I suppose I haven't done a thorough (nor, often enough, coherant) personal entry in a while.

If you want to know a fundamental aspect of me (that, actually, I don't really talk about often), I consider how one acts (all the time) to be the embodiment of their sentiments. In other words, practice what you preach. If you wouldn't say it in front of the person, what in the world makes you think it alright to say it when they're not around? Or, to use a familiar example, – if you're being monogamous and it's not an open relationship – you shouldn't be thinking/fantasizing about other people when dating or married to someone else. I am in no way a supporter of, "You can look, but you can't touch."

And, as I've mentioned on here in probably plentiful heaps, I am not a supporter of physical attractiveness. It's basically wired into us genetically, yes, but – like, for example, choosing to have sex or not – it's still a choice as to what decisions you make surrounding the subject. Simply, such a system (and the way we've made how we react in society to it and the way we talk about it and the way we treat it have truly have made it a system) that excludes others I can never give approval to. I have played with the idea (in part because I've noticed that our actual obsessions about attractiveness tend to be unhealthy and also very narrow, thereby skipping over many aspects that I don't understand why they don't receive more attention – read here for full understanding) of every person pursuing the totality of their own personal tastes in attractiveness (since, – arguably – in a society that treats attractiveness in a healthy and nonjudgmental way, the diversity of everyone's tastes would be wide enough that there couldn't possibly be significant overlap when comparing person to person) since the theory would be that the result is everyone gets covered somewhere in being considered attractive. However, if I'm being honest, everyone wouldn't. That's the entire reason behind my protest to begin with. And, even if everyone wasn't, if there's only someone in Asia who would find someone in North America attractive (let's assume near worst case here) and neither person moves, that person in North America will still overwhelmingly likely die alone.

The fact of the matter is that there will consistently be people who are cheated out of this system because they didn't fit the bill in requirements that they had absolutely no control over – their genetics.

So, knowing all this about me, I'm having dinner with my friend Chelsea and my cousin Dominique earlier today. I forget at what point the conversation changed but I remember Chelsea or Dods asking me if I'll shave.

For those who don't know me in real life, I provide photographic evidence of my hairiness:

I've never shaved. I started growing facial hair around 4th or 5th grade, and I've never dissuaded the little guys. As you might imagine, my beard didn't exactly grow in perfectly. It came in patches (which, looking back, looked pretty damn ridiculous – more so than now – back in the day). Not trimming it means I have over-confidant strands that try to stick out by being longer than the rest.

As you might imagine, I've had people try to convince me to get rid of the food collector. Every time I go back home – guess what my mom and aunt talk about? My friends (as Chelsea and Dodi might have given you clue to)? You bet. People I've just met (though I actually tend to get the affirmative from people I just met more often)? Oh, definitely.

Some people even just downright amuse me (and infuriate me intellectually). Some people, believe it or not, actually get angry at me. Like, visibly frustrated as if they're talking to an ignorant, stubborn individual (forgive my over-self-confidence). I've seen that type of frustration and determination before. It's generally the reaction that my dad gets when I happened to not iron a shirt. "Why have you disobeyed society's rules?!?!" It's the frustration of someone who is doing something simply because they've been told to and don't seem to have the will-power to remotely question it (or, at least, allow others to autonomously deal with the situation in the way they choose and not simply accept the fact that the other person's decision isn't going to effect them anyway). I'm not saying that everyone reacts that way. But some do.

No, most people, I'd say, tell me to shave (or at least trim) out of a sincere desire to see the best for me or because they earnestly believe in the notion of shaving. I don't view them as being intellectually retarded (I am using retarded by its definition, not as a swipe at the mentally disabled/retarded), at the very least.

Now, let me explain why I refuse to shave. As I said at the beginning of this, I feel that all your actions (private and public) should reflect your beliefs. As you might imagine, I take to heart Gandhi's words, "You must be the change you wish to see in the world." So, I partially will not shave because, for that minority out there that literally have their entire world view challenged when they encounter the ferocity of my androgens, they inspire my perilous fight every time they visibly become utterly uncomfortable. I feel it's every living individual's duty to challenge them and better them.

