jordan

where i spill my thoughts

[growingasweknowit]

Before him, she was strewn about like confetti after a birthday party, constantly giving out kisses and pieces of herself like party favors. She loved to dance, and even more to drink. She loved the taste of vulnerability between her lips, and even more so the comfort of not belonging to anyone. She treated one-night-encounters as momentary, short chapters in her life. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate those men, she did. She found muse in how one tried to explain how YSL and Saint-Laurent were the same, as though he knew more than she. She was thrilled in how another taught her about Duke Ellington and the birth of jazz.

Oftentimes, I feel like I have known her all my life. Spitting about, leaving glimpses of her in everyone she meets, and never feeling attached to a single soul. Sometimes, I think she loved the pace of it all more than anything else. Dressing up and flirting with the bartender before being swept off her feet on her way to the bathroom.

How lucky am I to know someone like that? So unstuck to a single version of herself that she just loves so deeply in the folds.

[growingasweknowit]

the therapist says she read I checked yes for the question that asked, “Have you ever experienced a form of sexual assault?”

part of me wonders if she thinks i’m making it up. other women have endured so much worse, I know this. I tell her that it happened a while ago, that it doesn’t bother me much. I leave out the part where my mind now goes blank if a man slips a hand under my pants. I leave out the part where my heart begins thumping so loud I think he might hear it. I leave out the part where I ask him to leave with no reason besides, I’m so sorry. One man asked me what I was sorry for, we can go as slow as you need, I’m not in a rush. I cried that night he went home. Maybe that’s what was supposed to happen with the man before him. Maybe that’s the softness it’s supposed to feel like. Except now I’m damaged goods. The kind that freaks out if someone suggests we take our clothes off. Am I making a fuss of all this? Maybe my “no’s” were muddled, and maybe my giving in was a betrayal of women who aren’t given half that option. Was there an option?

I look at the therapist. She’s a woman, like myself. Which makes me wonder if she would understand, or if she’d think I’m one of those girls who sops for sympathy and weeping excuses.

I’m okay now, I say, I think I’ve gotten over it.

[growingasweknowit]

this is what it feels like to be satisfied. in the morning, i step into whatever feels the most comfortable. i agree with whichever way my hair has decided to present itself that morning. there's no need, here, to scrutinize my teeth in the mirror. my commutes are muddled with the noise of the news, and i listen intently to the journalist's inquiries. my friend shows me a candid photo of my 'bad side,' and i shrug. my coffee tastes fine. no, it tastes good actually. i'm playful with the barista, sort of as if i am flirting. though, not in the romantic sense at all. i make a trip to the library and walk the rows just to breath in the scent of ink and dusty paper. i fill my mouth with handfuls of tart cherries. i've always loved the color red. after the long day, i lounge on the sofa like a cat stretching her legs.

[growingasweknowit]

perhaps Nietzsche was correct in that life possesses no meaning, and to search for one would be to disregard life's most simple pleasures. sometimes I myself get wrapped up in trying to understand my purpose and what reaching my fullest potential might look like. it's only when I step back that I realize how none of that quite matters as much as I once prescribed it to. I hide my face when asked what I aspire to be. I once loved someone who wouldn't stop talking about Duke Ellington and the sensitivity of jazz, how it bends and molds to the instrument with no sense of what might happen next. I prefer neatly outlined to-do lists and filled out calendars. I'm not a particularly neat person myself, and as much as I love the thought of being given choices, I would rather someone tell me exactly what to say and do. which is why perhaps I decided to study poetry and novels, with the anticipation that one day I might stumble upon a quote that would crisply fold in the corners of this "meaning of life" we all want to understand. I admit, it offers no benefit to lament the past or to dread the future. I swapped this ex lover for another who barely discussed these questions at all. if I was ever to ask him his calculations about our size in relation to the universe, he would grow visibly uncomfortable with the thought of having to marvel like that. it's unknown which one of them was "correct."

