it happened.
i am calm and at ease. relatively unscathed. detached.
numb. mostly, i am numb.
layers and layers of hurt piled on top of one another spread over a long enough period of time equates to numbness.
how has n harbored so much quiet and peace in the distance and the time away and the gaps between conversations and emails? how is she so sure?
how is she so confident in me?
she shouldn't be. i'm confident in certain parts of me. i will compartmentalize. i will block out what i do not wish to muddle in. i am confident i can do that.
but, i cannot shake the puzzle of trying to figure us out. and the other out. and all the ones to come. and the inevitable jealousy that will rage inside of me.
i must stop projecting. must stop scratching scars into this pristine surface. sooner or later, she's going to notice.
and what will i have to say for myself other than i am completely, utterly numb and lifeless?
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
observation and participation
my, how i love reading blogs.
when i admit to others my secret vice, they look at me with bewilderment.
"you read what where?"
by september of my first year, i had a running tally of blogs that kept me occupied, and indoors, on days when i could not think about where i was. there were days when i would wake and read blogs for such lengths of time that my eyes would ache by the time i resigned myself back to sleep. oh, my eyes would be screaming at me, furious for having spent precious time and long days in front of variously colored splatterings of strangers' online journals.
the first time i stumbled into a blog was when i was hunting down every out lesbian on my university campus via facebook. the public profiles lead to others in certain campus groups that advocated for gay rights, etc., and i would spend hours wandering through the lives of these women (mostly women) as they sought out space for themselves in reality.
one of the profiles, held by a ftm transgender student, took me to live journal where i began reading her (still her then) thoughts on how hostile the world felt. i read diligently of her mundane job and the beautiful (bicurious?) tease who worked with her. she talked about music and her desire to write and play and sing it, confounded by her utter lack of motivation to really follow through with any substantial projects.
her life was there. raw. emotional. gut-wrenchingly honest. she wrote very seriously about gender and family relationships- of how her brother could physically not look at her because she manifested such masculinity in her every move. she wrote of the gaps of time that would open between she and her mother, their meetings and their lives.
it struck me as... lonely. not just her life. but her blogging. her need to explain to the world that she felt this way.
it struck me as weak. why did she need people to read these things? to what end was she moving towards in displaying her most preciously guarded fears and anxieties to an anonymous world?
it is, thus, strange to be here. to be writing my own blog. to be writing another legitimate blog for the real life audience i've promised to entertain.
and christ, it feels cathartic. had i known then what release i could possibly feel in writing to no one in particular, i might not have judged so harshly.
and reading blogs. well, that makes sense to me. my fascination with it needs no real long explanation.
i observe. i snoop and stalk. i am eerie in that sense- that i always seem to have a firmer grasp on the actions and reactions and lives of others than they have ever paused to give thought about in regards to me.
i lived a good portion of my youth feeling very creepy and odd. i adored the process of watching and processing and understanding others' lives even if it meant i was always jealous or in some state of longing for the things i saw i did not have.
as a child, this was remarkably painful. it is one of the many many reasons i will never have children. it is also one of the many reasons i feel so utterly disconnected from humanity.
observers, in my mind, aren't meant to take part. observation requires no active role in the observed by definition. if there is participation in observing, then the observation no longer is observation. it is something else entirely.
i have been observing my entire life. currently, i'm living in a situation where i'm actively being encouraged to take part in the life and people and culture i'm simultaneously observing. and i am failing at it.
i have not reconciled the division between observation and participation. herein lies my own dilemma, the one that has caught me in a whirlwind here, the one that continues to alienate me from people generally.
reading blogs, in this setting, makes perfect sense. it is my coping mechanism. it is my way of participating as i always have.
when i admit to others my secret vice, they look at me with bewilderment.