The other reason goes back to my other continuous fight – attractiveness. Apparently, I'd be really attractive if I'd just shaved. I've been so told many times, often in an attempt to convince me to shave (apparently my very public stance about physical attractiveness somehow doesn't invalidate this as an argument point in people's minds). In fact, this was the stressed part in Chelsea and Dods argument. I seem to not "realize the opportunities that are open to [me] at the moment." Apparently there's a very attractive girl that's within my reaches if only I'd just shave (to quote Chelsea, were the girl gay, she'd totally go after her). Also she seems to be intelligent according to the two (a better selling point, in my humble opinion, than the previous one). And, considering that I've been single for the past three years (roughly), what's not to like about this situation? All it would take is a simple shaving. 5 minutes of my time for a badly done job.

However, I refuse to accept or endorse this system. I don't like it. Not one bit. And I don't want to support it. Others may believe in it – fine, they certainly have every right to. But don't make me do so. Because, as I've said, someone gets cut out of this system. And, frankly, that's all I need to know. That's all that governs my life; there's no way you will ever make headway with me if someone else is getting disadvantaged. I'm a humanistic Catholic; I promise you, all further arguments are useless on me if the integrity and respect of each individual is not kept in mind. It honestly gets no more complicated than that.

And if principle isn't enough to sway you, then consider this. You want a companion that will care more about you than just what you look like? Take both Emma and Laura, if you will. Laura hated my beard and Emma tried (though not too hard, nicely enough) to convince me to shave too. Both dated me in spite of the beard anyway. Know what that tells me? Despite my position and my unwillingness to budge on it, they still were invested or interested in me enough to put that aside. Sure, it can be scratchy and, therefore, unpleasant. That's a reasonable argument. However, part of also why I keep it is to weed out where the attention is being placed in my relationships. I could safely shave with either Emma or Laura, were I still dating either, without worrying about such a minimal change being a maker or breaker for the relationship.

Now, honestly, I'm flattered that someone apparently would be willing to consider to date me (tells you how much attention I usually get, don't it?). I was thoroughly amused by Chelsea and Dodi's pleading. But, in the end, I still stand where I've stood in the past. I'm not willing to sell out to this pathetic system or lower my standards just because I'm lonely. If someone can get me an argument, fine. But no one has been able to convince me in the 7 some years I've had these opinions.

And, if you're unable to still get behind the appearance argument, consider this. The beard is not dirty. Hell, I don't have dry skin around my chin, so it's not like there's even dandruff. Basically, the fuss is just being made over unkempt hair. If we apply this to the top of my head and pretended I didn't have a beard, it's the equivalent of someone not wanting to date me just because I don't comb my hair. I can be successful, a good student, kind, considerate, funny, etc. But I don't comb my hair.

Yeah, I really want to date her too.

[note: I should mention that this is all under the very tentative knowledge I've been given of the girl. She may not actually be interested in me and it's just my cousin and friend getting all in a twixt and jumping the gun. However, if she is interested in me and simply will not go forward with that due to my beard, I honestly think that's shallow. I don't generally like slinging insults but, if I'm being honest, that's what it boils down to. However, given my overall lack of concrete knowledge here, who knows where things actually stand]

It always disheartens me when someone I knew online just disappears, even if I didn't know them well or we weren't close. It's like that neighbor that suddens moves without telling anyone. I hope they've found new people to talk to and keep up with.

I think what terrifies me the most when it comes to my dad is just how similar we are (or I am to how he was as a kid/adolescent). And I think what terrifies me even further is how different we are in that similarity.

That was terribly cryptic. I'm learning (or, rather, coming to admit) that it seems near impossible for me to voice personal matters of my own of my own volition.

Holden wanted to be the catcher in the rye.

