assorted thoughts
Jan. 16th, 2022 07:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
virgomoon> when will i be completely free from internalized misogyny and when will i be un-socialized enough to read about girls clubbing and not have my head be judgmental??? am reading a book which delves so deeply into the lives of certain women in north india and with every mention of something a woman has done that's typically transgressive in this society i feel joy and a twinge of discomfort. jealousy, even. its so easyyyy to collect yourself online and be the best version of you and when people tweet about doing something like drinking with their pals the tweet exists in a vacuum with just a username, the person's pronouns, a display picture that can be as variegated as sasuke from naruto to a chimpanzee. when i keep telling my sister "not to be angry" in front of parents because they will not make any room for your emotions, only for cold rationale. once dad said "you talk to us like you talk to your college friends" and that made me so fucking mad, i will never stop being mad, and my sister agreed saying "yeah don't do that." its like we're in a bind. sometimes she exhibits the misogyny and sometimes i do. and either way we end up being at cross-purposes and i want to tear someone's hair out except it can't be mine so i am mean to her and she is rightfully angry at me and we don't talk. i mean we do talk, we've talked more over the pandemic than in any other time in our lives, and it's amazing and great. but the weird bursts of misogyny and anger too exist. very much. how will i be unsocialized from this when ma still does so much around the house!
this is why i collect girls in fandom who seem similar to me and then proceed to: project, project, project. stop projecting! they are more BEYOND you and your thoughts why not write something goddamn NEW.
> i was staring at my monet diary, at its perfection, and remembering intensely being in the stationary shop and staring at their new display of artsy diaries being hyperaware of how much beauty was in front of me and how i couldn't have it. this was in 2019, and with my new group of friends i never had to worry about myself, at how i presented me, so i could worry about the stuff i cared about. like stationary. sounds silly to me but it isn't and i know it, and anyway, i found my diary again and i was staring at it remembering so much beauty but i didn't have the money to buy all of it and even if i did have the money what good would come from buying so many diaries? i don't know. just the fact of so much beauty in the world. and capitalism. college was like that, physical college, so much beauty on display all the time to be had. not visually, not always at least. in the sense of: the people you chose to spend time with. out of a river of a gazillion drops you choose a few to dedicate your love and time to. like that. like the permutations of hangouts you could have, and couldn't, and the weird funny heartache of missing out on a few and then teasing your friends mercilessly about not being able to go. like the kinds of foods you could have, or the skies you could see, or the thoughts you could have. at being aware of so much life happening and only experiencing a sliver of it.
> making friends is so difficult and so easy and so weird. i want a group of people bound to me in some way to exist no matter where i go or what i do, but i'll have to put in the effort for it, and i'll do it, but i think of the relatives i don't talk to, the friend groups i willingly forsook, the communities i divest myself of, and i'm like: huh? i want my sister to be near no matter what!!!!! why am i thinking of other countries when i'd not be able to live without her, be so desperately lonely. all you need is someone to talk to and man am i glad she talks to me. the other day she was like "do you only have, like, two friends?" as a joke because she had a economics project and i forwarded it to only three people but i started thinking about that seriously because i am too serious and ponderous a person and the answer is "yes". not literally, i have 20 ish friends for sure, but in her sense of "do you only talk to a few people and can ask favours of a few?" yes.
> i don't know. reading this book is fucking me because a. it's so good and so indian, i love that, b. i love girls so much. copious amounts of affection in my heart for them. why am i still vaguely misogynistic in ways that aren't even immediately apparent to me? probably because i've repressed myself in front of my parents all my life just to be able to have my own way. and as i type this i'm keenly aware of all that i have and know and others don't, but like fuck all that. i'm happy and i'm sad and it's whatever. c. i love this book and i love girls and i want so much out of life and the stuff i want is so small, it's literally peanuts, compared to like the stuff some of my friends want. and i can technically have it but i'm so cowardly that i don't even put in the effort. i don't know anything man.
> i should go back to reading fiction. non-fiction that pierces every aspect of your reality can be too much. too many personal posts on this platform, i like the fact that a few people can read or not read and remember that i'm a real person.
> i don't like writing but i keep writing as if it'll construct some identity for me and i feel the most me when i'm eating, which is so funny, why is that, why do i love eating so much that every time i eat something i'm like "oh hell yeah i am so me". jeez.
this is why i collect girls in fandom who seem similar to me and then proceed to: project, project, project. stop projecting! they are more BEYOND you and your thoughts why not write something goddamn NEW.
> i was staring at my monet diary, at its perfection, and remembering intensely being in the stationary shop and staring at their new display of artsy diaries being hyperaware of how much beauty was in front of me and how i couldn't have it. this was in 2019, and with my new group of friends i never had to worry about myself, at how i presented me, so i could worry about the stuff i cared about. like stationary. sounds silly to me but it isn't and i know it, and anyway, i found my diary again and i was staring at it remembering so much beauty but i didn't have the money to buy all of it and even if i did have the money what good would come from buying so many diaries? i don't know. just the fact of so much beauty in the world. and capitalism. college was like that, physical college, so much beauty on display all the time to be had. not visually, not always at least. in the sense of: the people you chose to spend time with. out of a river of a gazillion drops you choose a few to dedicate your love and time to. like that. like the permutations of hangouts you could have, and couldn't, and the weird funny heartache of missing out on a few and then teasing your friends mercilessly about not being able to go. like the kinds of foods you could have, or the skies you could see, or the thoughts you could have. at being aware of so much life happening and only experiencing a sliver of it.
> making friends is so difficult and so easy and so weird. i want a group of people bound to me in some way to exist no matter where i go or what i do, but i'll have to put in the effort for it, and i'll do it, but i think of the relatives i don't talk to, the friend groups i willingly forsook, the communities i divest myself of, and i'm like: huh? i want my sister to be near no matter what!!!!! why am i thinking of other countries when i'd not be able to live without her, be so desperately lonely. all you need is someone to talk to and man am i glad she talks to me. the other day she was like "do you only have, like, two friends?" as a joke because she had a economics project and i forwarded it to only three people but i started thinking about that seriously because i am too serious and ponderous a person and the answer is "yes". not literally, i have 20 ish friends for sure, but in her sense of "do you only talk to a few people and can ask favours of a few?" yes.
> i don't know. reading this book is fucking me because a. it's so good and so indian, i love that, b. i love girls so much. copious amounts of affection in my heart for them. why am i still vaguely misogynistic in ways that aren't even immediately apparent to me? probably because i've repressed myself in front of my parents all my life just to be able to have my own way. and as i type this i'm keenly aware of all that i have and know and others don't, but like fuck all that. i'm happy and i'm sad and it's whatever. c. i love this book and i love girls and i want so much out of life and the stuff i want is so small, it's literally peanuts, compared to like the stuff some of my friends want. and i can technically have it but i'm so cowardly that i don't even put in the effort. i don't know anything man.
> i should go back to reading fiction. non-fiction that pierces every aspect of your reality can be too much. too many personal posts on this platform, i like the fact that a few people can read or not read and remember that i'm a real person.
> i don't like writing but i keep writing as if it'll construct some identity for me and i feel the most me when i'm eating, which is so funny, why is that, why do i love eating so much that every time i eat something i'm like "oh hell yeah i am so me". jeez.
