Well, I'm officially no longer a teenager. Yes, today, Friday, December 31st, 2010 is my twentieth birthday. I have to admit that even though I don't feel any different, I do feel somewhat nostalgic. It has been about seven years since I became a teenager. In retrospect, so much has happened in the past decade; events occurred which had permanent effects on who I am and the direction that my life is currently set on.
Since my birthday is the same day as New Year's Eve, it definitely makes me think back to the closing year at greater magnification than others would. I think back to how I have changed, what I have learned, what I have done, and what I expect to accomplish before my next birthday and before the upcoming year is over. It's not only a matter of a year being over in terms of the calendar year, but for me it is also an age that has come to a close, and another that is still unwritten.
Looking forward, a decade doesn't seem like a long time, but looking back, so much has happened. In a sense, I imagine it as if I see the next ten years a block away, whereas the past ten is on the other side of town. I guess here's a chronicle of the most important events of my teen years.
Thirteen - I admitted to myself that I am gay. At first I told myself and my friends that I was bisexual, but after a few weeks, I just said, "To hell with it...," and fully came out.
Fourteen - Entered my first year of high school. Lost my virginity and had my first kiss (same guy, same night) two days before Christmas and eight days before my fifteenth birthday (never heard back from the guy).
Fifteen - Emotional limbo. Where I feel I had lost myself and my motivation for life. I had reached a fork in the road at this age and I unfortunately chose the wrong path.
Sixteen - Didn't get my driver's license.
Seventeen - The second time I had ever had sex; my first time was also my last before this point. Got my first job, ever. Met my first ever boyfriend, Brian (not the same person as the one I had my absolute second sexual experience with).
Eighteen - Became a legal adult. Got my driver's license. Entered my first year of college. Hit rock bottom, where the school was worried that I would commit suicide. Came out to my parents or more like they confronted me about my sexuality. Smoked weed for the first time.
Nineteen - The last of my teenage years. Finally accepted the past and settled my past regrets. Regained the will to live that I had once lost. Truly realized my identity as an independent person.
In what I've written, it doesn't seem as if much has happened in the past seven years. On the contrary, a lot has; a sum of 2,555 days (give or take a few days) had come to pass and each one was as equally important as the other. It's the small moments, those that even I cannot describe in words, which make life so overwhelmingly significant. Each second that has come to past, and certainly those to come, has impacted my very existence somehow. Each second of our existence, in action or inaction, gives perpetuating legitimacy to who we are.
I guess I should just give the past decade a quiet smile of acknowledgment and give a welcome nod to the years to come.
Happy 20th Birthday to me and Happy New Years to everyone else.
KC
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Familial Homophobia
Earlier tonight I was watching Glee with my eight year old sister. At some point, a scene came on where Kurt (the gay guy) was interacting with Finn (the sensitive jock). After seeing Kurt make a few comments to Finn, she randomly commented, "Eww, did you know he's gay (referring to Kurt)? He moves like a girl." I simply gave her an affirmative response, which she responded to by asking, "Are you gay?" Again, I gave her a simple answer, "Yes." Her response should have been obvious to me, but for some reason I was taken aback when she responded with, "Ew." The most salient thoughts I had in mind at that point was, "Oh God, is she going to tell my parents that I told her I was gay? Where is this going to lead? Did she seriously respond in revulsion to me being gay?"
Sure, children around the age of my sister are repulsed by the very idea of attraction between two people, but this was different. My sister's reaction was not a response to the idea of two people being attracted to one another and contracting cooties, but to the particular concept of two men having mutual interest in each other. How can a child react with such disapproval and/or disgust? As the concepts of dichotomous systems of sex and gender are social constructs, I can confidently say that her response was not an inherent reaction, but something socially learned. Who could she have learned such a response from?
One person came to mind as to who my little could have learned modeled her response from: our father. Throughout my childhood, and even to this day, my father refers to people (whether they be acquaintances or strangers) that seem effeminate or who are confirmed homosexuals as "bakla." In my native language, "bakla" means gay or homosexual, but it holds a more negative connotation in comparison to the English word "gay" or "homosexual." Frankly, there is no word in our native language that objectively means to be individuals (specifically men) that are attracted to the same sex/gender. Bakla doesn't just hold this definition, but is also followed by the implication of weakness, femininity, and perhaps even sexual deviance.
My parents have never directly expressed to my little sister their disapproval of homosexuality, but nonetheless, I know that my sister has picked up on their attitudes towards homosexuals. Children are easily influenced by the social microsystem they inhabit; as they perceive how those closest to them react to certain individuals and situations, they interpret those reactionary behaviors as relative social norms or even as the "correct" response.
It's interesting and disappointing at the same time as my family knows (whether we speak of it or not) that I am gay. Even with this in mind, my parents' homophobic attitude has not changed even when confronted by their son's homosexual identity. I am gay, but to them I am not a part of such a group identity, but an exception. They accept me as their son, but they do not accept a facet of my identity that has a salient presence in my life. Therefore, conceptually, for them, gay people are still repulsive and I am just an exception to such a judgment.
From time to time I hear would my father exclaim how a person on the television is "bakla," expressing a negative opinion of the person through the word's negative implications rather than the latter's alleged sexuality. It hurts to hear him make these statements even though he's talking about me. It hurts because in a sense he is indirectly expressing an opinion of me. If a gay person that is not me is as repulsive as he claims or acts towards them, then without the condition of being his son, does he not hold the same opinion of me? For I am also gay?
I truly do believe that it is too late to change and/or improve my father's opinion of homosexuality. He is a bigot, a sexist, and a racist, traits he is not ashamed to display. I just hope that it is not too late for my sister; I am her older brother and it would be heartbreaking if my little sister came to hold the same opinions as my father, considering that I basically raised her from when she was an infant.
Sure, children around the age of my sister are repulsed by the very idea of attraction between two people, but this was different. My sister's reaction was not a response to the idea of two people being attracted to one another and contracting cooties, but to the particular concept of two men having mutual interest in each other. How can a child react with such disapproval and/or disgust? As the concepts of dichotomous systems of sex and gender are social constructs, I can confidently say that her response was not an inherent reaction, but something socially learned. Who could she have learned such a response from?
One person came to mind as to who my little could have learned modeled her response from: our father. Throughout my childhood, and even to this day, my father refers to people (whether they be acquaintances or strangers) that seem effeminate or who are confirmed homosexuals as "bakla." In my native language, "bakla" means gay or homosexual, but it holds a more negative connotation in comparison to the English word "gay" or "homosexual." Frankly, there is no word in our native language that objectively means to be individuals (specifically men) that are attracted to the same sex/gender. Bakla doesn't just hold this definition, but is also followed by the implication of weakness, femininity, and perhaps even sexual deviance.
My parents have never directly expressed to my little sister their disapproval of homosexuality, but nonetheless, I know that my sister has picked up on their attitudes towards homosexuals. Children are easily influenced by the social microsystem they inhabit; as they perceive how those closest to them react to certain individuals and situations, they interpret those reactionary behaviors as relative social norms or even as the "correct" response.
It's interesting and disappointing at the same time as my family knows (whether we speak of it or not) that I am gay. Even with this in mind, my parents' homophobic attitude has not changed even when confronted by their son's homosexual identity. I am gay, but to them I am not a part of such a group identity, but an exception. They accept me as their son, but they do not accept a facet of my identity that has a salient presence in my life. Therefore, conceptually, for them, gay people are still repulsive and I am just an exception to such a judgment.
From time to time I hear would my father exclaim how a person on the television is "bakla," expressing a negative opinion of the person through the word's negative implications rather than the latter's alleged sexuality. It hurts to hear him make these statements even though he's talking about me. It hurts because in a sense he is indirectly expressing an opinion of me. If a gay person that is not me is as repulsive as he claims or acts towards them, then without the condition of being his son, does he not hold the same opinion of me? For I am also gay?
I truly do believe that it is too late to change and/or improve my father's opinion of homosexuality. He is a bigot, a sexist, and a racist, traits he is not ashamed to display. I just hope that it is not too late for my sister; I am her older brother and it would be heartbreaking if my little sister came to hold the same opinions as my father, considering that I basically raised her from when she was an infant.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Stepping Away from the Past
I'm done with my third semester of college and I'm back at my parents' house for winter break. As my grades are coming in one by one, I come to realize that I've actually made some progress. Not just academically, but at a personal level as well. I believe that I'm actually starting to regain the momentum I lost almost five years ago.
I've told this story of the First so many times, to myself and to others, in an attempt to make sense of all that had happened. A part of me blamed myself as I accused myself of being too foolish or too naive. Another part of me blamed him for he knew that I wanted a love. Every failure and every regret I've come across I have blamed on the First and his mistreatment. I blamed him for breaking me, for stealing from me, and ultimately for fooling me. I was a freshman in high school and he was a senior from a different school. He seemed perfect. He was a gentleman. I felt as if my fantasies of being swept away by some prince came true. I was happy and did not question it. I associated being gay with finding a man, and I believed he was that man. I gave myself to him because I couldn't fathom future harm, especially being inflicted by him who I thought to be perfect. I thought it to be absolutely unlikely that the first man I'd allow to touch me would actually be the one that could hurt me; no man, no person, has ever hurt me as much.
For a few years I just coasted through life. I refused to seek life as I was too afraid of possibly being hurt again. For a long time, I thought that I'd never gain closure. I never saw him after that time and I thought that the only way I could move on was to see him face-to-face. For years I imagined seeing him in person and the things I would say to him. Being a psychology student, I was always tempted to diagnose him with some sort of psychological disorder to explain his behavior towards me. I realized that I would be giving him too much credit as a person; the First was nothing more than a jackass sans the disorder.
I kept myself from moving on with my life because I wanted to believe that the same man may change his mind someday. I kept one foot in the past because I wanted to believe that all my bad experiences would amount to something of worth. Ironically, by keeping myself stagnant, I was subjecting myself to more hurt and sacrifice. Yes, sometimes to reminisce for a few short moments means to feel a small tinge of pain from my past, but it's just enough to keep me from going back.
I'm moving on and the sense of self I've recently gained is liberating. There were times that I feared acceptance of my past, believing that it would lead me to become jaded, hopeless, and defeatist. It's the other way around, actually. The past has happened and the events are rigid and limited. I cannot change the past even if I try to find a different, more ideal answer from what is certain and absolute. The future, on the other hand, is still uncertain. Scary and mysterious, yes, but full of possibilities and hope for sure. I have a new found hunger and curiosity for life and possibilities. I want to live and feel again.
I still believe in love and I know I'm still capable of love. I was badly hurt once and it's one of the deepest of the pains I've experienced because he was my first, but I can't let my past demons control me or it will become a cycle of pain that finds legitimacy in itself. Tomorrow will be the five-year anniversary of when I lost my virginity, when my expectations of life, love, and men seemed to have shattered and fallen apart. But I refuse to let regret keep its hold on me any longer. From all the broken pieces I can make a beautiful mosaic.
No matter what, even if the fallen and shattered pieces don't fit perfectly together, somehow I can make something beautiful from them.
I've told this story of the First so many times, to myself and to others, in an attempt to make sense of all that had happened. A part of me blamed myself as I accused myself of being too foolish or too naive. Another part of me blamed him for he knew that I wanted a love. Every failure and every regret I've come across I have blamed on the First and his mistreatment. I blamed him for breaking me, for stealing from me, and ultimately for fooling me. I was a freshman in high school and he was a senior from a different school. He seemed perfect. He was a gentleman. I felt as if my fantasies of being swept away by some prince came true. I was happy and did not question it. I associated being gay with finding a man, and I believed he was that man. I gave myself to him because I couldn't fathom future harm, especially being inflicted by him who I thought to be perfect. I thought it to be absolutely unlikely that the first man I'd allow to touch me would actually be the one that could hurt me; no man, no person, has ever hurt me as much.
