Is this the part where you let go?

poached from my FL:

Boys , Mostly Men in Glasses. Photos of men wearing glasses. I have parked myself on Takeshi Kaneshiro's page and haven't really moved.

I am about to start reading Dork Whore: My Travels Through Asia as a Twenty-Something Pseudo-Virgin by Iris Bahr, because I've been in a memoirs mood lately, when my time hasn't been filled with semi-angsty asian dramas about fragile girls and the helpless boys who love them, or bad kissing scenes (which makes my bad kiss seem like a delightful walk through a flowery park, because at least I was upright for it). My last memoir was Happy Birthday or Whatever: Track Suits, Kim Chee, and Other Family Disasters by Annie Choi, and the next books on the list are Stuart, A Life Backwards by Alexander Masters and American Shaolin: Flying Kicks, Buddhist Monks, and the Legend of Iron Crotch: An Odyssey in the New China by Matthew Polly. I'm feeling like an outsider in my own life right now (there are stretches of time where everyone feels like this, I know, but lately the periods between feeling outsider/navel gazing, embarrassing soul-searching fests of cheese and whine and relative normality are getting shorter for me, it seems.) and my relationships. I wonder if my wanderlust doesn't really just translate into escapism for the sake of escapism and not having the guts to just deal with the here and now. Naturally everything looks better in Scotland/where
ever I end up because it's not filled with my personal history, as painful and heartbreaking and mundane as it is. I also think I might have turned into what I so passionately railed against in my younger days: an emotional flake. I stop writing, I stop calling, I stop trying and then I wonder why I'm lonely when really, the answer is me.

I can have surface friendships, I can breeze into work and have fantastic nonsensical conversations about nothing and everything and laugh amongst the soul-killing drudgery, but when faced with a light conversation with people I've known for as long as I've been active online, it feels like learning a new language - every word is hesitant, I'm wondering if I'm saying the right thing, if the listener is captivated, or merely politely humoring me in a humorless situation. It's not like before, is a common refrain. Well, it shouldn't be, snaps the inner editor. You're a goddamn fucking adult and you should be grown up by now. This is not the end, merely an annotation, you can change the story but only your section.

And I want to say, do you miss me? Because I do.

Do we ever have enough love, affection, attention, sex, whatever? Am I doomed to be faintly annoying voice-overish about my life forever?

Gah, the angst, it kills me

Rewatching Kurosagi properly to get over this whole writer apathy/frustration I have with Five Futures (and the title that never ends), and I'd forgotten how intensely this drama gets me in the OTP department because of the dark and twisty and the occasional moments of sweet goofiness, and the looking and the wanting and honestly, D, if they shoehorned threat of terminal illness in the big screen adaptation of this, it would be KOREAN DRAMA levels of agonizing, because a) you know you're being shamelessly manipulated into tears, b) you kind of enjoy it anyway, c) and you hate yourself for enjoying that level of emotional masochism.

Oh, longing as spectator sport: Yamapi, you take home the gold! And when I watch Maki in this and then watch her in Seito Shokun, I am reminded that she was only 17 when she shot Kurosagi, and even though Tsurara couldn't have been more than two or three years older (first year of college, she'd be 18/20?), and now in SS, playing a girl who's 17 but still in middle school because of an undisclosed childhood illness, I'm impressed all over again by her talent and her potential to become even better.

Shallow side note: SO. PRETTY. There's a moment (out of a whole collective of moments) when Tsurara's head is slightly bowed and her fringe is covering her eyebrows and the lighting is just right and she just looks so luminous and pure and beautiful and I'm going, 'OMG, KUROSAKI, WHY DON'T YOU JUST KISS HER, SHE IS PERFECT.' and of course, there is Yamapi himself who's just the right amount of broken and determined and aghh, the wanting.