Annotations
fka twigs was singing about how “where the wild things are, i will be” and for a very small, very quiet second, i felt this overwhelming rush of being alive. like every cell was whispering yes, yes, yes, this is it.
and it embarrassed me a little, how much it meant. how something so stupid, so unimpressive, could move me like that. because if someone asked me what i did that day, i’d have nothing to offer. nothing you could put in a story. nothing you could post about. just: i ate an orange at 4:12 p.m. and stood in a square of sunlight and existed.
i think i have spent most of my life performing for an invisible audience. even when i was alone. especially when i was alone.
as if living wasn’t enough unless it could be turned into something beautiful, something articulate, something that proved i was doing it correctly. as if existence needed a justification.
maybe it started in classrooms, when everything had a number attached to it. ninety-two. seventy-eight. rank three. rank ten. maybe it started the first time someone else was chosen over me and i decided there must be a reason, something measurable, something i could fix.
i think i’ve been starved for that. not success. not validation. just presence. the feeling of actually occupying my own life instead of hovering a few inches above it like a ghost.
if i had “won” all the time, if every person had chosen me, if every plan had worked, if i had glided through life untouched, i would be smooth and empty. impressive maybe, but hollow. instead i’m dented. scratched. full of strange little scars. and i’m beginning to feel grateful for them. they feel like evidence. like proof that i didn’t sit on the sidelines watching everyone else live.
everything is a win when the goal is to experience.i roll that sentence around in my head like a coin.because if that’s true, then my whole life rearranges itself.
if the goal is to experience, then heartbreak isn’t humiliation, it’s proof that i loved with my whole chest. then confusion isn’t weakness, it’s curiosity refusing to die. then even boredom has a texture, a temperature, a shape.
i think i confused recognition for meaning. i thought if something wasn’t acknowledged, it didn’t count. if no one saw it, it wasn’t real enough. but some of the most sacred parts of my life have happened completely unwitnessed.
because when you remember that one day you won’t get to do any of this anymore, even the most ordinary moments start glowing at the edges.