GIRL SPEAKS: national clase azul day

im starting to get the hang of this whole blogging thing again (i think). i guess you could say its like riding a bike and old habits die hard (flashback to my early 2010s tumblr era).

welcome to my stream-of-consciousness (its dark in here, im aware). maybe its good for me to put my thoughts out there, release them into the world and see what happens instead of locking my feelings in a bottle. i guess this is my way of cleansing myself of the things i could never say out loud.

whos even 100% honest these days?

when people ask how you are doing, you plaster on a fake smile and you reply, “im fine.” anything less leads to prying eyes and unwarranted questions.

im fine, im always fine. just fine.

i dont remember a lot of my last year or so, but i do know where i was a year ago from today. i was at silverlake reservoir, celebrating a friends birthday over zankou chicken and drinks. he had wanted clase azul, insisted (and disinvited a friend over the friend not getting him fancy, fancy tequila, a pettiness i know and appreciate).

he would have been 30 today.

i knew of him since my freshman year – scattered encounters here and there, as he was a few years older. he was always the person who had the drug connections – pick your poison, and hed probably know one or two people in your city who sell. the guy who took a line of molly (thinking it was adderall) when we were all coming down from it during my absurd month of rolling every single weekend; the guy id ask for a coke connect in houston; the guy who tried to get me to hook up with his friend (who was so desperately awkward then, but i consider him my friend now too).

i got to know him last summer, when he came to los angeles for my roommates birthday and didnt leave los angeles for the next six months. he stayed with us for the greater part of that summer (on and off), and id admit, it felt like he became our sixth roommate. and through it all he became my friend, over shopping on la brea, smearing on chunky clay face masks with me and my boyfriend, bonding over flum vapes (the group chat you started with us on instagram hasnt been active without you).

while we were no way as close to him as our roommates were, im so grateful we got to know a personal side to him this summer – endless pit of energy, networker, a bit egotistical (arent we all a bit of narcissists here?) but also entertaining, kind. he was a leo, and i feel like ive always gotten along with leos.

and there are these memories that i hold, bottled up, knowing he wont be here to make those moments happen, the action of bringing people together. ill never be invited to the 100 thieves mansion in venice again, to a party with a guest list that my name was actually on, watching “insecure” stoned out of my mind with him and my roommate on halloween night as lines of coke were being passed around. and ill never see that picture he had taken of us, the college reunion and the summer of revival after the long covid season.

he was the reason i gave people a chance, the people i automatically assumed id hate in college suddenly making their way into my life. so thank you – i never got to say thank you, for any of those memories.

and there are the things we were supposed to do – the double date we were going to go on with my boyfriend and my friend who you were attracted to, the weed swap meet with the entry fee.

he was just always around.

maybe thats the most unsettling thing about an unexpected, early death. you never know its your last time seeing them until theyre gone.

its the anxiety of not knowing – that this accident was going to happen, if theres an afterlife and if youre happy. i dont believe in a god (i guess id consider myself agnostic but lately i lost all belief in a higher power lately), but if theres a heaven, let me know by giving me a sign?

do you believe in signs?

im on the fence, but id like to. we all need some hope, id think.

a month ago when i was in las vegas (just a few days before my roommates birthday), i had found a ticket in my purse. it was for the rose bowl flee market (i think theyre every sunday, but my memorys not the most accurate), and i remember taking numerous photos of our three flum pens, laid out in a row on top of my purse, my legs in the backdrop as he drove me and my boyfriend to pasadena.

vapes and shopping and drugs – as it always will be (its the small things i choose to remember). clase azul and the text war that ensued.

whats the difference between a sign and just another stupid coincidence?

i cant be sure.

so happy 30th, and heres to a petition to make july 20th national clase azul day in your honor and name.

your presence is felt and we miss you.

