the end of the world as we know it

I turned 20 last week so I guess the name of this blog is officially, officially outdated, along with the venue of BLOGSPOT. But in other ways, the name is more applicable than ever. I don't feel very old. I don't feel like I want to be older anyway. This blog's name was never particularly catchy, but it did sort of capture my character. Not "The Avant Garde" part-- that doesn't fit now and I'm not sure if it ever did --but the "Tweener" part. I know that a tweener is used to refer to someone between the ages of 10 and 13, and that I am no longer a tween. But Urban Dictionary defines tweener as "One who doesn't fall into any category of people," and Merriam Webster defines it as "A player who has some but not all of the necessary characteristics for each of two or more positions." I am not athletic, but both of those definitions feel applicable to me still.

My own definition of the word "Tweener" is "One who is in between." I think I'll always be in between. I started this blog because I was in between wanting to be a part of a group and wanting to be a loner. This is something I still struggle with. I wish I could get rid of the part of myself that's so protective of the things I like, the part of me that's always disappointed by people. But I haven't yet. But I used to think this struggle was really unique to me, and I realized that almost every teenager experiences something similar, I just haven't been lucky enough to grow out of it yet. Anyway, right now, I feel as though I am Peak Tweener. The most in between I will ever be. But who knows. I think we are all in between right now. These are uncertain times, and so much, is in jeopardy on both a personal and universal level.

For the past few years, I've felt so lost and distressed in regards to where my life is and isn't going. Most of the time I felt too paralyzed with anxiety and uncertainty to even do anything about it. For the past two weeks I've been in quarantine because of the COVID-19 pandemic, and being quarantined is depressingly similar to my life prior to this. And I don't mean to make a "poor me" post. I know a lot of people have it much, much worse. It's just strange to think that I basically haven't left the house much for two whole years. It's also weird to see people freaking out over having to stay home, over leading the sort of life I've been leading for years. It's made me feel like kind of a loser, and I wish people could just stay home without talking so much about it, but, of course, this is a worldwide pandemic, and people are allowed to react in whatever way they feel is right. And, obviously, my anxiety has been heightened by all this, and it's not quite the same as my quiet existence at home before.

The worst hasn't happened yet, and we're all just sitting around anticipating it. It's such strange times we live in. The fact my daily life hasn't changed much only adds to it. We're living through historic times, and literally I can't do anything except binge watch New Girl. It's like, if I was paralyzed before, I'm constrained now. This is the year I'm supposed to move out. This is the year I'm supposed to finally do something about all this unrest inside of me, and I'm not sure I can anymore. And even if everything goes back to normal by the time I'm supposed to attend school, this virus has sort of dismantled the structure of our society. My whole life I've been told that I'm "going places," but I'm not sure if I want to go places in a world like this one.

I'm sure I won't be a couch potato forever. I've been trying to stay creatively active, but it's hard to do that without feeling overwhelmed, or without feeling like you're giving into the idea that you have to be productive in times like this, which you absolutely don't have to. But when I'm quiet and contemplative I start to feel defeated. I don't really think this is the end of the world. I think this is just another example of how our society has already deteriorated. I have hope for the future, I do. I know a lot of people my age think our generation is so selfless, so innovative, we're going to save the world, etc, etc. Young people are doing amazing things. Of course I am inspired by Greta Thunberg and the Parkland teens. But I find that the average member of Gen Z is self-righteous but unwilling to make the personal sacrifices needed of them. I think that's really sad and disturbing, and I'm scared. I'm no better! I'm terrified that the future rests in my hands. I'm in between being manically positive and being nihilistic.

But we could surprise me. In the words of Shakespeare "Some are born great, some achieve greatness, some have greatness thrust upon them." My greatest hope is that my generation will have greatness thrust upon them, that when push comes to shove, we will let go of pretension and superiority and do what's right. But when I look at photos of teens on beaches, celebrating spring break in the midst of a pandemic, I can't help but think we are failing the test. Still, I can't imagine any of my friends sitting idle and watching the world burn (unless, like right now, that's the right thing to do). But maybe they are the exception and not the example. I don't think I would just watch as everything when down in flames, but you don't really know how you'll react until you face it right?

