The power of a free-fall,
Gravity against me
Harsh pressure rattling my bones,
Is it breathless excitement,
Or have you stolen the air from my lungs?
More pain than anticipation.
A cascade of tears fall to the floor
A once precious resource,
Not worth so much anymore.
The years have carved rivers in our cheeks,
Exploitation left us naked,
Nothing left to explore.
But if you learn one thing from me,
Let it be this,
Everything is content!
Draw attention to the fear,
Monetize the bliss.
Does it ever scare you to think that your entire self exists in your head? I’m not trying to say that the things you feel around you and your concept of reality is not real. What I mean is, your entire self-concept and personality exists in the space between your ears. It’s such a fragile thing, really. So malleable and prone to being lost. Honestly, one of my biggest fears is falling and sustaining a massive head injury, leaving me forever altered, unable to speak, write or think like myself.
Sometimes, when I’m in a more positive mood, I take the flexibility and fragility of the self to be a positive thing. You are capable of changing at any time. Depending on the context, that is either a dreadful or hopeful sentiment. I’m not even quite sure what the purpose of today’s post is. I originally was going to make this into a poem, as I do a lot of the things I think about. But instead, I feel like I just need to vent this out and have a conversation. It’s something that’s weighed heavily on my mind (no pun intended). It’s also been the source of a lot of my anxiety lately and I’m not sure why.
I will be the first to tell you that it is useless to constantly be harping on the “what ifs”. You could easily come back at me and say well what if the sky falls tomorrow? Worrying about something we’re not sure is going to happen within reason is enough to freeze us in our anxieties and is unhealthy. However, the anxiety feels real and it can be difficult to combat that. Nonetheless, we have to try. So even though I said in the last paragraph that I’m not sure what the purpose of today’s post was, I think I found it now. It helps me to write down what worries me. Identify the fear so you can unravel it. I can’t take credit for that nugget of advice. It comes from a dear friend.
We may indeed lose ourselves somewhere in the noisiness of life. However, that is why we need to cherish what we have in the now and build toward our goals while we are able. I can’t sit here and tell you that it won’t happen or that it’s a useless fear for myself or anyone else because frankly we have no way of knowing. Today is what we have. Let’s do what we can and make ourselves proud!
Sometimes I feel like the main character in a Taylor Swift song. When I think of you — of us — I picture us slow dancing, barefoot in the living room. I’m wearing something flowey that sweeps the ground when you twirl me around. Sometimes you are in a suit and tie, other times you’re in your usual shorts and T-shirt. We laugh about nothing, an inside joke that all these years later leaves me breathless. It’s a moment that stretches on in my imagination forever because we are happy and everything makes sense. Our life is our own and we move and speak with a singular spirit. Because you are mine and I am yours.
This is one that has been sitting on my shelf for a while (since it was a new release last year) and I’m actually kicking myself for not having read it sooner. If I Had Your Face by Frances Cha is a necessary account of the importance of female friendships and sisterhood.
Cha’s debut novel follows the lives of four women living in Seoul, Korea. All of whom live in the same apartment building or office-tel. Alternating between the perspective of Ara, a mute woman working as a hairdresser (over time, we learn of her mysterious past); Kyuri, who is embattled by her years working in room salons and the red light district; Miho, a prolific artist in a…let’s call it complicated…relationship with the heir to massive fortune; and Wonna, the other women in this story have pre-existing friendships that bind them together. This is not so for Wonna. She lives a floor below Ara, Kyuri and Miho, mostly isolated in her own world as she and her husband struggle to have a baby.
In a review for the Washington Post, Jung Yun described the men in this novel as an almost antagonistic force in these women’s lives and I have to agree. Most of the time, they are depicted as serial cheaters, liars or manipulators. It’s the friendship these women eventually all foster that saves them from being positively destroyed by a patriarchal and toxic system. However, we can’t ignore the one element of the system that these women are sucked into, the beauty standards of contemporary Korea.
Kyuri in particular has had a number of surgeries to attain her breathtaking beauty. Indeed, her looks are important for her job where she entertains the drunk elite in these room salons. Also, Ara’s roommate, Sujin, is obsessed with the idea of getting surgery and joining Kyuri at one the high-end “10 percent” establishments.