For a few years I just coasted through life. I refused to seek life as I was too afraid of possibly being hurt again. For a long time, I thought that I'd never gain closure. I never saw him after that time and I thought that the only way I could move on was to see him face-to-face. For years I imagined seeing him in person and the things I would say to him. Being a psychology student, I was always tempted to diagnose him with some sort of psychological disorder to explain his behavior towards me. I realized that I would be giving him too much credit as a person; the First was nothing more than a jackass sans the disorder.
I kept myself from moving on with my life because I wanted to believe that the same man may change his mind someday. I kept one foot in the past because I wanted to believe that all my bad experiences would amount to something of worth. Ironically, by keeping myself stagnant, I was subjecting myself to more hurt and sacrifice. Yes, sometimes to reminisce for a few short moments means to feel a small tinge of pain from my past, but it's just enough to keep me from going back.
I'm moving on and the sense of self I've recently gained is liberating. There were times that I feared acceptance of my past, believing that it would lead me to become jaded, hopeless, and defeatist. It's the other way around, actually. The past has happened and the events are rigid and limited. I cannot change the past even if I try to find a different, more ideal answer from what is certain and absolute. The future, on the other hand, is still uncertain. Scary and mysterious, yes, but full of possibilities and hope for sure. I have a new found hunger and curiosity for life and possibilities. I want to live and feel again.
I still believe in love and I know I'm still capable of love. I was badly hurt once and it's one of the deepest of the pains I've experienced because he was my first, but I can't let my past demons control me or it will become a cycle of pain that finds legitimacy in itself. Tomorrow will be the five-year anniversary of when I lost my virginity, when my expectations of life, love, and men seemed to have shattered and fallen apart. But I refuse to let regret keep its hold on me any longer. From all the broken pieces I can make a beautiful mosaic.
No matter what, even if the fallen and shattered pieces don't fit perfectly together, somehow I can make something beautiful from them.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Proclamation of a Single Gay Man
Yesterday evening, B. came over to visit overnight. This time, contrary to previous times he has visited, it was just the two of us: no ex-boyfriends or groups of friends tagging along. It was a very nice night actually. He came over, we hung around my place for a bit with my roommate and his friend, we cuddled for about an hour or so, then we got sushi for dinner. As I stated in one of my previous posts, things never really aligned for B. and me, due to situational causes that would arise when he would visit. This time, things worked out well as we were able to focus on one another and enjoy each others company.
A momentous point during his whole visit was when we were cuddling. He asked me if I wanted to try out a relationship with him. My reply to him was, "No." I felt guilty for giving him the answer I knew he didn't want. I felt as if I was driven to try and explain my response in every way I could hoping that at some point I'd no longer feel guilty. I told him that I don't want to enter into a relationship because (1) I don't have the same feelings for him as he has for me and (2) I honestly can't see myself entering into a relationship anytime soon.
The first reason was the hardest for me to explain and was the major source of my guilt. I told him that I don't feel the same way for him as he feels for me and if we're not on the same page, I honestly don't see it working out. I believe that it would be unfair to the both of us if I decide to go into a relationship and bet on the possibility that I would reciprocate his love for me someday; the contrary is also a possibility. Also, to do so feels like I would only be forcing myself into a situation that should naturally fall into place. I know that he and I believe that love should never be forced; to enter into a relationship I don't have an independent desire for, in hopes of "possibly" aligning our perception of one another, would contradict our mutual philosophy on love.
The agreement to enter into an intimate, exclusive relationship should spring from the present desires, relevant ideologies, and intimate emotions that both parties should already mutually share. Entrance into a relationship shouldn't precede the elements that construct and support it (i.e. intimate desire, mutual desire to enter an intimate relationship, etc.). I feel as if to enter into a relationship with B. would have been a contradiction of the former statement that I hold as a philosophy on relationships. I don't believe in entering an intimate relationship to develop love; it should be love that develops an intimate relationship.
I tried to articulate to him all that I have just written in order to explain why I said no, but a part of me still felt guilty. A part of me still felt unconvinced that he understood my refusal to enter into a relationship with him was not a willful decision. It was a decision based on the idea that as the elements that would constitute a desire for an intimate relationship was not in the present situation for me, it would not be beneficial, perhaps even detrimental to our relationship as friends.
During my whole conversation with him, I realized that I never really desired a relationship. Even from the moment I realized my homosexuality, being in a relationship with another man was something I came to idealize. My homosexuality became a central focal point of my identity. As a result, anything that would be associated with expressing my identity as a homosexual became a central focal point of my attention and desires (e.g., my self-portrayal and attaining a boyfriend, respectively).
In a way, I surrendered control over myself from the very beginning, which made it easier for others to take advantage of me. For so many years until recently, my desire for a significant other enabled other men to easily exploit me. I let others use and abuse me because I thought it'd help me get closer to attaining a boyfriend. My self-worth and my motivation for life became contingent on other men. Perhaps the events of the past have made me cynical and/or jaded; I don't know if there's anything I can do to undo that, unfortunately.
On a more positive note, I believe I've regained control of myself. I've become consciously aware of the fact that my reason to live, my motivation to move through the world, shouldn't be dependent on men and how they perceive me, whatsoever. Yes, I still believe in love, but to let my actions be directed by my ideals, isn't beneficial. Sure, I'm not necessarily fond of hooking up and/or one-night stands, but the ones I've recently had have taught me something. In the past, I hooked up with guys who promised me love and relationships, which they obviously never fulfilled. Recently, I have hooked up with men fully knowing and accepting what the act would entail, the consequence, and what I would realistically receive from it. I feel more in control and aware of my environment and the things that happen to and around me.
I'm not saying that I'll be hooking up with men more frequently, but I've become more realistic of the world we live in. I've just become more cognizant of my agency and I want to exercise my agency as a single individual. I have not lived life with the awareness of a single man, therefore how can I successfully be in a relationship and live intimately with another if I have not lived for myself?
I am a single gay man, but first and foremost I am simply an individual with agency.
A momentous point during his whole visit was when we were cuddling. He asked me if I wanted to try out a relationship with him. My reply to him was, "No." I felt guilty for giving him the answer I knew he didn't want. I felt as if I was driven to try and explain my response in every way I could hoping that at some point I'd no longer feel guilty. I told him that I don't want to enter into a relationship because (1) I don't have the same feelings for him as he has for me and (2) I honestly can't see myself entering into a relationship anytime soon.
The first reason was the hardest for me to explain and was the major source of my guilt. I told him that I don't feel the same way for him as he feels for me and if we're not on the same page, I honestly don't see it working out. I believe that it would be unfair to the both of us if I decide to go into a relationship and bet on the possibility that I would reciprocate his love for me someday; the contrary is also a possibility. Also, to do so feels like I would only be forcing myself into a situation that should naturally fall into place. I know that he and I believe that love should never be forced; to enter into a relationship I don't have an independent desire for, in hopes of "possibly" aligning our perception of one another, would contradict our mutual philosophy on love.
The agreement to enter into an intimate, exclusive relationship should spring from the present desires, relevant ideologies, and intimate emotions that both parties should already mutually share. Entrance into a relationship shouldn't precede the elements that construct and support it (i.e. intimate desire, mutual desire to enter an intimate relationship, etc.). I feel as if to enter into a relationship with B. would have been a contradiction of the former statement that I hold as a philosophy on relationships. I don't believe in entering an intimate relationship to develop love; it should be love that develops an intimate relationship.
I tried to articulate to him all that I have just written in order to explain why I said no, but a part of me still felt guilty. A part of me still felt unconvinced that he understood my refusal to enter into a relationship with him was not a willful decision. It was a decision based on the idea that as the elements that would constitute a desire for an intimate relationship was not in the present situation for me, it would not be beneficial, perhaps even detrimental to our relationship as friends.
During my whole conversation with him, I realized that I never really desired a relationship. Even from the moment I realized my homosexuality, being in a relationship with another man was something I came to idealize. My homosexuality became a central focal point of my identity. As a result, anything that would be associated with expressing my identity as a homosexual became a central focal point of my attention and desires (e.g., my self-portrayal and attaining a boyfriend, respectively).
In a way, I surrendered control over myself from the very beginning, which made it easier for others to take advantage of me. For so many years until recently, my desire for a significant other enabled other men to easily exploit me. I let others use and abuse me because I thought it'd help me get closer to attaining a boyfriend. My self-worth and my motivation for life became contingent on other men. Perhaps the events of the past have made me cynical and/or jaded; I don't know if there's anything I can do to undo that, unfortunately.
On a more positive note, I believe I've regained control of myself. I've become consciously aware of the fact that my reason to live, my motivation to move through the world, shouldn't be dependent on men and how they perceive me, whatsoever. Yes, I still believe in love, but to let my actions be directed by my ideals, isn't beneficial. Sure, I'm not necessarily fond of hooking up and/or one-night stands, but the ones I've recently had have taught me something. In the past, I hooked up with guys who promised me love and relationships, which they obviously never fulfilled. Recently, I have hooked up with men fully knowing and accepting what the act would entail, the consequence, and what I would realistically receive from it. I feel more in control and aware of my environment and the things that happen to and around me.
I'm not saying that I'll be hooking up with men more frequently, but I've become more realistic of the world we live in. I've just become more cognizant of my agency and I want to exercise my agency as a single individual. I have not lived life with the awareness of a single man, therefore how can I successfully be in a relationship and live intimately with another if I have not lived for myself?
I am a single gay man, but first and foremost I am simply an individual with agency.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Worries or the Lack Thereof
It's finals week and everyone's stressing out until their eyes are bloodshot... Well, except for me that is. It's kind of odd actually, perhaps even concerning, that I'm not worried about finals like everyone else is. Is it due to my own shortcomings and laziness or do I really see no reason to worry?
I've been like this for the past few years. Even my high school guidance counselor told me that I'm just more laid-back than other students, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. I remember when everyone was freaking out about college applications when I was a senior in high school; people were running all over the place during the first week of school to ask their teachers for recommendations. I didn't even ask for teacher recommendations until a month or so after everyone started. I definitely didn't start my application essays until a week or so before they were due. Choosing which schools I "wanted" to go to was pretty laid-back as well, perhaps half-assed is a better word. Frankly, I just didn't understand why everyone was freaking out. What freaked me out was the fact that I wasn't initially freaking out like everyone else. Ironic, wasn't it? Perhaps I should have been freaking out like everyone else and lit a fire under my own but. Maybe a tad bit of worry could have been a great motivation in being proactive. Who knows? Perhaps I could have gotten into my reach school if I had done so.
Anyways, I find myself in a similar situation with finals and I've recently become quite cognizant of it: with the lack of worry, should I be alarmed or should I be relieved? For the past few days I've just been hanging out with my friends, eating out, smoking, and just keeping one another company. When I have a final, I just look over my previous notes a few hours beforehand then I take it. Frankly, I don't see what else I can do to prepare. I believe that either you understand the material and a test will assess that or you don't, nothing more, nothing less. Clearly, with people cramming and studying like they've never before during the semester, it makes me question: Are they worrying too much or am I the one that should be worried?
I've been like this for the past few years. Even my high school guidance counselor told me that I'm just more laid-back than other students, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. I remember when everyone was freaking out about college applications when I was a senior in high school; people were running all over the place during the first week of school to ask their teachers for recommendations. I didn't even ask for teacher recommendations until a month or so after everyone started. I definitely didn't start my application essays until a week or so before they were due. Choosing which schools I "wanted" to go to was pretty laid-back as well, perhaps half-assed is a better word. Frankly, I just didn't understand why everyone was freaking out. What freaked me out was the fact that I wasn't initially freaking out like everyone else. Ironic, wasn't it? Perhaps I should have been freaking out like everyone else and lit a fire under my own but. Maybe a tad bit of worry could have been a great motivation in being proactive. Who knows? Perhaps I could have gotten into my reach school if I had done so.
