Well, I didn't move abroad, but I did move.

I’m not usually up to speed with pop songs or culture (unless it’s distinctly queer in a particular way). I wasn’t allowed to listen to anything besides classical western music and “world” music as a kid. Somehow, this song entered my lexicon about when it came out. It was already resonating with me then, but it hits harder now.

I guess I listen to radio stations besides what I was “allowed” to when I was young now. I still barely know who this person is aside from he wore pearls for a bit and people freaked out about it for whatever reason. He looks like one of the boy band members that my elementary and middle school classmates liked a lot. I don’t know if he wrote the song, if it means anything to him, but the way he sings it pains me.

I just want emotional intimacy. I crave it. It’s elusive. It can be hard to find, hard to develop, hard to keep. I struggle to even define what it is, what it means to me.

It’s something I didn’t get much of, didn’t know how to access as my authentic self, for the longest time. Especially as a child. The thing about becoming a people pleaser out of fear of being alone, to cope with being alone, is that you’ll end up being alone in company no matter what anyway because you’re never *you*.

I think I was being me though, I just didn’t keep my social net wide enough to weather the changes and shifts. I have fractured family. A close friend or two, though I have neglected to reach out in awhile. New coworkers. New clients. A cat.

That hunger I have for emotional intimacy makes it all the more difficult to be patient in the search—or wait?—for it. Patience is a virtue, or so I’m told by “regular” people, with “regular” lives, boring and rich with loving communities, “regular” families, meaningful work, material comforts. I don’t know what I mean by “regular”. I don’t know why I’m so bitter sometimes. I don’t want to be.

I don’t think we’re meant to be alone for long stretches of time. Humans, I mean, or perhaps I mean especially. And yet, there is an addictive calming quality to solitude for me. I need it in doses. But I find it wears on me now if it’s all I do with my spare time. Maybe I’ll get used to it. Maybe I should break the habit.

I miss domesticity with others. What is closeness, how much do people get to know one another in healthily attached relationships? Is there such a thing? Am I capable of developing and maintaining any type of healthy relationship? I probably need to start with myself. I’m trying.

I don’t know who I am. I know what I like, though. I know a lot of what I don’t like, too. Identity feels like a small jellyfish in the sea to me. I understand the general shape of what it’s supposed to be, but I can’t quite grasp its slippery body out of the water or make sense of how it shifts and flops about the more I try to take hold.

Will my life feel empty if I follow what I want, what seems to make me feel good, feel whole, instead of being led by my fears? The things I was taught to seek, to do, to be?

Queerness can feel so empty and lonely, isolating. I suppose any dimension of identity that goes against or doesn’t fit the dominant people or narrative can feel that way. And yet, I can’t bring myself to put myself back in the box now that I’ve been out of it. I would rather die old and lonely than pretend to be something I’m not for the rest of my life. I guess this way, maybe I have a chance to take breaks from loneliness with other people that also won’t get back in the box.

Anyway, I hope you’re doing well. It'll get cozy on here again soon. I hope you're getting enough to eat, getting enough sleep, have time for yourself and the people you love. See you again sometime.