'I’m telling you this: people are not being honest about what it’s like to be with kids. People are scared to admit that they would rather be at work than with their kids, because work is easier than parenting.'
. . .
I’m infamous among family and friends as the person who is never on time. Some of this is Filipino time (it exists, trust me), and some of it is that I just find it exhausting to make decisions. Even the small ones that need to be addressed just to get through the day. Today I’m going through my to-do list, and I just ticked off 3 things and now I think I need to take a nap.
'It is likely I will die next to a pile of things I was meaning to read.'
'The weak, sensual, pleasure-loving French. You know, not going to war because they’re all still in bed at two in the afternoon, with the sheets coiled about their knees, lying there scratching themselves. Smoking a Gauloise inside a Gitane, sweating nice sancerre, before one of them sloughs off the sheets to pad around the kitchen naked. No, not naked; naked from the waist down, to emphasise their nakedness. Picking up yesterday’s croissant crumbs with their sweaty feet, slashing yesterday’s paintings. Chocolate bread! That’s how they start the day. It’s only going to escalate from there. By lunchtime you’re fucking everybody you know. I was in Paris recently—they are very good at pleasure. I was walking by a bakery, a boulangerie (which is fun to go into and to say, even) and I went in— a childish desire to get a cake. “Give me one of those chocolate guys,” I said. Then I was talking to someone on the street, took a bite… I had to tell them to go away! This thing! I wanted to book a room with it! Proper, serious pleasure. Because they know they’re gonna die. Nobody goes to church. You think, we’re gonna die, make a fucking nice cake.'
'an act of decorative subversion'
– Rudi Bremer in reference to her visual art project.
This is how I’d like to live my life.
I wouldn’t say no to those shoes, either.
'For me, family is the community you create. It lives in the simplest acts, like laughing at the dinner table, or being pushed up to the sky on a swing so that you think you know what it means to fly. It is being forced to do the washing up, crying because you don’t want to go to bed, and the frustration of having your nose blown for you.'