Anyways, I find myself in a similar situation with finals and I've recently become quite cognizant of it: with the lack of worry, should I be alarmed or should I be relieved? For the past few days I've just been hanging out with my friends, eating out, smoking, and just keeping one another company. When I have a final, I just look over my previous notes a few hours beforehand then I take it. Frankly, I don't see what else I can do to prepare. I believe that either you understand the material and a test will assess that or you don't, nothing more, nothing less. Clearly, with people cramming and studying like they've never before during the semester, it makes me question: Are they worrying too much or am I the one that should be worried?
Monday, December 13, 2010
Holding Out for the Hero
We are all aware of a common occurrence where an eligible bachelor(ette) has to choose between the good guy and the bad boy/rebel. In movies we find the bachelor(ette) choosing the bad boy for the good guy, often after realizing that the bad boy is actually the more virtuous of the two. When this isn't the case and the characters are far more black and white, we find the good guy winning in the end of the story.
Realistically, though, we know this isn't how the story unfolds. Often, if not always, it's the good guy that gets left behind. A friend of mine once mentioned a movie called The Last American Virgin, which I believe sums up the more realistic good guy/bad boy dilemma. In the movie, the bad boy character (Rick) gets a girl pregnant and leaves her. The good guy (Gary) voluntarily takes care of the girl and actually endures through certain struggles in order to express his love for her, which she apparently reciprocates. In the end, she goes back to Rick, the guy that got her pregnant and left her, while the Gary, good guy, is left heartbroken.
Why do we (voluntarily) fall prey to the person/people that hurt us, manipulate us, and take advantage of us? In turn, why do we disregard the person that shows us genuine love, consideration, and kindness? Is it due the thrill and sense of adventure that we may possibly feel when we're with the "bad boy"? Are we such masochists that we sacrifice what we always professed as our desire for true love in order to be subjugated to emotional and physical distress? If so, why? How did things get so twisted?
Personally, there were three men that came into my life, who I now consider to have been "good guys". The first one was when I was sixteen, the other when I was eighteen, and B. is someone I am currently in a situation with. I tried to push them all away. I always rationalized my actions by telling myself that it was for the best, that I was consciously testing them; if they didn't rise to the occasion, then they weren't the one for me. Was this true though? Was I really attempting to push them away in order to see whether they'd actually stay? Or was just lying to myself?
It was not until B. confronted me with something that I had always known, but never truly acknowledged. His exact words were:
It seems to me that you're so used to being treated like shit, that when someone finally treats you the way a person should be treated, you don't know how to react and you push people away. That's one of your flaws; you attract poisonous people that take advantage of you, get what they want and then toss you in the trash. That's all you've ever known and probably all you ever will know unless you get your shit together. Yes, I have a lot of flaws... god knows I do. Sure, I might be a doormat or passive, but in all honesty, you're the only one that seems to have a problem with it.
He was right. I had become so accustomed to being treated badly, starting from the very first boy I fell in love with when I was fourteen, that I came to associate "love" with maltreatment. When a man would push me around (jokingly one guy would say), act cold towards me, or only call me for his benefit, it attracted me. Somehow, I perceived their behavior and attitude towards me as an expression of love, which I now realize is just so wrong. I've fallen for cheaters, abusers, flakes, and sociopaths (yes, I did date a real sociopath once), whereas "the gentleman", that guy that treats me fairly and as an equal person, was never given a chance.
I know, it's stupid of me as I would always tell myself that the good guy will just turn out like the rest after getting what he wants from me, yet none of my conclusions were supported by facts. On the contrary, it's actually the men that I did fall for that treated me badly, while the men I should have given a chance to simply walked away, were pushed away by me, or couldn't do anything else but watch on the sidelines as I would get myself hurt, over and over again.
Frankly, it scares me. As I've always associated my ideal for love with maltreatment, I don't really know how to react when a guy finally does offer me true, genuine love. As abuse and distress were the only things I've ever received, love outside of movies, love that I could actually feel without having to imagine is a foreign concept to me. It scares me as it always had, but if I don't heed B.'s words, which I know are true, I'll only further subjugate myself to more pain and never realize what it truly means to be loved. Now, here's my chance to turn things around.
Realistically, though, we know this isn't how the story unfolds. Often, if not always, it's the good guy that gets left behind. A friend of mine once mentioned a movie called The Last American Virgin, which I believe sums up the more realistic good guy/bad boy dilemma. In the movie, the bad boy character (Rick) gets a girl pregnant and leaves her. The good guy (Gary) voluntarily takes care of the girl and actually endures through certain struggles in order to express his love for her, which she apparently reciprocates. In the end, she goes back to Rick, the guy that got her pregnant and left her, while the Gary, good guy, is left heartbroken.
Why do we (voluntarily) fall prey to the person/people that hurt us, manipulate us, and take advantage of us? In turn, why do we disregard the person that shows us genuine love, consideration, and kindness? Is it due the thrill and sense of adventure that we may possibly feel when we're with the "bad boy"? Are we such masochists that we sacrifice what we always professed as our desire for true love in order to be subjugated to emotional and physical distress? If so, why? How did things get so twisted?
Personally, there were three men that came into my life, who I now consider to have been "good guys". The first one was when I was sixteen, the other when I was eighteen, and B. is someone I am currently in a situation with. I tried to push them all away. I always rationalized my actions by telling myself that it was for the best, that I was consciously testing them; if they didn't rise to the occasion, then they weren't the one for me. Was this true though? Was I really attempting to push them away in order to see whether they'd actually stay? Or was just lying to myself?
It was not until B. confronted me with something that I had always known, but never truly acknowledged. His exact words were:
It seems to me that you're so used to being treated like shit, that when someone finally treats you the way a person should be treated, you don't know how to react and you push people away. That's one of your flaws; you attract poisonous people that take advantage of you, get what they want and then toss you in the trash. That's all you've ever known and probably all you ever will know unless you get your shit together. Yes, I have a lot of flaws... god knows I do. Sure, I might be a doormat or passive, but in all honesty, you're the only one that seems to have a problem with it.
He was right. I had become so accustomed to being treated badly, starting from the very first boy I fell in love with when I was fourteen, that I came to associate "love" with maltreatment. When a man would push me around (jokingly one guy would say), act cold towards me, or only call me for his benefit, it attracted me. Somehow, I perceived their behavior and attitude towards me as an expression of love, which I now realize is just so wrong. I've fallen for cheaters, abusers, flakes, and sociopaths (yes, I did date a real sociopath once), whereas "the gentleman", that guy that treats me fairly and as an equal person, was never given a chance.
I know, it's stupid of me as I would always tell myself that the good guy will just turn out like the rest after getting what he wants from me, yet none of my conclusions were supported by facts. On the contrary, it's actually the men that I did fall for that treated me badly, while the men I should have given a chance to simply walked away, were pushed away by me, or couldn't do anything else but watch on the sidelines as I would get myself hurt, over and over again.
Frankly, it scares me. As I've always associated my ideal for love with maltreatment, I don't really know how to react when a guy finally does offer me true, genuine love. As abuse and distress were the only things I've ever received, love outside of movies, love that I could actually feel without having to imagine is a foreign concept to me. It scares me as it always had, but if I don't heed B.'s words, which I know are true, I'll only further subjugate myself to more pain and never realize what it truly means to be loved. Now, here's my chance to turn things around.
Friday, December 10, 2010
A Vivid Dream
I was sleeping a few moments ago and I had this dream. It was a very vivid dream and I felt every emotion that was being felt by the protagonist in my dream, so I think it's worth writing about before I completely forget my dream (which often occurs when I wake up).
So in this dream, I was in a house with some strangers being attacked by toys. For some reason, these strangers and I can't leave the house as it belonged to us, so we tried to sell it. The only prospective buyer we had decided not to buy the house and we followed her and her husband out of the house as they carried a bird cage. All of us had bird cages too, and each of us had a bird inside our cages. When the woman made up her mind about not buying the house, we opened our bird cages and poured out our birds into the woman's cage, then they left.
Afterwards, the strangers and I went back into the house. I believe we were having a party for prospective buyers, since it was messy with party and Christmas decorations. At that point, the strangers and I try to hide from the murderous toys after we realize that we'll be stuck in this house. I hid inside a closet, which took me to this big underground chamber with a bridge leading to a central pillar, with dark water under it.
There was an old man talking to one of the toys who didn't seem to be murdering people. Apparently, this toy just wanted to be a real person, not something that was magically animated, but to actually live of his/her own free will. The old man, who seems to be a scientist, asked the toy what made him/her think that he/she wasn't living. Then the conversation shifted to what the toy was drawing. The toy, which looked like a cartoonish, bipedal sea monster from the Powerpuff Girls cartoon, was drawing some sort of blueprint for some machine or building.
Suddenly, these people that looked like a futuristic police force came in and was at the entrance at the other end of the bridge. They were coming towards the toy monster and the scientist. The scientist and the toy monster tried to stop the police task force, but they couldn't, they were shot down, but not killed. I became scared and tried to hide under the bridge. The underground bridge then switches to a bridge in a futuristic, dark, cold city; same bridge, but different setting. I was trying to hide from the police force by hiding on the underside of the bridge platform, but after a while I got discovered; my baby sister appeared out of nowhere and told the police where I was.
When I came out of hiding, I realized that the other strangers that were in the house with me have been caught. For some reason, I had the feeling that after being taken into custody, I will be executed. The commander of the police task force told the rest that she will take a short walk with me to just discuss a few things before I would be taken into custody. During this walk, she told me that the toy monster was actually drawing some advanced technology that would produce a great amount of energy efficiently. Unfortunately, the toy monster has died and the scientist had recently died as well, so I am the last person who knows about the technology, since I was present when the toy and the scientist were discussing the schematics. While discussing all this, the woman takes me into an underground tunnel/subway system. And after a while, she tells me that I can run away and that she's giving me the chance to. I decline and decide to go with her to be taken into custody. She reacts positively and says that she was testing me.
Once we got to a busy street, I saw the rest of the police force across the street along with the strangers I owned the house with. For some reason, I had the strong, uncontrollable urge to get to them, so I try to leap across the intersection since I couldn't wait for the traffic to stop, much to the female police leader's dismay. I successfully leaped most of the way, but collided with a car a few inches before reaching the other side of the street. I didn't get hit by the car though, it seems like I was a ghost since after I converged with the car, I just turned into a wispy smoke, then solidified again when I got to the other side.
After getting to the other side, some other woman who was of a higher rank than the woman I was with tells me that I must immediately be taken to custody. I tell her that I just want to tell the other woman one last thing before I am taken away, right in front of everyone. So, I asked the woman I had taken a walk with and in front of everyone else, if they ever had a family? I asked them if they ever knew how it felt to have that strong connections, that feeling of comfort with someone else. At that point, as I was talking, I felt a deep connection to everyone else that almost pained me. After my whole speech, the high-ranking woman became convinced to have me live with the other woman as my surrogate mother/mentor. The other strangers also came to live with us.
The scene then switches to the woman having a different face, actually resembling a pregnant Michelle Pfeiffer walking down a light, rainy street. For some reason, I also changed physically and resembled Freddie Highmore. This Michelle Pfeiffer-esque woman who I identified as being my aunt got married to this very hot man that I was also attracted to, but didn't pursue.
The end.
What do you all think? Do you think my dream had some sort of underlying meaning? Interpretations are welcome and encouraged.
