Today I feel like a fig tree.

Brb in my rotting era

For every dream fulfilled, there are hundreds broken and thousands abandoned. It is our dreams that keep us alive. I try not to let the grief kill me too much.

I went to a gig last night and I feel like it will stay with me. Something about the palpable energy had me tingling, buzzing, humming. I wanted nothing more than to be caught up in the throes of creativity. I dream of this often. A life filled with little oddities and lots of brain waves. Where ideas matter. A life of colours and sounds and sparkles. I suppose that is my Roman Empire (lol).

I graduate this year, and I continue to dilly dally when people ask me about what I want to do. Do I tell them about my dreams or my goals? This venn diagram doesn’t seem to intersect and every year, the gaps between the circles get wider and now I don’t know where to go. What do I walk towards? Where do I move?

Last night felt like I was teetering on the precipice, shrinking into myself whilst taking up space. I do think it had something to do with how I met one of the artists and we hit it off. He was in his element and I was an intrigued bystander, but a bystander nevertheless. I believe parts of my discomfort in accessing these spaces has to do with the gendered connotations that come with it, or perhaps the aesthetic they embody. I don’t know. The scene feels almost impenetrable, where boys speak in alien tongues and each word seems to slip farther away from grasp. To be a woman is to be a groupie or a better talent. How does one simply exist? It does feel impossible to exist as a woman. I work hard to be grateful. To enjoy the frivolity of flirting and dating. To seek joy in reapplying my lipstick in front of dingy mirrors and holding hands with boys in silly concerts. I work hard to let fear take a backseat. To focus on the present and its potential safety. Maybe this time is better than the others. No crying in the backseat.

What is it about these spaces that seem to terrify?

Maybe my terror has nothing to do with gender and I’m just upset about Jo Koy and misogyny.

I am always upset about misogyny.

I haven’t been reading too much poetry lately. Here is an old one I enjoy.

Every night, I dream of flowers. I dream of sunflowers in bright beaming yellow with long, lithe stems. I stay up nights speaking to boys with stars on their shoulders, hoping for mornings of pink carnations and love notes. I think of beautiful blue asters, lilies and tulips and peonies and orchids. I dream of flowers.

One of my favourites from last night’s gig.

Until next time. Hopefully sooner than I’d like.