November 13, 2011
I looked everywhere for it, but it was nowhere to be seen. (I found it a couple of hours ago during another one of my Artona appointments. It was on the road, a little towards the side. Its corpse was a sad sight. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. I laughed.) My mood was up and down for the rest of the day. Mostly down. There were times when I forgot about it, but I was still upset. I knew, and everyone else did. It always shows on my face. It’s not like I try to hide it. I started to look progressively worse in the pictures. The photographer nicknamed me “Slouchy Girl.” It was a habit I thought I’d pretty much gotten rid, and I was not thrilled to be reminded of it. At all. People took pictures outside the building. I took a couple of pictures with them, but I squatted in the back to avoid the rest. When lunch time came around, I went to the bagel place with my friends, but I soon returned to Artona to “change my dress.” Which I did. But it was really because I didn’t want to be with them. I didn’t want to see their happy faces. I didn’t want to ruin their fun with my unhappy face. The photographer persisted in calling me Slouchy Girl. I made it pretty obvious that I was pissed during the last shoot. As we were getting ready to leave, I called my mom to tell her that I lost my phone. I started crying. Oh yes. I did that too. Throughout the day, I broke down too many times to count. So I started crying, and then I asked her if I could go to Chapters to read the last book of a teen fiction series that I’m currently obsessed with. It’s teen crap, really. But I see something in it that other people can’t.
It’s funny because the instant I entered Chapters was like turning a chapter in that day. Not that I realized it when I walked through the door. It stopped being about me. Not just me. I started to see things. I started to feel things. I started to observe things that I couldn’t before. I was phone-less. I was iPod-less too. I didn’t even know what time it was. I sat in the children’s section with We’ll Always Have Summer. I wanted to sit in the teacup chair, but it was taken. I settled with a coloured plastic chair thing while I waited for someone to leave so I could take one of the beanbag chairs in the teen section. Kids were all around me. I would’ve stayed there just to stare at them if I were not reading. I adore children in a way that is probably extremely creepy. I constantly wish that I had one. They were so adorable. This was all normal. Pretty normal. I read about food in my book. Hot wings. And I wanted them. And just like that, I decided that I would get some before I went home.
After I moved to my beanbag chair, things got more serious. In my epiphany world. In my book. I teared up when Belly was sad about her mom refusing to go to her wedding. I cried when Conrad loved her so much, but he couldn’t do anything about it. But I don’t even know if it was the book. When Belly was sad about her mom, I was sad about my mom. When Conrad confessed his love for Belly, I wondered why no one loved me like that. It was still about me. It’s my life. It’s hard to make things about other things. But I did. While I was reading, I absorbed my surroundings. Western parents disciplined their children with perseverance and sternness. A lady interrupted me to compliment me on my shoes. One baby girl stood next to me for a while and put her hand on my arm. I smiled awkwardly but hopefully kindly at her. I did that to every kid I saw there. Kids met other kids and made friends. Their moms met and became friends. One mom told the other that her daughter would make a good big sister. They small-talked. People had children. People bonded with strangers at book stores.
When I finally finished the book, I knew I had to buy it. By that time, I knew that this was no ordinary day. I think I fell in love with the feeling that I felt while I was there. It was magical. Hard to explain. But it was extraordinary. It really was. I had to buy it. I needed it as a keepsake. I also felt bad because I had somewhat scratched up the cover, but not so much that I would be too guilty to simply put it back on the shelf. I asked the cashier for the time. (Do you have the time? I think it was my first time saying those exact words. It was like a dream come true. I was never even aware that I wanted to say it.) It was six something. Not even seven o’clock. I hadn’t been there for as long as I thought. Good, I thought. I didn’t want my mother to worry too much. That’s how utterly shit it was. I was being rebellious, but I still worried if she was going to worry. I still asked for permission. I would never be that girl.
The book was hardcover. $20.99. I had a $10 gift card, and I knew when I used it that I was right to have saved it. I felt like I knew every action that I was going to carry out in the next moment. For sure. I had no doubts. And I always have doubts.
