I was dancing at a party when someone leaned into my ear and whispered that to me. Earlier that night, a friend and I went to a bar where we knew the bartender. My friend raised her eyebrow. I looked different from how I normally look—I usually have mascara on my light eyelashes. I was dressed as my roommate, wearing his clothes, while he had dressed as me. It was Halloween. I believe the idea extends beyond pain: pleasure that gets performed is also still pleasure.
Drake would not agree with me there. But is it the story of my life? I asked. Drake sees solitude and mistakes it for sincerity; he sees loneliness and mistakes it for desire.
Why you never alone? So true, I replied. When I say Drake, I mean a man, or maybe I mean you. When I say you , I mean you but also not-you. The saddest time in my life was also the time the most people said, you look beautiful,. In college, I had a bad reaction to the birth control pill I had been taking for years. But, though I felt lonely, the surge of hormones cleared up my acne. My breasts swelled. One afternoon, I noticed their soreness. I stood in the bathroom of the house where I lived and lifted my shirt to see my breasts in the mirror.
Pushed up by a bra, they looked like globes, round and bluish with veins just below a cloud of skin. I went back into my bedroom, where two of my housemates were sitting. Look, I said, and raised my shirt. Whoa, they both replied. One added, looking good. I thought the question you meant was would you rather be with her or with me? You would never choose. I would need to face the question of loneliness: would I rather be lonely with you or without you?
Writing is the most public private space, and I would like to ask Drake what he thinks of my writing this essay. A friend tells me about a video where Drake, in disguise, asks people what they think of him. He reveals himself to someone who loves him and they take a picture together. The saddest time in my life was also the time the most people said, you look beautiful.
