On Thursday I met a good friend in DC to see Egyptian-Belgian singer-songwriter Tamino live in concert. Going in, I pictured some weepy sad-boy type, singing melodramatic songs with his acoustic guitar about some failed relationship whose demise was probably his fault. Your Role Models and Wallows of the world. Not not my thing. What I got instead was so much more powerful. His vocals were captivating, almost operatic at times. His band included a Cellist, whose smooth orchestral melodies lended an almost cinematic backing to each song. Smoke filled the stage in triangular shapes, lit by an ever-changing sequence of lights. It wasn’t just a concert. It was fine art. I was moved.
Since I moved to Columbia, Maryland, I’ve been in search of something. I felt as if my life in Richmond before, for all its virtues, was in lack of a real sense of meaning and purpose. Whatever I needed, I wasn’t finding it there. In “Yesterday,” by Haruki Murakami, the character Tanimura says, “I think Kitaru is honestly seeking something. In his own way, at his own pace. It’s just that I don’t think he’s grasped yet what it is. That’s why he can’t make any progress. If you don’t know what you’re looking for, it’s not easy to look for it.” I doubt that anyone in my life would see me as that directionless, though I confess I haven’t asked. But I do have this sense that I’m moving towards something, and an equally true knowing that I haven’t quite realized what it is.
In the only poem I’ve ever been proud of writing, the last two lines read, “The life of a transsexual is one on the margins / Forever hunting.” I wrote it during a particularly angsty stretch of time. I don’t think that I’m quite that pessimistic anymore. I no longer carry my battle wounds like medals of honor, aching for a release from them. I’ve learned that more often than not, healing is a slower, calmer process than we’d like. It never quite reaches the heights of anguish that you’re seeking to match in release, and learning to be okay with that is part of it.
I feel as if this great big expectation abounds me. My parents, my friends, even old acquaintances all somehow hold this sureness that I’m destined to do great things; rippling with potential. I don’t know what makes them so sure. I know I’ll never be able to see myself quite the way that others see me, and that’s okay.
In “The Pedagogy of Seeing,” an essay in “The Burnout Society,” Byung Chul-Han writes, “Only by the negative means of making-pause can the subject of action thoroughly measure the sphere of contingency. Although delaying is not a positive deed, it proves necessary if action is not to sink to the level of laboring. Today we live in a world which is very poor in interruption; ‘betweens’ and ‘between-times’ are lacking. Acceleration is abolishing all intervals.” I think there’s a power in waiting. In sitting in the now, not knowing where you’re going, and being okay with that.
I hang out with my dog, Bagel, a lot. She likes to lay on the couch in front of the big window and bask in the sun. When we sit on the deck together, she looks up at the birds dancing in the sky, and sniffs the air. She’s happy with that. I don’t know where I’m going, or when I’m going to get there. But I’m happy living in the between-times. I’m happy sitting, waiting, and staying open. Allowing myself to be moved. At least today, that’s enough.
Latest Read: The Burnout Society - Byung Chul-Han
For a long time I viewed philosophy as an institutional circle jerk between the world’s most pretentious white boys with skinny dicks. But after my friend Henry recommended me “The Burnout Society” by Byung Chul-Han, my cold, hateful heart began to soften. What’s wrong with a little edging every now and then? The mind deserves to be teased, and if I had to choose who was fingering the folds of my brain, at least this author is Asian. The essay collection is a survey into the health of the modern collective consciousness, diagnosing our modern world as an achievement society, one where we are what we accomplish, toiling for a gold star from an unfeeling capitalist machine. With our hyper-attentive minds overloaded with an excess of stimuli and a societal expectation to “make something of ourselves” or be deemed homo sacer (worthless), how could we be anything other than burnt out? Byung Chul-Han’s prose has done what all great philosophy should. It’s forced me to consider: What am I seeking out of life? And why?
Latest Watch: White Lotus - Season One
Is it possible to enjoy luxury while staying true to your morals? “White Lotus” follows three sets of vacation-goers staying at a Hawaiian beach resort. This includes Paula, a middle class brown girl (and only poc guest) who’s hitched a ride with her homoerotic bestie Olivia and her family, the ultra-rich Mossbacher clan. What initially begins as harmless coattail riding — “if these people can live in excess, why shouldn’t I be able to leech a sliver of the spoils?” — quickly results in a dark night of the soul as she reckons with the fact that this resort is reliant on the exploitation of native Hawaiians’ physical and cultural labor. People that she visually looks a lot closer to than her friend. On the other end is Rachel, newly wed to her husband Shane, the son of a filthy rich real estate magnate. What starts as a romantic vacation quickly leads her to the realization that he and his family view her as a prop. She’s meant to be a trophy wife, and she questions whether she can make this “faustian deal” where she sacrifices her autonomy in exchange for creature comforts. As materialism reaches a fever pitch in our society, I’ve been questioning what I would be willing to sacrifice for stability. Is my integrity strong enough that I can be sure I’d say no?
Latest Listen: Blue Hair - TV Girl
TV Girl’s discography is a smattering of sad boy tracks; a yearner’s starter pack. During freshman year of college I blasted their music in my shitty earbuds, back when they still had wires. I thought it was “deep,” and that listening to it made me deep. Lately I’ve begun to question the purpose of all this self-pity. “Blue Hair,” like most TV Girl songs, is about a failed relationship. “It looked like cotton candy / And just as quick to get licked away / Last I heard she was living / With a boy who acts his age.” Gen Z is perhaps defined by our pessimism. Combined with the pandemic stunting our emotional development, this manifests as a generation of people who believe that their unluckiness in love is some karmic punishment — some destiny to be alone — and not a byproduct of their poor interpersonal skills. “And I guess I’ll just miss her / Even though she isn’t really gone / But things are just different / Ever since she cut her blue hair off.” Wanting a balm for the ache, we throw ourselves forward into relationships without really seeing the other person or attempting to be seen ourselves. We walk around with our wounds oozing, leaving a trail of hurt people in our wake, and pitying ourselves all the while. This track stands proudly in its self-serving way of feeling, one that highlights pain to distract from truth; as yet another filter to throw over ourselves to keep from facing reality.
Had lots on my mind lately. So glad I got all this off my chest. As always, leave a comment and I’ll do my best to respond!
Love, Naomi ♥♥♥
I love that your dogs name is Bagel