The Becomings

Kind of a summary. Kind of a diary. For the most part, melodrama.

[the-becomings]

I’ve spent the last hour watching Heart Evangelista’s vlogs and lemme tell you... they are oddly therapeutic. 

These past weeks I’ve felt full of a kind of grief that I can’t quite distinguish the shape of. I haven’t been indulging the feeling too deeply. It feels as if the time to find its real shape and form haven’t arrived yet. 

I can’t imagine how much more difficult this life transition must be for other people who have to worry about finances. Or being utterly alone. Or not liking the job they have. 

You know what else is therapeutic? The Winter Wonderland lofi mix. It’s like the creator understands the deep love I harbor for the dying months of the year. And it isn’t the symbolism of Christmas season... it’s the air. A chill slowly seeps into every corner of the city. You wouldn’t notice it at first. It begins to claim the evenings, and then the afternoons, and then even the morning sunlight takes on that characteristic weightlessness of the cold. 

A different kind of chill is slowly laying its claim on me too.  It has made a little nest in my heart. 

[the-becomings]

I’ve just finished what is a good contender for the worst lecture ever given.  Days like today remind me of the flukey nature of this opportunity. 

The great weight of responsibility is always an unspoken one.  It’s a good thing this place is kind to fledglings.  The kids tend to be kinder as well. The confusion I see in their eyes is understandable. It sparks a deep fear in me that I’m wasting their time.

It’s an unspeakable joy to be here. But I’m not used to maximizing opportunities as they come. We cope with our inadequacies (both imagined and actual) in our own ways, too. 

I’m tempted to say I don’t know what to do. That would be a lie. It’s time to get down to the gritty parts of this job. But how do I do that? 

You know what... that was a terrible first lecture. I’ll do better in the next round. If not, heck, at least I look cute.

[the-becomings]

Quick context:  I am sitting in a very comfortable chair, in a faculty room that is wonderfully comfortable as long as you don’t stay past 6 pm. 

And I am tired. And sleepy. And this invisible weight that has always weighed on me is weighing particularly heavily tonight. 

[the-becomings]

Essay #1

Hope has a funny shape May 2017

(A mother/father’s day note)   Growing up, I remember feeling a deep-set sense of insecurity over the way the world works. I would hide in my room, nose buried deep in a book, so I could escape that feeling. Or I would overcompensate with school activities to keep my mind busy. That was how it was: an endless game of hide-and-seek with some unknowable fear. Thinking back now, I think I felt that way because I saw glimpses of the reality my parents had to face every day. The path they chose to live was almost defiant, one requiring them to make unconventional choices just to keep us together, well and safe. I can say now that the guts it took to raise our family scared me: what if I was not worth those sacrifices?

What if I could not face life with the same bravery? As I grew into my own mind, I started, slowly, to learn that the source of my fears held the very answers I (didn’t know I) was looking for. But I needed to understand the “bigger picture” better. And the missing pieces? Hope. And faith. My parents used to tell us these wonderful stories about the future, the things we could do together, the places we would go. Some of those stories have come true and some haven’t. Part of understanding the bigger picture is the willingness to hazard a guess, to bet on things that might defy the ways of the present, and to believe in best of possibilities.  

Believing things can be better even in the worst of times? That’s a life skill. Making it happen for a family on a budget? For that, all I have is awe. And that is the kind of love they gave us (and continue to give us each day): one that has faced reality head-on; one that believes in our value in the present as much as in our value in the future.

What is hope, anyway? Something in the present that looks to the future? And faith? Something that allows you to see goodness and beauty in a world that is, in many ways, broken? [It’s okay mom, you can laugh.] I don’t understand those things very well. But I’d like to tell you how these felt to my younger self.

The fear abates when they sneak into your room deep into the night just to kiss you on the forehead; and when they tell you everything is going to be okay, just focus on doing your best, you won’t have trouble taking your exams next week.

The fear abates when, on stormy days when the rain is everywhere and the lights are out, they tell us stories as we huddle, snugly fitting, into two couches. The lightning can shatter the sky, the thunder can rumble; we are safe in our nest of warmth and words. The fear abates when they are there to welcome you home (or are there to be welcomed home). Or when they are far away and send you random pictures of the chickens or dogs or ducks or cats and you know distance is a space that can be breached. Then, fear is not a word. It is a sound, just a sound, and only if you chose to utter it.

And on the days I feel that I have done something so horribly wrong that there certainly can’t be any returning? The fear abates, still, when after words have been exchanged and tears have been shed and the silences have run their course, they hug me, tightly, and the lesson is somehow magically learnt.

The fear abates because love is a force to be reckoned with. And it has come in two shapes: mom and dad.