[growingasweknowit]

i don’t know who told you that you aren’t capable of becoming the person you’ve always wanted to be. perhaps, maybe, it was you. nonetheless, what a silly thing to assume. you were born, weren’t you? the odds of that were slim to nothing. and now look at you, waking up every morning trying to cut out your purpose in this world where nothing seems to make sense. the thing is, even though it’s terrifying, is that you are able to be that person you envision. the most tragic ending would be to have never tried at all. that tilted axis in your stomach telling you to move, that’s the part of you that knows the direction you’re supposed to be going. listen to how your heart pulses. breath. forgive. and move.

[growingasweknowit]

i know i’m getting better again. i smile at strangers on the sidewalk, and i laugh at mistakes and mishaps and milk spilt instead of getting upset. life is silly! i drink my tea in the morning and i’m appreciative that i’m able to. i call my mom and we chat about politics and local gossip. everything feels warmer, and welcoming, and i make plans for the future. lists of national forests i want to visit, and restaurants i want to taste. i’m happy again. i’m so happy.

[growingasweknowit]

here you are, yet again. after a friend who didn’t treat you deservingly. or after a lover left you for someone else. or after he died before you got the chance to say everything you wanted to. slowly, you return to your softness. remembering that love is what makes the world go round. that’s life. it’s going to throw you to the mud, make you wonder what paths you should’ve taken and which ones you shouldn’t have. i pray you have patience with yourself, and forgive the versions of you who didn’t know any better. we’re all new to this world. and that’s okay.

[growingasweknowit]

The same heart that sat by my father's bed when he passed away has now forgotten how to live itself. Do I miss my childhood bedroom? I would make potions in colored glasses that my mother brought home from Goodwill: mixes of fruit juice and spices that would mold overtime into a marshy concoction that I was extremely proud of. Then, somewhere in between birthdays, I went to college and decided to study politics. During classes I would drift between tabs of the New Yorker and Ms. and wonder where I wanted to plant my feet. I read The Alchemist and annotated its entirety. I made friends who had dreams of becoming doctors and scientists. At this point, at night, I stare into the mirror and wonder if my face has acquired more wrinkles since last year. Shouldn't I have a better bearing on what my body's purpose is by now? There's a part of me that wants to go to law school, make enough money to live comfortably while making subtle dips in the trajectory of the legal system. Then, of course, there's a part of me that wants to abandon it all. What if I told you that our saliva holds hormones fit for mate selection? What if the most human parts of ourselves are only a symptom of Darwin's curiosity? No one guessed that poetry would be the thing we finally realize when we're grieving. Everyone said that poetry is a thing for those unfit to deal with the domestic to-do list of life. It's not that I think that I'm special. No, it's quite the opposite. My normalcy is what makes me doubt it all: how similar I am to each person whose gaze I meet. Isn't it right that we're all just trying to navigate the etceteras of age? Everywhere I turn I am met with reflections that whisper "what if?" as if there's any way to do and discover everything in this sliver of briefness we have been afforded. We mistake bluntness for authenticity. In reality, we're all just pretending we have a grasp on who we are buried beneath these layers that we've plucked from those we loved before. Love me for who I am, we exclaim as if we have any idea who that is. Maybe we just want someone to know us better than we know ourselves. Maybe that's what all this chaos is about.

[growingasweknowit]

if this is all there is, than how do i squeeze the most out? sometimes i question my ability to make friends. and how to keep them. whether i’m keeping in touch enough, or slipping through fingers in their absence. sometimes the world and its possibilities feel overwhelming, as if there’s so much i need to accomplish in order to make my life worth something. and yet, when i look at all those paths, i’m not even the slightest bit sure which ones are going to make me happy. isn’t happiness what we all strive for? or is it to love? or maybe to be loved? to be love itself? the older i get, the more confused. when i was younger i thought i had it all figured out. i was going to make this huge difference in the world, change lives, and change laws, and become someone. and now, at 22, i realize that maybe i’m not as extraordinary as i once thought. maybe i’m good at some things, and some things maybe i’m better at than average. and yet, that doesn’t feel like enough anymore. like maybe i’ll never be the woman that my younger self expected. maybe i’ve failed her in some way that i can’t even put my finger on. i don’t think i’m depressed, necessarily. i’m sure others feel similarly, i don’t think i’m insanely special in this regard. and yet, i guess that’s sort of the problem, isn’t it?