GFY, fleur

GIRL SPEAKS: whats behind the loewe sunglasses?

one day, i hope to look back at my present self and laugh – for all the moments that could have been dealt with more grace, the moments that seemed like the world was gonna shatter because of one wrong word, an insensitive action inflicted upon me (the melodramatic victim, always).

i relish in my self pity, feeling miserable over nothing in particular. theres a part of me that is truly convinced that i love feeling sorry for myself and no one else can sympathize as much as i do (for myself). old habits die hard, especially on a past built on self-hatred, negative energies, always wanting more.

selfish, no?

i balance between thinking im the badass queenpin that controls this world (and this is where my narcissism peaks through), to feeling im a nobody, no voice, no worth (and this is the side of me dictated by my withering mental health).

when i talk to my therapist about my identity crisis, she says that maybe im already on the side of the greener grass, that ive grown so accustomed to my world where the vibrancy and brilliance, the novelty of it all, have dulled out into muted earth tones with shades of blue splotched in between.

maybe im so used to wearing my loewe sunglasses with blue tinted lens, the color is getting lost in translation. im not taking them off though – i refuse to take them off.

maybe i just cant stop being hard on myself and putting myself down for all of the things i dont know instead of celebrating the things i do know (pity parties for one are much easier than me recognizing my strengths).

maybe im not as lost as i feel – maybe i take things for granted.

maybe i need to lose what i have in order to appreciate it.

but for now, i take comfort in hiding behind my loewe sunglasses and i make peace with the blues, just so i can throw my own pity party.

GFY, fleur

GIRL SPEAKS: when the grass is greener on the other side

one of my most cherished (and brilliant) friends and i have endless conversation about what it means to be happy, how happiness or the feeling of “content” is even achieved in the first place, in a polarized world void of the colors that lie in between. we wonder if enough is ever really “enough,” chained in the prison of our own minds. the grass is always greener on the other side and we yearn to “do better” (whatever the fuck that means).

we jump from feeling “happy-go-lucky”, that lightness we want so badly to maintain, to feeling empty, sad because the worlds a disaster (and our lives feel like it too).

we chase the highs, mourn our lows, silence dispersed in between for all the times weve struggled too much to speak.

sometimes i think ive run out of things to say to the world. other times, i hold deep in my heart the things i wish to say, but then i remember that the things i want to say dont matter.

its all so pointless sometimes, isnt it? moments that are supposed to matter forgotten, while that offputting comment made at you – mocking – it live rentfree.

does everyone else view happiness as walking on eggshells? one wrong song, one unwarranted statement – everything id treated as fact, shattered by such minor happenings.

“dont let me drown.”

who am i supposed to be? where am i supposed to be?

is this my life? what the fuck am i supposed to do with it?

am i on the side of greener grass already?

maybe the green, green grass is suffocating me. maybe i cant read my hearts desire, handicapped by the coulda’s, woulda’s, shoulda’s.

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH IDENTITY CRISIS: the uncertainty questions commitment and were all a fucking mess

beginning, rise, peak – rise, peak, fall

for a girl with an ongoing identity crisis, i know of two things: i have a boyfriend who loves me and i have a close group of friends (a privilege as it seems, as most people at our age/older seem to label superficial acquaintances as their “friends” because they have none).

id like to think that i am one of the lucky ones – to have people to cry with, people to talk to, people to rely on, people to go on endless shit rants about those we despise and judge. i have people who truly give a shit, and maybe thats the reason i dont feel the need to impress or reach out, the reason people need to come to me instead of vice versa. id like to think that in a way, my friends shaped me into who i am today and im afraid of what i could lose.

having close friends comes with a price (or not a “price”, but a commitment maybe) – as cliche as this sounds, friendships like a plant. i picture my venus fly trap plant child, try to remember to keep the ceramic red pot filled with distilled water, let it soak so its well and nurtured and taken care of. friendships deserve attention (unless the friendship was meant to die, and that happens).

i cant tell if i pay too little attention to the point of ignorance, or if i pay too much, overthinking and analyzing every little moment.

we live with two of our friends – and my boyfriend and i cant see eye-to-eye on when to move out. while hed be more than happy to pack up our shit and move out in october at the absolute latest, im not opposed to staying for a bit longer. maybe underneath the hesitance, theres an underlying reason. maybe it all comes down to timing, lack of time and claustrophobia of time.

is it too soon?

