the first week of august
Few days ago, I met with a friend whom I haven't seen since May, for coffee. We exchanged long conversations about university, relationships, and future plans. One thing I love about her is her easygoingness. She follows my chaotic train of thought, randomly jumping conversations from one topic to another. It's true what they say - that sometimes all you need is a good conversation with a good friend.
Surprisingly, I've also been reconnecting with people from high school. Mostly through texting, because I moved out of the country years ago. I still imagine them as high schoolers, though most have graduated university, are engaged, or have started their careers. It feels like re-building old connections, and that got me thinking: How do you build authentic connections based on who we are now, not who we were back then? Something in me aches, a hint of nostalgia for who we were and who we are now.
Anyway, I have been reading a lot. As I write this, I look fondly at the growing pile of books, both read and unread, on my nightstand. It's always interesting to see how my book taste changes as I grow older. Perhaps it is the only thing fascinating about venturing into adulthood - how things change, how you start enjoying things you never thought you would. Few years ago, you would only find me in the YA section. Lately, though, I have been ravishing more complex works. My eyes wandered to the classics sections, and I ended up buying A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf, a feminist literary criticism I am eager to read. I also picked up Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte and Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami.
Exploring new music has also been a lifelong passion, but I rarely share what I listen to here. I've been loving Clairo's new album, Charm, especially her live performance of Juna, during which she onomatopoetically mimics the trumpet sound with her mouth during the outro. I am always in awe at human beings' creativity.
Mental health wise, I have been. . .stable? My symptoms have been manageable, mostly due to medications and from guarding myself too much, especially from people. I parted ways with someone I loved dearly, but it was for the best. Hearing about him feels like a aching stab to the heart. It is most my fault, for how much I got attached.
I always recall Margarita Karapanou's excerpt from Rien ne va plus: "You were always leaving. I always picture you with a suitcase in your hand. . .I always see you in motion." I think it sums up my intense fear of abandonment painfully, yet beautifully. (Sometimes I carry shame for being so open about my mental health, but I always hope that anyone who reads my blog may seek some sort of comfort.)
I mentioned in my July notes that I would love to start introducing weekly notes. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.