--Quote of the Day--
*My younger sister and I are picking out movies*
Me: Have you ever seen The Man In the Iron Mask?
Sister: *points at Leonardo Decaprio* He's cute.
Me: Tasha, we've been over this before – you're too young to have a sexuality!
It's not denial if I'm knowingly denying it. :{D
Day of just playing pool with the siblings while listening to music? Best way to spend a day ever. Though the little bastards' taste in music is going to ruin the quality of mine.
We should start a campaign against those with piercings. Or those who choose to wear all black. And those with high cholesterol.
One of the things I try to keep in mind when I write my public minded entries (in other words, generally, those which aren't directly about myself) is what voice I use. No one wants to listen to someone yell at them (completely understandably). Should I choose a more sympathetic tone? Couch the post in "we" pronouns rather than talk, visibly, from my point of view? Or should I not even use my words - just a picture to make the point; I'll let the rest of you take what you will from it.
I always thought that there were certain topics and ideas that we as a society (or, at the very least, we as a generation) had already discussed and settled. Example? Racism. We've been through that argument, all of our schools taught us it's evil. If you are a rational and non-past-bound individual, this is not an issue. We may discuss the slighter nuances of it, but I shouldn't find, one day, the majority of people engaged in the discussion of whether those of Japanese descent are inferior to those of Greek descent. It just shouldn't happen. Really.
Well, Xanga seems content on proving me otherwise. Now - when I'm talking about something I believe in, I get passionate. I admit this. My favorite thing I've written on here (with the exception of my last post) is that Mommy Dearest post I did a bit back about my mom. Logical and calculated, it backs up the points it makes while imbued by enough appropriate and justified anger. Now, I'm not advocating for anger, I assure you. But I do think it's appropriate to get passionate about what you feel strongly in. So long as you can back the reasoning, mind you.
However, as I said before - does that get people to listen? Even if justified, if I'm trying to get others to see something, will I make them listen in my passion about the subject? Or is there something I'm missing. Someone "rec"ed this Xanga entry that I then happened to read: http://manstration.xanga.com/716572761/take-a-good-look-at-yourselves/. While there are a lot of things I like about it, you may notice one continual theme through out it. It points out our flaws. We. You. Ironic.
One of the things they tell you in advertising (even advertising about civil rights, etc.) is to make it about those watching. Seems a little off, in a way. I should talk about you to get you to do something for them? And, it seems, it doesn't even matter which arguments you use. As far as it goes, if people don't already have an investment in the subject and it isn't about them, they're not likely to care.
A week ago I came across a "brilliantly" titled entry called Since When is Being Overweight Being "Real"?
To be honest, I'm old school (and by old school, I mean largely influenced by the civil rights movement of the 50s and 60s that so dominates our society to this day). I expect that I simply have to state the wrongs that a certain people suffer and I'm going to be able to motivate people. Change things? Start making the problem aware so that other caring people converge together to get a large enough movement to change things.
As far as I can understand, the arguments of the before mentioned Xanga entry is that obese people don't deserve the same respect as others because
Well, for one, a lot of health concerns are valid when it comes to being obese. There are those who are very actively fit, qualify as healthy as far as stats go - and still are massively overweight. I remember reading an article where a person constantly exercised yet didn't decrease in size - and was called a fat ass as they rode pass a restaurant on their bicycle.
Alright, fine, you seem to think it unhealthy? I ask you if there would be the same type of outcry for someone who happened to be thin and yet have high cholesterol. Would we, as complete strangers to this person, demand that they become more healthy because their unhealthy habits disgust us?
To be honest? I think the complaint stems from the fact that for many it just comes from that they don't like the visual. It doesn't agree with them - so change it. And yet - once again to be honest, I cannot how a personal choice like weight (for those who just don't exercise and happen to weigh a lot) seems to give you the idea that you can tell a person whether or not they should be it. Once again from some article I read, the writer had been getting stuff for a party and another woman just walked up to her and started putting the stuff back on the shelf from her hands, saying, "This stuff really isn't good for you." What?? Where do you think you get the right? Why do you get the specialized freedom to usurp my own autonomy in this pluralistic society?
Alright, once again, I probably haven't convinced you. So let me put it this way - would you take personal action towards another person and treat them differently for having piercings or for the way they dress? It may be a generational thing for me, but I grew up with that. Wearing all black or having a tattoo was a normal thing for me - though just a generation back, they would find it unacceptable. They would have treated the person differently. Far too many conversations I've had to have with my mother over not thinking of a boy as utter dirt for simply having long hair; oh, what a crime, no? I would like to think that most of us would find that ridiculous just for what clothing a person wears.