i need time. more time.

its hard for me to admit why its so difficult for me to move, why im hesitant and im questioning everything lately. i dont know how to tell my boyfriend that im afraid ill feel lonely once we move out together, that im sometimes not as sure about us as he seems to be, or even as certain about us as i was when we started dating.

my minds a mess, and im not quite sure what to make of it.

is this loneliness supposed to last forever? when do you know that the rise and the peak are over, and all that remains is the inevitable, doomed fall?

sometimes i wonder if were all just lying to ourselves when we hold onto the belief that we as a couple will last forever. maybe we hold on for the comfort, the last beacon of hope in a sad, empty world.

maybe its when my boyfriend confessed that he thinks he loves me more than i love him and the pessimist in me wonders if there is an ounce of truth in that statement, only for him to take it back later when i press him on why he feels this way.

and sometimes, i wonder if we stay – stagnant – because starting all over sounds too intimidating and taxing, and we choose to settle from our shared laziness when each day we feel further and further apart. its in the small moments, and i cant help overthinking.

and i wonder if its easier to cut ties with everyone in my universe (friends, boyfriend and all), because sometimes we all need to press to reset button; new city, new identity, new posse and all in a very walter white “breaking bad” fashion.

am i one of those destined to feel lonely in a room surrounded by people, their banter between themselves becoming white noise and im always on the periphery, trying to make sense on why im always the last to be in the know, why i feel like i need to put thrice the amount of effort for little return?

i wonder why i even matter, what the point of this existence is when it seems like i dont have a voice and ive never understood the feeling of “content” or how to reach it. highs and lows – always.

i dont know what the point of this word vomit even means, whether im actually lucky by having people to call friends, acting out satisfaction when im not and im over all this, or i just tell myself that to get by.

one day, ill move to a different city, cut all ties with my past and present, change my name and rewrite my identity as a whole so i can be someone else, anyone else.

one day, ill stop lying to myself, pretending that im significant when im just one more number on the census, how many souls exist on this universe, as if my existence even really mattered in the first place.

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH COVID: quarantini

so i currently have covid. apparently, its the gift that keeps on giving, as ive graciously given covid to all my roommates (theyll thank me for the following months of immunity after this all passes).

covid – miserable? yes.

quarantine – lonely? yes.

reason why i got covid – worth it? yes.

ive (tried) to be the type of person who “doesnt shit where they eat,” my mind automatically painting neutral situations as either black or white, categorizing people as good or bad – defined boundaries, a fine line between two polar opposites (minding my own fucking business in hopes of you minding yours too).

but the happenings tell a different story.

“dont shit where you eat,” they say.

yet im the girl who hooked up with her roommate and best friend, all wrapped into one.

he said he wouldnt date me – and i said “ok.” he said to hook up with other guys, as if i should prove that im non-committal to him – and i said “ok.” vulnerability refuses to unravel, and feelings are left unspoken. and all i can say is, “ok” – for the fear of knowing, the fear of fear itself.

at some point, the walls come caving in, crumpling like paper mache; the line is blurred, and theres no escape from the undeniable reality – the chemistry being the most obvious, rejection a coping mechanism for the both of us. he said he wouldnt date me – well today, hes still my roommate but hes also officially been my boyfriend since then.

i guess with risk there comes reward (or vice versa?). i won the lottery with who i chose to be with. no awkward introductions, or act of approval from the friends whos opinions i value so much – they already know you and i do too (the perks of dating someone in your close-knit friend group).

so how my relationship started – i shat where i ate, and in return, i received a boyfriend, one whos reserved in his emotions at times, but shows his love in actions, checking on me to make sure im okay (because we all know i love attention).

and sometimes i wonder how we got to this place – a place of comfort, safety, and trust. i wonder where time has gone, as we continue to live in this streamline modern historic home with our two roommates (another couple), this place weve called home for almost two years. i wonder where time is going, what to expect as naturally, i always picture the worst case scenario.

