three stupid stupid things
i) the idea he ever has to exist without flowers is disheartening
(and so i will buy or grow or dry and press flowers for him. a wise someone once said seeing someone with flowers is like walking poetry, and i agree. it's quite grand to walk into the local flower shop and peruse through the purple hyacinths or white roses and half-bloomed daffodils. some of them are $2.50, others $3.50. these gorgeous "special blossoms", as they were labelled, were $5.50. vibrant, deep purple with yellow centers that reached outwards. they were gorgeous. anyways. the nice korean lady with tie up the flower in brown wax paper. i usually ask her to trim the bottom of the flower's stem so it's not too long. she rings up my purchase. i pay, and get to hold delicate beauty. then i walk down the street, giddy at the idea i can bring the one i love flowers. sometimes i feel silly, and cringe at such feelings, and then i continue because aren't i lucky to be able to bring him flowers?? so lucky. incredibly lucky. it's thrilling and terrifying and quite. nice. sometimes the entire flower gets covered, like a cone, if the petals are delicate. then i can't see the prettiness. but when it isn't covered, oh, it's gorgeous. everything pales in comparison. the grey sidewalk, black winter coats, anything industrialized. the natural beauty of the flower is shocking and wonderful. then, when i see him and i'm carrying the flower—usually in my left hand for some reason (perhaps my right has my clarinet or my tote bag)—i have an incredibly strong urge to get down on one knee and confess my love for him again.
"please accept my feelings," i would say with a bowed head. two hands outstretched, offering the flower. a rose, perhaps. or a dasiy. he likes those.
we're usually in the same vicinity of other people, and so i don't, but then i give him the flower, and he smiles, he is the walking poetry, and all is right with the world.)
ii) it's 4:20 as i'm writing this
iii) i'm convinced the more we try to define ourselves the more mental limits we tentatively place in our mind.
(a strong part of the population likes having labels, or rather, a group they can belong to and find camaraderie in. i do not blame them. it's most valuable, tempting, crucial? none of those words are correct. because they insinuate the act of labelling becomes selfish. perhaps it is for some people. but the system has also normalized and made it convenient to have labels. bathrooms are a prime example.
sure, labels such as gender and sexuality are always a hot topic.
others can be just as helpful or destructive. a gifted kic carries too many expectations. high school stereotypes put people in already moulded boxes. reinforcing labels puts a self-fulfiling prophecy on us.
"i could never do that," or "nah that's something for my sister to do," or "he's a guy, it's fine" are such dangerous sentences in certain contexts. (see: studying techniques, firstborn traditions like carrying on the bloodline, gender roles regarding mental health respectively) so much is deeply rooted in our views of each other and ourselves that true diversity of ideas cannot be fostered. to change our mindset, which is crucial, is to rebel against lines and the natural thought progression we all possess. it's not simple. it's an uphill battle, and it will be for as long as we fight. truly inner demons.
i hope our generation does not remain static. asking for progress is greedy, but as long as we do not leave the earth how we found it, i'd say that's a good step.)