So how is that so different than the obesity of another person? Well, the thing that made the difference for those before mentioned groups was that the number of people who also did that or didn't mind it or found people with those traits appealing became more visible, more in number.
And, believe it or not, there are those who find "big women" attractive.
Is that still not enough to convince you why these ideas and behaviors toward the obese should be dropped? How about the effect it has on people, on our way of thinking?
I'm sure you've heard it before - we place too much on appearance (which is really far more complex than just what we weigh), etc. etc. blah blah blah. I'll save you it.
Instead, I'll introduce my sister Natasha. Natasha is 13-years-old. She's in eighth grade. She's got the usual worries - school, our mother, doing your daily tasks. Natasha also thinks she's fat; you see, she has large legs.
She spent most of this summer using my laptop's camera so she could take photos of herself for Facebook, making sure she got the right one just to make sure she has the right one. She wants to wear make up to beautify herself. She's been asked out by two boys just last year. And she happens to think she's ugly.
Have a sibling or someone you care about that you'd do anything for? Imagine my emotions as she's telling me she feels she's overweight.
Honestly, I think the issue goes further than just weight, as I've said and explained many times on here, but is it so bad that someone who you might not find attractive be thought of as alright? Hell, maybe even attractive?
Because the right thing would be to just not care. Instead, we demand to say that being overweight is ugly. But then it goes beyond that, into what we joke about and how we think and what our pop culture centers around and so much, much more. Or is Natasha's visions of how important her self worth is tied to her being photogenic not enough to convince you. For as superficial as my mom is, she always said Natasha was beautiful.
And I could end it there. But notice how the focus is away from the subject? It's on the girl who actually happens to not be obese. It allows you to sympathize because it doesn't cross the line of what so many seem to not want to hear.
And I'd like to say it's just the posters who happen to put forth these ideas, but I look down the comments and see far too many agreements.
Why is it so difficult for us to hear about people who we have no tie to, no need to defend, and still find that we should?
I should not have to listen to people trivialize rape.
I should not have to defend the equality of the female sex to the male sex.
I should not have to listen to people call anorexics selfish.
I should not have to do the same for those who self-injure.
These are things that should be second nature to us people! Call it being politically correct, call it being sensitive, I don't care. It's not something I should have to defend. There are so many bigger issues to fight. When is the last time you've been taught in school (in your health class, for starters) about self-injury? When is the last time you heard of a teacher stopping a student for saying a self-harm joke?
Those are the battles we should be fighting. I should not be having to deal with finding a comment on Facebook saying that they think that "cutters" do it for attention. To be honest, that type of ignorance shocks me because even when I made self-injury jokes back in 7th grade, no one had to explain to me the gravety or seriousness of that situation. When I noticed that 10 or so people below in the thread agreed with him - it scared me.
I mean, is it just me? Hearing something like that angers me. Such apathy infuriates me.
So what voice does it take to grab someone's attention? Is indignant preaching grating? How about a personal story from my perspective about someone I know and the pain it caused me? Is reason and logical points enough? Or does it have to relate back to you; "what does it do for you"?
Despite my own tone in this piece, I honestly don't know. But I can only operate under what's wrong. I honestly don't know how else to try to rally people without feeling dirty in the end (and if I have to coach a human rights concept in terms of advertising, I will feel just absolutely filthy). There are a good many passionate enough people on Xanga and (I'd imagine) the world; I'll let them make their own decisions. I pray that's enough.
Kinda weird thinking I'm going back in a matter of 5 or so days. It'll be an interesting year, I'm sure (largely due to the five classes I'll have). In theory, I'll have gotten a better placing this year (socially and otherwise). Of course, it wasn't really until Junior year of high school that I got myself pretty settled. Some things just take time, with which I'm fine with. There's a slew of things on campus I'm involved with that I can't wait to dive into again.
I've got a single room this year, so no roommate to have to manage. Plus, my previous no-window, small room got switched for a senior single. Which is nice.
We'll see how it goes.
Tomorrow I'm going to stop by the old high school GSA for the last time. It's somewhat astounding how far it's come. Yeah, yeah, I know, I've talked about this a million times. Suppose it's a final goodbye to everyone, as well. I need to do a bit of packing next week - joys....
It's really been an uneventful day. I stayed up far too late wanting to watch A.I.: Artificial Intelligence but YouTube were taking far too long to load. Maybe tomorrow.