and then i wonder if ive changed, if im still that self-sabotaging, manipulative bitch that the ghosts of my past claim i am (was?). i wonder if i just continue hurting person after person (why does everyone like playing the victim?), half-assed promises thrown out the window and words piercing like glass shards. i wonder whether the calm in you can balance the anger in me. i wonder if you deserve a category of “be better” that i cant offer.

and i wonder what life would be like if i were with someone who didnt let me blast “sincerely, kentrell” on drives together, the songs we skip when listening to the album by ourselves the same as one another, as if our brains communicate telepathically (“sad boy never happy again,” our little inside joke). i wonder what life would be like if i werent with someone as patient as ive needed, someone who makes me coffee each morning, someone who force feeds me gatorade as im slurring, plastered and shitfaced, to soothe my morning hangover (or hold my hair as i puke and holding my cup of ice cubes for me, if all else fails).

am i worthy? thats yet to be determined.

“dont shit where you eat,” i say.

i say that to my boyfriend whos ever-present eagerness to meet new people shines through as he started befriending his coworkers, seeing them on a more personal level i wasnt able to relate to.

i judged him even, for befriending his coworkers, looking down on them from my trash throne. maybe i was angry (jealous even) – to want something you dont have, to have people you can actually be honest with at work instead of pasting on a fake mask. maybe my competitive side always needs to be the center of attention, my ego tended to and nurtured.

work and personal life – two separate matters and two separate worlds, the overlap of the venn diagram blank for all the emotional, private aspects that shouldnt cross over into the professional realm.

it took one week – a business trip in vegas, a few days without the comfort of my roommates, boyfriend, home. one week – a slowly changing perspective, stories told over copious amounts of alcohol, a line thats losing its definition, fading gradually.

it took me almost three years to realize – i dont hate my coworkers. even the ones i thought i disliked, and im still trying to understand – their unspoken traumas, their loneliness in this large world and billions of souls.

it took me three years to realize that the people around me are more similar to me than i would have ever assumed on a surface-level. the self-described “geriatric man whos bedtime is 10 pm sharp” coworker (shes closer to my age by the way) recognizes the anxiety and the darkness too, and were both still learning how to deal with it.

and tales told over a bottle of “demon slayer” sake at the bougie japanese fusion restaurant we were treated out to, secrets unravel – psychic readings that have your future written out in stone, the edibles experience at some live action new york event with vanishing faces, people disappearing as the light strobes, (really trippy i hear), the golf tournament after popping some shrooms chocolate. not work appropriate conversation, id think, but those taboo talks speak deeper than the exterior “professional” shell we put on. its real.

so anyways, i guess that makes me the hypocrite, queen of mixing emotions into every situation, a chaotic worldwind. center of attention, self-declared queen of who belongs and who needs to get the fuck out – its all been needs, not wants, and sometimes were cornered in our mind, forced to pick a side before the whole story is revealed.

if theres any takeaway, i judge too soon. i expect the worst out of people most of all, as not all intentions are as pure as they may seem initially. im trying to not see everyone as evil.

but overall im grateful – to get to know my colleagues and work relationships for what they are, who they are on the other side, without the fake “happy colleague” mask or business casual attire – just some drinks, slots, and clubbing in a funny but fascinating “professional development” stance. worth it, even if i got covid as a result.

it would have been sad not to see that side – who we are underneath the mask.

“dont shit where you eat,” they say.

but sometimes honesty can come as a relief – youre not alone. and people see you for who you truly are, and maybe thats ok.

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH SHORT HAIR: a creature-of-habit dreads change

when i was five, i received underwear as a birthday present, a gift from my then-best friend’s mom. she had assumed my family was so completely broke, unable to afford any clothing for me other than the only jeans she ever saw me in, worn out and tattered, covered with patches added weekly to cover the holes, and the two sweatshirts i wore interchangeably, for year’s on end.

it was an act of charity.

at twenty-five, i find bittersweet humor in that moment — five year-old me with straight bangs, wearing a lime green tee with the little mermaid embroidered onto it, eagerly shredding the pink wrapping paper to reveal a three-set of powderpuff girls underwear.

