i feel like i need to write about this. i don’t yet know what it is but still. it is like a knot trying to rip my belly open. i get cramps if i don’t write. i get a gut punch, irritated, and then mad. to not get mentally violent, i need to write and pour it out. i say i am the one behind my misery with all my expectations but i always said it and meant it in more relation to disappointment. now it suddenly makes itself clear that it is related to keeping yourself from making prophecy guesses and being intentional with your expectations. whatever you keep expecting is your quantum leap.
i looked at the virtual visions closely and said we are going to be something. with no proof, no signal, no nothing, i had the vision. intuition shaped expectations and expectations shaped reality. now you replace the every day stimulants and suddenly i don’t want them at all. not because you are the cure but because there is nothing to be cured anymore. tossing heads right in that part of the song, just like i saw when i had the vision. you just have to shut up and drive and let the road unfold and you just look at your life. look at my life.
no need to make a misery out of every beautiful thing. sometimes it is believing that you deserve the beautiful thing. expect the beautiful thing anyway. and when you don’t even know what to expect, expect the beautiful thing anyway.
and most importantly, keep memoirs of it everywhere. keep the memoirs of every occurring feeling everywhere because it is beautiful. and you will take a look at your life, and you will say, i always had a vision of this. and that is your quantum leap. you expect the best and that is your reality. you expect the most beautiful thing and the most beautiful thing is what you have.
so this time, i won’t say don’t have expectations. this time, instead, i will say, have expectations. have beautiful ones. and don’t forget to look at your life and see how it is filled with beautiful things. and fall in love with your mind.
songwriting can be the smartest and the most honest tool to express what is going through your mind like pressing the piano keys. it is storytelling, simply put. songwriting is storytelling and if you are writing your own songs you are telling your own story. so many female artists have put their hearts out to their pens along the way, from Stevie Nicks to Olivia Rodrigo. Olivia Rodrigo just released her third studio album at the age of 23, you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love. establishing herself as a talented songwriter when 17 with sour, she now takes it even further as if opening up a window through the best times of your life as a girl, it is when you are 17, when you are in the beginning of your 20s, and then it is forever.
being 23, falling in love, going through a breakup, slowly falling out of love. similarities only differ when compared to the tortured poets department, the album Taylor Swift released when she was 34 years old. both you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love and the tortured poets department being theme albums, we can view from the outside the difference of the tone and intensity of dealing with the same feeling in foundation, when it comes to being in your 20s and being in your 30s. grief starts when in love, so, there is anticipated grief in Olivia Rodrigo’s songwriting and voice in you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love. when you know it is going to end, even the sweetest moment has a sad tone to it, and she put it out really well.
drop dead: track one
drop dead is a great introduction to the first phase, clinging to the person with excitement, not wanting the time spent with them to end, hoping that they never finish that beer, hearing your heart beat with every instance of exploring new sides of who they are. feeling like throwing up, the urge to get to know them more, asking them millions of questions and telling them about yourself. if they kiss you, you may die out of pure excitement. especially the bored in bed, stalking on the internet and immediately having visions of what could be, naming it feminine intuition, a tribute to the moment when you already make it up in your head, write the scenario of your wedding or a first kiss. and can’t ignore the “pisces and a gemini, but i think we might go really nice together” referencing Olivia Rodrigo, a pisces, and Louis Partridge, a gemini.
stupid song: track two
stupid song, teased by her “New York City’s never looked so blue” t-shirt, starts by describing a party where she observes the other girls and notes that her friends are smoking blunts in the bathroom, a flow of events on an already eventful day but then suddenly she shifts to the thought of him, because in that stupid phase of love, even when you are busy with other things, you keep finding yourself thinking of that person and you can’t focus on the day if the day doesn’t include him. even when a lot is going on around you, your mind is only occupied by one thing. getting hit by waves of uninvited feelings when somebody mentions their name, and i want you more than any stupid song could ever say. you feel right, you feel wrong, and you totally feel insane. and if there’s a god he’s the bond that’s between us two. it feels fated. seven nights alone, when he is not with her meals are skipped, days are only stalling until he comes. i’m always ready in case you call. sleeping in her dress and high heels. i dream of you every night, i can’t sleep. let everybody know we are together. the stage of love when you are right on the edge, the moment of your exact falling. there is a mixture of emotions right there. there is right, there is wrong, there is totally insane. there is fear, there is sadness, there is excitement, there is joy.
