You know what’s the best feeling in the world? It’s not being admired by other people. It’s not being popular with the masses. The best feeling is being trusted by someone you care about. There’s something so fulfilling about being that person that another human feels safe being vulnerable with. And it’s worth everything, that feeling.
And then there’s texting JKm and smiling uncontrollably.
JKm, JJ, JH, AM, WH. I have so many people to catch, and to catch me.
While reading The Portrait of Dorian Gray and simultaneously the El Chapo Rolling Stones interview, and also working through my relationship with my mother with my good friend, some of my philosophies about people have become more clear to me.
The plot and the increased mutilation of the portrait is based on the premise that souls can grow more cruel – more “bestial, sodden, and unclean”. I reject this.
People do corrupt things for noble reasons. No soul grows “more cruel”. Souls can become jaded and listless, but that is not the same. Souls are inherently good, regardless of actions.
The characters in Dorian Gray I find completely unrealistic in this respect – but, perhaps, that is the point.
My mother and I have never had a good relationship.
I think it mostly stems from our differences, and her lack of ability to understand that others are not like her.
Emotions cloud her view, her judgement, and her thoughts. I didn’t cook dinner before she got home? It means I don’t love her. Never mind that I was gone all afternoon as well. Never mind that she didn’t ask me to cook dinner at all, nor did she even mention it. Never mind that I would gladly have cooked dinner if I had known. No, she quietly skips dinner, then brings up the incident during our next fight, as proof of her ever-resilient love and my utter selfishness.
I can’t imagine having either of my parents live with me when I reach adulthood. I cannot imagine a worse situation, and better way to ruin my adulthood.And yet, it’s expected. I can see that.
It’s such that I dream of ways to make my lifestyle unable to support my parents, and the burden will shuffle to one of my brothers. It’s such that I hope dearly for my parents to pass away before I am financially stable.
The awkward airport as I go for the kiss and he goes for the hug.
I care for you so, so much, and I want you to be happy. Me on top. Kisses from his forehead, down his nose, on each closed eye, and finally to the lips.
Playing with his ear in the car, unbeknownst to my chattering mother, and letting him squirm through the conversation. His ‘I-can’t-believe-you’re-doing-this-to-me’ smile as he turns around.
Hundreds of soft pecks, kisses, down his left arm. “You’re not listening to me.” “Of course I’m not.
His face when we didn’t see pandas.
Parking in front of the heater, knees drawn to the chest. Too many goals and just one goalie; laughing on the floor with his arms around my waist. Face down on the floor in mock defiance.
Fading street lights. Lights being intermittently obscured by buildings, trees. Christmas lights. Why is the city twinkling?
A baby giggles as the plane lands roughly. Atlanta, Georgia. Almost home.
The toddler in front of my pops over the seat and peers at me.
“Hi!” I giggle.
She giggles right on back.
When people ditch CM’s party, they are annoying. Why would they do that? She asks. She is angry at them.
If people had ditched my party, I would be sad. My party was lame, I would think. I would feel unliked.
I don’t throw parties.
I like people. I love certain people. And it is because of this that I am a floater.
Really, it’s because I 1) am very choosy with my true friends, and 2) really only want to / enjoy spending time with my true friends. Friend groups have never really been my thing, because I like one-on-one time. I like getting to know someone so personally and in-depth that it’s fascinating. I am terrible with banter, especially in a group. And finally, it’s quite rare that I truly want to get to know everyone that is present.
So I float.
Being a floater comes with downsides. It’s like being a freelance worker. No job security, no retirement benefits. It’s always a search.
And while, through this format of making and choosing friends, I’ve become close friends with essentially all the people I ever wanted to be close friends with, it also means that I don’t have a place to belong to. It’s easy to feel lonely.
This summer, I made a conscious decision to try to join a group. But even though I almost succeeded, it was never quite complete. Group chats were made without me; I was sometimes not in the core group invited to events. If two people out of five have invited you, are you invited? If you are invited by speaking and not on Facebook, are you really welcome? And when ‘the crew’ is mentioned, are you in?