#anyway i love her so much and i love this poem so much and i think i like this format maybe ?

[meichenxi]

languages, travel, identity, grief

Maybe some of you have heard of Xu Zhimo's Second Farewell to Cambridge (徐志摩 再別康橋 Translation: Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again, by Xu Zhimo | East Asia Student). It's an achingly lovely poem about a Chinese scholar who studied in the UK, and how he left so gently, taking nothing with him as he went. It brought me solace over the last year.

I thought for a very long time about how I felt about having to leave China, and what it felt like to mourn for a future that was never going to mine. I cried. How am I supposed to explain why? I'm not Chinese. I've got no family there, or a childhood to look back on. I couldn't explain it even to myself.

That pain was coupled with a type of uncertainty, a discomfort at myself for feeling so strongly. This feeling was not allowed. It meant - what? Something awful, probably. I was a racist, probably. I should hate myself, probably. Fetishization is the word that gets thrown around for white people and their time spent in East Asia at one end of the spectrum - at the other end it's just seen as embarrassing and deeply, you know, cringe. It's a self-interrogation - why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel this pull so strongly anyway, to a country that's not even mine? Why should it matter so much when I leave? I didn't feel like this grief has any sort of legitimacy. But it has taken from September - eight months after leaving - for me to pick up Chinese again.

I felt, for months, hollow and unsettled and drifting from place to place. I opened my textbook, and closed it again. The memories there were too painful. I'm not going to write about why I had to leave, but it wasn't by choice. I had loved the people in the school, even if it was for a short time. When you have no internet and are training eight hours a day, the days are coloured more sharply: bright and hurtful and wonderful all at once. We had no running water. It was in an abandoned hotel. I miss the monk at the temple door opposite the school, always on time at 6am to open it for our classes. I miss the folk at the local shop who invited me to watch films on their projector; once they killed a chicken for us. I miss the woman in the woods who gave me the chestnuts she had picked. I gave the chestnuts to the cook, and we steamed them and ate them by the lake. He wanted me to marry his son; he wanted it so strongly that he brought me pork, and desserts, and gave me paper, and promised me I could have a jade bracelet, that he would buy me a house. I miss the oldest martial arts teacher, who spoke in such strong dialect I could barely understand him. When I was sad and missing home one night, he told me that I should stay after dinner. In the silence and against the cicadas, he started to play the erhu for me. Later, my friend told me that he hadn't know what to say, how to comfort me; I was a foreigner and a young woman, after all. We had very little in common. But nobody has ever played a piece of music for me like that before.

And I miss X, my best friend there and partner in snack-smuggling crime. She is 19 years old, and a janitor's daughter, and one of the wisest people I have ever met. (She also rides an excellent motorbike, and lent me her hanfu, and we sped through the city giddy with our own daring and trying not to be caught.) We got matching haircuts; she had always wanted to cut her hair like a boy, and was too scared to do it alone. When I left, I told her to stay in touch: she shook her head. She said that some people were meant to know each other for some time, and no more. I think the death of friendship by attrition, by - as Elrond said! - the slow decay of time, is one of the saddest things of all. I deleted Wechat. I don't want to read over the old messages. By having this place - her, and the chestnuts, and the cicadas - as a memory, I can tuck it away it. I can keep it close.

I wrote a poem myself on the plane. That was the last I thought about China, the last thought I let myself have, in eight months. I kept myself away from it. It felt like a wound. And against that hollowness, there was constantly the question: Why should I have any right to miss this place? Who I am there? Why does it matter? We are all different people, wherever we go, and whoever we are with; we wear different skins, large or small. In China I was [...]. She was who I was. That name, that I introduced myself to people with - she was bright and friendly and tried to translate things just so. Everybody who goes as the only foreigner to a place - or the only foreigner that speaks the language - is a little bit self-obsessed. It happens. It's unfortunate, and something to guard against. But it also gives you its own kind of identity in a way: your identity is Foreigner. Your identity is a cultural bridge. Everyone you meet, in a country as friendly and curious as China, has questions about you. You stand with your feet in both worlds, and are not really part of either of them. That identity is easy to slip into, like cool water, like trying on new clothes. It's easier that thinking: who am I outside of that? Where am I going? I don't really know. I don't think anyone really does.

