Experiences - Tumblr Posts
Is it just me, or does anyone else experience the following?:
A song playing in a store, mall, restaurant, fitness center, community pool, or anywhere else that plays music in the background seems louder if you know the song versus if you don't know the song. This is despite most of the time, the place playing music plays all songs at roughly the same volume as each other (especially if it's set on a radio station).
Feel free to reblog if you have experiences (or not) with this.
this is so sweet ☹️
So, I'm trans. And several years ago, I was at my great grandfather's funeral. 17, newly on T, barely out to anyone other than my close friends and family. And I'm standing there at the refreshment's table, surrounded by strangers and members of my family's church, when George walks up to me.
This man is ancient, bent like a finger and frail. Tufts of white hair surround his wrinkled face. Like always, he's wearing thick glasses, massive hearing aids, and his veteran's hat. George was my first introduction to the concept of war, when he told me as a child why he was missing two fingers on his hand. He's been a fixture at church since I can remember. I've only ever seen him at there or in uniform at parades, the rest of his time spent in a nursing home somewhere. He picks up a deviled egg and says, in his quiet voice,
"You know, before your grandfather died, he told me that now he had 3 grandsons."
I'm frozen in place. I don't know what to say to that, if I should say anything at all. This is not a conversation I expected to have, especially not with this man. But he continues.
"I didn't know what he meant! So he explained it to me."
And I can imagine it. My great grandfather, uninformed and opinionated but supportive, explaining to his friend the news he barely understood himself over after-service coffee and cookies. His eldest grandchild was now a boy.
"And, you know, I didn't know what to think."
Here, George looks me up and down. This 90-something year old war veteran, who knew me mostly as the little girl playing in the church kitchen with his wife, processing what my great grandfather had really meant. It feels like a long pause, even thought it probably passed in a second.
"But you look good. So, eh!"
And then he smiled, shrugged, and walked away without another word. If I was fine, if I was happier, then that's all that mattered.
George passed away this week, at the age of 99. This memory has been bouncing around in my head for a while, but I wasn't sure if or how I should share it. It was a conversation that meant very little, but also meant the world. It was scary, and funny, and the moment when I realized that sometimes the people you least expect will accept you. Sometimes, even if they don't fully understand, even if they barely know you, someone will choose to support you. And that will always matter.
There's a very unique kind of rage I get when you say you had a bad experience under a specific set of circumstances and some absolute bottom-feeding trollop will turn around and say oh but they had such a wonderful experience under a completely different set!!
Like no shit?? We did not have the same experience?? That's why yours was good and mine was bad??
This is in effort to reach out to my fellow half-Mongolians. I may not be half-African, but this is nonetheless touching to find an Afro-Mongolian reaching out on multiple accounts, especially looking back on my experiences with an African exchange student not more than 2 years ago in university back home. She’s half-Nigerian & half-Kenyan (through the mother & father respectively), & has a couple of siblings back in her home in Lagos, & yes I’ve dated her a couple of times before. She was quite pleasant to be around, & this article ties to the experience in what it is to be African in my homelands through Inolda’s narrative. Even though our Mongolian parents were from the opposite kinds, I hence got off relatively better since it was from my bone. If you look back at one of my blog posts from a while ago, it also has my experience of what it is to be a hafu, so please read that too. I’d like to tell you more about her when the chance comes. Happy 150th post here, apunno paye yan.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Intent on completing life like a series of tasks.
Knowing your way in the dark, keep planning every step.
Such a fine line between surface and depth, poverty and riches.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
But you are more. You are Magic. You are Powerful. You are Spirit and you are Love. Nothing less. Never less.
☆●
and one day i started listening to a kind of music i never listen to, and one day i started reading about a topic i never thought of before. and one day, i started doing things because of you.
Quote from Marian Keys
Teeth at my throat, fingers in my hair. A voice chill as the winter we’re in, every breath and gasp and pleasurable sound we make turning the air steaming.
Hissed encouragement, the pulse and roar of blood, fingertips hot as flames.
Words and sentences vaporized, coherent thoughts obliterated, my mind sparking, dying, lost in each ravenous entanglement.
The snow is everywhere, frigid, beautiful. Bare trees claw up at the endlessly dark night, and the stars watch us with envy, feeling each motion, each buildup of pressure, each erupting release.
The sky turns. The Moon soars.
Teeth at my throat, fingers in my hair.
It never ends.
Just for a Little While
Just for a Little While
I was born in 1995, and I have spent my 25th year of existence during the onset of the 2020 pandemic. I have heard of the quarter-life crisis before, but I never did expect that I would be experiencing it while the world is in literal viral chaos. I have been in isolation before, but this imposed an unrelenting imposition of both internal and external turmoil. This, in turn, has given me an…
