The mess of writing

I have been documenting the highs of writing: the adrenaline and joy of creating a tangible piece of my mind.

I have experimented with fictional characters that embody my character and have included narrations of my voice. Yet, there are more lows than highs lately. There is the infamous writer’s block, the procrastination, the distractions and then, then there’s this:

The anxiety of doubting one’s work, the mess left of the room you inhabit with handwritten notes, the books you picked up to get inspired and left after thirty pages and the fear that some things cannot be expressed. This is my vulnerable mess.

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Prague In February

Prague In December

A very casual update.

Almost 4 years later

Almost four years later, the boy who broke my heart, the boy’s friend who humiliated me and made me hate the skin people had seen, and the boy who cheated on me met in England. ‘They told me about this book you’re writing’, one of them said. It was the closure I thought I had found in the past four years. To think, that time truly did its healing. That three men now sat in a different country and had my name make its way into the conversation. And for the first time, followed with truth.

Four years later, the boy, now man, who broke my heart messaged me the words I didn’t need to hear. I promise to you that I did not need to hear them. Yet I understand why I cried and smiled after reading it.

‘Listen Angela I’m sorry but if truth be told I’m not in a good place. I’m very ashamed of who I was and what I’ve become and it’s taking its toll on me. I just want to change my life around, be the good guy and all that stereotypical bullshit you see on TV. And honestly, I’m so disgusted by my relationship with you, all I want is to try and make it right, and I feel like the first step is to change my life, and as selfish and pathetic as it sounds, you’re a painful reminder of who I once was, and I need to change that. I’m trying to move out by saving money working odd jobs, and honestly I’m stressed the fuck out and I’m not the most equipped person to handle it. I’m sorry Angela, you at least deserve to know why im acting like this. I really hope to have that coffee with you when all this is all over, and we can have a proper laugh about how ridiculous we once were, but right now I just need some time. I really hope you’re doing well and that you’re life is finally taking the path you want to lead, you really deserve the world Angela. I’m sorry for all the pain and heartache I’ve caused you, you didn’t deserve any of it. From the bottom of my heart I really hope you’ve finally found peace, you really do mean a lot to me.’

Four years later, I have not stopped loving, but rather stopped waiting to be loved. Four years later, I got to be the girl they did not know how to care for. And four years later, I am no longer the girl who lost them, but rather the girl they did not know how to love.

 

‘You really deserve the world, Angela’.

The words I am most grateful for.

Femininity- An endless chapter

I realised that femininity is vulnerability, often hidden by men in order to avoid the lack of masculinity. It’s the choice of using everything that applies to beauty from your perspective. I now choose what makes me feel feminine. It can be a red dress or black overalls with a bandana around my natural hair and small hoops that peak through my waves. It is being naked when I am alone and naked with him. It is having the choice to avoid shaving and the choice to crave a silk-like surface on my legs. It is making mistakes and smiling at those who see it and crying as if shame had never been invented. It is sitting on a balcony and feeling like life won’t stop for you, and you wouldn’t choose for it to stop.

After years of doubting where happiness could originate from; I found it. It’s where I am and what I turn the place into. On a sunny day, you will find me in my balcony, or any balcony for that matter. I will be wearing a yellow jumpsuit, a red tied-on top with white polka dots or my very well-utilised red bathing suit top. On a good day, joined by good company, you will find me topless. I will have a cup of espresso with no sugar and no milk, accompanied by long overdue coffee cups that I should put in the sink, and a cigarette in between my two right fingers. I’ll be wearing my hoop earrings that decorate my naked face and I will sit on the floor so that the neighbour’s gardener doesn’t see me. I will be writing. About anything. And everything about that. I will be deep in thought about the things time does not stop for. I will look happy; even if I am not smiling. And I think that the feeling of happiness exudes femininity. It exudes it in a way that a smile will never be able to.

 

Alone, But Please Not Lonely- A Very Personal Podcast

l o n e l i n e s s

Do you remember when I wrote about loneliness? I didn’t know what it was then. I thought that loneliness was a feeling you chose to label when you could not feel fulfilled by people. Now I know that it is an unavoidable cause of death. And that if I remained in this empty city, with the roommates that do not leave their room and within these empty walls, I could quite possibly die within them. Loneliness is the root of different cries for help. Loneliness is silence. Silence within crowds and silence within your mind- when it reaches your soul, the one you never knew existed until it ached, you are inevitably trapped. I am trapped. I always believed in understanding your emotions and thriving through their acknowledgement. Now I only want to avoid them. And how exhausting it is to want time to pass, days to pass, life to pass. I want calls. Visits. Love. It feels like you’re getting higher and higher on a branch that you want to get down from. And the lonelier you feel, the higher up you go. The higher up you are, the longer the ladder needs to be. So you begin to expect bigger gestures from people. You begin to need a bigger ladder. I am a child in desperate need of a hug- asking for affection through words. I am begging for friendship. For love. For a touch. I am longing for a conversation. For laughter. And it is so so silent. And when you feel this lonely, you are so fucking terrified that it wont end. Because if it doesn’t- it is possible that the person you have spent years building could.