And then the second thing happens. I speak Chinese well, by this point. My accent is there, but it's slight. I am short, and have dark hair, and a generally similar build to many East Asians - so the questions I have got in the last few years have changed. Sometimes people think I have been raised here. Sometimes they think I am ethnically Russian, and nationally Chinese. Sometimes I get asked if I am half Chinese. Usually they know I am a Foreigner, 100% white - but not always. There is a peculiar rush that comes from that acceptance; from feeling the relief, just for fifteen minutes, that you belong. It's not about 'passing', or race-bending, or anything twisted - it's nothing so unnerving as that. It's just the human need to belong. Everyone gets tired of being stared at, after a while. And after a while, you start to think - I wish I understood. I wish they understood. I wish this were easy.

But then the conversation keeps going. You don't know a local word, or you misunderstand. You say something in a strange way, or you make a strange gesture, and the glass shatters, and - there you are again, naked again, exhausted again, explaining yourself again. That's the other half of it. There's solace in the Foreigner identity, because that means that's all you are. You don't have to think about your parents, or whether they worry about you so far from home; of course they do. The Foreigner is good and filial and a wonderful daughter. You can craft her into any shape you like. But it also marks you out again and again, endlessly and again, as Other.

There was a paper published a while ago that showed measures of acceptance of non-natives in native-speaking communities. It highlights a strange, but familiar experience to those who have lived abroad - the people who spoke the language to a medium level felt more accepted and less lonely than those that spoke the language to a high degree. It makes sense, and mirrors what I have found with both Chinese and German. When you speak a little Chinese, you are a wonder - a curiousity! Look at the Western girl go! People are kind, and curious, and will slow down to include you in conversations. You are thrilled with what you can access - all this knowledge, that other people don't have! Look how special you are!

And then you get better. And then you realise, cut by cut, that you will never be one of them. You don't want to be Chinese, per se; but you do want to be accepted. You are happy to be British; but you miss China like a wound, an old one, festering, even when it was never yours. How do you tell your family that you are not grieving a lost romance, a beautiful girl, but a language and a life? That there are words of majesty, of playfulness, that will never be yours? You speak well enough that people no longer bother to dumb things down, or explain them; you sit with your discomfort, smile painted on, because - you know. It's not bad. You understand most of it. And on the edge of that circle, smiling uncertainly, following the vast majority of what is being said, you are not clever enough and not witty enough to keep up with the chengyu, the cultural references, the slang, and the raucous laughter around you erupts, and you don't know what you've missed, and everybody says - she's quiet, that one. Maybe all the foreigners are? And all you are doing is sitting and feeling the distance between You and Them as heavy and as stifled in your chest as an ocean of dark.

So you go back. Back to your people. But when you sit with the other foreigners, you are apart. They laugh; what are these nutters doing? The Chinese don't make any sense. The Chinese do this - they do that. You sit there, and then there is a pressure building in your chest too, a discomfort, the desire to stand up and say - well, actually.

You are responsible for everything the Chinese teachers do, and have to explain things in a way that the students understand - Confucian thought, and Buddhist philosophy, translated in pithy bite-size adages for the West. You have no qualifications for this; everything you assert, you feel unsure. Uncertain. Someone else could explain it better, more nuanced, and you need to do more reading anyway - but here you are, and here they are, and you're the only one. And you do know. Not enough, but enough that their jokes, their pains, make you uncomfortable. You feel the need to defend both parties; to be a diplomat, every second of every day. In turn, when the students come to the teachers with problems, you have to translate their grievances in a way that the Chinese teachers will be sympathetic towards. Once I got asked: why do you never join us after class? Why are you always so quiet when you're not working? As a translator, you are always working. Every time you speak, you are working; what you choose to say, and what you choose to not say, and where you choose to intervene. You are building relationships, and disappearing, and you are becoming invisible, and you're a nothing, and you're everyone and you're nobody and nobody realises you are doing anything more than translating at all.

I wanted to stay. I couldn't have stayed. I wanted to be accepted as one of them. I wanted to be accepted for who I was. That means a foreigner. I wanted to be true to myself, which means that I would always be the Foreigner, which means I would always be apart from them. It is that contrast and juxtaposition which causes the grief. And there was never an ending to it, a resolution, a chance to reconcile myself (in China) with myself (in the UK), because all at once I had to leave. The grief comes most from the second arrow - not the pain of leaving, but the bewilderment of not knowing why I was in pain at all.

