SHORT TALK ON CAKE
The menu offers twelve inspired cake flavors, but the tasting only offered four. Grateful for vanilla cardamom and cafe au lait, but yearning for hot cocoa, chocolate salted caramel, winter citrus, cinnamon hazelnut, italian rainbow cookie, and lemon. Perhaps a trick?
SHORT TALK ON OPERA
A broken system which she did not enjoy.
SHORT TALK ON SEATING
You either think that fat people do not exist or you just hope they won’t enter your establishment.
SHORT TALK ON ONE SIZE FITS ALL
Cough. Bullshit. Cough.
SHORT TALK ON VENUS OF WILLENDORF
The first artistic depiction of a human is a fat nomadic woman living in times of food scarcity before the invention of carbs.
SHORT TALK ON JEWEL
In 1995, Jewel’s debut album broke into the airwaves and my soul. I know this album with every inch. When I saw her perform the album live on its 25th anniversary, Jewel detailed her two decades long journey trying to separate herself from the album. In her latest albums, she experiments with genre and never gets it right.
SHORT TALK ON MRS. GIBSON
For three years, Mrs. Gibson glided around on her gibby-glider with her British accent, assuring me that English was my worst subject and that I certainly was no writer. “Liam!,” she would delightfully and loudly mispronounce with a long i sound. “Liam! Your work is faaahbuulous!” “Oh Liam! What does the red pickle dish represent, Liam?”
SHORT TALK ON MY MOTHER
My mother will not stop giving me stuff. When I get her to agree to stop giving me stuff, she gives my children even more stuff. Her love language is stuff. For every bag of stuff I give away, she sends four more. When I tell her, “Please, no more stuff,” she hears, “I hate you.”
Short talk on school:
I know I need to get to do work. But I’m so tired and overwhelmed with everything.
Short talk on my Mother:
I know I need to call my mom and talk to her more often. But sometimes, I can’t get the chance to. I need to tell her everything that’s happening but something is holding me back and I don’t know what. I want to tell her everything is crazy but it’s hard telling her.
Short talk on my sibling:
I know I need to tell my sibling all of the drama that’s happening. It feels like reality TV and there’s no escaping. But he’s super busy with law school and everything.
Short talk on my dog:
I know I need to go home for a weekend or my dog will continue being mad at me even though he gets mad at me when I’m home which makes no sense. I know I miss him and it’s hard when I’m separated from him.
short talk on my car:
I know I need to get off campus and drive. I’ve been neglecting my car for 3 weeks and sometimes it gets overwhelming here. Hopefully one day, I’ll be able to go for a drive and maybe scrape off the snow from my car.
Short talk on friendship:
I know I need to take some space from them, even if it hurts. This whole situation is so overwhelming and I don’t feel supported. I feel like it’s my fault for not feeling supported and not letting go of what happened with the ex-friend.
Short talk on you:
I know I need to be kinder to you, and give you more grace. Sometimes I can be hard on you and expect you to rise to the occasion. I know that sometimes I can be unfair to you and expect you to comply with others. But I know, it’s too much because you’re human. You’re human and things might not expect to go your way. You’re human and you make mistakes and maybe have some setbacks. You’re human and you need more compassion.
short talk on sin:
At night we speak in Hail Marys. She asks, “what circle of hell do you think you belong in?” I say I don’t know, but I do. I am a Venn diagram like my father.
short talk on smoke:
Months ago I inhaled a candle so hard that it went out I was thrown into a darkness that was already there. Maybe there is something to be said about self-fulfilling prophecies. About how love and suffocation sometimes wear the same clothes.
short talk on nothingness:
Show me a vacuum that truly contains nothing. Give it to me and let me caress the emptiness inside. Let me tell you that silence is something in itself, something maybe beautiful. Angels never really talk, anyway.
short talk on steam trains:
Cowardly men hide in the woods, conducting steam trains. In a circle, the beginning and end are indistinguishable. We are born how we die. I hope they sent you back to Utah. It couldn’t be far enough.
short talk on infinity and infidelity:
Show me two points that do not have a perfectly straight line between them. Hand me a pig with wings. Then I might be able to start to forgive you.
short talk on a boy with a gun:
The night before you were going to kill me I dreamt of a stick figure six feet tall. I dreamt that I broke your wrists and they snapped like a No. 2 pencil. There was always a certain sort of death between you and I.
short talk on benedict spinoza:
Only God satisfies the definition of substance: something whose essence is constituted by its infinite existence. Yet we are all substance — we are all God. If we are a singular being, am I a murderer, too?
