Tessa is a strongly opinionated singer and musician living in New York. Her background is in classical piano, linguistics, computers, ethnomusicology, and Tibetan studies. She fronts Tessa Makes Love.

Robots are on her $hit list, and this blog is about not taking $hit from the machine.

A Story of a Song

“I Miss You.” I wrote it many years ago and somehow, it still has its own place in my heart. I was so excited about the guy! He was my perfect type. While being my perfect type, he was hurting me. He was arrogant. He was unfaithful. He was lecturing me on being square because I objected to him kissing other girls (in front of me, none the less). I remember thinking, “One day, he will understand. One day, one day, he will appreciate me and understand.”

And then I lost interest.

And then he died. Drugs.

I fully and completely forgave him. I wish him peace somewhere away from me.

read more

Life stuff

I lost a friend who I value greatly and hold in highest regards, over being true to peace and not acting like a man. I am kind of heartbroken over it.

The male approach is to surround yourself in “fuck you’s” and be right.

Oh, how I understand the advantage of doing so. How easy must it be to walk through life solving every problem with ‘fuck you’, “me good, them bad”. I envy it deeply. But if you are born with senses that see complexity and compassion whether it’s convenient for you or not… in this culture where aggression is the shortest route to victory… and if at the same time you are an alpha and not a masochist… Sometimes my blood boils.

read more

Girls, Books, and Lies

It started with an email from my high school best friend. She told me that our shared first boyfriend published a sci-fi trilogy.

The fact that he published a trilogy made me feel surprisingly warm and fuzzy, given how long I have not spoken to him and how we parted. The guy has achieved something sweet, good for him, good for the world I live in! But it’s not what shocked me.

read more

Misfucked

I made our fucking divine for a second.

I, I did that. You, you received it. You commented on how good the sex was.

Not. Fair.

It gives me cramps. Not the fact that you ended up being a special nobody seeking me out during special moments of your loneliness – but the fact that I exercised wrong judgment. I hastily beautified you. I eyeballed perfection and forced you in. I built a pedestal for you. I got so carried away with this phantom of your love that it still haunts me. As if it is real.

read more

Being Squashed for Being a Whore, Or…?

Irony: In high school, I fantasized about the existential, timeless beauty of being an Indian temple prostitute out of Siddhartha; a couple of years later, I was sitting in the back of a sex trafficker’s truck in Southern China, looking into his eyes, and his eyes were indescribably awful.

On that day, I avoided the path of a linguist / ethnomusicologist turned sex slave by an inch. Jumping out of his truck on autopilot saved my life.

read more

Tessa is a strongly opinionated singer and musician living in New York. Her background is in classical piano, linguistics, computers, ethnomusicology, and Tibetan studies. She fronts Tessa Makes Love.

Robots are on her $hit list, and this blog is about not taking $hit from the machine.