It's been eight months. Slowly, as spring comes, I feel like I am on surer ground. I can look at my old books, those painstaking notes, and I could look at new ones too and I'm starting to think, because this is what I tell my students, and maybe there's some truth in it - it's okay if you're not perfect. It's okay if you didn't achieve what you wanted to, and that the language - in its wholeness, and who can ever know that? - will never, not quite, be yours. It's the struggle and the process that means that I will know and understand Chinese in a different way, in my own way, in a slanted-to-reality sort of way, that is a treasure in and of itself. There is beauty in its brokenness too.

And there is sorrow, too. The sorrow that comes with easing yourself into a different life, and it holding you gently for a while. I sat there - I spoke to them. It's not only missing a place; it's missing a person you were, a stage of your life, for a time. It's knowing that a place has reached inside your ribs and taken root there - even if you don't return, you can never fully get rid of that again. You are two people now, with feet straddling two oceans. There are parts of you that loved and suffered and hated and grew in Chinese, not English. You can't explain that. You can't even begin. Sometimes - not often - you are a stranger in your own land. The poets spoke of that. In the age of fast travel, of the weekend break, we have forgotten the ways a place can burrow itself inside you, and find its own home.

It's not the same as the grief that someone Chinese will face. But it's still grief. I have put my life into Chinese. Maybe that is all it takes to grow love.

Now, I turn back to Chinese - as a foreigner, as Melissa, as myself. It's a bittersweet thing. I know that I cannot hold all of it. It will spill out, like the sun, and there is no way I can be that without losing myself and my history and my own green woods. But I think I am ready now. I am surer, and a little steadier on my feet.

#langblr #chinese #languages #culture #china #:(((((((((((

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

top 5 wips you’re most excited to write? :D

AH …. anon my beloved 🥺🥺🥺 tysm for giving me an excuse to talk about them!!!! i have a whole bunch but here are the ones i’m most excited for/planning to write soon :3 hopefully

TITLES ARE STILL UNDER CONSTRUCTION BTW but if you know where any of them are from you get a big gold star ⭐️

it’s your touch that i need

the best friend’s brother!satoru fic that i’m planning on posting next….. i’m . Unsure if i’ll have time to post it this week but :’3 i’ll get it done!!! honestly i just think bfb!toru is insanely attractive so this is mostly an outlet for that but . i have a plot mapped out kind of… the unrequited love trope is just perfect for him but it’s Me so it’ll probably be less angsty and more funny/bittersweet !!

here’s a snippet from it <3

”you’re a good kid,” he says, and his smile teeters on the edge of something apologetic. mostly, it’s pitying. ”there are lots of people out there for you.” the weight of his palm on your head is usually a comfort, but like this? it’s a specific kind of torture. he ruffles your hair, as affectionate as ever, the same as it’s always been. not a trace of any romantic intent. there are lots of people out there for you. (i know, you want to tell him, but your voice is raspy and your throat feels sort of dry. i know. but i want you.)

hunter, you were human

my neglected mer!sugu fic…… our beloved fish man….. one day. i’ll write it out. i’m having some trouble deciding the order of events + general formatting of the outline so 😭😭 i’m a bit stuck. i’ll get there though!!! this au has angst potential but it’s Me so trust that this will be fluffy and nothing else. lots of banter and cutesy moments. i have a lotttt of thoughts about this au and character/reader dynamic so….. i’m. really excited to eventually write it all out!!! i love him sm :cc

“i don’t really like freshwater.” … your eyes widen. his voice is silky, smooth, like a silver river running from the forked tip of his tongue; a melodic lilt that makes you think of the lullaby your mother used to sing you to sleep with. a long, slow moment passes you by, like the rocking of a rusty ship. silently, your tongue forms around a bundle of words, your mouth gaping like a fish out of water. staring at the merman in your bathtub. “you can talk?!”

consider the hairpin turn

THE BELOVEDEST OF THEM ALL …… my extremely neglected best friend’s brother!kenjaku fic T_T my magnum opus even . i started writing it out a while ago but had to stop bc i can’t decide how to format it …. i think it’d be best to tell the story through a lot of flashbacks but it’s difficult to decide where to put what flashbacks in a way that doesn’t disturb the flow, yk??? but i do have everything outlined and i’m super excited to finally post it :33 someday… bfb!kenny is the actual loml i have so much lore planned for him. this fic is just a whole bunch of yearning and tension… the tiniest tiniest bit suggestive bc he truly makes me ill.