So in this dream, I was in a house with some strangers being attacked by toys. For some reason, these strangers and I can't leave the house as it belonged to us, so we tried to sell it. The only prospective buyer we had decided not to buy the house and we followed her and her husband out of the house as they carried a bird cage. All of us had bird cages too, and each of us had a bird inside our cages. When the woman made up her mind about not buying the house, we opened our bird cages and poured out our birds into the woman's cage, then they left.
Afterwards, the strangers and I went back into the house. I believe we were having a party for prospective buyers, since it was messy with party and Christmas decorations. At that point, the strangers and I try to hide from the murderous toys after we realize that we'll be stuck in this house. I hid inside a closet, which took me to this big underground chamber with a bridge leading to a central pillar, with dark water under it.
There was an old man talking to one of the toys who didn't seem to be murdering people. Apparently, this toy just wanted to be a real person, not something that was magically animated, but to actually live of his/her own free will. The old man, who seems to be a scientist, asked the toy what made him/her think that he/she wasn't living. Then the conversation shifted to what the toy was drawing. The toy, which looked like a cartoonish, bipedal sea monster from the Powerpuff Girls cartoon, was drawing some sort of blueprint for some machine or building.
Suddenly, these people that looked like a futuristic police force came in and was at the entrance at the other end of the bridge. They were coming towards the toy monster and the scientist. The scientist and the toy monster tried to stop the police task force, but they couldn't, they were shot down, but not killed. I became scared and tried to hide under the bridge. The underground bridge then switches to a bridge in a futuristic, dark, cold city; same bridge, but different setting. I was trying to hide from the police force by hiding on the underside of the bridge platform, but after a while I got discovered; my baby sister appeared out of nowhere and told the police where I was.
When I came out of hiding, I realized that the other strangers that were in the house with me have been caught. For some reason, I had the feeling that after being taken into custody, I will be executed. The commander of the police task force told the rest that she will take a short walk with me to just discuss a few things before I would be taken into custody. During this walk, she told me that the toy monster was actually drawing some advanced technology that would produce a great amount of energy efficiently. Unfortunately, the toy monster has died and the scientist had recently died as well, so I am the last person who knows about the technology, since I was present when the toy and the scientist were discussing the schematics. While discussing all this, the woman takes me into an underground tunnel/subway system. And after a while, she tells me that I can run away and that she's giving me the chance to. I decline and decide to go with her to be taken into custody. She reacts positively and says that she was testing me.
Once we got to a busy street, I saw the rest of the police force across the street along with the strangers I owned the house with. For some reason, I had the strong, uncontrollable urge to get to them, so I try to leap across the intersection since I couldn't wait for the traffic to stop, much to the female police leader's dismay. I successfully leaped most of the way, but collided with a car a few inches before reaching the other side of the street. I didn't get hit by the car though, it seems like I was a ghost since after I converged with the car, I just turned into a wispy smoke, then solidified again when I got to the other side.
After getting to the other side, some other woman who was of a higher rank than the woman I was with tells me that I must immediately be taken to custody. I tell her that I just want to tell the other woman one last thing before I am taken away, right in front of everyone. So, I asked the woman I had taken a walk with and in front of everyone else, if they ever had a family? I asked them if they ever knew how it felt to have that strong connections, that feeling of comfort with someone else. At that point, as I was talking, I felt a deep connection to everyone else that almost pained me. After my whole speech, the high-ranking woman became convinced to have me live with the other woman as my surrogate mother/mentor. The other strangers also came to live with us.
The scene then switches to the woman having a different face, actually resembling a pregnant Michelle Pfeiffer walking down a light, rainy street. For some reason, I also changed physically and resembled Freddie Highmore. This Michelle Pfeiffer-esque woman who I identified as being my aunt got married to this very hot man that I was also attracted to, but didn't pursue.
The end.
What do you all think? Do you think my dream had some sort of underlying meaning? Interpretations are welcome and encouraged.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
La Neige
The first day of December has mostly come to pass and I must say that the weather suits the occasion. It started snowing earlier this morning and it's the first time this season that it has actually snowed in Chicago. Perhaps Mother Nature, God, Fate, etc. truly is/are that poetic.
In any case, it's the first day of December, it's snowing and it's beautiful. The first day of snowfall is always the most pleasant; it falls so slowly like a feather and it almost seems to levitate in the air. During the first snowfall you're walking through it, not "in" it, which is a temporary delight. After a few days or weeks this snow will become nothing more than brown slush and puddles that I will dread walking through to and from class, home, etc.
With snow, I always associated it with reflection. For some reason, I find myself in reflection when it snows outside. Perhaps it's because I'm subconsciously reminded of the passing season and the changing weather. Realizing that "something" has come and gone makes me look back and try to recollect what has passed. It makes me want to re-experience the things I was not aware of until they're out of my grasp. Of course, as you are also aware of, dear reader, we can never reattain each and every fleeting moment. It's like snowfall I guess. You can't catch every snowflake, but the ones that you do get ahold of, cherish the very moment it falls onto your palm until it simply, silently, and placidly melts away.
In any case, it's the first day of December, it's snowing and it's beautiful. The first day of snowfall is always the most pleasant; it falls so slowly like a feather and it almost seems to levitate in the air. During the first snowfall you're walking through it, not "in" it, which is a temporary delight. After a few days or weeks this snow will become nothing more than brown slush and puddles that I will dread walking through to and from class, home, etc.
With snow, I always associated it with reflection. For some reason, I find myself in reflection when it snows outside. Perhaps it's because I'm subconsciously reminded of the passing season and the changing weather. Realizing that "something" has come and gone makes me look back and try to recollect what has passed. It makes me want to re-experience the things I was not aware of until they're out of my grasp. Of course, as you are also aware of, dear reader, we can never reattain each and every fleeting moment. It's like snowfall I guess. You can't catch every snowflake, but the ones that you do get ahold of, cherish the very moment it falls onto your palm until it simply, silently, and placidly melts away.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
College Student: Laziness, Procrastination, and Everything Else in Between
I'm broke. I'm a broke college student. Why am I a broke college student? With quitting my job in food service along with my unchanged rate/pace of consumption, no wonder.
I previously wrote about my foolish and impulsive spending. Since then, I don't really think I've stopped. With Black Friday recently passing, who can blame me? Myself, of course. In any case, it wasn't even the Black Friday spending that is digging my financial hole; I only spent $20 towards my Black Friday shopping. Sex & the City Season 6: Part 1 and 2? Hell yea, I wasn't going to let such an opportunity pass me by! Of course I went online to buy the fifth season the day after, so make that $30. I'm buying the seasons in reverse order (I find the later seasons to be fat more entertaining). Agh, too much consumption, not much earning (if at all).
As you all know, I am determined on going to Rome for a semester next year. I guess I should reflect on said determination and reinforce it. I still feel myself slacking. I had quit my job in food service a few months ago because I said I wanted to focus on volunteer and academic work. Where am I now? No job, no volunteer work, and I have a few papers to write that are due at the end of this week.
I'm insane, lazy, a procrastinator, definitely. It seems as if my productive effort rises and falls with my workload (i.e. the less work I have, the less I actually do). Why can't it stay at a constant rate where the less work I have, the faster I get things done and the more time I actually have to improve? I'd rather have my spending directly reflect my financial state and have my productiveness stay at a constant level no matter what, not the other way around. I can't take on a job or even do volunteer work if I can't stay on top of the workload I have now. I have friends that work thirty hours a week and have academic work to go along with that. What am I doing? Watching television shows over the internet, masturbating, cooking, eating, or shopping. Quite shameful. I need to be more productive.
So what's wrong with me? Do I have Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) where I can't sit still and I must always be doing something stimulating (more stimulating than reading a book)? Or am I just lazy? Before I attempt to attach an external cause to my problem, I should see what I'm doing wrong. I have the time to finish all my work in a timely manner, but I always push things to the last minute. I hate to say it, but it gives me a rush of excitement when I'm under pressure, I feel more focused when the clock is ticking, but of course it doesn't lead to my best work. I don't feel motivated. I feel obligated more than anything else, and I guess that sense of obligation is what's driving me, which isn't the most efficient source of productive effort. But what can I do to internally motivate myself? Think of Italy, the relief I'd feel when I finish work on time, or the certain decrease in frequency of the stressful on-edge state I am always in?
At this point, I feel so overwhelmed when I quickly think about the work I have to finish within a week's time. But of course, this wouldn't have happened if I had always stayed on task. Well, there's no time like the present to accomplish that, is there?
I previously wrote about my foolish and impulsive spending. Since then, I don't really think I've stopped. With Black Friday recently passing, who can blame me? Myself, of course. In any case, it wasn't even the Black Friday spending that is digging my financial hole; I only spent $20 towards my Black Friday shopping. Sex & the City Season 6: Part 1 and 2? Hell yea, I wasn't going to let such an opportunity pass me by! Of course I went online to buy the fifth season the day after, so make that $30. I'm buying the seasons in reverse order (I find the later seasons to be fat more entertaining). Agh, too much consumption, not much earning (if at all).
As you all know, I am determined on going to Rome for a semester next year. I guess I should reflect on said determination and reinforce it. I still feel myself slacking. I had quit my job in food service a few months ago because I said I wanted to focus on volunteer and academic work. Where am I now? No job, no volunteer work, and I have a few papers to write that are due at the end of this week.
I'm insane, lazy, a procrastinator, definitely. It seems as if my productive effort rises and falls with my workload (i.e. the less work I have, the less I actually do). Why can't it stay at a constant rate where the less work I have, the faster I get things done and the more time I actually have to improve? I'd rather have my spending directly reflect my financial state and have my productiveness stay at a constant level no matter what, not the other way around. I can't take on a job or even do volunteer work if I can't stay on top of the workload I have now. I have friends that work thirty hours a week and have academic work to go along with that. What am I doing? Watching television shows over the internet, masturbating, cooking, eating, or shopping. Quite shameful. I need to be more productive.
So what's wrong with me? Do I have Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) where I can't sit still and I must always be doing something stimulating (more stimulating than reading a book)? Or am I just lazy? Before I attempt to attach an external cause to my problem, I should see what I'm doing wrong. I have the time to finish all my work in a timely manner, but I always push things to the last minute. I hate to say it, but it gives me a rush of excitement when I'm under pressure, I feel more focused when the clock is ticking, but of course it doesn't lead to my best work. I don't feel motivated. I feel obligated more than anything else, and I guess that sense of obligation is what's driving me, which isn't the most efficient source of productive effort. But what can I do to internally motivate myself? Think of Italy, the relief I'd feel when I finish work on time, or the certain decrease in frequency of the stressful on-edge state I am always in?
At this point, I feel so overwhelmed when I quickly think about the work I have to finish within a week's time. But of course, this wouldn't have happened if I had always stayed on task. Well, there's no time like the present to accomplish that, is there?
Thursday, November 25, 2010
The Fall of my Father
My mother just called me to tell me that I should be a little easier on my father. She told me that my father has been prescribed anti-anxiety pills and that I should be a little more accommodating towards my father, a little more patient I guess. She told me how my father and my eldest sister had a fight. Apparently my sister yelled at him that I moved out because of him. After my mother told me this all I could really respond with was the fact that my sister was right; my primary reason for leaving was my father.
Growing up, my father was a tyrant. I do remember him being a kind but firm father during my early childhood, but it seems as if it had all changed at some point. One day I came to realize how selfish, cold, and hypocritical he was. When did he change? I honestly couldn't tell you. I remember going through those Highlights children's activity books for hours with him. I remember playing video games with him for hours. It all changed at some point, he became the man I came to truly hate and promised to myself never to become. He judged my friends, always blatantly criticizing them for being girls. He often complained about how lazy I was. When I was trying to sleep through the day it was because I was going through a depression spell or the sort. Of course, there was no point in discussing this with either of my parents since they didn't believe in depression. I remember I would be so afraid to even lay my head down on my bed since he would just rush in and start yelling. During those moments I would just promise to myself that I would leave someday and never turn back.
