My father asked when I would start writing about happy things. Because enough time has passed, right? Because I've been doing so many fun and joyful things, right? Because I'm happy now, right?

I'm still trying very, very hard to write when I am happy. Right now, I'm writing from a place that is sad about the fact that I often don't write when I am happy. I'm writing from a place that knows what it means if I write out my happiness. The truth is I'm terrified. As if writing about happy things would be an awful and instantaneous jinx. And on the other hand, being connected to my sadness is being connected to him. I'm scared to let him go too. I still don't want to. Despite my numerous pep talks with myself, I know I'm still leaving the door open a crack for him. As time rolls by, it seems more and more like a disservice to myself to not fully close that door.

Talks of joy for the future leads me to think of joy in the past. I remember the joy I felt with him... Sometimes so viscerally that I need to shake and shrug the thought away because I WILL feel it again and then have to coax myself back into consciousness only to find myself flung back into a reality where that type of joy doesn't exist for me right now. It's in those moments I want to stay, I want to stay with him. That's the only way I can be with him. I don't feel ready to wake up. To never have him there again. That place, with him, still feels like home. It still feels safe and loving and just perfect for me. Even though it doesn't exist anywhere else but in my mind and memories.

I suppose I'll write about something objectively happy when I don't allow sadness to put me in a chokehold. I know I lean into it. I know it's almost masturbatory at this point. I write sad things not because I feel sad or that I'm always sad. It's how my writing practice developed and what I'm most well-versed in. And while I am rediscovering my talents and passions and confidence, I write about what is comfortable for me to write about, something I know I won't fail at or people won't relate to.

Alternately, I live my happiness, I am so present in my happiness that I oftentimes forget to write. Reflection upon happiness is hard because it is not a language I'm fluent in. When I begin to write of joy and bliss, the flow falter and my words are crude and painfully simple. I don't feel like the feelings have been fully expressed or captured by my words so I stop mid-thought, mid-sentence. I put down my pen or close my laptop. And then I begin to question if I was really happy then - i it was genuine emotion. Because if it was then why can't I write about it. Im supposed to be good with emotions and expressing them. Then ultimately, I don't try to write when I'm happy because I'm so terrified of invalidating and questioning my own feelings. It's easier not to write and have that lens of pressure. Sadness accompanies writing well because the pressure of perfectionism is outshined by the need to relieve my own heaviness. When writing about happiness, it becomes a classic battle of good vs evil, light and dark. I realize I must fight. I must fight for all parts of myself to be seen and loved and spoken for as they wish to be. And to use my gift of sharing (that is what writing is), to share that it is indeed possible to allow yourself to be all things. Or even just to allow yourself to be different to the person you were a decade ago, a month ago, yesterday. You deserve it.

Happy things to come x

I reached out to a local gallery in May of this year to do a show in December. I had no idea what I wanted to do at the exact time of booking the space, but I had been wanting to do another exhibition since the first one I held back in 2019. A lot has happened since then. A lot has happened in the last three or four months, in fact - so much so that the original ideas I had for this show were completely repurposed to tell a different story. I channeled all of my heartbreak and grief and frustration into this show, and I don't know how or what I would've to process those big feelings otherwise. So shoutout to my higher self for giving me the desire to have this art show at this particular point in my life. The timing of the universe is truly divine.

To be fair, I didn't stray to far from my initial concept which was a reflection on my mental health journey and perspective of self. Some names that I toyed around with a few months back included "Center of Attention", "Stuck in the Middle" and "Everybody Hates Me". Bleak-sounding, I know, but it wasn't intended to be all depressing - I seldom create without an uplifting nugget of hope interwoven somewhere therein (no matter how small). I've struggled a lot with my anxiety this year and feelings of confusion, stagnation and of being stuck. I couldn't figure out where that was coming from or how to get rid of that feeling if it was coming from within. I tried to manage it and I tried to release it. But that feeling of dread, that sense of impending doom just wouldn't leave no matter how much I sought to reassure myself and seek reassurance from others. I kept sinking.