After waking up, me and my brother watched Mary Poppins and The Great Mouse Detective (fantastic movie). I love doing things with just my brother, because often enough what we enjoy we agree on. Mary Poppins has never been more amusing. Too many moments where we just looked toward each other and burst out laughing.
I hate how fucking unstable emotions are. There's a reason I prefer logic. Suddenly I'm back to instability and not knowing what the Hell I seem to vaguely feel I'm missing.
It's 4 in the morning. Would someone tell me to go to sleep (though, I swear, I tried at first)? Thanks. I don't think I will.
It always struck me as odd that for someone who can be bothered by hardly anything, has no real issue with stripping himself open (granted, for certain people, though not that specific a group, for the most part), and gives barely a damn (at least outwardly) what others think can suddenly just shut down, wants to recoil into his own mind, and wants no human contact (physical or otherwise) for a good portion of time. Suppose it's a healing mechanism, but I've never entirely and wholly been a fan of isolation.
What it reminds me of is my last depression again when I had more emotional instability than I would like to ever live through again; not only because it's eerily reminiscent of that awkward feeling of wanting human contact and yet being irritated by the effort of managing and dealing with that contact. But, more principally, because I've always hated taking out my own mood on others. No, I'd much rather deal with it myself than risk that. And that, ultimately, is pointless. Because who wants to deal with anything alone? But I'd rather not depress you as well with my own issues; I wouldn't want to put you through that.
There is something raw and, really, real about a person baring themselves emotionally, their problems. For one, it's not easy; so go bravery. But it's cuts through the usual façade (I don't mean that in the usual derivative manner) that we naturally put on, to some extent, every day, depending on the situation, person we deal with, etc.
Yesterday, while trying to close the door to my room so we could go to sleep (it was basically pitch black), my mom scared my sister. Shaken, she runs back and curls up in a ball on the floor, crying. She covers herself entirely.
Now, I'll admit, why she started crying I don't entirely get. Being 12 years old and being perfectly happy just seconds before, it doesn't make entire sense to me. But we often get triggered in very random and pointless ways.
While the logical step is to apologize and check if the person is alright, my mother (being my mother) decides to just ignore her. The rest of us don't really do anything (since, granted, at 12 there's no logical reason to start crying over being scared. And, while it's rude of my mom not to check why her daughter is randomly bawling her eyes out, it was not rude, really, to have scared her). But, really, you can't just let her lay there, entirely covered, crying. There's just something inhumane about that. Too much comfort sends the wrong message; she is slightly over-reacting. But pain is still pain. And it needs to be fixed, always.
So I lay on top of her, hugging her as lays there. Now, there's a blanket between us. This physical barrier ought to be evidence enough there isn't this profound connection being made or that, at least, a direct connection is being made. But this physical touch, which allows me to feel every gasped breath she takes and every sob and the heat radiate from her and the crying slowly stop, is very profound. Just remembering the feeling it evoked is incredible; one of the many moments in life I wish I could better share with you. It's very important; and gives so much to another person.
So, during my past-midnight musings, I happened to remember an aspect (one of the many) I dislike about my mother (and it just dawned on me how awful a person I must seem to those that don't know me).
We'll be watching T. V. or a movie and a character (usually a comic relief who has equal character development and standing with the other characters) who is deliberately odd for the show/film will come on the screen and my mother remarks, almost as if this is some inside joke or is trying to get into my good wishes/good side by getting me to laugh, "Now that's a nerd," or, "Now that girl is goofy/weird, you'd never want to date her, right?" (moments of this happening are Grease and High School Musical 3, respectively (as to High School Musical, the siblings and I got bored one night and rented it to have something to laugh at. I assure you, I'm no fan of the series)).
To this I have to ask - what do you expect of me? Am I supposed to laugh at your immediate conjecture of this person (albeit a fictional one) and vain assumption of your apparent superiority of them? Granted, I understand my somewhat abnormal response to your reaction is just that - slightly abnormal. Characters that exist on the screen solely for laughing at are nothing new. But perhaps that these characters weren't meant to be laughed at is what really just peeves me (particularly in the case of HSM; knowing the series, it was probably meant to be to celebrate being different. Preaching to the wrong crowd, Disney, though I do appreciate the attempt).
But no, it's because, mother, I know you. I know it doesn't just extend to the screen. Like all actions, the smaller ones are shockingly accurate of your bigger actions; and yet you'd probably just laugh at me if I told you to watch every action you make; though you do prove my point beautifully everytime, so I thank you for that. Frankly, mom, I can't go to public with you because the apparently abhorrent weight of the woman passing by us is in dire need for you to give comment to - out loud while she passes us.
