if you ever see me reading your favorite book, feel free to come up to me and talk about it, I love talking about books and I promise that you’re not disturbing me
talking to someone about their favorite book could possibly be the best thing ever
Sincerely Me
Lately I have so many head canons about Korrasami but focused mostly on Asami’s perspective, not because I favor Asami but because we see so little of her stuff directly - a lot of it is in the background or reading between the lines of the show, y’know?
I imagine during their first real fight, probably a couple months after they get back to RC. I have no idea what it would even be about, tbh, but I imagine it happens after they’ve both had RIDICULOUSLY long weeks and it’s not even a big screaming match or anything because they don’t argue like that - it’s more just both of them being grumpy and one of them gets impatient and snaps or nitpicks about something and it escalates to maybe Korra walking off to clear her head.
But it’s their first fight and Asami’s had a long week and she’s overworked and overtired and she just starts to sort of panic like, what if Korra’s really mad at her, what if she’s not coming back (not because she actually believes that but because I just have to imagine Asami has some sort of abandonment fears after everything that’s happened to her.)
So she goes for a drive and ends up at the pier and is sitting there crying and Korra finds her and puts her arm around her and they talk about it and both apologize for things they did/said and Korra is just like “Asami, I love you, I’m not going anywhere.” And she never does.
Sleeping and reading. Mortal enemies for all eternity.
This will be the last letter I write to you
It’s been 6 months since I heard your voice
And the last thing you said to me was not
‘I love you’.This will be the last letter I write to you
Because I’ve run out of words to say
I’m sorry i was not who you wanted me to be
And I’m sorry that that was somehow my faultIt’s been 6 months since you told me to go
And in all that time I’ve written letters,
With scribbled words and anguished ‘I miss you’s
With faded dots from tears, or whiskey.
The two have started to blend.This will be the last letter.
I am out of paper and metaphors
Outlining my apologies, and recollecting your smiles.
My ‘what ifs’ and ‘if only’s fill books and libraries
That you will never see. These words the only works
You’ll know from me.The letter before this was short.
Nothing but ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Good lucks’ scratched again
And again, into parchment, dry and broken.
There were no more tears.
And the empty bottles on the floor betrayed me to reality.This will be the last time I write to you.
Not because I’ve given up on loving you.
But This heart is no longer your home
And my own words are starting to circle me,
Surrounding me in misery.
While each letter I wrote is simply signed
‘Return to sender: She does not dwell here any longer.
It’s crazy, I know. How did we end up here?
What did I do right that got me here? I had spent the last 6 months whole heartedly believing that every move I made was wrong. Every choice my mind had made up, wasn’t the right one. That every step I took, was in the wrong direction. I couldn’t do anything right. The most simple things, I would fuck up entirely. I was trying to better myself, but as days and weeks and months went by, I only felt weaker. I felt empty and numb. Like I had no one to turn to, no one understood me. So, one more step I took, in what I thought was the wrong direction, and you were in front of me. It wasn’t like the other times you had stood before me. You weren’t the person from my memory. You were different. We were different people now. Both who had been through a lot, and seen a lot. Loved and lost, a lot. I knew I had to take a chance on you. They all told me that I didn’t have a shot in hell. That someone like you, would never go for someone like me. Never in my wildest dreams. Well, this feels like a dream. And I am so lost in this, so lost in you, that I don’t ever want any real concept of reality. You truly, truly are, the greatest thing that’s ever been mine. So I guess, what they say is true. The most beautiful and amazing things happen, when you least except them.
I always had so much difficulty talking to you about my early life… my family. That’s not a reflection on you -it’s just how I am with everyone.
I remember you were surprised once that as well versed in classic films as I was - I had never seen the movie ‘Rain Man’. You asked me why and I answered that I never watched films with intellectually disabled people in them …. because of my brother. That I didn’t like the way they were portrayed, that they were always so gentle and sweet. I said ‘You think they’re all gentle and sweet but you wait till one of them starts clubbing you with a 2 by 4’. You didn’t know what to do so you laughed a little and looked down.
Maybe you thought I was joking.
I wasn’t - but I was only telling a partial truth. I wanted to say the rest… I thought about it I really did. But I wasn’t sure if it was something you wanted to hear… so I left it. Because the other reason I don’t watch those films is because of the way “I” am portrayed in them. From the glimpses I’ve seen of those films…. the glimpses I saw that made me determined not to watch them - the siblings are always horrible people. That’s really the best way to put it. They’re selfish, cold, vain horrible people.
It’s the way people see them.
It’s the way my mother saw me.
It’s the way I see myself.
