You put your shirt on different than I

I'm a frazzled dazzled beast without the dazzle. I have no real reason to move and groove, but I do, along with my heart. There's a beat beat beat and I can't figure out why. So here's what I do, or what I try to do, or want to do... except I don't want so never mind. I try to throw myself around the world and find myself or a reason for that beating and I fail. I come back and curl up and continue to die without opposition except for my skin staying tight. I think and I think and that's all I can do. I can love sometimes, too, but I've been told if you can only love others and not yourself it's not worth it–so I guess that's wrong too.

What if all I want is to be a wife or a mother? It goes against everything I've lived for and I can't give in to that life that degrades women, puts them in their place, and gives me no life of my own. I must have been conditioned by society, family, you. Fuck you and fuck all of that I'll slap the pan out of your hand and watch the glasses smash. No really, that IS what I want! Go to my room and rip everything. Become my own tornado and create a mess I have to clean rather than a past I have to sort through.

I'm fluids and bones and brain and body. Or stars. Whichever it is I'm still heavy, I still sink with the weight of no desire. I've been told I should find God and then I will feel lifted. I've been told I should find God by people who don't believe. Perhaps that means I'm hopeless. My mind is infinite space and I can't see the end and I can't get it to slow down... like two mirrors looking at each other, parallel. I can get locked in there, amid all the words that only have the meaning I've been taught, I can't even twist my prison and decorate with fancy misconstructions of what is because all I have is input and any output from me would be the same. Adderral is scary for it makes me forget of anything outside my skull. Sometimes I don't even make connections between words.

I write like this because I think like this and it sucks for me and you. Maybe next time I will fit it into squares so then we can relate.

A link to a classmate who keeps a better travel blog than I do.

Kristinmfoster.blogspot.com

I havent read it, so I'm not sure what she's captured-but it probably gives a rough outline of what's happened so far.

Hong Kong!

I arrived safely and on time here in our first stop of the journey last Wed, June 5. Tomorrow we leave for Macau, China and will have our first foray into mainland China. I've enjoyed HK, but I'm ready to see new things, and I'm learning things about myself that I hadn't yet known for sure... such as how utterly American I am, and how much I do not like cities! :p

As I said, I've liked being in Hong Kong, it is just too much city, and Liu Laoshi said most of China is made up of cities... but I think she means population wise. So, I'm certainly excited to go to Xingping, one of the few village destinations, but I'm thoroughly enjoying my experiences here. It's real fun feeling so foreign and seeing all the differences and learning what new things I like and what I really do not like.

I wish I could write more, for you and for myself. I've barely gotten a second to sit down let alone write about everything, so I'm afraid I will forget so much...but thus is life... ephemerality! Anyways, love you all. Half a week gone! Will write again once I get a chance.

Zaijian!

P.S. Lychee are SO MUCH TASTIER here. yumyumyum!

我爱你。您

I fell for you so fast, there wasn't even a start, it was just there, all along. 

There are few people who my soul attaches to in such a way. I can name perhaps two, three, one of them being you. 

But as quickly as I knew you, and my soul leaped and rejoiced and began to mold itself to become something different, something more than what it was to join in dance with your soul that floats so elegantly, we split and there was a slice down the middle as you kept moving and I stayed still, as I often do and as you need to. 

And now I feel loss. I suppose I do not need you, but I miss the movement I felt when I was moved by you. I feel a little stuck again, a little lost, a little more afraid of stepping out of where I am. 

I wish we could have stayed connected, and we tried. We said things, big things, but through the safety of distance... and time gets in the way of response so it was almost never said, or seems that way. The tree fell but there was no one around to hear, so it did not even make a sound. 

I want you to know, though, that I heard. I heard and I felt as I did the night we stayed up talking, kept away the demons and greeted the sun. 

I'm excited about your return, but I know it is bred in self-interest, my own longing to feel that movement again. And you've been changed by everything, and I have too, in my own way and I fear maybe these differing changes will not be relatable between one another. 

I guess I know, though, that I should not fear such things. Not with you. I know because I just know. 