And then came loss - the bottoming out, the dreaded Tower moment (for those of you familiar with Tarot or the major arcana). Along with it came clarity, I guess. I took the opportunity to rise begrudgingly, I must admit. Because I didn't want to admit that what was taken from me was holding me back in some way. I still believe there exists a timeline where it all could exist harmoniously and happily - and I am happy for the version of myself that resides in that dimension, but that's not where I'm conscious unfortunately.

Something that has struck me since has been the way that I've been processing emotions and what I've actually been experiencing. The answer is everything - not so much all at once, but the rapidly cycling and bleeding into and overlapping off emotions has left me absolutely exhausted because of the speed my brain has been operating at. Unforced. I'm not looking for solutions or trying to repress or get rid of anything. For a while, I was looking for answers and understanding to soothe my shock and confusion, but still, there is no singular, clear reason (at least from my perspective) as to why this has happened in this way. I have resigned myself to trust the universe, and just focus on what is in front of me right now. One step at a time.

"Rollercoaster." is just that - the story of my grieving process and the realizations of self and of relationships and of life that I have reached as I've gone/am going through it. Ups and downs on repeat. Ebbs and flows indefinitely. The universe striving for balance and for reclamation where there has been sustained excess or lack. And I am along for the ride - perpetually just trying my best.

Here's the event description from the exhibition opening:

A constant of life is change. Perhaps that is all that we can be certain of in this life, that and the passing of time. What goes up must most certainly come down, but aren't we also equally blessed that once we hit rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up.
"Rollercoaster." is a display of emotion through poetry and watercolor - two mediums that have served me well in conveying the chaos and calm that comes with feeling everything all at once and slowly trying to make sense of it all. It is introspection - glimpse at the eternity contained within one's internal reality.

I hope you catch a glimpse of yourself.
​
Love,
Jillian

This meme encapsulates my frustration rather perfectly.

Of the myriad of emotional phases and stages of my personal grief, this is one of the funnier and far more chaotic and volatile. The justice-seeking, foot-stomping, tantrum-throwing part of myself just can't stand when other people tell her to move on or to let things go or to accept reality. There are other parts of me that feel differently to her as well. She gets mad at them and thinks they're stupid, too... which makes for a very interesting internal dynamic. I love watching her rage and flail and fight, though. She deserves to. I'm trying to find ways to honor her as well as the seemingly calm, kind, rational, and forgiving parts of myself. We strive for balance in this house.

Let me be clear, I am not fixating on my anger or dwelling on the past (it has just barely become the past, ffs). I really appreciated something one of my friends said that stood in pretty stark contrast to the general sentiment of what people have had to say to me recently - "You're allowed to deal with this in whatever way you want." I just loved that someone said that to me instead of telling me what I've always heard throughout my life. The mentality of letting go and acceptance is wonderful and the people who offer that advice are just as supportive and well-meaning as those who would encourage me to lose my fucking shit. But for someone like me, who has spent the majority of her life pandering to the whims, wants and needs of other people (practically willingly and automatically due to excellent socio-cultural behavioral conditioning), "let it go" is yet another abandonment of self.

Throughout all of this, I have come to realize just how much I fucking love myself. I'm busy having out-of-body experiences, watching myself process how the past three years of life have shifted so dramatically so quickly. The gears in my head are constantly turning, whirring, kicked into overdrive not only to try and understand what has happened, but to save myself from becoming a victim to it. Rejection and loss feel different this time around. Or rather, I am reacting to them differently for reasons unplanned and unbeknownst to me. I don't feel numb... In fact, I can feel absolutely everything.

Including fury. Including joy.

The points along the spectrum of emotion have become so distinct and poignant that I would go as far as to say as I feel a little bit unhinged... or in the process of going insane. But with alongside all of that chaotic and heightened energy, there is a deep sense of peace and calm. There is an unexplained and unfamiliar growing absence of something though... and that is fear. I mean, it is still there and it's not like I've forgotten what it feels like, but something tells me that it's not necessary to be fearful of anything right now. And that kind of contributes further to that unhinged sort of feeling... because now, it almost feels as though I have nothing to lose. I don't know if that's entirely or objectively true at all, but it is what I feel with unnerving clarity.