"you read what where?"
by september of my first year, i had a running tally of blogs that kept me occupied, and indoors, on days when i could not think about where i was. there were days when i would wake and read blogs for such lengths of time that my eyes would ache by the time i resigned myself back to sleep. oh, my eyes would be screaming at me, furious for having spent precious time and long days in front of variously colored splatterings of strangers' online journals.
the first time i stumbled into a blog was when i was hunting down every out lesbian on my university campus via facebook. the public profiles lead to others in certain campus groups that advocated for gay rights, etc., and i would spend hours wandering through the lives of these women (mostly women) as they sought out space for themselves in reality.
one of the profiles, held by a ftm transgender student, took me to live journal where i began reading her (still her then) thoughts on how hostile the world felt. i read diligently of her mundane job and the beautiful (bicurious?) tease who worked with her. she talked about music and her desire to write and play and sing it, confounded by her utter lack of motivation to really follow through with any substantial projects.
her life was there. raw. emotional. gut-wrenchingly honest. she wrote very seriously about gender and family relationships- of how her brother could physically not look at her because she manifested such masculinity in her every move. she wrote of the gaps of time that would open between she and her mother, their meetings and their lives.
it struck me as... lonely. not just her life. but her blogging. her need to explain to the world that she felt this way.
it struck me as weak. why did she need people to read these things? to what end was she moving towards in displaying her most preciously guarded fears and anxieties to an anonymous world?
it is, thus, strange to be here. to be writing my own blog. to be writing another legitimate blog for the real life audience i've promised to entertain.
and christ, it feels cathartic. had i known then what release i could possibly feel in writing to no one in particular, i might not have judged so harshly.
and reading blogs. well, that makes sense to me. my fascination with it needs no real long explanation.
i observe. i snoop and stalk. i am eerie in that sense- that i always seem to have a firmer grasp on the actions and reactions and lives of others than they have ever paused to give thought about in regards to me.
i lived a good portion of my youth feeling very creepy and odd. i adored the process of watching and processing and understanding others' lives even if it meant i was always jealous or in some state of longing for the things i saw i did not have.
as a child, this was remarkably painful. it is one of the many many reasons i will never have children. it is also one of the many reasons i feel so utterly disconnected from humanity.
observers, in my mind, aren't meant to take part. observation requires no active role in the observed by definition. if there is participation in observing, then the observation no longer is observation. it is something else entirely.
i have been observing my entire life. currently, i'm living in a situation where i'm actively being encouraged to take part in the life and people and culture i'm simultaneously observing. and i am failing at it.
i have not reconciled the division between observation and participation. herein lies my own dilemma, the one that has caught me in a whirlwind here, the one that continues to alienate me from people generally.
reading blogs, in this setting, makes perfect sense. it is my coping mechanism. it is my way of participating as i always have.
still
we talked for 9 hours yesterday.
of absurdities. of my stoic and stubborn nature. of the very strict borders not to be breached.
we talked of nothing and of swimming and of daydreaming and of our future lives.
it was marvelous. the kind of emotional outpouring that i have not had with the other in over a year. a form of connection and care and trust and concern that feels genuine. sincere.
and then, right as i was about to turn in for the night, i saw it.
one last email: "how come all the cool girls are lesbians?"
happy thursday, grover.
she still has not had enough of me.
of absurdities. of my stoic and stubborn nature. of the very strict borders not to be breached.
we talked of nothing and of swimming and of daydreaming and of our future lives.
it was marvelous. the kind of emotional outpouring that i have not had with the other in over a year. a form of connection and care and trust and concern that feels genuine. sincere.
and then, right as i was about to turn in for the night, i saw it.
one last email: "how come all the cool girls are lesbians?"
happy thursday, grover.
she still has not had enough of me.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
the key
the boundaries between us are blooming into something entirely different.
blooming. yes, blooming. what is there is lovely. exquisite in its forbidden, intricately woven layers that are left untouched. locked on the other side. a secret garden that cannot be unlocked.
though, that's not true. it could be. i hold the key. at any moment, these hands could reach for it pull it from my deep pocket and tuck it in the clean lock. never used before. as if it were as new as the silver locked recently installed on the door of my broken classroom.
the energy between us gyrates like nothing i've experienced yet. energy of something never to be born, something brimming, something quite intangible.
it is there. i know not what to do with it. i certainly know better than to grasp onto it and take it as mine. for, it isn't mine.
the boundaries are now... fluid. nearly porous and ill-defined. it is a task to maintain them, a chore to manage their durability as they weaken in the glaring pressure of the energy that flows in its own orbit around us.
does it matter that i could not have predicted this moment? is there weight at all to the fact that i thought nothing of her at first?
i suppose there is.
oh but there's her companionship.
and her abounding goofiness bouncing throughout the minutes that sweep us together.
