In Anticipation// Addressing the Senses

So it's tomorrow.
I don't want it to come, I really don't. I'm scared; scared that I've pinned so much hope on this day, that it won't turn out to what I want it to be. I think I'm in love with anticipation over realization.
21.
There's an extra syllable, an extra number, an added year. '20' slides off your tongue effortlessly. 21. It's harder to say, your lips have to shape itself into an 'o' for the finishing touch. Twehn-tee-wuunnnnn.
*
I think I just make a big deal out of this becuase I don't find the following years worth celebrating over. It's just me. '22' sounds.... like weak fanfare.

She said, "we'll celebrate later."
In my head I said, "we'll see about that."

There's a commercial by Macys, it goes something like this:
Girl: So did you get me anything for my birthday?
Boy: Nope sorry.
Girl: So no flowers?
Boy: Nope
Girl: Chocolates?
Boy: Nope
Girl: How about jewelry?
Boy: Nope but I thought about all these things.
Girl: Awwww.. that's so sweet. hugs boy I love you.

Voice over:because obviously the thought that counts is not enough.

It's true. Actions speak louder than words. Don't lay off the guilt on your failures of being a good friend with words that do little for me and more for you.
I've stopped trusting people based purely on words.
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Trim the bangs, keep the length.

Close your eyes
I could feel the cold, hard steel of the blade resting lightly on the apple of my cheek. The cogs of the mechanical movement echoes in my skull as he snips, I feel the flecks of hair rest on skin.
He didn't seem to see me. All he saw was hair. As I sat there staring at my reflection, he disappeared into his own world where it was just him, his scissors and hair. At times he forgot the stylist was there, like the assistant is to a surgeon. It's an interesting dialogue: I could smell the woody scent of tobacco when his hands came near the lids of my eyes mixed in with a whiff of aftershave which clung to the pleated white shirt he was wearing.
Curtains of black hair slid across the white canvas tied to the nape of my neck. Omg, there goes one year of patience. I waited a year to get it to the ideal and now I'm taking it all off.
From a stagnant pool, opened the dam, restoring movement to rivers.
My head feels five pounds lighter. Swish.

In my pseudo depression last week I booked a hair appointment with a Japanese hairstylist whose clients include Yohji Yamamoto, Chanel and Jean Paul Gaultier. This entry was more on the sensory perspective than one on thinking and philosophizing. We often forget to remember how it feels to do a certain activity. As creatures of habit, a haircut to most is another chore, another menial task to get out of the way to carry on with more important tasks.

At times I feel as if as Christians we ought not to take pleasure in the physical aspects of life because they are almost too erotic and intimate to be talked about. Oh what a luxury it is to be able to actually say what it felt to derive such feeling from being touched. The pleasure that one feels when someone else runs their fingers through untouched and still hair is exhilarating. It sends shivers down the neck and dissolves as it runs through the body.
I love feeling the cold, creamy touch of silk running down my torso when trying clothes on in the change room.
I love the sound of different vegetables as the cold sharp knife slices through; first penetrating the skin and deep into its flesh, finished off with a dull thud when silver hits wood. Cabbage has a crisper, watery sound. Tomato barely there with only a slight hint of a crack and then its pure water from there.

I always write about how I emotionally feel. So why not physically?

To lust with the eyes and the mind is a sin.

I am not here to go against this. But I'm sure, though most people my age would not admit, that they have thought of what their first kiss would feel and taste like.
Though I can only imagine what it would be like, I can only say it would be based on a lot of eye contact. Eye contact because when someone could level me with his eyes do I know that I can fully trust him; that I know I've been fully accepted as I am. I've noticed that I make very little eye contact with people, especially in New York City where you are constantly passing by other pedestrians on the street. I often bat my eyes away out of embarrassment or shyness so those who I can look into for more than five seconds, are probably people I trust most. I don't mean to be rude. I'm scared to look at people to know what they think of me. A Japanese chef was standing outside smoking a cigarette when my friend and I were crossing the street. I look up, he grins and I look down. I don't know why I do that. It's an action so embedded into my nature, it's hard to make a conscious effort to change this.

I'll probably regret this post when I read it tomorrow. I sound crazy when I write at 3:30am.