When I said “my 2022 started on August 1st” last year, I didn’t really understand that it also implies my 2023 will start fresh on August 1st. Not when my grandma passed away during Chinese New Year, not on my 24th birthday back in April, not even when Manic. released TBE (TBC) on May 26th, but August 1st.
August 1st when Nashville summer starts to ease and trick us for the two months to come. August 1st when I woke up on Matt’s couch and Amber (the cutest not real looking cat ever) walking over asking for pets. August 1st when I got to see the Oppenheimer in IMAX. August 1st when I start to feel like a normal human.
A normal, human.
I worried that the past year that started in August and ended a year later has been one big derail. Since May there’s been too many out of body disassociations, chills from really really good music and films, sunsets that make me cry in Ubers watching Nashville’s really mediocre skyline. Feelings are, the most thrilling parts of my life right now, but it’s border-lining too much as well.
And I find myself restless.
Since 18 I’ve been going full force in order to, I don’t know, achieve something. To feel like I’ve made it, to feel like there’s respect to my very name, and every time when people go “you are everywhere,” “I’ve seen you/heard of you around,” “damn you do everything,” my brain does something that prompts an—now I’ve realized—unhealthy amount of dopamine.
So in between feeling like feeling normal human feelings is too much, I’m having withdrawals from going to less shows, meeting less people, on some days, being able to not look at my laptop.
But instead I’ve been filling every empty hour with going out almost every night, killing time with pointless conversations, and dwelling, so much dwelling.
Last week when Matt was kind enough to scoop me up across the city so we all went to watch the meteor shower, I realize how little I have to wish for. I just really want to see my dad, that’s all. All the other things? I don’t want them enough. I just want to see what happens.
But the process of seeing what would happen next is painful. For someone who refuses to learn patience and changes her mind every turn that comes her way.
Yet maybe, that’s part of living. It may sound corny but it seems like I’ve reached the conclusion for the first time since turning 18 that I need to live a little.
I need to learn to be a normal human again.
I found out that random high school acquittances check my Instagram stories constantly. A fear came to mind that I’m only video gaming myself to prove people who never gave a fuck about me wrong. Or to prove my mother wrong, that music is indeed a real pursuit, it is indeed worth it, only to run it into every aspect of my life and create a false illusion of me that’s curated for other people.
It’s been nice to have some new friends who are piercingly honest with me—less nice that this whole group of people are constantly on the road themselves. It’s also been nice that I now have a group of women who I trust and respect in my life, although I wish I can be less chaotic for them, sometimes.
And Matt. Thank you Matt. Who’s not gonna goddamn read this and therefore I’m gonna say, I wish I told you how much I love you on the phone the other day. You are everyone’s best friend for a reason, and maybe one day I can share your burdens a bit more too but, love you, my other braincell and new friend.
So why is this entry called keeping secrets?
I guess it’s because every part of my body knows I’m going through a very transitional period. And though it’s a very refreshing experience thus far to allow myself to do everything that comes to mind, let those intrusive thoughts have their moments, it can be a little overwhelming when I’m so used to understanding implications and how my instinct is almost always correct.
If this were a few years ago, my meteor wish would have been, “I hope I can make it,” or “I hope this all works out.” But I think at 24, I think I now know how those intricacies would work out, after all.
Doesn’t make growing out of the old person you once were any less scary.
Before I go, here’s a bit of something I wrote for BLEU / season nowhere, regarding the feelings I felt from this song (and this album, gosh, I love it so much), and feelings that don’t really come from me as a human but maybe who I used to be / who I will become:
so.
what if you found out?
what if you took the chance to fall deeper than you’ve ever had and, you find out you’re back to square one?
you are, still, the person you were when this whole cycle first began, and that is entirely ok?
so what if you found out?
finding out that maybe, i don’t necessarily care, but to go on, we must, but at least you get to do it with a degree of separation—
and maybe i don’t need to know.
i don’t need to know if, what i want to know, is how much longer i get to love you.
maybe it’s, setting those artificial deadlines, when the tour is over, or when the house is torn down, but it doesn’t fucking matter.
it’s no use i just love you so it doesn’t matter that i know, love is just another fleeting feeling and when tomorrow comes, we’ll be nothing but a fading feeling.
the moment when matt grabs my hand with reassurance and told me, whatever you’re worried about right now, you don’t need to until tomorrow—but i already know that. and that was for once, something that i’m brave enough to face and didn’t have to wait for him to say it out loud to me.
when for months i’ve been waiting for a reassuring hand because, my body fundamentally recalls a time when there was, a best friend, who offered comfort the best with a reassuring hand.
that is what i’m actually avoiding. to repeat the past.
i’ve finally found it, i think.
we will repeat it.
but maybe this time, i will learn to love you without feeling like i have to possess you, or even to be you, or even to find me.
it’s no use i just love you.
i just love you.
i just love you.
and that’s all there is, with all the ruins and beauty that made up the iridescence of you,
i still look for you in every sunset.