Tag Archives: travel

After first kiss with Smiles*

2 Sep

Found this gem as I was digging up some of my writing. This is right after my kiss with Smiles* (now at this time– we were in Argentina*, I had a mad crush on a guy with a serious girlfriend, Smiles was trying to figure out if she was bi or gay or what, and I had never considered it). I also was drunk out of my mind and did not actually piece things together until later. But apparently my mind knew what I didn’t. Embarrassing and poor Smiles.


Restless restless restless.

“I ached for my heart like some tin min. And when it came oh it beat and it boiled and it rang. Oh it’s ringing.”

I ache for my heart. Maybe the way to name this feeling is it is not that my mind is restless (oh wretched tendency) but it is my heart.

But it is more than that. It is not even as if I cannot sleep, and this would be the end of my problem.  If this were true, I could predict the happenings. I would lie awake, most likely for hours. I would toss, and turn, and curse the clock. My legs would intertwine with the lilac sheets, and every physical feeling would be noted objectively. I would bemoan my misfortune, and consider life paths, life loves, medical school, running away to be a writer, the to-do list that is always etched in the forefront of my mind (which is ridiculous because the frontal lobe has little to do with memory). I would then fall asleep, fitfully, just about the time the Konchos geared their engines in the morning. I would wake up, and probably not fully function the entire day. Right around 5 pm I may wake up, and a dreadful cycle would begin—(one of which I am quite familiar).

Unfortunately it is not just that I cannot sleep, although this is a consequence. I have a sizzling energy about me that hasn’t left me all day. It is a tip of the tongue feeling, something that should be addressed. Something I am forgetting, and my body is embodying this memory of something that makes me slightly uncomfortable but is exciting. I am the opposite of bored, but this is trapping me.  Like I need to decide, or have a painful conversation, or that something is about to happen and it will be devastating in either a beautiful or dreadful way—but we (audience) do not know which yet. I have the inclination that somehow that outcome is up to me, but I have no idea what I am even talking about right now. It is just a very specific feeling.

None of my normal mechanisms are available to me.  I cannot run. I cannot even walk here as far as I could and come back for hours in whichever direction I want. (I know I harp on the lacking of Idaho*—but the safety is priceless). I cannot take a hot shower. I cannot paint.  I cannot sing.

But I can write, and so here we are.

It is nervousness and anticipation and the pit of my stomach telling me I am afraid of something, but the way every cell in my body is buzzing—I cannot tell if I should actually be afraid; or merely embrace whatever is about to happen. I don’t think this is premonition exactly, but I simply feel like I am missing something big.

If I could wrap my feelings into a few other emotions, it would be a combination of the following:

1)   Facing something when I am not sure of the other person’s reaction, and that reaction matters to me.

2)   Trying to recall a word that is the perfect one to be able to describe a situation, but not being able to.

3)   A first date.

4)   A large decision that will affect my or others’ lives.

5)   Anticipation.

6)   When I know something is coming (ie a tornado).

7)   After a resolution to do something difficult, but you know you must in order to be at peace.

8)   How I felt after that walk with Alex* (aside—boy with girlfriend).

Sidebar: I am not sure if it is even wise to get into that, at this point. I am not sure if this has to do with him, but I somehow don’t think so. Mostly because no matter how difficult and annoying those feelings are, Alex does not make me feel on edge or anxious or buzzing or ‘sparkly’—Alex makes me feel like me. He is like a cup of ‘no-pun-intended’ (dear Lord my dear, are you really making jokes to yourself during your crazy maniacal quest to discover whatever the hell is wrong with you?)

But really. despite the conflicting emotions and desire to stay away from any bindings I may have to someone who quite obviously cannot be mine, Alex makes me relaxed, comfortable, like a higher-definition of myself. I feel like I understand him, he I. There is no buzzing or anxiety there, only comfort. Although I could understand your original suspicions that it could be this—I really don’t think it is. Even with the e-mail situation, everything is definitely calculated. It is not as if I am surprised that I relate in such a real manner to him. I am not twitter-pated, I have no butterflies, I am not surprised. It just objectively is what it is—but that doesn’t make it easier that I objectively like him and his character. I feel like the reason whatever this feeling is, is similar to the walk after Alex was that then I was toying with the idea of telling him how I felt. However, I have not even considered that as a possibility since then, which is why I am reticent to say this today has anything to do with Alex.

Maybe this is discovery enough for now, I am hoping this feeling will be gone in the morning.


Recognizing privilege

20 Aug

I have had a rough week, to say the least. My whiney blog posts.

Sometimes not making a choice, is a choice. Sometimes silence screams the loudest. (Okay, how many cliches can we fit in here).

One thing I am sad about with Lovely is that we had SUCH rough times and by golly, we NEARLY MADE IT. We were THIS close.

I wish I could share being happy with her again. We chose to be so joyful over the hardest times– we just naturally brought that out of each other. We laughed through it all- and some of what should have been the hardest of all hardest are some of my favorite memories with her. I just– I wish we could show each other that even though life was amazing the way it was— it could be EVEN BETTER both being in a content and happy place in life.

