on relationships and insecurity
a square orange piece of paper. folded up into an origami crane by hands, events of confidence. because of a situation, life appeared to go one way—a fold, then another mirage of promise—another fold. all together, in a few days, months or years, you’ve become a crane, sculpted by unique events and folds of social promise. once the hand lets you stand on your own, your creases relax again, maybe you lose shape. maybe you’re left flat, no longer a crane of socially-fed confidence, but an orange piece of paper, all over again.
somewhere in that stage of unfolded unease—that’s how i feel right now. i feel insecure as if a series of events had promised me something. were those moments not real? am i imagining my own promises?
i think i feel insecure because i am thinking solely about my role when i really need to consider a two-person perspective. in my relationships, i’ve been thinking in the manner of, does she think i’m a good friend like i think she is to me? does he think i’m rad the way i think he is? does my mentor believe in me the way i trust her? does my professor respect my work when i do this or that?
i think so much about me and what i can do juxtaposed beside what the other person can do and might see. i’m worried i can’t meet expectations. i’m worried i’m not who they think i am. i’m worried i’m too much of an open sandwich—i’m not editing myself to fit the mold of a crane that people might imagine me to be. i tweet a lot. i post selfies a lot. i lol a lot. i am a lot of myself everywhere i go. i dont have that ~*~elusive~*~ factor that draws the world to certain people. does that make me less cool, exciting, less worthwhile?
i think so much about who i am in relevance to an imagination of who i am to other people.
but. i’m thinking in a misguided way. it’s not about ‘am i cool enough’ or ‘what am i doing wrong?’ i’m just being me, and that’s ok. i like my tweets and my selfies and that’s fine that i do those things because i am aware of these things that i’m doing—i don’t tweet or take selfies in order to meet expectations of others. the point that screws up my self confidence lies in the other party. and i don’t know how else to explain this concept without talking about my mother.
i skyped her tonight, and i thought of how reassuring her pixelated, yet real smile was. no matter how the time passes, no matter how many selfies she does or doesn’t see of me, her smile will be the same. always. her love is constant. so constant, i can’t comprehend it, but so constant, that i never ever question it. i don’t worry about what i can do to make her love me. she just loves me, and that’s as unquestionable as the amount of chocolate i’ve consumed here in the last month.
i keep forgetting that there are people who, albeit fickle in personality and dreams, remain the same in their love for me. i’m lucky, and i can’t always understand how or why people love me so constantly. but i forget, and i get surrounded by a new batch of social order that folds me up with promises and leaves me to rest unassuredly with my newfound scars to wonder all over again, if i’m being who i am, and if i’m doing everything “right.”
there’s a verse in the bible, ecclesiastes, that goes, “God has placed eternity in the heart of man.” that verse reminds me that everything’s ok.
i’m ok now. i’m still that orange piece of square paper. maybe i have my scars from being bent from social tension or relational pressure, but around me, there are others with the same scars, who see mine, and will remain constant in loving me even if my paper gets white and wrinkly from all the folds. at the center, despite fickle dreams, and fickle hopes, we will remain dreams of cranes together—exposed, open sandwiches of love and true promise. that essence of unspoken but constant love gives me all the confidence i need.
Today I’m just hanging out with some kitties
"Whenever someone creates something with all of their heart, then that creation is given a soul."
The Baron, The Cat Returns (via madamecuriewasmymother)
”please ask a member of staff for details”
René Magritte (Belgian, 1898-1967), L’acte de foie, 1960. Oil on canvas, 129.8 x 97 cm.
The Botanical Gardens in Stieglitz (And my face)
There were so many different kinds of cacti. And the flowers in the Greenhouses were so beautiful I freaked out and hyperventilated and didn’t know how to compose myself or how to best take selfies there, but I did what I could and resorted to imitating a cactus in one of the aforementioned selfies.
All my Berlin birthday selfies in one place. Yolo. Twenty one.