Breaking up with summer

finding time to imagine

When asked what I do in my free time, my first answer is typically that I write. This is warmly received, sometimes with a “me too,” but usually with a smile or positive remark. I don’t have the space to tell them it’s not something I do when I have no other obligations– it may be closer to the opposite. I think about fiction while I navigate ordinary moments. I think about what has been written, what will be written, and what I will write, in moments full of chaos. Fiction based on imagination takes hold of my body in ways I cannot always anticipate, during inconvenient and seemingly perfect times. I make up stories loosely based on what I claim to know, and sometimes, I write nothing but the so-called truth. Nothing but the persimmon I ate for breakfast, yum the bike ride to the park, the way my necklace reflects light, my parents' love for each other, and my backyard at night.

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I think this is the most schoolwork I have ever had, and although we are entering week eight, I am still not quite used to it. It was a bit of an abrupt transition going from a summer of doing not much thinking ahead to having to plan out every day, every week, so that everything gets at least partially done. Two months ago, I was hopping from town to town on the Nicoya Peninsula in Costa Rica. When I planned my trip, this side of the country wasn’t even on my radar, and things changed every few hours. Today, two months ago, I saw the most beautiful sunset I’d ever seen and had one of the best evenings I can remember. Recently, my therapist had me to an exercise where I wrote about a night where I felt steady and at peace, on a small piece of paper, so that I can have it with me when I need to recenter and take myself back to that moment. I wrote about the sunset, and I found myself getting sort of depressed by the exercise (I like having the piece of paper with me though). I just missed it, just as I would a person. An abrupt, but anticipated, breakup after a short but intense relationship.

THE sunset

I have been struggling with long hours of work, and fallen back into my caffeine haze. Oat milk lattes, sometimes hot and sometimes iced, depending on the weather. Lately, it’s been mostly hot– tis the season. After staring at the computer for hours, and reading hundreds of pages all at once, running out of ink from annotating and underlining and circling and questioning, I feel I’ve forgotten everything. Everything I’ve read, everything I’ve written, everything fades away until I come back and some sort of drawing or phrase I’ve written triggers meaning, symbol, passion. Although the caffeine the headaches and the constant yearning for a good night’s sleep are exhausting, what weighs on me more heavily is feeling like I have lost some of the parts of myself that are the most integral over the past eight weeks. All of this seems very drama when I write it down, but I’m hoping parts of it resonate for you, and hopefully, all of those parts that resonate can come together to make something, anything you choose. So, shall we begin?

Writing is frustrating, always. Sometimes I think avoiding it will do me good, because deleting everything over and over and leaving unfinished pages to rot isn’t satisfying or gratifying. But writing, for me, was never meant to be either of those things, at least not all of the time. I’m not sure where my writing would end up if it were simple, and if each piece of prose I wrote came without questions, confusion, insecurity, or doubt. 

I constantly wonder about where to draw the line, or whether to draw a line, between imagination and understanding. What I imagine turns into how I navigate the world based on what I know most intimately, 

so is my imagination the center of knowledge?

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Guilt follows my October writing as well, whereas it is somewhat absent from summer poetry. In October, though, there are better things to be doing. There is research to be done, there are essays to be written, and there are empty planners that need to be filled, just in case anything gets forgotten. If studying and all schoolwork is done (I’m not sure this is a possibility because of ongoing projects, but alas), writing still should not be the go-to. It should be eating, hopefully cooking, so I’m eating well and fueling my body for another day of work. It should be movement, because what, or where, is my body if it doesn’t move? When cooking and moving are finished, the last thing I want is to type another word or read another page. So, the two new books on my nightstand gather dust, as do the eight I brought from home, overly optimistic once again. Next year, my habits will be better. Next year, I will read and write instead of scrolling on social media, instead of watching the new Hulu original (no regrets) or Trader Joe’s frozen pasta reviews on YouTube (no regrets on this one, either. I know exactly where to go in the frozen section now). 

Humanities majors have no shortage of writing or reading– all of my studies are based in these two things (among research and fieldwork, which is in a sense, also based in what we read and what we end up reflecting on through formal, structured, sourced writing). All of this to say that once a day is done (and most days never are), the idea of writing another word feels unrealistic and undesirable. The things I’d like to end up doing end up staying in my mind, and rarely physically manifest, while my mind is occupied by theories and ethnographies. To clarify, I absolutely love what I study. It is rare that I doubt my decision in classes or area of study, and the things I learn do not contribute to these feelings of defeat or hesitancy. Studying something I am passionate about is something I take pride in. Still, these feelings of yearning fade in and out, taunting me and surrounding me, taking multiple forms in just a few moments. I spend time wanting, and I feel selfish for wanting, and it’s what one may call (rightfully so) a vicious cycle.

