strange delight

It is my birthday, inasmuch though i am not in the habit of ever celebrating it (because what is there to celebrate really) but still bother to treat myself to a good bowl of soup, i will allow some indulgence of equal measure that is spending an hour to look at this little life. The past 11 years felt like an unending trajectory


In january of this year i had written this:

it feels alright, not having finished high school, no inheritance, not a love to count on, heavily peppered white shoes from no path but the dirt path, and should god rain down a mighty spit on this messy hair. u wake up, empty-handed, glad and small. some days (today) u want to be anything but. because the forces¿ have been relatively kind, the stupit winds slap me and i force me to be kinder too. some days (today) i want to say.. two paths diverge in a wood and u can laugh at mine but i am going to sleep on yours

(quite distracted after watching a very affecting film, and now at a bar playing Low by Flo Rida so forgive me)

(am in the habit of (a) being disinclined to overt introspection, and (b) not using ‘i’ as much as possible because it makes me feel vain. but forgive me)

Unabridged: i have this stupid habit of disallowing any form of outright negative talk/feelings remain in my written space. Always wind up deleted off the pages. It is so dumb, i need to talk and be honest, good or bad. (afterthought: wonder if i actually managed to have written off any bad feeling that way. i dont keep track hmm. will i ever know? like tearing up sad photographs before tossing them into crackling bonfire?) Used to think that if i didn’t write about the bad, then they didn’t exist… not as officially anyway. The above wasn’t a momentary passage of thoughts, but i easily wrote that in 2 minutes in a moment of clarity an evening post-heartbreak that sent me spiralling. I used to be really okay in my shoes. Then came a brief time by and by where i looked around, and looked into the ramifications that never fail to find me despite considering the pathos and unreasonable favour i have found in the eyes of people, abruptly wishing i had it better. Of course i have always been the main culprit behind my failings, and of course everything that i wrote i was alright with were as polarisingly not-alright as u can imagine. And yes of course it looks silly now

I must not take for granted the good things these lousy years have left me with. I have learnt that i am lucky to have a highly lacking but functional instrument of a head that helps me process great lengths of grief and pain without anxiety. I am lucky that the devastating deaths i had to confront as a child now sit steady on a comfy sofa in my heart and photograph in my wallet’s sleeve and they will never go away. You can write a book and the pages will burn. I am lucky this grief is my light, I couldn’t ask for better. I am corporeally lucky for ears and eyes and short legs, for all the music and books and films and flowers and long walks that are my best friends without which i would surely die. I have learnt to apply sunscreen and drink enough water so i dont have to fear constipation and bad skin that had me stuck on pills for ages. I am lucky to be patient. I am lucky to possess a forehead wide as the pacific ocean. I am lucky to navigate languid. I am lucky to have never spent money at the hairdresser’s because one night i cutely concluded that i was good enough. I have a thick head of hair and never close to worrying about male balding patterns, I am lucky. I am lucky to feel empathy. I am lucky to love veggies because they are very delicious. I am so so lucky for busan and family there. I am lucky for all the years of convincing myself that childlikeness (some say naïveté) is a virtue to fiercely protect or else i’d surely be the first to lose it, so moments after i surrendered the discourse and shrugged the virtue loose it came stubbornly back to me like the sum of every tooth fairies’ treasury under my pillow one morning. I am lucky to never have to try because one glance and do people try. I am lucky that for all the wasted years of suppressing a specific anger that would not diminish, i can safely say there is no more room for anger left in me, though for one last time i’d love to finish with a very sincere fuck u, old man. I am lucky i don’t live a lot in my own head anymore. I am lucky good things still pursue me though i never deserve. I am lucky to still have the heart to love and, god willing, to be loved back. Absurd. I am lucky for the nuzzles and kisses. This greed is part entitled but also wholly honesty and desire. I am lucky for exalted intimacy that make my vital organ beat like a jungle drum and i don’t mean the kidneys.. I don’t want to become a sad adult who walks backwards. Please look upon this terrible twenties with mercy. I am lucky for sticking it out, because god knows how painful a little life it has been.


2 thoughts on “strange delight”

  1. This post had me feeling some sort of way… ❤ ☀️ This came a little late but u have always inspired me to be a kinder a little more than I was yesterday. Lots of luv 💛

  2. hallo stranger. baffles me as to how i (still) bother to recycle a tiny piece of plastic and cross the road in accordance to signals (so no driver has to go to jail and be traumatised by my death) when i am at my lowest and cannot tell the upside of a guinness can from the down. wished i lived with less of a heart and decency. thank u, my sweet. tonight i feel like 2 cents (in any currency possible) but u make it better. lots and lots of luv ♥️ 🌙

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