You know what? I don’t even know what to name this because I don’t even know where to start. What I DO know is that I want to think out loud (without actually moving my mouth).
I’ll start it from the moment just minutes before my brother’s birthday celebration. Things were a little shaky between me and…fuck codenames. Hector. But he dropped the bomb on me. The last words I wanted to read and begrudgingly accepted the medium it was presented. The words surrounding are irrelevant, but all I knew was: you broke me. Not just broke up with me; I shattered into pieces. The word “heartbreak” felt real. The pain was real. For a solid week my movements slowed, my tears flowed, and sad music crowed into my ears like microscopic fibers channeling through my body and slicing through my veins, so that no matter how hard my heart tried I just couldn’t respond to it.
Now enough with the poetry.
I realize that in some messed up way I haven’t moved on. Why do I keep wanting to be with you? To spend time with you? And why do you do the same? Silly questions for a silly answer: Love. I love him. And he loves me. Always have, always will. So, I think I understand what a moment of weakness is, and I’m wondering if I’m living through mine. If I still love him, why am I not with him? Why am I seeing else?
It’s like I’m living in a dream (except the whole long distance thing). Daniel’s “perfect.” He’s funny, charming, witty, cute, smart, patient, determined, independent, and hell, he has a fucking amazing Australian accent.
As ridiculous as this sounds, whenever I was asked, “So why do you like Hector?” I couldn’t answer with traits and just replied, “I can never be mad at him.”
Weird, right? But strangely, it worked, and still works.
Maybe this is what it feels like to have a foil. As far as romantic partners go, Hector drives me insane, but amidst the jarring fights and roller coaster emotional rides, I found a true friend.
hey san diego from irvine. and how 'bout dat g-eazy?
I’ve been feeling some concert withdrawal being far away from my brother and always too busy to come home, so there was only one thing I could do: GO TO A CONCERT! For the longest time I was still mind blown that my boyfriend had never been to a concert. After yet another conversation went by about concerts and nothing coming up from his end, I decided that I MUST bring him to one.
And what luck, one of his favorite artists was on tour: G-Eazy.
One google search later I found out that he was indeed on tour. Sadly, his LA venue was sold out, but his San Diego one was not (located in UCSD). My boyfriend nabbed a couple of tickets and a few days later they were sold out, too.
The week was slow, but finally it was Friday, March 8th—raining like a motherfucker. Driving there wasn’t too bad. Light sprinkles would hit my windshield on some stretches, but it was nice to see the ocean from the 5 freeway at some points. We ate at a Mongolian hot pot place that gave WAY too much food (which is a good thing I guess, but we were stuffed and the broth tastes kind of funky). By this time the rain started picking up and it was 15 minutes to 8pm, which was the time posted on the flyer for the start of the concert. This didn’t really discourage me though, knowing that concerts usually start WAY later than the time it says, but any hope of getting to the front is dashed for sure.
My GPS led us up to some road with lots of intersections and random branches of smaller roads here and there. I checked one lot, then another, and another…All but one lot had a pay-for-space area and it was completely full. We asked passerbys where to park and where the venue was, but some were as lost as we were. I tend to get pretty anxious when I’m lost, and I was driving to and fro with no direction whatsoever in the cold and dark and rain. Eventually I gave up trying to find a legal place to park (honestly UCSD, you guys need more accessible parking) and parked at some random lot.
The concert was at the university’s pub, which was deceivingly bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. First thing that came to mind was how the demographic is something I would usually never put myself into:
1. It’s a pub
2. It’s a Friday night
3. It’s a college
4. It’s not a classical music concert that’s for sure
Definitely. Not. My. Crowd.
(I know how tumblr is pretty butt-sensitive about “slut shaming” and all that shit, but seriously…) There were a lot of sluts: from the applying and reapplying of makeup and gossip in the bathroom to the crop-top and cheetah leggings combo to the booty shorts actually showing booty hanging out.
FINALLY the opening artist came on stage. He was some black dude named Kyle and I guess he did a decent job hyping the crowd. Nothing too special there. Second to perform was Skizzy Mars, who was the featuring artist of the concert. Once again, did a decent job. Rap isn’t really my genre of choice (actually it’s pretty down there on my list of music), but I tried to enjoy it for the sake of my time and mostly my boyfriend. At this point he didn’t seem too impressed and would rather just listen to music from a recording.
AND FINALLY, G-Eazy was on stage and sang (rapped?) mostly from his newest album Must Be Nice, but had some of his more popular hits in the mix. I knew a few of his songs’ chorus so I sang along. Overall I was pretty impressed because I usually don’t think of rap as something you can do on stage.
Adding to the slutopia of the place was the number of bras the rapper collected throughout the performance: I think about 10? He could open a Victoria Secret.
I was 7 years old when I learned what maliciousness was. Of course I didn’t know the word at the time, but at such a young age I experienced the effect and the feeling of gnawing emotional pain it causes.
Although the details have been lost over the years, I believe I must finally tell you what you’ve done to me:
It was probably a weekend, perhaps a Saturday morning, that you called. Being the only one around who wasn’t preoccupied, I picked up the phone and answered as I still do today. “Hello?” I began, which was quickly responded to by your eagerness to chat. You asked where my mother was, then my father, then my sister, then my brother. I replied accordingly, citing where they all were and what they were doing respectively. As you probably know, I barely respond, but that didn’t stop you from talking about each one…maliciously.
You talked of my mother always being too busy; you talked of my father never being there; you talked of my sister not being attentive; you talked of my brother being lazy and unambitious.
I sat myself down on a kitchen table, shaking. Droplets of tears fell occasionally on my lap as I tried to appear calm beneath phone static as you took my family and tore them up with lies without anyone noticing—but me. It’s agonizing to be told that what you love is not beautiful, but flawed, vile, and disgusting. To make it worse, I just quivered in my silence for I felt I had no authority to speak up against my elders.
The conversation ended and as politely as I could, I said my good-bye, put the phone back, and cried.
I don’t know why you do these things, or know of what you are doing. It hurts to think about the maliciousness you’ve brought my family. My mom is hurting right now—hurting the same way I hurt that Saturday morning. I pray that you will see how malicious your words are to the ones you’re supposed to love. Please, I beg of you, open your eyes, open your mind, and most importantly, open your heart to what I’m trying to tell you. It has been so many years that we’ve endured your words—your malicious words—and how it robs us of joy with its poison.
I cannot bear to see my mom trying to appease your wishes at the cost of her happiness. I ask of you to reconsider what it means to love and maybe someday, these years of living under maliciousness will end.
I got accepted for an internship interview, passed that, got all my immunizations for it, paid $100 for training, passed the clearance appointment, bought the clothes for the dress code all in the span of a week…and then fucked everything up by showing up late to the first day of training due to traffic.
School was starting/started during that time and the amounting pressures of having to get this for that and that for this made me feel so panicked and emotional that I felt like dying.
On top of that (and it may seem trivial while reading this) I missed my period. For a week.
But yesterday—after getting turned away, my invitation to the internship ripped from my hands, and crying softly inside my car while telling my mom what happened—I finally felt free.
It only took a short self-assessment to realize the internship was definitely not for me, not only from a “I’m not going to be a doctor or a nurse so why am I going to do patient care in a hospital” standpoint, but also from the internal and external stress that this process has caused.
I’m supposed to do something that makes me happy, not just something that looks good on paper.
And what do you know? I’m on my period. Who knew I’d miss it? (Minus the bleeding, the cramps, the bloating, the cramps, the “splooging,” the cramps…)