa should buy a vibrator. I made a spice concoction of nutritional yeast, salt, garlic, and dried onion. I sprinkled it on my focaccia bread and pressed my gums into the sweet carbohydrates.
The song "Nowhere Man" popped into my head when I felt my body process feelings. Lyrics like "doesn't have a point of view, doesn't know where he is going to " called to my grieving soul. I felt lost without the strings of people and places holding me down. I had secretly taken my identity and tied it to rocks. Dropped them from my cloud up above, hoping that I would be able to retrace my path if I ever needed to remember who I was. there was no time for that now. Only a distant memory of a space that my body once fit into
Hello was a greeting I gave to shaken sighs,. a fast beating heart, and slow breaths. Bless my therapist Beatrice. She had helped me through so much and so I knew what to do. I focused on the task at hand and stopped the panic attack before it happened.
Sharing our giant hearts with the world. But my heart sometimes gets so big a lil blood dribbles out and I need to remember how to patch it back up. It involves the strings. Going back to the places that make me. But then I remember I took my great big gardening sheers to those strings only a few hours prior and I shake, untethered.
But how is that fair to ask for more of your attention, or to ask anything of you? The monsters that live in the pit of my stomach threaten to unleash their poison. I feel it in my stomach as it clenches. You, so young, have yet to discover all the world. I am not your world. I am a tiny sliver. I did the calculations
.
I first kissed Syd on February 9th, and I am anticipating our last kiss (for a while at least) will be August 20th. Shit. That hurts. So that is six months and 11 days. or 190 days. As a male-bodied person in the US, you should live to be 100ish. So that is 36,000 days. ( I know you like this stuff cuz existentialism is nutso.) and 190/36000 is .00527 or .53% of your whole life. That is half of a percent.
Half a percent that feels like their life has changed so much for the better when she looks up into your sweet caramel eyes. the half a percent melts when you look a little longer than normally asked for. I won't be able to look at you like that past when you leave. I leave. We leave each other
It is so odd to have a date of severance. It feels like an assisted suicide or putting your dog down. The memories will be there to return to, and maybe a puppy will carry some characteristics of the past, but never again will what was be what is. In this metaphor I am saying I can't meet the puppy but I also adore my dog.
I am comfortable. I am also restless. For two years I had wiggled and gasped for air in my suburban town. I found oxygen in the cities of Oakland and Berkeley. I got a summer job in Berkeley, I found cafes that welcomed me with smiles. Today I learned I could keep a tab. They trust me here. Their bathrooms smell of pee and incense. I am very fond of both smells.
I am very fond of home. And I am so ready to create a new nest as well. What do I want in the next few weeks where I remain in the bay? I want to grow. Never do I believe I will grow out of this place. It holds my heart. You also hold my heart. Squeezing it, sometimes it feels like it beats with more synchrony than before. But I realize my fragility in the corners not yet explored. There were times of intense breakage where all I really need is to breathe in the stale air of this BART train and listen to the Beatles until equilibrium is reached
everything seems less scary once all the intricacies are let to fly. It is like your first period. Mysterious and spooky, something that makes you feel a little creepy. Unknown to you is that it will bring immense life. The power to change and understand is now in my womb, or my intellectual womb of my mind. Once something is detected I no longer feel uneasy. The way people move and dance is something not so queasy.
Part of me loves hearing the giggles deep inside you. exciting to learn about the new lights that shine upon you. The other part of me needs to learn that more candles don't mask my light, rather bring more brightness to the beauty and self-discovery of you. The selfless act of learning holds hands with the selfishness of the way my fingers grab your hips. And once again I realize that my power does not lie within your actions, but within my own mind how I create my own world.
The learning is so fast, so rushing, sometimes crashing. The bruises in my heart I try not to spread to the rest of my body. But why stop a bruise, so pure, beautiful, and the epitome of life. As a corpse, you are ashen, grey. As a source of light you are purple, green, blue and a weird yellow. A sickness no more when you roll it between your fingers.
I sometimes think I am an imposter, faking my way through my own emotions. transposing futility onto something dying. I am dying. So why not bring a little zest into a decaying land? Isn't that my whole purpose in life? I want to create sustainable systems emotionally, socially, and environmentally. Revitalize, revisit, and renew. And that is what I now aim to do.
Names Changed to protect the privacy of others
You know that scene in our town where the girl goes around to her favorite places saying goodbye? she is dead and also alive in a sense walking back into this world that was once so familiar to her. That is how I feel. I feel myself fading from this world I once knew. I am cutting off connections hoping to save the people I am strung too, but only being hurt in the process. I feel a tug from every person as I slowly break away.
Today, for instance, I said goodbye to two people. I said goodbye to a friend I had made only a few months prior. I gave him my water boiler. Daniel said he wanted it to spice up his room. Just the other day we had gone on an expedition to find an orange jumpsuit. It was found, and will never have the opportunity to be found again. Never the thrill of running through downtown Berkeley at night, only to sit down and eat pizza 2 hours past curfew.