My father was never the type that would discuss his "concerns" with us. Often he would complain to my mother or yell at us rather than speaking to us in a civil manner. He knew that his children cared for their mother, therefore when it was our mother that would speak to us, we listened. We didn't want to trouble our mother, working 16-shifts 5 days a week was enough stress. My father knew that if he wanted to get to us he would have to go through my mother. My mother loved him unconditionally. He would tell us to just be patient with, that no matter what he was our father. Often my siblings and I would just nod our heads and walk away begrudgingly.
My siblings and I have come to see our father as the enemy. My mother is the only one that works and he often tries to push my mother to take on more hours. He goes overseas often at my mother's expense and buys whatever he deems necessary. Of course, my mother would just hand over her hard earned cash with barely a protest, if at all. I saw him as a leech, but there was nothing my siblings and I could do, he had our mother's ear and heart.
In any case, it seems that he's deteriorating now. My mother seems to be concerned about his blood pressure and the fact that he has been diagnosed with anxiety that has to be medicated. Honestly, at this point, I could care less. Yes, when my mother told me all this I did feel a tinge of remorse. But the fact of the matter is, he brought this onto himself. He pushed my mother's side of the family away; they all despise him. Even his own siblings despise him. For a man to have so many enemies, enemies that are of his own blood, one cannot be blamed to assume that he is the cause. Yes, he is my father by blood, but did he live up to the role of the father I wanted and needed? No, he didn't.
Now, he's falling apart. Now, the tyrant deteriorates and holds not the power he once held. Do I pity him? Yes. Do I love him? Yes. But is he a man I am proud of to call my father? No.
Growing up, my father was a tyrant. I do remember him being a kind but firm father during my early childhood, but it seems as if it had all changed at some point. One day I came to realize how selfish, cold, and hypocritical he was. When did he change? I honestly couldn't tell you. I remember going through those Highlights children's activity books for hours with him. I remember playing video games with him for hours. It all changed at some point, he became the man I came to truly hate and promised to myself never to become. He judged my friends, always blatantly criticizing them for being girls. He often complained about how lazy I was. When I was trying to sleep through the day it was because I was going through a depression spell or the sort. Of course, there was no point in discussing this with either of my parents since they didn't believe in depression. I remember I would be so afraid to even lay my head down on my bed since he would just rush in and start yelling. During those moments I would just promise to myself that I would leave someday and never turn back.
My father was never the type that would discuss his "concerns" with us. Often he would complain to my mother or yell at us rather than speaking to us in a civil manner. He knew that his children cared for their mother, therefore when it was our mother that would speak to us, we listened. We didn't want to trouble our mother, working 16-shifts 5 days a week was enough stress. My father knew that if he wanted to get to us he would have to go through my mother. My mother loved him unconditionally. He would tell us to just be patient with, that no matter what he was our father. Often my siblings and I would just nod our heads and walk away begrudgingly.
My siblings and I have come to see our father as the enemy. My mother is the only one that works and he often tries to push my mother to take on more hours. He goes overseas often at my mother's expense and buys whatever he deems necessary. Of course, my mother would just hand over her hard earned cash with barely a protest, if at all. I saw him as a leech, but there was nothing my siblings and I could do, he had our mother's ear and heart.
In any case, it seems that he's deteriorating now. My mother seems to be concerned about his blood pressure and the fact that he has been diagnosed with anxiety that has to be medicated. Honestly, at this point, I could care less. Yes, when my mother told me all this I did feel a tinge of remorse. But the fact of the matter is, he brought this onto himself. He pushed my mother's side of the family away; they all despise him. Even his own siblings despise him. For a man to have so many enemies, enemies that are of his own blood, one cannot be blamed to assume that he is the cause. Yes, he is my father by blood, but did he live up to the role of the father I wanted and needed? No, he didn't.
Now, he's falling apart. Now, the tyrant deteriorates and holds not the power he once held. Do I pity him? Yes. Do I love him? Yes. But is he a man I am proud of to call my father? No.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Family: What it Means to Me as a Gay Teen
So it's Thanksgiving tomorrow, I have the rest of the week off from school. Both of my roommates left yesterday afternoon after their last class. I, on the other hand, am staying at the dorms, which is what I did last year.
My family was never really the type that celebrated the holidays. It's not necessarily something that we decide not to do, but something that just comes to be. My mother is a nurse, therefore she's often at work on the holidays (Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc.). I would say that mother is the center figure, the anchor of our family and for her not to be present, it just wouldn't have made sense for my siblings and I to do something without her. In any case, in previous years my older siblings were often with their friends during the holidays and I would be at home with my younger sister and father. Often, we would be in our rooms watching television and treating it like any other day.
If I were to go home for Thanksgiving, the lack of a celebration would be more evident, more upsetting. For me to go home and see my family and me proceed with the day as if it was any other day, knowing how it would differ with what my friends are doing, it's too upsetting, it makes me envious of my friends. I don't like that feeling. Sitting here, thinking about it, and writing about it, it's much more upsetting than I realized. It's upsetting to bring to the foreground the feeling of how my family seems so cold, distant, and depressing, especially during this time of the year.
Yes, the holidays are about being with family and loved ones, but I feel more upset, depressed, and frustrated when I am at my parents'. Yes, they are my family, but I do not feel at home when I am there. I feel a mere obligation to be present when I am with family. It saddens me because when I think of my family, I think of my little sister and how this could all be affecting her. I remember being in first grade when one of my older sisters stopped walking me to school; I felt so sad. The fact that I remember that moment to this day, it makes me realize how intense the feeling of sadness really was. So I wonder how my little sister feels when her siblings have fled the nest, with parents that would rather have her cooped up at home than to have her running around outside because of the small risk of falling and getting a scratch or bruise.
I know that I could go home for my little sister, that it is a reason to return. I know that I could be there for her, considering how the feeling of concern is present. Nonetheless, I've decided to keep my distance, for my sake. I do not feel at home in that house anymore. I do not feel the desire to be there. Yes, I love my family, but I never found the connection I always yearned to have with them without risking my freedom as an individual. I don't think I ever will.
My parents had always been the type that would rather have their children at home than to explore the world. My parents believed in being home with the family and taking care of the household rather than to be in extracurricular activities. Due to this, I never joined a club at school. I was always too afraid to defy my parents, to feel like I was neglecting my duties at home. Of course, I could have defied my parents at any given time, but I knew that the best I could do was to be obedient until I could leave of my own accord. In my mind I believed that obeying my parents' every whim would be better for me than to defy them. I had known that I am gay since I was twelve or thirteen years old, so to defy them meant putting myself at odds with them even more.
I guess my homosexuality did play a big part in how my connection with my family poorly developed. I kept to myself thinking that it would be easier for me to be hurt if I tried to get close to them. For the whole duration of my time living in that house from the time I realized I was gay to when I finally left for college and had yet to come out to them, I felt it would be best to keep my distance. I never told them of my hopes and dreams, what made me happy, what made me sad, or anything. My parents were the type that imposed their identity, their desires, and themselves on us. There have been times that I was emotionally hurt by them and with me keeping my sexuality as a secret from them, it amplified the pain even more. I believed that if I got too close and they found out about my sexuality, they'd use it against me, the way they used it against my older sister (who currently has a live-in girlfriend). I did not want to go through what my older sister went through, so I bet my tongue and kept quiet.
It was not until I had left for college that they realized how much distance I wanted from them. For the first few months I ignored all phone calls and the sort from them. I wanted to establish my independence and individuality, but with them always calling me, asking me when I would come home just to be home, I started to resent them. I started to hate them for trying to hold me back, to keep me in a place I did not want to be or have a purpose being in. It was not until I kept myself away for so long that they realized that I could survive without them. It was not until I separated myself from them that they realized how I was not afraid to leave of my own accord. I was the first one of all my siblings to move out. It was not until I had moved out that one of my older sisters moved out to live with her girlfriend; I was proud of her when she finally did it. My father was a hypocrite, always threatening to kick us out or that we could leave if we wanted to. When I finally left to challenge his threat and moved out, he was the one that protested. So hypocritical, so pathetic.
I don't know. At this point, I wonder, perhaps it would have been better to defy them sooner. To this day, even though I have distanced myself from them, I still feel as if I have yet to allow myself to truly live. I feel as if I've locked myself in my own cage and I don't know where I've placed the key. I want to change that, I want to be completely free from their superimposing influence and I'm trying.
I will end this post right here since I don't really think such a discussion has an ending. It is what it is and we must live with the thoughts and decisions that come with it.
My family was never really the type that celebrated the holidays. It's not necessarily something that we decide not to do, but something that just comes to be. My mother is a nurse, therefore she's often at work on the holidays (Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc.). I would say that mother is the center figure, the anchor of our family and for her not to be present, it just wouldn't have made sense for my siblings and I to do something without her. In any case, in previous years my older siblings were often with their friends during the holidays and I would be at home with my younger sister and father. Often, we would be in our rooms watching television and treating it like any other day.
If I were to go home for Thanksgiving, the lack of a celebration would be more evident, more upsetting. For me to go home and see my family and me proceed with the day as if it was any other day, knowing how it would differ with what my friends are doing, it's too upsetting, it makes me envious of my friends. I don't like that feeling. Sitting here, thinking about it, and writing about it, it's much more upsetting than I realized. It's upsetting to bring to the foreground the feeling of how my family seems so cold, distant, and depressing, especially during this time of the year.
Yes, the holidays are about being with family and loved ones, but I feel more upset, depressed, and frustrated when I am at my parents'. Yes, they are my family, but I do not feel at home when I am there. I feel a mere obligation to be present when I am with family. It saddens me because when I think of my family, I think of my little sister and how this could all be affecting her. I remember being in first grade when one of my older sisters stopped walking me to school; I felt so sad. The fact that I remember that moment to this day, it makes me realize how intense the feeling of sadness really was. So I wonder how my little sister feels when her siblings have fled the nest, with parents that would rather have her cooped up at home than to have her running around outside because of the small risk of falling and getting a scratch or bruise.
I know that I could go home for my little sister, that it is a reason to return. I know that I could be there for her, considering how the feeling of concern is present. Nonetheless, I've decided to keep my distance, for my sake. I do not feel at home in that house anymore. I do not feel the desire to be there. Yes, I love my family, but I never found the connection I always yearned to have with them without risking my freedom as an individual. I don't think I ever will.
My parents had always been the type that would rather have their children at home than to explore the world. My parents believed in being home with the family and taking care of the household rather than to be in extracurricular activities. Due to this, I never joined a club at school. I was always too afraid to defy my parents, to feel like I was neglecting my duties at home. Of course, I could have defied my parents at any given time, but I knew that the best I could do was to be obedient until I could leave of my own accord. In my mind I believed that obeying my parents' every whim would be better for me than to defy them. I had known that I am gay since I was twelve or thirteen years old, so to defy them meant putting myself at odds with them even more.
I guess my homosexuality did play a big part in how my connection with my family poorly developed. I kept to myself thinking that it would be easier for me to be hurt if I tried to get close to them. For the whole duration of my time living in that house from the time I realized I was gay to when I finally left for college and had yet to come out to them, I felt it would be best to keep my distance. I never told them of my hopes and dreams, what made me happy, what made me sad, or anything. My parents were the type that imposed their identity, their desires, and themselves on us. There have been times that I was emotionally hurt by them and with me keeping my sexuality as a secret from them, it amplified the pain even more. I believed that if I got too close and they found out about my sexuality, they'd use it against me, the way they used it against my older sister (who currently has a live-in girlfriend). I did not want to go through what my older sister went through, so I bet my tongue and kept quiet.
