Emails
I got my first email when I was like 6. My dad made the gmail account and I still use it. It has my full legal first and last name in it.
I remember wishing I got more mail, and refreshing it over and over again. I remember playing games on the PBS website, and burning copies of video games from the library (like the Arthur game). We lived in pittsburgh then, and I was in grade 1. I wrote a letter to my grandparents in India and they responded. I once had to write an essay-type thing about home for school and I wrote about how I enjoyed living in America because of the lack of dog poop, lol. My dad made me change that, but I'm pretty sure I picked that up from my parents. But maybe not. Maybe it was the highlight of American living.
My phone has finally succumbed to digital rot, as of a few days ago. I broke my phone twice this summer. Both times, it fell out of my pocket while jumping up to touch leaves. The second time, I decided I didn't want to spend the money to fix it again. So I am phone-less, and it's taking some time to get used to the sensation, or lack thereof.
A person and I were to meet yesterday. But I didn't see their email about rescheduling until I was already at the spot (early, totes on me). It was a low-key art coffee, so I was a little bummed. I let them know I was moving soon, so to let me know if an online meeting is better. Their response said they're
I am very slow on emails. This started in 2020 and hasn't stopped. Probably a result of burnout on burnout on burnout. I have to get back to some folks about a mural, and then I'm chatting with acquantainces virtually about some more art things for the new year. Plotting, really. Emails are for plotting.
I keep going through all my messaging apps, to see if there's anything I've missed. Or if anyone's missed me. I want to be missed. Imagine someone longing for me the way I long for them. Would that be spooky or healing? Hopefully both.
The things I am avoiding are (1) grad school application letters (2)rearranging my dad's garage so I can store my stuff better.
In 2017, I moved back to the canadian city I landed as a teen-immigrant in. I spent a year in Toronto, working, living. Getting used to people. 6 years later, I'm moving out in a way that I hope is final. I prefer bigger places, better transportation, a lack of family/cultural wierdness. The availbility of opportunity, etc etc.
Time isn't real, but the more it passes, I wonder. Did our parents experience time the same as us? Do our friends?
I texted F. : Do u ever wonder if we’ve surpassed the inner world building of our parents?
We spent last night on the phone, excited about living close to each other again. They're helping me move (even though they secretly dread the drive) and I'm beyond grateful to have them as my best friend. I was like, it'll be a cute roadtrip, and they brought up our trip to New York in summer 2019. We took a nightbus down from Toronto, and the apartment we stayed in didn't have any working outlets. It was technically a work trip for me, I was tabling at a zine thing at Bluestockings.
It was very surreal, and I was very sick on the way back. I remembered feeling so sour and distrusting. They remember the busride being like a mushroom trip. There was a big park we wandered through, a long line for very good pizza we still remember. A giant mickey mouse came up to us downtown and we smiled for a picture, unsuspecting one moment, and looking for money to pay them next. lmao, the magic of naivety.
It'll be nice to live closer again. We were neighbors for a hot minute, and I remember coming into their kitchen at 7am, after pulling an all nighter for my thesis show. We had eggs, and were very silly and cute, as always. I was pushing through the breakup vibes and focusing on studio. They were doing one last semester before graduating.
I didn't think I'd have a best friend again after middle school, but it is nice ya'll. It is nice to have a lover that you do not kiss, that you share all your good jokes, bad jokes, sex jokes and traumas with. It's nice to be close to people, even if closeness feels hard, or tough.
I'm glad to be leaving this place. I'll miss the princess cafe uptown, and the downtown market, and my friend T. (we see each other every week), and H., my recent ex and co parent of our 4 month kitten. My 4 murals, soon to be 5. The many, many new buildings that I do not care to know. The ouid shop that I call my local. The apartment that I leased but only lived in for 6 months. ...maybe I should do a lil goodbye zine. A ritual to promise each other we never spend more than two weeks together ever again.
Darling KW, I've loved and lost and been so lonely here. One time in highschool, I ran down ottawa st screaming for joy. I had my first installation on that street too, in a festival that no longer exists. I know where all the good bathrooms are. So even though I never meant to be here this long, thank you for keeping the memories.
I wonder if cities have emails. Not the councils, but the soul of cities. The soul that wishes warmth on people, and whispers their name into job selections, and hopes against hope for beautiful lives for the living.
Organizing
I was at the zine fair today. Helped a pal set it up, tabled, chatted, ran down the venue person for access needs and wifi, etc. So many people thanked me for co-organizing, but my friend did most of it. Feels wierd to receive credit for it.
I recognized my ex-friend, even without my glasses. The one I first entered the whole organizing shows, workshops with. Then I came home and cried. Lmao.
When I came back to this city, I had gone through the culture shock of being a late-teen immigrant. And taking time to work in Toronto had given me a newfound sense of confidence. We actually met on a tinder date, he invited me to a comedy night. I didn't want to make out that evening, but I knew I had a little crush.