Is it a generation gap? Am I just "out there" with this opinion? Because, to me, dropping a personal opinion (which I'm sure the passerby don't really give two flying fucks about what you think, anyway) about every person that you see is really just unnecessary and, more importantly, flat out rude. It denotes a complete understanding of flat out stupidity, really.
So, when you look at me like I'm supposed to understand what you're getting at, as if you're striking some kind of note that I ought to get, like by finding this "common ground" we'll become closer together, understand that you have just demonstrated to me you don't know me by any stretch of the imagination (in spite of me constantly explaining this viewpoint every damn time you do something stupid like this). But more importantly, you've demonstrated your own ignorance about humanity (and what's important about it) and an understanding on how to treat your fellow Man.
Pray, tell me, why is being different so bad a thing? Rather, why should we wish to normalize ourselves? Am I the only one who actually gets intrigued at someone who happens to stand out? I'd love to rant on that point, but I honestly can't think of any more thousand ways to restate that basic, beautiful point. Sometimes the most direct and blunt way is the best.
So, mother, no - to both of your questions. To be honest, I'd rather not take part in your 2-dimensional view of the world which shoves us all in these convenient boxes for the sake of your pathetic inability to comprehend much more than what you've been told to believe, understand, and appreciate.
Am I being overly critical (or, perhaps, patronizing...)?
I was looking through some of my old entries and I came upon this one. Not entirely accurate (or so it feels now). As it says, my life seems so much to work in circles. Nonetheless, it's an interesting aspect of myself I had forgotten. Even if I don't quite feel that emotional detachment any more, it has been there before and says a bit about myself. Depressing, though. You have been warned. Hmm, I feel like I ought to do a few more uplifting entries. Can't say I haven't, though, lately. Nice change of pace. I need an entry with a bit more importance, though. I will sign to that. From May 16ᵗʰ of last year:
I'm seein' demons, hittin' weed
Got me hearing screams
Scared to go to sleep, watch the scene like a dope-fiend
Probably be punished for it - though you can't ignore it
I live the life of a thug, nigga, and die for it
Niggaz pass the cush and watch me bring 'em to the floor
I got some shit that they ain't ready for
{What you got?} I got the Secrets of War...
-2Pac
There is a connection.
In a random section, I came across this story online which is a poem about the view of life from a vampire's view point. The first line I saw was, "All I feel is pain," and my immediate thought was, "Great, it's Emo." Word of advice to the author - go gothic. Totally a better subculture. Take a goth's word for it.
Now, onto what I did today. Piano lessons. They went quickly I need to practice a bit more, but 15 min. a night ought to suffice. So, afterwards, I go for a walk, as I always do. I think I hurt my feet during it all, but oh well. There's this great park, not far out of downtown Evanston (or at least as downtown as Evanston can get). You always get to see kids and parents around there. It's nice to observe it all. I've always loved kids. And something about parks always just gets me.
So I'm swinging as I always do, listening to 'Pac songs. For some reason, I had this sudden resurgence of interest in him. Nonetheless, I'm thinking about lyric and song ideas, going over theories, beats, messages, etc. for future use for the eventual concept album I've talked about before. Hmm, how do I do this now.
Well, I'll start with, as I've said before, I dislike emotions. Me and my emotions are on tolerating terms. Without them, life looses all meaning. Yet they are so faulty and impure, they just irritate me. Emotions aren't the exact opposite of logic, but they are no where near it either. They're confusing, often mixed, not always right, and unrestrained (other than, surprise, by logic). Probably partially because I am an incredibly logical thinker, I've sort of distanced myself from them. They're no use to me unless (often but not always) in extremes. So, I tend to find, I'm kinda estranged from them. Which can, obviously, be kinda problematic.
I'm a logical thinker. Someone's hurt. You comfort them. Why? Because that's the right thing to do. In fact, if emotions ever factor into that, it'd be you comfort them so they aren't hurt, because that's when my emotions kick in and I feel terrible. Otherwise, it's purely logic thought process.
So, generally when it comes to pets I worry if I actually felt anything for them or if they just amused for the time being. I know I didn't shed a tear or feel all too remourseful when the family's second hamster, Pudgey, died. Don't get me wrong - I loved Pudgey. But maybe I just didn't have the emotional energy for remourse. I liked him, but things die. Let's move on with life.