SHORT TALK ON THE HEROINE
She is the moral compass. Always right. Being wrong tastes like acid in the back of her throat. She kills someone for the greater good. ‘Is it wrong?’ she asks.
SHORT TALK ON LANGUAGE
The impressive in-between turns quickly into nothingness. Shattered like a mirror on the wall. High expectations and free passes. For someone with more words at their fingertips, they slip away too easily.
SHORT TALK ON PHYSICAL TOUCH
I hear someone talk about their date and I understand. I hear someone talk about a kiss and I understand. I hear someone talk about a stranger and I understand. Have we all had the same experiences?
SHORT TALK ON PHILOSOPHY
It’s like an interest without any interest. It’s the beyond, it’s the solution, it’s the abstract. You know what, it is what it is. For me.
SHORT TALK ON ROMANCE
His sweet words embrace her. The boy clutches his beer to hide his trembling fingers. He always knows what to do. The boy doesn’t look me in the eyes. He is a born leader. The boy will never speak freely with me.
Short Talk on GMAT Studying
She sits, one foot on the chair the other on the ground. Mismatched socks represent her scattered brain. Long, black hair pushed behind one ear; hand to chin, hand to pencil. She’s worried; about her body, about her grades, about her love, and about this stupid fucking test.
Short Talk on Crochet
I am learning to crochet. I do not know enough, but the patterns are pretty.
Short Talk on my Brother
He brings friends over sometimes. Friends on probation; for curb-stomping a girlfriend, for throwing a house party, for raping. He is like his friends. He just has a lawyer for a mother and enough money for a clean record.
Short Talk on Eden Lake
Have you ever seen a movie where after you must sit in silence? Where after your heart never drops from your throat? Where the main characters, having every chance of survival and making every right decision, still have a fate worse than death?
Short Talk on a Fate Worse Than Death
Is anything a fate worse than death? I would say no, because anything else can be coped with or recovered from, with enough strength or willpower. Death is so final, there is no more after, before, or during. There just was.
Short Talk on Cigarettes
You are my worst vice but my kindest lover. I bought you legally at 12am on my birthday and kissed the gold and white of your Marlboro skin. I have tried to quit you, but you call me back. I see your name on billboards and sticky vinyl sheets taped in gas station bathrooms. You’re always on sale, and I can always afford you.
Short talks on class
Entering the dim lit hallways, I can’t help but wish I was anywhere else. I enter the classroom and scan the room. Where do you sit? Do you sit in the front and appear as a try hard? Do you sit in the back and look lazy? Do you sit in the middle rows, somewhere in the center, so that no one will see you?
Short talk on singing
The blend of harmonies filling the large space. The echoes of the voices even far after the note has stopped. The happiness felt when you hold out a long note and it lasts forever.
Short talk on makeup
Extended eyelashes, smoky eyes, cherry red lips. The rough feeling of a brush on your face, ready to transform yourself. The color added to your once dull canvas. The perfect creation.
Short talk on a bedroom
Each person’s thoughts are drawn out. Each has a distinct style, hobby, and life. Posters taped to the wall, music playing, friends laughing. So much goes on in one space.
Short talk on fall
She felt the crisp leaves crunching under her feet as she walked down the street. The breeze sweeps her bangs into her face. She pushes them out of her way and grips the coffee in her hand. She feels the hot liquid fall onto her hand, but she keeps walking.
Short talk on winter
White, cold flakes fall onto her brown hair. She feels her cheeks become warm and her lashes get colder. Her gloves wrap around the ice. She rolls the snow into a ball, not taking the time to make it perfect, and chucks the ball into the air.
On COPING:
My twentieth birthday, I almost set my hair on fire, and wish I did. We inhale a flavorless supermarket cake and my little brother reminds me that in a year I will be old enough to drink. I tell him, as always, that it makes no difference. There are things I do not need to know about myself.
On HARMONY:
Every musician who has ever taught me has told me I have perfect pitch, or some version of it. Perfect relative, sometimes, which sounds fascinating all on its own. I cannot read music, though. I wasn’t taught notes and scales. I just listened and wished I was better. I am staring at a screen, into space, against it all, thinking about all the perfect things I might have, had things just been different. If I could just remember. I do not think about the perfect things I already hold. Instead, I imagine a million people laying down sandbags against a storm. Maybe this time.