nervously, your gaze trails towards the stairs. worried, your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip. kenjaku notices. a large palm cradles your cheek; making sure your eyes stay locked onto his own. ”don't worry about him,” he soothes, a rough thumb smoothing down your skin. ”it’s just us here… just you and me. why don’t you take a deep breath for me, hm?” (you do. without thinking. as if your body was waiting for instructions, waiting to satiate this gnawing desire to impress him, make him proud. be good for him.)  “now,” he exhales, in tandem with you, molecules mingling together. “do you want this?” 

only in the next world

ANOTHER DEARLY BELOVED WIP that’s been rotting in my drafts for a while ….. 👉👈 i think that out of all of these fics this is the first one that i wrote the outline to?? probably even before i made this blog. it’s basically just a canon-aligned au where gojo navigates his maybe-possibly-feelings for you, a new teacher at jujutsu high!! sooo really just my attempt to write what i view as a more canon-aligned gojo and his feelings towards love :3 mostly character-centered fluff and slowburn… some office au vibes…. i’m very fond of this reader!! and i love this version of gojo so bad i really hope i can do him justice…

“they’re a softie, huh?” shoko exhales — smoke drifting past her lungs, mingling with the cold air, a stench of tobacco that makes him crinkle his nose. ”they are,” she hums, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. a dangerously knowing look. “it’s not often someone captures your attention.” gojo smiles. ”is that what it seems like?” he drawls, almost a chuckle. closing his eyes and thinking of you, the fading scent of your perfume. ”well, who knows.” (certainly not him.)

signs of affection

my sickeningly fluffy cult leader geto fic <333 bc i’m spreading the agenda that he is a puppy of a man towards his s/o. this one is just meant to be funny and sweet!! i adoreee the thought of him dating a retired sorcerer with a normal ass job so in this one the reader works at a preschool…. and they’re meant to attend some kind of event for the preschool + is offered to bring a plus one. mild chaos ensues (geto doesn’t want to be anywhere near your non-sorcerer colleagues but he also wants to support you so he’s having a bit of a crisis rn…..) i LOVE this one and i’m so excited to write it out <333333 i think this geto is the most endearing man alive.

suguru blinks, eyelashes fluttering, gleaming under the shallow light of the lamppost just behind him. illuminating the peach-dyed flush dusting his ears, those wide pupils. and his lips, glossy with something cherry-flavoured, soon to curl up into a smile — fond, fond, fond. melting into your touch, basking in your long-sought attention. if he were a cat, you’re sure he'd be purring. he places one big palm over yours, where it rests on his cheek, and he stares. silently, like you’re the only thing worth seeing; dreamy galaxies inside his eyes, all honey and star clusters, leaking adoration. a milky way of love. ”… another,” he pleads, nosing at your fingertips.

#TYSM FOR INDULGING ME ANON!!!!!! #these r all very important to me #anyway im abt to spoil where the titles are from bc i cant contain myself 😔😔 #it’s your touch that i need is a pinkpantheress lyric (song: just for me) bc her music is so gojocoded and ESP bfb!gojo coded… #also the lyrics are very much in tune w the fic and reader being horrendously down bad #hunter; you were human is a lyric from one of my favorite mitski songs pearl diver <333 it just feels mer!sugu coded to me!! #but the song is a lot more somber than the fic #consider the hairpin turn is ofc a line from a richard siken poem <333 bc kenny is sikencoded and this fic is VERY in tune w you are jeff #that’s the name of the poem btw. you are jeff. it’s super good go read it rn !!! #only in the next world is a quote from my belovedest video game disco elysium :3 the full quote is: #“true love is possible only in the next world — for new people. it is too late for us. wreak havoc on the middle class.” #<- which is just. insanely gojocoded #aaaand finally signs of affection is the name of a persona 4 song that i rlly like :3 im not completely sure if that should be the title #but im going w it for now <333 #anyway if you read all this pls know ily. 🫂🫂 here’s your gold star ⭐️ !! #ask tag ✩

[slothcapsule]

//kaeya hangout spoilers (?)

its incredibly funny to me that outside of his fanbase a lot of people seem to mischaracterize kaeya, tending to see him as this sort of emotionally closed off suave guy that makes only calculated moves for his own benefit and whatnot, and when hyv saw that they said fuck all of you, we're going to make sure every time kaeya is on screen he is the SWEETEST and most GENTLE man you'll EVER encounter and he has FRIENDS and a FAMILY in mondstat that love him and he loves very dearly. thats so real of them tbh

