i’m holding my life in my palms, watching it beat—one, two, three, four—wondering how something so fragile and soft can mean so much. cotton candy fuzz, soft spun sugar, crystallized into clouds of pastel. that’s what it looks like. pulsing along to a song. i’m screaming along to something on the radio, taking photos of my friends, watching the hours spin out into forever.
sometimes: crash. bang. the quiet stillness that no longer feels comfortable. itching, an incessant buzzing underneath my skin that i cant name. i used to throw myself into whatever was at hand when this happened: swimming, studying, college applications. but what do i do now? where do i put all the pain? how do i stop feeling like i’m disappearing?
i’ll be honest. september faded into a blur, despite my efforts to have it not. days bled into each other, contorting and twisting and playing across my brain, deformed. i walked until my feet hurt, but you can’t run from your life. september is a modern art painting, splotches of red and black and blue that i cant decipher, no matter how hard i stare. or perhaps, because like most people, i don’t stare long enough for it to matter. too many nights crying at the ceiling, screaming till my throat is hoarse, for anything to make sense.
i’m trying to not dwell on it. there is always more good than there is bad.
there were days full of writing and book buying and crochet and loud laughter and lines being coloured over and messy, messy love. i sweltered under the heat but found hidden secondhand bookstores. i lost and i lost but i found something new.
i read new favourites, i reread old favourites. i sang countless songs with my ivory keys, from queen to stevie wonder to stray kids to the good old-fashioned hymns. i snapped photos on my digicam: stacks of books, family, birthday parties, garden critters. i rediscovered my love for photography, for fucking around with the ISO and adjusting shutter speeds and catching a smile and a sunset. i voted for the first time and started a new show that has me hooked.
last month i was scared. i was scared shitless but i did things anyway. that’s what it’s all about, right? do the fucking thing. do it scared, but do it. even if you need to call a friend for a pep talk before you do. i bit the bullet. many, many bullets. maybe that's why i feel like i’m bleeding from the inside, pieces of my heart screaming and tearing and leaking crimson. i can put myself back together. i hope. this metaphor is becoming more than i can handle, much like everything else in my life. but what can i do if not create a metaphor? to quote Marie Howe: “And to resist metaphor is very difficult because you have to actually endure the thing itself, which hurts us for some reason.”
old friends. new friends. some people left my life and other people entered, bringing smiles and laughs and shared stories and many cups of coffee. i miss so many people. i wonder sometimes if i feel too much, all the energy in my body channeling into an ache that settles on my heart. that’s okay. it is an indication that i have loved.
interlude: media favorites
howl’s moving castle by dianna wynne jones (i didn’t think it would live up to one of my favorite movies of all time, but it did), levanter by stray kids, hyunjin for esquire (i am but a weak woman), kansas anymore by role model, rwrb fanfiction, love next door (2024), bottoms (2023), wuthering heights by emily bronte, messy by olivia dean, stray kids dominate tour in singapore (2024)
i’ve also been writing. throwing myself into it, to find a semblance of who i am. perhaps there’s a reason, after years of a million different hobbies, i always come back to writing. scribbling my thoughts on a notebook, writing long reviews of books on GoodReads, writing stories that i make up in my head. i write for me, to still an ache, to caress a feeling, to capture a thought. it doesn’t matter if its bad, or if no one will read it. i love what i do, and i love doing it. that’s all that matters. i’m allowing myself to listen to my silly loud music and put my kpop photocard on my bag even though it’s dumb and watch more musicals than artsy films and wear too much pink and avoid instagram. finding snoopy keychains and wearing long skirts and being a ridiculous level of competitive at monopoly deal. that’s how i make my life my own.
sometimes it feels like the world is falling apart but then the sun rises again and again and again, just like it always has. you will be okay. you will pick yourself up and hold your own hand through it all. love will always find you.
outro
you’ve arrived at the end of your letter. these were some smatterings of thoughts i had through September and a little bit of October. i turn 21 this month and it makes my skin itch a little: less because im getting older and more because having a day dedicated to me is daunting. i used to love going all out for my birthday, but now it’s tinged with vulnerability. do you love me? do you love me enough to celebrate my being alive? i think myself to circles about it. maybe this month will be about trying to be happy. to find joy. what else is there to do? than to love?
-cherry
my darling you have been so strong and loving to the world, i hope it loves you back in your 21st year <3
So you do play monopoly 👺
Also happy birthday 🙂
And Im neither late nor early 😌