At times, it can be hard to decipher how Cha feels about the massive plastic surgery industry. There are some haunting scenes, an example being when Kyuri is in the waiting room at the Cinderella Clinic listing off the litany of surgeries she’s thinking of getting to fix the smallest of details, like the skin tone of her armpit. However, there are other scenes that give an indication that surgery is sometimes a necessity to get ahead in this world. One of Ara’s clients tells her that, though her cousin still has a hard time chewing after a jaw surgery, it seems to have helped her land a job at a top-tier conglomerate. What we are left with is a vague horror in the back of our minds that these expensive and painful surgeries are a necessary evil and a byproduct of patriarchy.
Each of the perspectives we follow gives us another glance at different aspects of society. In Ara, we see how disabled people are often disrespected or underestimated by their peers. Thankfully, Ara is a fighter and I mean that in both a literal and figurative sense. It felt good, as a disabled person myself, to see her enact revenge on one such disrespectful person in particular. In Kyuri, we see the dark side of masculinity and the sex work industry. We see how these men behave in dark rooms, when they think no one is looking. We watch Kyuri constantly running to escape her circular debts to her lenders and her madam, as she works to pay off all the surgeries. Kyuri’s body also slowly starts to break down from being required to drink all night at her job.
With Miho, we get slight glimpses into the opulent lives of Korea’s wealthiest. Though Miho grew up in an orphanage, she won an art scholarship and traveled to New York for university. This allowed her to make connections she would never otherwise had access to. In Wonna, we see the woes of married life and the emotional damage that generational trauma can inflict on us.
It’s hard to do these reviews, especially when I want to keep them spoiler free. There is simply so much I want to tell you but I also want you to experience the excitement of finding it out for yourself. That is why I highly recommend you pick up this book as soon as you can!
As an American who has never traveled to South Korea, I feel like I learned a lot about the culture and some of the dominating industry. However, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that it was all that different from the things I see and experience in my own society.
So much of If I Had Your Face is universal and I came away from it valuing my friendships all the more.
First thing’s first, a BIG TRIGGER WARNING, as this book and review discuss abortion.
A New York Times review of Play It As It Lays describes this book as “terrifying”. At about 50 pages into this 213-page novel, and because I lack patience, I doubted that summation of the book. I found no blood, no gore and thought I knew better than the Times. Little did I know that Didion’s work explores a different horror entirely.
Published in 1970, (Yes, we are about timely reviews here) the book follows an actress in her early 30s named Maria. From the outset, we know she is in some sort of psychiatric facility though we don’t know why. The introduction, penned by David Thomson, describes the Maria as trying to be cooly detached from the world and it’s happenings though she is not. In fact, over the course of the plot, we get insight as to why she is detached, or at least acts that way.
Maria is essentially consumed by tragedy. About midway through the book, Maria is forced by her husband to get an abortion because she had an affair. This abortion was done crudely in a hotel room, it being before abortions were widely legalized. Though Maria tries to think about other things and write the experience off as just another day essentially, she is plagued by nightmares and neuroses about dead children afterward.
Her problems are compounded by the fact that her 4-year-old daughter, Kate, is hospitalized for the duration of the book due to some softness in her spine. Maria continually tries to see Kate, but her husband and the nurses always try to limit her visits.
Maria deals with her traumas by essentially retreating more and more into herself, becoming anesthetized by reports of tragedy on the news and the tortured lives of those around her. Maria becomes obsessed with the idea of meaningless tragedy versus punishment. Having been raised in a desert town in Nevada, she equates tragedy with rattlesnake bites, a misfortune you can stumble upon just by overturning a rock. However, the loss or harm of children is a type of punishment to the mother.
We see Maria come about her world view through a series of scenes. Whole chapters may be a paragraph to three pages long. Toward the end of the book, we may switch to a new scene in the middle of a page. One minute, Maria is making a call to a hypnotist, the next paragraph may be a continuation, or she may be in a motel room, or driving here and there.
The whole structure can be disorienting and, with the exception of a few chapters at the end, we have no real idea if things are being told in chronological order. Though if we were to ask Maria or the author, I’m almost positive they would say it didn’t matter. What seems to matter most is that we get a glimpse at Maria’s behavior. These small moments that revealed a larger truth. She leaves her Beverly Hills house and rents a small apartment because she imagines human flesh and blood clogging her pipes. Do you think the abortion effected her? Some random woman is crying to Maria in line at the supermarket about how hard her life has gotten. Maria tries to comfort her and touches her arm. The woman responds, “Get your whore’s hands off of me.”
