There were a couple of things that caught my eye this week. First of all, the hilarity of Amy Schumer's speech almost killed me. I hope that in another life, Amy and I can be good friends, you know, one of those college BFF's whom I can share all my blonde moments with. We'll make really stupid mistakes, crash all parties, point fingers, gossip non-stop and always live in the moment, if not have a good laugh out of it afterwards.
He started to go down on me. That's ambitious, I think. Is it still considered getting head if the guy falls asleep every three seconds and moves his tongue like an elderly person eating their last oatmeal? Chelsea? Is it? Yes? It is. I want to scream for myself, "Get out of here, Amy. You are beautiful, you are smart, and worth more than this. This is not where you stay." I feel like Fantine and Cosette and every fucking sad French woman from Les Miz. And whoever that cat was who sang "Memories," what was that musical? Suze Orman just goes, "Cats." The only wetness between my legs is from his drool, because he's now sleeping and snoring into me. I sigh, I hear my own heartbreak, I fight back my own tears, and then I notice a change in the music. Is this just a bagpipe solo? I shake him awake. "Matt, what is this? The Braveheart soundtrack? Can you put something else on, please?" He wakes up grumpily, falls to the floor, and crawls. I look at his exposed butt crack, a dark, unkempt abyss that I was falling into. I felt paralyzed. His asshole is a canyon, and this was my 127 Hours. I might chew my arm off . . . All my self-worth is based on what you can see." But then I think, Fuck that. I am not laying in that freshman year bed anymore ever again. I am a woman with thoughts and questions and shit to say.
I think Amy's right that at some point in life, we all fall into an abyss of judgements, "standards" and self doubt. Why do we let ourselves go out of control? Don't we make our own destiny and write our own chapters like what Pinterest said? In all honesty, I wished I had more control over my career and love life. As much as I'm grateful with what I have at the moment, I want to advance beyond my current state. A voice tells me to take the wheel. So here I am, hopping back on the driver seat, taking over the ride so I can be out of this nonsense as soon as I can. I've even given myself a deadline to be well on the road by the end of this year — before winter — to have a clear direction as to where my career and relationship is going.
Left: a mountain of file cabinets, how I feel about work at the moment, except there's no growing shrubs in my version Right: I stared at this double exposure kiss for the longest time, this is just the sweetest.
While on the topic of unkempt abyss, I'm reminded of Liz's article I read about how your femininity is not defined by body hair. Yes, I said it - body hair, we all have them believe or not. It's now summer, the ultimate hair shaving season after all. Thankfully, I have a boyfriend that does not look at me differently because of where hair is "suppose or not suppose" to grow. Bush or stubs, I take bush any day. It really comes down to feeling good and confident in your own body, something that I'm still working on too. I just remembered my first shaving experience with my grandma telling (more like demanding) me to shave my legs when I was about 8 or 10. She never bothered to include in the fact that hair grows thicker and thicker every time you do so. Now as a grown woman battling with body hair, I wished society can give us a break. I also wished we can always walk on bare feet, embrace our curves, our skin colour, and stop worrying about body hair or whatever trivial things we tell our daughters or granddaughters to care. How nice would it be, to go back to the natural order of things.
“He hated all the people who lived in air-conditioned houses with the windows permanently sealed, and drove air-conditioned cars to nine-to-five jobs in air-conditioned office building that he said were little more than gussied-up prisons. Just the sight of those people on their way to work made him feel hemmed in and itchy. He began complaining that we were all getting too soft, too dependent on creature comforts, and that we were losing touch with the natural order of the world.” — The Glass Castle quote from Bookswept.
Koi fish from the Allan Gardens Conservatory
As I've made a promise to myself to be in a positive state of mind, I'll end this blog post with this wonderful advice from George Saunder at a 2013 graduation. It's about curing a sickness called selfishness and erring to the direction of kindness. Once you've found this kinder part of yourself, it will illuminate any abyss and clear your mind from anything trivial or reducing:
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What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness. Those moments when another human being was there, in front of me, suffering, and I responded . . . sensibly. Reservedly. Mildly.
One thing in our favor: some of this “becoming kinder” happens naturally, with age. It might be a simple matter of attrition: as we get older, we come to see how useless it is to be selfish — how illogical, really. We come to love other people and are thereby counter-instructed in our own centrality. We get our butts kicked by real life, and people come to our defense, and help us, and we learn that we’re not separate, and don’t want to be. We see people near and dear to us dropping away, and are gradually convinced that maybe we too will drop away (someday, a long time from now). Most people, as they age, become less selfish and more loving. I think this is true. The great Syracuse poet, Hayden Carruth, said, in a poem written near the end of his life, that he was “mostly Love, now.”