honeybee: track three
honeybee is the sweetest song written on the album. it so beautifully describes the weight of anticipated grief in love. she says “even when i am quiet, i love you baby, i promise” the first time, but as the song ends she skips the “i love you” and she is quiet and then “i promise“. and you feel your last moments. hoping it doesn’t end, but knowing in your bones it is ending. it hasn’t ended yet, but it is going to end soon and you know it. and you love the way they look at you but you are like a time traveller, you already see the end and the bitter taste is sprinkled on every moment from then on. trying one more time to stay. even when you’re unsure. even when you can’t fully show up. here’s to hoping it gets better. the best part is “everything i own just feels like ours“. what a sweet way to describe the feeling of belonging to someone, the romantic, soul level connection. how she sings honeybee is how it exactly feels. this phase is bittersweet. this is a real love song.
maggots for brains: track four
she is personally so relatable to me in this one, maggots for brains. complaining about how mundane your day was, you tried to write but nothing came out. you drank coffee, it’s the weekend but you are still so bored. you go to a party but you don’t really want to, you feel like a zombie. everything loses meaning. because your mind is elsewhere. but that’s just a thing that happens when my baby goes away. nothing tastes good, going out, being with other people, spending time with friends, they all taste weird. you hear a funny thing and you only think of telling him about it. sometimes you go far and think of asking for a tragedy because you know he would come and take care of you. you are basically not in your body. the days you don’t see him are just stalling until the day you see him again. she got the transition stages and she poured it all out. this is the zombie phase.
u+me=<3: track five
here’s the best phase. everything is pink. hearts are all over the place. you can’t take it slow. wounds are healing, talking on the phone. i hope we stay like this forever. the classic phase where everything feels dreamy. you plus me equals a heart forever. you go to sweet dates, you meet their sister, carve your names, and let’s get married when we’re 25. “and all my ex boyfriends have heard these lines, but i like you better by a million times“. in the beginning of your 20s, every crush feels like forever. all over again and again. and tell me yet again about when we met, what you thought of me. this phase creeps into you all your life, as long as you fall in love again and again. as Taylor Swift also wrote in so high school from the tortured poets department, “tell me about the first time you saw me“. they say modern love’s a cruel endeavor but everything i see is rose colored.
my way: track six
my way totally brings out the side of Olivia that is similar to Paramore or Taylor Swift’s Speak Now era and especially better than revenge. this is a heritage song in her discography. a petty girl to girl feeling you have to admit you feel even though you know it’s wrong. the range of female rage, better than revenge and misery business, and now my way. this is when you have to admit you still have that 17 year-old version of you when you are 23. maybe i’m a petty bitch but you made me resort to this.
the cure: track eight
the cure is probably the most important song on the album. it is the main idea. all the things you expect from that person, the healing you thought would come with them, can’t come with them. and you realize this is where you grow. this is where you know it will never be the cure because it can’t come from outside. “i thought i found the antidote this time“. someone can’t just bring it to you. i got toxins in my bloodstream because it is about me. it comes from within. i need to find the cure within to go outside. because this unreal expectation will only hurt me further. i’m unravelled. you find your head is full of poison and your heart is full of doubt. you find out that you are the one who needs to be the cure, someone else will never be. so, it doesn’t matter how your love feels anymore. the cure is not in your hands anyway. but this hurts me, because now i faced it, i know it can never be enough and i know you can’t just come and stitch me up, i know that i have to do the ugly work now. i have to do the hard thing now, i have to face what is within. if you expect it from the outside, you are preparing yourself for disappointment.
