mercurial world

adjective 1. subject to sudden or unpredictable changes of mood or mind. 2. five whimsy heartbreak tales of a 22 year old girl

When I was 10 years old, I dreaded the thought that I would have to grow up. This quote might have affected me a bit too much, since I still remember it by heart.

“Go astray?” I asked.

“Grow up. Become smitten with boys. Become silly, preoccupied, insecure. Forget themselves.”

— Rick Riordan, The Titan’s Curse

I think this somewhat came true— I was so insecure at 14. I didn’t have good friends, I didn’t know what I wanted to do, and I was so unhappy. And things got better, but I still worry.

The glass darkens

I met someone I thought I could date. Finally, romantic. Someone tall, handsome, a writer and poet, who asked me on a date. In person!

He commissioned a painting from me, and lent me a new book each time we met. There was the taste of strawberries and then a kiss in the theatre, a crescendo of wanting and disbelief that this was actually happening— all to drown in silence by end of the night. Why couldn’t this have been real? Is anything allowed to be real? I will not believe I was a fool for believing, and hoping.

The smoke collects on the green glass and turns it black. I write and I sit in clouds of reflection. I turn towards routes of novelty and contrast and conflict, of challenge. I’m sure he liked me, but I feel that I was just used for a story, to give him something to write about.

He wasn’t worth anything except in the moment, and for what it revealed to me. I think I might be a good muse, though I’ve never been one before. I feel that I am made for love.

stop making sense!

There is someone else I know, and wish I could know better. At this time of summer I was the busiest I had ever been, and actually almost cancelled because I didn’t feel I had the energy to spend on a new and uncertain friend. I’m so glad I didn’t. He is whimsical and warm, in possession of great taste and kind nature. We only ever hung out once, but he introduced me to my favourite album ever— he showed me a live version of my favourite song that I’d never heard, that was better. ¹

We saw the mist itself figure skating over a green lake. The sunset was a bowl of egg drop soup and cannons of white feathers shot across blue sky. The lights lit up one by one as we walked in the dark. The song we were talking about was playing when we got back to the chalet.²

We sang in the car together, and we laughed. I think we could be best friends. If I had to pick one person in the world to marry right now, it would be him.

microcrush atelier

something so light, so precious, like stardust falling off my eyelashes

i don’t know if i want to know you better or keep you just the way you are

the sun emanates from his smile and the attention and curiosity is so genuine

not like a butterfly but like a laser focus

no point in wanting anything, so i’ll just appreciate

what am i so afraid of? rejection - heartbreak - let down - awkwardness? that seems most right but is so silly

the ideal outcome is also uncertain. i want it to unfold naturally and beautifully

probably very obvious how i feel but it’s not obvious to me

happiness, excitement, a pull

the tiniest electricity at touch, neither of us moved away, so conscious

must not speak of it

the way i look at him

very rare induced blush

valence and arousal both maxed

that was crazy. anyway.

june 2

june 13

a new chapter unfolds

quite calm, not crazy

but so excited like pigeons

light breeze in the air

june 30

unfolding a pile of pressed up files

already outgrown

This is a conversation I imagine:

He asks me, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“What was wrong with the situation, I guess. Why we didn’t make it to a date, what went wrong.”

“I think this might be a ‘don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to’ moment.”

“Ouch. I mean, if it’s really that bad, I don’t need to know.”

“No, no, it’s not really as bad as all that, but I think it’d be hurtful to tell you, and probably unnecessary.”

<I pause, and decide to just say it>

“But I have to ask, did you really like me? Or were you just having fun, or something else?”

“I.. I think it might have felt a certain way in the moment, but now I’m not sure. Did you like me?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know how to tell. I could feel that you were interested in me since we met, you know.”

“Oh man.. I hope it didn’t bother you.”

For a little bit, there was too much fun texting for the very limited amount of substance there. Why be so bold, but not strike while the iron was hot? It didn’t bother me that he liked me, just that I was walking the tightrope between kindness and “not leading him on”. Also, I don’t like always being responsible for other people’s feelings.

I want a conversation that I have no right to. I want to talk to him about this, but I think that would be absolutely disrespectful and nothing good would come of it. I want to know if he understands me.

He doesn’t. I told him some of what I’d been feeling this fall, and all he could say was, “Soon enough you’ll be home again with all your favourite things.” As if that was the point of it all!

tragic irish romcom

If my life were a TV show, my necklace would be a motif the diehard fans would point out all the time. I have a gold heart-shaped locket, a gift from my parents when I was 4 years old. I still remember us walking hand in hand, watching them buy it for me at the mall. When I was seven I tried using the gold chain to trap a leprechaun in a bucket, and it’s been gone ever since.

I have an “everyday” pendant and silver chain I wear— I replace it about once a year, when the pendant no longer represents my life stage or interest. I had a silver abstract butterfly, then a circle with a sun design and blue gems, then a silver-backed square of mother of pearl, the dagger from Romeo & Juliet, and currently, a jade donut with a spinning log inside. I just bought a new one in London. It’s a one-of-a-kind, hand-crafted silver flower that reminded me of a necklace worn by the heroine of my favourite book (Ella Enchanted).

On my very first date, I wore the butterfly. I wore it the next few days, but switched to the locket after my (our) first kiss. It was the locket I wore on my last day of high school too— for nostalgia, love, a feeling of preciousness.

I wear it quite rarely on the day-to-day, sometimes if I’m feeling giddy or if the occasion calls for it. There are few other notable appearances: my mother’s birthday, Valentine’s day. I wore the locket during my trip to Vienna, a city I loved almost at first sight— the city of music, and the setting of Before Sunrise. I sometimes wear it stacked with my everyday silver necklace, if I’m unsure but optimistic on how things will play out.

