We are all auteurs of our own experiences, but only a few of us materialize the thoughts that swim around our minds. Our once hidden introspection becomes a mirror in which others see themselves. In the spirit of celebrating the unique ways in which we stay connected and keep in touch, for the third installment of SSENSE x Valentino UniqueForm(s), writer and artist Fariha Róisín shares eight diary excerpts—her meditation on organizing the daily chaos of thoughts as a creative in 2020, the necessity of correspondence with oneself.

1.

I’m drawn to the sublime nature of something that hits like an arrow. Unexpected. There’s something riveting about anything that’s well-timed, like a joke, or a gorgeously runny egg, the yolk golden like yellow mustard. Or forget balance in time, and think of balance: when you taste a marmalade that’s neither too tart, nor too sweet, just right, like my girl Goldilocks. Gold is marketed to us as a luxury, but the truth is it's so easy to find for free.

2.

Recently, I’ve been drawn to the state of a good reveal. Sometimes you watch a TikTok video and it’s all about the elegance: the edits, the cuts, the jokes as they fall out like a tasty, deserving treat. I find myself incensed, How could it be so easy? In between the filling of the days, of the on-and-off flicker of my remaining consciousness, fielding the depression and angst, I’ve found some solid reprieve in these moments where I’m forced into submission with a laugh. As I watch, again-and-again, I question the brilliance of a mind that constructs such effortless storytelling. The paradox of escapism is that you’re really just longing for connection. As a storyteller, I think of the deftness it takes to move someone. The skill it requires.

3.

In a world where we claim to know so much, without knowing much at all, a world that feels like it’s in constant shambles, what better way to experience life than to get lost in its circuitousness? In its rhythm, hoping for moments in time where we can be pulled out of our own inertia. When I can fall into a dance, a groove, I’m miraculously resuscitated. I think of these occasions with joy. I admire the precision it takes, how everything had to line up to make that moment perfect. It’s like witnessing the sun in the big gaps of trees, mashed to the soundtrack of a chant of cicadas that rump the moonlight on a hot evening. It just fits.

4.

I’ve been using Twitter as a source of levity ever since I got an account in 2009. I like how you can track your mind, a maze of contradictions, managing the things that move you, a curator of your needs, your interests, on your very own timeline. Despite social media’s many nefarious downfalls (as my father likes to call it [un]social media) it's become a way for me to entertain myself in this lonely world. It inspires me, it helps me connect to strangers. It’s become an epistolary state of being, a way to covertly correspond with myself.

5.

I am invested in comedy as an artform, a lasting bastion of influence from my former partner, Shaka. The man loves to laugh, and through his tutelage I learned almost anything can be funny. A New Yorker, Brooklyn born and bred, and he loves the haughty, short-tempered archetype. One of the funniest things he introduced me to is a radio recording of an Italian-American comedian narrating, “Band on the Run,” by Paul McCartney and The Wings. When Shaka laughs it ricochets across any room with a deep-bellied verve, pounding the walls with a bright, blue echo. I love to see him cower over, one arm resting on his stomach, cackling.

6.

I consider my humor for the weird and stoned. Maybe because I consider myself to be weird and stoned. A few weeks ago, I did mushrooms then listened to “Jolene” by Dolly Parton. Comedy exists in so much more than just a punchline. Sometimes it exists in the absurdity of the sharing.

7.

I write to know myself most intimately, and most ardently. I correspond with myself through time and space to understand these mazes, these passages, these memories coiled around my emotional lobes like a loop. My life has been a dramatic and traumatic showdown, punctuated with moments of splendour and passing joy. They say most comedians have a dark side, which makes sense. I’m constantly trying to absolve my deep, moody sadness by creating moments of levity. I remember the Sonja Sanchez line, “If you don’t laugh, you don’t survive.”

8.

Everything can be compost. Pain can be harnessed into laughter. I guess that’s what I’m doing, I’m using this delicate time to harness myself out of a funk. As I call out to myself through the passages of time, what I’m really saying is, “Watch me! Watch me! I can not only survive, but I can also soar!”

Fariha Róisín wears Valentino.