I am so excited about my new job. I am so excited to learn. And yes– I am realizing more and more that there will be risk associated with it– but you know what? I am so incredibly blessed. Incredibly. I have been given so much that I do not deserve, and there are women ALL AROUND this world that have never had a chance to use their voice. Some of those women are 13 year olds in my work place whose boyfriends and mothers are pressuring them into giving them babies. Some of those women are in countries where having a voice and a thought is such a threat that it drives people to murder and maim them simply for having the audacity to pursue education.

My Love doesn’t love me anymore.

I am powerful, though. These girls– oh, they have no idea how powerful they could be! And I am in such a privileged place to be be given access as a trusted person in their lives. To talk to them about what they could want, what they could dream. To talk to them about being vulnerable, being scared, feeling worthless, feeling lovesick, being afraid of what their bodies are doing and what people want to do to their bodies. I have been granted privilege, and I am very, very aware of it.

The days I want to stop existing because I am too tired to exist any longer; the days living 60 more years alone or 60 more years painfully in love and writhing and exploding from it because my heart cannot hold how much I love those who I’ve made mine—those days I remember that there are women who never had the chance to know who they could be and I am grateful to be alive then.

Looking back

6 Apr

This is an essay I wrote when I first encountered very real feelings for another woman… it is interesting looking back and seeing how dramatic I felt about something that is now just another part of me. I definitely have “evened out,” but this was written maybe 2 years ago. Life has taken an interesting turn, and now what seemed so revolutionary is just a part of me that I accept.

In which a “straight” girl falls in love with a woman

My parents were always afraid that I would become “more liberal” when I decided to go to college in the “more liberal” of the two state schools. In a way, they were right. I was thrown into it.

I have changed.

I was raised in a conservative Christian household, where I was told to cover up,“So my brother wouldn’t stumble.” When I was asked a hard question about whether homosexuality was okay in middle-school, I said with relief and without blinking, “That is easy. It is wrong.”

I like to think that I haven’t changed in the most important ways. I still like coffee. I still consider people to be extremely precious. But I have since realized that I am attracted to passion, intelligence, kindness, humor, confidence, tenderness. And I have realized that not one of these attributes is dependent on male or female anatomy.

Past self did not know this, of course, but I think there were clues along the way. She cried just a little too long over the ending of certain friendships. She was not attracted to most males her age. She did not make promises to God that she could not keep.

This was demonstrated during a particularly charged youth group conference with music and tears and a visceral pain in our hearts for a God who loved a people who only knew how to reject him.

I made an oath to God that I would not have sex until I was 22. They wanted us to make oaths that we would not have sex until we were married, but I just couldn’t do it. Oaths are serious business. You do not just make an oath to the Creator of the Universe that you don’t know if you can keep.

I feel like this oath to God that I made in terms of my sexuality was literally a physical link to the person I once was. This person I mourn for. She was confident and insecure, and used her intelligence to fight and flail against a framework she took to be 100 percent truth. She whispered to her friend in bed once, “What if it isn’t real? Just for one moment, what if?” The friend said: “Stop. You’re scaring me.”

I think even then I knew. What if? What if I didn’t get married? What if I took a lesbian life partner? Of course those exact thoughts did not cross my mind, because I don’t think I had considered them in that way. However, what I did know is that if God was real, which I did and still do believe, he did not take kindly to false promises, to oaths that were lies or even good-intentioned half-truths. I felt that 22 was enough to get to know myself, to know if I was going to be the type of woman was married at 19 and who had a fence of all sorts surrounding me.

I was the type of woman who felt so deeply that I honestly thought dying would be preferable to living with knowing every person I looked at who didn’t know God was going to be in eternal pain forever.


I traveled. It began as a way to be closer to an older Christian man (“a brother”). I was the type of woman who had lied about her feelings and buried her heart underneath layers and layers of a constructed framework that I believed made me ‘right.’ Who was painfully insecure and who skipped meals and meals to be in control. Who wanted to be anorexic, but didn’t have enough self-control, and ended up as bulimic.

This traveling led to more traveling, and I have been happiest when I was on the rooftop with a man who had a separate love in a separate love. And smoking and drinking on this rooftop, I felt alive. And there was nothing wrong about it. I was not the destroyer and I think he might have been, but I was happy.

I was the type of woman who was okay with taking what made me happy.

I was the type of woman who wanted to breathe in thick flowery air and ingest it and taste it and take that risk when it presented itself. I was the type of woman who never wanted to feel that this was a common feeling, and who knew that this situation would never present itself in the same way again.

Which leads me to now.

To sitting at a place where my feelings are most intense for a “friend”. Who happens to be a woman. But more than that, a person. Whom I love. Romantically, sexually. Passionately.

I look at her, afraid. As I stare into her eyes, I gingerly take her wrist, and turn her palm up, bringing her wrist to my mouth and kissing it. Tenderly. I graze my lips against the thin skin there, noting the fragility. Her skin is translucent. She doesn’t move, giving her permission for me to continue. What am I doing? I honestly don’t know. I reach up and play with her hair, stroking it, putting it behind her ear. I like the way it feels between my fingers. It is silky, and fine, like the white wisps of a milky plant. I know that whatever I feel for this woman is not a coincidence, or the distant curiosities of a person who wants to experience the world. It is not the screaming in my brain commanding me to push away myself and be distant, and let ‘this’ happen. No. It is a knowingness, of a woman who is my family and whose intelligence does more than takes me aback, but astounds me.

This should be problematic, but somehow isn’t.