I've read a lot of articles that say this virus is here to stay. I know that the racism it exacerbated is here to stay, the late-stage-capitalism-hostility to one's fellow man too. And I'm worried all these feelings of anxiety, anger, and hurt that I have, that many have, are here to stay too. But maybe we won't linger in this in between forever, unsure of what to do with all these emotions, unsure of how to fix something that's been broken for so long. Maybe we will grow up. Maybe we will transform this pain into real change, into a better life. I really hope we can.

lip gloss and cherry pop

Lately I've been thinking a lot about the ways in which my online persona differs from how I act in real life. I think that my demeanor is mostly the same-- I'd like to think that my online friends and my real life friends view me as a kind and intelligent cheese lover. I've met several online acquaintances in real life and they don't seem at all surprised by my mannerisms or anything. But, strangely, I think I'm more open and expressive online. It sounds strange to say "I'm more myself online than I am in real life," because, like most people, my digital life is heavily curated. But I do think that, as someone who suffers from social anxiety, the internet has allowed me to share my thoughts more freely without the intimidation of talking to someone face-to-face.

My (real-life) friend and I are starting a silly podcast-- it's mostly just us talking and we still don't know if we for sure want to make it public or just record conversations for our own self-preservation. Anyway, we got to talking, and she mentioned how people often call her a VSCO girl, and I said people call me an egirl. She said "But your personality isn't like that in real life." It gave me pause, because no one had ever told me that I acted different online than in real life. I can't say I liked what she was implying, but we moved on to another subject and I didn't want to press her about it.

That night, as I looked back at my photos on Instagram and I guess even though I lack the makeup skills most egirls have, and the goth fashion sense, some of my edits could be considered along the lines of what an egirl might post. I found myself coming up with all sorts of justification: "But my photos have more artistic value" and "I'm just practicing my Photoshop skills." But you know what? "Egirl" photos have artistic value and maybe egirls are also practicing their editing skills. I don't know why I was so resistant to the idea. Maybe because it seems like egirls are only cool online, and I wanted to be cool online and in real life.

But maybe I'm not cool in real life (or online for that matter) and maybe most of my life has been lived online and maybe that's okay. I met most of my closest friends online, my first relationship was online, most of my work is online, and I hate to think that I all these people that I know, all these opportunities I have, are the result of a persona I crafted that isn't who I really am. I don't think that's true and I don't want to believe that. I think it's much more truthful, and easier to believe, that the format of the internet allows me to be less inhibited and as a result. Maybe that doesn't have to be pathetic, even though people that spend their lives online have kind of a pathetic reputation.

I live in a small town. And, contrary to public opinion, it's easy to feel lonely in a small town where finding like-minded people is hard. The internet was my saving grace. Truth be told, I only ever go on the internet for connection, not for fame, not even really to learn. I don't actually know very much about internet culture. I don't keep up with YouTube drama, and I don't even have a discord, so I guess that pretty much means I'm not an egirl. I don't say this to exclude myself from other girls, but to explain why it's hard for me to own up to the role the internet has played in my life, because, aside from the perceived patheticism of that, to be honest I still don't feel like I know that much about the internet. I want to though, and I need to for my future career, and I plan to. I think my block was that I wasn't ready to admit how much I rely on the internet emotionally. Now that I've finally admitted that, I'm ready to learn.

that is my physics, that is my metaphysics

Sometimes people tell me that my work seems a little egotistical and self-indulgent. In some cases, I don't disagree. I really only take offense when it's aimed at my interviews or articles, because I intentionally try to reduce my role in those stories (of course, you can't escape yourself and I show up anyway, but still I make a conscious effort and that should count for something). But when that sort of thing is said about my self portraits, or this blog, I don't think much of it, because what personal blog is not self centered? Isn't that the whole point?

I like to think my photos have more weight than just making myself look good. I've really tried over the past year to create things that are more laden with symbolism. Even though I'm not the most proud of my Photoshop skills, I think I am proud of the intention behind my self portraits. Still, even though they might have more depth than the selfies I post on my Instagram stories, I am literally at the center of them, I am their anchor. I am the focus of myself.

