I Want to Talk to You, Without Speaking

The door's already open...

thought of the day: I need it. I need it so bad.

listen while reading / listen while reading / listen while reading

Note: these are fragments from some entries I’ve written in the past 1-2 months

“Le ma-donne” (Angelo Maggi, date unknown)

written November 15th, on a menu from the gala

I accompanied my mother to a gala in which herself and two other people were being awarded for a lifelong dedication of service to blah blah this that and the next thing. I had intended to sit idly by and stew in the discomfort of finding yourself to be the youngest, least accomplished person in a room. We were about two hours into this dinner and I could feel myself itching to go home, call a friend, and go to sleep. By chance, I looked across the table and saw this man, who had to be almost 80 years old, gearing up to deliver his acceptance speech. He fiddled a bit with his cutlery and looked down at his blazer, turning to his wife and, in a delicate whisper, asking her her “should I button it?” I have not stopped thinking about that moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

written the week of December 10th

As the year comes to a close, I have found myself paying pointed attention to the way romantic love exists around me. There was that jewelry commercial where a couple lays in bed together and light streams beautifully across their intertwined bodies. There was the way Sally Rooney wrote about the beauty of unspoken intimacy — a hand hold here, a soft kiss on the back of the neck there…you know the rest. There was the way a man secretly took photos of his girlfriend reading on the train. And there was the way an elderly couple sat and had a couple of drinks on a Sunday afternoon, light hitting them hazy and sweet.

I have always been a witness to romantic love, but not yet a participant. I can recite “When Harry Met Sally” and “The Proposal” and “Pretty Woman” and “Notting Hill” by heart. I know love and sex through the words of James Baldwin, Nikki Giovanni, Sandra Cisneros, etc. I’ve heard Prince wail about the possibility of losing a lover. Sam Cooke croons about all he wishes for a lover. Roberta Flack laments about an old flame. The thread which unsuspectingly buries itself in these iconic depictions is the idea of love as something declarative and grandiose.

When I was 19, I found a collection of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec’s work on the ground outside of the 14th Street-Union Square subway station. The book was not in English, but, thankfully, the beauty of art is that it does not require language. Flipping through Toulouse-Lautrec’s portrayals of intimacy, I began to think of relationships as not just the climactic moments, but those that come in between. The pillow talk, the quarrels, the days and minutes and hours of silent, companionable boredom.

“In Bed” (Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, 1892)

The other day, I wrote that I “am much more interested in what came before me.” If I want to apply that logic here, then I am much more interested in what exists in the seams of a relationship. I am not particularly drawn to the exhilarating, slightly nauseating, thrill of first dates or the meticulous planning about when to text and which emojis to use (if you can use any at all) or any other cultural behavior which has altered the landscape of dating today. I just want domesticity. Comfortability. Something that is understood, but does not need to be explained. When I talk about romantic love, it feels like I am always trying to fill in the gaps of my inexperience. Helping friends with their relationship struggles leads me to regurgitating uninventive phrases (“all relationships are hard,” “it’s about compromise and perspective,” blah blah blah). It feels as though, but acutely prescribing ubiquitous relationship advice, I can tuck my inexperience away. Pretend that never being in a serious relationship is a fun fact I harbor and deploy for the shock factor, like a party trick. As someone who was on track to become a sexual health educator (or relationship therapist, honestly college was a confusing time) I tell my friends that “I have the education, but not the experience.”

Painting by Lorenzo Mattotti (date/title unknown)

I have an unusual secondhand proximity to romantic love, solely because of how much detail my friends provide me about their escapades, joys, fights, betrayals, etc. My relationship to being privy to these details has been sinusoidal, at best. In high school, they were thrust upon me without consent and admittedly I did not have the language or intimacy with myself to articulate my complete and utter exhaustion at solving other people’s problems. In the years since, however, I have gotten much better at drawing boundaries about my tolerance for hearing about other people’s relationship problems and, admittedly, their joys. It feels very shameful to admit being jealous of a friend or that their happiness leaves you lying awake at night, wondering when you will experience the same bashful glee. This could be because jealousy has an innately negative connotation, or it could just be me overthinking. Chances are it’s both. I have been trying to re-contextualize jealousy, however, as just the universe indicating something that I want.

It has taken me a long time to realize that being happy for someone does not absolve your own sorrow. You cannot borrow someone’s feelings and expect them to take root in your heart. Maybe I am just realizing that everything exists at the same time as something else. I am allowed — and if I feel indulgent, maybe even entitled — have an initial reaction to an informational input, sit with myself and contextualize, and move forward from there. Not every reaction has to be immediate or indefinite. You can be happy for someone without feeling their joy as your own. I can no longer live a life that is controlled by what happens to other people. I find myself thinking about Toni Morrison and “Sula.” My secondhand loneliness. My second love. My secondhand life, if you will.

