In winter, we are closest to the sun


Content warning: stalking, rape mention

Unless things are going very wrong, I am almost always the person trying to cheer up mopey people. So when my friend texted,

fall be like (shows you the greatest sunset you’ve ever seen)

and I made this pathetic, emo reply a few days later,

fall be like (hands you the saddest rainy day you’ve ever had to face alone)

rest assured that things were going very wrong at the start of this week.

But things turned around. People were there. They tried to cheer me up. Even if they couldn’t be there, they cared.

In short, I survived.

Yesterday was eventful. One of the most notable events was being stalked by some very strange man at my workplace. I can take solace in the fact that everyone in the room saw it, and my caring manager took immediate, swift, and effective action. Everyone was horrified, and I’m glad, for once, it wasn’t just me.

As for me, I guess I’m okay. It’s the second time I’ve been stalked on this campus, but the first time from a stranger.

I worry people will think I’m a liar, because these sort of things seem to happen to me somewhat often at this point. My dad said I have a good nature, and people like to take advantage of that.

I should, theoretically, be angry. I do get (sidenote: Recently, I read a post by Flora Hibbs about anger. “Try to view your anger as your body’s way of telling you that your needs are not being met.” ) But I can’t afford to stay angry, or else I will drown in misery and become a jaded, bitter person, and that is not who I am.

That’s not to say I don’t care; I do what I can, I tell the people who I feel can do something about it. But over the years, time and time again, I’ve gotten used to egregious things happening to me and nothing being done about it. (sidenote: Even the little, unintentional ones, like my former manager saying, “In all my time, I’ve never had that happen to me,” after I confided in her that I was raped by my coworker. Like, great. Good for you. Want a gold star? ) have numbed me. When other people take action in response to sexual aggression, or even want to take action, I’m surprised and grateful.

Many other people can mentally afford to stay angry and expect their anger to mean something; in all likelihood, it will. But not mine –

a lucky star’s above,
but not for me,

and so I’m finding ways to be glad from day to day, when I should really be profoundly upset.

Anyways, I don’t know if this Chet Baker guy likes me or what. He texted me at 10:30pm asking how to use the word (sidenote: Listening to Chet Baker is conducive to being a sentimental fool. ) Who does that? I mean – actually, yeah, he would do that.

I answered his question, and then I mentioned that “But Not for Me” was in my head, and he asked how the fuck I guessed the next song that played on his computer. I said, “Pics or it didn’t happen,” and he sent me a pic, but “But Not for Me Chet Baker mix” was in the search bar. At the same time I sent a text calling that out, he said “Before you say ‘it’s in the search bar,’ I looked it up after practice because I wanted to hear it!”

Whatever the explanation, that’s pretty (sidenote: Speaking of magical, his birthday is the day before mine. I’m going to get him something – I don’t know what yet. ) But I’m trying not to let it get to my head.

The more important thing that happened yesterday was I had dinner with my mom’s side of the family, who I haven’t seen in literally over a decade.

My one uncle, who I only remember meeting one other time in my life, was saying how my step-grandmother thinks there’s something wrong with the way we are so distant from each other. We don’t hug. We meet rarely. We certainly don’t say “I love you.”

I guess that’s why I crave affection and closeness from the people I love.

Doodle of a woman with wavy hair dressed in Renaissance regalia