at five years-old, i was unaware and oblivious of how others perceived me. i didn’t give a shit what you thought about me — words like self-conscious and insecure didn’t resonate. i was just happy to exist in my own brain space, a place where i played pretend and based my identity around whichever character i fixated on.

i was obsessed with disney’s a bug’s life, a phase in my childhood where my entire life was dictated by the film — my mother fondly recalls me rejecting my real name to my kindergarten teacher and insisting on going by the name of flik. donning either the forest green crewneck with a graphic of flik’s face or the pink fleece with an embroidering of atta, i embodied my infatuation.

so maybe things haven’t changed that much since i was a kid — sure, my world doesn’t revolve around a bug’s life anymore but old habits die hard and sometimes, the only thing that keeps me from forgetting the past is resisting the change that evolves over time.

time-and-time again, i still find myself refusing to try anything new. theres a comfort that comes with consistency, the word “change” forbidden and overwhelming for all the unknowns it can bring. its fear of the unknown, really.

girl who orders the same dishes each and every time we dine out (if girl even eats – thanks, adderall); girl who cant admit to herself that her current living situation with three (previously, four) roommates cant last forever because she cant stand the idea of being alone; girl whos kept the unbrushed and messy ombre hair for years just because one of her infatuations said he loved it.

i lopped off my hair in september 2020, and it was a change that terrified me. its the letting go, the tidal wave of emotions, the new starts and the endings – truly, the end of an era. a time for new beginnings and moving on from my past self, my identity.

so maybe thats what it comes down to – loss of identity. can you even lose your identity if you dont know who the fuck you are?

sometimes, im certain of who i am – a mid-grade hoarder, who cant stand the thought of my belongings being (feeling) lost or seeing food tossed from the fridge even if i dont really eat; loud typer at work with my headset volume turned to 100 to block out the noise, both in my head and in the outside world; lover of youngboy and someone whos mood is determined for the rest of the day by a song; a girl with heightened emotions and the occasional outbursts and a great fear of rejection or being disliked.

the occasional people pleaser, but also someone whos not afraid to cuss you out and threaten you with her plastic “brass knuckles” cat keychain when crossed or spoken to in the wrong way. and i know i anger people too. i do it on purpose, poking the bear and being a pain in the ass (for fun).

for someone who wants people to like her, i sure have a way of pushing peoples buttons and burning bridges, caution tape wrapped around dead friendships because i always leave first (before i am left). i make plans i never intended on keeping in the first place, i cancel last minute and i dont reply for weeks (or maybe ever).

most days, i have no fucking idea who i am, what my purpose in this lifetime is other than to play karma and be the vengeance that other people deserve (and asked for).

i dont know who the fuck i am. but i have short hair now, permed silky smooth, a 180 to how my hair was previously, a cleanse of my past. and i wish cutting my hair (the thing i dreaded the most as a kid), suddenly gave me a better understanding of who i am and why im here.

and maybe im still learning to let go, traumas hidden in the shadows as i continue to run from them, the lessons learned never truly sinking in. maybe ill never be ready to let go, because moving on from the past traumas threaten my fragile identity as it stands.

so maybe thats who i am – girl afraid of the future, but also afraid of the past, just passing the days by lying to herself (and others) while simmering internally with anger.

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH REFLECTIONS: a confession

if i thought 2021 was disturbing, i dont even know what to call 2022. a nightmare from hell? a shitshow? a wakeup call that were all supposed to be fucking miserable in this lifetime and all we can do is to learn to live with this heaviness?

i dont even FUCKING know at this point.

in retrospect, maybe 2021 wasnt as horrible as i had made it out to be – a depressing exaggeration of one-sided fights (in my head) with my boyfriend; hiding in my closet (literally), my refuge and safe haven from this unkind world; a belief that happiness is fleeting, an unattainable goal that we blindly chase with a false sense that we would ever achieve said “happiness.”

maybe 2021 wasnt as horrible as i had thought (maybe i would have posted more if “fun” was absolutely nonexistent in my life or maybe its the benzos that have literally obliterated my short-term memory, which recognizes sadness and anger more than the positive emotions). for someone whos cherished memories and feeling for all my life (heart on my sleeve or whatever BS), its ironic how much ive induced my own amnesia (is this my heaven or hell?).

