super natural

i am back in the dining hall for the first time this semestser. there are some new signs and a salad bar by the deli counter, but it has stayed the same for the most part. brower is the same as i left it, but nothing else is.

there is no massive group, no excited screeching, nobody stabbing apples or carving words into bananas – i am by myself and i have changed since i was last here. and thank goodness.

i see a boy i know, one i had a crush on. i greet sam. he’s nice. i get sushi – i eat fish now – and sit back down, scroll through my phone to decide what tonight will be. sitting in my apartment on my bed, sitting in my friend’s house, or standing at a show. i haven’t made a choice. everything is choices here. will you eat the california roll or just the avocado roll? will you pick the tofu and the cous cous salad? will you come back even though your anxiety tells you no?

the answer is yes. california or avocado – yes. tofu or cous cous – yes. come back – yes. i am the comeback kid. i am the girl who went crazy and came back. i am the girl who crawled out of the world she felt trapped in and built a new one. i am the girl dancing in the front at the show, i am the girl without a roommate, i am the girl with that accent, i am the girl who is the other girl’s friend. i am. and i say yes.

say yes.

love and light,
shalom xo

mindmaps

I made my first mindmap in about a year yesterday. It was for a maths class I’m taking. If you’ve been reading here for a while, it should come as no surprise to you that I am very bad at maths. If you are a new reader, let me spell it out for you:

I am terrible at mathematics. I am so bad at maths that every time I finish a problem, there is a mini earthquake in the classroom I’m in and a voice from the depths of the earth that bellows, “HER ANSWER IS WRONG. AGAIN.” I do so dismally in maths that the one time I finished my homework for this class early and submitted it, I got such a low grade that my professor chose not to count it. I am horrific at crunching or crushing or chewing or chomping numbers. I cannot numbers. I can’t maths.

Right. Now that that’s been made clear that I am bad at maths, I’ve forgotten what else I wanted to say and why I’ve titled this post “mindmaps”. Do excuse my haphazard writing and website and self. I’m a mess, but you knew that. If you didn’t – don’t worry, I won’t give you a paragraph of imagery – I am a mess, and now you know.

If there was a mindmap of me, it’d probably look like this:

mess

I like how mindmaps are really just a big mess that has a purpose, so it’s not so messy anymore. I like the idea of myself as a mindmap. Maybe there’s something to show for it; something more than a failed test or a mess of a girl in love with every bassist from any New Brunswick alt/punk/rock band. Maybe.

love and light,
shalom xo

jupiter | atlas

credit: nasa / nasa.gov

atlas is a series based on the planet songs off of sleeping at last’s atlas: year one.
this is jupiter: a realisation of and hope for purpose.

If anything I do must be for something, then it is for them to mean something. Day after day, I turn any knowledge of who and what I believe myself to be inside out – all the light I collect within myself, everything I protect – in search of purpose, elusive as it may be.

Today, I close my eyes and realise that we are all extraordinary, and like that, none of us are. That nobody leaves without changing something, and that nobody can change everything. That the chaos of the present may be, in its entirety, something to get caught up in rather than to resist. That maybe, the undoing of everything that we all are is what we’re here for.

I think that maybe, in this here and now, the mess we make counts for both everything and nothing, and within them, all that counts. I think that regardless of however many moons we each have affecting what we gravitate towards, all of our fractures reflect the same thing. They sing the same song of wanting to know; of purpose. They sing:

Make my messes matter.

New Year

It’s almost midnight, and I am reporting live from my bed thanks to an obnoxiously strong wifi connection. Did you know that wifi stands for wireless fidelity? I learned that in 10th grade.

I just made my lunch for tomorrow – read: I just put all leftovers from last week into a container to microwave at school tomorrow because I am done spending money the way I have been because I am broke – and I’m thinking about how this week could go.

I was at home for New Year’s Eve for the first time in more than 10 years this year (last year?) We usually go to a church service (which I have mostly always objected to because FRIENDS. HELLO MOM MY CHURCH FRIENDS ARE NOT EVEN HERE.) but there was some tension and strangeness, so I got to watch Guardians of the Galaxy and Home with my sisters, and then climb up to our rooftop to watch the fireworks.

I listened to this song on repeat for many reasons: (1) It was so perfect. So cliche. Living the dream. (2) I love Layla. Mostly because I can sing most of her songs well. And because her lyrics make me remember things I thought I couldn’t. (3) It gave me a lot of hope, and said what I needed to hear.

The sentence, “Yeah, you’re gonna be somebody” is repeated fourteen times in the song. At the beginning of 2016, I wanted nothing more than that reassurance. I was waiting on Canadian universities to give me a chance, and for my father to do the same. I was ready to go and be somebody across the ocean. I was so deeply in love, and I couldn’t shake myself from wanting to be somebody the exact way I thought I would be.

Fast forward to May 2016, and we see that I am heartbroken. The Canadian universities did give me the chance I wanted. I got in. I did my part. My dad didn’t. He flaked at the last minute, and I am somewhat stuck in a law degree for at least the next three years of my life at my current university. I cried a lot. (Thank you, UBC. It means a lot that you wanted me.)

The year so far really has been an understanding of what there is to lose. I’ve lost lots. Not nearly as much as I could have lost, for which I’m eternally grateful, but still lots. I’m still struggling to come to terms with the fact that things can go tits up no matter how hard you work. Beyonce was right.

lose.gif

It’s not the first day of a new year anymore, but I am still feeling broken (if not more) and I still want the same: I want to be somebody. I want to make something, leave something, be something. Having anxiety over leaving a legacy and creating that very legacy is a spectacularly painful and exhausting chunk of my psyche.

All this aside, I have an audition tomorrow. (Today?) It’s for a community theatre group. I’m nervous out of my mind. I don’t know what that has to do with anything about me being somebody, but I hope it makes my head a little less foggy. I don’t know. Perhaps this week will be more reflective than I’d thought it would. In all honesty, I should go to bed and stop researching portable chargers and earphones to buy online. It’s after midnight and I’ve got to be out of the house before 6 AM.

hi lovers lost behind us
hi lessons we failed to learn
hi those that tried to mould us
and tried to change us for the worse

can’t flee from bygones
no shaking off the truth
just a first understanding
of what we have to lose

you can’t cover over holes
you can’t burrow deeper down
yeah, you’re gonna be somebody

to being somebody.

love and light,
shalom xo


featured image from my-sweet-love-addiction.tumblr.com