Most recently, I took a weekend trip to Dublin. I brought the locket, which seemed apt considering its past. I stayed by the harbour in Skerries. My friend who invited me to his house in Ireland, and I invited a friend I’d recently met in London to come along.³ She arrived an hour earlier than me, since the storm delayed my flight so much. The winds were so strong the whole taxi shook. Our host opened the door for me, and I stepped into the loveliest house I’ve ever visited.

A view of the sea from every window, a music room and grand piano, a bar, a completely charming Victorian interior. My friend and I played house that morning, cooking patatas bravas and scrambled eggs, and joked about marrying him, wishing we could live here for real. Walking through rain and wind under the swooping gulls, I could not stop smiling. I felt happier than I had in a long time, and simpler. I had slept so well last night, in my bed that smelled of nutmeg. Why am I always busy and why is there too much going on and why is there so much to achieve and figure out? I switched to the gold locket that day.

The three of us saw a movie that night, and then went to the Cobblestone Pub. As tourists, my friend and I were introduced to Guinness and trad music. She had an early flight to catch, and he had work to do early the next morning, so at midnight we went our separate ways. I was entrusted with a house key, and took the last train back to Skerries.

On the last night, my friend had to work so I went to a bar alone for the first time. “My advice to you: the Celt has live music on, get out of your comfort zone and go talk to strangers.”

I stood outside for at least 5 whole minutes before working up the courage to go in. I was also in another spiral: everything felt romantic after dinner. There were 2 strangers at a table across the room, whose conversation oddly mirrored ours. We talked about travelling, plans, loneliness, happiness. He excused himself to go to the washroom, and I saw him pay.

Immediately as I stepped into the bar, a friendly bartender waved me over and started chatting with me. I met an old man, a regular, who told me, “Never call an Irishman sir!” And I met a poet, John, whom I confessed my feelings to; he said what all old people do: “If it’s right, you should just feel it.” He told me about how he felt when he first met his wife and knew she was the one. I read some of his handwritten poems about her and saved one. I knew I didn’t feel it, and anyway it was an unavailable situation. He didn’t make the last train, but for once I enjoyed the quiet walk back. I played the baby grand until 2 am.

The past few days, I felt closer to and more understood by these friends, who’d shared these special moments and house with me, than anyone else I met here. Maybe it was just a matter of time. I have a surety in my feelings that I haven’t in so long. I can imagine him happy! He was flirting with me on text before I arrived, and I told him unprompted that I wasn’t looking for anything. By establishing my platonic intentions, there was no confusion, no push toward certain romantic ends— somehow I got there though. I like him apropos of nothing. I don’t know what he thinks. It was true, and it should still be but I really… I want the mistletoe kiss.

My heart is beating faster than I thought it could. My face and neck are hot and my focus on anything is nonexistent. I sent the letter on Wednesday, and he just told me he has read it! What does sweet mean…

Fellows I meet may tell me I’m sweet

And willingly, I believe

He thanked me, for what? My world is spinning like a top, my heartbeat is like a hummingbird’s. Will he reply?⁴ I’m so scared.

I walked onto the tunnel and down steel stairs. I didn’t feel the cold, I tensed and relaxed my whole body, my feet grinding into the pavement. I took deep breaths and blew out plumes of condensation in the cold Vienna night. For the next 3 hours I will lose all connection. Is this good? Do I believe in love now?

What kind of timing is this? Maybe it’s very romantic. I have been waiting now for hours.

Pure feeling as evidenced by the heart locket, which yesterday could not stay latched. I fixed it. Now it won’t open again. It turned out they were closer without me. I crashed out and walked out of class to call my friend, and crashed out at the cafeteria between classes to the Americans I don’t like, and after hitting the bottle and dance floor, crashed out on the sand at Somorrostro Beach at 3 am. I watched the stars and heard the waves crashing too, as I laughed with my friend Mira.

Today I didn’t wear any necklace. I ate the chocolate my good friend Vedant got for me.

A month later I went back to the house for a Christmas party. And everything is fine again, like what I wrote had never happened. I spent another morning walking around the harbour, with a new friend met by chance the previous night, and the water was bluer than I’d seen it before, and the grass greener. My jeans were like silk skirts rippling around my legs. I felt like myself again with my jade, the sea reaching for me over the stones.

~~~

Anyway, I have been commissioned for another painting. This one is a watercolor for an Irish mother’s Christmas present. It is hard work, of course. I have been wondering if my childhood self would be proud to know that at 22, I can fancy myself a “professional artist”.⁵ It was my first dream job at four years old, but I don’t think I understood what a job was back then. I just liked to draw and paint. Would I be proud of future me, that I’d worked that hard over the years, that I am good at it now? Maybe, but also, it was never a thought in my mind that I wouldn’t be.

My stomach is hurting like it’s being attacked by iron clamps, but I have to get this painting done by tomorrow, latest. I guess if I step back and romanticize it a little, it’s like a dream: painting in a riad in Marrakesh, travelling the world, learning new languages. I’m not too far astray. I can’t stand straight, but life is pretty great.

1. isn’t this a perfect metaphor for love?

2. Once in a Lifetime - Talking Heads

I know this is your favourite, but I forgot exactly what you said about it. Can you tell me again?

3. In true Lauren fashion, “friend” = someone I met on a bus one time

4. He never did (lol)

5. especially in the age of AI,, what a flex