I remember listening to Mitski when I used to work at a hospital call center in 2019. The call center was located in the middle of a suburban New England neighborhood. I remember that next to a newly built flat office building was a forest with a walking path and a river that separated the forest from the vast green front yards of castle-like houses. I used to walk through that forest during my lunch break in fall, winter, and spring. I used to listen to music as I walked alongside the river. I remember listening to Mitski for the first time.
It was 2019. The work was hard, and I was focusing my energy and attention on my studies every day to get into medical school. When too many people call the call center, my ears get tired of listening to a person crying, shouting, and cursing. My mind would slowly get heated with too many details to remember and too many details to forget. Filled with pent-up anger, sadness, and fear, I would pull out my Airpods, step out of the office through a glass door into the crisp, fresh air, and walk into the forest.
Listening to Mitski’s voice, you feel camaraderie. Her voice is passionate, defiant, and unapologetic. She does not depend on others; she searches for meaning within herself, clawing through the chaotic path of soul-searching. It’s not for the glory, not for fame, not for recognition, not for love. But rather a burning desire to understand the origin of her burning desire for life. When you are walking down a dark hallway alone, seeing someone else walking by themselves in a long dark hallway gives you irresistible resilience. That’s what I got from Mitski. We may be insignificantly small, but we have a burning desire for a lived experience. To get there, we will exhaust whatever we can. And when we look back, we will have no regrets.
the giants have run the way many others, in silence, in shadows, tolled away in the work in the full speed their mind can handle. the lull does not mean it’s free. it’s time to run. it’s time to work.
do I deserve to be loved? I realized things have changed and that I am not in mud any more. but the memory of the dark water lingers too close in my mind.
do I deserve to be loved? can I ask to be loved? can I be free to love?
to find out, I’ll be a bit more honest, I’ll work hard, but not to earn the love, but to protect those that I love.
work, my man, work. the vacation is over. now is the time to move. do not be fooled by the lovely landscape mesmerizing your eyes now thinly veiled behind it is a tragedy waiting unless you work.
pour all your heart and mind into your work breath with the air of your work and see from your work. own everything of your present moment. learn from past mistakes and overcome your shame and guilt. dream higher for your future and brace for an unexpected impact. keep pouring, it will be worthwhile.
blinking my eyes a few times at this small yellow lamp light quietly shining on my desk solely in the dark of my room. a picture of an old man on the cover of a thick black book silently gazes at me in agony there is silence except for the humming of the AC and the sound of cars zipping by in silence, all these exist
I smoked a cigarettes for the first time in almost 10 years in my dream. it felt so real I had to remember the dryness in my mouth is not the nicotine tar but unwashed icecream from night before. let us not let our guard down to the “one-offs” let us stay awake and walk up this hill towards the threshold where all efforts will prevail.
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