This Monday also brought with it a sentencing for a friendship that will remain untouched in the physical sense for at least a few months. I met Kira at a theater event, the same time I met two of my lovers and dear friends. Someone told me that she liked me, I told myself that she made me giggle. The little things like holding my bag or asking if I needed help were breathtaking. I am the one asking to assist. Getting help feels weird. I tend to adventure alone and I am not used to it when someone wants to be with me, carry my things, carry my heart, ask what I said. The BART train wooshing away at Ashby station signaled our goodbyes.
I said goodbye to a place today too. The Berkely bowl will probably never get my attention in the next year. I loved it with ironic passion. That lady who once sneered when I was taking too long picking out bulk alfalfa should buy a vibrator. I made a spice concoction of nutritional yeast, salt, garlic, and dried onion. I sprinkled it on my focaccia bread and pressed my gums into the sweet carbohydrates.
The song "Nowhere Man" popped into my head when I felt my body process feelings. Lyrics like "doesn't have a point of view, doesn't know where he is going to " called to my grieving soul. I felt lost without the strings of people and places holding me down. I had secretly taken my identity and tied it to rocks. Dropped them from my cloud up above, hoping that I would be able to retrace my path if I ever needed to remember who I was. there was no time for that now. Only a distant memory of a space that my body once fit into
Hello was a greeting I gave to shaken sighs,. a fast beating heart, and slow breaths. Bless my therapist Beatrice. She had helped me through so much and so I knew what to do. I focused on the task at hand and stopped the panic attack before it happened.
Sharing our giant hearts with the world. But my heart sometimes gets so big a lil blood dribbles out and I need to remember how to patch it back up. It involves the strings. Going back to the places that make me. But then I remember I took my great big gardening sheers to those strings only a few hours prior and I shake, untethered.
But how is that fair to ask for more of your attention, or to ask anything of you? The monsters that live in the pit of my stomach threaten to unleash their poison. I feel it in my stomach as it clenches. You, so young, have yet to discover all the world. I am not your world. I am a tiny sliver. I did the calculations
.
I first kissed Syd on February 9th, and I am anticipating our last kiss (for a while at least) will be August 20th. Shit. That hurts. So that is six months and 11 days. or 190 days. As a male-bodied person in the US, you should live to be 100ish. So that is 36,000 days. ( I know you like this stuff cuz existentialism is nutso.) and 190/36000 is .00527 or .53% of your whole life. That is half of a percent.
Half a percent that feels like their life has changed so much for the better when she looks up into your sweet caramel eyes. the half a percent melts when you look a little longer than normally asked for. I won't be able to look at you like that past when you leave. I leave. We leave each other
It is so odd to have a date of severance. It feels like an assisted suicide or putting your dog down. The memories will be there to return to, and maybe a puppy will carry some characteristics of the past, but never again will what was be what is. In this metaphor I am saying I can't meet the puppy but I also adore my dog.
I am comfortable. I am also restless. For two years I had wiggled and gasped for air in my suburban town. I found oxygen in the cities of Oakland and Berkeley. I got a summer job in Berkeley, I found cafes that welcomed me with smiles. Today I learned I could keep a tab. They trust me here. Their bathrooms smell of pee and incense. I am very fond of both smells.
I am very fond of home. And I am so ready to create a new nest as well. What do I want in the next few weeks where I remain in the bay? I want to grow. Never do I believe I will grow out of this place. It holds my heart. You also hold my heart. Squeezing it, sometimes it feels like it beats with more synchrony than before. But I realize my fragility in the corners not yet explored. There were times of intense breakage where all I really need is to breathe in the stale air of this BART train and listen to the Beatles until equilibrium is reached
everything seems less scary once all the intricacies are let to fly. It is like your first period. Mysterious and spooky, something that makes you feel a little creepy. Unknown to you is that it will bring immense life. The power to change and understand is now in my womb, or my intellectual womb of my mind. Once something is detected I no longer feel uneasy. The way people move and dance is something not so queasy.
Part of me loves hearing the giggles deep inside you. exciting to learn about the new lights that shine upon you. The other part of me needs to learn that more candles don't mask my light, rather bring more brightness to the beauty and self-discovery of you. The selfless act of learning holds hands with the selfishness of the way my fingers grab your hips. And once again I realize that my power does not lie within your actions, but within my own mind how I create my own world.
The learning is so fast, so rushing, sometimes crashing. The bruises in my heart I try not to spread to the rest of my body. But why stop a bruise, so pure, beautiful, and the epitome of life. As a corpse, you are ashen, grey. As a source of light you are purple, green, blue and a weird yellow. A sickness no more when you roll it between your fingers.
I sometimes think I am an imposter, faking my way through my own emotions. transposing futility onto something dying. I am dying. So why not bring a little zest into a decaying land? Isn't that my whole purpose in life? I want to create sustainable systems emotionally, socially, and environmentally. Revitalize, revisit, and renew. And that is what I now aim to do.
Comments
Post a Comment
Thank you so much for making a comment. It should be published in the next couple days .Have a Happy day!