and those gloriously plump blue eyes-- mirrors of my own.
and there's everything we'll never be together.
desired tangibles unshared.
moments of brutal clarity in which light shines on the gap between us to illuminate the certain fall to the pit.
it is spectacular in its fiery tingling. there are moments when i have lost myself so entirely the tingling leads my hands towards her. crests them on her belly and folds me into her hands.
meanwhile, every bit of me aches, starves, scarcely breathes.
because i know.
i know it is momentary.
i know of the pain that would surely follow ruptured boundaries.
i know it is certain and true.
on some level. for her and for me.
though, ultimately, it is not the level i can dwell on for long.
she knows that.
i know that.
that something so exquisitely poisonous blossoms on the other side of the wall, in that garden to which only i hold the key.
blooming. yes, blooming. what is there is lovely. exquisite in its forbidden, intricately woven layers that are left untouched. locked on the other side. a secret garden that cannot be unlocked.
though, that's not true. it could be. i hold the key. at any moment, these hands could reach for it pull it from my deep pocket and tuck it in the clean lock. never used before. as if it were as new as the silver locked recently installed on the door of my broken classroom.
the energy between us gyrates like nothing i've experienced yet. energy of something never to be born, something brimming, something quite intangible.
it is there. i know not what to do with it. i certainly know better than to grasp onto it and take it as mine. for, it isn't mine.
the boundaries are now... fluid. nearly porous and ill-defined. it is a task to maintain them, a chore to manage their durability as they weaken in the glaring pressure of the energy that flows in its own orbit around us.
does it matter that i could not have predicted this moment? is there weight at all to the fact that i thought nothing of her at first?
i suppose there is.
oh but there's her companionship.
and her abounding goofiness bouncing throughout the minutes that sweep us together.
and those gloriously plump blue eyes-- mirrors of my own.
and there's everything we'll never be together.
desired tangibles unshared.
moments of brutal clarity in which light shines on the gap between us to illuminate the certain fall to the pit.
it is spectacular in its fiery tingling. there are moments when i have lost myself so entirely the tingling leads my hands towards her. crests them on her belly and folds me into her hands.
meanwhile, every bit of me aches, starves, scarcely breathes.
because i know.
i know it is momentary.
i know of the pain that would surely follow ruptured boundaries.
i know it is certain and true.
on some level. for her and for me.
though, ultimately, it is not the level i can dwell on for long.
she knows that.
i know that.
that something so exquisitely poisonous blossoms on the other side of the wall, in that garden to which only i hold the key.
release
many months of silent contemplating have lead me to this point and now these words are borne out of many quiet afternoons wandering through the maze of my mind.
this is a space for clarity. for revelation and release. well, largely release.
but also for cultural musings, as i live in a small and mostly unpleasant corner of the world.
it is a nameless, faceless, endless abyss for the contents and frenzy that occupies my uncertain mind. it is admission of things i have stored very tightly in a small space somewhere deep inside. things, which i finally acknowledge, must come out.
or i will come apart
i wish to start writing more. my notebooks are full of her, my hands obediently trained to fill the blank white sheets with every detail of the slightest emotion that could possibly be linked by the tiniest thread to her.
i seek out space for something else. an expansion of me.
me without her. me without chains of expectations and very tentative hopes.
the past year has been nothing if not one prolonged, yet very concerted effort to expel her. to rid my sense, my soul and mind of her remainders.
i have not yet succeeded.
so here i am. releasing. discovering. exploring. and embracing.
this is a space for clarity. for revelation and release. well, largely release.
but also for cultural musings, as i live in a small and mostly unpleasant corner of the world.
it is a nameless, faceless, endless abyss for the contents and frenzy that occupies my uncertain mind. it is admission of things i have stored very tightly in a small space somewhere deep inside. things, which i finally acknowledge, must come out.
or i will come apart
i wish to start writing more. my notebooks are full of her, my hands obediently trained to fill the blank white sheets with every detail of the slightest emotion that could possibly be linked by the tiniest thread to her.
i seek out space for something else. an expansion of me.
me without her. me without chains of expectations and very tentative hopes.
the past year has been nothing if not one prolonged, yet very concerted effort to expel her. to rid my sense, my soul and mind of her remainders.
i have not yet succeeded.
so here i am. releasing. discovering. exploring. and embracing.
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