On DISSONANCE:
Just one misstep in the chord structure. A clumsy movement. A good intention. Like the vertebrae shifting in and out again and again. You are always told there are important things in your spine. Just a few centuries ago they believed the soul of a person was held there. So when a piece slides to the surface and shows itself – like a dolphin flickering to the surface. Like a dead thing rising up and rotting – your instinct says something is wrong. But everyone says to wait and see. My human foundation is settling. If I was a house, I’d be deemed unsafe to inhabit. And you want me to wait and see? Hourly, at least, I twist and snap the bones in fractions, back to themselves. Still, but deeper now, something pushing to the surface. It is either nothing, or my body trying to paralyze itself. I go back to sleep.
On REASON:
I have decided I will no longer look for advice. Almost all advice is designed for reasonable people, and situations, and systems. And nothing about this is reasonable. Dear diary, everyone I know is more interested in how I look than how I feel. It is exciting that touch has become too painful, because now, I must wear my hair down. And isn’t it all so beautiful. Dear diary, I don’t know what Disney Princess taught me to endure this, but I’m sure it was one of them. Dear diary, strangers on the internet tell me to use metaphors about cars & glasses. They do not understand that everyone here thinks that bad vision reflects a lazy temperament and a weak will, that two feet will suffice, in the end. We are stubborn, here. I know that. It doesn’t make it any easier. Dear diary, how am I supposed to spend the rest of my life with people who are waiting for me to give up the act? …Just, I suppose, as I have spent the last twenty years.
On GRIEF:
I am always telling people I don’t get jealous. I do, of course. But I turn it into sadness in a splinter of a second. I do not entertain wanting, the assumption that things could change – that I could predict the change – would be delusional. So instead: Grief. Little Griefs, I sort them into neat piles that spread in the wind, knead them into loaf after loaf the way hannah once showed me to. I am never done with it. They drop out of the sky when I’m not looking. Perhaps they appear all on their own. It hardly matters: it feels better to pretend they come from somewhere other than myself.
I filled my rooms with stuffed bears because I wanted something to hug. I wanted a cat to pet. I wanted a girlfriend to love. I bought so many. I have a six foot tall floppy brown little guy, three four foot tall white friends, and around ten smaller boys. My bed is so full of bears, you can’t even see the mattress. They were a place of comfort, a thing to hug after a long day, a soft friend to keep me warm at night. But now, I have a cat and a girlfriend, and my bears take up too much space.
Short talk on cats
I’m now late everywhere. There’s a little black guy with white boots who lives on my chair. He has excellent whiskers and is the best little man. Recently, he learnt that my alarm means I wake up. With the incessant ringing as a cue, he insists upon jumping onto the bed, laying on my chest, purring like a locomotive, rubbing his face against mine–all while slowly blinking at me. He did not use to do this, he was so quiet and shy when I got him from the shelter; this is progress and I can’t bring myself to tell him to stop. So now, I’m late everywhere.
Short talk on friends
When I was five, my dad asked me what I thought the meaning of life was. Apparently, the tiny (terrible) toddler responded immediately: “Friends!”. Pleased and shocked by this philosophizing pre-pubescent person, my dad encouraged outings, drove me to any birthday party he could, and thoroughly reminded me throughout my life to never lose sight of that meaning I found in my younger years. I’ve gotten older, had more experience, and updated my values. Now, I think that the meaning of life is happiness. So really, the meaning of life is still friends.
Short talk on short talks
It’s fun to not have much to say. Snapshots of thoughts that might be deep but probably are not. Brief glimpses of the human condition, mundane and unnecessary–yet deeply needed.
I’m know a lot about Spain. Spain has delicious dishes such as paella, empanadas and turron. I’ve never had them, but I know I will. Spain can dance beautifully. Bachata, Cha cha cha, Flamenco. I’ve been learning them in my room late at night, twirled and dipped and giggling much too loud. Spain has too many guitars for how much they’re played. They line walls and floors all across the country. Spain has a good, classic European nose; a little big maybe, but that never bothered me. Spain’s eyes are a soft, dark walnut in p pit no, deeper than any abyss I could look into. Spain’s winding lanes and curves are my favourite to get lost in, exploring for hours on end. Spain has such a soft touch, you wouldn’t know you’re being held, except for the smallest strokes down your spine.