I think, if I were to replace the life I had now, I'd be that guy who catches and holds the elevator door for you right before it closes when you're rushing at the last minute to an interview or meeting. I'd be the random guy who sparks up a meaningful conversation with you when you're on the train or waiting for the bus, etc. on a day which wasn't going well for you/where you felt under-appreciated and is genuinely interested in what you have to say. I'd be the guy to loan you the extra five bucks or so you need when in line or trying to catch a cab.

Basically, my only job would be to go from place to place helping in small ways. You'd see me for probably no more than 5 minutes before I'm off to help someone else, would just remember me as some kind stranger restoring your faith in humanity. I think I could be content if that was all I had for a life.

I feel that I don't do enough for my friends (though they'd - or at least some would - probably gainsay that). I just feel terribly ineffectual (though an inability to properly be on top of my work since I started college probably aids none to this continual feeling). Regardless, I could do more.

Love always,
Dad

Would it be considered cruel of me to only respond with a, "No"? Yeah, I know, I should stop asking questions I don't care about the answer for.

There's a dream I've had. I've only had it twice but that's really more than enough, as far as I'm concerned. I believe both times it involved some event with the family. It's usually (I think) attached onto another dream, with the scene that's moved into including the entire family. My father is talking and I'm steadily getting more irritated. I say things which are ignored or taken the wrong way. I start to get snarky, becoming more caustically sarcastic and deliberately hurtful in what I say. This continues until I boil over and sort of stop everything else that's going on. In the last time I had this dream, we were all in the car and I - somehow - cause my dad to stop the car. I jump out and I'm absolutely livid. I'm shrieking at this point, completely shaking in my rage as I'm divulging literally every single grievance, hurt, and memory that's bothered me, ever. And I'm not being sarcastic anymore, or convoluted, or even just expecting him to get it without me explaining it; I am, in as clear of language as I possibly can, shouting every problem I've ever had and explaining why they've bothered me. The anger should get his attention, disallowing any possible distraction or to think that any of this is dismissible; the explanation is blatantly clear to me (remembering this is a dream, we can assume that the explanation actually is plain as day and ought to make sense).

And he doesn't get it. He doesn't understand. And it's not even not understanding because he's too selfish or because he doesn't want to. And it's not understanding but simply not caring anyway. It's like he literally cannot understand so clear and obvious explanations, earnestly and honestly, and so all he wants to know is why in the world am I yelling at him, what did he possibly do to deserve such angry and violent behavior.

I understand that not everyone has been following this xanga since I first got it (Freshman year of high school - miss you Nox/Dana).

Also, I understand that people change and do not stay the same forever.

That said, there are some really basic tenets of me that have kinda been the same since probably as far back as I can remember. They're kinda in the "if you know me you most certainly know this about me/IT'S A GIVEN" category.

The obvious one - yes, I go suicidal periodically throughout the year (and, sometimes, it even ceases to be periodic). Hell, for most hours out of the day, it sounds like a fantastically fun idea. And, whether against sound judgment or not, I occasionally read the Suicide FAQ when stressed.

That said - if I was going to commit suicide, I would have done it years ago. I must stress that. Probably around Sophomore year of high school, most likely. There has barely been a day since Freshman year of high school where I have not contemplated suicide. If I was susceptible to those thoughts, I would not be here.

Further, there is rarely ever a time I am not 120% aware of what I am doing. I over-think everything and still ponder acts, decisions, people, and events from years before. Any action I take has been thought through 10 million times. When I do something, it is for a very specific and thought out reason (so please do not correct or chide me when it comes to personal choices, unless it direly is directly related to treating someone else poorly/inappropriately). If I commit suicide, I damn well wanted it, and I'll've been pushed beyond anything else that's come before.

