my favourite thing about history (and the reason why social history matters to me above anything else) is the reminder that there’s no emotion i’ve felt, no grief or trauma, no joy or laughter, that hasn’t been experienced by other people across time and space, and the idea of slipping into another life so different on the surface and yet so fundamentally similar to my own, and understanding them as a life like my own, with inner worlds that can’t be easily articulated, with loved ones and favourite foods and days they woke up having slept wrong and the acute experiences of standing in a quiet room and watching the light catch on dust floating in the air, of the smell outside after it rains heavily, of mornings after having dreamt something feverish and strange, or the knowledge of an impending loss and trying to prepare for it emotionally. peeling fruit and giving a piece to a friend. being awake at an hour that feels like you’re the only person alive in the world. that feeling when you know you need to eat and that you’re hungry but you just don’t find it appealing at all and it kind of makes you feel nauseous. i like imagining people in all different places and times experiencing those things, it makes me feel less alone and afraid of myself and my experience feels less daunting if that makes sense. others have lived with experiences like this too, and do, and will.
romaincrisis
germansingergirl
izzy806
kaledo-art
theartofmadeline
jacobvanloon