Then again, maybe I don’t know a lot about Spain, but I know what Spain means to me.
Short talk on Walls:
I keep banging my head against your wall. Not on purpose, but it’s a little difficult to avoid, since your bed is so small. That and I am the clumsiest person who’s ever spent the night. Every time you give me an exasperated look, whether I’ve interrupted the punchline to the movie you’re showing me, as we sit cross legged on the bed, our backs against the wall, or even when you’re holding me close, late at night, and the sound stretches to fill the silence of our intimacy.
I keep banging up against your walls. I’ve tried to stop it, but this time it’s not on me. Every time I give you an exasperated look, but really I’m just worried. I wonder what you keep behind that fortified fortress you’ve built up. Those few glimpses I’ve had in have shown me such kindness, such softness, such love. Then you shut the gate back up, and I’m left waiting in the cold.
I think the only solution to both walls is to tear them to the ground.
Short talk on laundry:
Believe it or not I like doing laundry. I hate the way I have to do it, but I enjoy folding and stacking, pressing down little bundles of clothing into neat stacks in a drawer. But lately my laundry’s piled up. I keep washing and washing, and drying and drying, but I never seem to be able to put it away. I cannot put aside enough time to deal with the ever-growing mountain of clothing which shifts from my desk to my bed and back again, like a travelling tour group hitting their spots on repeat. Something I love, a way to disconnect from the world for a while, has become the dread I hold in the back of my head. The worst is that I cannot let it be, shove the whole lot in the wardrobe and forget it. It has to be done properly. That propriety will be the death of me, as I obsess over every little fold and let the loads stack up. Now I think I need to stop writing this and go do my laundry.
Short talk on caring:
It cuts to the bone, and you’ll thank it for the pain.
Best Friend to Boyfriend:
“Oh, how the stars aligned when friendship blossomed into love! From shared laughter to whispered secrets, every moment paved the path to our intertwined hearts. Each glance became a love letter, and every touch ignited sparks of affection. The journey from best friends to beloved partners was a dance of serendipity, where familiarity bloomed into a beautiful romance.”
Shopping Dates:
“Venturing into the world of fashion hand in hand, our shopping dates were like treasure hunts for stylish gems. From trendy boutiques to bustling malls, we explored every aisle with enthusiasm and shared excitement. Trying on outfits became a playful ritual, as we styled each other with care and laughter. These shopping escapades weren’t just about fashion; they were moments of bonding and joy, weaving our stories into every fabric we chose.”
Street Food with Partner:
“Amidst the bustling streets and tantalizing aromas, street food adventures with my partner were culinary escapades of pure bliss. From savoring spicy delights to indulging in sweet treats, every bite was a symphony of flavors shared with love. Our taste buds danced with delight as we explored food carts and hidden gems, creating gastronomic memories that lingered long after the last bite. Street food with my partner wasn’t just about meals; it was a celebration of our shared passion for delicious discoveries.”
My First Flowers:
“Ah, the enchantment of my first flowers, tender petals whispering tales of nature’s beauty. Each bloom was a delicate marvel, a gift from the earth that awakened my senses to the wonders of the floral world. From the vibrant hues of roses to the gentle fragrance of lilies, each flower held a special place in my heart. Gathering bouquets became a ritual of gratitude and admiration, a symphony of colors and scents that filled my days with joy and wonder.”
The Surprise Airport Visit
The airport hums with a thousand whispered tales, each echoing the anticipation in my heart. Every passing second feels like an eternity until, finally, there you are—my heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of your arrival. Our eyes meet amidst the bustling crowd, a collision of worlds that brings a rush of familiarity and joy. In that moment, time slows, and the cacophony of the airport fades into a symphony of shared connection. Your embrace is a homecoming, a warmth that melts away the miles and months apart. In the midst of strangers, we find our sanctuary, where every touch speaks volumes of the love that transcends distance. Amidst the chaos of arrivals and departures, we find pockets of laughter and shared stories, weaving a tapestry of memories in the transient airport setting. The airport becomes a gateway to adventures, a promise of journeys yet to unfold, with every step forward signaling a new chapter of togetherness and exploration.
