(a holiday vignette)

I’m taking a chunk of my holi-days to work on my thesis (So is Lisa). Without classes we can fully devote our minds to them.
My senior thesis hangs over me, I can’t ignore it.

I banged my funny bone - what even IS a funny bone? My entire arm is tingly and numb.
This song is playing → ’Talk talk featuring troye sivan by Charli xcx & Troye Sivan” I’m feeling so happy—it’s electric—peridot—it’s good.

I’ve got a buffalo. (a buffalo is a cool, high or positive event)
It’s really not that much of a story.
Lisa and I were walking down 5th avenue and there was like, this old man, who was standing out by the curb with a camera—in kind of an adorable way—looking for things to take pictures of—so I smiled as we walked by. Not Lisa though, she’s from Manhattan. Manhattan girls don’t smile on the street.

Then he was like, “Stop, STOP! Stop right there!” I stopped, Lisa walked on a step or two.
“I take street photos, and I want YOU TWO to model in them.”
I was like, “OH, oh NOOO, I don’t know about that.” I looked to Lisa, who looked aghast.
“I use the pictures for street fashion layouts - have you seen New York Magazine’s ‘Street Style?’
“What are you stopping for?” Lisa whispered to me exasperatedly.” She has a horror of modeling.
“He’s kind of adorable, don’t you think?” I asked in a ‘come on,’ pleading voice.
“Most of the time they don’t even use the faces—and I can give you one if you’d like,” he said.
He handed me a New York Magazine business card, he’s on Insta, so he wasn’t some crazy homeless guy.
“Ok, I said,” after a moment, shruggingly. He smiled and backed off several feet, getting ready.
"Anais!" Lisa said, shocked at my ‘out of towner’ naiveite, “I’m not,” she shorthanded, stepping away.

So, for a couple of minutes he took a potpourri of pix, posing me with comments like “turn sideways, pout, pop your waist,” and “look bored.” Now it was cool and windy, I was wearing a hoodie and jeans, and he was never creepy or anything, but I thought, ‘how do you pop your hip in a hoodie?’

As we walked away, Lisa said, “Why’d you agree to do that?”
“Charles is here,” I said defensively, “he had a card and book,” I shrugged. If anything, Charles was amused.
He gave me a couple of pics - cringy and un-model-ly. I think he really wanted Lisa (duh). Anyway, that was my New Year’s Day buffalo. I felt glamorous—for a minute.
Then we went for apple-brandy slushies—which were pretty buffalo too.
.
.
Songs for this:
Glamour Girl by Louie Austen
Street Life by Randy Crawford
Talk talk featuring troye sivan by Charli xcx & Troye Sivan

You say good morning,  
Happy New Year,  
Goodbye—  
like a greeting,  
a phrase tossed lightly into the wind,  
as if it will always carry itself back to you.  

But I say them  
like a prayer,  
soft syllables trembling on my lips,  
each word a fragile offering  
each word an incantation of good will

Good morning,  
not just a start,  
but a hope—  
that the sun will rise  
and it's ray's will embrace me in it's warm glow.

Happy New Year,  
not just a celebration,  
but a wish—  
that time will be gentle,  
that its passing won't steal too much.  

And goodbye—  
oh, goodbye,  
not just a parting,  
but a plea—  
that it won’t be the last,  
that you'll be safe
that you'll find your way back to me.

You say it all so casually,  
Like a habit,
like there’s always another moment,  
another chance.  

Maybe the world has been kind to you
But every greeting has left it's mark on me
I pray,
Good morning, Goodbye, Goodnight, Happy Birthday, Happy Holidays,
Each word clawing at me

I say it all like a prayer,  
because I know  
there might not be a next time
I know warmth isn't always where you want to be.

Now that we are on in years,
celebrations change and dwindle
to little remnants of tradition.
We are two stragglers
from life’s journey,
Left behind by the young,
No longer nurturing him,
yet tied to his well-being
even as we wait for his call.
I celebrate Yule not in our home,
but by imaging his joy beside a tree,
his exchange of gifts with her.
And I recall the first Christmas
with my husband, falling asleep together
under a mammoth tree filled with light.
We made ornaments for fun
and poverty didn’t matter.
I wrote a poem for him,
decorated with scenes of our life.
And now, we are too weary
to celebrate like that.
It is as if we pore through a box,
a ragged thing, dragged through time,
looking for souvenirs of joy
and memories of the life we had
when he was here.

Merry Christmas, or at least, that’s what I’m supposed to say. But it doesn’t feel merry anymore, does it? Maybe it’s something that comes with age, or maybe it’s karma finally catching up to me, but I don’t want to be here right now. I plaster on a smile, do my best to get through the day, but inside, I’m lost. I disassociate just to keep the tears at bay. I want to cry, I want to scream, I want to shout to the world that this isn’t fair. I don’t visit my family much anymore, it shouldn’t feel like such a burden. But it does, like being dragged to a never-ending doctor’s appointment as a kid. Every visit feels like a ticking time bomb, emotions spiraling out of control. The air grows heavy, words sharper than knives, cutting deep and leaving wounds that never fully heal. Even in the quieter moments, the tension lingers, never fully gone. I miss being a child, back when life was simple, back when the weight of expectations didn’t feel so crushing. Back when love didn’t feel so conditional, so complicated. I’ve always dreamed of having a family of my own, but now I wonder if I ever could. What if it just turns into this? A cycle of toxicity, repeating endlessly. I want to love and be loved, but this, this isn’t love anymore. Happy holidays, or maybe, not so happy after all.

The cat attacked the tree
everything came
falling down

The cat left
me picking up
the ornaments
and starting
all over again

Realizing that
I get a second chance
to decorate it
to put it together
again
in a different
way

*pauses and reflects
at healing in life

Thank you Santa for the handpan
I did not know
That it was there
Under the tree waiting for me
Thank you Santa for the handpan
It was very shocking to see
And surprising to
I want know what else you have
Instore for me
On this Christmas Day coming up
:)

Finally it's over,
This year is gone, snow falling,
Covers the trees again.

When the holidays begin,
we all can be together
with our families and friends,
we´ll see You in the new year.

- Tarmo Selter -
2024