I always, always find myself going back to that certain in scene in "Frances Ha" (2013) where its titular character, Frances Halladay, runs amok across the streets of New York, with David Bowie's "Modern Love" playing in the background. What I most loved about it, all these years, was how it played it out for a full minute without having the concrete meaning nor development as to why why was the scene necessary. It just is.
Frances is struggling to make a career out of dancing--she's stumbling upon every situation that both brings her closer and farther away from her dream. Right before her dream becomes realized, something gets in the way and she seems to fall back to square one and start over again. It's an endless cycle for the first half of the film. It looked as if she was running for her life with no substantial reason why or who is she running from. She's just running!
This whole year was about running and figuring out along the way where I'm headed or what I'm trying to escape from. It's not that deep, though. Maybe this is just me shedding off so much of this year's accumulated pain--kind of like blowing off the smoke in the glass so I could see better, to break the glass that divides me from what I'm meant for.
It has been fear that has kept me here, rejection of any movement that I'm required to exert so I could reach my "full potential," or whatever the fuck it means. Months ago I lamented about how I'm so much more than the everyday routine I find myself in, but conversely, I couldn't reject it because this is what keeps me sane and at ease over everything--first and foremost, financially, because it keeps my bed space. It introduced me to such great heights, both glory and shame (more on shame). It gave me tough lessons to learn, like how to enjoy my pay check without jeopardizing my rent dues. (I'm still struggling over this, 11 months after.)
But having this vision for a purely stable life without any struggle to bring myself out into the world, without having to take risks in what I've always wanted to do, seems myopic. It's slowly becoming unbearable for me to accept that I am on loop 24/7 because of a taxing job that revolves around... social media. I don't mean to sound like an ingrate, a rotting Gen-Xer. I just miss being out there. I fucking miss writing, but that's very unrealistic--it doesn't, and will not any time soon, support the lifestyle I have, or pay my bills, to begin with.
Fucking appalling how I chose to expand the "I miss writing" sentence into five unbearable paragraphs. It's the girl who cried ABUSE BY CONDENSED CAPTIONS.
