I know, numbers are at-heart [heart attack age range notwithstanding] only as meaningful as we decide. I was comforted by a confidante’s attesting that most of their friends are in their 30s and more youthful than those their actual age. How much I wanna touch on the subject of perceptual fleeting youth, maybe not too much cause it’s already feeling regurgitated and boring. But maybe this ticking clock I regardless have willingly set off is driving me with this restless need to not waste what’s left of what I FEEL—whether I like it or not [I do not like it]—is the physiological and socially-interactive prime of my youth. Again I’m not publicly shaming anyone specific: rather my own personal metric deems that when I’ll be 30+, mingling with anyone younger risks coming off exploitative and creepy. Maybe it is my self-retribution for when I was 19 and feeling disgusted by friggin 30+ year old Pavlos still hanging around college kids my age and not seeming perturbed one bit with self-awareness.
As I crawl towards the post-production finish line of my life’s filmic spirit walk, I’ve chosen to show up and be part of the cultural change I want in the city I’ve spent my whole life negotiating a sense of belonging in. And it moves me so much that there are those who’re showing up and leading this better cultural future. All I need to do is show up and break my bank.
I went already knowing ahead of time 3 businesses I was gonna support. The paper flower business, the greeting card business, and the resto-bar that was hosting the market event itself. Being able to conscientiously walk up to these young entrepreneurs and artisans, trying to optimize all the words in as few rambling sentences as possible how much I admire what they’re doing, and getting to hear even briefly what they’re about and the passions they’re pursuing was meaningful to the degree of………….my best way of putting it is I feel a comfort that these individuals are out there, cultivating a thriving future for the new generation of Asian-owned businesses. And it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t come off like an overbearing weirdo in my interest of their craft plus gifting them a copy of the ODC mix CD. [Drags hand across visage] but-uhyyEah…..
I got 2 multi-tone handmade flowers for Mother’s Day. This’ll go on top of the TV so she can have no alternative but to admire them every time. They’re beautiful and because they’re made of paper they last forever. I’m truly looking forward to getting more. It was absurdly lovely to meet Ha Mi and David! I’m still giddy.
These greeting cards had me feeling all the things that the artist intended. I’m such an idiot for starting a sentence with “I actually hate greeting cards oh nono—” but I reeaally hope the rest of the sentence made up for it with “nooo I meant specifically the cold “white people greeting cards” in drug stores that are void of earnestness and effort“ But I showed up with the feeling that this would be different. I discovered what it means for greeting cards to be art.
As an unexpected surprise I got some croissants, taking a bunch home for Mom, remembering her story about first coming to Montreal and specifically finding comfort in a croissant and hot chocolate.
Before coming to the market event, I’d already been patroning at MajesThé. I first went there on a night out with a networking group I took a whatever-the-Hell chance on, only to be immediately more engaged with the bar’s owner than everyone in the networking group I was supposed to be futilely mingling with. Since then I’ve come back to MajesThé on my own. It feels honest to go out of the way, get out of my crescendo angst head, and put my money where my money is, even if it means learning to dine out existentially alone.
How do I want to spend the 29th year of my life
Doing things like this. Walking after the market in the sun for 2 hours so that I later don’t feel as claustrophobic when it’s nice out while I force myself to stay indoors and hardcode subtitles until the stars explode. Walking so deep into the upward slope streets that I find myself taking in the hilariousness of rich-ass white privilege “on the mountain” houses. And emerging from that, now I know where to find more free parking not 10 minutes a walk away from where I usually park for free downtown.
Still got so much micro-granular unglamorous amorphous detail-work to do. But 1 year left is more than enough. And I know this is worth it. I know this is worth it.
This is worth it.
This. Is. Worth. It.