So, shifting focus to my amazing guinea pig, Almond Joey, it did kinda catch me off guard for my reaction to him. He was moving around his cage one time and I happened to notice there's this crap growing around his eye. Now, Almo's rarely sick. And my immediate reaction (because he is old and getting kinda thin, for a guinea pig) is, "Somthing is wrong." And I flip. Not loudly or making a big scene, but I immediately start mutter, "No, no, no, no..." and take him out, pull him close, kinda just cradle him for a while. I then immediately move to taking the crap out of his eye as I almost silently pray that nothing is wrong with him, possibly (if I never stopped myself from crying nearly every time) able to be moved to tears. That was a while ago. I do think he's going blind, but he's still kicking so far, thankfully.
Point of all that? Well, there was a thought process I came upon sitting on those swings which was, well, extreme, but that would explain why I felt it. It was towards one of our old dogs, Lady Rose. We got the dog as a baby, a female golden retriever. I liked the dog. She was nice enough. So, naturally, my mother took responsibility of training her.
Now, for those who don't know my mom. She's not a patient person. And, no matter what else she may do, she's not someone who's willing to sacrifice, all too often, things that give her comfort or benefit for the sake of anyone else. Leading to many, sometimes violent, arguments between my parents.
So, obviously, potty training a dog is not easy. It's difficult and takes work. My genius mother gets very frustrated. And, as she did on me and my siblings some years ago, she took this out through anger.
I remember waking up one morning, kinda out of it, wanting to sleep further (as usual). And as I'm slowly zoning back into my surroundings, I notice there's some noise in the background. And I realize, it's yelping. The dog had a habit of barking when in the cage. My mother had headed down to there and was beating the dog. Lady Rose, God bless her sole, was always a stoic dog. Maybe due to receiving an abuse from a young age. Either way, she's just taking it, only making noises when she's hit. After my mom's done, she just tells her, "You piece of shit," as she closes the cage.
I think the best was when she tries this in the middle of the day in the garage and me and my brother sneak to there and slowly open the door. She notices and immediately is smiling like there's nothing wrong. We ask why she has this stick in her hand and she just says she was playing fetch with the dog. Right.
And those entire times, I just kinda blocked it out. I was infuriated. It doesn't take much reason to not see there's a serious problem here. But other than that, I just took it. I really couldn't do much, nothing that would disrupt everything in our lives and that moment and may have fucked over more than just Lady Rose.
And that was probably due to the fact, we were raised not to care. If you cared, you wouldn't survive. You'd tear yourself apart watching the injustices in that household. You had to learn to block it out and just deal with it. Accept what was wrong.
And as I'm swinging there, I just start to think what that was like for her, knowing partially what it had been for me when younger. And I can imagine her, still just a kid, crammed in this confined place, no where to run (and probably wouldn't even know to run if she could), just getting layed into, ribs smashed over and over again, and having no clue as to why - just knowing it was happening. And, probably for the first time since having that dog (or at least since relistening to the tape I recorded. It's a recording of my mom yelling at the dog, threatening to kick my dad out of the house, and my sisters just bawling and begging my mother while my mom just ignores her, shoving her off to the side, at some point) I feel this utter remorse and actually want to release these emotions. I don't, obviously. I'm in a public area.
So, once more, I've come after the fact (almost a year by now), but I finally got Slipknot's most recent album. I hope it's good. It's been a really long while, I've realized, since I've listened to anything all that heavy (I haven't even touched any thrash metal in ages, for whatever reason; and thrash is hardly that heavy...). Maybe I'll just blast black symphonic metal (i.e. Cradle of Filth) for the rest of the day to make up for lost time...
Applied for a position at PetSmart last night. We'll see if I get the job. Probably would be best for me - gets me out, bicycling everyday, and gives me something to do. Hmm...I could probably still go out now...it's weird that it's only gotten relatively sunny the past couple of days only around 3:30 to 5 o'clock in the evening. Otherwise it;s just grayish overcast (which I love, don't get me wrong, but it's been too chilly and not all that enticing to go biking around in for extended periods of time). I could take a wack at reading some more, with the time I have. There's probably a slew of things I could do I always want to and never have time to that I won't do. It's scary how much time flies the older you get. An hour seems like so short a time period these days (and more frightening when it does turn out to be as short as you expected...).
In other news, I'm checking out the local churches (for once) since my parents refuse to go on Sundays (largely because our usual is all the way in Evanston, an hour drive away; plus they always feel this need to go dressed their "best"; I'm showing up in jeans, thank you). There's a Protestant one that's only 5 minutes away on bike and a Catholic one within the same time frame. I don't know the times for the former, but the latter has one Mass time at around 12 (perfect). I'll check both out, of course. Plus there's one all the way by PetSmart, so of course I'll take a look at that one as well. Don't know its denomination, though.
