#92 || Emergence-Sea

emergence | ɪˈməːdʒ(ə)ns |
noun [mass noun]
1 the process of becoming visible after being concealed: I misjudged the timing of my emergence.

The ladies in the office tell me about their daughters. As they speak my fingernails press into my palms and I hold my breath, wondering if this is the moment I will be made for the fraud that I am. A quasi-adult smearing concealer on her face with her fingers, before standing in front of her wardrobe trying to figure out what people wear to work on a Monday morning. As they speak of electives and hormones and evening spats before bed, an ache twinges in my heart when I remember being in the thick of adolescence, a phase I’ve never quite managed to escape. Teenage insecurities seem to have followed me into my thirties, finding any excuse to regress to the sullen, solemn little girl and on the bad days, it’s the only thing I feel like I have the potential to be. I murmur my sympathy as I remember my youth, a sentence made unbearable by none-other than myself.

I could describe it like a tamper, depressing my core beliefs into a compact sliver. Every feeling that somehow had to become a secret, simmering at the tip of my tongue, sometimes spilling out under the stars, encouraged by sips of red wine. I don’t remember any instance where I haven’t regretted unlocking the chains of my inner-self, I recall fragments of my heart left woven in the forgotten memories of souls I was foolish enough to believe were kindred. After all these years, I don’t think such a thing exists, I feel condemned to an archive of aquaintances. For the rest of my life.

2022 feels unimpressive, yet I have found this rhythm that is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It might be my own taste of adulthood :: bills, car keys and wilting leaves of basil in the refridgerator beside cartons of vanilla oat milk and pears that I bought in June. I fall asleep with the television on, the flickering of light from the living room lulling me to dreamtime next to a cold cup of herbal tea. I didn’t think I’d be so lonely all these years later, I thought it was just a phase.

[ i can't believe i haven't written here in over a year. updates: i don't really think about her too much anymore, not like that. i don't really think about anybody very much. REMINDER: everybody leaves, without exception. don't ever forget that, afifa-in-the-sky!!! ]

XX

#91 || Au Revoir, Pinot Noir

 
 And To Those I Love, Thanks For Sticking Around ;; 

 

It is surreal to think of how much metamorphosis has taken place in the last year or so [exclusive of the obvious]. One year later my heart feels more calloused than it ever has, transfigured by the severity and disregard of the actions and events that transpired, I didn’t know that places so dark and desperate even existed, ready to welcome lost souls into the alcoves of hopelessness. There lies the kind of loneliness that chills your bones, it’s the solitude that keeps your heart beating slow and steady in the moonlight but fast and rapid during the moments you hear the echoes of the declarations of love and longing that were all just lies and falsehoods in the end. At the worst of times I can’t imagine ever giving anybody the key to my heart ever again, but at the best of times there are moments where you are able to forget how they made you feel. Eventually you start believing that you are the way people treat you, that you are ordinary and forgettable no matter how strong and tenacious you are. It’s not about entitlement but it’s about believing at the bottom of your heart that you’re more deserving of how you feel right now.

I miss you every day but if you only knew how much it hurts and how I don't think I have felt as happy as one year ago today when you were in the passenger seat next to me, assuring me this wouldn't be the last time I saw you ["it's not goodbye, it's i'll see you soon"]. I realise now that even in those moments of complete and utter gratitude that I was able to feel loved and important and alive, that it may have been possible to feel even more grateful and savour the present until there was absolutely no more ecstasy left in that very second. To lose it all at once, it’s such an incredible sensation that I think is all too common in this era where everything and everyone is dispensable.

At the end of this chapter, I’m not leaving you behind in the memories of what happened but out of the one last shred of respect I have for myself, I think I need to relinquish the sympathy and fret of how I never want anybody to feel as sad as I have and as I do, and remember that this separation was your choice. I don’t believe that physical absence should engender amnesia because I treasure each and every single soul I have ever met, I cherish your existence and the beating of your heart and the love you bring to this world. At this moment, I know there is love and hope in the sunsets and sunrises, from my mother and my father and my sisters, from my beloved friends across the ocean and the songs and films that articulate what we’re all too ashamed to share. There is no animosity, only amity that for now will rest in the dormant chambers of my head and my heart. I hope one day that I will understand why it had to hurt so much and I hope that I will never make anybody feel this way.

 

 [ au revoir (for now), A xo ]

#90 || “And when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. What do you call it, freedom or loneliness?”

 

Perhaps it was from May until maybe even the other day, I woke up in this nightmarish haze where it didn't seem real that everything had disappeared. People fear the prospect of abandonment and rejection but to experience it in the abundance that I did last year -- that unexpected and maybe self-inflicted loss was unlike anything I could have ever imagined was possible. Then the sensation suddenly became an addiction ;; I found myself reaching out to those who I knew didn't want to remember I existed, to hurt my heart with the feeling of being forgotten, over and over again. Like some kind of quasi-defense mechanism, it became easier to anticipate heartache and prompt it, than to even hope for the best.

