and i can feel myself blossoming. i think i was trying to stop it for a while; blossoming requires roots, and i don’t know where mine are, i don’t know if i want them to be anywhere. i made this bouquet for you, will you take it? i can’t offer any gardens yet.
i haven’t been writing as much lately. anaïs nin: we write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. i used to desperately hold on to anything good, because i thought that it would never happen again. but pink moons come around every year, and i’ll see you tomorrow. you’ll come see me tonight if i ask. what is there to grip if you are holding my hands?
Kang uses the repeating forms and variations of the bags to consider the body as a vessel for our lived experience…What do you carry? What do you care for? What do you hope to build and burn?
i hope to build a beautiful life for myself. and if i am being honest, i already have, even though what i find beautiful is fluid.
writing almost feels too concrete—lately i feel like i slip on a different mood every other day, and each mood is never quite the same. i don’t carry any of it though, i let it change me and then just accept the next one as it comes.
some days i feel like you know me as much as i know myself, maybe better. other days i can’t stand how you think you understand me, yet i don’t understand you.
i don’t feel my changes until i see reflections of my past and realize i’ve outgrown them. it used to frustrate me—how can you stay the same? don’t you want more? and then i thought it was me, why am i never satisfied?
my butterfly necklace broke and i thought it meant that i was done changing, and it felt like a relief at first.
그러나 나비를 만났다—언니가 나비처럼 살아가는 것이 괜찮다고 보여주고 있습니다. for almost all my life, i never felt like i was home, so i went searching for it. but now that i’ve found it in myself, and you (i’ll see you tomorrow?), i feel so free. this life is so short i just want to experience as much of it as i can.
it’s spring, and everything feels new.