It was not until I had left for college that they realized how much distance I wanted from them. For the first few months I ignored all phone calls and the sort from them. I wanted to establish my independence and individuality, but with them always calling me, asking me when I would come home just to be home, I started to resent them. I started to hate them for trying to hold me back, to keep me in a place I did not want to be or have a purpose being in. It was not until I kept myself away for so long that they realized that I could survive without them. It was not until I separated myself from them that they realized how I was not afraid to leave of my own accord. I was the first one of all my siblings to move out. It was not until I had moved out that one of my older sisters moved out to live with her girlfriend; I was proud of her when she finally did it. My father was a hypocrite, always threatening to kick us out or that we could leave if we wanted to. When I finally left to challenge his threat and moved out, he was the one that protested. So hypocritical, so pathetic.
I don't know. At this point, I wonder, perhaps it would have been better to defy them sooner. To this day, even though I have distanced myself from them, I still feel as if I have yet to allow myself to truly live. I feel as if I've locked myself in my own cage and I don't know where I've placed the key. I want to change that, I want to be completely free from their superimposing influence and I'm trying.
I will end this post right here since I don't really think such a discussion has an ending. It is what it is and we must live with the thoughts and decisions that come with it.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Starving College Student
Sometimes I wonder how that "identity" is defined, to be a starving college student. Literally it's defined as a college-aged kid who has financial limitations that makes it difficult for them to purchase certain necessities. But then I wonder, from my own experiences and from those I see around me, do we put ourselves in this situation more than we are externally put in it? It seems so easy to accept the implication that it's a situation that we are put into without choice, but then I reflect on the choices I make and how my priorities are pretty screwed up.
To start off, I can spend about $30-$40 on groceries per week and it would actually be a pretty good deal if I'm smart about it. For $30-$40 I could buy a few non-perishable goods that would actually be more nutritious compared to the food they serve on campus (e.g., rice, beans, poultry, vegetables, etc.). Unfortunately, instead of spending money on food, I often find myself spending money on shit I don't necessarily need nor would these things benefit me (e.g., alcohol, tobacco, extra clothing/accessories, etc.). It's quite sad that I hesitate on the purchases that are ultimately beneficial and necessary for me, yet I don't give it a second thought when I buy alcohol or a pair of gloves (when I already have a pair). So in a sense, I'm a starving college student by a matter of unwise and regrettable choices.
Let's take last night for example. I spent ~$32 on a pair of H&M gloves, ~$7 on McDonald's, $10 for a cup for "unlimited alcohol", and ~$6 on Burger King. Overall, I spent ~$55 on shit I could have lived without. That $55 and so cents could have been used in much wiser and more beneficial ways. Is it buyer's remorse? Perhaps. And I wonder, why don't I give such purchases a second thought? No one's pressuring me to buy these things, yet I find myself doing so. When I try to reflect on it, I can't help but think how it may be connected to my self-esteem. I now believe that somehow my unwise purchases legitimize my self-worth in the eyes of others and in turn, in my own eyes.
I want to change this habit of mine. It sucks that I keep on looking back and regretting my purchases from last night and how foolish I have been with my money, but there's nothing more I can do other than move on forward. I need to keep in mind past actions/behaviors that I regret and put in the conscious effort to prevent them. I literally am a poor college student, but to consider me starving is a little too extreme. As a poor college student who has wants and desires greater than getting shit-faced a few nights or so a month (such as going to Italy for my Spring semester of junior year), I need to put the conscious effort in setting my priorities straight.
Perhaps getting a job would help too instead of solely depending on the $200 that my parents give me every 3-4 weeks. Perhaps I should keep that in mind as well, the fact that I'm wasting my parents' money so haphazardly without acknowledging the fact that such a monetary amount could be used for a greater necessity than my immediate, impulsive wants.
To start off, I can spend about $30-$40 on groceries per week and it would actually be a pretty good deal if I'm smart about it. For $30-$40 I could buy a few non-perishable goods that would actually be more nutritious compared to the food they serve on campus (e.g., rice, beans, poultry, vegetables, etc.). Unfortunately, instead of spending money on food, I often find myself spending money on shit I don't necessarily need nor would these things benefit me (e.g., alcohol, tobacco, extra clothing/accessories, etc.). It's quite sad that I hesitate on the purchases that are ultimately beneficial and necessary for me, yet I don't give it a second thought when I buy alcohol or a pair of gloves (when I already have a pair). So in a sense, I'm a starving college student by a matter of unwise and regrettable choices.
Let's take last night for example. I spent ~$32 on a pair of H&M gloves, ~$7 on McDonald's, $10 for a cup for "unlimited alcohol", and ~$6 on Burger King. Overall, I spent ~$55 on shit I could have lived without. That $55 and so cents could have been used in much wiser and more beneficial ways. Is it buyer's remorse? Perhaps. And I wonder, why don't I give such purchases a second thought? No one's pressuring me to buy these things, yet I find myself doing so. When I try to reflect on it, I can't help but think how it may be connected to my self-esteem. I now believe that somehow my unwise purchases legitimize my self-worth in the eyes of others and in turn, in my own eyes.
I want to change this habit of mine. It sucks that I keep on looking back and regretting my purchases from last night and how foolish I have been with my money, but there's nothing more I can do other than move on forward. I need to keep in mind past actions/behaviors that I regret and put in the conscious effort to prevent them. I literally am a poor college student, but to consider me starving is a little too extreme. As a poor college student who has wants and desires greater than getting shit-faced a few nights or so a month (such as going to Italy for my Spring semester of junior year), I need to put the conscious effort in setting my priorities straight.
Perhaps getting a job would help too instead of solely depending on the $200 that my parents give me every 3-4 weeks. Perhaps I should keep that in mind as well, the fact that I'm wasting my parents' money so haphazardly without acknowledging the fact that such a monetary amount could be used for a greater necessity than my immediate, impulsive wants.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
About a Boy (Part 1)
This is a true story of a boy that placidly came into my life and enabled me to feel love. It'll take a few posts for me to complete the story from the beginning to the present. Bear with me and I hope you, dear reader, can take something from this story of mine.
His name is Dylan. A year and a half ago (April 2008) I met Dylan in person for the first time. Where or how we initially met, neither of us remember. All that we can agree upon is that somehow we became acquainted.
He called me as I was lying in bed doing nothing. At first, I didn't recognize the number, it had been a while since we had spoken. After we had been talking for a few minutes I finally recognized the boy on the other side. We talked about how it had been a long time since we've talked and that perhaps we should meet up since we were both free. I worked in food service at the time, it was my day off work, so we decided to meet up there.
Before meeting Dylan in person I only knew him by how he expressed himself over internet conversations. In a way, I was intimidated by him, but I never kept myself from opening up to him. He seemed so sophisticated, so cultured and intelligent, yet he was humble and kind. He knew so much about culture, food, and music; I felt as if I wanted this person, this boy, to show me the world as he had experienced it. At that point, I believed that he was out of my league, but he never made me feel inferior to him as a person. I felt that a friendship could develop at the least.
He walked in after half an hour or so of being lost on the road. Dylan had medium length, bleach blond hair with bangs swept to his right. He had deep, bright blue eyes that slightly squinted as he smiled. He was shorter than me by a few inches, wearing a button-up shirt, jeans, and a vest. I teased him about looking like a cute Dutch boy, that's what he looked like to me, at least. He was adorable to me. His smile, his voice, and the very way he walked expressed a certain gentleness and elegance. When he smiled, he smiled cautiously. In his smile and behavior he exemplified the same careful curiosity one finds when interacting with innocent small creatures. He was incredibly intelligent and breathtaking, yet he had an innocence to him that I instantly fell for. Even his hands had a softness and smoothness to them. I felt as if it was my duty, I also willfully desired it, to protect him and care for him.
Hanging out that day became an adventure. We ate and walked throughout the city. He showed me his favorite music and told me about his previous outings into the city. He told me about Modest Mouse, the Decemberists, and so much more. We went to every record store we came across and a book store we could barely walk through that we had to stand so intimately close to one another. I didn't mind.
After a few hours, I felt that we became really comfortable with one another. No second passed without either of us telling one another about ourselves. I wanted him to get to know every single part of me, but most of all I wanted him to like me. I took as many pictures as I could of him. I definitely wanted to remember that day and the face of the boy that could make me smile.
After a while, I felt that we really did start to become fond of another. Then he asked me if I wanted to sleep over his place. I had literally never slept over a another person's house before that point. My parents would definitely say no, I knew this, but I didn't want this chance to pass me by. I liked him so much, I didn't want the day to end, I wanted to tell him more about me, to learn more about him, to just be with him. I looked into his eyes, slightly smiled and said yes. Inside, I was afraid of what my parents would say. I knew that they would object and I didn't bother to tell them. All I knew was that I refused to prematurely end what I was feeling for this boy.
[to be continued]
His name is Dylan. A year and a half ago (April 2008) I met Dylan in person for the first time. Where or how we initially met, neither of us remember. All that we can agree upon is that somehow we became acquainted.
He called me as I was lying in bed doing nothing. At first, I didn't recognize the number, it had been a while since we had spoken. After we had been talking for a few minutes I finally recognized the boy on the other side. We talked about how it had been a long time since we've talked and that perhaps we should meet up since we were both free. I worked in food service at the time, it was my day off work, so we decided to meet up there.
Before meeting Dylan in person I only knew him by how he expressed himself over internet conversations. In a way, I was intimidated by him, but I never kept myself from opening up to him. He seemed so sophisticated, so cultured and intelligent, yet he was humble and kind. He knew so much about culture, food, and music; I felt as if I wanted this person, this boy, to show me the world as he had experienced it. At that point, I believed that he was out of my league, but he never made me feel inferior to him as a person. I felt that a friendship could develop at the least.
He walked in after half an hour or so of being lost on the road. Dylan had medium length, bleach blond hair with bangs swept to his right. He had deep, bright blue eyes that slightly squinted as he smiled. He was shorter than me by a few inches, wearing a button-up shirt, jeans, and a vest. I teased him about looking like a cute Dutch boy, that's what he looked like to me, at least. He was adorable to me. His smile, his voice, and the very way he walked expressed a certain gentleness and elegance. When he smiled, he smiled cautiously. In his smile and behavior he exemplified the same careful curiosity one finds when interacting with innocent small creatures. He was incredibly intelligent and breathtaking, yet he had an innocence to him that I instantly fell for. Even his hands had a softness and smoothness to them. I felt as if it was my duty, I also willfully desired it, to protect him and care for him.
Hanging out that day became an adventure. We ate and walked throughout the city. He showed me his favorite music and told me about his previous outings into the city. He told me about Modest Mouse, the Decemberists, and so much more. We went to every record store we came across and a book store we could barely walk through that we had to stand so intimately close to one another. I didn't mind.
After a few hours, I felt that we became really comfortable with one another. No second passed without either of us telling one another about ourselves. I wanted him to get to know every single part of me, but most of all I wanted him to like me. I took as many pictures as I could of him. I definitely wanted to remember that day and the face of the boy that could make me smile.
After a while, I felt that we really did start to become fond of another. Then he asked me if I wanted to sleep over his place. I had literally never slept over a another person's house before that point. My parents would definitely say no, I knew this, but I didn't want this chance to pass me by. I liked him so much, I didn't want the day to end, I wanted to tell him more about me, to learn more about him, to just be with him. I looked into his eyes, slightly smiled and said yes. Inside, I was afraid of what my parents would say. I knew that they would object and I didn't bother to tell them. All I knew was that I refused to prematurely end what I was feeling for this boy.
