2018-05-03 14:32:22 (UTC)

Love, love, love you

"Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley (cover of Leonard Cohen, obv... this is I think my favorite version though)

May 3, 2018 Thursday 2:33 PM

When I was drunk weeks ago, and crying about Moby, I kept saying that I loved him. The next day I wasn't sure if that was true and I hoped to dear god that Marie would forget that I said that at all. But, you know, thinking about it now: I think I can safely say I do love him. I don't know that I'm in love—I don't know what the fuck that means. I know (vaguely) my style of love, though, and that is to make the decision to love even when it is not a physical emotion.

Since I am writing I have been using Moby as a character model. It allowed me to think about him deeply, objectively, think about his motivations. I've come to learn that one of his personality's cornerstones (been watching a lot of Westworld too lol) is the mere fact that he was born into a well-off family as a white male. As a result, he is always struggling to compensate for that fact—he is just inherently guilty about having been born into a certain level of privilege that he feels he did not earn.

That's not to say he's nice merely because he wants to make up for his whiteness. What I mean is, he has spent so long knowing of his position in the world that he generally feels undeserving of things? Moby is so careful and so nice, always making sure people are comfortable with the things he says and does. He does not want to hurt a soul. Again, it is not that he does not have the power to assert himself—it is that he genuinely does not want to hurt anyone.

There are so many things about him that I really like. I like, for example, that he talks very fast, and that he tries not to feel restricted by societal definitions of masculinity. He wants to paint his nails and wear a dress and do his make up some day, and I like this. I think he'd look a bit strange to me, but I am ready to adjust to it. I like the developing androgynous space in society and I think it should be nurtured.

Moby holds on kind of tightly to the parts of his life that are not privilege. Like, the fact of his bisexuality and also his mental illness (ADD and a lot of anxiety), and kind of also some past experiences he's had that I don't think I need to disclose in detail or whatever. But he holds onto these parts of himself, and I think the pain of their experiences helps him feel less guilty, so I kind of support it.

I don't know that this is the whole story but this is the impression I got. There are some people, like Adrian, who hold onto these experiences like badges of honor, like something around which to construct an identity—as a victim, as someone who has been hurt. And as a victim, you are allowed higher ground at which to criticize the world. But Moby is not holding onto these things so that he can criticize the world, he is doing it to adjust the discomfort in himself and so I find it necessary. Also, I figure, if I were a wealthy white male I'd likely do the same—find some way to compensate for the luxuries I've been given that others don't have. I'd need a way to explain my emptiness, which cannot be sourced from a lack of because I live in abundance.

Already, I get it to an extent. I'm latina, but many people think I'm white so—excepting childhood—I have not gotten a lot of negative comments on my heritage. Plus, my family is pretty well-off too. Between Liv, Alexis, and I, my family is the richest by far. We are middle to upper middle class. Over the years, I've experienced a lot of guilt over my position in the world, feeling that I had no reason to be sad. I think I've gotten past some of that, but even now I am struggling with an anger towards my parents mild negligence throughout my adolescence—I am trying to consolidate this fact of my life with the equally true fact that they were good parents. How can both things be real at once?

I think this is what Moby is experiencing, but I can never be sure unless I ask him. And even then. Sometimes people don't know what they're feeling, and other times they simply disagree with the style of phrasing.

I have a theory. I have a theory that Moby does not want to colonize my experience. I have a theory that he has a hard time empathizing because he just cannot imagine the things in my life (although I think he'd find it is not too difficult to imagine).

This is what Lancelot meant when he said I was empowered and Moby was not. Moby doesn't let himself be powerful. Maybe he is afraid he'll make the same mistakes that many others have made. I only think this because he has said he thinks rape is worse than murder, and I personally extracted from that gut-instinct reply that rape associated with pillagers associated with white males—it was an identity he wanted to get away from.

And finally: Maybe he feels he didn't earn the power that comes with being who he is.

I think he deserves it, though. I think he is a good person, a really kind person. I love him. He does not love me—that is okay. It really sucked at first, but now I feel like I can love him without having to show him. If he were to know I still loved him, I think he'd feel very guilty and I don't want that. He can't help how he feels, and I can't really help how I feel. I am making this decision to love him, but it is also not a decision. Part of me says, "Yes, I love him," and the other part had already felt that way. It was just waiting for me to put words to the emotions. Loaded words, I suppose, but I don't mean it in a way that is intense or anything.

I don't love him in a way that makes me desperate for him, or makes me think I can't live without him, that kind of thing. He is not even on my mind very often anymore (I am not infatuated at this point). I just love him is a person very much, all the big and little things that are Moby.

It is good I don't see him all the time, because this would become kind of overwhelming. Anyway, maybe the love will fade into something platonic and strong like the love I feel for Karina. For now, though, it is what it is. I am open to other relationships, though. I feel kind of ready—less afraid—to actually give it to someone. It probably won't matter to them as much as it does to me, but hey. I guess I don't care so much about that.