But whenever I am the subject of someone else's work, it is never seen as superficial or self centered, even though they often have a much less nuanced understanding of me, and were likely only interested in how I looked, my style, etc. I have often been used. My image has been exploited to tell other people's stories. They do not understand me, they conceptualize me. I am by no means a model, and I've talked before about how I don't really consider myself pretty, but I guess because I have blunt bangs and listen to The Velvet Underground, I have found myself being called a "muse" by male photographers/artists who are really much more interested in how I make them look rather than who I am.

This is very bothersome. I run for the hills whenever a Male Artist looks at me, starry eyed, and says "You're my muse." Not "You inspire me," or "you have great style" or "I find your presence comforting," but "I'm your muse." It baffles me how anyone could consider that a compliment. It creates an unequal power dynamic, first of all. It implies ownership, the phrase "my muse," as though my sole purpose is to be the centrifugal force in your art, that I must uphold the idea you've created of me because it's my only concern.

But also, it showcases a refusal to take responsibility on part of the artist. You're putting the weight of inspiring you unto me. That's a heavy load. I don't want to be responsible for your poorly-written love ballads, your titillating ink sketches, your "artistic" film photographs. I don't want to be responsible for anyone's bad art except my own, and I think everyone else should want that too.

So how is it that someone arrogantly using me-- warping and bending me to fit the role of muse --as the centrifugal force in their work somehow less egotistical than me using creative outlets as a way of exploring myself and finding myself? I am thankful if I inspire people, but I create mainly for myself these days, and I certainly have no interest in being anyone's muse. Because I'm already taken: I am my own muse.

I remember one time, I was at this boy's house, and he took a photo of me and said, "It's a great one. I think I really captured your essence." He flipped around the camera so I could see. And I didn't see myself, really I didn't. I saw a girl who's black mascara didn't match her brown eyelashes, but she piled it on nonetheless, who was wearing her boyfriend's Kinks shirt, and looking at the camera with doe, bedroom eyes, exactly the sort of girl this boy would want to take photos of. I was not, and am not a photographer, but I though then, at that moment, that in the future I might want to have some photos that really reflected who I was in a deeper sense, and what I mean to myself.

from every branch

I've been thinking about this quote by Sylvia Plath. It seems particularly apt at this point in my life. I can't decide if it's blessing or a curse that my life is undecided. 

Although I am proud of the work I've been creating lately, I can't shake the feeling that I would have had more opportunities if I had made different decisions in the past. Consequently, I have a lot of anxiety about making decisions right now. 

And not necessarily big decisions. I worry that, through the butterfly effect or whatever, what I eat for breakfast will somehow effect the trajectory of my life. It's not that this kind of thinking is invalid, but it's not really the best way to go about day-to-day life. 

I think the severity of this anxiety will subside soon, but that also scares me. I made the decision to not go to a four year university out of high school in part because I wanted to lengthen this small window of time where my future, prospective adult life can be whatever I want it to be.

Just a little over a year from now, when I transfer schools, I'll have to start limiting the number of things my adult life can branch into. I'm fortunate enough to have discovered my passions from a fairly young age, and I am thankful to have this direction, and excited to be heading down a path to hopefully achieve my career goals in the future, but it's hard not to feel like I'm losing something.

But it's a double-edged sword, because I can't help but think that by choosing to continue to live in this netherworld between childhood and adulthood, I have also missed out on opportunities and connections. Being from a small town, I've always felt like I'm at a disadvantage in terms of finding reliable collaborators and freelance work that would look impressive on a resume. It's hard to further the professional opportunities I have had from a distance.

As a result, I tend to want complete creative control over my projects. I've been given the chance to be a part of small publications just starting out, and I always rejected them for fear that better things would come along and I would start to feel overwhelmed. It didn't make sense to me to spend my time and energy on something when the people that started it would flake when it came to doing the actual work and later swoop in and take all the credit. To be honest, I'm not much of a team player.