begged: track nine
begged is the phase where the tough realizations coming right after each other. i don’t want it if i have to beg for it. even if it hurts me. all that i want is to know undoubtedly that you just have eyes for me, can you make it clear? feeling like too much with her endless well of needs. you know i could never leave, you know i am devoted, so you don’t worry or do more. i am trying to stick to this thread, not let good love slip away, so i am cool and forgiving, i don’t make it a big deal. but as i play pretend, i know i don’t want it if i have to beg for it. feeling trapped inside your life. it is at a point where it really needs to end. you feel sick. you cling to hope but it doesn’t nourish you at all that you become sick. you are patient, waiting for it to change, he is learning, you give it time, and act like you are not dying. how can you love someone and not tell that they are dying. this is the painful pretending phase.
what’s wrong with me: track ten, with Robert Smith from The Cure
what’s wrong with me tastes amazing as a song. you get The Cure energy straight into the song. i realized a bunch of things, now i am trying to find what’s wrong with me. you are sick from the last phase. you are searching up the symptoms. and you’re what’s wrong with me. Robert Smith sings softly into the “what if this isn’t what i want?“. and that’s the exact time you say is this really what i want? i don’t think so. and you start packing your bags secretly, your escape plan is about to land. but making the move is so hard because you are so sick. say i’m in love, so it’s hard to admit that i can’t eat, i can’t sleep and i think you’re what’s wrong with me.
less: track eleven
in the right moment, less can make you cry. you’re giving up. let’s just go to bed maybe it’ll fix itself tomorrow. you don’t want to try anymore. you say you can’t stand to watch me crying a minute more. if loving me means letting me go and wishing me the best then i guess i wish you loved me less. you try to rebuild it but there is no foundation. you go back to your favorite activities together, you try to push it one more time. but nothing works. magic is gone. grief starts when in love. but you’ve seen me truly happy so you know right now i am not. if loving me means crying at LAX, then i guess i wish you loved me less. nothing meets the expectations. this is the end.
expectations: track twelve
expectations is a great song. hands down. this is an evolved good 4 you and bad idea, right? it is smarter, definitely more fun, and makes you want to dance. you are no longer that easy to impress. i am so evolved now i ask for more. i won’t settle for a guy with a fake job. i used to, but now i take careful consideration. their indecision is painfully unattractive. past mistakes are just new information. after a few experiences, you now how expectations. you are now sure that you are not settling for less. you don’t want to go through those phases again. so it is a fun closure to the journey. the song really makes you dance and celebrate breaking your chains.
witnessing female songwriting from young ages to adulthood is a fascinating experience.
life has a strange way of freaking you out with the things you had visions of the most but expected the least. is it truly feminine intuition or is it really the ultimate mocking of god. every instance of stepping out is stepping up and every scenario that is being played live is mocking me in the best way possible and i only giggle like a spoiled kid, similar to unstoppably laughing at a joke that is about you because you have to admit it is funny. now, it is undoubtedly funny as fuck that i always had a vision of this. so, credit where it is due, praise god.
no matter how hard it is when you are used to playing along, fucking around, and finding out, master your mind and let it unfold. even if it is too hard to be honest, even when you are accustomed to having brakes along the way. the mind has ways of bringing things to life. how else do you explain feeling the pull towards something you cannot even describe, and it ending up to be where you land. and when it happens, you cannot scream and say i knew it, you play along like you should. and the divine timing works its magic. and the intuition, the feeling of sensing that the pull is not meaningless, and the sense is humbly proven right. best case scenario, you start trusting your intuition, worst case scenario, it surprises you every time.
“and when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” the alchemist by Paulo Coelho.
and if there is a god he’s the bond between us two. someone who is excited for you. that is the way to put it. someone who is always excited for you. being excited for someone all the time. would it even be possible? for someone to be always excited for you when you are excited for them all the time, synchronously. if that is a best friend, you are lucky forever. if that is someone you haven’t known yet, but your mind keeps showing you visions of it, making you yearn for it, you are lucky forever. because the mind has ways of bringing things to life.