I stopped at the Pizza Hut on my way home. When I got off the bus, the driver said the lady behind me looked like she might need a hand, and she did look like it. I asked if I could help in a too-quiet voice. Only the bus driver heard. It turned out the lady could handle it herself, but the bus driver said thank you to me. It made me feel like a million dollars, like I was one of the kindest, sweetest people alive.
Pizza Hut was as I thought it would be. Empty except for the workers. It was a small place. Only about 6 bar chairs and a “bar” facing the outside. The door in the middle cutting through the so-called bar. It smelled a little like sweat, but it didn’t bother me. I ordered 10 pieces of wings with Mild Buffalo Sauce. It was ready in 10 minutes. And it was just right. The spicy taste was just enough. And there was ranch sauce too. I willed for people to come in. And they did. Only three people, but it’s not like there are a lot of people who pass by the shop anyways. I told them through telepathy that they made the right choice. I believed that they got my message. I felt more powerful in those moments than I have ever felt in my life. I felt like I was in control.
I stopped by Mcdonald’s on my way home too. I needed one of my coworkers’ numbers because I had lost my phone, and I needed to contact her within a week. I stopped by Shoppers, just because it was routine. I walked home without music. I looked at the night sky. It was beautiful in a way I had never noticed before. The moon was almost full, but there was a slice missing, like there was a cloud covering it, except that there wasn’t. I noticed that my shadow shifted angles as I walked away from the street lamp.
My mom wasn’t mad when I got home. She was just worried. She gave me a hug. She talked about what we should do about my lost phone. She told me to eat. She told me to do math tomorrow. She had told me to not go anywhere after Artona and to just go home and do math.
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I hope that I haven’t ruined the magic of that day by writing about it. I don’t think I have. I needed to write something. It seemed so important. So crucial. I couldn’t just rely on my failing memory to remember it. It was so powerful. So insightful. So incredible. The afternoon and evening were like small epiphanies one after the other. Hopefully, it can be sensed at least somewhat through what I have written. I’ve never been one for expressing myself. Not in a way that others can understand. Because it’s difficult for me to understand myself.
Did I learn anything specific that day about me and what I’m going to do with myself? Do I think that everything is suddenly going to be different? No and no. I know because it’s already after, and I’m just as messed up as before. But I wouldn’t have said so at the time either. Insight happens, but it doesn’t change everything. I learned a long time that nothing changes everything. Not ever. Everything changes, and everything stays the same. But not really. Some things change, and some stay the same. That’s the truth.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m not ready to move on. Why else have I been moping around doing legit nothing? No uni apps. No homework unless completely necessary. What about my no-procrastination plan? This is not just procrastination. This is my sub-conscious mind, unwilling and unable to accept these changes that are happening. I ruined one of my big grad year days. I’ve ruined enough of it already. I wanted it to be great. I was so convinced that grad year was going to be the year of my life. It was going to be so fun. It had so much hope. But somehow I’ve tainted it. I can’t make it right. I can’t pretend that everything’s good. I’m failing. Not literally in school. I could be doing a bit better at school though. Or could I? I don’t even know. Everything’s failing me. My phone is in pieces. Toby Toshiba crashed an hour ago and threatened to leave me too. I feel like I’m a burden to my friends, and I can feel their annoyance towards me. They’re having a great time. They can’t always tolerate my mood swings. I’m PMSing all the time. Except I never do. I’m just completely hormonal.
I wish I could feel the power that I felt that afternoon and that evening all the time. Then I would be able to make choices. I would know what to do. I would have no doubts. I would just know. Things would just be. I could just be. But I can’t.
This belongs in my diary, but it’s something bigger than diary material. Something more. And it’s also too much for me to write by hand, no matter how much I adore writing by hand. And my thoughts are more organized on computers. I didn’t think so before, but I guess they are.
I want to be better. I really do. I don’t know how to though. I don’t know if I’m trying. I want to. I hate to disappoint. But I’m disappointing. And I’m disappointed. In every way possible.
That’s all for now.
P.S. Interplanetary dust is supposed to mean shooting stars according to We’ll Always Have Summer. I like the way it sounds. It sounds so insignificant yet so majestic. I don’t care about the real meaning. We are all just interplanetary dust. I am interplanetary dust.
--- A speck of Interplanetary Dust
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