#kaeya hangout #kaeya alberich #mondstat #its so stupid i love it so much #like ever since 2.8?? or so?? #they've been making sure kaeya gets characterized correctly #the way they even referenced the whole poem thing that ppl thought was a threat #and were like see he's sorry he just wasnt thinking clearly ykyk #and also making sure everyone knows that him and collei on good terms #SAY UR TRUTH #bc yk he tried to kill her so everyone thought itd be so awkward and she's traumatised from him and whatnot but like hello?? #if he didnt she wouldve like destroyed mondstat?? she endorsed him killing her?? did we read the same comic?? #anyway kaeya is the loml im so glad ppl are seeing his softie side #genshin impact #genshin 3.8

[a-concert-just-for-me]

Should I get a tattoo of the Minecraft end poem “and the universe said I love you” or nah. Be honest

#sillyposting #I’m so serious that poem means so much to me. Julian Gough I owe you my life #everytime I get suicidal I think of it. made from nothing but milk and love is also a banger line that gets me every single time #I’m going to a tattoo consult tonight with me bestie and her tattoo artist #just to feel it out/discuss ideas #my mom is against it but ultimately I am grown at the end of the day lol #she just thinks I’ll regret it and tbh maybe I will! I have no clue #hmm #anyway

[beatleswings]

OLIVIA HARRISON in the official trailer for her book CAME THE LIGHTENING, TWENTY POEMS FOR GEORGE.

#the happiest of birthdays liv 💖💖 #i love you so much! #she is so beautiful #look at her #and i still need that book #;___; #but anyways hope you're having a great bday liv! #olivia harrison #2020s #2022 #came the lightening twenty poems for george #george harrison #my gifs #beatlegirlsedit

[crossbackpoke-check]

Why I Am Not Coming In To Work Today [abridged], Jess Zimmerman

part one | part two

#toronto maple leafs #HELLO EVERYBODY THIS HAS BEEN MONTHS!!! MONTHS IN THE MAKING BECAUSE i AM UNHINGED AND NEEDED THE PRECISE PICTURES THAT I KNEW I WOULD GET #like. seventy five percent of this has been done since the first time i posted this and while it has gotten better with time because #my narratives simply got more complex and there's so much of this that is For Me but don't worry i will explain but aLSO goddamn mitch coul #you have gotten married any later in the year. also willy you truly disappointed me by not getting an absurd haircut this year (now that #i've said this he's going to debut it on instagram like. tomorrow. but anyway that meant y'all got to enjoy my neuroses of #Loving Tyler Bertuzzi who is a goddamn leaf. the joys of having to wait to post this (was not a leaf at the time i started it) and anyway i #have at length i think had the breakdown about tyler in pigtails girl dad & how i got a bob & then tyler copied me which was rude. that's m #gender. ANYWAY starting from the top we got sheldon keefe documentation which was really just the personal decision that i wanted all the #coaching staff to be the markers in the poem/the bold & also at the TIME keefe hadn't re-signed &we thought it might be everybody out w/kyl #anyway the title of the scrap of an old lover's flannel is literally 'u think this is about sheldon & kyle NO it's about timothy liljegren' #bc. liljegren was on the marlies winning cup team & has had a contentious relationship w/keefe ever since & was healthy scratched in playof #& the narrative is sooooo. also at one point for the ryan o'reilly i was going to edit the stlb out of his grandma's shirt or cover it w/th #childhood dreams line but THEN i found the gio snapped stick one which was too perfect for 'crumbling copy' the ryan o'reilly To Me is so. #ur insane in ways u did not think for that one. like. how soft her hands were. his grandma you guys. he grew up a leafs fan. if he ever get #to lift the cup with her again i will lose my shit. the cup run a movie i remember nothing--OKAY the spezz one i knew i needed him stresse #but also i believe in the spezz/kyle narrative so. it comes up later don't worry ALSO SPEZZ FOLLOWING HIM TO PITT CAME AFTER I MADE THIS bu #the muzz tea one makes me a little sensy bc muzz was out with an injury for most of this season & it was a really scary spinal one & so yea #& then the simmer one just straight up makes me cry bc i love him so much & the work that he does for anti-racism in hockey means so much & #if you have that video open & watch it i promise you will cry i do every time it's so beautiful he had to be on comforted by beauty & sammy #boy is on the a man who doesn't know me because EYE remember the caps goalie tandems. baby lilya. the mo one is a little funny bc it is #solely due to wade's thread about mo rielly the coal miner homestead husband. that's why he moves to omaha also i think it suits him (quiet #OK NOW OLD MEN IN LOVE NARRATIVE this one's in contention for my fave bc it's spezz coping w/retirement fundamental meaningless of existenc #u heard abt tyler already that's for me the minchy picture was just too good i had found it earlier & i spent SO LONG looking for an empty #leafs rink picture for bathtub i have some cool construction photos but i wanted the melting ice ones (thought about tahoe lol) & the sprin #one i manip'd a lot bc i needed a spring picture bc playoffs clinch in spring & that one fit so coincidentally perfect bc it's 7 straight #seasons 7 guys so. :) & i KNEW i swore to god they did more milk advertising i knew i was gonna do this one from the minute i saw the poem #the milk patch & it took a hot minute BUT I FOUND THIS ONE this one's for funsies. AND THE PIC I WAITED SO FUCKING LONG FOR this is actuall #from kerf's wedding but i was like i know on god mitch is getting married this summer & that's about to be the drunkest shenanigans wedding #i'm waiting for the pics. & then i was BLESSED with this one which is beautiful & perfect & LOOK AT THEM. anyway the last one is bc

