Justice for Babies & being angry

For those concerned, I ended up finding my headphones, so everyone can rest easy.

EDIT: I started boxing again, so maybe that’s why this one’s a little punchier. Ha.

The title of this post is half-clickbait because what I really meant to write is “Justice For Those Toddler-Adjacent,” but “Justice for Babies” is funnier. I went to a baby shower today, and there was a little girl there—probably between three and four. She was scampering around, playing with a deflated ballon, just existing, and everyone was laughing at her. And I noticed that when she realized people were watching her, she would stiffen up a little and stop laughing. And then I recalled that I used to act the same way. Adults ARE ANNOYING. No one would take me seriously. I was a spectacle, and because I was also shy, any emotion of mine was met with layered shock and surprise—so much that I decided it was easier to be quieter. I may have gone overkill because my community at home thought I was mute at one point.

But anyway, adults also ask children the dullest questions. When I was little, they’d ask me who my best friend was at school, and I remember thinking, “Do you know them? Why do you want to know, then?” My hatred for being perceived in real life definitely began at toddler-adjacent-hood. If any of you end up having children, I encourage you to take them seriously and also encourage your friends/siblings to not ask them stupid questions.

My journal has a clean girl aesthetic

I am disheartened to say that I do not like my current journal and am itching to start writing in my next one. I thought I could make it more engaging by sticking stickers on its back cover (one of them is from Temu, thank you Gwyn), but it’s so boring. My favorite journal was a $7 sketchbook with the thickest, most scrumptious pages that I found at the Hopkins bookstore. Loved it so much its front cover is hanging onto the rest of the corpus by a thread. My current one is a $25 Leichtturn1917 in a lugubrious blue that reminds me strikingly of the clean girl aesthetic.

teeny tiny baby tangent: the clean girl aesthetic irritates me sometimes because when I put oil in my hair and walk out of the house, it’s a problem, but when a white girl does it it’s fine? bffr. also y’all used to tell me gold looked ugly and cheap & now allllll of u have gold hoops BFFR!

I don’t know if that makes sense, but it’s how I feel. My next journal is one I picked up in Santorini in the middle of an uphill walk in the middle of a heat wave. It’s red with gold threading and is, of course, unlined, and I am writing at a propulsive pace in hopes that I fill my current one so I can get to my unbloomed scarlet child.

Why I am sad

I have never had this much time to read in my life. Ever. I am moving at an exultant pace. I finished two books in the week I’ve been back, and have four more books that I checked out from the library sitting in my closet. Also, I haven’t unpacked yet which is why there are currently more books in my closet than clothes.

All this time I have to read is deceptive and cruel because I know that it must end (not for a while, though, inshallah & alhamdulillah), and then I think about how some people’s livelihoods are to read and write and learn new languages. Even if I do get there one day, it’s going to take mountains of discipline and time before I do, and I am feeling spectacularly lazy.

I’m also sad because I do not like Amerikkka and wonder frequently what it would be like to live in London, specifically, after reading an article about what it means to be South Asian in London. It’s jarring and beautiful to think that there has emerged a complex and rich hybrid culture within the South Asian-British community. I’ve heard before that there’s an elevated confidence and swagger in being South Asian there—something missing in South Asian-American culture. I feel that’s partially because there aren’t enough South Asians in the artistic and cultural worlds here. Happy to help rectify the problem if you’ll have me. I’m probably being a little naive, but an incontrovertible truth is that America is frustrating.

I’m recognizing that the tone of this post is a lot more indignant (perhaps unnecessarily, perhaps not), so I’m going to continue and say that if I see another post on TikTok or Instagram recommending anything AAPI without mentioning Southeast Asians or South Asians, I will scream. Experienced enough of that in high school and am sooooo over it.

Anyway stay mad free palestine Sudan Congo I hate it here