I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2 a.m., gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don’t see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.
Ahhh. An About page—a place where I’m supposed to pretend that I know exactly who I am, certain of the path I’m taking.
It’s (almost) 2015.
Who the fuck knows who they are?
The thing about growing up is that it’s always so gradual. It’s always so subtle. You never really realize how different you are until you look back at your previous blog posts and laugh at the kind of person you were three years ago.
Three years ago, I never would’ve so openly said the word ‘fuck’ anywhere in this blog.
Truth is, I don’t have any idea who I am; nor do I have any idea of what I’m doing. I just turned 24 and suddenly, everybody altogether stops calling me young. All of a sudden, I’m expected to be an adult, to be the aunt that gives presents on Christmas and not the one who dances to a Korean pop song in exchange for money. Not that I was a stripper in my past life; not that any Korean pop song could be used for a lap dance.
This page will get better as we go on, I promise.