Tina is a queer writer in Brooklyn, who uses Google mostly to image search 45-year-old women in suits, and Twitter mostly to report on her findings. She has a deep obsession with narrative, a CAROL tattoo, and, relatedly, a degree in film.
The Creation of Matter, or What Do You Do When The World Stops Spinning?
What I’d really like to be is everything. Is there an app for that? The older I get, the more I come to realize that the thing I’m really struggling with— underneath it all, hidden behind the daily desperation of “when will I finally become the person I want to be?” and the sometimes-hourly spiral sessions over my too-big feelings and too-small life— is that what I want cannot be quantified. No matter how hard I try or how intensely I think about it or how many different ways I find to write about it, I can’t seem to crack the code on balancing my desire for small, comfortable, everyday joys and my desperation for big, lofty, bucket-list happiness.
Icarus and Us
Heat does rise and you lived, in your cozy (for some), claustrophobic (for others) cottage so far up North, the summer hit late, but when it hit, it came on hard and with a fervor and fever I had not yet known. Did you know? When you cracked the windows in the car, when you put the fan on full speed, when you planted your garden, when we jumped into the old quarry, holding hands? Did you know how hot it would get? Did you know we’d fly so close to the sun, our wings would burn, or did you think the iced coffee and the hand-picked tomatoes and the occasional rain shower would cool us off?
Here, or Anywhere
You’re here looking for answers. Or, you’re here knowing you’ll guffaw at the ones offered to you like they’re tiny golden gifts from the stars and not overwritten, under-developed fortune cookies. But you’re here anyway. You like being here. You like being anywhere.
Where Does It Hurt?
No one is asking, because you were the one who would’ve, eventually, if anyone was going to at all. But I’ll tell you anyway.
There are different shades of black. This is a thing I have just learned “Just” meaning as an adult Once I started learning things because I cared to and not because I had to.
Tell Me A Story
I remember being in the kitchen or in the living room or outside on the porch when my grandmother would call. My mom would be on the phone for what felt like hours, but was probably 20 minutes. They’d talk while my mom made dinner or cleaned or sat on our outdoor deck furniture. I’d hear one side but I’d know the other.