Hi friends! Welcome (back) to the pink room. Grab a seat, get comfortable… we might be here for a little while
Let me tell you now. This will probably be messy. So continue at your own risk…
I guess
Here we are. One week after leaving Germany. But if I am honest, it’s more like one week after leaving my life. That sounds pretty dramatic. I know. And it’s not even like I was in love with Germany. I mean… really if anyone could bad-talk Germans, it was definitely me. In fact, it became like a ritual of sorts between me and most of my friends to do so. And if we needed a defense (which no one has claimed that we did), I would tell you, I think, it might have been one of the very few things keeping us from absolutely going insane. There is so much to say concerning this. Perhaps even too much. But what I will say is blood doesn’t wash clean easy or at least the earth has got a nasty habit of remembering all we try to forget.
So it’s not that Germany was where my life began. But also. it kind of was. Okay, maybe that’s not quite fair. But it was my first attempt at truly building life on my own. which probably was silly. given that from arrival. I had a return ticket pre-booked. And. Yet. This year represents all the things that seemed to me impossible. It was an impossible year. The year of impossible. So just maybe you will understand me when I tell you I have been trying to write this infamous post... infamous to no one really. But infamous nonetheless.
And I can’t.
I mean. I can tell you right now what it’s supposed to say. Or at least what it’s supposed to do. I would tell you that it is supposed to help me process. Or accept. Or move on. Or close a chapter. Become a good american again. Or at least that crazy daughter/sister who dreams too much but finally is getting back to reality and will get a job like the rest of us. And will just remember fondly that time before her career in some corporation that she doesn’t entirely hate but makes all that “dreaming” in her mid-20s in Munich, Germany relegated to the world of memory if not fantasy.
And here I am. On the floor. Not writing. said post.
And let’s not be romantic about it. If I could write it. I would.
It would be easier than suddenly becoming an Instagram addict just to try and pretend I didn’t leave. Or at least that any moment now, I would be back to this impossible life, I was hoarding away for a rainy day. I heard it’s supposed to rain any day now.
I would also definitely not be staring at a million different messaging apps that I only discovered while abroad because apparently, as I was kindly told by my friend, SMS is for the Stone Ages and simultaneously considering getting more apps just to stare at those. hoping for literally any messages. And every now and then coming up with excuses to send messages by finding yet another photo I happened to miss that I desperately must send to some person I picked almost at random.
anything. to keep me. from having to imagine all the people I was dreaming and building life with who soon somehow will continue on
without me. Will dream and laugh and cry and live.
And I won’t be there.
All to say, I am the most motivated person to want to neatly move on. I literally haven’t even cried. And I am a crier. Like honestly, I firmly believe in tears. And here I am. No tears. Managing to write a long post. about absolutely nothing. Or at least whatever the something is, it is buried deep.
So if you somehow have managed to stay with me on the Jamie train this far. First, I am sorry. And second, forgive me if I leave you as dissatisfied as I am.
It’s cruel right.
Especially when there is so much potential. Literally imagine me. Last week, I was literally just about ready to battle Angela Davis for her title. I know you are a freedom fighter and all but.. but have you really been to a drag show, lived and breathed a Palestine solidarity camp, had all kinds of core and kinky memories unlocked at a ballroom show… you know like the queer black and brown people one, and nightly feared police raids all in the same year.
The world is different. now.
Or at least I am. And I am aware it’s not a novel insight. Read a book. Or honestly, instagram reels. I have totally been sleeping on that one, the algorithm works. Listen, if I am going to waste an entire day on instagram at least get a little wisdom.
But okay. okay. I am not entirely cruel. I won’t leave you completely empty-handed. I just don’t think I am ready for the leaving post yet. Hope that’s okay.
And anyway, I thought it’d maybe healthier… given my current social media habits, and more honest if I let myself reflect first. on all the beauty this past year has been to me over the next several weeks. And then maybe. just maybe I could manage a goodbye. Or at least till we meet again.
Okay. I know the world is on fire. And I say that with absolutely no exaggeration.
And I thought maybe you’d humor me. And let me selfishly. unfairly even. Spend a bit of time on all the beautiful things. Or at least the things that made me fall in love with living over and over again.
Okay then. I guess that’s all. see you again real soon.
From the Pink Room 