in times of loneliness and trauma, my first instinct had always been to write in order to release those toxic, bottled up emotions that live rent free in my little low IQ mind. maybe i have nothing left to say anymore, or i realize that my words dont matter.

i let my thoughts rot, letting them devour my braincells as i weep to myself in a corner – and it doesnt fucking matter.

so today i take relief in klonopin, to make myself more of a smooth brain, to feel less so i could be “normal” and mildly functional.

i crave floating on clouds with quiet, nonintrusive thoughts: nothing matters, nothing exists. not you, not me, just complete silence.

and lately, numbness is my only retreat – to feel absolute nothing (the cleanest feeling in the world imo), to continue existing in my dreamworld where people we have lost are just “traveling to a foreign land” and not gone (forever), fantasy fueled by pills and time-traveling for days at a time because life is fucking miserable.

so heres my question for whatever this shitty ass universe has to offer, only to collect our miseries and suffering: am i supposed to expect that each year gets worse and worse or am i a spoiled little bitch that always needs to have her way? or do i just lack appreciation or awareness for the moments as they unwind in real time, only to reflect later: “it wasnt so bad.”

its the high highs and low lows with no sense of middle ground or stability, rollercoaster of emotions torpedoing over my life.

but the high highs – those moments make life bearable. “tiny dots on an endless timeline.”

just tiny dots, endless timeline – moments worth remembering, moments well pine the rest of our lives for knowing well never get them back, moments wed rather obliterate, concealed in the shadows of our minds.

looking back, 2021 wasnt awful at all – breakdowns (yes, of fucking course) but also cherished memories with those who are still here and those we will reunite with on the other side.

im not okay. im absolutely not fucking okay, but ill plaster on a fake dollfaced smile, and when people ask me how im doing, the autoresponse so theyd not interrogate further: “im fine.”

im fine. just fine. nothing is wrong, and nothing exists.

GFY, fleur (on klonopin)

GIRL WITHOUT MONAT: the almost-quarantine-hobby that never was (and never will be)

it seems like everyone has discovered some new hobby or hidden talent this pandemic, whether it be baking bread from scratch, trying their hand at quarantine art, or figuring out how to become the next houseplant whisperer.

there was a day and a half where i thought i might have found my quarantine hobby: monat. for those who have never heard of monat, it’s a company that sells “beauty and wellness products,” primarily hair and skincare (and apparently now supplements). in short, it’s been said that its an MLM (i don’t know very much about multilevel marketing, but i do know it’s often compared to a pyramid scheme, also known as a scam).

by participating in the market partner program, you advertise their products by posting hundreds of stories a day of you “catching up with your team/bossbabes” or dripping holy rejuveniqe oil on your scalp to display to the world that yes, you do indeed use the shit you sell.

it’s incessant, and it’s annoying. and i have too much pride to be annoying.

when this guy i met at a club in castro district four years ago reached out to me on instagram asking me to take part in “his hair and skincare business,” i blinked dollar signs and imagined a new life where i could drop $25K on Rodeo Drive without thinking about it. he has never reached out to me before and the memories of that intoxicated night were hazy at best.

the promises of all-expenses-paid vacations seemed too good to be true. in this stagnant, pandemic-ridden world, we all need something to look forward to these days, even if it was all in my imagination.

rookie mistake number 1: there is no such thing as free shit — no free money, no free vacations, no free cadillac (why the FUCK would i want to drive a cadillac anyway? gimme a mclaren, so i can tear up the roads like youngboy).

rookie mistake number 2: it’s important to know what the business is. maybe it’d be helpful to know whether he owns it himself or if it’s part of a larger corporation or maybe it’s an MLM, pyramid-scheme type bullshit. Ask for the name next time, because fleur, you are a dumbass. i fucked up — i didn’t ask him for the name of the company. my bad for thinking it was HIS business that he started in his basement, laboring over the perfect formula for all natural haircare.

i’m gullible so i agreed. thinking back, why would he want me to be a part of his “company”? Remember, i’m a nobody. i haven’t really had an online presence except for the occasional instagram post. I AM A NOBODY.

