hello. much has changed since my last post. i’ve also archived some posts of mine that i feel don’t showcase what i am and what i do. this is selfish of me. that is okay. i have a some updates. don’t worry, i’ll still overshare. this is going to be a long one, split into three parts.

i’ve finished three journals and started a fourth. i read 17 books in 2023 and 26 in 2024, and 13 so far in 2025. i listened to 84,000 minutes of music in 2023, 60,500 in 2024, and 39,800 so far in 2025. i logged 26 movies into letterboxd in 2023, 23 in 2024, and 12 so far in 2025. i’ve watched around 25 TV shows from 2023-2025. i’ve started writing poetry again, but this time i come with a concept and i draft, redraft, and edit more. i’m learning the guitar and i know a couple songs. i wrote an original one. i’m drawing again, just messing around with some pencils and pastels. i seem to only be able to draw myself.

in a blindsiding turn of events, every celebration in my last post, #2— summer reflections and highlights, has ended. i long for what i had, yet i am eternally grateful that i was able to document and appreciate the beauty and the wonders i experienced. i hope to be that happy again, eventually. here’s to hoping loss is as valuable as salvation. i made and lost countless friends. i can’t seem to keep many people around. i’ve stopped and started 4 medications. i’ve had a couple hospital trips for physical and mental health. i broke up with my ex and i now have 3 : 8 ratio of evil exes, to which i say 3 is honestly not that bad. unfortunately, my ratio for friendships is so much worse that i refuse to calculate it. i experienced intimate partner violence for the first 10 months of 2023. i am not a victim or a survivor, i am something else indeterminable.

in the 10th month of 2023, i met my now long-term-girlfriend, who has shown me what unconditional love looks like. i am too scared to reciprocate the way i need to, but she loves me anyway. she gave me the strength i needed to break up with my ex by just saying a sentence: “you always sacrifice yourself for other people; maybe it’s time to do something for yourself. you have a choice, you know.” she tried to pick me up off the ground when i fell, but i was in too deep of a hole.

i spent a year and a half inside. i retreated into myself. there is a certain misery in isolation, one that eats away at my bones and hides just outside the door. the seer’s tower is my new home and i am staging a breakout. i have become one of the worst versions of myself just in time for adulthood. all i can do is reflect, learn, and change. i hope i will succeed. in february, after my hospitalization, i wrote:

“i’ve never felt more alone, even when i’m surrounded by love. i don’t know if i’m letting them love me back. scratch that — i know i’m not letting myself love them back. when love is in my heart, i truly live, yet i have replaced all of my love with fear. if fear makes me a home, i will surely die. spring is coming. slowly, slowly, i begin to live. i will find my love. i will keep my love. i will hold it close and never forget it again. my spring is coming. it will come over and over again. i don't care how long it takes. when the seasons rolls toward summer and the fall, i will not let go of my spring. i know i will come back, i have to.”

despite it all, i graduated this year with my B.A. in Sociology and Social Justice with minors in Gender Studies and Global Studies. i also earned a cultural competency certificate, two years of undergraduate research experience from my fellowship. summa cum lade, which i will forever be proud of. i’ve had my degree since may and spent the summer working at a pizza place. in september i am to start a job in the adjacent field of social work. i would like to apply for a ph.d. program and start next fall, but my field is being held hostage by realized fascism in the united states. what a time to be alive.

now that i’m caught up, time for more melodramatics! here are my gratitudes and experiences, in semi-chronological order. WARNING: i have a lot to be thankful for.

spending some, but nowhere near enough, time in the woods. going to the lake for peace. asking the earth why she made me. her holding me in her arms and answering with waves lapping at my feet and branching swaying in the wind. i like the trees. i like the foothills and how they walk forever. i imagine myself as a giant. i imagine being so big that i take a single step and find myself at the peak. i like the view, but i don’t like working for it very much. trying to learn that the journey matters, too. that living isn’t worth it if it’s easy. lord, it’s never been easy.