with the good, with the cringe, falling in love must be being excited to jump under the rain at night, sharing the excitement of sweats early in the morning, sometimes the charm of the suits you are wearing, sometimes the way my hair looked that day, sometimes it is how ready my hands are, sometimes it is the cotton candy. if it is the smell left on you pulling you back to the neighborhood, if it is the sweet sound of competition collaborating with wit and uniting in sudden screams. if it is the way it is, is it really the ultimate mocking of god? if it is the way it is meant to be, life truly has a strange way of freaking you out by bringing the visions you had the most but expected the least to life.
and if it is the way it is, you have to admit it is hilarious. now i laugh like a spoiled kid because it is funny as fuck that i always had a vision of this.
drive yourself home. it will never be the cure because it cannot be cured by an external force. it is what can be clearly revealed to you when you squeeze that one person out of the picture for a minute. what is present in your life, with you, without that? it is why we so romantically say you take me out of myself because we start thinking of ourselves completely consisting of the instances of being with that person or thinking about that person. so, what you have after squeezing that person out of your life is what’s actually yours. the more you keep your focus there, the easier life flows. the easier your mind can be.
so, it is what you already have. what do you already have? a life you are building step by step, that is in the process of being formed. a pure excitement that is yours. a profession you are trying to master. a book you’re in the middle of reading. the songs you’ve been playing on repeat recently. something to look forward to. a friend that always calls. something you are ready to try. thoughts to write about. conversations to write about. your birthday. new plans. new decisions. new steps to take with that new attitude. only you to persuade.
a room of your own is what you have. oh, and it was regarded as prosperous, it was deemed precious back in the day, “A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” says Virginia Woolf. what you always have is the freedom to shape and reform yourself over and over again. reinvent your approach, restyle your image, explore your mind further, make yourself happy over and over again. what you have is the freedom to be creative.
use that irresistible force to dive inwards. to meet yourself there again. because the cure cannot come from an external force. the key you attach from the outside does not match the lock inside. it is one more lock away. then he can try. but first, unravel yourself to you. find the key inside, really. busy yourself with that for a while now. drive yourself home.
a new identity and i am not sure why i crave it. not necessarily a brand new identity but a return to home. the classic returning home theme in myths and all of literature. we all come back to ourselves. it is all a path to finally arrive at the starting point. who you were in the beginning. who you have been all along. but there was too much noise. too much noise to realize. all your life you try to sculpt yourself an image that you deem good or important. because you hear too much noise and the mold clearly shifts shape all the time. so you are left with confusion, not knowing which pieces fit and which pieces do not, all the while your shoulders were tight, your jaw clenched. all the while, it was already there. you just had to loosen your shoulders and unclench your jaw. you didn’t need to be anything else than what you already were. the attempt to sculpt an identity was in vain. it was already there, right behind the tight shoulders and a clenched jaw.
“no need to hurry. no need to sparkle. no need to be anybody but oneself.”
Virginia Woolf
as for me, i am doing my best to discover the unhidden depths of what i have always been behind the mountains of failed sculptures, right behind the clenched jaw and tight shoulders. i am subtly planning a return to home within myself. how long was Odysseus gone? trust me, i am doing my best to stop taking myself so seriously and let myself just be without sculpting anything else on top of it. i am getting closer and closer to finally cleaning the mirror.
and the fog disappears. when played back to back, the end and the beginning of the songs i naturally like and listen to start fitting each other. not the songs you listen to because you want to impress someone. not the songs you tolerate because it is cool to listen to them. what i find naturally cool starts feeling like my cool. the colors i want to wear are finally mine. the colors return. the books return, the music returns, scrabble and chess return, beauty returns, friend in me returns, gentleness return, what i actually do to make me happy return. and i return home to myself. and every myth ends that way.
and every morning i feel the flow of being me running through and between my legs. and it wants to spend some time with me. and i finally clean the mirror. and what i see is not strange, it is not brand new, it is what has always been there. there was just too much noise. and there was just too much dust. this is how far i have got, i will let you know when i get to loosen the shoulders and unclench the jaw.
this saturday, i put on my makeup for myself, held my hand and took myself to the cinema to finally see devil wears prada 2. the last time I did this for myself was when Barbie came out and I think there is magic in women taking themselves to certain places only for their own pleasure.