Then I was asking around for things to do in town and he invited me to a house party. And he asked if I wanted to join the collective he's part of, help put on music shows and stuff. The kind of thing I'd always wanted to do, but had no idea where to start, and generally didn't know a lot of people around here. Starry shiny excited eyes.
That year we hung out almost every day. He had a slightly messy life, but I loved watching him believe in the things he believed in. He believed in beautiful lovely things, like justice and the commons and protesting and animal rights. Always a book in his bag, biking everywhere, the silliest jokes and a laugh like woodchimes.
I assumed things would turn romantic eventually. And they did. And then they turned sour.
I always say the dating thing was not the upsetting part. But that's not true. It started to show the cracks in our relationship to each other, but the things that came after slowly chipped away at the rest of the love and trust I had for him.
First he was dismissive and defensive when I tried to get clarity around what happened when we were dating. Didn't work. Kept not working. And then...
He harmed someone in the collective.
I was angry because she was 20. Barely a kid. Maybe its cultural, older kids are responsible for the younger ones where I come from. The assault was bad, but to someone who we are responsible for, have power over. Worse.
And I was still heartbroken. Someone asked me if I thought he would do something like that. And all I could think about was how hard it is to get him to simply acknowledge when he hurts others. Someone else came to a dance party I was hosting and asked where he was, the beacon of community. I was annoyed, and frustrated and all those difficult feelings.
He reached out a few years ago, and all these feelings came back. I think I wanted to have, like, some kind of rewrite, as closure. He seemed like he realized the extent of how his harm effected me and others, but as soon as I voiced my own fears, he was back to dismissing what I had to say.
Eventually I realized that if I had access to him, like being able to message him on the internet, I would continue the cycle. I would pour my heart out, and he would text back the right things, and then it would be awful in person, and it continues. And the way I was texting him felt like harm too, all the hurt I was carrying. So yeah. The short version of things.
I saw him today, and then he left and I didn't kow how to feel. My therapist says maybe there's something in this relationship I haven't forgiven myself for. That's probably true. What got me today though...
It will never be special again, the friendship. It hasn't for a while, but, the closeness of it. I might never be able to relive the sweet moments either. And chances are, I won't have that same kind of relationship with anyone again. To be co-organizing, being close friends, having similar tastes, etc etc. And even if I did, I'm a lot more jaded now.
(...Friendships are special to me. Genuine close friendships. Something something, third culture kids.)
For a long time I stopped going out to things after everything that happened with him. I didn't want to run into him or people that would ask me about him. I didn't have the same bond with other people in the 'scene'. Slowly I knew less and less people in the community. Then there was a pandemic, etc etc. Before the feelings could fade, so much time had already passed.
Of course, working in person last year exposed me back into it. He's back organizing things, I was back to feeling anxious and scared in community spaces. And then angry, when mutuals chose him over me. Theoretically, intersectionally, I know he has more resources and power than I do, but its hard to live with that reality. That he will always be more popular and loved and get access to community when I have trouble with those things. Eh, maybe I'm just a jealous person, maybe that's what it comes down to.
What a silly, twisted story.
My feelings fluctuate, but I am better with a lot of these now. Seeing him, even at a glance, tends to bring it all back up again. That's all.
Still figuring out how to recount how I got into organizing, without it feeling weird and complicated and painful.
Glad I've continued though. I enjoy organizing, it lets me grow into myself and stay in touch with the world around me.
---vestigial edits--- I was a lonely child, brought up by loners. I've grown up to be fiercely protective of my friends, however few I have. If we are close, I mean for us to be friends for a very long time, no matter how much time and distance parts us. I hate letting go. What a silly, twisted story. In other news, I've continued organizing and found practical loving ways to be as into justice and kindness as the boy I was crushing on, and I know how to ride a bike now too. I have better boundaries and refuse to deal with defensive dismissive people. Yet somehow, it'll always be heartbreaking to be reminded of their presence.The end.
Love is the Compass
note, need to edit tis ramble hardcore
Every person over the age of 35 i interact with ends up telling me they've noticed I use a lot of abbreviations, especilly when we text. My ex-boss, my therapist, new potential roommate. Most of the interactions are positive, but it's kinda funny that it feels like a big difference to them.
Lately I've been seeing a lot more misogyny online. A lot more vitriol. It's possible I've aged out of my bubble, SEO wise - maybe I've been shifted into a new demographic where my internet consumption is concerned. On the other hand, I see more and more comments talking about the housing crisis, the economy, frankly the violence of these systems.* I should rejoice that so many more people are feeling vocal about these feelings that I've been talking about for so long. But mainly it feels grim. Even when I'm selfishly thinking about how the hell I'm going to be able to afford a house (like my parents, who already don't trust a career in the arts) 5 years from now, I've started factoring in how to start a housing co-op into my plans.