The whole of these scenes communicate a certain haunting senselessness. Maria got the abortion presumably to protect her director husband’s reputation. But no one sought to protect her. What of the effects on her? It’s never addressed by another character. She never seems to talk about it beyond her internal musings. An utter lack of communication. What of it? Nothing. Also, save the first chapter, the rest of Didion’s novel is told from a close third-person prospective. So not an omniscient narrator, but one who is able to get in Maria’s head and document her every action. This too serves to illustrate a certain detachment. An observer looking through the glass but not getting their hands dirty.
Overall, Play It As It Lays is rich with nihilism. However, it is not fatalistic. Maria’s father was an optimistic gambler who taught her life was like a game of craps, hence the title. Play the board as it is, even if it does not end up mattering in the end. The horrors that are displayed throughout the book are not the chainsaw-wielding kind, they are everyday tragedies, misfortunes and miscommunications that shape our worldview. The moments that tell us a lot about ourselves, even the parts we don’t wish to know.
Play It As It Lays comes highly recommended from me! Check it out when you have the chance.
A secret not so closely guarded. A heart of glass shattered most days, in small ways. A passing comment or random choke in the throat? Chip, chip, chip away. Take it all! I don’t want it anymore. Get up, glue it together, rudimentary. Set yourself back. On your heels, better than on your toes, right? No one to blame but yourself, heart of glass. Harden up, stiffen your upper lip, life’s hard! Deal with it. Good advice! chip, chip, chip. What do you do now? Exhausted. That’s life…is there more than navigating my own minefield? Sounds like a “you” problem. Do better. Okay! Are you okay? Sure. Chip, chip, chip. I’m too young to feel this old. Burst of anger! That’s power, right? Throw things, tantrums, brushes, makeup. Cool it! Sorry. Except I’m not really sorry, just sorry your perception of me may have changed. Bruises bursting to oceans, flakes of glass fall into the pit, a rain that slices brutally. Remake it. Rename it. Reclaim it. My glass heart, light refracted, dreams protracted. It’s all coming at me from odd angles. And the worst part, I fear, is that we will come away, none of this having made sense.
Maybe it’s just because it’s storming outside as I’m writing this, but I was just thinking, it would be so cool to star in my own noir detective story. You know, the black-and-white TV shows/movies. The detective is the last one at the precinct, working into the late hours as he/she/they try to piece together a case. I mean yes, a “he” traditionally played these roles but c’mon it’s 2021, folks.
The detective is studying a mountain of case files. Something doesn’t add up. All evidence points to one suspect, an unlikely one. The detective rubs their face and stares at the rain teeming against their office window. Their inner monologue goes off, something like, “It’s nights like these, cases like these, that make me question my own judgement. But not one thing made me question myself more than her.”
On cue, the prime suspect walks in, inexplicably dressed like a flapper or some other get-up that’s sensual and dazzling. Let’s choose to ignore that this PD must keep really odd hours if a suspect is coming in in the middle of the night to be questioned. It all adds to the drama, the mystique, the sexiness. The suspect is a definite femme fatale, confident and witty. Given that most of these shows seemingly took place between the 1930s and 60s, if a woman acted like that, she must’ve been wicked. She says something that leaves breadcrumbs toward her guilt without directly implicating herself. “Well, I surely don’t know what all this is about. But, I’ll tell you one thing, I just know this guy had it coming to him.”
You know, that type of show?
I can’t tell if I’d rather be the detective or the femme fatale. Really, I guess it depends on my mood. If I put on a good Billie Eilish song, like “You Should See Me in a Crown”, I get strong femme fatale vibes. Plus, there is something intoxicating about the subversion of it all. Especially in those types of shows, no one expects a woman to be cunning, cleaver and funny. It’s the kind of against-the-grain confidence that really resonates with me, if that makes sense.
Other times, like if I’ve just watched a murder mystery, I think I’d make a five-star detective. I feel like I could solve even the most complex cases. Though, I will admit, it is a lot easier to think you can solve things after you’ve seen the resolution. Hindsight is 20/20, after all.
Do any of you ever think about things like this or was this me just rambling somewhere out in left field? Do you imagine yourself as a detective, a femme fatale or some other type of villain? I’m interested to know your thoughts! Leave a comment below!
She glowed, ethereal and tragic,
An angel fallen from grace,
But I was drawn to her magic.
Her eyes were translucent and distant,
A pearl washed ashore,
But I saw a shadow there, something of a misfit,
Despite all the warning signs,
I charged on, closed my eyes.