sitting in my car, talking for hours. getting home at 3am despite a 9am class in the morning. fogging up the windshield. watching the trees are we walked. her telling me that she loves the way i see the world, that she loves the way i stop walking just to notice. watching the deer on their midnight strolls. listening to songs and instrumentals by adrianne lenker hundreds of times on my cd player. wanting to say ‘i love you’ much too soon. not a care in the world when i’m in her arms. studying completely different subjects in the same room, teaching each other.

moving in with my her. being a uhaul lesbian who has no desire to be anywhere else. a paycheck of $400 a month and making it work anyway. starting my own life, outside of a dorm. responsibilities crashing down on me. learning to balance them. failing. getting back up again. failing again. having our problems, but knowing they rose out of circumstances, not us. having someone in my life who decided to go through hell with me and coming out the other side.

moving on from my university town. graduating, finding a job, finding an apartment. moving in again, decorating again. making a home. finally having my own space, my own room, after 5 years. living in one place, after 23 years of shifting sands. developing a new routine. coming back to an old routine. finally understanding what works for me and what doesn’t.

visiting one of my closest friends, a 12 hour car ride away. surviving i75 through atlanta, twice. seeing a bog for the first time. drinking honey and having tea. learning how to haggle in a store where i could see the night sky. boardwalks and nature. not needing to wear a winter coat in january. remembering how i’m loved and making sure others remember that they are, too. sleeping on the car ride home while another friend takes the wheel. planning to come again.

my second trip to philidelphia. orchestras, plays, and museums. spending entire days wandering through art. the sounds of the city as a lullaby. talking to strangers and making them laugh. waiting for the bus with a smile on my face. seeing my great-aunt jaywalk at 82. meeting her friends. talking for hours and hours and hours. getting hand-me-down jewelry from a woman who has only heard of me, but she heard enough to know how i treasure the small things. realizing family means more to me than i thought.

studying abroad in prague and munich. knowing that i will come back. my second trip out of the country being more beautiful than the first. seeing history alive around me, continuing centuries later. trying new foods. language barriers. street art. a chill in the air. witnessing how the world goes on after tragedy, but in a different way than one would expect. public transport. sleep deprived and barely lucid movie-watching 8 miles in the sky. briefly playing a part in another world.

peace and strain. disappearances and reappearances. treasuring the small experiences after they’re over. giving others parts of myself to take with them when they leave. loss and grief are different, yet the same. respecting others’ choices. having a family again, because i chose to. understanding that forgiveness is a gift i give to myself. not forgetting, but accepting and trying to move on. failing, but still trying. entering another, better world. realizing closure doesn’t exist. in the real world, there is only forgiveness.

aromatics. putting an entire onion (or two) into everything i make. learning to cook and somehow making it work on the fly. expanding the recipes. my girlfriend doing a happy dance during the first bite. soups, stews, bowls, curries, and pasta. sharing a meal while watching a movie. finding different flavor combinations. trips to the asian supermarket and hunting down ingredients that aren’t available in coal country. saving the scraps. loving the leftovers more than the original. a hug from behind and dancing in the kitchen. making the biggest mess imaginable and having someone who loves me enough to clean it up. what a wonderful joy it is to love through taste!

lights flashing. bass vibrating my heart. the smell of sweat, poppers, and joy. flowers outside of the bar. the view of the night sky in the smoking area. living in the moment and forgetting to take pictures. remembering bits and pieces all filled with love. dive bars that feel like home. not being afraid of touch. talking to strangers and meeting old friends in strange places. a respite from the world. a radical kind of joy. despite the world falling apart, we find a time to dance.

presentations and awards. overflowing to-do lists. nooks and crannies. 400mg of caffeine a day still not being enough. presenting my research at the state capital. academic activism. advocating for the rights of my transgender siblings. testifying in front of city council for my tenants union. joining the united campus workers of america. joining the local DSA chapter. lost and found. sociology, english, philosophy, international studies, music, art history, critical theory. reading because my life depends on it. spending 8 hours in coffee shops, yet only working for 3. annotated bibliographies. not writing enough essays. graduating with no idea what i will face, but running headfirst anyway.

