November had a rough start. Under the bright harsh light in the bathrooms at college, I looked closely at my face, applying powdery makeup, dry mascara and lip gloss. I stretched my mouth open wide and smiled. I changed my clothes, shoving my sweaty top into my fraying backpack. I put on my jacket and headphones. My hair felt heavy, my jacket stiff, and my arms rigid.
I leave the bathroom to find the boy I’ve been seeing, dragging my feet through the warm busy buildings. It was my second last day being nineteen. I start to walk to his house. The air outside felt light and cool and I found gratitude in the breeze and the certain bodies of the people passing by me.
This month, I cried more than any other month of the year. I cried on the morning of my birthday, sitting on the couch in my coat and shoes, in the backseat of the car, while opening presents from my family. Tears fell silently and secretly across my nose in bed one night, and in the morning, they were brushed away by the boy standing in front of me. It was the first time I’ve ever cried in front of somebody like that.
I took a lot of comfort in this Louise Glück poem this month.
The Undertaking
Louise GlückThe darkness lifts, imagine, in your lifetime.
There you are—cased in clean bark you drift
through weaving rushes, fields flooded with cotton.
You are free. The river films with lilies,
shrubs appear, shoots thicken into palm. And now
all fear gives way: the light
looks after you, you feel the waves’ goodwill
as arms widen over the water; Love,the key is turned. Extend yourself—
it is the Nile, the sun is shining,
everywhere you turn is luck.
As always, the weeks were punctuated with beautiful moments that made me step out of my body, when all I could feel was the echoing of the present and heady nothingness. Moments that made me think to myself “I deserve kindness and gentleness. I am somebody that beautiful things happen to” as if I’ve never doubted it. There was times when I looked at him and wondered if either of us actually wanted to be here. Then, I would realise we’re both just meeting eachother where we are. So, I crack, I speak, I acknowledge. This is something I’ve gotten better at this month. A few honest words and everything is suddenly clear. There is no perfect moment to do it.
We walked hand in hand, and questions started to simmer inside me. We talked about the beauty of our surroundings, alluding to the beauty of our meeting and our being together now. The frustration I feel can be broken by my voice. I am capable of being direct and this can elicit exactly what I want. We stopped under a tree and under a streetlight.
Other times, I focused more on my mind than on my words, and I put myself in danger of being deceived. He stood in front of me in the rain and wiped a drop from his face but I felt his touch on my cheek.
One day in November, I started saying “I love you” to myself in the mirror in the morning. The first time I did this, I felt a giddiness come over me that I’ve never felt while saying those words and I repeated them around eight or nine times to myself.
In October, I was so deep in the woods, I thought November would be the unfolding, the expanding. But in reality, I had to sit on benches and think about when it was good. My feet took me to the park a few mornings, and I sat and thought back to the beginning, when everything was opening up. But, all the time, someone kept creeping up, seeping into my mind and my plans. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I just wrote down the signs.
Soon it will be the phase of the moon
When people tune in
Every girl knows about the punctual blues
But who's to know the power behind our moves
I knew that I wanted to go back to a beginning, forgetting there had to be an ending first. I spent some days alone, trusting that something was coming up soon. I wanted to start again. I imagined how I would do it, how I would act, and I began to wait for my chance.
As the days went on, November felt more and more like longing; letting my unfounded desire push forward with every passing day. Every day I find goldmines and every day I leave the earth unturned.
I opened up all my notebooks and laid them out on my desk. I bought a new notebook. I started piecing things together. I’d been thinking a lot about the different people I met this year. I read over the things I’d written about them. With one, I added more to the story. With another, I redocumented and perfected it, and then left it behind me. One Friday afternoon, I went to a cafe until it was dark. Not long after I started typing and flicking through things, a familiar face appeared in the window. This should-be-stranger sat somewhere behind me, keeping me company for a couple of hours. He left the cafe, and waved cheerfully goodbye to me, just as I was choosing a pseudonym.
I didn’t need somebody to push me, or ask me directly to relent part of me. That won’t work. I only need my own attention and determination. This reminds of the song ‘Nashville’ by Liz Phair, which I love and listened to late one night last week.
And I'm starting to think it could happen to me, like it did to you
And I'm starting to actually feel it seep through the slick divide now
I don't crack the door too far for anyone who's pushing too hard on me
I went to Poland with my Mom to see the Christmas markets towards the end of the month. I listened to Kate Bush’s The Kick Inside on the plane home and suddenly the missing piece in my plan presented itself to me. I listened to it without reading the lyrics, making the experience even more special. I closed my eyes, picking up lyrics here and there, and I felt like I had just found the missing part of myself. The feelings that I’ve been trying to into words flow seamlessly from Kate’s lips. She sings about the strange phenomena of human life as if it’s universally understood even if unexplainable. It’s been just over a week since I listened to it for the first time and I’m still only at the beginning of learning and loving this incredible album. ‘Oh to Be in Love’ has been one my favourite songs for a long time, so I have been waiting for this moment to come and, as always, it came at exactly the right time.
No, we never die for long,
While we've got that little life
To live for, where it's hid inside.
As I’m writing this, the radio is playing my favourite songs, songs I’ve loved recently, songs I need to hear.
Everywhere I turn is luck.
Here is a playlist of albums written by nineteen year olds that have been very important to me at this tender age : )