next thing i know, i was cornered in an awkward zoom call between him and this other girl who tried so fucking hard to sell the “community” aspect of becoming monat market partner.

it felt more like a formal job interview, with them asking me why i think i’m qualified, what my work ethic looks like and how much i can commit to this company. they wanted to see if i can post constantly, multiple times a day to show everyone how much i love monat.

i can fake an interview — it’s easy. just show how eager you are, how on top of your shit you are even if you’re nothing close to what you come off as. i’d say that in a moment of ego, i wanted to ace the interview, so i sold myself as someone who’d be willing to adopt monat as my religion, to live and breathe monat. they sucked up every word i said.

i purchased the $300 hair and skincare starter kit under my new “mentor.” it was an impulse and i definitely regretted it.

rookie mistake number 3: DO YOUR RESEARCH. maybe you’d discover the multiple lawsuits against the company and thousands of 1-star reviews claiming the product causes balding. maybe if you did your research, your boyfriend wouldn’t have to introduce you to the term “monat huns,” or have to explain to you the new “friends” you met over zoom will actually become your next cult leaders.

these monat people are quick when it comes to shipping out packages but not when it comes to answering customer service questions. and of course, that would trigger a spiral — i had send so many emails ranging from formal to completely unhinged, called multiple times only to be put on hold for fucking hours. and when they did answer (finally), i demanded that my order be cancelled and that i’m refunded ASAP in a rambling, clusterfucky fashion, i’m pretty sure it was more trouble dealing with me than just giving me the damn refund.

lesson learned: in times of urgency, it’s okay to be unhinged. well, obviously don’t be a karen and don’t lash out at store employees (those in the service industries are human beans too). but for trivial shit like shampoo, it might be the key to getting what you want. for the record, i have no regrets and this whole chaotic mess can kiss my ass.

i got my refund (otherwise i’d have a conniption). so in the grand scheme of things, it’s ok, they’re ok, whatever. i still don’t have a hobby though. i’m still working on that.

maybe the haircare products work wonders, but i’m good with not finding out for myself. i refuse to sell shit that i won’t even try. i refuse to lose my hair as i already stress-pull as is. i won’t lie to my friends and risk losing them if they end up going bald from putting toxic shit in their hair (although, i wouldn’t mind selling the shampoo to someone i dislike for the fun of watching them lose their hair).

i refuse to be a parasite. i don’t want to be that annoying friend that pointlessly posts everyday and shows off a product i don’t want association with.

most importantly, if i were to be in a cult, i’d never be the follower.

i’d be the leader, bitch.

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH ADVICE: self-love?

i’m probably the last person who should be giving advice about self-love considering i tend to fluctuate between thinking i’m hot shit and thinking i need a lobotomy and maybe some plastic surgery. maybe self-love isn’t a default condition or a linear path but something that bounces between a spectrum. after all, insecurity is engrained in our generation, in a world where your highlight reel on instagram matters more than what your life is truly like – it is all an illusion. i think i post on insta the most at my lowest life moments (overcompensating maybe?).

i’m still learning — i’ll always be learning with whatever shit life flings at me next. maybe we can learn about how to give more of a rat’s ass about ourselves. self-care and whatever the fuck, the things ive put off because truthfully i dont know how to care for myself other than the occasional eyebrow threading and mani pedi sessions, listening to the new youngboy nba album on repeat. having shiny, flawless nails and perfect eyebrows cant answer everything, as it seems (but sincerely, kentrell has definitely been a lifesaver).

its easier just to numb myself most of the times. and im guilty of that. i feel too much, im too sensitive, and little things tend to peeve the shit out of me.

i grew up extremely insecure, and even that is an understatement. the reflection in the mirror would always badger me about how my nose is too flat, my ears stick out too much, my legs are too chunky to ever pull off that mini skirt. id pinch my nose up, imagining having a taller nose bridge and narrower nostrils, pull back the skin and fat on my thighs to experience the much-desired thigh gap.