i was moved by Andy’s urge to riot about how we suck the soul out of everything one by one. a true change we should be having our eyes and ears on when thinking about 2006 and 2026. in writing, in words, in art, in design, in vision, there are fingerprints of our souls. not person by person, not the way liberalism taught you. but, think about it, why does Andy approach every single person with kindness and thought and care in devil wears prada 2? no matter how evil they approach her, no matter how irritated, upset, or insulted she feels. because the purpose of the concept of a soul is not to divide or individualize, it is to remind us that we are all connected. and we are not connected because we are the same. we are connected because we get inspired by each other’s differences. we are all the same soul, not divided, but scattered in different forms, experiencing life in different tones, to the level of understanding of our own.
why are there so many different forms of paintings, so many different feelings we get from reading different authors. countless ways to imagine something, undeniably various shades of love that can be experienced and how many people experiencing love in their own ways. so many uniquely interpreted designs. all of these show how differently we look at things, how variously we perceive things. how one designer’s interpretation of a bag can be totally different from another designer. architecture. poetry. clothes, movie direction, life direction. in everything that we created in our time as humans, in everything we love, we have fingerprints of our souls. so, Andy is right, we can’t suck the soul out of everything. that was what Miranda Priestly was silently crying about as she was walking out of Milan, life is all about change but the way we live can’t be an affront to everything we care about.
the inclusion of the concept of AI taking over, not hysterically as it was shown in movies before the decade, but in an undeniably real way. we are losing our ability to perceive in our own way, to put and take meaning in our unique ways, to interpret differently, and eventually removing every fingerprint of a soul from everything that we do, in a disgracing attempt to get everything done fast, produce and consume everything hastily.
the soul is not to individualize, but to keep us connected. we are in different forms, experiencing everything from the point of our unique shades of glasses, and everything is our interpretation. certain differences irritate, upset, or even humiliate. but as Andy knocks the door of Peter and realizes, we can be not perfect together. Tom Robbins says, “We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love.” and that’s sort of the whole point. not only in love interests, but in all forms of relationships and human touch. the message is not a basic and cult nobody is perfect, but we can be not perfect together. in our edgy differences, we are inspired by each other. and we put our souls into everything we create.
so, no, we can’t suck the soul out of everything.
watching devil wears prada as a kid and watching devil wears prada 2 as a grown woman was an experience, an experience that does not need shiny adjectives. it was revealing in so many ways boys wouldn’t get. boys wouldn’t get half of the depth of being a teenage girl, ever. to comprehend the unimaginable horrors beyond our imagination, at 13, we had to enlarge our imagination. and, oh, have we stopped ever since. those frozen stares of a 13 year-old girl on the swing were something beyond maths class. the black hoodie you pull over your head meant something else for the girls. it wasn’t as endearing or as rewarding as it was for the boys. but it allowed us to become more aware of our surroundings and pushed us to think and create.
perhaps looking backwards is really the only way to move forward. i have done some pretty stupid things in the first five years of my twenties. took fast and curious steps. lost many qualities along the way, acquired so many new ones. the things that make me happy and the way i choose to be happy changed. now i realize how stupid i was being when i thought i was so smart. how i thought i knew everything but knew so little about so many obvious things. but i think the smartest thing i did was loving who i was becoming in all of those chapters.
i look at photos from 2022, mulling, and that’s a whole other person walking on earth. the hair is different, the clothes are different, the light in the eyes is shining differently. more importantly, aspirations, admirations, missions, and outcomes are different. and i would definitely hold my hand and take myself out of so many rooms. but probably some of the rooms i loved standing in would also shrink and be left out of this reality.
then my hair changed. my clothes changed. people around me always change. except for some, but they also change within. paintings on my skin change. the fights i choose to fight change. so many things i saw as freedom shift shape and look like traps now. a lot of the things i let happen seem like weird visions. as if a curtain had fallen over my eyes. i thought i saw the true colors of life but they were just the colors of the curtain over my eyes.
