Tomorrow morning

my mama and I are boarding a flight back to Montreal where we’ll move my (five-years worth of) grown-up life out of my apartment in two days. One old roommate (whom I love) and another new one will both be there. A third new one hasn’t moved in yet and hopefully he’ll stay away (as I’ve hinted about to the current roommates), because I profoundly resent him, and rightfully so. He’s a big part of why I’ve decided I can’t be in Montreal/McGill while he’s still around finishing up. Debbie once wrote in an email: “i’m sorry that every time a boy is a dick the girl is the one who leaves.” It’s all very complicated and dramatic and STOOPID but also very, very serious in its real effects.

I’m generally a receptive and wont-to-forgive person (dunno how this calculates into me leaving), but right now: *so* angry. Everyday—and don’t know if this year will help me “come to terms with that,” or just hammer the resentment home.

Sometimes, often, really, my anger frightens me. I don’t know whether it’ll track inwards, becoming internalized, or if I can put it to “productive use” like a Good Feminist. These two things aren’t mutually exclusive—actually often aren’t. Look, I’ve read all sorts of theoretical texts on oppression, like any good liberal arts college graduate has, and it has all been very important and enlightening I am grateful for them, but NEVER have I felt what it means to live one’s theory until now. If I was less Asian and less meek and less of a girl’s girl’s girl, it would be different, maybe not better, but different. Still, it’s a bloody mess. Sometimes I have to tell my friends: look, you know I’m smart enough at least to begin to decipher why I’m still so HYSTERICALLY ANGRY, and *please* you’re just going to have to trust me that it is this demeaning, then and now and still, and one day I promise to make good on this anger. It’s only a promise. I feel as wretched as this is inarticulate, but I hope the frantic affect comes across.

Now to stuff my OBJECTS into boxes and suitcases, and decide which books to leave on the sidewalk. What else are there now but things?