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I Am So In Love With Love

November 22, 2019

It’s Friday evening and it just might be the tenth time you’re listening to Mariah Carey’s Without You. You’re thinking there’s still work you might do. Staring, in front of the opened macbook, but not at the macbook. Thinking wtf. The song is coming to an end, on YouTube, so, in order not to let another song begin and ruin your trip, you rewind it. On again. Not on your macbook. It’s on tv, so you can stare at the tv, it’s bigger and louder. Your macbook is in front of you, just in case, waiting for a sign. Is this it?

!!!

As the chords strike a chord with you, deeper and deeper, finer and finer, you catch Mariah’s eyes and you connect with the feeling. A feeling of some kind of pain. Ideally, it’s a love story. That starts with a self love story. Mixed with some kind of pain, of longing, belonging. I miss being in love. Man, I do really miss love!

I just wrote the title and am smiling, grinning, as we speak. It feels good to put it out there, in the air, regardless of who, when, why and another w word reads this. Please observe the transition from the second person to the first. The heart had burst. Spontaneously. Sometimes, we try to flower power stuff, but, at other times, something just comes through. The truth.

And you totally feel Mariah’s interpretation of the song. It’s on repeat, by now. It must be the 13th time. They should invent a repeat button for geeks like us. Or super melancholic, anyway, people, who, on a cold Friday night, should be partying or something, yet can’t or don’t want to escape this somewhat precious loop they’re in and start to, actually, enjoy it rather than escape from it. One best friend once advised me – while I must’ve been dealing with some sort of heart ache over some sort of thing in life – to just go deeper into it and f*cking live it. Rather than escape from it. I don’t know about that. It can be better, it might not – it’s different all the time, when it’s not the same lesson you’re learning, thank goodness – and you know best. Your best.

He sent me a thing on millennials from The New York Times, earlier this week:

Technology has certainly played a role in popularizing the hermit trend. Writing for the New York Times in 2016, Molly Young suggests that services like Tinder, Netflix, Seamless, and Postmates have enabled today’s young people to abandon themselves to the comforts of convenience. “It’s like pouring your money into a savings account,” she writes of the choice to stay in over going out. “You’ll grow marginally; you’ll stay safe; your expectations will be met and never exceeded.” Heading out to a party or an art opening, Young writes, is more of a gamble. Maybe you’ll have an amazing night you’ll always remember, but more likely you’ll just stand around awkwardly and blow $60 on cocktails. Young’s theory suggests that Netflix and its ilk are facilitating our desire to stay in, rather than compelling us to do so.

Which is rather sad for someone like me, who likes to pick up on the energy in the room, club, when everyone’s dancing, who likes to have a great time, to the best music, in the most fun atmosphere eveeer. I love that s*it! But here comes the tricky part. I love it just as much as I love the cozy mood you can only have within the family. It’s about the energy.

THE LOVE!

I’m the happiest when I’m in the fam and I’ve, always, dreamed of mine. So, when Mariah sings at the top of her lungs, I can’t help but enjoy losing myself in the feeling. I know what it feels like, I know exactly what I’ve always dreamed about. That feeling of putting your hands up in the air. Your feet banging hard against the floor. You almost can’t sing, that’s how much something inside hurt, but you, obviously, knew and know you’re not giving up. On that. You’re not trading that for any kind of substitutions you have in front of you. You did that in the past, knowingly, unknowingly, but no more, I can’t give anymore!

An open heart is pretty… Uhm… Open. I’m not afraid of the one reading this, right now, and feeling like it’s too much, because, for the one, this wouldn’t be too much, anyway. He knows exactly what I mean. Anyone who reads this and is scared is not the one, so, it’s fine. And you just know when you know. I mean, I do, now. I might need to rephrase this, at some point, but I’m on a train of thought here.

There have been trials and tribulations. There has been happiness. I’m grateful for all of it. It’s not perfection that I’m talking here about. I’ve learned, the hard way, that perfection is not the way, or is it, and that’s OK. I want something real. Real doesn’t exclude perfection. My perfection. What feels perfect to me. And him. Our kind of real. Not from the movies, not from music. Ours. I stopped for a second. Stared some more. I get it why people I admire put things like this, out into the world. Here. When you’re in it, you feel it, and it just pours through you.

With Mariah in the background, still. It feels good. My spirit gets high, I feel it coming, as the song by The Weeknd and Daft Punk says, in my mind, with Without You, in a loop. It turns from sorrow to so delicately sweet.

It might also strike a chord with the kid in me, standing in front of the tv, and discreetly, banging my feet against the floor, every time the live recording of the song was playing on VH1, I think, or MTV. Singing. Staring. I remember my brother being in the room with me. He must’ve smiled with the smile that wasn’t supposed to be caught by anyone, but, you know, we love each other and he was a teenager, at the time. It was one of our moments. This kind of moments. Life is beautiful. And I’m so happy. Sometimes sad. But so happy.

On this note, I hug you real tight and wish you a very good night. A friend comes over and we’re not going out to meet people, just as The New York Times says, so I guess it’s family time. We’re having wine. And maybe some pizza. This millennial stuff, man. I hope it goes familial. That would be cool. Bye!

So f*ck it, I might, just as well, enjoy it, until it does. Now bye! Or hiii. Bye, bye.

Shoe do do do do do doo 
Shoe do do do do do dooo 

Hey, this is Cristina Pavelescu wearing a music cassette sweater, decoding (life) style and writing from wherever, yet always living in OZ, a world I invite you into. To smile in front of our screens (and live one day), put any kind of questions, answer in writing (or imagination) and marvel at fashion which is, in fact, style.

FOUNDER AND EDITOR

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