Sometimes I get confused. I wonder if maybe I am a good person…. But most of the time I think I’m not. Most of the time I think believing that I’m a good person and having self esteem is a reward I am not truly entitled to. No matter what moral code I uphold in my life, no matter what good things I do for others, no matter what lengths I go to to put others first and not hurt anyone…. I can’t seem to undo that feeling that I’m a terrible person.
Because when it really boils down to it …. I am ashamed of my family.
Deeply ashamed.
Having a good professional job - a job that by rights I should have gone to university for but didn’t - a career that I worked my way into and taught myself …. doesn’t help. The well presented, welcoming house that I worked 2 or 3 jobs at a time to save the deposit for …. doesn’t help. Self education, good presentation, becoming the best version of myself I possibly can - not just on the surface - but being honest, hard working, helping people and caring about people …. none of it helps. Because I feel I will never escape them. That no matter what I do or accomplish in my life I will never truly be judged solely on my own merits because eventually, anyone I get involved with will have to meet them.
And it’s not even like they are this fully independent entity, separate from me entirely, in a way that a partner could reconcile with them internally and reason that they only have to see them occasionally for family gatherings.
They’re not that separate from me. Not separate enough. There is always sickness and drama.
Always.
I have always been surrounded by it. I will never escape it. I will never be free of it.
Not unless I changed my name, moved states, left literally everyone I know behind….. And I have actually thought about it, I’ll be honest. But let’s face it, I’m not Jason Bourne and this isn’t some made up story with fictional characters. It’s real. It’s my life. And I’m hopelessly stuck in it.
I have always had to be so cautious about who I became close to. Who I let into my life. It’s terrifying…. trusting people.
I so rarely let people into my home growing up…. I couldn’t.
I lived in a hoarders house, with my mentally unwell mother and my autistic brother. It is something that affected me so deeply…. And so few people know. And even fewer really know.
But some memories of the people I have gotten to know in my life have stayed with me. They are inseparable from me.
Like when I was 12, my best friend at the time wanted to
come over to my house. She asked again and again. I explained to her so many
times why I couldn’t. To make it worse, her house was super clean… her mother
super organised. It was one of those houses you had to take your shoes off to
walk into. It was beautiful - her home.
I said to her ‘You don’t understand. It’s not like you house. There’s shit everywhere. I mean, my room’s fine… but everywhere else…. there’s shit on the walls, shit on the floor, shit on the roof….’
She said ‘I don’t care. I just want to see where you live. We’ll stay in your room’.
So one day she came over. I kinda tried to clean up the lounge, the path to the bathroom and the kitchen as much as I could … but really it was just making a clear path and putting bedsheets over piles of things….
And she came in …. and my brother was all in her face, you know, jabbering things you couldn’t understand…. And my mum was talking to her in the lounge and I just wanted to get her out of there… and my panic levels just rose and rose.
We finally got into my room, and I shut the door. It was neat, it was tidy – it was a normal room.
I sat next to her – and I couldn’t look at her for a moment. I was upset and I wanted to cry.
And she waited……
And after a moment I took a breath and turned to look at her. She looked at me – looked up at the ceiling - then looked back to me again. Then she smiled and said …. ‘There’s no shit on the roof’
I didn’t know weather to laugh or cry.
And we just hung out together in my room, like normal 12 year old girls. And everything was okay.
The other memory that always stands out is my last boyfriend before Jay*. He’d been bullied a lot when he was a teenager and was a troubled young adult but he had a good heart. He was a little obsessed by fire, he used to start small fires when he was emotional and he had an arson charge – but here never wanted to hurt anyone.
And one night I was upset about my mum and the house…. And he knew. I lived separate from her by then but he’d seen a bit of it and he knew. And he turned to me and said ‘Sometimes I wish I could set it on fire for you….. Just wait til they’ve gone out and burn it to the ground…. Just so you’d be free of it’.
I know it sound weird and psycho to anyone else – but to me…. in it’s context it was actually one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever said to me. It was the first time someone recognised the paid I had. It was the first time someone saw that I wasn’t free because of it.
Nothing escaped my mothers house.
Many things went in
- but they never came out.
Many things were
lost - but they were never found.
Many things were
buried - but they rarely felt treasured.
Nothing escaped my
mothers house….
…. Not even me.
*
Ranata Suzuki
If someone wrote about me the way I write about you… Goddamn, I’d love them so hard.
4fears4life
Well I finally saw it today, and if I’m being completely honest i was a bit underwhelmed. To be fair, Insurgent was my least favorite book in the series, but still throughout the movie I kept getting the feeling that it was lacking something. Acting was great, production was great, it stayed pretty close to the book (i mean its a movie interpretation it’s not like it’s gonna be exactly the same), but I still left the theater wishing there was more. I don’t know quite how to describe it, but let’s just say that it didn’t leave the same impact on me as the Divergent movie.