10 responses to “Short Talks—03 Wednesdays”
SHORT TALK ON CAKE
The menu offers twelve inspired cake flavors, but the tasting only offered four. Grateful for vanilla cardamom and cafe au lait, but yearning for hot cocoa, chocolate salted caramel, winter citrus, cinnamon hazelnut, italian rainbow cookie, and lemon. Perhaps a trick?
SHORT TALK ON OPERA
A broken system which she did not enjoy.
SHORT TALK ON SEATING
You either think that fat people do not exist or you just hope they won’t enter your establishment.
SHORT TALK ON ONE SIZE FITS ALL
Cough. Bullshit. Cough.
SHORT TALK ON VENUS OF WILLENDORF
The first artistic depiction of a human is a fat nomadic woman living in times of food scarcity before the invention of carbs.
SHORT TALK ON JEWEL
In 1995, Jewel’s debut album broke into the airwaves and my soul. I know this album with every inch. When I saw her perform the album live on its 25th anniversary, Jewel detailed her two decades long journey trying to separate herself from the album. In her latest albums, she experiments with genre and never gets it right.
SHORT TALK ON MRS. GIBSON
For three years, Mrs. Gibson glided around on her gibby-glider with her British accent, assuring me that English was my worst subject and that I certainly was no writer. “Liam!,” she would delightfully and loudly mispronounce with a long i sound. “Liam! Your work is faaahbuulous!” “Oh Liam! What does the red pickle dish represent, Liam?”
SHORT TALK ON MY MOTHER
My mother will not stop giving me stuff. When I get her to agree to stop giving me stuff, she gives my children even more stuff. Her love language is stuff. For every bag of stuff I give away, she sends four more. When I tell her, “Please, no more stuff,” she hears, “I hate you.”
Short talk on school:
I know I need to get to do work. But I’m so tired and overwhelmed with everything.
Short talk on my Mother:
I know I need to call my mom and talk to her more often. But sometimes, I can’t get the chance to. I need to tell her everything that’s happening but something is holding me back and I don’t know what. I want to tell her everything is crazy but it’s hard telling her.
Short talk on my sibling:
I know I need to tell my sibling all of the drama that’s happening. It feels like reality TV and there’s no escaping. But he’s super busy with law school and everything.
Short talk on my dog:
I know I need to go home for a weekend or my dog will continue being mad at me even though he gets mad at me when I’m home which makes no sense. I know I miss him and it’s hard when I’m separated from him.
short talk on my car:
I know I need to get off campus and drive. I’ve been neglecting my car for 3 weeks and sometimes it gets overwhelming here. Hopefully one day, I’ll be able to go for a drive and maybe scrape off the snow from my car.
Short talk on friendship:
I know I need to take some space from them, even if it hurts. This whole situation is so overwhelming and I don’t feel supported. I feel like it’s my fault for not feeling supported and not letting go of what happened with the ex-friend.
Short talk on you:
I know I need to be kinder to you, and give you more grace. Sometimes I can be hard on you and expect you to rise to the occasion. I know that sometimes I can be unfair to you and expect you to comply with others. But I know, it’s too much because you’re human. You’re human and things might not expect to go your way. You’re human and you make mistakes and maybe have some setbacks. You’re human and you need more compassion.
short talk on sin:
At night we speak in Hail Marys. She asks, “what circle of hell do you think you belong in?” I say I don’t know, but I do. I am a Venn diagram like my father.
short talk on smoke:
Months ago I inhaled a candle so hard that it went out I was thrown into a darkness that was already there. Maybe there is something to be said about self-fulfilling prophecies. About how love and suffocation sometimes wear the same clothes.
short talk on nothingness:
Show me a vacuum that truly contains nothing. Give it to me and let me caress the emptiness inside. Let me tell you that silence is something in itself, something maybe beautiful. Angels never really talk, anyway.
short talk on steam trains:
Cowardly men hide in the woods, conducting steam trains. In a circle, the beginning and end are indistinguishable. We are born how we die. I hope they sent you back to Utah. It couldn’t be far enough.
short talk on infinity and infidelity:
Show me two points that do not have a perfectly straight line between them. Hand me a pig with wings. Then I might be able to start to forgive you.
short talk on a boy with a gun:
The night before you were going to kill me I dreamt of a stick figure six feet tall. I dreamt that I broke your wrists and they snapped like a No. 2 pencil. There was always a certain sort of death between you and I.
short talk on benedict spinoza:
Only God satisfies the definition of substance: something whose essence is constituted by its infinite existence. Yet we are all substance — we are all God. If we are a singular being, am I a murderer, too?
