#literally this entire last week and today I’ve been doing nothing but adulting and moodboards and writing

[ylove-bandaesthetics]

SUPRISE BEAUTIFUL HUMANS!! IT’S SPAMMING TIME!! FUCK YEAH!! LET’S GOOOO!! 🤘🏼🔥🔥

[girl-gainsbourg]

Hold on fast to living

New to this (again). I’ve been apprehensive to start a new outlet because my writing and creative skills are slowly diminishing (with age) and my life is pretty mediocre these days. Plus there’s this whole “starting anew/clean slate” feeling that’s terrifying because my obsessive-compulsive mind is too afraid to miss out the smallest detail so I’d rather not document anything esp on my journal since I fear committing mistakes the most and that prevents me from doing anything. Marc Johns once shared that he makes his own journals (as in he binds them himself) so he doesn’t feel regretful of whatever he had written and Emma Watson said someone told her that there’s nothing more intimidating than a blank canvas, which is true. Sometimes that’s what makes me give up writing and/or doing things altogether. On the other hand, not being able to chronicle my thoughts, inspirations, discoveries and misadventures makes me sadder. I don’t remember any of the silly things I laughed at during the Christmas season which was one of the best moments of my life; I’m starting to forget what happened when I threw my boyfriend (I call him Johnny online) his very first prom; I don’t have a list of songs that changed my life in 2016 so I don’t know where to send my thank you notes to. Now (well not exactly now but it has become a recurring thought) I realized that I’m writing for myself, so writing bad entries is ok and shouldn’t feel like homework. That it’s far more important that I remember certain periods, feelings or strange magic (as I, my sister and our homie, Tavi like to call it) rather than worrying whether I sound fancy or intellectual (something I won’t ever be anyway cos I’m always grammatically incorrect). That I should keep writing despite the normality of my life because that's the only way I'll get better at it, plus whoelse is going to log all the times I rewatch Roswell? That I should stop writing as if I’m writing for an audience and just be completely honest with myself because this is my space (not yours, Bethany). That it’s ok to allow myself to write bad, cringey poetry because I can see myself develop from it and at least I have something to look back on and laugh at in the future. I realized that if I didn’t write, or try to, I wouldn’t be able to encapsulate important adulting moments, silly conversations, filmy feelings, sartorial choices, bathroom epiphanies, etc. I realized that in order for me to let go of the perpetual fear/ anxiety of creating/ writing something, I should just describe things as I see them. Less is more and just being sincere and honest about the things I write about often leads to a product of inspiring and inspired writing.

There are so many things I regret not being able to write about because I was either too lazy or too “in the moment and now it’s too late to write about it cos time has passed”. So here’s a list of some 2016-2017 things I can write from memory, just to start this blog off:

- Sitting on the curb outside 7/11 with my sister Hanna after an outdoor movie (it was Matilda), listening to Crowded House’s Don’t Dream It’s Over on loudspeaker

- The electric feel of meeting Johnny for the first time after months of unbearable yearning, like the by way of the green line bus scene on the Royal Tenenbaums. How gawky it was. How unadulterated it was. Thinking about it today, from this gradual mediocrity, still makes me cry.

- Watching Gainsbourg: vie heroïque again after the last time (2011?) and regaining my fondness for Klimt, Baudelaire and Aznavour, knowing the difference between Rimbaud and Molière and how the scene with Yolanda Moreau, underrated French actress btw, made me emotional. I paused the film, listened to Fréhel for a while, and tears started rolling down like end credits. The world, c’est si bon

- Reading Toast on the bus ride home one night and The Hottest State in a local cafe, looking up from time to time in hopes that someone would find me as interesting as Sarah. But there’s always no one there.

- I remember getting on a bus cos I was leaving for school in a town 7 hours away from my home. My dad just got off after helping me get settled and I started crying. A few seconds later, he climbed back up cos I left my hat and he sees me a wreck so he sat beside me for a few minutes, sharing a sad-comfortable silence.

- Discussing ideas and the future with my cousin Lowil over mac n cheese. I told him I just want to make art for a living but I seem to have forgotten how. That when I try to make something, it’s always crap and since I feel like I have a good critical eye and can easily tell good from bad, I figured my feelings about my own work must be true. He then replied that it’s just overwhelming feelings of self-doubt and that I just have to keep practicing and eventually the persistence will pay off.

- Breakfast with my family in our garden, feeling like a scene from Vicky Christina Barcelona or Tortilla Soup or that life pondering conversation lunch scene from Before Midnight. Everything was fresh like a citrus fruit.

- My friendship with Aida leveled up when we started opening up to each other about our depression and finding peace in each other’s consolation

- Virtually watched the Gilmore Girls reboot with Aida and I remembered most of it was disappointment (what was up with that 20-minute musical scene that felt like 14 hours) and the next day, we watched the last episode, Fall, and Reflecting Light started playing and it’s as if Aida’s hand reached out of the screen, grabbing mine and things were better for a while. This is our life, and if everything else crumbles, at least we have this.

- Crying at a club whilst I was dancing with Rosie on her last night in the country because I don’t want this but I’ll miss her

- Dancing to Neil Young’s Harvest Moon with Carlo was bewitching. A lilting reminder that despite the persistent mediocrity, “I’m still in love with you, I wanna see you dance again.”

- My excitement on September and watching Practical Magic almost every day, to welcome October, made me feel immortal

- Going to Hongkong with my sister, Hanna, and all I can remember is catching our breath, sitting in an alley with our egg tarts in Central and laughing at our ludicrous travel decisions

- Sitting in history class and my instructor started to sound like the grownups in Charlie Brown, a lump in my throat and on the verge of crying because I know and I was certain that school isn’t for me and continues to be the bane of my existence

- A wave of depression so intense it made me sit on the floor of my balcony at 3am listening to Crash Into Me

- Throwing a bachelorette (party of four) for my sister, Inky. Her best friend posed as her stripper because we’re too much of a wimp to get a real one and I’ve never seen her laugh as much as she did before. We went out for drinks after and had an intense and honest conversation despite the godawful ambiance and waited for our friends to pick us up. All I remember about it now was the tumble and tangle of limbs but it was one of the best moments of my 2017 tbfh

- Growing closer to my sisters. I don’t know how, I don’t know when BUT HERE WE ARE

- Listening to the entire Dreamin' Wild album by Donnie & Joe Emerson on vinyl. Johnny bought it for me as a Christmas present and I know he saved up for it for a while and that makes my mouth quiver

- Welcoming 2017 with a studio 70s roller disco party and I can never write about this because it was everything

- The first week of January, Johnny so openly talked to me about how much he hates his work and that he doesn’t know what to do with his life anymore and we just sat on the bed sharing an understanding and I played Billy Joel’s James and we started bawling like babies. A week after that, he finally left his job

- When I watched this conversation between RuPaul and Oprah that literally changed my life. It’s like they sat down and recorded a self-help audiobook

- Right now, listening to Paul Simon sing American Tune, muting the people around me, eating the last of my cake. I realize we’re nearing towards the end of February and I’m still not beginning

I promise to try to update this more, whether if it's a bad movie review, the usual list or just a moodboard of inspiration. But I'd forgive myself if I didn't.