Many people have tried to explain to me how I can have a healthy balance, and I probably could if I tried hard enough. If I never crawled into bed in the middle of the day, if I studied without interruptions, if I didn’t clean to procrastinate if I had chosen to write instead of sit on my bed with a friend coloring and watching episode after episode of our show. They’re right, and so am I in being inclined to do these things rather than write. But, I doubt that all the time. I do right now, and I’m wondering if I should delete it, but I’ll leave it for now. I wish I did not have to expend so much energy in a day surrounding my schoolwork, and I wish my workload was lighter, as it was last spring, when I had the time to get everything done and work every afternoon, and somehow still made some time to be with my friends. Even though I was busy, I was someone outside of my schoolwork. I was a nanny. I was on the bus, I was in the park, I was making trail mix out of goldfish and raisins and carrots (and something sweet, on occasion). I was talking about fractions and basketball and third-grade drama for three hours a day, and I was walking, rain or shine, from school to the bus stop and back again. Simple things, even though they aren’t necessarily the things I would associate with joy or passion (but presented them anyways), kept me balanced. 

What I’m really trying to say is that it hurts to know the things you’d like to be doing and that would make you feel better (I’m not sure if better is the right word to use but I can’t find a good alternative), but not have the time, or mental capacity, to do them. It’s frustrating to re-enter the writing universe once in a while rather than being here consistently because I feel out of practice for a bit when I come back. But, after just ten or fifteen minutes, I usually know that this is where I’m meant to be, for now. It’s all so temporary, which is another thing I have to just keep reminding myself of. Classes this semester are halfway done, and in a few months, I’ll probably write to you all just raving about what I learned. For now, I’m just a bit bitter about the way my mind and body feel completely consumed by the academics of it all. 

For as long as I’ve been writing, I’ve also been writing about writing. That has become more and more apparent throughout college, as I look into my own affects and experiences. When choosing a “key” for a class, an idea to take with me through the semester, I have been interested in the concepts of imagination, otherwise possibilities, fiction, storytelling, and creative expression. I constantly want to learn more about the impact of creative expression and storytelling when it comes to the image of the self, as well as interpersonal relationships. While writing about suffering and pain for my class centered around medicine, healing, and culture, I found that creativity and imagination exist inside and outside of the body, just as pain does. Pain can cause a feeling of alienation from the body, meaning we can look at our pain from the outside in, and experiences of pain (or other sensations) can then be reflected more vividly in our expressions of self, of mind, and body. Pain, in any form, allows for us to write from two worlds– one from within the body, and one when we seem to slip out of our skin, which could be seen as an extension of the body. In this sense, I will never separate my physical sensations from language, and I’m not even sure this is possible. Writing is personable and social all at once.

I would like my writing to be moldable. The biggest and most warmly received gift my writing returns to me is the feedback of others, and the way the piece impacted them, or even just what it meant. Writing as a tool, a tool to let imagination be the glue between other worlds and the one we have been taught to accept is one reason why I continue to dedicate my mind and heart to it. Imagination is absolutely essential to resist universals and to envision a world where vulnerable perspectives can take material form. So, when I have the time, I will keep telling stories!

The R.E.P.O.R.T.

Reading

I am very slowly moving through Those who leave and those who stay, the third of the Neapolitan Novels by Elena Ferrante. I also just got two new books from Powells, but this was definitely optimistic.

Eating

Dining hall food! Yay! And lots of goodles. Also, recently tried the pumpkin ravioli from Trader Joe’s with their cacio e pepe sauce and some basil. Gorgeous! 

Breakfast this day was actually quite good

Playing

My October playlist! Linked below… 

 

Obsessing

I have been obsessed with coloring. It is all I can do. Every day, I try to find time to color and when I do schedule coloring time, I look forward to it all day. I got a set of markers and I print coloring pages out at the library. I print duplicates so when my friends color with me, we can color the same pictures. My friends’ walls and fridges are now very decorated with my coloring! I also cannot watch anything without coloring now!

Recommending

Crafting with friends! My lovely friend Will recently got a bunch of magazines and we cut out pages for our walls and smaller collages. 

Treating

Coffee and pastries at cute coffee shops around Portland!

Wild Rose Cafe in Portland, OR

As always, thank you so much for reading! Send this to someone you haven’t chatted with in a while, break the ice. Or just gatekeep it since one day it’ll be famous and you can say you found it first (I think you should choose the first option though). I am so grateful to you for taking the time to ingest my words and hang out for a few! I hope the rest of your week is wonderful and that you have time to imagine

Love,