SHORT TALK ON THE HEROINE
She is the moral compass. Always right. Being wrong tastes like acid in the back of her throat. She kills someone for the greater good. ‘Is it wrong?’ she asks.
SHORT TALK ON LANGUAGE
The impressive in-between turns quickly into nothingness. Shattered like a mirror on the wall. High expectations and free passes. For someone with more words at their fingertips, they slip away too easily.
SHORT TALK ON PHYSICAL TOUCH
I hear someone talk about their date and I understand. I hear someone talk about a kiss and I understand. I hear someone talk about a stranger and I understand. Have we all had the same experiences?
SHORT TALK ON PHILOSOPHY
It’s like an interest without any interest. It’s the beyond, it’s the solution, it’s the abstract. You know what, it is what it is. For me.
SHORT TALK ON ROMANCE
His sweet words embrace her. The boy clutches his beer to hide his trembling fingers. He always knows what to do. The boy doesn’t look me in the eyes. He is a born leader. The boy will never speak freely with me.
Short Talk on GMAT Studying
She sits, one foot on the chair the other on the ground. Mismatched socks represent her scattered brain. Long, black hair pushed behind one ear; hand to chin, hand to pencil. She’s worried; about her body, about her grades, about her love, and about this stupid fucking test.
Short Talk on Crochet
I am learning to crochet. I do not know enough, but the patterns are pretty.
Short Talk on my Brother
He brings friends over sometimes. Friends on probation; for curb-stomping a girlfriend, for throwing a house party, for raping. He is like his friends. He just has a lawyer for a mother and enough money for a clean record.
Short Talk on Eden Lake
Have you ever seen a movie where after you must sit in silence? Where after your heart never drops from your throat? Where the main characters, having every chance of survival and making every right decision, still have a fate worse than death?
Short Talk on a Fate Worse Than Death
Is anything a fate worse than death? I would say no, because anything else can be coped with or recovered from, with enough strength or willpower. Death is so final, there is no more after, before, or during. There just was.
Short Talk on Cigarettes
You are my worst vice but my kindest lover. I bought you legally at 12am on my birthday and kissed the gold and white of your Marlboro skin. I have tried to quit you, but you call me back. I see your name on billboards and sticky vinyl sheets taped in gas station bathrooms. You’re always on sale, and I can always afford you.
Short talks on class
Entering the dim lit hallways, I can’t help but wish I was anywhere else. I enter the classroom and scan the room. Where do you sit? Do you sit in the front and appear as a try hard? Do you sit in the back and look lazy? Do you sit in the middle rows, somewhere in the center, so that no one will see you?
Short talk on singing
The blend of harmonies filling the large space. The echoes of the voices even far after the note has stopped. The happiness felt when you hold out a long note and it lasts forever.
Short talk on makeup
Extended eyelashes, smoky eyes, cherry red lips. The rough feeling of a brush on your face, ready to transform yourself. The color added to your once dull canvas. The perfect creation.
Short talk on a bedroom
Each person’s thoughts are drawn out. Each has a distinct style, hobby, and life. Posters taped to the wall, music playing, friends laughing. So much goes on in one space.
Short talk on fall
She felt the crisp leaves crunching under her feet as she walked down the street. The breeze sweeps her bangs into her face. She pushes them out of her way and grips the coffee in her hand. She feels the hot liquid fall onto her hand, but she keeps walking.
Short talk on winter
White, cold flakes fall onto her brown hair. She feels her cheeks become warm and her lashes get colder. Her gloves wrap around the ice. She rolls the snow into a ball, not taking the time to make it perfect, and chucks the ball into the air.
On COPING:
My twentieth birthday, I almost set my hair on fire, and wish I did. We inhale a flavorless supermarket cake and my little brother reminds me that in a year I will be old enough to drink. I tell him, as always, that it makes no difference. There are things I do not need to know about myself.
On HARMONY:
Every musician who has ever taught me has told me I have perfect pitch, or some version of it. Perfect relative, sometimes, which sounds fascinating all on its own. I cannot read music, though. I wasn’t taught notes and scales. I just listened and wished I was better. I am staring at a screen, into space, against it all, thinking about all the perfect things I might have, had things just been different. If I could just remember. I do not think about the perfect things I already hold. Instead, I imagine a million people laying down sandbags against a storm. Maybe this time.