it’s 2026 and i feel so much younger now. so much brighter. still with a lot of qualities and burdens i know i should be shaking off. still know i am probably making some decisions i will look back at and think to myself “are you serious?” but that’s the sweet bite. i am a child of this reality. i may fall and bruise my knees along the way. i may make mistakes and dumb decisions. i may let things i should never let happen, happen. but i know the vision is getting clearer. i feel it creeping.
i stick to old photos. i stick to old collections. i stick to playlists from years ago. i stick to clothes. i stick to books and lucky pens. ever since i have known myself, this has been the case. me and sticking. perhaps shedding skin is not so bad. perhaps it won’t make me feel so cold. perhaps it is like turning the cold water on after a warm shower, it may feel tense at first but you get used to it so quickly, and you immediately see it feels a lot better. and the feeling sticks with you after the shower. you get scared of being cold but it actually prevents you from getting cold after the shower. perhaps that’s life.
it feels like i have been asleep and just woke up. is this because i am close to 25? or is it the new moon? to my surprise, a lot of people are actually right about some points of life, including mom and dad. well, especially mom and dad. i still find them to be wrong about so many things but that’s for other reasons. but in general, i may be approaching closer to a wider perspective. i find many of my previous decisions dumb. and knowing that i did all of these while thinking i was being smart, is sort of funny and sort of disturbing. because who knows how many things i am doing wrong right now while thinking i am being smart? not me. what i know is that i am so much different than i was in the beginning of my 20s. at least i didn’t get married.
oh boy, it’s happening. the urge to read poems. the urge to cry with bursts of excitement in the event of absolutely nothing but a thought. the urge to scream without any warning. the impulse to imagine outcomes relentlessly. the drive to play well written plays of kisses and making love in your head.
no matter how much you grow up, no matter how much you think you evolved and matured, love will always make you someone cringe. we need to make peace with that. that feeling of liking someone at 17 will haunt you forever. it will shift shapes but it will always find a new form. you will say that you are done for good, it will begin again on a random friday.
you will be 24, thinking it can’t find you anymore, it will knock on your door and the urge to scream will be undefeated. you will be 28, firmly stating that you cannot be entertained that way again. it will prove you wrong and mock you. at 36, you can still get a headache from thinking about someone too much. what’s more, at 60, you’re still not safe. that same feeling you had when you were 17, catching stares at the high school playground, will haunt you down and creep out of you even in your last breath.
so, you better make your peace with it. i love you and it’s cringe.
i don’t know how any of this feels wrong to you, but it does not feel wrong to me. i just think we would make so much sense if we kissed and i am about to be 25 for fuck’s sake. we would make so much sense if we touched each other’s bodies and push and pull each other.
i just think it would make so much sense for us to argue with each other. in at least two languages. don’t you think it makes so much sense? don’t you think we make so much sense? as if it is written on a script. the thought of what can be is much more powerful than all of the things that happened. so i don’t know how you think any of this is wrong. i don’t think you should keep yourself from imagining your hands all over me. when i see myself going crazy over your brains i know i am back to being me.
what if i told you i am all over the moon to have someone to inspire me? i really needed this for my writing. so thank you for standing in your suit all smart and collected and charming and witty. i never wanted to play with anyone ever since i was a kid. this is the first time i want someone to be my playmate. i think i am finally ready to share my toys but they are all in my head. that’s what they didn’t get. they thought i was being greedy but all my toys were always all in my head. i think i am finally ready to invite someone into my mind. so, are you coming over or what?
it’s cringe as fuck and you don’t even know i love you.
p.s. i can’t believe i just attached a Harvard Business Review article about how love makes you more successful in your career somewhere in this piece, due to crushing on someone smart. at least we now know stupid, slow, and useless was just a phase, and not a type. anyway, embrace the cringe and free yourself.
i have to write this one in black ink because it is the only one i have with me at this moment. but i will underline every word with the purple ink once i get a grip of it, promise. isn’t it also the entire manuscript of life itself? you have to do it with what you have first. then you can underline every part of it with the one you love. and it’s not because you don’t love black ink. it’s because it is not the one you love.