im far from loving myself completely. body image wise, better. but hiding in a closet at 26 to cry isnt exactly considered self-care but at least its a safe space. its MY safe space.

i still have those days (in fact i had a closet episode two days ago) but i’ve learned to accept some better days too.

once in while, i’d pat myself on the back for how my eyeliner wings are perfectly symmetrical or check myself out in the mirror because i don’t look disgusting in shorts. some days, my inner-voice, that inner critic, just feels less loud.

and once in a while, i feel genuinely proud when my boss compliments my work (thanks prescription adderall). ive tried not to take things people say too personally. ive learned that not all friendships have an abrupt end and if it really matters, the friendship can be repaired. the love/hate type of relationships of my past, sprouting from pent up anger on my end and the recipient being unable to read the room until i one day explode and cut them off forever, it doesnt always have to be (unless i was uncertain about you at the beginning and you were only meant to be my temporary best friend out of my inability to be alone).

i’ve learned to appreciate those days where my mind isnt clouded with self-doubt and anxiety. for starters, im trying to write more again.

im trying to express more appreciation towards my boyfriend, who has put up with my up-and-downs, shitshow and all. and ive accepted returning to the office (and it has truly been a struggle to say the least) so when im genuinely happy talking to someone in the office without the forced pleasanteeism, im learning not to take the small things for granted.

small footsteps, and im learning (and i also hope this isnt cliche as FUCK).

GFY, fleur

GIRL WITH THE MOST CAKE *BUT NOT THE MOST HAPPINESS*

when i started this blog, i had imagined something a bit more curated. then i realized i dont have the mental capacity to tell the stories i wanted to tell. im not in a place where i can tell my stories and give them the voice and meaning they deserve.

nowadays (when i actually have the brain capacity to form cohesive thoughts), this has become my personal, disorganized stream-of-consciousness hot mess that i pass along as a “blog”, just a page of my bullshit rants and endless complaints. its just me, venting to an empty room – no one is watching, no one cares.

for years, i was obsessed with courtney love’s band hole (and yes, til this day i still think she is an ICON) – music to love to, hate to, cry to, laugh to, dream to. courtney hits differently when youre dealing with shit.

“someday you will ache like i ache” –

does anyone else think happiness is temporary? like an fleeting illusion thats never destined to last long. its like when my best friend asks me about whether she should end her upcoming book on a happy or sad poem, and my gut instinct says sad. because not everything has a happy ending.

and the worst part about feeling that happiness never lasts? i have everything. i literally have NOT A FUCKING THING to be complaining about because my life is good? so what the FUCK am i aching for?

and im ashamed. and im guilty, for not appreciating all that i have (not to sound cliche as fuck).

saturday nights are best spent having breakdowns and hiding in the closet to text my twin and choking on my tears because no one else ever seems to understand. and even when im not publicly breaking down, its all overthinking, spiraling with all the chaos thats in my head.

“i want to be the girl with the most cake” –

and i am the girl with the most cake. in the back of my mind, a voice always whispered that one day, when i was the girl with the most cake, i would be happy and happiness would no longer feel like walking on eggshells.

i have a boyfriend with kind eyes (and kind soul), i live in a gorgeous home with four of the closest friends i have and i basically consider family. ive always struggled with being alone and now im never alone; that should have been the cure-all to everything. i have a job that i dont hate (to clarify i dont hate the job, but i may hate a coworker lol), and i have parents that give a shit about me.

and for the record, this was never supposed to be a humble brag. this is just me pointing out that im an ungrateful bitch thats struggling with having consistent happiness or content.

maybe happiness is overrated, were all aching and burnt the fuck out, and life is just a miserable experience we have to learn to just fucking deal with. best not to deal with that alone, although im still struggling to comprehend what is even wrong in the first place.

and now i sit in my bed, writing a post that no one will read but myself, ignoring my boyfriend calling me for dinner because im a petty bitch and quite honestly, a pain in the ass to deal with. i guess ill wait here, playing a one-sided hide-and-seek game and seeing if anyone gives enough fucks about me to come find me.

“i fake it so real, i am beyond fake” –

GFY, fleur