#dearest me

[neelihara]

I made this for myself but I felt all of us might need this some point in our life.

[entity-cat]

“Dearest Me”

another hs print and the glass plate used to make them

[smutinlove]

gonna put this out here <33

[bitawanmo]

dearest reader,

this much is true: I spend a lot of my time lamenting over my own immortality and the impossible ways in which my existence can persevere and survive even the Big Bang.

it's not just about knowing what it's all for. it's about knowing that it even is for something. maybe it's unbearable, to think there's no purpose. it makes me feel less real. it makes everything feel so distant and out of place, unenjoyable.

so, I see my undeveloped film and unfinished awful drafts of paintings and books and stories and untouched crochet starter kits, and think that maybe I've enlisted in a multitude of hobbies because I'm creative, or cannot focus on one thing at once, or embarrassingly just want to look perfect to others, or really and most painfully, because I've been in a hopeless search to make something that'll transcend time and space because it's my way of coping that my existence and body won't.

I should let it go. but I've just been laying here thinking about all of my unfinished work, and my family, and the universe, and all of the versions of me that could exist if only I do this, if only I did that. between societal expectations, insecurities, and my apparent need to create a Van Gogh, I couldn't tell you what my real laugh sounds like. what my walk looks like, how to really smile or what I look like when I'm content. I claim I know myself so much, I think I know what I want out of all of it, I make choices out of fear and hope like any human, yet, I am not yet sure of the things that make me most human, things that should be so easy. I don't know. there are years that question and years that answer, right? who am I, dearest reader, if not the things I do, if not the things I love, if not the things I own? the question seems easy but right now, the answer feels unreachable. I have to find the hope in that. I know there can be good in that.

[bitawanmo]

dearest reader,

the thing is, I think there is poetry in our youth that we lose momentarily at the end of our adolescence, and we search for to escape adulthood. perhaps, my nostalgia, most of all, is to escape this inescapable reality of bills, health, and society's finest concoction of inequalities.

I've survived so much, yet there wasn't a need for responsibility in my survival. mistakes could be easily brushed off as nonchalance, as "not knowing better." I have Great Gatsby on the television now, and I remember distinctly when I first watched it, thinking I want to live a life this: romantic and grand, though however tragic it might end. here's what I don't remember: who I really wanted to be. I think I spent so much of my high school years here just wanting to belong and fit in. I wanted to check their boxes. i held their laughs like trophies when I said something witty, I played in my head again and again when I was noticed, invited to their tables, blushing at the nominations, the homecoming walk, all stupid things really that I believed proved to the world I was good enough.

of course, we live and we learn don't we? dearest reader, dearest me, I'm not sure if it's the night or the years. but the melancholy, like my fears, once an opponent of the future, now a friend, like peace, satisfied only in silence, in the sun peeking through the leaves of trees, in the sound of linen blowing on the clothesline at 11 am on a Saturday.

the thing is, there was so much I never really gave a fuck about back then. I just wanted to belong. but in my insecurities and longing to just feel loved, I was selfish in my friendships, deceitful with my intentions, publicly inauthentic, and then when it all backfired into the demise of my friendships and being faced with the stinging truth that I had lost my identity, I cursed the world and universe for betraying me so cruelly. I drank and drank again and closed myself off because what good was any of it. well, universe, thank you for leading my blind little heart through it all. in lost security, spirituality was slowly gained.

I don't really know what I'm ever saying anymore. I just know that I want to make something meaningful, purposeful. I don't know yet what it means for me. but what do I let go? I let go of any expectations. I open myself up to seeing what may seem mundane or painful at first could be the next profound thing I was searching for, if only I open my heart to receive the message it needs to be received. I let go of judgement to the messages of the universe. I keep opening the mail. and then i only respond back with love.

sounds kind of fucking cheesy, but I'll take it.

here is my postcard to you word, to you dearest reader:

sometimes our blessings feel like betrayals at first until we've truly learned to weather the storm. not shelter ourselves from it, until we've welcomed it. the thunder was loud, the clouds seemed heavy, I thought the flood would carry me away, but now I stand here in the street, and the rain feels so damn good.

[bitawanmo]

dearest reader,

I start this blog because I miss the version of me that used to write. I've lost quite a bit of myself to the world and I'd like to go back home to her, wherever she is now. this year is a year of questions, I feel.

yet,

I am not here for answers. I'm here to pluck these questions out of my restless heart so that maybe someday I can look back and translate them into answers that make sense. don't I owe myself that? dearest reader, I've lost my tongue a bit yet I yearn to speak and write. I don't need someone who listens though. I'd just like to know myself again. to be sure. be safe, satisfied, and sure.

so dearest reader, dearest me, dearest whoever the hell this really is meant for: the night begs the question, what needs answered? what needs letting go? the me who wrote so well was always... sad. I don't really miss her. but there was something about her I need to get back to. she was somber yet simple. broken yet the pieces were irreparable, puzzle pieces, not dust. she thought she was lost, but really she knew in her heart who she was, what she was meant for, what was really important to her--the books, the friends, the freedom, the night. dearest me a decade ago: maybe I just retired you, maybe you aren't so lost. what needs answered now? what needs letting go.

[ohdearestme]

Dear Me,

So the job that I dislike in the organisation I like is going to be coming to an end pretty much as quickly as it started. I am potentially out of there by the end of next month and it’s brought up some interesting emotions...

I guess it’s got me thinking about how my career seems to have been on a somewhat slippery slope since 2012... that was the year I thought I was doing the right thing and whistle blew... it however, resulted in an allegation being made against me... it cost me my job albeit temporarily... it cost me my mental health and it made me think seriously about what I wanted from work i.e. a feeling of safety and security. 

I spent one year pretty much unemployed then got a relief job with an organisation that I was aware of due to their involvement with previous clients... 

When I went for this job it was a) supposed to be a different job and b) only ever temporary so I guess I am surprised at feeling the way I do. I guess that at the end of the day whilst it’s the wrong role so much about the work environment is lovely especially the people I am working with.

I wish they’d make this work stuff easy...

Me x

[ohdearestme]

Dear Me,

So I recently started a new job, it's full time Monday to Friday 9 to 5. While it's not 100% what I want to be doing it's better than nothing...

Anyway, I've also continued working for my old employer and this weekend I am working two afternoon shifts with them.

I like being in both of the roles but for different reasons... with the one I love the client group... with the other I love the staff I work with... However, with both there are also things I don't like... in the one it's the inhalation of illegal drugs that the clients smoke... in the other it's the huge piles of admin...

Neither of them are permanent so that's why I am hanging on in there... I guess I am trying to make the most of the opportunity to earn money just in case one or both of them end up coming to an end...

It's tough but I guess you sometimes have to do these things....this week it means working 12 days without a break...

Tiredly,

Me