Nothing much else to say. I better head out now, if I want to at all. Oh, Grandma's with us for a bit. My brother bought a hamster, too. Not the smartest little thing, but what more do you expect from a hamster (he was running in circles for hours, so I caught him and placed him on the second floor of his cage so he could realize it was there (his food is there, so it's kinda important). After pausing for a second, he tried to run in circles again and ran clear off the floor. I don't think he realized there wasn't floor there...)? I may post pictures later. The one mega cool thing he does is he knows how to climb up the walls of the cage. Poor guy hasn't realized this makes it easier for me to catch him yet....
EDIT: In recent news, Rebecca Tauber's back! Give her a welcome home. I've missed that girl.
To think not too long ago I was worrying I didn't update my Xanga enough. Should I work on my paper tonight? If I get to sleep at 2, I can wake up at 10:30 like I usually would've for Sundays. If I work on my paper, I get some work done I don't have to worry about on Monday (a day before the paper is done). I'm more likely to actually work on Monday, though (in theory). All in all, waking up before 12 is probably a wise idea. Bed it is then, after this entry.
So, when asked about what I miss about HS/home, I usually respond that it's the sense of community that was there. I was placed with people I knew pretty damn well, comfortable in my skin as a result, and actually cared about (which is turning into more of a surprise to me than I certainly expected). For all it was worth, it was definitely a worthwhile experience. But none of this information is new.
I was looking through some of the photos of Prom, reflecting over the news I had heard (though slight) of back home, and I was struck by just how utterly left out I felt. Which, of course, is to be expected - it's been a year I've been gone. And people do have lives, after all.
I know some have joked that I was kind of the "parent" (often the specific wording was mother, but I take umbridge with that specific label) of a good deal of my friends. While logically generally stated by those 2 grades younger than me, Monica has noted that a lot of the people who spent time together (in her perspective) were brought together because I knew most of them. She felt kind of isolated from some people this year because she didn't know them as well. While this sentiment might be true for some, I've never assumed, or would think to assume, that this is true for many (it's one thing to be appreciated; to think you have a specialized place of importance borders on egoism).
However, to an extent, there is a bit of that feeling. For the Seniors this year, not so much (though I do feel like I have no clue what's going on in their lives, for the most part). But for the Juniors? Even the Sophomores this year - while I didn't know many (or that well), these guys still have, at minimum, a year to go. I feel I ought to be there. There's so much they're going to go through. And I'm totally missing these huge times of our friendship.
Again, though, this should come at no surprise. I've always been someone with a deep-seated need (I think I wouldn't be over-stepping with using need) for a community. I love history and honestly feel left out if something (let's take the long history and in-jokes of homestarrunner.com) has a extensive past history that I don't know entirely. When someone makes a reference to something that happened in the past - I feel this odd melancholy of isolation. Of course, when it comes to actual people, it's a little more serious.
So (brief, slight shift in subject), I never understood that idea of sitting around and talking. Granted, I never did well socially in groups of people I don't know well - this might explain when my parents would go out and drag us (the kids) along, I didn't do well mingling. Give me my corner and let me dwell. But amongst those I do know, I've discovered this year I do better. And, for me at least, it's a way to get to know people better. And with all the ideology I continually spew, I think we all know that the notion of knowing others better is probably one I'd subscribe to easily and quickly. Fully endorse, we might say....
In any case, it helps also foster this idea of community. And I've realized what I'll need someday - a stable community. Something where I can always return. A family, of sorts.
Because of the unity my cousins and my siblings and I had (until our parents all separated to different locations), I plan to someday run the idea by them of having all of us live in a cluster together someday. That way that same friendship and bond could happen with them as it did with us. Either way, I need a sense of community (no, nvm, not a sense - the actual thing). It would be nice.
Mother's Day today. Due to the constant pestering of my mother, I remembered to call her today. It was mercifully short. For the sake of avoiding confusion, I'll cut to the point of this entry.
I was slightly given focus today when I realized the exact role of a parent. Parents never got good marks in my book. This is largely because past experiences which overwhelmingly surprise me. While my own parents give me the feeling of wanting to throw up, it does still surprise me that so many others I knew had parents of similar, pitiful fashions. I mean, that so many line up similarly makes me want to be baffled. For the sake of avoiding names, I won't delve into further examples of people I will harm if I ever meet them again.What has also surprised me is how much these sons and daughters still cling to these parents, but I've always been a straightforward person - wrong is wrong. Granted, I've always been quick to forgive, and the only reason my parents are a decent exception is because they've pushed the limit until it's bloodily ruptured. I forget that not everyone feels their parents have done the same (thus, the rule of forgiveness isn't eradicated for them).
