October 21, 2008

  • I suppose this is a long-delayed response to another entry, in a way. They're a frequent reader (heh, of my, like, three). I've been thinking of parenting often, for some odd reason. Various things in relation to it, but part of it was what we, as parents, will have to tell our children or may pass to our children. I think every parent fears that, to an extent. And all I can think of is being utterly sure that things will be fine. I've noticed lately I seem to be attracted most to people who have or have had history with depression - think the product won't have it? Have to explain the complex family situation on my side. That one'll be fun. Yet why should it be impossible? Been there, done that (for some, all too literally). Children are all so accepting, so long as you raise them that way. A child doesn't love because they're instructed, but because it's instictual. What do you tell them? That's just it - you simply tell them. The second you start building those walls, you weaken and ruin any kind of relationship; further, for all marks, there are those who still see you perfectly.

    I smile into the rearview mirror instead. Why with such a nice smile are you trying to weep? he asks as we pull up to my building.
    -Don't Let Me Be Lonely by Claudia Rankine, pg. 90

    So, another installment of the Optimism versus Realism debate. I'm starting to see how necessary Optimism really is. Realism has had most of the spotlight, really. Yet for all his show, he may come off more as cynisism. This is not the case, though. He can have a cynical nature, always reminding the downside of life. But that's because he sees all sides. He sees what is and states it. It is what it is; it is realistic. I saw somewhere that a cynic, when he/she smells flowers, asks where the funeral is. The Realist simply points out that there could be a funeral. And the Optimist hopes it's two loved ones (not dead, of course). Yet what happens when Optimism is gone? Realism has nothing to fight against. Granted, Realism is the one that sets the stakes, in reality - he's the one that looks and life and decides what is realistic or not. And, in turn, Optimism looks at what Realism has discovered and says where things could look up and be good. But, for cinematic purposes, see it as Optimism disappearing and Realism finding nothing happy to acknowledge. Everything becomes gloom, then. I need that optimism, those things to look forward to and to strive for. I need to believe there are answers, I suppose. Realism can state; "This is real! This is what is!" But optimism points to the solutions, that things can get better. Maybe I'm just stuck in that Optimism vs. Realism mindset and that things are what they are, simply, is not an applicable idea for me. But I suppose that would then assume that I am not happy with things as they are. To which I wonder why. To which, again, I have no answer. I don't know and that's the most obnoxious part. To not know is to not know how to proceed.

    In my dream I apologize to everyone I meet. Instead of introducing myself, I apologize for not knowing why I am alive. I am sorry. I am sorry. I apologize. In real life, oddly enough, when I am fully awake and out and about, if I catch someone's eye, I quickly look away. Perhaps this too is a form of apology. Perhaps this is the form apologies take in real life. In real life the looking away is the apology, despite the fact that when I look away I almost feel guilty; I do not feel as if I have apologized. Instead I feel as if I have created a reason to apologize, I feel the guilt of having ignored that thing - the encounter. I could have nodded, I could have have smiled without showing my teeth. In some small way I could have wordlessly said, I see you seeing me and I apologize for not knowing why I am alive. I am sorry. I am sorry. I apologize. Afterwards, after I have looked away, I never feel as if I can say, Look, look at me again so that I can see you, so that I can acknowledge that I have seen you, so that I can see you and apologize.
    -Don't Let Me Be Lonely by Claudia Rankine, pg. 98

    I almost want to take a page from your book, Lizzie, and write out all my secrets, for those that I have. But therein lies the problem; I'm not sure I'd know them. I have this nagging feeling in the back of my head that any true ones I do have, I have very good reason for them remaining secrets. Maybe I wouldn't even recognize. What a way to end an entry. A random thought unrelated to the topic (or linked topics) at hand. Oh well.