So now, back to my frustration around the 'let it go' movement. It really depends what mood (or phase, or stage) I am in when you throw it at me. Most times, I would agree. Even right now, as I've spent time writing this, I feel more accepting and friendly towards the idea because thus is the dance, the ebb and flow, of severe presence and consciousness. But then, there's the inevitable prickling - an internal growl of sorts - at the idea of justice not being sought after effectively. Because herein lies the problem (and it actually has very little to do with what I'm going through in and of itself)... discomfort and disdain for other people's negative emotions. 

No one loves you when you're sad.

Well, the majority of people anyway. Because the majority of people are sad or insecure themselves, and when other people openly and expressively display negative emotions, it holds up a mirror - a mirror into a part of themselves that they are desperately trying not to face or even acknowledge. They don't do it maliciously, of course - for most, their disassociation and detachment from their own bodies and emotions make it impossible for them to recognize the cause of their annoyance at or resistance to your display of emotion. 

I know that everything is going to be okay. I know that I am strong. I know that everything is working in accordance to divine timing and in my favor. I know that other people have it worse, and that in the "grander scheme of things" this appears unimportant. But hear me out, I'm not sad for the sake of being sad - I am not having a completely normal emotional response for a perfectly appropriate amount of time (and without the expectation for linear, one-time healing) just for the fun of it or because I think that my problems are bigger than anyone else's/that I am more important than other people. I am BEING sad because I have something to be sad about. I am grieving loss. I am disappointed. I am heartbroken. I am angry. (I am also happy. I am excited. I am grateful. I am blessed. But those emotions are not the topic of discussion.) Let me be human.

Stop being dismissive of other people because you constantly dismiss yourself because somebody taught you that you ought to. 

Don't mistake my vulnerability and clarity of self for weakness because you were taught to be ashamed of yourself and to hide. You were just trying to survive then, and I'm proud of you for doing what you needed to do to get yourself through that, but you're not in danger anymore. And neither am I.

Funnily enough, the extreme and severe displays of emotion that you may have such an adverse reaction to come as a result of years and decades and centuries of repression and generational trauma. I refuse to contribute to pile on to that. Because the universe will always reclaim. What goes up must come down, and I would much rather fall from a molehill than a mountain.

So be wary of the advice you dole out and the true intentions behind it. Is it their discomfort or yours that you're trying to quell when you tell them to, "jUsT lEt iT gOo"?

I don't like that I have to write this. I have very mixed feelings talking about this in my current mental state because it might be too soon to be putting a spotlight on my biggest source of insecurity - my body. That being said, I feel like I'm being called to write so as to release something and I won't be able to write anything else until I've done so.

Have you ever heard of love languages? My primary one is most definitely physical touch. The irony and synergy between the joy and bane of my existence has, for a long time, been infuriating, but I've begun to find it more and more amusing because OF COURSE it's that way - we have to learn life lessons and break cycles and generational trauma somehow, right?

In a conversation with my parents a while back, they recalled how physically forward I was from such an early age - going up to people and hugging and kissing them and touching EVERYTHING. It's not as if I remember the really early moments, but it always makes me smile to hear about because I immediately find myself thinking, "YUP, that definitely sounds like me." Ironically, I have seldom had the opportunity to be so brazenly physical and affectionate with the people around me in my adult life yet I deeply relate to that little girl I've heard so many funny stories about.

The memories that do push themselves to the surface in regards to my body and physical touch are mostly all negative. It is unsurprising that negative or even traumatic experiences would most lastingly affect me when in relation to the primary way that I show love and feel loved. I don't remember hating my body inherently, I still don't think that I do, however I learned to hate how other people viewed my body and I resent(ed) myself for not having a body that could move through this world without being impacted by other people's scrutiny. I've spoken to a number of people with deep-seated insecurity or a lack of self-confidence in terms of their bodies, and what's most interesting is the fact that we don't actually hate our bodies until we try to change them for the sake of appeasing a societal standard norm or expectation. 

