Rec | BELONGING

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Rec'd on 🔗 What links all your favourite things?

as someone who's felt this way since developing consciousness, I love a protagonist / narrator who doesn’t seem to fit, no matter how hard they try. its obviously even better when they do find their people, their place, their voice, etc. much needed hope ♥️

@mynoseisrunning

Dec 18, 2024

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release yourself from the narrative

This might not make the most sense but if I don’t write it I know I’ll be angry with myself. As someone who has always naturally been drawn to archives and journals and stories- I’ve found that I’ve been trapping myself in the narrative. The idea that life is a singular, vertical narrative, that pain is not simply pain but part of some bigger cycle of distribution and retribution. That pain is naturally repaid with love or safety or comfort. This narrative keeps me coddled in myself, it keeps me safe from having to face the fact that tomorrow might not be easier than today. That this year might not feel much better than last year. That as some things go on, they don’t always get lighter. They don’t alchemize from emotionally pain into material pleasure. The hero’s journey tells us that the narrative follows simple steps. We are called- your alarm, a Britney Spears song, plays in the morning. Your car breaks down in an unfamiliar part of the city. There’s a death in the family. Whatever it is, the call is something that moves us from familiarity to the unknown. It pulls the hero into the journey. We will then face the unknown and hopefully overcome it. But what about the calls that we don’t answer? Or when we get stuck in the unknown? What about when we are braver than brave and we still cannot overcome everything? I’ve learned that sometimes our pain doesn’t come with atonement. Sometimes there is no return. Life doesn’t fit into the narrative. The alarm in itself is a narrative, you set it the night before, or maybe you set it three years ago and you’ve been waking up to the same song every single day. The car is a narrative, the unfamiliar side of the city is a narrative. Why haven’t you been there? The death is a narrative explored and experienced by every person in your family, every friend of the dead, every coworker who called the morning after to see why they didn’t show up when their alarm went off that day. Everything is a million narratives coinciding and to trap ourselves into one, to tell ourselves only one story, is blinding us to the intricate nature of life. We cannot exist in only one dimension, and to choose to exist in various different- sometimes beautiful and sometimes horrible- narratives at once is to choose to stop coddling oneself, to stop following your pain like it always has something to give you. Sometimes it doesn’t. Maybe that’s fine.

@dietcokecat2004

Mar 11, 2024

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THINKING HIGHLY OF YOURSELF

Coworkers are trying to assemble the chaotic/lawful/evil/neutral/good grid with each of us and it’s proving difficult because behind bar shaking from the caffeine of an 8-shot dial-in everyone’s a little evil, especially in the no-man’s land between the millennial pause and gen-z stare, and the yet-to-be-labeled of when someone who clearly spends a lot of time online in their own echo chamber assumes you’re one of them and attempts to interpellate you through a barrage of their own semiotics and you’re fraught between the misperception of your carefully selected graphic tee and customer service smile riding the wave of wanting a tip and facing a persona you actively avoid online. I assumed this grid would be somewhat true to our nature, having dropped the visage at work a bit since starting an ssri and becoming platonically intimate with another coworker through shared music taste (immediately opening a window to the soul), but my young coworker wanted to only base it on how we are at work. I said I don’t hold what I do behind bar against myself, he said the mistakes I make are inherently part of my personality, and I’m no better than the version of me at work because that necessarily is me, and a flattening reverberated through my entire body, like the shock of a gun shot before the pain sets in. I have big aspirations and can’t dwell on mistakes if I want to continue to believe in myself, which I have to do if I ever want to make anything! And I’m definitely not dwelling too much on what I do while over-caffeinated, undernourished, and bombarded with 8 kinds of sounds in the liminal 4-dimensional space of a coffee shop on a Saturday or during a random July hailstorm. It’s an absurd, cruel, jam-packed world. It’s ridiculous to strive and pretend you don’t think you can make it. It isn’t embarrassing to take your art seriously, even when the best of it is still stuck in your head for the time being. To quote Alex G ”if you don’t believe in magic then you shouldn’t even try”. Obviously consider your mistakes and learn from them, but don’t hold them against yourself. These all may seem unrelated but the miscommunication between my coworker and I (him not realizing I associate myself at work as my basest, most animal self) left me utterly speechless, mouth agape, clutching the counter for stability for whatever reason. Low key it feels sooooo good to believe in yourself.

@broodyscanner7

Jul 17, 2025

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BREAKING

I am bearing weight, It’s just this feeling of attachment, It is something to solve. I am a piece of the puzzle. Realising how to tell the story, Walk into the noise and shout louder. Breathe away all that is holding you back to act. It is possible.