bus tix 011
so this journey isn't over, but i'm delusional, crashing out, and believing in my eleven year old self who never had a chance.
Well, this is certainly a surprise. I thought the project was finito, but several DMs and a few shout-outs later, things are looking a liiiiiittle different. And, I guess there’s a lot to explain like the future of this substack, plans for the project, and writing into the abyss.
“they say doechii you a loose screw, you delulu”
When friends started to receive their bus tickets, the Google Form got a little revival. That little revival morphed into something larger than a blip, and I realized I couldn’t keep refreshing my browser to see how many responses were slowly gathering each day.
In other words, I had to crumple and throw away a loose plan and create a real one. Highlight the link everywhere! Close up the Google Form! Give it a due date! Become a Teaching Assistant again! Honestly, thank God I love logistics and timelining things, because otherwise, this would not happen. (I love planning. I hate executing.)
As a result, there are 41 more copies to print and send out. Once again, no donations will be taken.
I don’t want money to be a measure of appreciation for this work. The things I’m doing: creating little packages, shipping with USPS, handwriting addresses on packages, and exploring a world through public transit, are physical manifestations of my own identity that aren’t entangled with commodification. It’s delusional! It’s insane! But there are other ways to support this project: take public transit, ask me about my favorite bus driver, talk about the project with others or me, and offer some guidance to disseminating the project to a wider San Diego audience.
I don’t want money! I want to find my favorite transit drivers! I yearn to know your least favorite bus route (mine is 11 because I get it confused with the 7). I want to discuss this nebulous space that is constantly stigmatized as dirty, poor, and inconvenient. This project is supported through a network of artists who believed in creativity, questioning traditional methods of artistry, and a desire to connect artists!
I AM NOT A WRITER!!!! I AM JUST A WOMAN WHO WANTS TO BELIEVE IN A LIFE WITHOUT CAPITALISM AND WITH JOY! (I ALMOST LAUGHED AT A PALM READER FOR SAYING I’LL BE RICH!)
When I feel accomplished and satisfied with the next version of the project, I will accept any monetary donations. When I finish the joys and desires I had for this project, I’ll happily accept donations, but until then, no.
“came a long way from that woodlawn park”
In the seventh grade, we were asked to answer if we wanted to be a big fish in a small pond or a small fish in a big pond. I did not answer this question and failed my freewrite.
I was eleven and already suffering from racism, depression, gender inequities, insecurities, and abuse. The reactions and repercussions of that showed in a lot of different ways: always crying, bullying my younger brothers, and constantly comparing and contrasting myself with my peers. There are no perfect victims, and I continuously regret my past actions.
I desperately craved words of affirmation and validation because I had no models of it growing up. I scavenged for a semblance of love and encouragement from teachers, adults, and peers. At eleven, I was hoping my teacher would say they believed that I could do anything. I was constantly underestimated, and no amount of achievements, literary magazines, or degrees would satiate my wants.
Had I understood the assignment, I’d probably answer that I want to be a big fish in a big pond.
Is this self-absorbed? Self-obsessed one might say? I denied myself fantasies and desires because I’ve wanted the encouragement from others to go for it. It took 27 years to finally say fuck it, just attempt the dreams.
This is the first time I get to define myself by my own terms and let go of people’s expectations of me. I get the right to be myself and indulge in the dreams I have for myself and what I want from life. I will take it back violently, abhorrently, and delectably. As always, it’s challenging though. I go back to my defaults: questioning if I am capable of going after my wants, wondering if I have the extroversion to make connections, and believing my desires are attainable.
I want to be better. I want to honor all the archetypes I’ve created within myself: the engineer boyfriend, passenger princess, pageant academic, rowdy kevin nguyen, and the gentle coffee romantic. These character tropes are some amalgamation of being a big fish in this big pond.
I’ve come a long way from growing up in the tiny little town of Olympia and being the seventh grader who needed the encouragement to dream bigger and larger than life. I’m twenty-eight and have the audacity to pursue my wildest fantasies.
“no boy’s gonna kill the dreamer in me.”
I’m in the middle of a mental breakdown. I’m crashing out. No beating around the bush. I get sick around this time each year because of my family’s birthdays, Lunar New Year, and Valentine’s Day. It wipes me out. My insecurities manifest in very ugly and impulsive manners to the point where I oscillate in overthinking and fear. I am very particular with who I communicate with and where I make myself seen because I am battling a more intense self-mutilation during this period.
I am okay, I promise. I do a lot more self-reflection and introspection during this time. I stare at the mirror and blow bubbles. I start truly grinding on my personal projects and desires. I honor my engineering boyfriend manifesto as a grounding mechanism. I’m talking about this because I think people’s instinct is to immediately worry over me and be overconcerned. I’ve been institutionalized, been denied my humanity, and infantilized because I have depression and that I can’t be trusted to make my own decisions. I’ve been in this body for a very long time, I have a short list of people I reach out to when I start feeling this way, and I know what’s best for me. Please respect my autonomy.
A withdrawal from social support is necessary for me to re-evaluate how I am approaching this life. I love getting to know people. I love being in conversation. However, I need a rest, and can only handle the necessary roles and responsibilities that are required of me.
A mental breakdown is not an end all. As flowers have their seasons to be gorgeous, blossoming requires months of sadness, desolation, and destruction. A mental breakdown for me is a new beginning. A rebirth. A rejuvenation. I continue to restart. Choose a new pathway. And attempt at life again and again.
During this time, I’ll be working on shipping out copies of Bus Tickets. Sending letters. Re-evaluating my future plans. Dreaming up new ways to imagine this bus tickets project. I’ll be off social media which is often part of my Lent journey. Once again, if you have any ideas, send them my way, I can’t say I will implement them all, but I love ideas.
This substack isn’t over yet, and I don’t know what my silly little heart will come up with next, but know I’ll see you on the next ride and don’t forget your ticket.
