I think about livejournal a lot. I think about how every day after school I’d write about what happened or what I ate for lunch or how much math homework I had and how it all fucking sucked. I’d write an entry before bed and write about my plans for the next day or copy/paste an AIM conversation I had with friends whom I don’t really ever talk to anymore.
My account hasn’t been purged and I still have my user info and I could totally log on and see exactly what I wrote and what I thought needed to be written down and saved onto the Internet forever. But I don’t. There’s something difficult about revisiting old places that meant a lot to you at one point. Sometimes it’s easier to just let them live in your head. It hurts less that way.
This obviously isn’t just about livejournal. It’s more about the dumb little things I experienced as a teenager and how it was so easy to write about them. I wish it could be that easy again. I keep waiting for things to happen to me so I can write about them. But even when things do happen, nothing comes out of me. When I was younger, it was so much easier to write about little things that just happened. I feel like now I am constantly convincing myself that nothing I write is worth posting because, who the fuck cares. Even re-reading this is hard for me. “When I was younger” sounds like a fat lie even though the time I am referring to was 5-6 years ago. I was younger. Why does it always feel like I’m lying.
Every time I try to interact with people in my acting class they all do that *nod* “mhm” thing you do to people when you don’t want to interact with someone. I think they all think I’m an asshole cause I’m quiet and keep to myself. Interacting with people I don’t know is really hard for me and now that I’m becoming comfortable with the class they’re kind of over me.
I have this class every day and everyone talks to each other and I just feel like such an idiot because I don’t know how to integrate.
lupita nyong’o, like matthew mcconaughey, portrayed a real-life person who is no longer alive and was so self-aware and graceful to automatically recognize patsy’s struggles. mcconaughey called himself his hero and never even mentioned the victims of HIV/AIDS despite the fact that he would not have won an oscar if a man hadn’t died from AIDS. think about that.
Some people confuse a good relationship with the “honeymoon” phase of their relationship.
That phase doesn’t last forever. You’re eventually going to run into hiccups and problems and if you’re both as ready as you think you are, you’ll be willing to work together to solve said hiccups and problems as oppose to thinking a relationship has to stay in the honeymoon phase in order to be considered healthy.
Often, in an immigrant family, it’s a very big departure for a child to say: I want to be an artist, not a doctor, not a lawyer, or an engineer. The father, here, tells his daughter what so many immigrant parents tell their children: Art is not the safest route in life. We didn’t sacrifice all this for you to take up a precarious profession.
He tries to comfort her, at the same time, by insisting that being an immigrant makes her an artist already. And this is a fascinating notion: that re-creating yourself this way, re-creating your entire life is a form of reinvention on par with the greatest works of literature. This brings art into the realm of what ordinary people do to in order to survive. It takes away the notion that art is too lofty for the masses, and puts it in the day-to-day. I’ve never seen anyone connect being an artist and an immigrant so explicitly, and for me it was a revelation.