It feels too warm to be the middle of autumn, but I’ve noticed that the leaves have started to turn, and I wonder how they know. Writing has been good these days, but not always in poetry. I feel more confident in my language; in the words I know I am able to use, like old friends who miss me when I am gone for too long. I’ve been revisiting my writing from this blog, and it helps to recenter my thoughts. I know everything is a letter to myself.
I’m going to write a really long personal essay for my final assignment in my Feature Writing class, and I need to think, and think, but I also need to write. Anything, even this. Just to relax my writing muscles, and find rhythm. In high school, my art teacher used to make us draw eggs for 10 minutes at the start of class. My hand would go round and round, all over the place, filling up pages with a hundred little charcoal circles. I guess I’m just trying to recreate that in writing.
My friend bought me Durga Chew-Bose’s Too Much and Not the Mood for my birthday last year, and it is one of the only essay collections that I own. I cherish it deeply. I also think it has made me see the beauty of essays. I used to think only poems could be beautiful. I still feel that way sometimes, and that’s how I know I am a poet in my heart. I think poems are the only things that can make me cry like I mean it. Not for myself, but for the sake of it, for the universe, for the whole chaos of living.
The poem I wrote yesterday was terrible, but felt good. It sounds horribly pretentious, but listening to orchestral music makes me feel inspired. Actually, most music makes me feel inspired, which is why I always link a song as a pairing. I feel like Year of the Tiger would be in the soundtrack for the movie of my life. I don’t think the poem is particularly cryptic, and I don’t think poems need to be explained if they can be felt. But I want to be stronger these days. I know it is in my blood to be stronger. I want to reintroduce beauty into my life.
Strangely, I am also studying fashion as part of my Art History major right now. I thought it would be boring, but it’s lovely, and I’m thinking a lot about the physical world because of it. The way materials feel, or how fabrics catch the light. Maybe I will write my 2.5k essay about that feeling. I don’t know. I know it has to be interesting and fun and exciting and newsworthy, but everything in my life is so slow. Quiet. My head moves through thoughts so quickly, but the feelings always stay. I am trying to find what is calling to me to be written. I know it doesn’t have to be this dramatic but everything always is, isn’t it?