Week 10
I finally feel more like myself this week, although I know the sadness of the past weeks was also a version of me. It helped to receive a Sanrio red envelope for luck from my dear friend T and a I love you card in the mail from my dear friend G, on which she had written a Rilke poem. And it helped to be there for my loved ones: the one who cried at 2am in a diner over disco fries and the one who cried while sharing a cigarette on the street in Hell's Kitchen after we watched Sarah Ruhl’s beautiful play about death. These loved ones had been there for me while I was the crying mess last week—I joke with my friends that it’s not a true hang out until one of us cries.
Crying releases endorphins! It’s good for you! Cry with your friends! They’re the best ones to cry with!
A book event happened this week, combining some of my favorite things—books, sluts, drag, burlesque, friends, queers—into the marvelous Books and Burlesque. I feel really grateful I got to participate! I read Chlorine while wearing my new favorite shirt, a print with Botticelli’s Birth of Venus with the words S.L.U.T.S (Siren Ladies Under The Sea, aka mermaids.) And I thanked, on stage, my chosen family who showed up for me—who are always showing up for each other. Then the incredible Fortune Cookie performed her interpretation of Chlorine—a stunning self-tie shibari mermaid—which had me screaming and clapping and cheering in my seat. Brilliant. I’m in love.
I am thankful to the artists this week too, always, for reminding me of vitality & delight. I love Soho Rep, and their new bilingual (!) play Public Obscenities from writer-director Shayok Misha Chowdhury dove into the possibilities of languages, histories, possibilities, queerness—my loved one A saw it with me. Like me, she also hates staying up really late on weekdays—yet there we were, laughing in the theater past 10pm on a Tuesday night. And I was shaken to my core thanks to Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson, who always shakes me to my core. Nobody is writing like she is writing. I am neither coherent nor worthy enough to give adequate praise to the transcendence she has written in verse, but I can beg you to read it, as you should read all her work. And I’ve been finding a lot of solace in artist interviews, especially with those whose work I admire and have undergone a certain kind of publicity hell, talking about it openly. I reread these two interviews with artists Park Ji-Min (the star in Return to Seoul) and Kim Namjoon (I am ARMY forever) many times this week.
Some other cute stuff this week: I loved this line from the perfect K-drama (I love K-dramas about lonely people in cities trying to figure life out) I’m watching: She’s not looking for a boyfriend, she’s looking for a comrade-in-arms. And I shared sweet, sweet Canal Street clementines and Mei Li Wah buns and Yin Ji Chang Fen rice rolls and Chinatown Ice Cream Factory lychee ice cream with my brother, in town for the weekend. I can’t wait for him to keep growing up so we can keep hanging out.
Anyway, I’m off to disappear for a bit (闭关—more on it next week) to finish my taxes and read a lot and watch movies and go on walks and be alone. Maybe I’ll touch my new novel manuscript for the first time in a month, but most likely, I’ll just respond to all these fucking emails. See you soon, friends.