Hello sexy humans,
I have no news worth mentioning to you. But my best friends do. One of them is in the early stage of falling in love. The sweetness is shared and sprinkled throughout my day. I hear the joy in his voice. He becomes more playful, forgiving and of course, happier. The undeniable power of a budding romance. Across the ocean, the other one is going steady with her new boo. Homemade breakfast spreads, handwritten notes, flowers…
(You can go buy yourself some flowers. And it wouldn’t feel the same. I am sorry.)
I am observing the effect of romance on my friends. New people change them in subtle ways. Are we more welcoming to changes when romance floods our systems with feel good hormones? Do we have higher risk and pain tolerance? Do we become braver and more vulnerable (stupid)? I am glad that some of the people I love are getting the reward of romance after surviving the pandemic. Calling it a reward seems irresponsible. Alas, there is such a thing called Luck, the mystic rhythm of life.
My friends are (tentatively) in love now.
I’ve known for overthinking and being the absolute delight at parties. I look back, forward, around, and within. I ask questions after questions until I drive you (and I) directly into an existential crisis. Fun! I didn’t try to tame this side of me since I figured I would be bored with this much observation and intellectualization at a point. Here I am. As my brain attempts to house infinity, my body is growing tired and older. I wake up to the great privilege of having a human body.
I simply want to enjoy my body more. I celebrate my period: Yay! No tiny humans to look after! I rest guilt free. I make things with my hands. I press my face against my mom’s. I kiss people I love. I am generous with my affection. By helping my 86-year old grandma with her daily grooming, I understand that we will all become disabled at a point. I will not be able to press my hands against your face soon enough. I do not want to waste my chance at having a human body.
My smart brain has been a safe hiding place for me. Had I been raised in a household of beauty queens, my safe place would be different. I am tired of hiding. I am smart and beautiful. I want to let myself be. Enough with imposed limitations. Time to throw the performative humility out of the window. According to social science, you should like me less now.
But you can still send me expensive shoes. Think about it.
Love me.
Xiaoyu