There is the other facet to this issue, which is that most of the work you do as a young person starting out is unpaid, even if it is for a prestigious company. I find this genuinely disheartening. When I was fourteen, I was paid to write for HelloGiggles, and that was a very pivotal moment for me. I was not given much, but I felt that I had legitimacy as a writer, and it gave me the confidence to pitch other publications and to continue to pursue a career in journalism. Of course, now I'm a firm believer in self publishing and putting stuff out there in whatever way you can, and not necessarily waiting for the creative validity that comes with being published, but I also think you should know your worth and know when you're being exploited. I'm still figuring that out. 

I also know that I'm not always going to be able to be top dog, and I should take any opportunity to hone my skills as a writer or creative or whatever, and that sometimes it's okay to be paid in exposure (depending on the circumstances), as long as you're okay with it and recognize what that means. I'm trying to change my self-isolating, control freak tendencies. I am thankful that the internet can help to elapse the distance between me and various collaborators. I do have a lot of exciting projects coming up. I recently accepted an unpaid position at a small publication, and I'm hoping it's a good experience, that it's a gamble that pays off. I think that by doing more and taking on all that I can handle, my anxiety about missing out on things and making the wrong decision will subside and be replaced with pride in what I am doing and what I have decided. 

Aeba Suki Suki

Hairclip - Sanrio (from Japan)｜Jacket - Sanrio (sold out)｜Dress - Bonne Chance (sold out)｜Tights - Amazon｜Shoes - Doc Martens

My Melody is a feminist icon-- she always supports her sisters and spreads positive energy wherever she goes. Recently I've been rewatching Onegai My Melody and I have to say that Melo is absolutely my inspiration for 2019. 

Speaking of which, for most people, the end of the year is a reflective time, and I am no exception. Last year, I did a little year-in-review post, but, although I've done many other New Years posts for this blog, I've decided to resist the urge of doing a formal "here are cool things I did this year" essay -- for fear of glamorizing a year that was not my personal best. And, truth be told, I never really felt a sense of pride when I listed off my accomplishments for the year-- it always makes me feel guilty because it's like, do I really need to publicly stroke my ego that way in order to feel like a year was worthwhile? Does anyone even care? And it wasn't really the big moments that mattered anyway; in retrospect it's all the little things the year was composed of that I remember-- not the projects I completed. And anyway whenever I rattle off what I've done there's always the lingering sentiment that I should have done more. 

So instead, to commemorate this New Years, I'll talk about what I want to learn in 2019. For one, I'd really like to know when it's appropriate to "cut someone off," whether you have to give your reasons for said cutting off, and when you know something is worth holding onto.

I'm famously bad at letting things go. It's a double edged sword. There's the obvious benefit of having an extensive collection of collage materials as a result of my hoarder tendencies, and the perk of being persistent and courageous. But this trait manifests itself in stubbornness and a general lack of flexibility and being clingy etc too.

I'm not really prepared for how that will affect my relationships, so in general, I keep to myself. That said, unexpected events transpire sometimes. In 2018 I had several romantic entanglements, the aftermath of which I was-- and still am --unsure of how to deal with. If things ended amicably is it still best to distance myself from them on social media, just for my emotional health? How will that be received? Is that considered being melodramatic? Am I a horrible person for wanting to stay in contact with a former *~* lover *~* solely because he could be a good contact to have later on?

What about friendships? How do you even end a friendship? How do you know when you've outgrown a friend? Or when a friend has outgrown you? I find maintaining friendships to be far more complex than romantic relationships, perhaps because friendships are more varied in nature, I guess. I've been told strong friendships can withstand long periods of absence, but are friends really worth keeping if they're not there for you-- or even trying to be there for you?

It's hard to figure out what's self care and what's extreme narcissism. On the flip side, it's hard to figure out what's just being a good person, and what's a result of being manipulated. I always thought that you should stand by people even if they don't always stand by you, but now I'm questioning that. I don't expect 2019 to have all the answers.

But with any luck it should offer some clarity. And there's only so much you can find out about through books... I suppose my New Year's resolution is to stop isolating myself and try to interact with the world more.

