The scene falls into place as follows: a tiny bar in the most convenient street we could think of. It is quite cold at 9 pm, and five slightly tired young adults find a second wind after a hard day of work simply by looking at one another, and the words flow and flow and don’t stop.

I met with friends from middle school (I guess. It’s difficult to make the equivalences to English-speaking education systems, but that one seems the most accurate! ages fit, at least) for the first time in almost ten years about two years ago. Through the social media vine, we were able to re-establish contact and start a group chat. It was a lovely night and we had fun catching up, but for some reason it doesn’t come close to our next meeting a few weeks ago.

The group chat showed up in our minds two years after that very, very nice night. Not everyone can make it to this little dinner, but that’s okay. That’s life. Sometimes you meet half the group and that’s enough.

We choose a tiny bar that we all know and like and the night just progresses differently. Part of me thinks, —or knows, or wants it to be— that those people are the ones I feel most comfortable with. The rest a cheerful addendum I can do without, an afterthought that might make it into the script or might not.

Another part of me is in awe at how the night evolves. I haven’t thought of them much in the past few years. I was vaguely aware that we all still lived close to one another, as we did back when we would spend countless times on bus rides to and from school. I knew of some major stuff that happened in their lives, albeit in the vaguest of terms. To my knowledge, we didn’t reach out in key moments. We only recently found each other in social media! There was no reason. We had outgrown this circumstantial friendship and that was fine. That was life.

So, I do feel crazy thankful for the one friend who orchestrated that first meeting and group chat.

Your middle school classmates mature into the people you expected them to be while simultaneously walking the world as adults you get to meet for the first time. The few glimpses I caught during our school years let me into parts of them I could see and appreciate in full that night—blossomed and fulfilled. And yet, some of those glimpses, those tiny bits, remain there, unchanged. Tween and adult hugged into one. They have the same laughs, the same cadence to throw a punchline at you.

We order beers and talk about family and work and money and university. We share important bits of sad stories as if they are mere building blocks in our essences, monumental but unworthy of much fuss. I share delightful news without much fanfare, trying to play it cool, downplay it, play my cards right so this bubble we have just created just grows and doesn’t pop.

There are not many other people at the bar. It’s cold and we are inside, on a second floor that plays quiet music, so the loudest sounds are our voices. I can’t believe we’re just as loud as we used to be when we were kids, one of my friends says and I smile every time I think about that because it’s true. People on the bus used to hate us with burning passion. And now we laugh so loudly it’s silly. It’s ridiculous but everyone is having fun.

I don’t really understand where all this caring comes from. Como si recordar que los quise mucho a los trece fuera suficiente para volver a poner todos esos sentimientos a flor de piel. And yet, when I tell them that I’ve been awarded a scholarship to work in the US this year (during our second round of drinks,) I am met with nothing but unbridled enthusiasm and support. When someone says we must meet before you go, we must throw you a goodbye party, I think, well, obviously. As if I had thought of them for longer than a minute in a decade.
 

Even if I don’t remember his name, I see his face as clear as day. The brain is a remarkable thing, what’s lost snaps right into focus and you’ve done nothing at all.

— Ann Patchett, “Tom Lake”

I haven’t finished Tom Lake yet, but God am I obsessed with Ann Patchett’s writing. Don’t make me start.

I love that quote because it so timely put into words what happened to me that night. And it’s not about remembering their faces or their mannerisms, but how I, too, am stripped down to a tween and an adult hugged into one. It’s no longer an observation about them but a fact about all of us. I turn into the fifteen-year-old that grew up with them. I am both the person they saw at their most vulnerable ten years ago and the fragile adult that treasures the lessons learnt back then. I laugh too loudly. I hit someone’s shoulder at a joke. I accept my friend’s request to split the bill and we all start sending money through our phones.

Two people in one body, mirroring each other. After middle school, I interacted with several groups of people for years and never managed to open up to them. I never felt I had permission to be myself. Even now, as I make conscious efforts to nourish my friendships, and they are undoubtedly beautiful relationships, I never let myself be seen for too long. I don’t know when exactly I became this guarded, but it is not always easy to let myself take a break from hiding.

Therefore, when I felt none of that upon meeting with these people that I haven’t seen in years, I can’t help but marvel at the heart’s muscle memory. Its first training was with them: by means of tons of reps of childish squabbles, mighty victories, monumental heartbreaks. I marvel at how I seemed to have experienced the complete spectrum of human emotion with them like a kid practising on training wheels. Thus, why I never forgot how to be (me) around them.