Parents are...I dunno, just "things". They are there, and, thus, we react to them. They may be the antagonists but that they hold any more significance is lost on me. Of course, that doesn't mean I haven't felt some sort of emotional response to them (other than disdain). I chide myself for it because that they don't deserve the sentimentalities is just scratching the surface. But sure - not a feeling I voice often (more so because it's just not one felt often) yet I've certainly mentioned once on here wanting some form of connection with them. There's plenty I admire of them or think good qualities. And then...there's the other side.
So, for the majority of things, I sit pretty much apathetic to the entire thing. I don't understand deep connections with them. I don't get what it's like to have someone to look up to, a role model, or someone constantly there to comfort you (at least in the role of a parent. My cousins and siblings are fine substitutes (in my opinion), and my extended family (friends) are wonderful as well). Not to say I'm better off without, of course. In fact, it's an experience I'd wish to no one. There's much to gain from it, but it's like saying, "Thank God for war," just so we know what peace is. It's neither necessary nor more beneficial.
(to think pictures were impossible back when I had dial-up)
I don't get those. And that's not an exaggeration (though I admit it's comical in how much it seems so even to me). Particularly that first one. I don't know what's so abstract of having so close a relationship with someone in that role, but the idea baffles me. Almost like it's against the way things naturally work. I love you? It's a phrase said just to keep her happy, so the peace is maintained and she doesn't guilt herself to death knowing otherwise (she thinks my refusal to want to talk to her often or utter the words are just me being my normal aloof and distant self). Raised me? I had to raise myself. I'd be a racist and animal abuser if you raised me. I'd be a bigot, a hypocrite, a liar (and so in denial I'd justify it every turn), and beyond selfish. Car rides were a struggle to stay as enveloped in my own head and distant from my dad as possible as he just never understood or got it. I guess that really is it - they were events, things to react to - not relationships or connections.
So Happy Mothers Day? It's a made up holiday for me. I don't get it. Literally, I have no feelings towards it. Normally, I wouldn't've even written this entry for it. But thoughts ought to be transcribed. So, if you have a parent and you cherish, love, and appreciate them - let them know. I don't know what that's like - but you do.
**That was far more revealing an entry than I had anticipated. I hadn't meant for that. If anything, I just wanted to transcribe the idea than say anything emotionally disturbing. So, I'm very sorry about that. 'Twas unintended.
Another thing that used to rile me but which I afterwards enjoyed was his complete indifference and, almost, disdain for my appearance. Never, either by word or look, was there a hint that he thought me pretty: on the contrary, he would make a wry face and laugh when people complimented me on my looks in front of him. He took a positive pleasure in picking out my defects and teasing me about them. The fashionable clothes in which Katya liked to dress me up and the way she did my hair for festive occasions only provoked his mockery, mortifying the kind-hearted Katya and at first disconcerting me. Katya, having made up her mind that he admired me, was quite unable to understand his not liking to see the woman he admired shown off to the best advantage. But I quickly came to see what was behind it. He wanted to be sure that I was devoid of vanity.[...]My hair, my hands, my face, my ways - whether good or bad, it seemed to me he had appraised them all at a glance and knew them so well that I could add nothing to them[...]. I felt that from whatever angle he saw me, whether sitting or standing, with my hair up or down, all of me was known to him and, I fancied, satisfied him. If, contrary to his practice, he had suddenly told me, as other people did, that I was beautiful, I believe I should have been anything but pleased. But, on the other hand, how happy and light-hearted I would feel when, after something I had said, he would gaze at me intently and say in a voice charged with emotion which he would try to hide with a humorous note:
"Yes, oh yes, there is something about you. You're a fine girl, that I must admit."
-Happy Ever After, Leo Tolstoy, pages 25-26
I'll readily admit, for those that know me, opening as I just have is no surprise. I ought to probably note that there's more going on in that passage and I took what I needed and liked from it (though that often does happen when you take but a piece from a larger work). It's a disheartening piece, for they go from a practically idyllic love to something I would regard as settling; yet I know what Tolstoy meant to say with it. In any case, I suppose I ought to get to the point of this entry sometime soon...