seeing my not-so-little-anymore kitty every day, for the first time since i was 15. crying into her fur. feeling her warmth. remembering how she saved my life, over and over again. she is 13, now, still with the energy of a kitten. love echoing through her purrs. she does not know how to love without hurting another, and i don’t either. we don’t mean to, but it happens anyway. drops of drool on my face when she’s happy. me being happy, too.

visiting the local cd shop before it closed. finding a new job, then another one. meeting people who quickly became my friends. feeling safe in their arms. folding endless pizza boxes. getting my loved ones free food. feeding the homeless on the way home and in my neighborhood. changing my name. managing to get a position in social work. the kids giving me gifts. a bracelet, a drawing, a flower. reading their stories and their lyrics. them showing off their new haircuts. going on walks on the campus. seeing the sun rise, and the sun set. 12 and 14 hour shifts, but not minding all the much. risk and reward. goofing off in the conference room, always on the clock. bonding over hard days, together.

i miss the fog on the mountains and walking to class. i miss visiting my girlfriend at work. i miss coming home to kisses and seeing my friends, all day, every day. i miss picking wildflowers to give to those i love. i miss being able to go where ever i want, whenever i want. i miss my dorm rooms and going to class drunk from the night before. i miss when i was spurred on by outside motivation. i miss not having to pay bills and walking around campus at night. i’m grateful for being able to experience university for 5 years straight. i’m grateful i was able to take my time. i’m grateful for every sorrow, every mishap, and every success. i’m a completely different person, now. and yet, the same.

lastly:

there might be nothing new to say about love, but i will write anyway. this will not be a complete piece, only a collection of snippets that are wandering around mind lately (more of a journal entry that i want to share with you all). love is hard, it is enriching, it is complicated, and wholly worth the risk. i am in love right now, with my partner, with the world, with the little joys that find me over and over again throughout my days, with being alive and holding onto hope

to me, everything is romantic, filled to the brim with love in one way or another. my goal in this lifetime is to fall in love with everything i can: every leaf i go out of my way to crunch under my boots, the reflection of the moon’s light on the clouds, every smile from a stranger, every story i read, every story i influence. my partner, earlier in our relationship on the walk back to their apartment, told me that they see the world different because of me. when walking, i move erratically. i walk fast, change direction suddenly, slow down without warning, and stop often to appreciate the beauty around me. i notice everything and i’m driven by awe. they told me “you blend in with everything you’re amazed by,” that i became one with the trees when i stopped on our walk to admire the flickering flames of ochre, tangerine, and crimson on the leaves. when i picked up one of the last wild strawberries of the season to get a closer look. when i paused to marvel at the glorious pinks of the autumn sunset. when i opened my eyes and fell in love with the beauty of the world.

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i’ve been thinking a lot about love lately. i went through a rough breakup, filled with my desperate attempts to prolong the inevitable for 6 months. i fell in love with someone new, who i’m currently living with. my friends fell out of love with me and didn’t tell me about it until it was too late, until the bridge burned into ashes and was washed away by the creek. i’ve been pondering whether love is enough, when it can save and how it can dissolve. i read all about love by bell hooks, each page filled with scribbles in the margins and bright yellow highlighter, declaring it my new bible. a holy scripture of love and justice in a world filled with lovelessness.

my path this semester was much windier and much more eventful than anticipated. originally this was going to be a letter about the joy of friendship, of found family, of finally belonging somewhere beautiful and finding a community that accepted me fully. that letter burned, because i am no longer friends with those people. i love them still, i will treasure the brief community we had for the rest of my life, but that letter about those people might never be written. that is okay. my plans have changed, and i will love anew no matter what (as always).

