So we’re at that point where people start reflecting on the year. YouTubers are making their year in reviews. YouTube itself released its crappy YouTube rewind. Game sites are talking about their favorite games of 2018. Spotify’s making playlists for customers, highlighting their top 100 songs of 2018, and I just looked at mine.
It’s weird, because looking at that playlist there’s of course my usual sad boy bops, there’s a solid block of Childish Gambino, there’s a few weeb songs here and there. It’s a mesh of all of my playlists, and there aren’t any really new songs on this list, but it can all be engulfed by one month.
Before I talk about what, for those of you that read the title, will be a hard month to guess, I want to share with you “November” by Tyler the Creator.
This is a song, which, if you take the time to skim it, was not on my playlist, and that’s because I was stuck playing “Glitter” and “Boredom” on repeat. “November”, though, is a song where Tyler wishes to be taken back to November. When exactly this November is, who knows. But he wants to go back to this time where he felt bliss, where he felt happy. He’s had multiple Novembers, and those Novembers aren’t exactly in November, it’s just a moment.
Anyways, looking back at my playlist, listening to the tracks and bopping to ’em, I started to reminisce. I could taste it. I could see it. My favorite time this year, my November. And let me just say that my November is not this November. This November was a shit show and it wrecked me. I’m talking about May of this year.
May was my last month of grad school. May was fear and elation. It was stress and freedom. Insecurities and confidence. May was an award ceremony where I didn’t win anything. May was one personal scorpion bowl too many, hand holding, childish taunts, and lipstick messes. May was feeling lesser than because Childish Gambino released “This is America.” It was, yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah’s, and, hunnid bands hunnid band hunnid bands, contraband contraband contraband, I got the plug on Oaxaca, while riding the Target escalator. It was dance moves in the shower, slides down steps. It was, I saw you on Mary’s snapchat. May was a series of walks with a swan for far too long, in look of conversation and food. Vinyl store purchases, birthday present plotting, the aquarium. May was one birthday after the other and hazy hangovers, a bitch dog that was a smidge bit racist. Night time stair sittings, and “Baby Blue” car rides. May was days with flowers in my hair, glitter on my cheeks, red lip plants smudged on my forehead, because she wanted it that way. Kanye West made bad music and I reacted poorly to it. May was awkward family reunions I avoided so hard that I was a ghost. It was a curry filled Saturday, conversations about Japanese poetry, and breaking the seal–we almost peed on each other that day. It was absinthe atop whiskey sour, sake, and shots just for measure. May was, you’re too protective, but also, you make me feel inadequate, cheek kisses and sloppy drinking, beer bottles flowing down the sidewalk and a broken chair. It was a graduation party where beer puddled kitchen floors and sloshed under flip flops, resulting in slipping and fucked knees. It was a hungover graduation, a speech that felt like a phone ad, c-note slips and condom jokes. It was a long stroll and Instagram clicks, fumbled hot wings slithering between fingers, plopping on the floor, feelings being realized. It was, Hey I got this, and, congratulations. It was Boston Calling, a weekend of broken glasses, enthusiastic shouts, complicated feelings, midday blackouts, IKEA veggie dogs, and Benjamin Fuckin’ Franklin. Tyler playing “Glitter” before a mosh pit that spilled beer on people–I abandoned my little sister that day. It was Ferris Wheel rides, coffee on the bridge, Hey let’s go there. This looks beautiful. It was party after party, backyard brawls, and a bedroom MMA fight. Late night tears and cuddles. Bean bag viewings of Atlanta, stunned a swan could eat a whole pie of Domino’s in a ten minute walk. It was noise complaints and angry landlord emails, strangers competing for one girl, and a man really trying to see an attic. It was, I’m loving this, and, I love her, and, I don’t know how to feel about this. A gentle giant I know, his tattoo says, If something loves, it is infinite, and that month and a few months after, I was endless, I was eternal, what a tragic, beautiful feeling it was, and I’ll take all the shame, all the insecurity, all the rapper’s liquid delights in the world, if you can take me back to my November.
This is all really starting to feel like a personal blog. Thanks for that. Um…I leave you with “See You Again” by Tyler, the Creator. And remember kids, if you love something, you critique it, but you don’t just drop it to the wayside when it pisses you off. Later days.