It’s My Hobby Actually

Black Passion International Hair Magazine. Volume 26. 2001.

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when you grew up as a lonely uncool girl it will never stop haunting you by the way. you will meet a cool person at a bar or the train station or at a friend's party and you can wear your most stylish outfit and striking eye makeup and you will swear that they can see through all of the facade and see the lonely terribly insecure teenage girl you used to be who desperately wanted to connect and you will swear that they know that there is like an insurmountable gap between you. this will happen forever

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ever just feel like the life you want is so far out of reach. i want more comfort. i want more money. i want a home i’ll carefully design. an even more personalized space? could redecorate my apartment but it’s not as fun if you’re not doing it completely from scratch. i’m at a really good place right now, i guess. but i want more.

Good things make me anxious.

They feel like little birds landing on my shoulder, beautiful, soft, and incredibly light. And I can never shake the feeling that the moment I breathe in too deeply, they’ll flutter away. So I hold my breath… for as long as I can. I grip the goodness too tightly, until it bruises under the strength of my anxiety and fear. I try to earn it, to deserve it, to bargain with the universe so it stays. I do good things, hoping that maybe this time, I’ll be allowed to keep what I love.

But even in the warmth of joy, I mourn. I mourn in advance. I say goodbyes into the arms of beginnings. Because I’ve seen the way good things vanish. I’ve watched laughter curdle into silence. I’ve felt love dissolve in someone’s absence. So, when something kind or soft or bright finds me, I flinch. I brace. I mourn.

And sometimes, I let go too soon. I release the good before it can truly transform me. Before it can make a home in me. Because what if it leaves anyway? What if it teaches me a new kind of light, only to disappear and leave me in darkness that feels even deeper than before?

It’s such a strange thing, to be afraid of healing. To ache for something while pushing it away. I want good things to stay.

But maybe some good things are just meant to be held gently, with both hands, for as long as they’ll let you.

women are so beautiful