my path has certainly changed, i have changed, but i am still me. i am still filled with a kinetic energy and the urge to fall in love with everything and everyone in the world, over and over again. i write in my journal almost daily and end every entry, no matter the subject, with “i love you. <3”. i finished my first journal ever recently. from the first page to the last page, covered (almost) completely with words straight from my heart in multicolored ink, splotched with smears and tears. i also started scrap-booking again this month, finding places for my memories among the pages bulging from the past. i love creating. i love writing, i love reading. i love looking at the tiniest things in the world and assigning them the largest meaning i can ascribe to them without looking crazy (i still look crazy). i love and i love and i love and it eats me alive and i smile while i am being consumed by my own desire. i look at the world and i see something beautiful, something wonderful, something worth exploring and preserving and living in with every cell in my body.

in addition to pondering the concept of love in my personal life, i’ve been reflecting on love for the world. this is a natural expansion of my love: a charged, political love that electrifies our hearts and calls us to hope for a new world, built from the current one. a new world filled with love, filled with care, filled with joy.

the radical nature of love, of living by a love ethic, as bell hooks posits, cannot be understated. i am not the activist i wish i was. i engage with the world, i study sociology, gender studies, and international studies. i study black feminist theory, postcolonial theory, queer theory, critical theory, and anything else i can get my hands on. i’m involved with academic activist research defending the lives and experiences of transgender people, continuing the legacy of studying joy as an act of resistance. i keep up with politics and world happenings and i talk about it in my daily life to anybody who will lend me their ear.

i post on my stupid instagram story and donate and share and scream it on the rooftops. sometimes, people in my community respond and say they have learned something. i know that i have been able to persuade a man to stop hitting his girlfriend. he knew that i was gay, and even though he was homophobic, his girlfriend was mad at him and he needed advice from someone who knows the role of girlfriend and boyfriend. i know that, years after an argument, a man told me that i was the reason he realized he was racist. he found his footing and unlearned his beliefs through an album that i recommended to him. at a party, an acquaintace told me that my very presence, how i carry myself through the world, made him a better person. he is studying to be a high school history teacher. he said that he wants to pass the knowledge i’ve shared with him to his students. i’ve been told over and over again that i have made an impact from individual people in my life. it isn’t a lot, but it is also the whole world.

i know that i am responsible for opening the minds of many people to leftist ideas and to hope for a better world, but i am not involved with my community. the nearest city populated enough to hold regular demonstrations is hours away from where i live, so i do not go to demonstrations. i do not write letters to politicians that will not read them. i do not go to city halls and i do not vote in local elections. i often use the excuse of not having the energy, like helping the world will somehow drain the love straight out of my body and render me useless. and it’s true, i don’t have the energy to engage myself fully in revolutionary politics when i’m a full time student struggling with managing my chronic illness, my grades, and my future. in a place where political organizing was squashed by corperations, opiates, and poverty, i struggle with hope. i find cynicism waiting for me wherever i go, and its claws burrow into my skin. i know i can’t let it win. i know that to feel cynicism is a priviledge, that those hurting most have no choice but to cling to hope or die. i am selfish, and i wish to grow. i hope that my little contributions can be enough. i hope that those i change, however little, can make an impact. and i hope i can let others change me for the better.

all i feel i can do right now is give my love to the world. i give my hope to the world. i feel the grief and the pain and plights of the oppressed people around the world and i hope for them. i talk about them. i make sure that they are alive through my life, halfway across the world in an old coal mining town. i keep hope alive the best i am able and tell my friends, my family, my classmates, my professors. i run my mouth and declare my love. i give my love to my friends, even if they don’t feel the same. i forgive those who have slighted me and spread my love to them. soon, i will do more, but for now i will do my part and live a life filled with love, filled with hope, filled with joy, and fight for a world where every single person on the planet is alive and well, a world without needless violence and overflowing with a revolutionary love for a tomorrow that is better than today.

love notes:

• here are the monthly playlists i made this past semester, while i took a break from this blog to focus on my studies

• a poetry journal i found: GROTTO

• an anthropology journal i found: SAPIENS

• a poem i loved at first read: To The Woman Cring Uncontrollably in the Next Stall