Second, when I encounter situations that I don't like or go into an emotionally uncomfortable state - I recoil. I need to clear my head, so I withdraw and cut out all other distractions. Remember, I taught myself social behavior so responding to people takes constant effort and energy of paying attention to reading and interpreting all body signs. It is effort, it is work, and it is unnecessary distraction and energy-usage. I know you mean well, but I - need - space. One of the largest reasons I still refuse to forgive my parents for the shit they ran me through in my childhood is because they refuse to honor that simple request I've had for as long as I can remember - leave me the fuck alone. Minimize talking to me, don't be in the same room as me. If I am listless and non-responsive - it is not because I want you to pull me out of my shell. When I get touched or someone talks at me when I try to shut people out, I emotionally freak out (like being backed into a corner, I swear); I become bluntly rude; I DO NOT WANT.

Leave me alone. Honor that one request. If it's a minor thing, I'll likely just rant to whoever I'm fond of or consider a friend (and, remember, it doesn't take much for me to consider you a friend). If it's something that really bothers me and I need to deal with, I'll take care of it myself. AND, if it's really bad, the only people I'm coming remotely close to talking to is either Laura or Vikki or Dods (with Allison on occasion and likely Kari, should she actually be on at the same time that I am).

Honestly, I try to borrow almost nothing at all times, I always am willing to listen and help with whatever troubles someone has - the only thing I'm asking for (other than to be treated with respect and that you look at least half excited to see me should we bump into each other (we don't even have to hold conversation)) is to be able to drop off the map from time to time, to be left alone when I want alone time.

Also - do not tell me what to do. I know I tend to take a severely hands-off approach to advice and help (which possibly may not, in the long run, be helpful) in part because I want people to be able to make their own choices but that is largely because I was ordered around and told what to think for the first 15-16 years of my life. As I said before, there's rarely anything I haven't thought out a million times already. You do not get to order me around, you do not get to tell me what I should think is right, and you do not get to force me into anything. I will fucking simply not talk to you - ever - should you feel there is a need to do that. Simple as that.

Further, being told that I am unstable or incapable of handling things is further insulting. Yes, I tend to be emotionally unstable. And things tend to be worse for me than some people. But that does not mean I am incapable of maintaining stability. For all my drawbacks, I make it to my classes basically all the time, I get my work done, and I function in society. Things are more difficult, but I am functional. It's insulting to those who actually have life-debilitating depression and other health issues as much as it is insulting to my person.

Finally - it is really fucking annoying when people come around and ask urgently for me. I've had two friends attempt suicide on me, most of those I know either had crappy homes/parents or are trying to juggle depression. You insult my time and my energy asking for me urgently when all you want to know is where I am or if I'm alright (note, Laura, you are completely exempt from this. You've already established a history of entirely-capitalized greetings and "shouting" my name on any sort of IM service so I know to not recognize that, generally, as urgently calling for me, plus you do something entirely different when you need me to be there to talk to you).

When you need help, I respond. It is infuriating for me to start panicking because you were asking every 5 minutes for me just to find out it's a trivial question. It's flat out insulting. And I keep saying this because while it might not seem intuitive for most, all I feel every time is frustration strong enough to make me stand my ground on this. I respect when you have things to do and that you might have made plans that - surprise surprise - may not involve me or, even if you don't mind me tagging along in any capacity, that you simply were not figuring out ways to insert me into your schedule. When I am peacefully doing work secluded or talking for hours with a friend, do not spend 5 hours trying to contact when it is perfectly reasonable to assume I'm out doing other things and am fine (again, if I was going to commit suicide, I would not be around by the time you're asking for me). You damn better be depressed/sad or - God forbid - about to wrap a rope around you neck. Calling that much attention to yourself because you want me to drop all to run to an IM that simply wants to know if I want to do anything for the day is, to be honest, too self-centered for me to stomach.

This is not being self-centered (did people actually respond seriously to Dan's post? Really?). This is asking for the right to express and have my own desires and wants satisfied. You care about me, that's great; honestly. Seeing the millions of times I have doubt about whether people are being sincere with me (and the amounts of times people have treated me like shit in the past), I appreciate genuine shows of support for me as a friend. And I want to always, always return those.