[milfygerard]

living in the inbetween hell where I dont hate or love ttpd enough to agree with anyone on the dash so im just sort of flinching whenever I see a post about it from any side

#barry.txt #taylor swift #im not disappointed bc i didnt have the highest expectations for ttpd #but im also not wowed #a lot of the songs are fun and interesting but the writing on most of these tracks structurally is hanging by a thread #a lot of the rhyme schemes are bizarre and awkward #in my least favorite taylor style where it feels like shes barely stringing them together into these sort of purple prose poems #where she really just wants to fit in words she likes to the detriment of the lyric itself #a lot of jacks production feels unfinished and unimpactful esp compared to waht we know he can do #it feels like a lot of interesting songs that only got like one or two drafts before getting recorded #and it just doesnt hook me #however i do like the songs other ppl hate #and i love that she gave a massive middle finger to the fandom even if its 100% not going to stick #and i love florence and a lot of the second album #i like i hate it here even if its weird and bad #i dont think its her most honest vulnerable or human album but it is her vent-iest like shes just letting it all out #idk #i hope she wraps up eras ant the TVs and then takes a looooong break and does intensive therapy and gets into TTRPGs and chills #anyway the black dog and the manuscript and clara bow best tracks. my final message #probably not bc j have so much to say but

[unclescrunkle]

once a lonely little girl, always a lonely little girl

#poetry #i just wrote a poem about this and i usually share my poems with my friend and she shares hers with me but theres like 3 lines about her so #probably shouldnt show her the poem huh #its really good tho so I'll probably show my therapist #my therapist will be hearing about this #my therapist loves me #anyways #inner child #there is absolutely nothing lonelier #poor baby #i want to hug her #childhood #girlhood #womanhood #how i love being a woman #i love awae should i rewatch for the 100th time #i yap too much #writing

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

not me actually writing the saddest BODY BACK excerpt for tonight's writing session oh my god:

“Why are you upset?” Harrison asks, drumming his ringed finger against the counter’s lip. What does Suzanna see when she looks at him? A miniature version of her wearing a jacket that once belonged to her at his age, and an earring that once belonged to another mother? Or is he a stranger? They know each other best by genetics. If she asked Harrison what he thought her favourite colour was, he’d have no idea. “This isn’t a big deal.” “Oh, please,” Suz says, teary like the actresses on her favourite Portuguese soaps. Sure, Harrison doesn’t know his mother’s favourite colour, if in childhood she was the type of girl to make rings out of peach pits, if she was the type of girl to rip worms bare-handed, if she’d eat cottage cheese with cantaloupe, if she thought about enrolling in a life drawing class before she got pregnant, if her idols are pop icons of the 80s like his are, her favourite way to fold a paper airplane, when her birthday is. But he does know she does not cry. When young Jesus stayed in Jerusalem unbeknownst to his mother, what did Mary do? Perhaps she stared at her hands, thought of the last time she touched him. Perhaps she wept. Or perhaps she found the closest mirror, wiped her sleeve against the glass until it glossed, and tried to find her son in her own reflection.

this is... an underrated relationship in my books LOL

#I love harrison soooo much but also #YOU ARE BEING AN IDIOT LMAO #also i understand whY BUT #I wrote a poem about mary tonight called “mary's vacation” #for my workshop #and I guess I'm just... thinking about her LMAO #this chapter is duly called immaculate mary hi queen #anyway also i can't believe it's been 12 days and I've written this book #EVERY DAY #despite my life turning so badly upside down so fast??? proud of me lol #also this jesus in the temple bit has absolutely SENT ME to nostalgia land #in elementary school these ladies would come pray the rosary #EVERY MONTH FOR LIKE 3 YEARS WITH US LMAO #the amount of times i have heard that story... wow #bodyback