• a poem about colonialism that i had to read many times: To the Cuckoo Paper Wasp

• an interesting article called The Puritanical Eye: Hyper-mediation, Sex on Film, and the Disavowal of Desire

• i hope to write soon. i love you.

i’m making this post because my summer is almost over. for some reason my semester starts in the middle of august, so i get to trek up and down the mountains in 90+ degree heat and august thunderstorms (last fall semester, i carried around a fan and umbrella every day, a tradition that i will likely continue). most of my summer has, in mahogany fashion, either been spent working at a shitty warehouse job and rotting in my teenage bedroom, which are both exceptionally bad places to be for my soul. i also took two 4-week, blisteringly fast, summer courses. unfortunately this cocktail has resulted in a sedentary yet busy life where i am confined to my room with little energy for anything else besides work and school.

as an aside, this post is inspired by another newsletter: tiya’s diary. hers is a series of “reflections and gratitudes” on each passing month that i am deeply refreshed by every time it pops into my inbox. i know that i am desperately in need of some gratitude in my life, so I wanted to give it a try <3. without further ado, here is my summer (semi-chronologically) in the form of reflections and images and memories.

eating wonderful meals with my friends. being welcomed into a new family with open arms. different languages surrounding me. trying new foods cooked with love and loving every minute of it. laughing and making music together. asking strangers to take our picture. waving at people on steamboats and them waving back. sticky rice and tofu and açaí and pineapple and coxinha teardrops. finally saying “thank you” instead of “sorry”.

finally getting through some of my “want-to-read” list. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 new books surrounding me. being engulfed in a story that i can’t put down. finding new meaning in the world around me. realizing that a good fiction fills a void in my life. learning something new, page after page. shame loosening its hold on me. discussing plots and opinions with friends; figuring out the mystery only to find more, glorious, mystery.

someone who loves me no matter what i do. them taking my picture with adoration in their eyes. the sound of bird calls, sweat beading on my forehead. the call of running water and mud squelching under my boots. rain pattering on the canopy. humidity giving me the biggest, warmest, wettest hug. mountain laurel and tiny little mushrooms sprouting from moss.

dangling my legs off of the cliff. the flash of a Polaroid camera and a smile in their eyes. a butterfly landing on my wrist. the gurgle of a creek and algae between my toes. splashing my friend with the kayak paddle. drunken “i love you”s. being okay with a little more imperfection every day. screaming lyrics on the drive home. veggie pizza and Ale-8-one. love for a home that doesn’t love me back.

traversing a once-polluted, now restored river. the corpse of a forgotten boat. a turtle jumping off the shore. minnows and crawdads and dragonflies. the buzz of bees. fog forgetting the tips of the mountains but remembering the drive home. hairpin turns and no cell service. pulling over to enjoy the view for longer.

going to pride in another city and introducing my world to my friends: hot, sticky, loud, and home. bubbles and photoshoots. screaming with the crowd and encouraging the performers. visiting every booth and bonding with each artisan. shouting compliments to strangers and receiving them tenfold. reveling in a safe place to share queer joy and experience community. smiling despite exhaustion. picnicking under shady trees.

getting lunch with an old teacher but a new friend. an offer to teach again. political discussions among the squeals of milk steamers. reconnecting with old, old friends and finding that nothing has changed between you two, twice. catching up with distant relatives. my mother giving me a tour of her garden every time i visit. vegetarian dinners. celebrating my grandmother’s 80th birthday and going to work the next day. long stretches of highway and changing landscapes.

the flash of a film camera. a dimly lit room. the smell of incense and sweat. the fullness of finally finding a community. industrial bass radiating through my body. laughter. queer joy, trans joy, joy in community and sharing it with each other. rejoicing eager bodies and eager voices. an Art Salón, inspired by Salóns of the past reaching into the future. reading my poetry aloud and receiving love in return. hearing others’ poetry, touching their art, hearing their music, seeing their smiles. cigarette smoke and boxed wine. plums, blackberries, cheeses, bread. vibrant talks of the future, of hope, of mutual aid and being at the forefront of creating a better world.

