void98 / juhi ♫( -_･) ︻デ═一 ▸
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scrub-j
010126
it's 4:34am and im sitting in my bed. is it my bed just because I am in it? or was it my bed because it formed a special attachment to me, a bond? it used to be my bed, that is for sure, but perhaps my bed is now in Anjos, sitting next to to my Loftie alarm clock and my melted candle wax.it's 4:35am and I've returned from my new year's plans. it's 2026 but somehow that number feels realer than the new year has ever felt. yes, it's January 2026, and it somehow makes sense. perhaps its because I feel I have lived a year. it feels like the months took their toll on me. it feels like every day was a new challenge, a new opportunity. it feels like every day I was forced to stare down the gullet of time and make meaning from nothing.
it's 4:37am and the time just keeps on ticking. 12 hours ago I lay in this very same bed, angry at having spilled the vinegar dipping sauce that came with my dumplings on my clothes and keyboard. tired from a four hour long car drive up from SLO. disheartened at my impending academic and logistical doom. I half-heartedly started an episode of lost and took the kind of nap where your eyelids are open but your blanket is over your face.
it's 4:38am and I have a face mask on. I thought I used this face mask before I left; in fact I distinctly remember proposing to JP that we do them. the last time I slept in this bed I slept here with him and this house feels a bit of a hollow husk without him here. when I walked up the stairs I wanted nyla to bark at me so I could admonish her.
it's 4:39am and the minutes are ticking by slowly. I took the 5 back home when I could have walked. it was raining and I waited in the dark for the bus to arrive. to take public transit feels natural for this new me but I can't remember what I would have done before I moved to lisbon. perhaps called a Lyft.
it's 4:40 am. when I dragged myself out of bed I thought I'd put on a cute little outfit, I thought I'd do my makeup. from the rejected clothing I left in my closet after I packed my bag for Paris I fashioned together a costume. from the ziploc bags full of half-used old makeup I scrounged eyeshadow and foundation. I felt liminal, and odd. I took an uber to sutro where Z— was playing; I regaled them with tales of my journey. J— picked me up and we drove around the Richmond looking for somewhere open to eat. I got wonton soup at an empty Szechuan restaurant; him spicy shrimp. we shared a wood ear fungus. we drove to Donut World for a donut, and coffee, then to the bar at the chapel to do not much of anything. I left to ring in the new year at underground. R— was manning the door; he'd put us on the list. I ran into S— again: he was the first person I saw in the new year; we clinked our mezcal sodas as the countdown ended. after the customary drugs in the bathroom (where I identified an e-worm.club sticker on the door, near the handle) and some skin time with sweaty bears, we peeled off to E—'s where we mixed at odd tempos and exchanged tea. it feels like my community is intact, but somehow I am alienated.
at 4:46am I recall that E— said san Francisco is jail. that is indeed how it felt, perhaps subconsciously, when I left. what more left is there for me? I thought. I thought I had extended into all the corners I had wanted to extend into, left my mark on the page. because of the water, E— says. San Francisco is cramped into its corners, bordered by the sea. where is there left to go? I thought. and so I had to leave, naturally.
it's 4:47am and I am not ready to return to this city that was so fondly mine. everything feels different for me; I feel so different. I'd like to continue this journey I am on. the city feels parochial, and small. I feel guilt at thinking of her this way, she who has gifted me so much life, so much beauty, so much experience. perhaps she will again, but for now this is not my place, though it may be home. my world has expanded beyond the little bubble of the bay, and for better. my journey has only just begun.
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