“Lonely, ain’t it? Yes, but my lonely is mine. Now your lonely is somebody else’s. Made by somebody else and handed to you. Ain’t that something? A secondhand lonely.” - Toni Morrison, “Sula,” 1973

There are a few words which circle my mind when I think about romantic love and how many things (almost entirely out of our hands) have to be going “right” in order for a relationship to begin and be nurtured.

Here are the words: Belonging. Silo. Devotion. Unspoken. Hunger.

I was quite proud of my mastery of maintaining a healthy distance between myself and craving a flashy type of love paraded through the history of media. But, in conjunction with my major personal/spiritual shift, I am holding a specific truth very close to my heart. That truth is just that it has started to hurt. Just a little bit. What started as a flippant “oh, damn” is slowly building into a “I need it. I need it bad.” I was reading Sally Rooney’s latest literary phenomenon, “Intermezzo,” and began crying because of the main characters, Ivan, is so hopelessly and endearingly in love with his girlfriend that he has no choice but to laugh. To enjoy the gift of his life.

author’s note: To be frank, I think my first mistake was to read a Sally Rooney book about love and not expect to cry because while these men are hopeless, they genuinely do love and like the women that they are with.

In the zeitgeist, yearning is a term being thrown around. Before it worked its way into our collective consciousness, I was accustomed to chanting “I want it so bad, I want it so bad, IwantitsobadIwantitsobadIwantitsobadIwantosbadbadbabdsobadpleasepleaseohGodpleaseplease.” I am realizing now that the concise term for that is, in fact, yearning. There is something very distressing about yearning. I barely tolerate the word, honestly. Its weight and general depressive nature (it just looks like a word that would be written in grey sludge, idk man) are a lot. What is most torturous about yearning, however, is that, like grief, you can’t not think about it while you are in the process of it. You are intellectualizing your yearning while also being aware of the fact that it is only something that goes away with time. You can’t really think or explain it away (*imagine the shoulder shrugging emoji here, by the way*).

To want something, but to also be ashamed of that wanting. To wonder if those around you can feel it radiating off of you. Is that why I have not been in love? Is it too obvious that I have not? Is there a primal, invisible alarm that is triggered when you fall in love, and not a second sooner? There is a small part of myself - a part that rarely makes an appearance, honest to God - that prematurely feels guilty for not being able to bring more experience to my first relationship.

author’s note: I am thinking about an episode of this podcast, “Modern Love,” wherein the writer thinks, about his first boyfriend, I’m sorry you are the one I have to learn all this with.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

written the week of December 2nd, to continue the thread on yearning…

A couple days ago I took myself to see “Queer,” a film that has been my motivation for drudging through the last months of the year. Despite having read the book years ago and not enjoying it, the crossover of Daniel Craig and Luca Guadagnino had me very excited. I watched the trailer so many times that Sinead O’Connor’s “All Apologies” is ingrained in my mind. I probably sing it in my sleep.

Being a Guadagnino film, “Queer” took on a psychedelic, dream-like effect, but what kept it grounded was the undeniably painful desire of its protagonist, Lee (Craig).

“It’s not about unrequited love, it’s about unsynchronized love” - Daniel Craig on the relationship between Lee and Eugene

“Queer” (Luca Guadagnino, 2024)

“I want to talk to you…without speaking”

This line, which is honestly one of the most poignant in the entire film, is drunkenly uttered, by Lee, right before passing out at the feet of his precious lover who, at this point, wanted minimal to do with him. Really just a feeling of “oh God, please control yourself” overtook the theater at this moment. But, while the audience was chuckling and murmuring about how mortifying this was, I was silently crying into my sleeve. This was a moment where Craig, as an actor, captured something so incredibly human and simplistic. There is no other way to describe it besides "he wants him so bad. So bad.” And this wanting is what we should be focusing on. It feels like a bit of a disservice that a lot of the press has focused on the awkwardness of choreographing sex scenes. What I would love to talk about is how incredibly sad and lonely both these men are. That Lee would be willing to pay someone not even to love him, but just to be in the same room as him. That Eugene (Craig’s counterpart, played by Drew Starkey) would feel compelled to agree to these conditions.

Their first love scene is dynamite. It is hungry and rushed and a little awkward, but so tender (I walked away with an all-encompassing feeling that Lee would never let anything happen to Eugene, no matter what it cost him). Lee worships this man. Their real intimacy, however, does not shine in the sex scenes, but in the moments afterward. They talk and they smoke and they smile and they exhale. Their relationship exists in what cannot be said and what they (Eugene, really) do not allow themselves to feel.

