my life was folded up in half

various brain regurgitations, some of which are inspired by Japanese Breakfast's "This House"

i don’t believe in astrology, but events in my life lately have lined up in ways that i can only describe as comically cosmic. chance encounters have forced me to trust whatever instincts i’ve built up throughout my life. i am trying to learn radical acceptance not towards the world around me, but of the people i interact with every day. to dwell on minutiae is a waste of energy that i instead re-channel into panicking about if i’m stupid to care about my own successes — oblivious to a hypothetical future where the amount remaining within my control becomes staggering.

i feel powerless towards the things that weigh on me most. the current political climate is a perpetual elephant. he’s moved in, we gave him the keys, and that son of a bitch won’t do the dishes when it’s his turn. there are only so many times i can reference “get ready to learn chinese, buddy,” until it falls distastefully flat. really, i have begun to refrain more from bringing current events up in conversation. people don’t want to be reminded, and i can’t say i blame them.

my money’s running thin, and there’s space between my skin and my jeans that wasn’t there before. i let my hair grow out and dare to feel feminine externally despite not feeling as such internally. there are still times i look to the way women i barely know present themselves externally and conjure up ways i could be more like them — the angle their cheeks shine from, their daringness to mix patterns and metals. i’ll walk around the neighborhood just across the bridge, running errands with a coffee in hand. i see my reflection in the window and fixate on the sliver of skin between where my shirt ends and my pants begin and it sears into my brain. some days i like it, others not as much.

i was always told growing up that i “could be cute” with a little more effort. now, i try to take compliments in stride — to be flattered by the stranger that handed me a flower on the street instead of being confused. i tried to correct my admittedly flawed “if he makes me cringe a bit i’m just gonna throw the whole boy away” approach to dating and again only made it a couple weeks before throwing said boy away (to be fair he didn’t really follow up either).

Well, I’m not the one I was then

the most distinct divide between my lives pre and post philly is what remains as my own. i’m lucky enough to share essentially all of my interests with someone, be it from my present or those i remain in touch with from my past. in a gradual, but ultimately sudden feeling change, there is very little that remains uniquely my own. i used to lie so often about my knowledge (or lack thereof) on pure instinct. i don’t have a reason to lie anymore, but there are times that i wish i was still as reserved as i was as a child, spare the circumstances that made me that way. god forbid a white girl wants a little mystique.

the way in which we’ve all come to live our lives alongside (and for some even for) the social internet has made the art of forgetting a thing of the past. my friend who will never remember when my birthday is (despite it being exactly a month after his) was wowed by the fact that I could name all of my friends’ birthdays with no hesitation. i don’t doubt that i have an above average memory, but i just add my friends’ birthdays to their contact in my phone the second i learn what it is.

i can search my texts by keyword, search my photos by what’s in the image or what month it’s from — there’s such little room to reflect with distance and hindsight because i carry the weight of the past decade of my life in my pocket. my subconscious no longer has the power to filter out memories, they remain filed and stored. i keep a list of every time i cry and for what reason, a list of every person i’ve kissed, i’ve recorded a second of (mostly) every day of my life for nearly eight years. so i suppose it’s not that i’ve lost the ability to forget, i just insist that i use every tool at my disposal to make sure i don’t.

I guess I owe it to the timing of companions I survived the year at all

the band that I inadvertently willed into existence had just played their final show as its original lineup. this band was four people, and now it’s one. it’s nobody’s fault. i cried a lot during that set, and i tried to hide it best i could — that set was not about me, but i won’t deny how much it marked some ending of a chapter of my life despite not being in the band itself. it’s not often that you get something concrete to mark the end of something, and it’s even more rare to know it’s happening well in advance. matter never ceases to exist, though. it only changes state.

I’ve spoken at length to both the member that’s continuing and the one that’s continuing. And while the broader implications still linger, they’re content with what is ultimately a part of the constantly shifting tides of young adulthood. the one that’s moved on has blossomed into what unequivocally feels like who she’s supposed to be. i see her new haircut and evolved style — I watch her play in a new band and my eyes begin to well up because i’m really just so proud. she reminds me that there are women i resonate with, women that don’t make me feel like i’m performing womanhood incorrectly.

people do perceive and think and speak of me when i’m not there as i do them. that’s something i still fail to reckon with. i wonder if my dedication to punctuality is welcomed and appreciated or abhorred. i don’t know if i want to know the answer. i still don’t think mecury retrograde means anything, but i don’t like that i took a few minutes to second guess.