But if I've told you something before and you ignore it - that is not respecting me as a friend. And if I have certain manners and habits that need to be done for my own emotional stability, depriving me of those is not respecting me as a friend. It's like keeping someone at home forever just because you're afraid they might be hurt. You emotions, your feeling, YOU is important up until the point that it infringes on another. There is no justification for incapacitating another - end of story. That's not being selfish, that's being considerate.

One of the things that I've always had a love/hate relationship with was my ability to deal with severe sadness or emotional pain. I'm not talking about a depression spat (those are too imediate for my liking). I'm more talking emotional disturbances triggered by an unfortunate event, such as a break up or death.

I imagine it's some survival instinct I picked up back during high school, or I imagine that maybe it's just an unfortunate side effect of having to learn social mores and, therefore, monitoring and keeping watch on every action I do, but emotional disturbances don't hit me immediately. At least, not big ones.

Again probably a side effect of having to learn from scratch how to act socially, but I find it incredibly difficult to process or understand most anger/sadness that isn't in the form of an action (which, now that I think of it, is interesting considering how I tend to find anger and, to a lesser extent, sadness more easy to understand and process than the confusion that is most general happiness or positive emotions; but a thought for later: that's not the point of this post).

Someone get's hurt? Easy, help them. Someone hurt someone I care about? Comfort the friend and deal with the guilty individual. But, even further, those actions are my way of naturally expressing my emotions.

I generally don't cry. Particularly so in situations like the above. Perhaps I instinctively convinced myself it's a waste of time. I wouldn't know. But it's not something I do, on the spot particularly. I don't get torn up inside. In short, I often wonder whether I can actually feel – in a moment of self-worry – at times of particular crisis.

People expect reactions. Sure, stoicism can be taken as strength and, to some, restraint over uncontrolled emotion is considered the greater strength. I'll never forget, the second time Laura broke up with me, as Victoria and I were walking down the link, Victoria kept telling me it was alright to vent, express whatever sadness/disappoint/whatever I might be feeling. Amused by her concern, I just shrugged and honestly answered, "I'm fine." Or jess's attempted suicide. I was frustrated, irritated at not being able to do anything – but I didn't actually internally feel anything until the next day. And I'm sure it would have taken much longer to finally work, ever so slowly, through all the emotional distress which would float to the surface.

The last "words" I said to Steve was an E-mail asking why he hadn't told me, the Symph Winds manager, about the concert that was occurring, I think, the Friday before Winter Break.

I half considered just getting a new workstudy. I said here once that I like my bosses (and, humorously, how rare I imagine that might be for some); I hadn't realized just how much so.

It's going to be a shitshow when all it finally hits, though.

At heart, I'm an idealist. It's the reason why I'm an moral absolutist. And it's the reason I'm a romantic. It's the reason I'm a humanist.

And, while they may certainly conflate from time to time, I wouldn't say I'm an optimist. Leastwise, not on its own. I can say I'm an idealist in all cases though. It says nothing of expectation.

And yet I've never been able to say I'm a cynic either, even more so than being able to say I'm an optimist. I guess that I just can't say that I expect the worst every time, shockingly enough.

Optimistic realist.

I've said it before here. And I suppose it incorporates every aspect. An optimist because the hope that things will turn out the best but not an expectation because of the realism needed to understand life. An idealist because how could you be an optimist and not expect ideals to fit into everything turning out for the best?

Yet that doesn't really get at how my realism has been shaped by life. I have this habit of encouragement. I start by listing everything that's awful and terrible. And I steadily list the worse and worse things until, at the end, it seems utterly insurmountable. And then I list everything that's great or to look forward to.

Because I don't think the world will end in sunshine and rainbows (not even double rainbows). And I guess I didn't really make it clear before that there's a sense of irony when I mention that I've never been able to say I'm a cynic, given my "realistic" expectations of just how bad life can get.

I mean, if I were to be passingly crass, I'd say that life will fuck you over. I would say that it will break you. There's no short words for what I think life (let alone people) will do to you.