I’m still pretty scared of the world in general. But that’s okay. I am blessed to have two people (and two more of those, and three dogs and a cat) to help me face my fears. I can only hope that one day I will be brave enough to defy reality when I need to.

So, today, I want to say thank you to mom and dad. I love you guys!

And also happy mother/father’s day (it’s a thing, yes? The “two halves of a whole” thing and for the mothers who are mothers and fathers and fathers who are fathers and mothers) to each and every person brave enough to raise a child with love! You’ve got an iron set of guts. x

[the-becomings]

Poem #6

5/24/17

My mouth is dry. You might have told me, if you were here, that this comes with the summer.

But water will not bring the words back. This is a different kind of drought.

[the-becomings]

Things I need to reconcile. 

The moment you feel the need to say the “l” word is the moment you have confused the illusion for reality. 

---

You can’t fool me. What mind? I am some sorry emblem of a person chosen for delight.  The moment you decide you want me is the moment you decide I am an object. 

And I don’t mind, really. It must be clear to me that I am not... not “unworthy of knowing”... but perhaps unknowable. And only can be known as a partial being. As a caricature. As what you want to see.

I scream and cry “this is me, this is what it means to me, this is how i try to live without shattering” but the moment I do is the moment I relearn I am unknowable. There is nothing that makes me want to crawl into my own mouth like your void eyes do.  And I am the being trapped inside its own mind.  

But you know what? My mind is a fucking piece of art and it moves like a fucking non verbal communication machine. It means everything and nothing to the casual observer. And you don’t get to be more than that. Fuck you. Don’t confuse my emblem for myself. 

And I am an angry boiling mass of thoughts that no one can deign to know --but aren’t we all?

And I am inch by inch reconstructing myself like I reconstruct this damn thesis. And I do this for myself. Because this is my mind on paper. A fucking piece of art that means everything and nothing at all. 

Mark me. I will become a cold ass bitch.

[the-becomings]

You can feed into the illusion as much as you want--as long as you like--as long as one thing remains clear: it is an illusion.

[the-becomings]

10/2/17

I wish I could have told you, dear one, that pain is a necessary part of living. 

It’s so distant now, these feelings and memories (and pains).

Maybe it was for the best that there was no one to look to. That way, you learned that love and respect are two different things. Respect is something you can give, regardless of whether or not you like the person; regardless of whether or not you liked yourself. Love is mysterious in that way. It is, in many ways, blind. In many ways, tough. And in any case, too varied. Sometimes it forgets that respect is a word, too, and that the fact of being human entitles us to it.

What would it have been like? If we had respected that little girl, largely unable to make sense of a world defined by sense and sensibilities invisible to her? Perhaps this life of the mind would be less real; we wouldn’t have needed to run; we wouldn’t have the need to know our own mind.

I can tell you (without necessarily liking you) that your mind is quite a piece of art. The artists are yourself, and time, and chance. But I do like you. I wish I could have told you that all those years ago. Would you have felt less alone? You were worthy, and continue to be worthy, because you are. Let the world in your head remind you of that. You made that. That is home.

Although it came at the price of pain, I’ll tell you this. Now you know you are your own. Don’t forget that.

No matter how short this life will be, promise me that you will live it for no one else but yourself. 

[the-becomings]

I don’t think of the future because I don’t see myself there. That sounds so dramatic. It isn’t supposed to be; it’s just the way it is. 

[the-becomings]

I’m sorry. I didn’t think I would be here again. 

When will it be okay to say that I am not fine and that there is no explanation?

Why do I always have to have the words? All I can do is lie. Even when I find myself there, again, in someone’s arms, again, crying, it becomes a performance. There is something they want to see. I can’t come to them and cry if I can’t show them what they want to see. 

“We can’t help you if you don’t want to help yourself.”

When I am well enough to help myself, even I can’t connect to this person crying over who knows what. When I am well enough to help myself, I become one of the others who tell me “everything will be okay; nothing is wrong; you feel things that are not there.”

When I am myself outside this self shivering from a coldness that is not here, I am a lie. 

[the-becomings]

To myself.

I know that right now you say love is not a word (yet you long for someone who was never yours; maybe you will always long for him; maybe it’s like the last few drops of ink you wet to pretend it will never run out; maybe love really isn’t a word; maybe the word is “wishing”)

I know that you feel the strength sap out of your bones with each keystroke (there is too much you don’t understand; there is too little to do; the world is slowly turning into a box; you are slowly turning into an afterthought)

I know that deep shame, the feeling of loss as you slip away from other people’s lives (that the shame comes from wanting to stay; that the shame is self-validation; that the truth is you don’t know how to care for people; that friendship feels, too often, like a performance and you’ve forgotten the lines already)

I know how, the more you leave yourself bared to the world, the more you feel alien to it. And so you’d rather just perform, perform, perform. You are a character and you call yourself “I”. 