late night jam sessions. acoustic guitars and wrong chords stuck inside of not-so-wrong chords. singing along. an invitation to stay later. tracking down someone i wanted to talk to and never thought i would be able to again. being treated as an equal. “thank you”s and “thank you”s again. several cigarette butts in a perfect spiral. the smell of book spines. “get home safe”s and “thank you for coming”s and “you’re always welcome back”s.

scrapbooking again, for the first time in almost two years. sitting on my floor covered in glue and memories, making up for lost time. buying another journal in order to put thought and creativity in different places. multicolored technicolor ink flowing onto page after page. greeting my mornings with reflection and contemplation over a cup of hot coffee. feeling like myself again, if only briefly. solitude, not loneliness. the cramps of an ink-smudged hand not used to writing anymore. dozens of versions of me tucked between the pages, ready to speak their mind.

beginning to meditate. wishing i would do it more. restarting a daily tarot practice (again). it fizzling out (again). trying to keep living in a broken world with a neglected spirit. trying to find a balance, and finding it more quickly than i ever expected. attempting to live in the present moment more often. asking for help when i need to. taking up more space, not because i have to, but because i want to.

finally feeling safe in my own skin. growing out my hair and my nails; dying my head and painting my fingertips. getting new piercings (with minimal complications). trying out new hairstyles and succeeding, for the first time in my life. waves returning to my hair after a 5 year hiatus. nurturing my body as best i can. bonding with the kitties in my life. cat-sitting for a close friend. making pour-over tea every morning. listening to music on good speakers, for a change. wood creaking under my weight.

observing little, beautiful, things. loving the little things that nobody else notices. driving 4 hours to see a concert. three encores and an audience sing-along. atmospheric lighting. hand drawn animation. grown-up lessons for childhood films; childish lessons for grown-up films. salty tears and saltier popcorn. seeing more movies in one summer than in the entirety of the last several years and loving every second of it. experiencing a first-time kind of love.

joining a national honor society for transfer students. accepting a research assistant job. starting and finishing two summer courses. studying in coffee shops. constantly catching up on homework. making typos. maintaining my 4.0 GPA (the highest it’s ever been). prioritizing my happiness over my schoolwork, while still prioritizing my schoolwork. learning alongside friends and in solitude.

visiting my favorite lovely coffee shop many, many times. learning about affogatos and ordering two. cold-brew gelato floats. everything bagel sandwiches. pretending to work on my classes. aiming to be the mysterious stranger but being much too clumsy for the execution. making magnet poems inspired by ones strangers already wrote. the smell of freshly ground coffee beans. the reflection of the sun on the walls.

going on aimless, wandering drives again. the wind whipping through my hair. the lump in my throat finally dissipating, if just for a couple of moments. music blasting from my broken speakers: imperfect, whole. singing along like no one is watching. solitary moments with wonderful rituals. golden hour at a park. trying to remember to take pictures. deciding that my life, no matter how hard, is mine to live.

love notes:

• my july playlist

• a passage from All About Love by bell hooks

• an excerpt from Creation Myth by Kanika Ahuja

i’ve spent this summer so deeply solitary that i’m worried that this post might come off as self-centered. i am trying to hold space for that worry while also ensuring that i give myself room to grow. i might not write again for a while, this coming semester is going to be a whirlwind. i’m excited for it, in a fearful, anticipatory way. nevertheless, i want to continue these letters at least once a month, and i am hopeful that i will be able to manage my time well enough to accomplish this. i’m working on another piece, but who knows how long until i finish it. thank you for reading. i love you.

i’ve been reflecting a lot recently on my humanness, what it means to be human, how our common humanity ties us together when everything else drives us apart, etc.. i don’t yet know how to live in this world, but i know that there’s got be more out there than the 24 hour news cycle and going crazy inside of my mind. so many questions constantly plague me: how does one go on? how do we connect with one another in a world build on punishment? how can i get up in the morning? how does one live an active life in a world pitted against them? i know i have lots of reading and seeing and listening and loving to do, but i think we must go on, despite despite despite.