My glasses are not rose-tint, unless that was meant to be ironically within the same color range as dark red.

And then people come and nurse you back, give you a crutch when you want to slump. I haven't done a single word of my paper for 4 days now, I have no idea how I will get my sleep back in order to study for comp. sci. exams while also forming my research paper, and I am more than furious with recent events and I yet find myself once again humbled by the strength and support from those around me to aid those we care so deeply about.

Truth be told? I don't count on happy endings. I'd say I don't believe in them except that that isn't true.

It's of course what we should strive for. I'm an idealist, after all.

But don't expect it.

I've noticed this bizarre trend between my artwork and my expectations. Or my interests and my expectations (they often conflate, logically, right?). I expect that I could have a family (perhaps with just adopted kids, perhaps married, I don't know, but some form of a family). I have friends who I will know and stay in touch with and will likely have a huge part, if I can help it, in my future family's life (as an adopted aunts/uncles, you know?).

And yet, as I wrote somewhere here a while ago, I write about the death of dreams. My work is interested in the human development in the presense of the myriad of things that life may throw at you.

Perhaps the best way to make it clear is to look to the left side of my xanga page (though I specifically designed the entire page layout as a perfect representation of my life view, down to the very background music (Can I Live, anyone?)).

There's a quote from Catcher In the Rye, when Holden is watching Phoebe at the end of the book go on the merry-go-round. He's got it exactly: "I felt so damn happy all of a sudden," being as crass as necessary to convey that entirely base, blunt, and powerful emotion at the moment.

It's the pinacle moment, the articulation of everything the book has strived to represent and it is beautiful - and it breaks him. In the sight of such beauty, in so damn imperfect a world (a word that will likely scour, kill, and eradicate the purity of everything that is beautiful in this moment), he breaks at the sight of this. And he regrets none of it.

And as we greet Holden again in the mental hospital, we get that absolutely perfect ending: "Don't tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody." Perhaps it's just the state I've grown to, but I'm more concerned with the message sent and what that means in terms of the character than necessarily the concrete result. He rejects everything. After this plea and harping on life, he gets fed up and rejects it all with that same nihilism: "Don't tell anybody anything."

I'll let you read what you may from it.

I'd never tell you that life isn't beautiful. And, considering my own romanticism, I'd never tell you not to enjoy every second of it. But it is just as tragic - with no true knowledge of where it might end up. And that, in itself, is beautiful and tragic.

Perhaps it's this contradiction that makes me love the character Harley Quinn so much.

I know I tend to be so aloof and detached that some habits of mine are hard to pick up, so I'll say a few plainly here.

If I try to hug you (or am any level of affectionate) or say hello and am somewhat assertive about it, this means two things: one, I have a strong affinity for you, for whatever myriad of reasons, and, two, I am not alright.

I'm terrible at keeping up with people and likely will not unless you are big in my life (there's a reason I tend to form my friendships based on the other person's assertiveness), we all know this.

So if I am contacting you at all (outside of setting up a hanging out date), this means something.

I've said multiple times before on here that a majority of my friends tend to be girls. Given that, it shouldn't be surprising to learn that most (if probably not all, considering that's a small number anyway) of my closest friends are girls. Add to that that some (*cough*Vikki*cough*) and I have no concept of personal space/information, I've grown used to not having to deal with the irritating phenomenon of being treated as "the male in the room" for several years now.

Maybe it was the slightly absurd notion of having to talk in code about what are day-to-day concepts and topics or the rediculous general-feeling about actually dismissing something as girl talk - or, perhaps, I've just become so used to not encountering such treatment for so long that I suddenly feel like I'm back in Sophomore year of high school when it occurs these days. Or maybe it's just my age-old dislike at feeling like I'm shoved to the outside circle of, well, anything, let alone a friend or someone I have affinity for.

I need to get home, to normalcy, to enviroments I'm thoroughly used to. This week is going to be one of the longest of my life.