But even that opens up a whole new line of inquiry-- interacting with the world more than it's necessary to, particularly in this cultural/political climate, can be detrimental to one's mental health. Even so, New Year's resolutions, at least in my eyes, have always been about forcing yourself to do things you don't necessarily want to do in hopes of becoming a better person (eating healthy, exercising, cleaning more often), and that's why people seldom follow through. But each year, we try again, and so, in 2019, it will continue.

dry and worthless monument to our love

I'm working on a poetry book at the moment. It's not especially fancy, and I'm not even necessarily proud of the poems. Most of the poems included in the collection were written during a time in my life where I felt like I was living how a young person should live-- rebelling against ambiguous causes with actions that had no direct correlation to the entity (or whatever) I claimed to be reacting against and were much more in service to personal pleasure/hedonism (which I suppose is revolutionary in itself?), going to parties, and, of course, forming short-lived relationships with people I pretended to "know" but really just conceptualized.

At the time that I wrote the poems, they felt very real and visceral and raw. But once that time in my life ended (it was quite brief-- I'll get into that later), they became more distant and diary-like. I hung onto them as a way of preserving something I deemed worth remembering. The first time I shared one of the poems with a friend I couldn't help thinking I'd made a terrible mistake. She was kind and gave me incredibly useful feedback-- but somehow sharing the poem felt like a betrayal of my past self's privacy. It was public now; it was observed now, and, like Schrodinger's cat, the outcome (the purpose/function of the poems) was somehow changed.

It wasn't mine anymore. The poems didn't have a single definite meaning that I assigned to them-- that was now in the eye of the beholder. But my friend's reaction to the poem also made me realize that I did want to publish them-- for what reason I'm still not sure --but now that they felt public anyway, I might as well make them public.

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I began to look at the poems through an editorial lens, and they lost even more of their original meaning-- and once again it felt sort of wrong. They were no longer raw, now they were aged and needed attention to look presentable. Saying "this works, that doesn't" to something that had been a pure and spontaneous work of emotion is almost disrespectful. But also necessary, I suppose. The few friends I had shared my poetry with related to it in some way. Even if it wasn't the intended purpose of the poems, I think I'm choosing to publish the collection for them.

Putting together the collection has also made me reevaluate that period in my life. I've definitely glamorized it. In retrospect I was able to look at that era and the relationships that I formed as something that I should have done more of. But the past me that wrote those poems was an emotional wreck. Those relationships, that lifestyle (if it could be called that) took a toll. I put up with it because I thought I was supposed to do these things and disregarded the damage it caused to my mental health.

I'm not extroverted. I don't like going to parties, or getting off my face, or even socializing in general (I'm fully aware this makes me sound like a reclusive hermit). I'm not casual-- I don't dress casually, or speak casually, so I'm not sure what made me think that casual relationships were a good idea.

It took me a long time to really accept these aspects of myself, and make decisions based off of them/what's best for me, because these things are in deliberate contrast to the version of youth that was described in books and TV shows and movies (and for good reason-- I wouldn't watch a teen movie about a girl who lies in bed and watches Netflix all day either) and to a lesser extent, by my friends.

There are still times when I think I'm living life wrong and not making use of my maybe-moderately-pleasant-in-a-certain-light looks, my lack of responsibility, my physical health, etc. When my slightly younger peers describe to me their escapades at homecoming dances and football games I'm hit with thoughts like, "I didn't take advantage of high school while I had it and now it's gone and I have no real, typical high school memories! What will I tell the kids I don't plant to have?" I have similar thoughts when my friends tell me about college parties and all the new experiences they're having. I feel this sort of sense of urgency like I have to go out this very instant and experience whatever it is I'm supposed to be experiencing, even though I know my expectations are impossible to meet because of who I am as a person.

I hold out that I could change in the future. Maybe when I encounter the right circumstances, the right group of friends these activities that felt forced and uncomfortable will be natural and organic like they are for the people I'm surrounded by. But I'm not going to get that by conforming to some vague standard about what my life has to be like at this age. I'm happy where I am now, and open to what the future holds.