this post is inspired by the concept of web weaving (a tumblr phenomenon that has recently found its way to tiktok) and the creativity of other newsletters. also, this one is too long to be read through email, so i would advise reading this on substack itself (the colors are prettier on my little newsletter that way anyway). it might be a little cheesy, but here is a peak into my ideas on what being a human is, what being alive is like, and what place i might have in this vast world:

i repeat phrases to myself in order to go on. the only constant in the world is change, cyclical change. the seasons, the leaves swaying in the wind, brown mountains becoming magenta, green, and burgundy. i see the mountains kissing my window in the morning and i wish i knew how to paint. ‘we tell ourselves stories in order to live’. in order to justify my place in the world, i read poems, i listen to songs, i look at the art that other people have created and hope to a god that i do no believe in that one day i will be able to create something a fraction as meaningful.

i think that one of the most human things a person can do is to love. also to dance. moving your body feels like opening the mouth of a new world. i never dance, i feel like a brain strapped to a horrible meat sack that never does what i say, and i feel less connected to the world because of the disconnection to my body. our bodies are who we are, and to move them is to connect with ourselves and everyone around us. our bodies are policed and shamed in legislation and in our neighborhoods to cover up the fact that they are our love letters to the earth and to each other.

i grew up in a place where love was demonized, where to touch one another is to commit an unforgivable sin.

but touch is a fifth of all feeling, is it not? to bite, to kick, to punch, to maim, to kiss, to love, to fuck, to caress, to embrace…. they are all attached to the same sense. action connects us to each other and ourselves, and to sever that connection is unimaginable.

by nature of being 20 years old, i don’t know a lot about love yet. i know connection is why were are here, that humans are social creatures and the only reason our slow, exposed, weak bodies survived is because someone, sometime, loved them. and i know that i rely on love, too. i rely on the generosity and love of others to be housed, to go to school. i try my best to love others with abandon as well.

i think a lot about the awful happenings of the world (and my backyard). i mull over how i'm stuck in a bubble with no real power to help anybody. i cannot reach, i cannot touch, i can only feel. every day, i see the arm of capital tearing apart those living within it and stand helplessly to the side. it is so easy to fall into doomerism of all types, to let nihilism consume us and feast on our bones. or at least it is for me. hope is often hard to come by.

hope is hard to come by, but someone has to do it. someone has to get out of bed every day and decide that this life is worth living, that this world can be, must be better.

despite it all, we are all people that must live together in the same space, breathe the same air, drink the same water. we all break the bread we have and hope for more. there must be some perspective, some respite to be had among the suffering. we are all individuals that are part of a collective, after all. there are people who came before us and people who will come after us.

the earth will always try her best to take care of us. and we will always try our best to take care of each other. and i will always try my best to take care of myself. no matter what, hope resists. i probably listen to “This Year” by The Mountain Goats at least once a week because i cannot, i will not, let go of hope. hope as a restoration. hope as renewal. hope as interpretation. hope as something entirely new.

when i can’t find my hope, i repeat phrases to myself so i can go on. every time i fall into a hole, i latch onto other people’s words and cling on for dear life.

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i’ll leave you all with a couple of things that i think i will call love notes. here are today’s love notes:

• first, another snippet. a lyric from one of my favorite fiona apple songs. it gives me hope.

• second, the playlist that inspired this post.

• third, a recitative.

  

• fourth, a reminder.

  

• fifth, a comment.

hopefully one day, when i’m better read and have experienced more of this life i’ve been granted, i’ll have something more profound to say. i’ll collect more snippets, i might even come up with an original idea or two. for now, though, i am very young and i am learning how to live. i am very young and i am learning how to navigate a broken world. i am very young and i want to piece it all back together again. i hope you are doing well, and i will see you soon.

with love,

mahogany