Col. Zadok

by Sofia

I close the door because I don’t want anyone to come in right now. The room is a fucking mess: clothes and books covering every inch of space because I get home late, wake up late for class and run out without having time to organize. Regardless, I am comfortable in my room because it is my small space on this planet where I’m allowed to sprawl out and enforce my own rules, or not.

I settle down on my bed, cross-legged in jeans and a friend’s black zip-up hoodie, and grab my laptop and respond to a chat message.

It’s so high school, it’s uncanny. To complete the puzzle, I download some Nirvana and remember how much I used to love this music. I wonder–how much has changed since then? How much has remained the same? Now, in Montreal, people think I’m cool and like talking to me despite how loud I am. I frequently get told what I’m wearing is cute. Just this week I’ve been told I’m gorgeous and that I have “mad curves” (I nearly died laughing). I no longer wear only black. I am no longer anarchist. I am no longer vegan. I no longer think I’ll be a nomadic writer and photographer, nor that I’ll study literature, but I do miss reading as much as I used to. I no longer know whether I believe life or nonviolence is more important that justice. I remember I used to waste my time burning things in the bathroom and stealing stuff from the lost and found or hanging out in the darkroom for hours on end working on photography projects, my skin peeling off my fingers from putting my hands straight into the developper all the time. I remember liking guys and not even thinking I had a chance. Even G’s hoodie smells like high school!

I had so much leftover energy. I remember the absolute tedium, boredom and monotony that characterized my days at Magruder. But at least I put all that extra time to some good use, like reading and getting into things like the Glut Food Co-op and On the Road and Le Tigre.

I miss hanging out with people. And though before I had to sneak out of the house at 3am and drive out to West Virginia in a car full of underage teenagers on ecstasy and sit in a field of dewy grass and get sick for a week, now I can go out drinking massive amounts with big, tall anthropology grads and talk about the asymmetrical power dialectic between the anthropologist and the Other. I much prefer the latter.

Owen, your blog makes more sense as a blog than mine does.

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