[to be continued]
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Online Friends
So I just got back from this guy Dan's house. I recently met him online and we planned to meet up for some coffee or whatnot. Let me digress for a moment by saying that it still feels kind of awkward when I say that I met someone online (and planned to meet them in person). It seems as if there's this social stigma on meeting someone online, yet it's more common than most people think. I understand that some people are uncomfortable with the idea as they think of questions such as, "Why is he looking to meet people online," "what if the guy he's meeting is a creep/homicidal maniac," and other questions similar to those. Yes, I am sure there are people that fit the stereotype of the online stranger with bad/perverse intentions, but I prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt. It hasn't gotten me into trouble yet... Except for that one situation with a true sociopath. Coincidentally, he was the only guy my friends approved of. Different story. I'm digressing from my first digression.
In any case, meeting people online enables me to meet those directly outside of my social circle, and by social circle I mean those within three degrees of separation from me. It's an adventure/learning experience, I would say. Overall, I've met people that are around my age, older than me, of different lifestyles, etc. It's interesting to see how I (un)successfully interact with them, what we can learn from one other, and if a friendship could develop. I guess it's very different from how most people do it, where one often meets prospective friends through mutual friends, events attended by both persons, etc. It freaks some people out, but it's an adventure to just dive in and see where my curiosity takes me. It's exhilarating in the sense that I am practicing my agency as an individual to meet others, to not rely on pre-constructed connections, but to actually seek those outside of my current awareness. It's hard to explain in words, it's something that one must experience for himself/herself.
Now, let me get back on topic... I planned to meet up with this guy named Dan, but he got off work pretty late, so we decided to just go over to his place and watch a movie. He showed me around his place, which represented his style really well. The way he dressed and the way his apartment was set up paralleled in style. I would categorize his style as casual, vintage, mildly hipster, but not mainstream-hipster... more like hipster by necessity and not out of pure desire/purchase, if that makes sense. I also learned that he used to work for the same company that I just recently quit from. For some reason I wasn't surprised, his personality seemed to fit the company's stereotypical employee; not a bad thing, just a matter of fact.
We decided to watch The Walking Dead which is this new television series about a man who wakes up in a hospital to a world plagued by zombies. The series' basic plot is based on the day-to-day lives of the survivors of the zombie apocalypse and how they construct/maintain their lives. What I really like about the show is the fact that zombies don't just come out at you, which is totally different from most zombie movies. In most zombie movies, you see the zombies come out of nowhere and scare the life out of you, but in this show you see them coming. I like the fact that I don't have to focus on the idea "Oh shit something's going to pop onto the screen any second now" and focus more on the storyline overall. I definitely can't wait to watch the following episodes. I'm a fan.
Obviously, since I'm here writing this, I didn't stay over. He didn't make any moves on me or anything and I'm not the type to make the first move. I didn't want to do anything physical with him anyways and I'm actually glad that he didn't make a move on me. I'm so used to guys verbally expressing themselves as gentlemen, but before the night ends they more than likely try to get something surpassing a kiss. I'm so used to this pattern that I kind of expected it to happen this time, but as I said, I'm glad it didn't. As agreed, I just came over to watch a movie/show and I went home. Coming to think of it, I know you might be saying, "In the past, you could have always told them to stop." That's true, I do have mutual responsibility to what happens to me, but for some reason I don't. Again, that's another story. I must say, though, it was somewhat nerve-wracking having to walk a few blocks through a quiet residential area to get to the train station. I thought that I was going to get attacked by zombies or something... maybe mugged. Fortunately, neither situations happened.
Overall, it had been decent night. I met a new person, got to enjoy a good television show (which I will now start following), and I didn't do anything regrettable.
In any case, meeting people online enables me to meet those directly outside of my social circle, and by social circle I mean those within three degrees of separation from me. It's an adventure/learning experience, I would say. Overall, I've met people that are around my age, older than me, of different lifestyles, etc. It's interesting to see how I (un)successfully interact with them, what we can learn from one other, and if a friendship could develop. I guess it's very different from how most people do it, where one often meets prospective friends through mutual friends, events attended by both persons, etc. It freaks some people out, but it's an adventure to just dive in and see where my curiosity takes me. It's exhilarating in the sense that I am practicing my agency as an individual to meet others, to not rely on pre-constructed connections, but to actually seek those outside of my current awareness. It's hard to explain in words, it's something that one must experience for himself/herself.
Now, let me get back on topic... I planned to meet up with this guy named Dan, but he got off work pretty late, so we decided to just go over to his place and watch a movie. He showed me around his place, which represented his style really well. The way he dressed and the way his apartment was set up paralleled in style. I would categorize his style as casual, vintage, mildly hipster, but not mainstream-hipster... more like hipster by necessity and not out of pure desire/purchase, if that makes sense. I also learned that he used to work for the same company that I just recently quit from. For some reason I wasn't surprised, his personality seemed to fit the company's stereotypical employee; not a bad thing, just a matter of fact.
We decided to watch The Walking Dead which is this new television series about a man who wakes up in a hospital to a world plagued by zombies. The series' basic plot is based on the day-to-day lives of the survivors of the zombie apocalypse and how they construct/maintain their lives. What I really like about the show is the fact that zombies don't just come out at you, which is totally different from most zombie movies. In most zombie movies, you see the zombies come out of nowhere and scare the life out of you, but in this show you see them coming. I like the fact that I don't have to focus on the idea "Oh shit something's going to pop onto the screen any second now" and focus more on the storyline overall. I definitely can't wait to watch the following episodes. I'm a fan.
Obviously, since I'm here writing this, I didn't stay over. He didn't make any moves on me or anything and I'm not the type to make the first move. I didn't want to do anything physical with him anyways and I'm actually glad that he didn't make a move on me. I'm so used to guys verbally expressing themselves as gentlemen, but before the night ends they more than likely try to get something surpassing a kiss. I'm so used to this pattern that I kind of expected it to happen this time, but as I said, I'm glad it didn't. As agreed, I just came over to watch a movie/show and I went home. Coming to think of it, I know you might be saying, "In the past, you could have always told them to stop." That's true, I do have mutual responsibility to what happens to me, but for some reason I don't. Again, that's another story. I must say, though, it was somewhat nerve-wracking having to walk a few blocks through a quiet residential area to get to the train station. I thought that I was going to get attacked by zombies or something... maybe mugged. Fortunately, neither situations happened.
Overall, it had been decent night. I met a new person, got to enjoy a good television show (which I will now start following), and I didn't do anything regrettable.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Why Do I Write?
To start off, I might as well be honest with myself and say that the idea of an audience had always motivated my writing. In the past, knowing/believing that someone, stranger or acquaintance, could be reading my writing motivated me to write blog posts and whatnot. Thinking back on it, I don't really know if I had ever actually written solely for myself. I started this blog to tackle that specific dilemma; I started this blog in hopes of finding a muse within myself. I believe that the most genuine writing, the words that have the clearest and strongest expression of ideas/emotions are those written for ourselves.
In the past, my writings were influenced by those around me. I wrote with a specific emphasis on certain ideas in order to reach out to certain people, while there were also times where I kept myself from expressing certain ideas in order to appease others. Even some of my most controversial writings were written to elicit a specific response from someone external to myself. Perhaps all writing is written for that purpose? I truly do wonder if it is possible to write just for personal self-reflection. Is it possible for me, specifically? Well, I guess that's the goal I'm trying to achieve here.
I want to write for myself, unhindered by the influence of others. I want to write for the purpose of possibly looking back and seeing how far or how much I've progressed. I want to qualitatively compare my growth as a person from the point of writing this to the time in the future when I'm reading this. I recently told a friend of mine about this blog, he's the only one that currently knows about it. Now, I wonder if the idea of him knowing about this blog will impose some sort of influence on me. Well, come to think of it, I do remember acknowledging this dilemma before I even told him. I told him that he can read it as long as he promises never to discuss or share his opinions with me concerning this blog. I guess I should leave it at that. Sometimes knowing that someone else could be listening is nice.
After I found out that I can actually get my blog printed into a hard-copy book, I felt as if perhaps my motives inevitably changed. Now, I also question as to whether I'm truly writing for the sake of self-fulfillment or if I'm writing in order to fill up pages of a book. Perhaps I'm just over-thinking it, since being encouraged by the idea of having written a book of my own personal thoughts isn't necessarily a bad thing. I guess acknowledging the problematic possibility of writing just for the sake of filling up pages solved the problem in itself. Now, I can consciously direct my attention to the reasons I want to have for writing: self-reflection and growth.
Where to go on from here? Who knows, but I'll keep on writing. I just needed to address certain thoughts that I believed might hinder me from continuing this blog. That's not the case, fortunately. I'll keep on writing, for the sake of writing, whatever my writing's intentions may be.
In the past, my writings were influenced by those around me. I wrote with a specific emphasis on certain ideas in order to reach out to certain people, while there were also times where I kept myself from expressing certain ideas in order to appease others. Even some of my most controversial writings were written to elicit a specific response from someone external to myself. Perhaps all writing is written for that purpose? I truly do wonder if it is possible to write just for personal self-reflection. Is it possible for me, specifically? Well, I guess that's the goal I'm trying to achieve here.
I want to write for myself, unhindered by the influence of others. I want to write for the purpose of possibly looking back and seeing how far or how much I've progressed. I want to qualitatively compare my growth as a person from the point of writing this to the time in the future when I'm reading this. I recently told a friend of mine about this blog, he's the only one that currently knows about it. Now, I wonder if the idea of him knowing about this blog will impose some sort of influence on me. Well, come to think of it, I do remember acknowledging this dilemma before I even told him. I told him that he can read it as long as he promises never to discuss or share his opinions with me concerning this blog. I guess I should leave it at that. Sometimes knowing that someone else could be listening is nice.
After I found out that I can actually get my blog printed into a hard-copy book, I felt as if perhaps my motives inevitably changed. Now, I also question as to whether I'm truly writing for the sake of self-fulfillment or if I'm writing in order to fill up pages of a book. Perhaps I'm just over-thinking it, since being encouraged by the idea of having written a book of my own personal thoughts isn't necessarily a bad thing. I guess acknowledging the problematic possibility of writing just for the sake of filling up pages solved the problem in itself. Now, I can consciously direct my attention to the reasons I want to have for writing: self-reflection and growth.
Where to go on from here? Who knows, but I'll keep on writing. I just needed to address certain thoughts that I believed might hinder me from continuing this blog. That's not the case, fortunately. I'll keep on writing, for the sake of writing, whatever my writing's intentions may be.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Language
Well, it's been a week or two since I've written. Everyday, it crosses my mind how I should write a blog post, just to write, anything, just to write for the sake of writing. Unfortunately, I come up with some excuse: "I'm tired, if I write something right now, it'd be low-quality" or "I have too many things to do or finish up." Of course, with the latter, I often don't succeed in finishing those things I'm suppose to do/finish, I end up staring at Facebook or looking for someone to interact with (going out for dinner, smoke hookah, those sort of interactive activities). So instead of actually doing something as an individual, I end up waiting for someone else who might want to do something. In a sense, I lose my own agency as an individual. Kind of sucks. We need to change that. I'm guessing that's what one would call "independence".
In any case, I learned a few things since I last wrote a blog.
1) I use "like" too many times when verbally expressing myself.
2) I use "that's the thing" to start a sentence too many times in verbal conversations.
3) I feel conflicted in trying to avoid telling a friend that perhaps his clothes are too tight on him, yet he brings up the dilemma that he hears of it so much from his family and I always see him awkwardly sucking in his stomach...
