On nostalgia
Last week, I found myself falling down a Livejournal rabbit hole that I’ve yet to crawl out of. For the unfamiliar, Livejournal (or LJ as many of its users call it) is a blogging and social networking site that was popular back in the early ‘00s. I say was because, although it still exists today, it doesn’t exactly possess the same charm it once had. (That and because Russia now owns it.) The site gave a whole crop of budding writers the space to be completely and unapologetically themselves (much to the embarrassment of their now older selves), and perhaps, more importantly, it introduced them to the wonders of self-publishing.
It’s where I blogged, semi-regularly from 2001 to 2008, sharing stream-of-consciousness ramblings, bad poetry, and lukewarm takes on everything from film to food. But mostly, it was where I whined about the boys I had crushes on.
But unlike Myspace and Friendster—which have been scrubbed of all traces of our mid-noughties emo glory—for better or worse, Livejournal remains intact, a fact I find both comforting and a little unnerving. There are moments of complete earnestness on there that I flinch at now. The way I offered myself up without any hint of self-consciousness or shame and shared intimate details about my personal life with the kind of candor that seems almost foreign to me now.
Many of the things I wrote about those first two years on the site I had forgotten about or flat out blocked from my memory, so much so that on my first night of diving back into the mind of 16-year-old Chiara, it felt like I had picked up someone else’s diary. I was so engrossed in each page that I’d catch myself wondering what would happen next, as if I was reading it all unfold for the first time. I stayed up reading all night, way past my usual bedtime, and when I finally forced myself to shut my laptop, I couldn’t sleep. I kept replaying the memories it had triggered and wondering who would feature next. The following day I felt sick, like I’d had gone a little too hard on nostalgia and was suffering the consequences of a night spent wallowing in it.
This wasn’t so different from what people just a few centuries ago experienced when faced with the same misplaced longings. In the 17th century, nostalgia was considered a medical condition and was associated with Swiss soldiers who would pine for their native homelands while away at war, so much so that it made them sick. Symptoms included stomach pain, fainting, fever, and in some cases even death. It occurred to me that maybe I had overdosed on nostalgia. While I know better than to romanticize my turbulent youth, the unhinged energy and perpetual yearnings of my Livejournal made me long for a time when I wasn’t so preoccupied with other people’s opinions and when life was still brimming with possibility.
In the book The Unspeakable: And Other Subjects of Discussion, essayist Meghan Daum grapples with her own bouts of nostalgia:
This was a time in my life when I was so filled with longing for so many things that were so far out of reach that at least once a day I thought my heart would implode from the sheer force of unrequited desire.
By desire I am not referring to apartments I wanted to occupy or furniture I wanted to buy or even people I was attracted to (well, I’m referring to those things a little) but, rather, a sensation I can only describe as the ache of not being there yet.
Apart from that constant longing, another thing that struck me about my entries were the comments. Despite my painful lack of self-awareness and proclivity for melodrama, my LJ friends—many of whom I’d never met or would meet IRL—were a constant source of support, always offering words of encouragement even when they probably should’ve told me to stop.
I know the word ‘community’ gets thrown around a lot these days but I don’t think I’ve ever felt more part of a community than I did back then. To the extent that I feel like I’ve been chasing some form of it—that feeling of belonging and shared intimacy—ever since. Although there have been glimpses, I’ve never quite managed to recapture it. In a lot of ways, I suppose this newsletter is an attempt to do just that, to reclaim what Michael Chabon calls a ‘lost connection.’ And while it’s easy to shit on my younger self’s juvenile ramblings, there was one thing was she good at: being completely and unapologetically herself, a quality I know I could do better at emulating.
—
Tortang talong
No other dish evokes feelings of nostalgia for me (and I suspect many other Filipinos) more than tortang talong. Although there are variations that use ground meat, this is one of the few Filipino vegetable dishes that don’t use pork. It is endlessly customizable; you can add fish sauce, chopped onions, garlic, or just have it how I like it, with minimal ingredients. I added chopped scallions to this one, thanks to a recent tip from a friend (waves at you). And I think it is perfect in every way.
Ingredients:
1 Japanese/Chinese eggplant
2 eggs
chopped scallions
salt
Directions:
Char the eggplant on the open flame of a stove burner until the skin has blackened all over. This should take about five to ten minutes, depending on how thick the eggplant is. Make sure all parts have softened inside.
Remove from the burner and wait until it’s cool enough to handle then peel off the charred skin and flatten with a fork so that it looks like this.
In a separate bowl, beat the eggs and add the chopped scallions and salt. Place the eggplant in the whisked egg.
Heat your pan over medium heat and add about two tablespoons of vegetable oil to it. Heat the oil at least 30 seconds before taking the egged eggplant (heh) by the stem and frying it in the oil. Top with remaining whisked egg and fry for about two minutes then flip and fry another two minutes.
Eat with banana ketchup; if unavailable, regular ketchup will do.
As always, thanks for reading and don’t hesitate to reach out.