I Wish I Was the Moon
Well… What a summer it’s been. It’s kind of interesting and cyclical to me because I started my blog junior year of high school, and here I am, on the cusp of starting my junior year of college. It’s been quite emotional, in every way. My second semester sophomore year was bookended by two very impactful deaths in my life. During the year, I lost most of my friends, including the ones I loved very best. I tried new things, ate at New York hot dog stands, saw Hadestown, learned how to use the bus system, wrote lots of poetry, and didn’t journal enough. I spent 6 weeks of summer taking a class abroad in Paris, where I made a wonderful new friend and had SO much fun doing things I never would have imagined, and things I've always dreamed of, like night swimming at the beach. Then, I came home and went to a baseball game and WaterWorld, read amazing books, rented DVDs from the library, and watched a few new vampire shows. It’s been so eventful.
From one of these new vampire shows (True Blood), I discovered this song called I Wish I Was the Moon by Neko Case. I can’t stop listening to it. The song feels like a reflection of all of the love and grief, gratitude and hopelessness I’ve felt. When I used to dramatically self-isolate (junior year of high school, coincidentally), I grew a deep kinship with the moon. I was always up with schoolwork, and the moon hung outside my window, which I always leave open. Night air would blow in and be so fragrant, I’d sometimes cry. I’m a big crier, I can’t help it. “Chimney falls as lovers blaze / Thought that I was young / Now I've freezing hands and bloodless veins / As numb as I've become / I'm so tired / I wish I was the moon tonight.” She just captures the feeling so perfectly.
I think it’s pretty evident from all of my poetry, love and grief are deeply intertwined for me. I recently lost a friend and grieved so hard that when I saw them in person, I was shocked, because I guess I had subconsciously convinced myself they had died. It’s so dramatic, but oh well. I’ve never really been a hopeful person. I think I believe in a neutral world. Things happen and people do things, and it’s never because we deserve or don’t deserve them, it’s just because things happen the way they do. I think this makes it hard for me to be open, despite my extrovertedness. I used to (and still sometimes) fantasize about sinking into the grass, then the dirt, then the mud and soil. It would be cool, like the night and hold me in place. Like the equivalent of closing my eyes and being still. During the second semester this past year, I just wanted to be left alone. I hated talking, I hated being looked at. I just wanted to sink or float or be alone. I was so tired.
Now, every night, as I struggle between hope and hopelessness, I think of the moon. I wish I could be an invisible observer. I wish I could look out at life and have no one look back. It’s hard to be sensitive. It’s hard to love people and then feel hurt by them. It’s hard to know I’ve hurt the people I love and not hate myself. I used to think I was just a naturally lonely person. I don’t know what I believe anymore. I keep warning myself against new friendships, asking myself how this one will hurt me this time. I wrote a poem a long time when I was in a similar position: “We have to allow ourselves to be destroyed by the things we love / And maybe provide back, as well, / A little good, a little delicious damage.” Not my best work, but I think it’s beautiful. I think being lonely makes you an idealist in a way. Love and all its pain, all its glory, love as the message, as the final frontier, love as everything that matters. “How will you know if you found me at last? / 'Cause I'll be the one, be the one, be the one / With my heart in my lap.” I think it’s easier to hold a heart in your lap than on your sleeve, right? Like a pet or something like that. Something external to tend to and care for.
When I was younger, I thought moving to a new place would free me. I thought that a new school, new state, new everything, meant I could be new. Instead I found, I am who I am. I am sensitive and sometimes funny. I love vampires, I love books, crying feels so good. I’m obsessive and too often self-sacrificing and anxious. I wish I could escape, but I don’t really think that’s possible in the way I want it to be. Now, all I wish is to be free to reinvent, create and recreate, be wrong, learn, love. I don’t know if it’s possible, because that’s not really how it works. But, I think it’s human to strive. I’m so tired. I’m so lonely. I love the moon and am named after the night. On the eve of my departure back to school, where I have found my authenticity and challenged and changed it, I can only timidly hope for a year full of beauty, of lovely, lovely love.
From one of these new vampire shows (True Blood), I discovered this song called I Wish I Was the Moon by Neko Case. I can’t stop listening to it. The song feels like a reflection of all of the love and grief, gratitude and hopelessness I’ve felt. When I used to dramatically self-isolate (junior year of high school, coincidentally), I grew a deep kinship with the moon. I was always up with schoolwork, and the moon hung outside my window, which I always leave open. Night air would blow in and be so fragrant, I’d sometimes cry. I’m a big crier, I can’t help it. “Chimney falls as lovers blaze / Thought that I was young / Now I've freezing hands and bloodless veins / As numb as I've become / I'm so tired / I wish I was the moon tonight.” She just captures the feeling so perfectly.
I think it’s pretty evident from all of my poetry, love and grief are deeply intertwined for me. I recently lost a friend and grieved so hard that when I saw them in person, I was shocked, because I guess I had subconsciously convinced myself they had died. It’s so dramatic, but oh well. I’ve never really been a hopeful person. I think I believe in a neutral world. Things happen and people do things, and it’s never because we deserve or don’t deserve them, it’s just because things happen the way they do. I think this makes it hard for me to be open, despite my extrovertedness. I used to (and still sometimes) fantasize about sinking into the grass, then the dirt, then the mud and soil. It would be cool, like the night and hold me in place. Like the equivalent of closing my eyes and being still. During the second semester this past year, I just wanted to be left alone. I hated talking, I hated being looked at. I just wanted to sink or float or be alone. I was so tired.
Now, every night, as I struggle between hope and hopelessness, I think of the moon. I wish I could be an invisible observer. I wish I could look out at life and have no one look back. It’s hard to be sensitive. It’s hard to love people and then feel hurt by them. It’s hard to know I’ve hurt the people I love and not hate myself. I used to think I was just a naturally lonely person. I don’t know what I believe anymore. I keep warning myself against new friendships, asking myself how this one will hurt me this time. I wrote a poem a long time when I was in a similar position: “We have to allow ourselves to be destroyed by the things we love / And maybe provide back, as well, / A little good, a little delicious damage.” Not my best work, but I think it’s beautiful. I think being lonely makes you an idealist in a way. Love and all its pain, all its glory, love as the message, as the final frontier, love as everything that matters. “How will you know if you found me at last? / 'Cause I'll be the one, be the one, be the one / With my heart in my lap.” I think it’s easier to hold a heart in your lap than on your sleeve, right? Like a pet or something like that. Something external to tend to and care for.
When I was younger, I thought moving to a new place would free me. I thought that a new school, new state, new everything, meant I could be new. Instead I found, I am who I am. I am sensitive and sometimes funny. I love vampires, I love books, crying feels so good. I’m obsessive and too often self-sacrificing and anxious. I wish I could escape, but I don’t really think that’s possible in the way I want it to be. Now, all I wish is to be free to reinvent, create and recreate, be wrong, learn, love. I don’t know if it’s possible, because that’s not really how it works. But, I think it’s human to strive. I’m so tired. I’m so lonely. I love the moon and am named after the night. On the eve of my departure back to school, where I have found my authenticity and challenged and changed it, I can only timidly hope for a year full of beauty, of lovely, lovely love.
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