Take your time coming back. I'll be here to experience this everything with you through new eyes. 

Title Irrelevant

Study carrels provide a safety I can’t find anywhere else. You are in a room within a room within a room within a building and it is small. And the light is florescent. Anyways, you’re in here and no one disturbs you because, they just don’t. It’s accepted that this is a place of painful worship of… something…grades, learning, work.  I am there now and I feel kind of inhuman as I haven’t seen the outside of the library in a number of hours and have been living off of coffee and donuts so this is what I’m like WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! My mind is kind of everywhere, but also in one place. And I can focus quite well, if I try. All of this is like a drug and I feel high. But I decided to write whatever came into my head because that’s what they told me to do in middle school and I could never do it. But now, here I am, 7 years later, following their instructions, trusting in the “wisdom” of the teachers. Writing things down, though, changes your thoughts regardless. We can never express purity of thought. It is always transferred/translated through language, which is not pure, but rather, restraining. All your thoughts have to be squeezed into these boxes before they can be shipped out. You can mold the boxes a little bit, but you can never truly mold them exactly to your thoughts; maybe one day, but right now we/I don’t know how. I’d like to think if you knew ALL language there ever was you could express pure thoughts, but I don’t think that’s right either. And even if you could, no one else would be able to comprehend, and so you’re left with the same issue of translation to other people. I don’t completely agree with myself though. I think there are some times when pure thoughts/feelings/what-have-you are translated to other people without any mechanism for travel but I’m not entirely sure I could give an example of this (well, of course I can’t, that would go against my argument). I think I may post this to my blog, so in that case I will say HELLO ADAM (he told me to leave him a message) and I will also begin a new paragraph so that it is more reader-friendly.

            I believe that somehow my soul was imbued with some intense connection with Beasts of the Southern Wild. I guess I feel kind of odd that this happened with a MOVIE of all things, as you would expect your soul to be deeply connected with something that is living, but I guess, in some weird sense, the movie is living… it has a beat and a pulse and an idea and it changes as I change or as the time changes or as everyone changes. But I think that this infusement (ßmolding the box) of soul and movie occurred when I had to study it for my final paper in my intro to film class. This will sound dramatic, as it IS dramatic and unreal, but that class seemed to change my life but I do not know how. But I feel very different form how I did before I took it and the change feels very different from any other change I’ve experienced. So, that’s all I’ve got to show for backing up that dramatic claim, whatever though, I have to believe in something. This connection is NOT necessarily a positive one. I do feel as though I have some form of PTSD from writing that paper (this I have no boxes of translation for, you’ll just have to take my word). Yet, I also feel addicted. I watched the film in full at least 6 times and yet I still have an unending desire to let it move me and let me move it, with the analysis in my head. It may be the timing. The fact that I had to deeply analyze this film about (many things but one of them being) a daughter’s relationship with a dying parent and her ensuing struggle may be the cause. It’s right there… I’m right there. I’m fucking doing that and although I am not Hushpuppy, she is me. “If you’re gone, I’ll be gone too.” I never said that out-loud because I thought no one would hear me, but then Hushpuppy said it and so then, it was spoken, and people heard, a lot of people heard. “Everything loses the thing that made them, the brave men stay and watch it happen.” Thanks for the ridicule, Hushpuppy… you six-year-old child. I’ll try to be like you. I will try to stay and watch. I will find that fried alligator and I will feed it to the ailing... use it as an emotional panacea. Here’s the thing, no one will understand anything I’ve said about this, I’m almost certain, but that’s okay. Because no matter who leaves me or how alone I become I don’t think I will ever again feel loneliness in the same way because I have this soul-connection with this film (again MOVIE?!). It ripped me to shreds and I’m still whole. So I guess I can withstand most anything.

            I am in a bubble bubble bubble (that is so very much NOT reality) and I am not ready for it to pop. That’s why I don’t want to… erm, not about wanting, can’t comprehend Alex’s suggestion of running or rock climbing or any form of movement away from here because then it WILL pop. But it popping probably needs to occur. 

Remember this, Kelly.

