Channel Orange was released on July 10, 2012. It was my designated soundtrack of that summer, during which I met a pair of crazy young boys whom would become my close friends and whom have resurfaced equally as dear and familiar. We must have spent hundreds of hours talking to each other through a screen as I was 14 and had not yet entered the world. Funnily enough, it was at this age that I started smoking cigarettes. I would sit on my porch during the dregs of our conversation in the hours when my father had left for work and my mother was still asleep. I didn’t have a bedroom that summer. In August, I pleaded with my father to let me attend the annual fireworks festival so I could meet them for the first time. He chaperoned a few meters away for the whole night, anxious and likely bored out of his mind. In 2012, it became cemented that August was my favourite month. It was, and remains, a month characterized by rainfall, excitement, fulfillment, despair, and longing.
when sandra cisneros said “For a long time after, I’d just burst into tears if anyone even touched me. Sometimes it’s like that when somebody touches you and you haven’t been touched in a long time.” and when jamaica kincaid said “I felt very sad so I sat down. I felt so sad that I rested my head on my own knees and smoothed my own head. I felt so sad I couldn’t imagine feeling any other way again.” and when sonia sanchez said “And I cried. For myself. For this woman talkin’ about love. For all the women who have ever stretched their bodies out anticipating civilization and finding ruins.”
what do you do with your friends? i fall asleep in her bed and wake up missing her. we go to the grocery store together. i drive to their houses to carpool because i’m scared to drive downtown. i learn about her religion. we discuss politics in a small group. we share our knowledge in public health, policy making, social services, and the wars from which our parents fled. we drink the same drinks every weekend. but we can never decide what to eat. we introduce one another to other friends & speak highly of those who aren’t present or who have not been acquainted yet. i tell her about everything that happens when she’s not there. we make secret pacts in the corner of a crowd. we use the last of our youth to extend the night until dawn. and we miss each other all week. n.
I healed automatically when I realized that I wasn’t trying to save the relationship cause I really loved him but because I wanted to prove to myself and others that I was worthy of a romantic relationship & worthy of keeping one. I was scared of failing, not scared of being alone.
I tried desperately to become every girl, so that maybe I would be enough and you would choose me. If not all the time, then most of the time. And if not most of the time, then at least more than, in any capacity. I exhausted myself to attain more worth and became convinced that I was inherently anything but. When my accommodations failed over and over again, I eventually began to shrink. Maybe, then, if I stayed out of the way, needed less, forgave and empathized more, forced myself to forget your transgressions, that would be more feasible than being “every girl”. I could be a mould instead. Something inconsequential - a blank sheet, an even mirror, a neatly made bed where there was no room for me. Maybe it would be less fulfilling, but at least I couldn’t be repulsive. If I tasted like nothing, I could be the glass of water at the end of your meal. That would be enough as you would still need me. Then the glass was emptied and I became hollow. I couldn’t tell. I grew used to being translucent; I didn’t notice I no longer had volume. And then, suddenly, I was not enough again.
Later on, you were disappointed I didn’t speak. In fact, you held it against me. If I did muster the courage to, it was always an exception, or not quickly enough, or not well thought out, or, if it was a particularly bad day, I might be accused of intentionally withholding information and lying. I wasn’t able to articulate that I was so preoccupied with your thoughts and feelings that I no longer heard or felt my own. If I were able to articulate it, I bet you would have placed emphasis on such as a fault of mine. That I was impossible to read, impossible to talk to, burdensome to pry and even more so to understand. The remaining words I had dissolved into static and I could only stare blankly. Then I left my body.
the idea of a ‘best friend’ is just the highest form of tenderness like. it’s the epitome of choosing someone over and over, maybe even subconsciously because you just. know on some unspeakable level that your lives are supposed to be entwined, that the connection between you is fatefully significant and necessary
being an older sibling is like. you’ve never known a life without me. mom yelled at me and it taught her she never wanted to yell at you. I painted my room purple and grey and then you did too. we live in the same house but I haven’t spoken to you in months. I don’t know your favorite color. I saw it was going to rain so I picked you up from school on my way home so your books wouldn’t get wet. i was so worried when you woke up sick when you were three. you don’t remember being sick. mom and dad made their worst mistakes with me and I’m glad they didn’t make them with you. I’m doing everything for the first time so you won’t be in the dark. I don’t know any of your friend’s names anymore. I used to know them all. if something happens to mom and dad you won’t have to worry because everything will fall to me. you don’t like to be home alone but even if you don’t see me just knowing I’m there makes you feel better. at least that’s what mom told me. you still give me jars to open for you because you can’t quite get them. I only see you during dinner. i’d never even think about missing one of your concerts. I stand at the counter when I eat and now you do, too. when offered a selection of books you picked the same one I did when i was your age. I’m terrified you compare yourself to me. I love you. I don’t know if you like me. I want you to. mom says dinner’s ready
mothers and daughters existing as wretched mirrors of each other: i am all you could have been and you are all i might be.
growing up is an endless process of me looking back at younger versions of myself and being like…. wow she was so young. but look how well she did with what she knew
how lovely to think that there is a future me out there thinking this exact same thing about present me
Or was my rage my mother’s? Or her mother’s? Or hers? An inherited creature?
I don’t know anything, but I know this: whatever is done with love, in the name of others, without self-gain, whatever is done with the heart on behalf of someone or something, be it a child, animal, vegetable, rock, person, cloud, whatever work we make with complete humility, will always come out beautifully, and something more valuable than fame or money will come. This I know.
Sandra Cisneros
Honestly, my goal in life is just to be a very warm person. I want to be as loving and as kind as I can be.
Think lightly of yourself an deeply of the world.
Miyamoto Musashi