I don’t know when it will get better. Or when I will feel shame for the right things. Or when I will be less of a narcissist. Or when I will feel life as acutely as I did when scrabble was a foreign place; when we walked the streets together; when we talked for hours and hours and I felt my brain was more than grey matter. 

I want to go to sleep. 

[the-becomings]

5/24/17

My mouth is dry.  You might have told me, if you were here, that this comes with the summer. 

But water will not bring the words back.  This is a different kind of drought. 

[the-becomings]

When you’re reading Nietzsche’s notes on nihilism in Will to Power and it turns out to be a narration of your life story/prophetic of your life story. This isn’t supposed to be *this* comforting.

Me at 4:30 in the morning bc why not (jk papers are the bomb (jk sarcasm))

[the-becomings]

Hope has a funny shape

(A mother/father’s day note)   Growing up, I remember feeling a deep-set sense of insecurity over the way the world works. I would hide in my room, nose buried deep in a book, so I could escape that feeling. Or I would overcompensate with school activities to keep my mind busy. That was how it was: an endless game of hide-and-seek with some unknowable fear. Thinking back now, I think I felt that way because I saw glimpses of the reality my parents had to face every day. The path they chose to live was almost defiant, one requiring them to make unconventional choices just to keep us together, well and safe. I can say now that the guts it took to raise our family scared me: what if I was not worth those sacrifices? 

What if I could not face life with the same bravery? As I grew into my own mind, I started, slowly, to learn that the source of my fears held the very answers I (didn’t know I) was looking for. But I needed to understand the “bigger picture” better. And the missing pieces? Hope. And faith. My parents used to tell us these wonderful stories about the future, the things we could do together, the places we would go. Some of those stories have come true and some haven’t. Part of understanding the bigger picture is the willingness to hazard a guess, to bet on things that might defy the ways of the present, and to believe in best of possibilities.  

Believing things can be better even in the worst of times? That’s a life skill. Making it happen for a family on a budget? For that, all I have is awe. And that is the kind of love they gave us (and continue to give us each day): one that has faced reality head-on; one that believes in our value in the present as much as in our value in the future. 

What is hope, anyway? Something in the present that looks to the future? And faith? Something that allows you to see goodness and beauty in a world that is, in many ways, broken? [It’s okay mom, you can laugh.] I don’t understand those things very well. But I’d like to tell you how these felt to my younger self.

The fear abates when they sneak into your room deep into the night just to kiss you on the forehead; and when they tell you everything is going to be okay, just focus on doing your best, you won’t have trouble taking your exams next week. 

The fear abates when, on stormy days when the rain is everywhere and the lights are out, they tell us stories as we huddle, snugly fitting, into two couches. The lightning can shatter the sky, the thunder can rumble; we are safe in our nest of warmth and words. The fear abates when they are there to welcome you home (or are there to be welcomed home). Or when they are far away and send you random pictures of the chickens or dogs or ducks or cats and you know distance is a space that can be breached. Then, fear is not a word. It is a sound, just a sound, and only if you chose to utter it. 

And on the days I feel that I have done something so horribly wrong that there certainly can’t be any returning? The fear abates, still, when after words have been exchanged and tears have been shed and the silences have run their course, they hug me, tightly, and the lesson is somehow magically learnt. 

The fear abates because love is a force to be reckoned with.  And it has come in two shapes: mom and dad.

I’m still pretty scared of the world in general. But that’s okay. I am blessed to have two people (and two more of those, and three dogs and a cat) to help me face my fears. I can only hope that one day I will be brave enough to defy reality when I need to. 

So, today, I want to say thank you to mom and dad. I love you guys! 

And also happy mother/father’s day (it’s a thing, yes? The “two halves of a whole” thing and for the mothers who are mothers and fathers and fathers who are fathers and mothers) to each and every person brave enough to raise a child with love! You’ve got an iron set of guts. x 

[the-becomings]

I only found out today why “its’” (with that blemish of an apostrophe) is not a word.  There are complications to being a “synthetic” native English speaker. Some things get lost in my everyday multilingual interactions.  (This is me blaming my environment for my lack of grammatical finesse. This is also me today, having failed to pay attention to all those elementary school lessons).

[the-becomings]

5/13/17

I can taste the words I’m made of.

Paper lion [/paper shrew] Paper box [/paper - thin]

At least words hold meaning; At least paper has its own weight. 

[the-becomings]

1/19/2017

No steady rain nor quiet comfort, no quickened heartbeat race;

To you. Thief, phantom, shadow-friend. This is not a home; you are not welcome.

===

“It is people who cannot be taken, held, possessed/you are your own” --and so he, too, belongs to no one but himself