 I destroyed myself over the last two days. 7 hours of sleep for two nights to share and a staple food of espresso. And one meal. carrots, sushi. But it didn’t matter what I ate since I couldn’t keep it in anyway. I got so stressed at 3 in the morning I puked. This all over one essay… or rather, this all over one attempt at some hint of perfection (of course. You fail.) Then a crash today… now… recently. All that hoopla (FUCKING HOOPLA) of wanting to die and looking for a knife or your own courage (or cowardice) to devise a solution to be gone and heaving on the stairs–sobs or tears or something–attempts at being alone but feeling surrounded but feeling alone. The thing is, between the heaves of the stomach solution and the sobs, many things felt right, sometimes more right than usual, better, even than usual, and at one point you THREW YOURSELF INTO THE AIR metaphorically IN EXPRESSION OF. So I guess that’s why you crashed. It’s okay now because you’re getting better at this. But dammit, I thought we learned. This is why we left. You gathered courage and strength and skill, so we came back.

Shut those beasts in the closet. Shower, rest.

Let’s not do this again

Join Me in this Dance of Life

When I was younger, for a reason I can no longer fathom, I would look in the mirror and "act." My favorite, erm, skit was a reaction to the death of a loved one--slow shock, denial, some tears. To get to this state I would imagine the news of my mother's death. I realize this is all a bit unorthodox, but it was what I did, and in any case, the mere idea of my mother's death created the most unfathomable emotions

So, in a way, I had prepared for the phone call I received from my mother. 

I was in the hallway of my dorm and I slid to the ground. My eyes didn't well, yet, I was too stunned. My mind had never been so blank, the world, never so far away.

But what I had practiced, all the emotions I had imagined I would feel did not even skim the surface. 

I could, in no way, have prepared myself for the news that my mother's cancer had now been found in her liver, signaling the incurable diagnosis of stage IV metastatic cancer. 

My mind was foggy and I couldn't let myself think or feel much of anything. I wasn't willing to let it be real yet, and even as I told my dear friends the news, it still wasn't real to me. 

And then I went into the woods and once everyone fell asleep, it was just me and the stars and the wind. I had to face it all. Closing my eyes did not bring sleep, just images of my new world. My 20th birthday, spent mourning. My graduation, spent mourning. My wedding, spent mourning. My travels, spent mourning. My accomplishment, my failures, spent mourning. My whole life somehow became a black hole. But how could it not? The one who brought me life is gone, does that not mean my life ends too? 

Mercifully, sleep took me after the second hour of replay: a mishmash of tears, faded words of doctors saying "I really think this will be different, I believe you will beat this," goodbyes, flowers. 

But a funny thing happens when you sleep. Your mind settles down. 

When I awoke, I could see again. The first thing I saw was that my mom was still alive. My mourning was premature and I had given up when hope was at its fullest. I don't mean hope that my mom will survive, because she won't. Neither will I. Nor will any of you. So fuck it. What it is this diagnosis? Just a reminder of the inevitable, only this time the reminder brings action. There is nothing I could wish for more than for my mom to focus on enjoying life, and this, well, this brings the whole enjoying life goal to the forefront. It is now top priority. And as my sister says (a bit more eloquently than I ever could), http://tigerbug.blogspot.com/2013/01/mommy.html , I will do everything in my power to help her feel, in her core, the beauty of the world; whether that be a few weeks or a number of years.

I do this because I love her.

I live and love and thrive because of her. I have been taught, through her teaching, that life should be tickled, played with, chased, and adored. Because of her I will not settle for less than what makes me smile. 

Because of her I love myself. 

Tomorrow I will laugh with her. Tomorrow I will seek her advice. Tomorrow I may cry with her. No matter how many more tomorrows come, I will be thankful for each one. 

Welcome to this new dance of life. One in which death is invited in by all, as each one of us will have a solo with the unknown. We will twirl, and it will twirl with us, we'll learn not to fear it, and when we finally get too tired, it will catch us. All those we love will keep dancing, with the added steps we taught them, and in that way we will live on.