On DISSONANCE:
Just one misstep in the chord structure. A clumsy movement. A good intention. Like the vertebrae shifting in and out again and again. You are always told there are important things in your spine. Just a few centuries ago they believed the soul of a person was held there. So when a piece slides to the surface and shows itself – like a dolphin flickering to the surface. Like a dead thing rising up and rotting – your instinct says something is wrong. But everyone says to wait and see. My human foundation is settling. If I was a house, I’d be deemed unsafe to inhabit. And you want me to wait and see? Hourly, at least, I twist and snap the bones in fractions, back to themselves. Still, but deeper now, something pushing to the surface. It is either nothing, or my body trying to paralyze itself. I go back to sleep.
On REASON:
I have decided I will no longer look for advice. Almost all advice is designed for reasonable people, and situations, and systems. And nothing about this is reasonable. Dear diary, everyone I know is more interested in how I look than how I feel. It is exciting that touch has become too painful, because now, I must wear my hair down. And isn’t it all so beautiful. Dear diary, I don’t know what Disney Princess taught me to endure this, but I’m sure it was one of them. Dear diary, strangers on the internet tell me to use metaphors about cars & glasses. They do not understand that everyone here thinks that bad vision reflects a lazy temperament and a weak will, that two feet will suffice, in the end. We are stubborn, here. I know that. It doesn’t make it any easier. Dear diary, how am I supposed to spend the rest of my life with people who are waiting for me to give up the act? …Just, I suppose, as I have spent the last twenty years.
On GRIEF:
I am always telling people I don’t get jealous. I do, of course. But I turn it into sadness in a splinter of a second. I do not entertain wanting, the assumption that things could change – that I could predict the change – would be delusional. So instead: Grief. Little Griefs, I sort them into neat piles that spread in the wind, knead them into loaf after loaf the way hannah once showed me to. I am never done with it. They drop out of the sky when I’m not looking. Perhaps they appear all on their own. It hardly matters: it feels better to pretend they come from somewhere other than myself.
Short talk on stuffed bears
I filled my rooms with stuffed bears because I wanted something to hug. I wanted a cat to pet. I wanted a girlfriend to love. I bought so many. I have a six foot tall floppy brown little guy, three four foot tall white friends, and around ten smaller boys. My bed is so full of bears, you can’t even see the mattress. They were a place of comfort, a thing to hug after a long day, a soft friend to keep me warm at night. But now, I have a cat and a girlfriend, and my bears take up too much space.
Short talk on cats
I’m now late everywhere. There’s a little black guy with white boots who lives on my chair. He has excellent whiskers and is the best little man. Recently, he learnt that my alarm means I wake up. With the incessant ringing as a cue, he insists upon jumping onto the bed, laying on my chest, purring like a locomotive, rubbing his face against mine–all while slowly blinking at me. He did not use to do this, he was so quiet and shy when I got him from the shelter; this is progress and I can’t bring myself to tell him to stop. So now, I’m late everywhere.
Short talk on friends
When I was five, my dad asked me what I thought the meaning of life was. Apparently, the tiny (terrible) toddler responded immediately: “Friends!”. Pleased and shocked by this philosophizing pre-pubescent person, my dad encouraged outings, drove me to any birthday party he could, and thoroughly reminded me throughout my life to never lose sight of that meaning I found in my younger years. I’ve gotten older, had more experience, and updated my values. Now, I think that the meaning of life is happiness. So really, the meaning of life is still friends.
Short talk on short talks
It’s fun to not have much to say. Snapshots of thoughts that might be deep but probably are not. Brief glimpses of the human condition, mundane and unnecessary–yet deeply needed.
Short talk on Spain:
I’m know a lot about Spain. Spain has delicious dishes such as paella, empanadas and turron. I’ve never had them, but I know I will. Spain can dance beautifully. Bachata, Cha cha cha, Flamenco. I’ve been learning them in my room late at night, twirled and dipped and giggling much too loud. Spain has too many guitars for how much they’re played. They line walls and floors all across the country. Spain has a good, classic European nose; a little big maybe, but that never bothered me. Spain’s eyes are a soft, dark walnut in p pit no, deeper than any abyss I could look into. Spain’s winding lanes and curves are my favourite to get lost in, exploring for hours on end. Spain has such a soft touch, you wouldn’t know you’re being held, except for the smallest strokes down your spine.