[growingasweknowit]

it was almost as if i’d forgotten how to live until i tasted the sweetness of berries in my mouth again. something whispered in my ear, welcome back. because somewhere along the way i got lost in searching for the cheapest botox and lip filler and forgot to fill my body with what it really needed. sometimes i love womanhood, sitting in the living room with my roommates talking about what cosmetic procedures we’d have if only we had the money. and other times my heart wilts at the thought of how aging has become something we’re taught to fear. where do we go from here? i wish i could write some beautiful conclusion about how everything is going to turn out fine. right now though, i’m not so sure. i’m sorry, reader, maybe i’ve failed you.

[growingasweknowit]

this must be what they mean when they say love is forgiving. it’s a dim, candlelit dinner at a table we found on the sidwalk with boxes of oily pizza littered about. there are half-drunk wine bottles leaving burgundy rings on the stain. and the glow of the evening seeps through the window sill like parts of the moon are melting. in those moments, i let my mind bury beneath the plush sound-proof comforter, and for a moment, everything pauses.

[growingasweknowit]

we’re nothing but brief bodies. if that teaches you anything, then laugh! think as positively as you can muster. fill your mouth with fruits and foods you can’t pronounce. touch your loved ones. offer hugs as greetings and kisses for goodbyes. express gratitude abundantly. write letters, poems, stories, and notes. read the newspaper, or magazines, or blogs, as long as there’s words and new notions to become familiar with. tell your friends everything, even the things that you only whisper nothings in the dark. we’re only here for these fleeting moments after all.

[growingasweknowit]

i grew restless, wondering if i would like myself when i’m pruning like a raisin. and then, all at once, i thought about all the time i’d have to write about these experiences im having. falling in love at 21, splashing in the ocean and skinny dipping, dancing with my friends in dim-lit basements and watching the sunset in foreign countries. all these stories i’ve made, kissing strangers and making a fool of myself and realizing how none of it really matters, which is why everything matters. i’ll have time to try new foods, basil sauces and spicy enchiladas and sour limoncello. and even when i don’t recognize my younger self in the mirror, how privileged it will have been to love and age and smiled so much to have formed that face?

[growingasweknowit]

as we’re talking on the phone, i’m browsing Whole Foods for a bottle of peach wine for us to drink on our anniversary. you’re visiting me in Boston the next week and we’re rambling about where we’ll raise our future children. i find a bottle with a heart painted on the cork and i think about leaving kisses of red lipstick on the label. you mention living on the west coast and i imagine you hugging me from behind with soapy hands in the kitchen. we’re laughing now and i’m walking to the cashier. and it’s then that i realize how in love with you i am.

[growingasweknowit]

i watched my childhood friends light cigarettes as we stood in a circle. something twisted inside of me, it wasn’t a sight i ever expected. they blew smoke through their noses and we laughed about one of their new boyfriends. i wrapped my hands around a plastic cup filled with tequila and lime juice and all at once, it faded.

[growingasweknowit]

what is the point of this lukewarm love? i thought of this today as i walked to work thinking about us. and it all brought me to one conclusion, i’d rather be poor than compromise on love. it’s not something i want to dip my toes in or even something i want to have a lengthy swim in. love is something i demand to live in, and breathe, and fall asleep in each night. i can’t imagine a life where love does not wake me up in the morning and lull me to bed at the day’s end. so if we are going to do this, it must be relentless. and despite my cynicism of love, i know at the bottom that it is a choice. and so, if i must, i will begin each morning choosing to love you, even when i might not always like you. that, to me… no, let me rephrase… you are so worth it to me.

[growingasweknowit]

i’ll write a bit tonight, and think about how i wish you carried a photo of me in your pocket. and i’ll dream dreamy thoughts of you leaving me voicemails when you’re drunk. i’ll imagine you, in another life, buying fruits with me at the supermarket. you’ve always said i don’t eat enough of them. and when i’m sick, you’ll bring me tomato soup, since that’s my favorite. and you’ll remember all the little things that i never thought anyone would notice. or maybe you won’t, since that’s not you. it’s not you at all.