[learnelle]

Day fourteen - the prompt today is all about what lead me to study psychology: so! I’ve been forever curious about why I feel the way I do. As a teenager I was never really interested in what was happening in my life, such as breakups or whatever, but I was interested in the nature of what I was feeling. Basically, the way I coped with anything was by reading Psychology Today articles that would crop up on google when I searched “Why am I _______”. However, I was told there were no easy jobs from graduating with a Psych degree so I went into data science instead… only to be seduced by the fascinating AI psychology and neuroscience modules that made the rest of my computer sciency and maths degree seem dull lol. I think we all know deep down what’s best for us, but that voice telling you what’s right gets overpowered by people telling you what you should do instead. If we listened to that little voice in our hearts then I think we’d all be a lot happier. 💗

#I think this is why I just love Plath’s poetry so so much #She (unfairly) gets mixed up with confessional poets even though her poems focus more on the nature of feelings & emotions #rather than just stating what’s going on in her life #I feel like she is more concerned about the nature of people dealing with pain rather than what’s causing it #✨💃that’s just my interpretation anyways💃✨ #tranquilfallbuddies #studyblr #cottagecore #light academia #dark academia #psychblr #psychology #psychology student

[radio-sepia]

my polish lit teacher said my poem was very good and she really liked it... and that today's the deadline for some inter-school writing contest thing and that 3 poems are needed. and she was like super eager for me to participate. damn. so now I'm combing through my old writing to finish 2 more

#gosh it feels so good #i mean writing and reading them is the bad part cause i absolutely loathe my own writing #but someday you've got to confront it and write anyway. i don't think there's any other way to unlearn it #but anyway i know her pretty well and let's just say she is not the kind of person to give compliments if they aren't genuine #and she's like really good at her job. and has a fuckton of knowledge on literature and I love our lessons together #so if she says my writing is good #well sure even with her honesty it might be a little bit of 'you have potential don't stop doing what you're doing' rather than an actual #this is a very good poem technically speaking #but hey #i'm very proud #i cannot overestimate enough how much having good teachers is helping me on a. daily basis really #txt

[carcarrot]

ok finally watched the conversation 🫠

#i LOVE how much of a nerd cate she is she's so cute. i love her talking abt that poet and the poem he wrote abt shorts #russelllllllllllll.................... his voice is like sunshine. im so 🥺 #will we get sparks in shorts in australia. only time will tell #im hopinggghggg they do smth for halloween even though its not a big thing there. we want to see that boy in a pumpkin outfit #incredible out of context ron moment: i have to confess i do have feet #idk man no thoughts head empty still 💘💝💖💗💓💞💕 abt the way russell is so :D like hes just so!!!!!! do you get it!!!!! anyway #theyre all so cute. cant wait for australia tour fun

[queenlucythevaliant]

From “The Literary First-Aid Box” by Marina Boroditskaya

Cordelia, you fool! Would it have been

that hard to yield to the old man?

To say to him, ‘I too, O darling Daddy,

love you more than life.’ Piece of cake!

But you wanted him to work it out on his own —

who was the best of his daughters. Proud fool!

And now he’s dead, you too, everyone’s dead. 

And Gloucester! Oh the bloody horror —

his eye-sockets — the scene of the blinding —

fingers leafing quickly through the pages

as if through plates of red-hot iron...

Here, read it now. I’ll turn away. You weren’t there

in that Act, were you? Go on, read it,

look what you’ve done, you stupid little fool!

Alright, alright, don’t cry, but next time

make sure to be more stubborn, and resist the author:

Viola, Rosalind, Catherine,

they managed — why wouldn’t you? 

Like a puppy, pull him by the leg of his pants

with your teeth into a comedy! The laws 

of that genre will lead us out into light... Here

wipe your nose and give me back the hanky.

I still have to wash and iron and return it

to a certain careless blonde Venetian

in the next volume. I’m sorry I told you off. 

Best regards to your father. Remember: like a puppy!