At the end of the night, we have two cars available, so we divide ourselves into them because yeah, we still live about five to ten minutes away from one another. On the way to our houses, we continue talking about each other’s families, twisting in our seats to keep eye contact. We get even more details and promises to meet soon, even though I strongly complain about the rest of the group—I am fine with us five and no one else, but they are more generous than me.

It taunts my heart how much I want to see them again. I have another friend from school whom with I went to university. We graduated together. We work together now at the same place. A few weeks ago, we went out for dinner after work. It was a cold Thursday night, the place empty. It was a second floor with only us and our two servings of burgers, fries, beers. They were playing Taylor Swift, and we were singing along, being too loud given that we were alone. We laughed and we talked nonsense. We went home at 1 am and reminded each other of what we needed to do for work that next Saturday.

As I remember both nights, I get the same feeling and this baffles me. All my sentimentality may be unwarranted, but I can’t stop it. You think there are things from your past that you are prepared to just miss, to remember fondly. You believe you’ve already relinquished all these people that you used to see and travel with every day for years. They’re part of the past. You grew in different directions, toward different suns. That’s life.

I was scared to meet them, at first. As an introvert, I didn’t want to go. The shy kid that still lives in me found it a challenging quest. The adult who’s matured a little and learnt how to handle different social situations said you have to do it. It’ll be nice! You liked them so much. You had so much fun with them back in the day. And I know that’s both voices coalescing into one: kid and adult, curious and eager.

I am the last person to be dropped off. I say goodbye and go to bed. The following days, I am dying to text again and arrange another meeting. I like their company a lot. I want to see them again.
 

We do not see things as they are. We see them as we are.

— Anaïs Nin

Or, sometimes, we see them as we were. As we used to be, through our imperfect memories. We see them through both lenses, present and past, making up a mosaic of feelings that try to find a place next to one another, until they form a picture full of both comfort and novelty.

I’ve always agreed with the idea that some things are meant to be left in the past. It holds truth, a lot of it. However, when the past sneaks up on you, especially the parts you’ve grown to cherish, I think it’s worth taking the chance and looking back. I did, and it turns out that I never forgot how to like them and how to make them laugh.

They may not become permanent fixtures of my adult life, but I look forward to the joy they will bring along every time we cross paths. Their smiles reminiscent of child-like wonder and their poise that of a dependable grown-up. I may not have clung to the memory of them, but I certainly love that from now, however scarcely, we’ll share rides home once again.


 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

 

 

Well! that's my first essay (I think it is kind of an essay, right?) / journal entry crossover here. I am very proud of how it turned out, even if it feels like I just went completely insane over some drinks with friends lol. I hope you get this time travel feeling next time you meet a person you thought you'd never see again. And I hope you're doing well and having a great time <3

As I mentioned somewhere above, I'll be working in the US this year! I still can't believe it. It's a dream I figured would stay as such. I'll be somewhere up north, near Canada, so if you'd like to have a chance to meet, I'd be more than excited to get in contact and share details or plan something as casual or crazy as you want :D

Thanks for reading! I love you all!!

 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

not-so-mini vibe check (so i had to leave it for the end lol i think it will stay at the end of posts forever)

• now playing: a One Piece video essay. all I listen to right now are video essays
• now reading: Tom Lake by Ann Patchett (masterpiece)
• now watching: nothing? i finished Slam Dunk (I'm losing my mind I need that movie) and started the Percy Jackson show but I abandoned it. I just realised I don't really need this adaptation. The book will always be #1 for me. Maybe some other time I will give it a chance. 
• what's on my mind: many many Haikyuu thoughts. especially after catching a cold for the second time in less than two months. Kita Shinsuke's voice resounds nonstop in my brain

 

• now playing: Fourever by DAY6
• now reading: On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong
• currently watching: Slam Dunk with my sister. i love them
• what's on my mind: i know i'd sound like an insane kpop stan, but verses, songs or prose that talk about teeth have been on my mind for a long time now

Hi hi. it's been literal ages

I'm well and fully adulting. And in the midst of that, I painfully missed writing again. Considering what sparked my last creative spurt (2020) and how intense it was, I am curious to see how this one will play out. It's definitely different, but I still feel something reminiscent of it.