We (myself, siblings, and mother) were sitting in the car before a doctor's appointment and the conversation came about to when my parents first dated. I believed this happened because it was prefaced by me and my brother noting she wasn't a virgin her wedding night (partly to point at the hypocrisy of her abstinence only stance - though, as most know, I'm very pro-abstinence while my brother is on the fence since last I talked to him - and also to bother her since we have no issue of talking about sex while, for her, it depends on her mood and situation; more than often, it's amusing uncomfortability). So, she notes that the first time she met my dad was at Market Fax (crudely referred to as Market Fags due to the amount of Queer people that often worked there); she, of course, doesn't bother to mention the FTM transsexual who happen to set them up together (honestly, for a straight couple, my parents had the gayest adolescence when they dated; I should have a post dedicated to when they went out sometime).
We ventured into what is essentially the same stories we've heard a million times before, though I enjoyed hearing them anyway. Stuff like the first time my dad tried to pick my mom up for a date and how she thought he had a cute butt when they worked at Market Fax. Of course, I can't help but note that the cute butt line comes at the expense of her now current (continual) detractions of his appearance now (as if he could magically hold back the pressings of time all on his own) or the detractions she levies towards my siblings and myself. However, I enjoy these stories because they give some color or background to these people who I've had to basically sever as well as I can from my life. Talking the past (i.e. before I was born) was always something rarely done so that I don't know much of my ancestors or my parents' life before hand. And, for someone who obsesses about the past and loves history as much as myself, this is a travesty. More so, though, I think I like to think there was a time when they were in love.
Of course, that sentence implies they aren't in love now. Which I think could be accurate enough of a statement. Or at least not a healthy love. Their communication is terrible. They constantly insult each other (and then wonder why the other ones gets pissed off). They're fantastically selfish (which is an obvious no-no in a relationship). And they aren't there for each other anymore. I mean, of course, I'm talking from an outside view; and while they've told me their own woes about the other from their very own mouths (and I stumbled across a few journal writings of my dad's on accident one time), for the most part I am speaking from an outside view. I readily admit this. Yet they don't even seem interested in each other. Being young and hopeful and, possibly, naïve, I have very idylic perfect ideas of love. Given that, I'm will to argue (from my very unexperienced viewpoint) that there is merit to them and no reason to believe they can't exist or happen. So I lament dearly at the fact my parents never seem to really talk beyond the day to day stuff. They own interactions are built on the jobs they have to do for the day. I rarely see them (even when they're unaware I'm viewing them) interact in a way outside of what chore needs to be done. Even their kiss when they see each other is done as if it's another thing in the schedule. And their laments never end....
And so I'm reminded of Junior year. I believe we were talking about the relationship I had at the time and we happen to come to trust. I'll admit, rather assuredly, I said that I'd trust Victoria (Mendez) with my life, to which my mother objects with the style of one sympathetically correcting one she knows to be inexperienced (I've said this story before, if it's sounding familiar). She then proceeds to tell me that she rarely trusts anyone. She specifically says she doesn't trust my sister to sleep over my uncle's house for fear he may touch her (out of the ordinary, that is to say). She even (I almost want to say boasts) didn't trust my father for the first few years after they were married (and she wonders why I object to dating a total of 2 years (or less) only before marrying). Now, I understand worrying about making poor choices on the behalf of others for fear of failing them. How do you possibly look at yourself again after essentially sending your daughter to rape (though I can't imagine distrusting my brother that badly; might say something about her childhood and their relationship)?
But for myself? I've suffered too much to put myself through more. Yes, you might hurt yourself - you can hurt yourself in many ways. But to live a life of isolation such as hers? You never hurt but you can see what the results are - a marriage which is empty and soulless. I've only loved once but (all relationships included) I could tell you exactly what caught my eye about the girls worth remembering. And I'll admit, while not every person I've dated was exactly "utterly rapturing and fascinating" (or exactly worth remembering...), those of real worth not only are remembered but make a "physical" mark in my own development. As I've said somewhere on here before, a relationship should ideally (particularly if it doesn't succeed) create a far more strong bond between the two people and a deeper appreciation for each other (which I'm not properly describing right now, nor seem to be able to). And, no, that's not love. If my actual assumptions of love are correct, they're a shadow of what it is. But it is and should be related to it. You don't get even the slivers of love if you don't open yourself to it. And, yes, that means many possibilities of things which you probably don't want. But that's life. To be honest, I think there's only two people in this world I trust wholly and fully without a doubt (at this point in my life). But to shut the door with a, "Well, that's all that's probably possible in this lifetime," may be one of the biggest mistakes I could make.
Ay, what point was I making.... I guess I was just waxing over the idea of Love in general (though particularly in relation to my parents). Thinking about it now, there's probably too much (or a good deal I've said before) which I wouldn't even know how to get into from this frame point. Yeah, I think I've said my thoughts on love before rather well in the past, right?
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