Lily Allen is my idol.
Crying became in this unsaid level of weakness that grew inside of me. And I hate the people who have forced me into this mentality. I hate the literature, film, psychologists or anyone who has told me that showing emotion meant weakness or instability. I hate the day I woke up to you standing near the front door. Struggling to keep your keys still. To keep them quiet. You looked me in the eyes and I immediately registered what was happening. Tears slipped down my cheeks without notice and I froze. You stood there, your icy stare further confusing my already glassy vision. You finally turned your body towards mine and said, “You’re too old to cry”. At eight years old I was ‘too old to cry’. She stood their with her suitcase in hand, knowing what she was doing to our family. And I was too old to cry. Those words have echoed in my head ever since. When I am feeling alone or scared, the words haunt me that I am too old to cry. Yet the tears still scrape down my face as I try to force them away with my rushed palms. I hate my mother for making me feel this way. For making me feel as though my emotions weren’t valid. I will never be too old to cry.
This is how I expect the people I meet in college to look like.
I really loved the intro to the movie Celeste and Jesse Forever, a little cliche and montage-y but I dug it.