Lessons from the edge of a continent

It’s 5:47 PM and it’s the first Thursday in June. Parts of me are still covered in sand. Todd and I went camping at Tunitas Creek Beach for a night. My hair still smells like a campfire. I’ve been thinking a lot about writing and what it means to me, and if I still want to do it (as a career, a hobby, a way to pass time). I’ve spent a whole lot of my childhood and adolescence writing poetry, fiction and non-fiction, keeping up all sorts of different blogs. Since I left college in May of 2013, my life had been in a constant state of upheaval: from the destruction of my childhood dream to teach English in Japan, to moving to Melbourne instead, the end of my first serious relationship and my reflections on relationships following, the many friends and lovers I have accrued (and lost) between turning twenty-three and now, nearly twenty-four, the shadow of my staggering student debt, and most discerningly, the rapidly building uncertainty of the answer to this question: What should I be doing now?

The reason I have not blogged for months, is simply because I did not put any time into writing, or blogging.

What did I put my time into, then? Well, first it was work at the cafe. Five out of seven days of grueling service work, and on top of that, entering my current non-monogamous relationship with Todd. Managing and delegating time is not my forte. But it is safe to say that what we have going between us is pretty solid, and it is because I took the time to nurture this budding relationship.

But let’s go back to the dilemma of the decade:

WHAT THE HELL SHOULD I BE DOING NOW?

I’ve got that infamous “University Degree” with years of experience in the most eclectic fields. But let’s be real, it doesn’t mean shit for me. So what have I been focusing on lately?

I’ve been practicing my bass guitar. Yup. The band geek in me wanted to teach myself the Circle of Fifths on the bass, just so I could know all the scales and notes. I’m not very good at playing yet, but i’m getting more and more familiar with fingerings and the shape of its body. One day I’m gonna join an all-girls punk band, or maybe an all-girls funk band, and jive out on the bass. One day.

I’ve also been focusing on my diet & health. Todd and I joined a gym called Bladium (which has a kinda-cool, kinda-lame name) but through it, I’ve tried Zumba, yoga, pilates classes, and have access to a magnificent climbing wall, all sorts of sports leagues, a bar/cafe, a whole range of machines, a boxing ring, and even a sauna and steam room. And it’s never crowded! We have been going pretty consistently; probably six days a week, which is crazy new to me. Hopefully I can make this routine for the rest of my life! *Crosses fingers nervously*

In terms of diet, Todd’s paleo-esque influence on what I eat has been extremely helpful in my slow transformation. I’m learning to avoid certain inflammatory foods that can trigger my asthma and eczema (such as gluten-products, wheat, bread, cheese and all other dairy products) and eat more of the good stuff! All sorts of veggies, giant salads with fruit, seeds, plantains, “tubers” (as Todd likes to call them) which are various root vegetables like sweet potatoes and yucca, and good, high-quality meats that we usually get from Whole Foods. I’m OBSESSED with Almond Milk, which helped me get over cow’s milk. I’ve stopped eating rice, which is new and strange to me because I was raised in a Filipino household, but I’m quickly realizing that rice (and pasta) is just a filler, and I can have more of the good stuff without compromising a healthy, diabetic-free future for myself.

Okay. I think this is a good enough update for now. There’s still a lot I want to write about: my experience as an East Coaster on the West Coast, the type of emerging culture here in the Bay that is quickly shape-shifting and clashing with what was, parenting and education styles, what it’s like to be non-monogamous and the important conversations on sexuality and relationships, or even just all the new foods and recipes I’ve been cooking up! I’ll save it for next time.

There will be a next time. I’ll make sure of it.

Thank you for reading,
Clairebear

 

 

1. Haunt

I was half-stoned in my pajamas, explaining my recent traumas to Kurt. I shared the anxieties I have, the aversions I’ve created for myself in intimacy, and of all the fears that seem to brush against me when I am alone.

Ghosts. He said. We are haunted by our pasts.

Some of us are haunted by everything we have felt and who we’ve become because of it. The people who have hurt us, they linger; the memories of their faces. The thoughts that replay over, and over. The resounding fear, and the echoing trauma. Some of us are still haunted by our pasts.

I get a text from Chris. He’s just got out of work. I agree to pick him up at his house, so I change back into my clothes. He takes me to Lake Merritt. It’s a man-made lake in the heart of Oakland. The stars are out. The walkway around the lake is dotted with glowing lamps. Inside me, something hesitates. I feel closed off, like a room with no doors. He is expressive and talkative. I feel mad at myself for wanting to shut down.

We spend time walking slowly around the black lake. My hands are shoved deep into the pockets of my faux leather jacket. Stop for a second. He says. Do you see that? It’s a Murder Bird. That was a name made up by him and his friends. I look over to the side by the water. A small bird, seagull-like, creeps along in the darkness. Its shoulders hung low. A long, sharp beak protruded from its head, swaying from side to side as if it were searching for something. It looked sinister for sure.

We light up some cigarettes. There is a slight breeze. The homeless are making their beds as we pass them by.

He and I talk about all of the things you are not really supposed to talk about on a first date, like how hurt or heart-broken we were over our exes, or how much damage had been done to us. Or reminiscing about all of the great musicians ruined by the simple association to the ones who caused us pain. It means something, though, to be able to share and show scars to one another (whether emotional, or physical). I appreciated how receptive he was, how easy it became for me to slowly tell my story. In that moment, we needed each other. He listened. I listened too.

We journeyed to a pagoda made of stone. Grungy teenagers hung around one side. We sat on the steps on the far end. I began to notice my body language more. My legs clamped together, hands folded neatly. Closed off again. Why am I like this? Why can’t I relax?

“I want to kiss you,” he said. And so his body moved forward and our lips met in the sweet darkness of the infinite beyond our eyelids; our bodies unfolding like blossoming mandalas in the night. His hands and mine, frantic and searching, like anchors racing to the ocean floor; our hands made to grab hold of each others’ hips, to pull and keep steady. The intake of breath again and again, we are water creatures on land. The sounds of night cascaded all around us in a grandeur silence. Desire worked its way through us, hot and pulsating and red.

We made our way back to my car. I’m going to put on our newest song. And we drove through the empty streets. The nectar of sound drowned out our thoughts. The lingering smell of tobacco, traffic lights changing endlessly. Where are things going? Why did we meet? Was there any significance in this intimacy? The truth was, that I might never see him again. The reality is, is that people use each other, for one reason or another.

You are the only other person outside of my band to hear this song. He tells me.

I don’t know what to say.

I pull up past his house. He pulls the cord from his phone, and the music is severed. He unbuckles his seat belt, and kisses me quick on the lips.

Let’s hang out in the daylight next time, okay? I nod, and flash a weak smile.

When I get to Kurt’s house, I send Chris a text message.
What was the name of that song? I ask.
Haunt. He replies.

That night I fell asleep in the company of ghosts.