I've also been feeling a different kind of shift. I'm meeting more people who are as interested in reshaping their outer and inner worlds. Arranging their outwards (their spaces, their days, their rituals) to match their inwards (loving, gentle, honest). I actually just texted F. to say that:
Ok. I think I realized why things feel different. The people our age, our vibes for a better collective experience, is coming into the mainstream and we're discovering more of us. So it feels younger n more magical rn. I think. ...the fanatics on the other side are getting wilder too, but u can feel the love n magic in the air. If that makes sense. In terms of earth timing
We're all starting to tap into our power
Maybe that's why I feel so 'wise'. I've had people thank me for my wisdom recently and it makes me feel anxious and shy - what do you mean I know more than other people? ...like, having been thinking about this and trying to make work about this since the last forever while.
Oh. Kitten says:
..]\\,l\lejkre
Kitkat kittykat has been walking over the keyboards and i think its super cute.
Anyway. Big find of the inner world work has been around spirit. Like, spirituality.
I have a Hindu background. I like my heritage and I appreciate the stories it tells. The supremecist fanatism nationalism/fascism - Hiduvta -is not my vibe.And I would love to find ways to genuinely pay social, spritiual and economic reparations to lower caste folks. Which, btw, I grew up without the concept of caste (big priviledge energy), but recently been thinking about the class divide of the service class, or servants in India.
Ah. Let me get back on track. Ok, so I love my culture and see it's numerous flaws. The more I think about its teachings, and the way I'd like to live my life and why I want to live / how I want to impact the world, I think about Love. Love is the compass, the goal, the practice, the challenge.
...maybe bell hooks has already written about it. Or Maya Angelou, or James Baldwin. ...Why am I naming only black radical teachers? Although I've tried to either find a copy of these authors' work, I've only ever read one or two poems by Angelou, had a difficult time starting All about Love (bell hooks) and have never been able to find the full texts from Baldwin (both at the public library and my go-to second hand bookshop). ...Are black radical texts simply made difficult to access? Or maybe I'm more intellectually performative than I thought...Kai Cheng Thom has approached these topics though, but maybe in a diferent way. Haha, maybe I'm trying to retain power by feeling special.
Note to self:
Love is the compass. Love is the spirit I follow.
Love is to give what you can, when you can. Love is to take what you need so you can keep yourself, your community safe. Love is to find better ways to take from the earth, in a way that is loving to the crops, the plants, the ecosystem. Love is to slow down your hurried days, to breathe into your body even though you want to dissociate and candy crush through your way through time. Love is. Love is honesty, kindness, patience, joy. Love is to be contented, satisfied, to the best of your abillity, and support the same for others.
...because really. When we (more specifically, I) reframe the context, it becomes very simple. Everyone gets food, everyone gets shelter, healthcare. Whatever they need to thrive. And if they need something we don't have in the community? We can look into it and find ways to make it happen.
Some snooty dude is probably going to point out that this is impractical, or what about the economy. And even though I'm pretty sure they're looking to argue so they can feel powerful and smart and smug -
Anyway. I feel like I'm going to attract zionists, or christians, and/or whichever set of religions is big on conversion. I guess that's one of the reasons I appreciate my own background. ...More on that later probably.
Potentially, this energy is flowing through the world right now, especially as we start to really unpack the effects of covid. For example, I realized I dissociated and worked a lot.
Love and fear fighting it out.
Haha, when I talk / think like this... Sometimes I think I'm the new iteration/ reincarnation of Vishnu for this new time lmao**... Which reminds me. Kali yug is followed by Satya yug, right? The epoch of destruction is followed by the epoch of honesty. Maybe this is Satya yug starting, then. A new era, built on honesty.
*The live-streaming, global witnessing of Palestine is sadly the new kindling of this fire. Frankly, every year now there's new wars, new climate disasters...The genocide is awful, but people care right now because we are witnessing it live. There are more genocidal regimes in the global south, and I'm worried where this thought will go, so I'll stop here
**delusions of grandeur!!
Dec 13, 2023
Welcome to my Website!
This feels super funny. Blogging.
I started a bunch of blogs in my tweens and teens. On Blogger, a google-based blogging platform. Often I would have to keep a look out for things to share. It was very much journal vibes.
Actually, i remember sharing the link with a boy who really liked me. And he was so confused why I enjoyed writing it so much, even though there were rarely any comments or shares. ...I think I was annoyed at that response. Having to justify this thing I did, that I took seriously as a hobby. I wanted to be a writer. And I was writing.
Well. i am more of an artist than a writer now, although I do a lot of writing for proposals, grants, etc. And I also love html/css, and other lil garden variety diy things. i guess that's kind of my whole practice.
I want to write about art here. And like, things that I see in the world that I'm curious about.
I think I've developed a fear of being seen, perceived. I also get super particular about how I 'present' ideas and concepts. Which might be more of an occupational hazard. Art is about showing after all, even if we end up being our own harshest critic.
So this is post ONE. I hope I continue this lil blog, even if I don't share it with anyone. If I end up keeping at it, it would be a cool excuse to make friends with other people whose work I enjoy. There's a lot of that, actually.
Op. Gotta hop on a meeting
Talk later, ciao ciao bb.
Dec 13, 2023