I'm learning every day that the unconditional love that exists in songs and films and storybooks is more rare than I ever thought, it may even be endangered. We live in a world that is constantly manufacturing copies and concepts that make individuals less unique and less accommodating to uniqueness and singularity unless it acts in their favour. We're all so desperate to make an impression and to be loved that anything is better than something special, and that doesn't even count the irrational infatuation that we can't let go of despite all logic and common sense.

There is a fine balance that can exist but it doesn't, not right now. Loyalty and security and love mean next to nothing if there isn't anything to gain from it. We all feel so personally attacked by something so boundless and immeasurable and unforgiving and undiscriminating. Maybe it's ego or maybe we're frightened. In this moment, all I know is that it's okay to change your mind and your opinion and everything you are if you believe your actions are right and kind and won't break anybody's heart without reason.

 

That's all. Love (if it even exists anymore), A. xo

 

#89 || THE LOVERS, THE DREAMERS & ME

ATTN: ALL OF THOSE I'VE LOVED BEFORE

 

Do you remember the days when the love was so bountiful it could substitute sleep? Do you remember when the waking moments were the real dreams? I suppose just like any other storybook, when the pages start to become blank and you may or may not have had closure or the happy-ending that you wanted, maybe you'll miss the heroine for a minute or two but life doesn't wait for the perpetually confused.

Perhaps it contradicts logic to miss somebody who doesn't exist, who won't be there and who doesn't care. It wasn't self-respect, reassurance or pride that [will] helped me let you go, but copious amounts of time and continual signs from you indicating my insignificant existence in your world. Lately, I focus too much on the time until or the time since, that I can't seem to find the time now. I feel like I'm stuck in-between where I want to be and where I could be and maybe even where I should be. Sometimes my dreams are the wildest. I forget that dreams are impossible and they don't come true. Fairytales don't exist, you said. But who knows, you lied about everything else. It's okay though, because I can't make somebody love me and everybody loves so differently but it's just when I see the love exchanged between others, so organically and infinite, that's the love I want to want to give [... and receive]. I want it all most of the time not just sometimes and even if it had to be sometimes, then it needs to be fucking golden.

One year and a month ago I remember that despite losing just about everything, I felt so loved. Now one year and a month later, I have replaced everything I lost and more but in the process, I lost the love. The loneliness now seems beyond repair, I couldn't possibly accept love even if you begged and professed it from the rooftop because I'm that ugly on the inside. Just ask anybody who ever stopped wanting to be my friend. What do you do when you yourself are the toxic one? [ Tip: Hide away from the world and don't let anybody see what you're really like. ]

KISSES, 

A XO

 

P.S. Fuck you all anyway.

 

#88 || The World Is Mine by Samm Henshaw

This year has really taught me how to put myself in other people's shoes to generate a level of love and patience from places I didn't even know existed, in an abundance that I didn't know was possible. I've learned that a place exists between happy and sad. Over the last few months I've learned a lot about the limbo you can create when you're too afraid to let yourself feel disappointed. Because that's the compromise that comes with empathy;; it's the balance between hypocrisy and understanding.

When the pressure becomes overwhelming, I run to that place. I am my own best friend, I am the voice of reason, I am my own shoulder to cry on, But there's a catch ;; I find myself afraid of the goodness and the kindness of others, because I am terrified of situations where I can't control what happens. I know that this year has presented challenges that have nearly crossed the boundaries of what can be managed, and what can be survived. I know that places nobody should ever have to visit have been overwhelmed and crowded by undeserving individuals and if I could stand guard of the gate to those dark realms and forbid all from entering - I would.

If you can only believe that those who disappoint you did so in ignorance and oblivion, and that the souls you let into your life mean no malice, then that's one enormous step. The next baby step is to know that you're allowed to feel the way you feel about everything, that you can't control how you feel but you can control how you react. It's not your fault you want more, it's not your fault you had hopes higher than reality, and it's not your fault that you feel disillusioned when it feels like you're the only one missing out on the greenest-grass-fairytale-magic-miracle that everybody on the other side of the rainbow seems to have. The heartache will always be there, but if you place every foot in front of the other with your own purpose and intention, then that's all I can ask of you today.

Tomorrow ;; is a whole other story.
You really never know what tomorrow might bring, so don't write it off just yet and be prepared for everything.

[ ^^ Dear A, this is a little reminder for your every day. Love, A x ]     

"Where do you go when you go quiet?"