“I’m not queer, I’m disembodied” - Eugene to Lee during a psychedelic trip

A shadow version of Lee touching Eugene how he wants to

The push-pull of desire is what I was thinking about the most after leaving the theater. I have begun to consider how many things have to go right in order to have a fruitful relationship. And I just mean the literal logistics of being single, meeting the person, having the capacity to maintain a relationship, etc. But, if I am choosing to ignore those facets (and my Type-A personality), I think the beauty of love is that it exists in something alchemical. It’s all about the energy, baby.

The omnipresent pulse of wanting is one of the most beautiful things about a relationship. Eye contact held for too long, a phantom graze of skin on skin, an imagining of the warmth of the other’s body, their essence. Desire feels like a thin line which both parties teeter on. It is pleasurable being able to clearly see two paths and indulging in the split second of time where you choose what comes before a hedonistic devouring of another.

This is what Guadagnino nails. Everybody wants each other, but nobody knows how to articulate that wanting. Not even sex satiates those in the Guadagnino-verse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

written on December 16th, from 8:13pm to 9:18pm

I struggled with writing this because it not only felt incredibly vulnerable, but because romantic love is an area in my life that I have not yet been able to ace, despite my efforts.

author’s note: Please note that I use the term “ace” in lieu of another word that is tickling the back of my brain but I cannot grab it. I do not actually see love as something to perfect or win or whatever, I just do not have a dictionary handy.

I have journal entries from 2015, 2016, 2018, 2019, 2020 and so on about how I wish to be in love. It is not until this year (honestly the past two months, lol) that I forced myself to sit down and outline what “love” means and what shape I want it to take in my life. I had to think about what I need a partner to bring into my life. The ways they would make living feel easier.

My sweet friend,

jen turner

, and I had a phenomenal FaceTime call in which, as always, she gave me very rich insights into myself and my alignment with the material world. While telling her about how I have never felt more ready for a relationship, but frustrated that it has not yet graced my life, she noted that this eagerness is just a sign that I have worked quite hard at recalibrating my relationship to myself and desire. My spirit has evolved, but the physical world has not yet caught up, putting me in an awkward limbo. I cannot search for love because I do not entirely know what it looks like. I can only direct my energy to what I want from it. I am entitled to defining what love will look and feel and taste and smell like. As I said in a previous post, everything can be intentional.

“It’s like saying ‘I’ve done all my driver’s lessons, let me take the test and see how I do’” - Jen, about wanting to start dating again

I have spent many years consoling myself with the fact that there is, objectively, nothing wrong with me. It just has not been my time yet. That does not mean that by the time I am 32 I would not have had great loves, it just means that right now, at 23, I have not. But, there is still the slightly irritating question of “what if I want a great love at 23.” What does that mean for me? What do I do with that wanting? I do not have the capacity to hear people say “focus on yourself” or “it happens when you least expect it” because it feels more complicated than that (and because how cruel is it to tell someone to wait until they have solved all their problems to find love?). It is an interesting paradox, wherein you can’t not focus on having a relationship because if having a relationship is contingent upon fixing yourself then is there not part of yourself that is just going through the motions in order to get said relationship? Is it authentic, then? Does the universe fact check things like this?

My issue is not getting a partner, it’s getting a good one. I am clear about what I do and do not tolerate and I am firm in my belief that I deserve a relationship that is warm and fulfilling and silly and just so incredibly pleasant. I used to think that made me cold and unapproachable, but I am really, really, really, really, just hoping that the universe is just holding out something good for me. Something that can be all mine. That I can hold close to my heart.

author’s note: even if being “picky” was not the issue, I do not believe I am strong enough for the hellscape that is “dating” today, especially in NYC. I have no interest in “catching vibes” or “feeling things out” or kissing frogs to meet a prince. Because, frankly, my mind would not be able to let go of the fact that I kissed a frog in the first place.

I want to be in love. I just want someone to cherish me. Is that pathetic? Is it anti-feminist? I don’t really care at this point, as long as it’s not desperate. The one thing I will never let myself be is desperate, but I am almost scared that the weight of my desire is the thing which prevents me from getting the object of it.

"I wept and wept. I had come to believe that if I really something badly enough, the very act of my wanting it was an assurance that I would not get it.” - Audre Lorde, “Zami: A New Spelling of my Name,” 1982)

Maybe, because this post is so intimate and heavy, it will be my last of the year. I will hibernate and then come back in 2025 with something fresh. Or I will just empty out all my drafts every couple of days so that I can start 2025 with a blank slate. We’ll see! As always, lots of love.

Bye,

Jasmine <3