I’m still in complete awe over Wake Me Up. I knew B.A.P tended to make their songs focus on important issues which I’ve always admired them for, but this is a whole new level to me because it focuses on mental health issues, as well as revolutions and unable to be heard by others when you have a voice to express yourself. Not to mention the variety of people starring in this, from various racial backgrounds, ages, genders, etc. It’s just so powerful to me and I admire them so much for this. This is more than a song, more than a video. This has the ability to touch so many fans and people. I feel as though, seeing this video, people won’t feel alone in the hardships the video portrayed. This is so powerful.
the first time somebody bakes a cake especially for isak, he’s four years old. it’s half vanilla half chocolate, and the edges are burnt black. across its face is scribbled elsker deg in a trail of lumpy blue icing, and it’s- perfect.
even has it wrapped up tight in a raspberry box, bow nestled lopsided on the lid.
isak’s huddled himself up small in the corner of the hospital’s playroom, and he’s crying, knees tucked in against his chest, dimpled hands over his face. even sits down on the floor in front of him, cross-legged. squints his eyes a little around an awkward smile when isak peeks through his chubby fingers to glance at him - isak’s cheeks are even puffier than usual.
“i want my mom,” is all he says. quiet, thick voice sticky against his palms.
even scoots closer, lifts his shoulder nervously. he’s two years older than isak and even he hadn’t been allowed in isak’s mom’s hospital room - he too had been ushered into the dumb playroom with all the drooling babies.
“baked you cake,” he whispers. isak doesn’t respond, so even reaches out, strokes the curls back so, so gently from isak’s forehead. he’s seen isak’s mom do it before, when isak’s small and sleepy in her lap. “look? here.”
it takes a few moments, but when he peels the lid away, isak eventually drops his hands so that he can carry out an inspection. crosses his legs and leans in over his knees to peer inside at even’s creation.
for a moment, until he scrunches up his pink-tipped nose, and huffs, tipping his chin up defiantly when he combs out even’s gave, “wha’s it say?”
oh, even remembers, jaw dropping, isak’s not in school yet. he can’t read.
“it’s ‘kay,” he smiles. he wriggles around on the floor, shoes squeaking against the linoleum, until he’s sitting at isak’s side. as they both lean back against the wall, he takes isak’s hand softly and tugs it over.
he traces the letters slowly with isak’s fingers as he reads aloud, “elsker deg.”
isak- doesn’t smile. doesn’t laugh. but some of the hot, black ice in the bottom of his tummy melts, and he nods, and when even’s busy tearing a piece of the cake off for them to share, he leans in - and presses a kiss to his friend’s cheek.
What do you do when you feel disconnected from those around you or when you're feeling burnt out? What advice would you give to combat loneliness?
I write. I play music loudly. I put extra lotion on my face and hands, and I sing softly under my breath. I make myself dinner, usually something I haven’t had in a while. I try not to look at the news. I wear a sheer or lacy bra under a soft soft sweatshirt that has a hole in the right cuff. I take a long hot shower. I clean my stove. I call my mother. I put on make up and dance with my cat in my arms across the room.
I grab a book and I go out and sit at the end of the bar and I order a double rye whiskey with almost no ice. I read and sip. I casually glance about.
I play the music even louder and I take off my socks and I flex my feet. I revel in how many different places my feet have taken me. I might feel sad about the people who’s feel may have brushed mine. Whether it was my college best friend and I on the couch in my apartment sipping hot tea and laughing uproariously as our feet rested next to each other. Or maybe the first time my ex and I made love in the morning on the couch in his apartment and our feet kept brushing. Or the times my feet brushed against a friends as we stood close, or under a table in a crowded bar.
I go through the packed and disorganized drawers in my house and find a matchbook from my favorite bar in Manhattan and I try and remember how I used the only two matches that are missing. I think about sharing drinks with friends at that bar and how nice it was to be familiar with Nolita and it’s streets and gems.
I burn sage and incense. I don’t say a word for hours. I practice my signature and lament at the fact that Katharine never looks good compared to my rushed and crazed last name in pen. I water my plants and I rearrange all the furniture in my apartment.
I text everyone who makes my soul sing, and never worry about them getting back to me. Just letting them know that they’re on my mind.
Be kind to yourself. Excessively. Be sweet and gentle. Take time for yourself and do almost nothing. It helps. Then, take the time to be ruthlessly productive. Tackle your closet. Or a project you’ve set aside. Don’t stay still too long, but don’t rush. Just ride it out while staying aware.
I hope you’re having a great break and relaxing a bit! I just wanted to tell you that I love you so much and am so thankful for you. Thank you for always making me happy especially when I’m having a shitty day. Recently I’ve been going through a really hard time and I’m so thankful I have your music to turn on and listen to. I love you more than you will ever know Taylor and can’t wait until the day I get to hug you and thank you in person. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.
Love your friend,