#thinking about where 'insensitivity' falls on the spectrum of human failings and was reminded of this poem #I wrote a paper for the Shakespeare class i took arguing that insensitivity is the crux of the tragedy in Lear #and then like a year later i stumbled upon this poem in a Russian poetry anthology #Marina Boroditskaya was a translator and critic before she was a poet and I really think it shows #anyway insensitivity: #which i would here define as 'failing to love others the way they need to be loved' #not failing to love them at all #or even loving them wrong #but not understanding what they need from you well enough to love them effectively #i wouldn't call it a sin #but it is certainly a function of the human condition #Cordelia loved her dad so so much #but she didn't understand him enough to know that he was an old man who just needed to hear his daughters tell him that they loved him #so she hurt him #she could have been honest and still been kind #but Cordelia didn't understand that the situation called for kindness #and so tragedy ensues #on my birthday my roommate turned down sharing a leftover cupcake with me because it isn't healthy to eat sweets late at night #and I'm pretty sure it was a cultural thing. didn't mean it didn't kinda sting #she didn't understand #and i'm insensitive towards others plenty #because I just don't understand what they need from me #i hurt the people i love most by not realizing that what they need is a listener not a fixer #or by not anticipating that a certain piece of news will upset them #idk i'm probably overexplaining obvious stuff here #but i find insensitivity sad more than anything #nine times out of ten there's no malice in it #most times it's an abundance of love #that just doesn't understand #literature makes us more human

[revasserium]

✒️ please? :)

Send me a ✒️ and I’ll tell you a poem or a line of poetry that reminds me of you or your blog!

The world is waiting for you to set it on fire. Trust in yourself and burn.

~ clementine von radics, mouthful of forevers

#mimi-cee-hq #i love clementine von radics so much where did she go is she doing okay #but also this is one of my fav poems by her - i think it's called #to all the teenage girls with wild ambitions or something like that #anyway u_u ilu <3 #im waiting for the haikyuu resurgence when the movie comes out

[thatone-churro]

y’know just as soon as i start getting comfortable with the idea of being open/relying on my dad and him being more comfortable with my choices than i feared, i can essentially throw all that out the window with how vehemently he yelled at me at the thought of my getting my septum pierced (even though i never said i was yet. i said my side before i decide anything else). also making underhanded remarks of me never getting tattoos other than the one for my mom. like okay don’t ask me why i don’t tell you about anything or talk to you or anything. what the fuck.

#‘i love you no matter what’ and ‘you’re an adult and as long as your choices make you happy’ out the window i guess. #are we too sober for those statements to apply all of a sudden? #and again i didn’t even say i was getting it any time soon. i said my sister wants to take me to get my first non-ear piercing. #she’s getting hers repierced & i want to get my side. #and then he started going off on me for it for no reason. and brought up the one tattoo i want to get for my mom. #and THEN made an off handed remark of a similar vein about dyed hair. #i hope he knows he’s literally the only reason i don’t have piercings or tattoos or dyed hair or like anything that lets me look how i wanna #like deadass. i know i’m your ‘baby.’ but can i please actually embrace myself. i don’t care if you don’t like alt culture. i do. #he would shun the girls i crush on fr like oh my god. #like if he knew what i really wanted to look like i think he’d disown me. won’t even have to bring up my funky relationship with gender. #literally as soon as i start thinking i can be open with this man he pulls this shit and then asks why i’m slowly getting more distant. #like wow it’s almost like i’ve been regulated and raised according to what you want and not what i want. #and you wonder why my sisters (especially my oldest who has a lot of piercings & tattoos like i want) aren’t close either? isn’t that wild? #how we never got much of a chance to explore this without reprimand until we were moved out? even as legal adults? #absolutely WILD correlation there i wonder if the causation lines up here pa. what the fuck. #anyway i’m gonna go now and not cry because my roommates are home but i’m gonna go sulk because i’m sick of this ✌️ #oh wait convenient that the showdog poem went up tonight too isn’t that crazy. man calls himself out so hard lol #grace being stupid #text post #personal

[trans-leek-cookie]

holy shit

In retrospect it isn't surprising that the person who made a comic that influenced my art and really spoke to me made another comic that influnced my art and really spoke to me

#Uhh. Idk if it's the title but the caption is "some sort of love poem'' and I can't even describe how much it stuck with me and the other #Comic is their comic abt hades and Persephone which I COULDNT FIND FOR THE LONGEST TIME and a random lore Olympus critical vid linked it in #The description! The influence from it isn't as like direct on my art but it really does inform how I think of relationships I write. #Anyway the lines ''to trick her mother (who knew what happens to wives)'' and ''fuck that demeter'' HAUNT ME. Like genuinely they come to #The forefront of my mind at times it's so so so fucking GOOD