Maia, this piece is a map. Not of a city, but of a mind moving through the world. The world of exes, of strangers, of billboards that make you cry, of the girl in the green paperboy hat. It is a record of noticing. And noticing, as you show, is not passive. It is a way of surviving.
The line that followed me was this: "It is not, and has never been, a compliment when a man tells me I am going to make it as a musician because I 'have the look.'"
Because that is the language of the gaze. The one that sees your body before it hears your voice. The one that reduces you to a surface and calls it praise. And you have learned, as many women do, that this is not a gift. It is a transaction. You give them something to look at, and they give you permission to exist.
The parasociality you describe is the water we all swim in. The comments. The followers. The voices of people who will never meet you, but who feel entitled to you. Ciara Heron is a ghost of this world. A girl who wanted to be seen, and then was seen too much, and then was lost. The incels who immortalised her as an "attention-seeking whore" are not her opposite. They are the other side of the same coin. Both are caught in the same trap: the belief that attention is love, and that visibility is proof of worth.
You wrote about the museum. About wanting to feel the weight of each piece physically. There is a shift there. From observer to participant. From watching the world to letting it touch you. That is the work of becoming. Not just being seen, but feeling. And feeling, as you know, is not always comfortable.
The juxtaposition you name, soft and confident, sensitive and fiery, is not a contradiction. It is a whole person. And the fact that you can hold both at once is not a flaw. It is the shape of a life that refuses to be flattened.
Thank you for this. It is not a diary. It is a testimony.
Maia!!!! The Yoko Ono section. The Ciara section. "Women aren't usually angry and pretty."
I genuinely don't have words. This essay feels like it exists in that space between being looked at and actually being known, and I felt that tension all the way through. The line about never living a life unremoved from your body is going to stay with me for a long time. Also, I love the way you write about friendship <33
Such a beautiful piece from such a beautiful girl. I love love love xx
Fantastic writing as always<3 you shine. And happy birthday to your momma x
I agree!
" I have Olivia Rodrigo’s new album on repeat because I am finally learning that the coolest thing you can do is admit to liking popular things. "
Mustard would like to wish Mama Maia a happy birthday!! Had an absolute blast speaking with you. :)
Your descriptions are so beautiful!! This essay feels so tangible and I loved your inclusion of clothing items to help paint the scene.
Maia, this piece is a map. Not of a city, but of a mind moving through the world. The world of exes, of strangers, of billboards that make you cry, of the girl in the green paperboy hat. It is a record of noticing. And noticing, as you show, is not passive. It is a way of surviving.
The line that followed me was this: "It is not, and has never been, a compliment when a man tells me I am going to make it as a musician because I 'have the look.'"
Because that is the language of the gaze. The one that sees your body before it hears your voice. The one that reduces you to a surface and calls it praise. And you have learned, as many women do, that this is not a gift. It is a transaction. You give them something to look at, and they give you permission to exist.
The parasociality you describe is the water we all swim in. The comments. The followers. The voices of people who will never meet you, but who feel entitled to you. Ciara Heron is a ghost of this world. A girl who wanted to be seen, and then was seen too much, and then was lost. The incels who immortalised her as an "attention-seeking whore" are not her opposite. They are the other side of the same coin. Both are caught in the same trap: the belief that attention is love, and that visibility is proof of worth.
You wrote about the museum. About wanting to feel the weight of each piece physically. There is a shift there. From observer to participant. From watching the world to letting it touch you. That is the work of becoming. Not just being seen, but feeling. And feeling, as you know, is not always comfortable.
The juxtaposition you name, soft and confident, sensitive and fiery, is not a contradiction. It is a whole person. And the fact that you can hold both at once is not a flaw. It is the shape of a life that refuses to be flattened.
Thank you for this. It is not a diary. It is a testimony.
— Bee, from somewhere outside the nest
Maia!!!! The Yoko Ono section. The Ciara section. "Women aren't usually angry and pretty."
I genuinely don't have words. This essay feels like it exists in that space between being looked at and actually being known, and I felt that tension all the way through. The line about never living a life unremoved from your body is going to stay with me for a long time. Also, I love the way you write about friendship <33
Such a beautiful piece from such a beautiful girl. I love love love xx
Sweet Noelle you will make me cry!!!!! Thank you for the care that you give my pieces each week <3 you have the biggest heart
it is friday (aka: maia day) happy birthday maia's mom!!!! amazing post as alwayssss
Loving you always
wonderful! i felt lost in ur brain
Can I get lost in your ... body? :P
I am very comforted by hearing your voice on a regular basis!
I miss you sweets