I don't think I've ever gotten the balance quite right - body confidence VS body goals. The times that I've lived the most healthily (holistically) and with the most self-awareness and compassion, are usually times when I am heavier. I look back on high school where I thought I was positively obese (and I viewed that to be the absolute for a human to be for some reason), but I was the smallest I've ever been. Shortly after, in university, it hadn't really gotten much better - I think I was so incredibly mean and unforgiving of myself which caused my weight to fluctuate quite a bit (while remaining on the lighter side).  At the time, I wasn't really able to see myself and my worth beyond my worth because that seemed to be the only thing that people cared about or judged your character on - thinking back on it, it might've seemed that way due to being so severely hurt through the channel by which people were meant to love me. It's always been mildly irritating that I couldn't just ignore what people said about my body (which was always the advice given to me, along with "just love and accept yourself" - just about the most vague, most unhelpful, non-instructive bullshit ever). 

Society is gross. Other people's opinions are gross. Fatphobia is so rampant and insiduous in our daily lives with most people being completely unaware of the ridiculous standards that they subconsciously hold others to. One of the first things that comes to mind is the use of "fat" as an insult. (Rolls eyes). I'm currently an English teacher, so I've seen how students acquire the word "fat" and use it as a weapon... along with lumping it with words such as "bad", "gross", "ugly", "dirty".  This isn't the fault of English language acquisition (but the way that textbooks and other teaching resources are designed certainly exacerbate the problem) as it's clear, even with a very basic understanding of Mandarin that fatphobia permeates South East Asian culture just as severely.

You've probably heard the phrase "burst someone's bubble" or some variation of it. I remember multiple instances in primary school when I was just minding my own business and just, you know, partaking in life when someone would call me "fat". I was always so taken aback by the venom that accompanied that word, the intention to shatter whatever joy I was experiencing for probably no significant reason. People suck. The fact that human beings have learned how to hate and weaponize just about anything sucks.

I've been thinking a lot recently about how I'd like to proceed in the next phase of my life as I have made it a goal to be healthier and to take better care of myself. Weight loss is a part of that but not a primary focus. Even so, eating healthier and exercising consistently still regularly trigger that little girl who was teased for no reason who now thinks I'm turning against her too. I used to be so mean to myself, so I don't blame her for not trusting me. That younger version of me was so good at loving and she was fearless... until people told her that her body - her source of power and love - wasn't worthy of love and loved in a way that no one would want.

Yeah, so that's where I am with that. Being so overworked has me at wits end with the shit that people give other people just for existing. 

While chatting to my lovely friend Zoe, I came across a few gems that have helped me to articulate what I've been feeling and what's been stirred up in the month of June.

There was a lot going on in June, the madness of May seemed to spill over quite seamlessly much to my dismay because I am, as most people are at the moment, in desperate need of a vacation. As I mentioned last month, Taiwan is under level 3 and my work situation, while very thankfully stable, is requiring a lot of me at the moment. The end and shadow period of Mercury retrograde, a new moon solar eclipse in Gemini, the June solstice and the beginning of Cancer season all took place this month. My mind has been raging.

I don't think I've had intrusive thoughts such as what I experienced in the first half of June. At one point it felt like I was developing some kind of complex or a paranoid episode. It is at time like these  I find myself grateful toward myself for being dedicated to my own personal growth and development. At least this time around, I was able to dismantle destructive and untrue thoughts instead of conflating them with my reality. It just took constant and consistent effort. During my chat with Zoe she brought up the metaphor of doing weeding in a garden. That's exactly what it felt like - being constantly hunched over in the heat of the late morning sun, clutching at the overgrowth that keeps appearing as fast as one is able to dispose of it.

Weeds. Weeds of the mind. 

Gardening has always been a beloved pastime on my mother's side of the family. My grandmother built a nursery in his back garden. My mother and her siblings are undoubtedly blessed with the green thumb as well... which leads me to believe that I have the skills to overcome these negative thoughts woven into my DNA. Now I know why my mother loves her garden so much, in the same way that I love my own mind. We must take regular care and watch what grows (and where and when and most importantly, why).

By the way, Zoe had me on her podcast (A Somewhat Mystical Podcast) as a co-host for season two where we spoke about eclipses, crystals, astrology and tarot. Episodes 1 - 3 are out at the moment if you'd like to check it out. If you happen to be here after listening to the podcast, thank you very much for the support.

Links to thiiiiiings:

Instagram: jilliannatalie / zoelarimar
www.zoelarimar.com/podcast
www.patreon.com/ZoeLarimar (ALL THE GEMS!)