Then again, maybe I don’t know a lot about Spain, but I know what Spain means to me.
Short talk on Walls:
I keep banging my head against your wall. Not on purpose, but it’s a little difficult to avoid, since your bed is so small. That and I am the clumsiest person who’s ever spent the night. Every time you give me an exasperated look, whether I’ve interrupted the punchline to the movie you’re showing me, as we sit cross legged on the bed, our backs against the wall, or even when you’re holding me close, late at night, and the sound stretches to fill the silence of our intimacy.
I keep banging up against your walls. I’ve tried to stop it, but this time it’s not on me. Every time I give you an exasperated look, but really I’m just worried. I wonder what you keep behind that fortified fortress you’ve built up. Those few glimpses I’ve had in have shown me such kindness, such softness, such love. Then you shut the gate back up, and I’m left waiting in the cold.
I think the only solution to both walls is to tear them to the ground.
Short talk on laundry:
Believe it or not I like doing laundry. I hate the way I have to do it, but I enjoy folding and stacking, pressing down little bundles of clothing into neat stacks in a drawer. But lately my laundry’s piled up. I keep washing and washing, and drying and drying, but I never seem to be able to put it away. I cannot put aside enough time to deal with the ever-growing mountain of clothing which shifts from my desk to my bed and back again, like a travelling tour group hitting their spots on repeat. Something I love, a way to disconnect from the world for a while, has become the dread I hold in the back of my head. The worst is that I cannot let it be, shove the whole lot in the wardrobe and forget it. It has to be done properly. That propriety will be the death of me, as I obsess over every little fold and let the loads stack up. Now I think I need to stop writing this and go do my laundry.
Short talk on caring:
It cuts to the bone, and you’ll thank it for the pain.
Short talk on insomnia:
Nostalgia’s bitter cousin.
Best Friend to Boyfriend:
“Oh, how the stars aligned when friendship blossomed into love! From shared laughter to whispered secrets, every moment paved the path to our intertwined hearts. Each glance became a love letter, and every touch ignited sparks of affection. The journey from best friends to beloved partners was a dance of serendipity, where familiarity bloomed into a beautiful romance.”
Shopping Dates:
“Venturing into the world of fashion hand in hand, our shopping dates were like treasure hunts for stylish gems. From trendy boutiques to bustling malls, we explored every aisle with enthusiasm and shared excitement. Trying on outfits became a playful ritual, as we styled each other with care and laughter. These shopping escapades weren’t just about fashion; they were moments of bonding and joy, weaving our stories into every fabric we chose.”
Street Food with Partner:
“Amidst the bustling streets and tantalizing aromas, street food adventures with my partner were culinary escapades of pure bliss. From savoring spicy delights to indulging in sweet treats, every bite was a symphony of flavors shared with love. Our taste buds danced with delight as we explored food carts and hidden gems, creating gastronomic memories that lingered long after the last bite. Street food with my partner wasn’t just about meals; it was a celebration of our shared passion for delicious discoveries.”
My First Flowers:
“Ah, the enchantment of my first flowers, tender petals whispering tales of nature’s beauty. Each bloom was a delicate marvel, a gift from the earth that awakened my senses to the wonders of the floral world. From the vibrant hues of roses to the gentle fragrance of lilies, each flower held a special place in my heart. Gathering bouquets became a ritual of gratitude and admiration, a symphony of colors and scents that filled my days with joy and wonder.”
The Surprise Airport Visit
The airport hums with a thousand whispered tales, each echoing the anticipation in my heart. Every passing second feels like an eternity until, finally, there you are—my heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of your arrival. Our eyes meet amidst the bustling crowd, a collision of worlds that brings a rush of familiarity and joy. In that moment, time slows, and the cacophony of the airport fades into a symphony of shared connection. Your embrace is a homecoming, a warmth that melts away the miles and months apart. In the midst of strangers, we find our sanctuary, where every touch speaks volumes of the love that transcends distance. Amidst the chaos of arrivals and departures, we find pockets of laughter and shared stories, weaving a tapestry of memories in the transient airport setting. The airport becomes a gateway to adventures, a promise of journeys yet to unfold, with every step forward signaling a new chapter of togetherness and exploration.