Note: I’ve found that I don’t mind when I am consumed by creating content daily and going out. Granted, it did give me a lot of work to make up for on Sunday night, but I still feel fulfilled. I hope reality doesn’t slap me in the face when school comes along and I’m consumed by school requirements instead.
Being off-key didn’t stop me from belting out Lady Antebellum’s Need You Now until my throat was sore in the karaoke, and my friends sounding like they were reciting the lyrics instead of singing them didn’t stop me from cheering like a crazed groupie. I had the same, childish glee getting arcade tickets, and I reveled in the harsh lights of the city at night walking home. Then, I reached a certain point when I knew the day was about to end, and I was already looking back at the present moment, drinking all the details in, trying to immortalize the present into a good, vivid memory to look back on.
I found myself doing the same thing now, when I’m just on my phone late at night, surrounded by my journals and books. Sometimes, I just look up, staring blankly into space, and I feel timeless. I am myself, now, a person in this date and time and exact place; someone my past self was working towards, someone my future self will look back on.
This type of project has been in my mind for a while now, and I’m finally starting it. It’s nothing more than browsing the newspaper and cutting out the daily headlines, as well as other information I’d like, and pasting it onto a spread of my notebook. In the picture, a corner of the piece of paper with the film and book I finished today can be seen. I plan to chronicle current events and details of my personal life, too, for 2019.
There’s a piece of an article by Ambeth Ocampo there. The whole piece talked about going into the future with the past in mind and heart. History, he says, is not about forgetting, but remembering.
We are making history. Throughout my whole life, I’ve felt this urgency to drink in the moment and to somehow preserve it in my head. The seconds are are so precious and yet so fleeting. But memory is fickle and often a traitor, so to help me remember, I turned to writing. I turned to taking pictures. I’ve been memorializing every bit of life that I can.
This project is just an extension of that. I want to be able to turn the pages, and remember who I was and what had happened around me. I want to see history cut and pasted and written onto pages.
Like mold, a secret only grows in the dark. Nourished by tears shed with a hand clamped over my lips, the secret grows, crawling up my ribcage, until it is up my throat begging for my tongue to push it out to sunlight. All that is left are the proper words to confess. Say, I am vulnerable, and it makes me strong. Say, I’ve been through this; I need to let it out and let you know. Say, this – right here – is where I am broken and the cracks are not easy to see. Be careful: it’s either I hurt you or you hurt me.
I could not utter them. I settle for whispers that gradually grow louder and louder. I hold on to the promise of perhaps: the possibility that the day will come and the darkness no longer hides something that eats away at my bones.
a ship sailing out to explore oceans
uncharted will have crashing,
disruptive waves, apocalyptic; premonitions
beginning of endings in foreboding.
my love, you will get through this in the same way you learn to sleep through thunderstorms and rough journeys,
awakening to welcome the next day’s
gift of warm sunlight, clear skies, and smooth seas,
starry nights and views that are of a dream:
with knowledge that it will pass eventually –
with all hope redeemed.