I'm coming back to dreamwitdth with many goals and hopes scattered in my brain. First of all, this blog may permanently become bilingual from now on. I am terrified and excited to share it with some close friends irl, so hey hi if you're reading. If you're the usual people who are on my access list, hi to you too. I know lots of our shared interests may have shifted (at least regarding intensity. i still adore svt, though! just in a different way i guess?), I think that what most attracted me to this group of people was your views and enthusiasm for the written word, communication and beautifully crafted narrative. I hope you see yourself in any of those! I just think you're great if you still follow me on any of my socials. Thank you. I love knowing about you and your life.

While I still hope to share my fanfiction and writing shenanigans with everyone, I want to use this journal to its fullest, especially since my brain seems to be working ridiculously fast lately. You can also blame this video:

Watch on YouTube

The premise is to basically replace screentime / doomscrolling with more meaningful ideas. He firstly suggests a commonplace book, which I already keep and enjoy very much. I love the rationale behind them so much - how what we consider worth keeping definitely says something about us. I feel very seen in those quotes as well. My plan is to gather some of them around a common theme and comment on them on a journal entry (as you probably guessed, today's theme is childhood and oh boy, do we have some good ones.)

The second idea that he mentions to defeat the urge to pick up your phone is a notebook for contemplation. This one I find the most challenging and interesting. It may be considered something of a crossover between commentary, commonplacing and reviewing things? The basics: as you interact with interesting ideas in media or anywhere else, you abstract them in your little notebook and then try to reflect on them and see what your position is. I love this because I sometimes feel overwhelmed by all the media I consume and would love to have a place to pour my thoughts out without any worries. I can't think of a safer space than this one.

"I could never do that to someone I loved," I said.
"Do what?"
"Childhood."
"Oh, that," she said, nodding. "I get that."

Robin was astonished by every child restlessly bobbing before us, and when we were done, she threw her arms to welcome them in with no consideration for fear. Every single one fo them thrilled her: their beauty, their possibility, their life. Look at you! she is saying. My god, look at you! It's same way she looks at me.

When the hot priest in Fleabag said a Winnie the Pooh quote always got him good this is what he meant. I love him.

This group of quotes is a bit odd, I guess. I've never been one to heavily romanticise and idealise childhood. Not because mine was an unhappy one. I like how the first quote from this group is by Hank, but he admits in a podcast that it is actually something that John wrote and he stole it. And goddamn if that isn't the most John Green thing I have ever read. And I get it: My childhood was good. It was me as a child that was not cheerful enough, a bit too shy, too quiet, too scared.

Being a child is scary. When you teach children, the first few classes must be devoted to helping them feel comfortable in an unfamiliar environment. Children thrive on routine, as do adults. The new room is big and unknown, the adults around you keep shuffling by. The children around you are just as twitchy. It's a lot. And it just keeps repeating — the thrilling, sky-high spikes of happiness and excitement; the devastatingly low rock bottoms of sadness and confusion; the explosions of frustration or anger going beyond what anyone could imagine.

It feels like complete worlds could disappear under a kid's tears. Children are the centre of their own world. Everything that happens to them is the most important event in the universe. It's as beautiful as it is horrifying. Feeling for the first time, experiencing stuff for the first time, genuinely not knowing what's next. Childhood wonder is both about amazement and courage.

I like how Ann Patchett's and Hank's John's quotes acknowledge these fears. I might not ever have children because I wouldn't want to put someone through that, she says. Isn't that an empathetic and responsible take? I can't poke any holes in her argument nor do I see it as something pessimistic. It's just comforting to see how people other than me remember these years as something so heart wrenching. Sometimes I talk about this with my mom: I remember falling asleep crying because my feelings just took over. My mom would say yes, I remember that, too.

Absolutes and superlatives are the common law for children. Forever, never, the best, the worst. That's the common currency. When a child promises forever they mean it so earnestly I don't know what I'd do with such vows now. But that's the part about childhood wonder, in its ideal circumstances, that I do like: when else would you be able to feel so fiercely and so playfully? when else would you explode only to be held by someone who's bigger, who would love you and protect you unconditionally and then let you try again?

please talk to me about things you loved from your childhood, or about those things that are kind of awkward now. everything's welcome

talk to you soon!

i’ve read several of these scrapbook-like entries or compilations of things that have brought joy to all of you and loved every single one. similarly, i have been listing things that make me happy on my bullet journal for a year now, but with just a few words. i am very happy to share some stuff here and to expand a bit on them. i am sort of slow to try new things, so i think trying to not be repetitive in these entries will help me try those things i keep putting off more quickly.

so let’s start with all the things that have made this month a happy one for me <3

( this month’s stuff )