For all the pain we endured,
Bleeding hearts on marble floors,
I feel I will never be cured
Of this addiction,
Constant need!
Love’s affliction.
Nevertheless, I would take the sting
Of 1,000 knives,
If only it meant we could stay
In each other’s lives.
Hey everyone, this latest painting took me a while! It’s definitely a hairstyle I would like to try out on myself, but for now it’s immortalized in paint. Let me know what you think of this one and the whole process! There is definitely room for improvement!
I breathe in hot embers,
It’s like a firework has exploded
In my chest,
But instead of beauty,
I find destruction there.
The sudden burst of warmth
Fades to a chill
I can’t quite describe,
It’s as if something was
There,
And will never be,
There again.
The unease of emptiness,
The apprehension toward change,
I want to be the Dragon
That swallows fire!
Absorbs its harrowing nature,
And reforms it,
Makes it the kind of energy
That grows flowers in the caverns of desolation,
Laughs in the face of melancholy,
Stands bravely in the tundra of hopelessness,
Because I’d have my fire to keep me warm.
Instead, all I feel,
Are the embers cooling.
Blossoms blooming,
Ever-looming,
Change around me,
Can we pause for a moment to see?
Freeze time just a second longer?
As the urges grow stronger,
Stop for a moment to ponder,
Just when it all started happening,
My vision flattening
My heart pounding
A ring in my ears sounding
Breathe.
But what if none of it matters?
The dreams I held turned to tatters,
The ashes slip through my fingers,
Leftover hope no longer lingers,
And I’m left asking…
Where did it all go?
Left asking…
Hoping
Praying
Begging
…For time to move slow.
So, our first couple’s vacation is in the books! We had an excellent time in Florida and it was great to see family and check out all the parks!
Honestly, I am very proud of us for accomplishing all we did. Not only did we physically navigate the parks independently, but also we planned this vacation completely on our own. With my physical disability, that included making sure our seats were together and not too far back on the plane, arriving early enough to the parks to make sure we could get a wheelchair or scooter, (We almost didn’t get it one day.) And making sure our hotel room was accessible. When we arrived at the hotel, we didn’t actually have the accessible room we booked, so we were shuffled around a few times before landing at our final room.
Even with the slight hiccups that we experienced, I wouldn’t change the past week for the world. My fiancé and I got to spend invaluable time together, away from the outside influences that sometimes drive a wedge between us. We learned that, despite my fears, we actually do work really well together as a team. I have all the more hope in our future.
One thing we kept repeating during the trip was that we couldn’t believe this was happening and that we didn’t think our plans would go so smoothly. Sure, a lot of this had to do with the fact that we had never vacationed alone. However, it can’t be ignored that we faced a lot of doubt from other people too. A fair amount of family and friends tried to convince us to take my mom along at first. Thankfully, we resisted. Still, and let me put on my Carrie Bradshaw voice for this, I couldn’t help but wonder, how is self-belief possible when your external environment is infiltrated by doubt?
I’ve heard it 1,000 times: Believe in yourself even when no one else will. That’s an excellent sentiment but, at least in my experience, it can be a lot more difficult in practice. When you consider the fact that I’m still growing in my independence journey and I often suffer from self-doubt and circular thoughts, believing in myself seems like a childish fantasy at times. I often feel like I do not know the best way forward and that most of the people in my life are more knowledgeable than me about myself. I had a nagging worry in the back of my mind most of the trip that something was going to go wrong, that we were foolish for doing this or that those who doubted us were right.
However, I have noticed that the best way, perhaps the only way, to combat circular thoughts is to keep defeating them. Whenever a doubt pops up, treat it like a game of whack-a-mole and say, “No, I’m capable of handling this!” That’s why I will be an advocate for affirmations until the day I die. Keep repeating these things until you believe it. Trust that no one knows what you are capable of better than yourself and it is never too late to grow and become the person you want to be. Other people’s opinions are just that, opinions. No one is signing these beliefs into law and they only have as much weight as you give them.
Sure, as I said before, these doubts were always present in my mind. However, it is worth repeating that they were in the back of my mind. I would not let them rule me as they have in the past. Even if tomorrow I feel like a nerve-stricken mess, no one can take the victory of the past week away from me or my fiancé. This one experience has been a sign of major growth and I am always going to be proud of us for that.
Hidden Jules