perhaps death is what makes love possible
Oct. 27th, 2023 08:31 amwhile fan fiction is definitely just a fun hobby for all of us, i want to kind of insist it can also be a serious and genuine place of figuring out... maybe breaking down? or putting together? real events and feelings and memories. writing does that, and fan fiction is a form of writing practice, so what i'm trying to say is, i've written two fics recently that were, in the most simple terms, about bringing a dead person back (via a game, via a configuration of a humanoid-android) and there's something being said here.
i have been thinking about writing about writing about these two fics even while i was still writing and finishing them. but even now i find it hard to put into words what lies deep beneath the heart of these stories. i treasure the very personal and intimate space i have built around this fun hobby and i think there is something absolutely joyful about the fact that one can simply write whatever, and also attempt to phenomenologize the deep, colossal, softest parts of being a person with a transient, crooked body in this tragic, beautiful world.
like idk whatever the fuck happens when one crosses the border of the living to the dead, but i do know what it's like to stay alive. i do know what happens after you bury a loved one. daddy loves you is a story that reckons with this unique pain of the living that you only ever truly really feel after you get so close to it, after it happens to you without it happening to you yet. when someone passes in the same room as you, isnt that its own kind of death? i know so.
then it is also about the stages of grief: the bargaining, the guilt, the denial, the complicated order and re-ordering of the hurt: which comes first? mine or others' or that of the one who passed? or the world: how do you grieve in a collapsing world? then it is also a story about warmth, the lack of it, the person who brings it, how we labor to find it; or get lucky to be given it. about forgiveness.
also, it is a story about possibilities. it happens in the near (?) future, twenty years forward to 2043, where androids ("solutions for everything") can be purchased to assume the form of our loved ones ("even tragedies"). this element of my fic is based on isabel yap's short story titled "sink", set in the philippines, where one can buy anything in greenhills. it also asks the same questions: what happens then when we can do this? when there is an endlessness to life? fiction makes the argument for us. it strives to enact the shared humanness we collectively experience: to want to bring back the dead; and affirms our imagination: that a future like this could exist, if we are patient, or are daring; and our grief: there is a form of inimitable and honest love when one writes about the dead. when one writes about death, the one incomprehensible thing: it humbles and then expands us, and transforms the burden into the singular, unbreakable task of living.
whatever happens then within the words on the page is one of the very true and very sacred place made by our hands where the dead continue to persist. we could say then that reading about it is a form of keeping them alive. and who would not want that? who wouldn't want to give and be given that kind of grace? the world is so brutal. this year has been so brutal. so keep writing. even if no one is reading it but yourself: you are writing to yourself as well. you are writing to those beyond. that is honest work. a hand is a hand is a hand.
title from heaven's coast by mark doty: Imagine illness as this light; demanding, torturous, punitive, it nonetheless reveals more of what things are. A certain glow of being appears. I think this is what is meant when we speculate that death is what makes love possible.
i have been thinking about writing about writing about these two fics even while i was still writing and finishing them. but even now i find it hard to put into words what lies deep beneath the heart of these stories. i treasure the very personal and intimate space i have built around this fun hobby and i think there is something absolutely joyful about the fact that one can simply write whatever, and also attempt to phenomenologize the deep, colossal, softest parts of being a person with a transient, crooked body in this tragic, beautiful world.
like idk whatever the fuck happens when one crosses the border of the living to the dead, but i do know what it's like to stay alive. i do know what happens after you bury a loved one. daddy loves you is a story that reckons with this unique pain of the living that you only ever truly really feel after you get so close to it, after it happens to you without it happening to you yet. when someone passes in the same room as you, isnt that its own kind of death? i know so.
then it is also about the stages of grief: the bargaining, the guilt, the denial, the complicated order and re-ordering of the hurt: which comes first? mine or others' or that of the one who passed? or the world: how do you grieve in a collapsing world? then it is also a story about warmth, the lack of it, the person who brings it, how we labor to find it; or get lucky to be given it. about forgiveness.
also, it is a story about possibilities. it happens in the near (?) future, twenty years forward to 2043, where androids ("solutions for everything") can be purchased to assume the form of our loved ones ("even tragedies"). this element of my fic is based on isabel yap's short story titled "sink", set in the philippines, where one can buy anything in greenhills. it also asks the same questions: what happens then when we can do this? when there is an endlessness to life? fiction makes the argument for us. it strives to enact the shared humanness we collectively experience: to want to bring back the dead; and affirms our imagination: that a future like this could exist, if we are patient, or are daring; and our grief: there is a form of inimitable and honest love when one writes about the dead. when one writes about death, the one incomprehensible thing: it humbles and then expands us, and transforms the burden into the singular, unbreakable task of living.
whatever happens then within the words on the page is one of the very true and very sacred place made by our hands where the dead continue to persist. we could say then that reading about it is a form of keeping them alive. and who would not want that? who wouldn't want to give and be given that kind of grace? the world is so brutal. this year has been so brutal. so keep writing. even if no one is reading it but yourself: you are writing to yourself as well. you are writing to those beyond. that is honest work. a hand is a hand is a hand.
title from heaven's coast by mark doty: Imagine illness as this light; demanding, torturous, punitive, it nonetheless reveals more of what things are. A certain glow of being appears. I think this is what is meant when we speculate that death is what makes love possible.