I’m writing this entry in a coffee shop, an hour away from when I’m supposed to perform as a Spoken Word poet. I’m frazzled, caffeinated and very nervous.
I have a routine. I like to follow it most days.
I have a friend who would want to do anything else in the universe than go home to her mom’s. In broad strokes, it has gotten to the point that she wishes that she wasn’t born as her mother’s daughter. She tells me (and a couple others – we have a group chat) countless stories of what her mom does that makes her feel like a failure, like she’s trapped in a corner.
As her friend, that breaks my heart. As someone who has seen her grow into a brilliant young woman despite all odds, to see her go through this makes me angry in a way that I don’t entirely know how to express.
Note: I’m writing this to relieve my inner mind. This isn’t going to be a happy entry and I’d prefer if you don’t ask me about this. If you’d rather skip this, that’s perfectly okay. If you do read on, I appreciate it.
Hello again, you wonderful weirdos. You didn’t think I’d be back? Well, to be fair, neither did I. I’ve been gone for a while and by now, I assume that you know that I’m no good at keeping a consistent posting schedule.
So, in true Eri fashion, I’m here to give you a life update. It’s been quite the break and I’ve got some stories to tell.
Last night, I had a rough patch.
The gist of it was that I felt that no matter what I did or made, it will not matter because nobody knows I exist. I didn’t blip on anyone’s radar. I’m invisible and will never be recognized for anything.
“Uhh, what’s with the title? What’s “The Secret Life of Ordinary Things”?”
So I don’t know if you know but in case you didn’t know, I’m trying to write a book. Currently, the working title is “The Secret Life of Ordinary Things”. It’s a compilation of my writings about my life: the mundane, everyday-ness of life from my somewhat introspective perspective.