write what you know. then you will learn more. build the wall first. then you will get to paint it with the color you love. perhaps, get the bed and lay there first. then you will embroider it with the one you love. make the coffee with the French press first. then you will get the machine. but don’t forget that you may miss the taste of the one with the French press if it was enjoyed with the one you love. passion loves synchronicity with love.
everything in life consists of being present at a certain place in a certain moment. meaning is built on the road. the road earns meaning at the stop. be there and do that. let the feeling of new beginnings creep in. but make sure to add passion to it. and perhaps, you should stop before you move. perhaps you should stop because you want pace.
and you believe in love. and you miss love, if it is something you could ever miss, for you should first have it to miss it. right? but you do not miss any of them from your past. you say no to every almost love knocking on your door to welcome the real one, if it’s ready. attention doesn’t do it. sex doesn’t do it. passion, all passion wants synchronicity with love. to be complete is never about the person. it’s about all sorts of passion falling into synchronicity with love.
so, in a sense, you stop feeling your existence for a while in order to be able to say “i’m here” with the full weight of a full life.
the one who says “i’m here” combines the consciousness of waiting and being in the start of the road in her attitude. she knows she is standing still, waiting, perhaps for something or someone that will not come. and she knows it. but at the same time, she knows that when the time comes, she is certain that she will hit the road. when she says “i’m here” she is also ready to say “when the time comes, i won’t be here”, “once i find the way, i’ll hit the road”.
includes a reference to the author and philosopher Oruc Aruoba, with a piece from the collection titled “the self“, translated by me in my comprehension.
wuthering heights by Emily Brontë, written under her pen name Ellis Bell, is an epitome of a gothic novel. the atmosphere, metaphors, and symbols are all carefully presented in a way that can engulf the reader into the darkness of the book. it is melodramatic in the best way possible. wuthering heights will melancholically show you the subversive nature of “love” and how it bravely haunts the two souls it invaded forever. tragic, melodramatic, dark, and haunting. it is so easy to find yourself trapped inside the darkness when it comes to something as strong as love.
“you said i killed you, haunt me then. the murdered do haunt their murderers. i believe, i know that ghosts have wandered the earth. be with me always, take any form, drive me mad. only do not leave me in this abyss, where i cannot find you!”
love isn’t a feeling. it’s the mixture of so many dense feelings all at once. that’s why it is so complicated. love breeds many more emotional complexities along with itself. it brings joy, hope, lust, vulnerability, disappointment. you get to know yourself once again when you are in love. it is so complex that people know themselves once again when they are in love. perhaps that’s why we don’t say “she loves” directly but we say “she is in love”. that preposition could never be this powerful. you are in love because it’s a state of mind. a strong one. a brutal one. a haunting one.
some stories cannot be surmounted by weak sentences. the story of Catherine and Heathcliff is one of those stories. Emily Brontë shook the hearts of the ones who would otherwise claim to have a strong stamina to such a dreary atmosphere. criticized by contemporaries, adapted to cinema with erotic takes in modern movies with Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi, Brontë keeps the ghost story of the Yorkshire moors mainstream.
love is haunting. every love story becomes a ghost story eventually. the pleasure that makes you feel like you are going to die in the beginning, ends up killing you. the stars you see in the eyes burn so bright that they turn you into ashes and dust. then a funeral is thrown for the undying love. if one is brave enough to be haunted, love is buried and blankets are thrown over its cold ghost. then the other one starts watering the flower beds on the grave with crocodile tears. but when she haunts you, you will feel the coldness of her heart, in your heart. when she calls for you, you will hear the echoes in your mind. her tears will be on your face. her blood will be in your hands. and when she finally hears your fearful steps following her, her ghost will ask for one last dance. every love ends up in a ghostly scene. grace is overrated when it comes to love. curses don’t work. freedom shakes your body every time her ghost passes through you. the wailing woman reigns your hills. your disquietude means nothing to her.
in the end, the every love story becomes a ghost story. and generally in the end, love takes the woman. the woman takes the man. because being soul bound is stronger than any desire. no spoilers for the movie.
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