Pages From My Journal

4th March 2022

It's a tough choice between "are you lost baby girl" and "remember who you are."
Being 18 feels a lot like being 17.

23 feb

I don't have to be creative here, but the pressure of wanting to and having to be creative every time I pick up the pen does get to me and I want to conquer that this year. I used to see a piece of myself in all the books I read and made it my own, I just let go and tried to be funny when I knew I wasn't. I winged the silly stuff and when I look back and sort of read those bits and pieces of literature where I was just being a dumb cutie pie, it worked.

I'm too damn serious these days and I just miss the funniness in my life.

Adulting is scary to me because I've always heard people tell me I'm "mature for my age" and I wonder if I missed living parts of me that weren't always so old... I hope I lived like Alia and that everything I wrote wasn't just fiction because I know this 17 year old me has been a serious disappointment in the live life to the fullest department.

Or not?

I don't know.

Since I'm almost 18 I feel like this should be a good time to start thinking about my first kiss and getting over how much I loathe grandmothers, but as I write this and shrug my shoulders, not feeling quite so ready... I want to give myself shit for it... but...

That's the problem maybe, I can't change in a week's time you know?

Did I spend the last year like a normal 17 year old? Probably yes, maybe not.

I feel emotionally traumatised and stuck at times because I can't let go easily and shit hurts bad. I wish therapy was magical and long lasting in its effect.

I've always hated exams because studying with deadlines and because I will be tested depresses me.

I don't enjoy holding it all together when it feels like my skull and heart are fracturing at the same time but taking care yourself in solitude is adulting right? I don't mind getting dirty looks from people on the road when I cry on my way back home from the park but for how long can I continue doing that? For real?

The last two years have taught me that the world is constantly changing, people are changing; really fast and unless you accept that and adapt to it as it's happening, you're going to be heartbroken all the time. You're going to be lost and overwhelmed beyond control. I went from thinking that I'm closest to my family and that we're incredibly tight knit to realising that there are cracks that run deep and not feeling surprised when I though to myself, "we're fucking broken."

I've exhausted myself writing about sad shit I don't know how writer's do it anymore.
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24 feb
Maybe it's just the last couple months but I've felt pretty messed up. I messed up a lot too you know. I keep telling myself to remember who I am and I see snippets of the life I've life in the most ideal manner and I can't be like that all the time and it should be okay right? I can accept that right?

I've been really horny too. I also you know.. you know. It's the best and I've never felt more useful to myself before Lmao. It's the one handed reads that really do it in case we're talking technicalities. I am ashamed of my crassness.

I need to study for my exams and I feel guilty for reading instead of doing that. Fuck that shit is at the tip of my tongue, because it's annoying, but then....

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I think I've already spoken about the big changes this year. Green sweater, zed the baker/bakery; like I give a shit, TOKYO, Stanford. And that 79 in literature which was pretty fucking awesome too.

I haven't met or gotten to know a lot of people this year, some yes, but not nearly enough. Some good, some great, some tolerable, some well...

I remember watching happiest season one night and writing the some unsung love letters chapter from Tokyo in my journal with a pen. It's a night I never want to forget. I listened to make out in my car on repeat and put it all down on paper. All those confused thoughts and histories, the newness and happiness. I skipped the humiliation and the pain that came with writing the end. But that's something I chose because that's how I wished to remember and honour it.

The day I wrote lascivious intentions in the den of inequity was equally special in its own way. It was focused on the inner slut and aspiring dancer in the nude at best lol and hilarious tiny dumbity dumb dumpling at worst but it was a magnificent fucking experience and I'd definitely like to revisit that person again and again.

The pillows in my bed have changed names over the months and I like the sanctity and pouring love I find in my bed. It's what I'll miss most after my mom and dad. I'm sort of itching to write about that too, the misses and sadness and agony of leaving but I'm trying to be a less sad person, so I'll save that for later.

Having a thing ahem doesn't go away, hasn't gone away. The lung malfunctions and eye popping stares and butterflies and also hate. The hate comes and goes, and it's confusing but so is everything else so I live with it.
And though I'm dying to... those five words.. Moses sumney...?

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4 March

Are we going to talk about cute jeans? Yes. Yes yes okay. The face is a mystery and it feels hot and cold. I can cook up scenarios and imagine it while the sound of pouring rain bleeds into the little dream... But it's misleading a new confusing and not so intense, not that it's bad; I'm just used to it.

Then there's the past. I can't let go of these feelings, just like I can't forget Simon's smile. Now Simon is an asshole and asshole is an asshole and I obviously — as I have made abundantly clear before — have a thing for assholes. But I'll get over it - out of sight out of mind. I hope it can be like that. But every time I close my eyes it's that one person. It's been that person since last June. How do I know I can forget without doing anything about it. Is that what I want?

I don't really have anything else to say, I have to study ffs.

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Love and wishes,
Remember the memories,
Chhavi