Concerning the first two points, a friend I recently had dinner with told me that I use the word "like" and the phrase "that's the thing" when expressing myself verbally. I can understand why I do it, I don't like it, but it's also difficult to stop myself from doing it. It takes so much cognitive effort to express your thoughts while also keeping in mind how you're saying something. I mean, when he brought this to my attention, I started noticing my excessive use of the two phrases, it's insane! I assume that, for me, it's a nervous tic and using those two words as "fillers" enables me to keep talking without stopping mid-sentence to think of what I want to say or how I want to say it; it's those instances where I'm at a loss for words that I feel nervous. I'm afraid of seeming stupid, basically, by not being able to talk in a smooth, consistent manner. That's where the nervous tic comes from I guess. In any case, I'm trying my best to stop my verbal habit of profusely using "like" and "that's the thing." I'm sure I'll sound far more intelligent and more agreeable to listen to.
Secondly, there's the dilemma with my friend. Whenever I hang out with him, he brings up how his family perceives his weight is brought up. Of course, I can sense that it bothers him that his family perceives him to be larger than how he perceives himself; he buys/wears clothes that his family tells him are too small for him. As a friend, who do I side with? When I am around him, I can sense that he's sucking his stomach in and for some reason it makes me feel uncomfortable.
There was a situation where I went shopping with him. We both went into the fitting rooms to try on clothes that we chose for ourselves. When he asked me what I thought about what he tried on, I honestly didn't like what he had on. It didn't suit his body, it fit him too tightly and hugged him in the wrong places. I'm a bad liar and I didn't know what to tell him, so I tried to use ambiguous phrases such as "it's nice" or "do you like it?" I'm sure he sensed my discomfort since he finally said, "Honestly, what do you think? You can tell me, do you honestly think I'm fat in this?" Of course, I couldn't lie at that point, so I just told him that the clothes he had on might be a little too small, I could sense his negative reaction, he was disheartened...
I told him that I'm willing to work out with him and we can help each other stay on track with eating wisely/healthily, but I haven't really received a compliant response from him.
In any case, that's all for today folks, I'll write again soon.
In any case, I learned a few things since I last wrote a blog.
1) I use "like" too many times when verbally expressing myself.
2) I use "that's the thing" to start a sentence too many times in verbal conversations.
3) I feel conflicted in trying to avoid telling a friend that perhaps his clothes are too tight on him, yet he brings up the dilemma that he hears of it so much from his family and I always see him awkwardly sucking in his stomach...
Concerning the first two points, a friend I recently had dinner with told me that I use the word "like" and the phrase "that's the thing" when expressing myself verbally. I can understand why I do it, I don't like it, but it's also difficult to stop myself from doing it. It takes so much cognitive effort to express your thoughts while also keeping in mind how you're saying something. I mean, when he brought this to my attention, I started noticing my excessive use of the two phrases, it's insane! I assume that, for me, it's a nervous tic and using those two words as "fillers" enables me to keep talking without stopping mid-sentence to think of what I want to say or how I want to say it; it's those instances where I'm at a loss for words that I feel nervous. I'm afraid of seeming stupid, basically, by not being able to talk in a smooth, consistent manner. That's where the nervous tic comes from I guess. In any case, I'm trying my best to stop my verbal habit of profusely using "like" and "that's the thing." I'm sure I'll sound far more intelligent and more agreeable to listen to.
Secondly, there's the dilemma with my friend. Whenever I hang out with him, he brings up how his family perceives his weight is brought up. Of course, I can sense that it bothers him that his family perceives him to be larger than how he perceives himself; he buys/wears clothes that his family tells him are too small for him. As a friend, who do I side with? When I am around him, I can sense that he's sucking his stomach in and for some reason it makes me feel uncomfortable.
There was a situation where I went shopping with him. We both went into the fitting rooms to try on clothes that we chose for ourselves. When he asked me what I thought about what he tried on, I honestly didn't like what he had on. It didn't suit his body, it fit him too tightly and hugged him in the wrong places. I'm a bad liar and I didn't know what to tell him, so I tried to use ambiguous phrases such as "it's nice" or "do you like it?" I'm sure he sensed my discomfort since he finally said, "Honestly, what do you think? You can tell me, do you honestly think I'm fat in this?" Of course, I couldn't lie at that point, so I just told him that the clothes he had on might be a little too small, I could sense his negative reaction, he was disheartened...
I told him that I'm willing to work out with him and we can help each other stay on track with eating wisely/healthily, but I haven't really received a compliant response from him.
In any case, that's all for today folks, I'll write again soon.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Les Amis
So, it's technically about an hour into Tuesday, but I'll be writing this post as if it's still Monday. I'm tired and I know I should go to sleep, but I thought I'd write a thing or two; I'd feel so frickin' guilty if I get out of habit of writing... as I did in my previous attempts to restarts my blog(s).
Anyways, today (Monday) was a pretty decent day. Went to all my classes, which I am really proud of. Realized that perhaps I should take more responsibility for my actions and not ditch one class to finish my homework/projects for another; I should just suck it up and accept the consequences of my laziness and procrastination. Anyways, I just thought of this: it's easier for my to ditch class in order to finish a project for another class rather than to go to my class empty-handed since the saliency of being in a class empty-handed feels more shameful compared to one's absence from class, where there is no imposing consequence. Anyways, yea, there's my academic ramble.
Today, I met up with a high school buddy of mine, someone I haven't talked to since my Freshman year of high school. We lost contact for various reasons, mainly because he was an annoying, immature prick at that point. Luckily, it seems like he has changed. He's more considerate, friendly, socially mature, and definitely way hotter. I asked him if I had changed since he last saw me five or so years ago. He said no, which I suspected since I look in the mirror and still see the same kid from five years ago, whereas he seems to have improved so much: physically and personality-wise. I guess in a way I want to improve myself too, I don't want to be the same kid I was back then. Sure, retrograding isn't a problem, but I also don't want to just stay stagnant. I feel like I've gotten through life by being decent looking, average intelligence, etc. I want to look back five years or even a year from now and see major positive improvements in myself: I want to reach my fullest potential, which I don't believe I have. I know confidence plays a big role as well since it seems like confidence gives people a certain glow to them, something I think I once had.
I guess, at this point, I need to put action behind my words.
Kenny
Anyways, today (Monday) was a pretty decent day. Went to all my classes, which I am really proud of. Realized that perhaps I should take more responsibility for my actions and not ditch one class to finish my homework/projects for another; I should just suck it up and accept the consequences of my laziness and procrastination. Anyways, I just thought of this: it's easier for my to ditch class in order to finish a project for another class rather than to go to my class empty-handed since the saliency of being in a class empty-handed feels more shameful compared to one's absence from class, where there is no imposing consequence. Anyways, yea, there's my academic ramble.
Today, I met up with a high school buddy of mine, someone I haven't talked to since my Freshman year of high school. We lost contact for various reasons, mainly because he was an annoying, immature prick at that point. Luckily, it seems like he has changed. He's more considerate, friendly, socially mature, and definitely way hotter. I asked him if I had changed since he last saw me five or so years ago. He said no, which I suspected since I look in the mirror and still see the same kid from five years ago, whereas he seems to have improved so much: physically and personality-wise. I guess in a way I want to improve myself too, I don't want to be the same kid I was back then. Sure, retrograding isn't a problem, but I also don't want to just stay stagnant. I feel like I've gotten through life by being decent looking, average intelligence, etc. I want to look back five years or even a year from now and see major positive improvements in myself: I want to reach my fullest potential, which I don't believe I have. I know confidence plays a big role as well since it seems like confidence gives people a certain glow to them, something I think I once had.
I guess, at this point, I need to put action behind my words.
Kenny
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Visage
I always wondered what it meant to be pretty, to be handsome, to be beautiful. I always believed that there is something beautiful about someone. Even if they're not breathtaking, they have at least one thing they could be complimented on. Yet when I reflect on myself, I can see the things I want to appreciate, yet I can't get myself to do so.
I look in the mirror and I see the things I like, but then my mind turn to thoughts on how others would perceive me. I wonder whether people outside of myself, beyond my own sights, would see what I see. I wonder if they would see beauty. Of course, it's irrational of me to believe that there is some sort of universal opinion as to whether someone is beautiful or whatnot. I mean, there are those that automatically catch our attention and there are those that we can give a few compliments to. I know that I'm not the former, but to think that what we can attain, even if it is something we never truly had control over, is limited to the latter, it's upsetting at the least.
Is it possible to see beauty in oneself? Is it possible to find that belief and self-sufficiently fuel it with no dependency on those external to us? I've come across a few people that seem to not give a shit about what others think and find confidence within themselves, yet through an internal perspective, I feel as if everything I believe, feel, and see is based on external opinion; specifically, how I see myself. I want to believe that I'm someone of worth, someone worth loving, someone who deserves to be happy, someone who is beautiful. Yet contrary to my desires, I feel as if my worth as a person, my worth as a beloved, whether I deserve to be happy or not, and whether I am attractive all depends on how others see me... Is it possible to find worth in ourselves? To see ourselves as being worthy and beautiful even if the world disagrees?
I look in the mirror and I see the things I like, but then my mind turn to thoughts on how others would perceive me. I wonder whether people outside of myself, beyond my own sights, would see what I see. I wonder if they would see beauty. Of course, it's irrational of me to believe that there is some sort of universal opinion as to whether someone is beautiful or whatnot. I mean, there are those that automatically catch our attention and there are those that we can give a few compliments to. I know that I'm not the former, but to think that what we can attain, even if it is something we never truly had control over, is limited to the latter, it's upsetting at the least.
Is it possible to see beauty in oneself? Is it possible to find that belief and self-sufficiently fuel it with no dependency on those external to us? I've come across a few people that seem to not give a shit about what others think and find confidence within themselves, yet through an internal perspective, I feel as if everything I believe, feel, and see is based on external opinion; specifically, how I see myself. I want to believe that I'm someone of worth, someone worth loving, someone who deserves to be happy, someone who is beautiful. Yet contrary to my desires, I feel as if my worth as a person, my worth as a beloved, whether I deserve to be happy or not, and whether I am attractive all depends on how others see me... Is it possible to find worth in ourselves? To see ourselves as being worthy and beautiful even if the world disagrees?
Friday, October 22, 2010
Family
I'm currently visiting my family back in the suburbs. It's been about three weeks since I've come to see them. To tell you the truth, it's a little more stressful to be here. I feel more constrained and upset when I'm here. Just too much negative energy I guess.
I recently quit my food service just because I felt like my heart was no longer in it and I didn't really feel like it's leading me anywhere. I thought it'd be best to focus more on possibly looking for some volunteer work or internships that would be more relevant to my current field of study (psychology).
Once I told my mother that I had quit from my job, she was actually pretty elated. She never really liked the idea of me working, some sort of maternal pride I guess. But in any case, she told me that she'd financially support me and that I should focus on my academic work.
And now, here we are, dear reader, sitting in my parent's dining room. Well, at least I am, but you know what I mean. Just found out that my parents are claiming bankruptcy, so that pretty much made me worry of my own finances; the word bankruptcy pretty much contradicts what my mother said about financially supporting me while I'm in school. I should start looking for a job.
But in any case, here I am. It has been at least 24 hours since I had gone to sleep. Why you might ask? Due to an illness I have called procrastination. No early onset symptoms, but when it gets to a cyclic stage called "DUE DATES" bags under the eyes due to all-nighters, coffee-stained teeth, and skin just looking really dreadful due to the lack of sleep and overdose in caffeine. I jest. I'm sure you knew that.
Kind of ironic though that I finished my paper just on time only to realize that my professor pushed the deadline back by 24 hrs. Silly Billy. In any case, yea, let's leave it at that.
I recently quit my food service just because I felt like my heart was no longer in it and I didn't really feel like it's leading me anywhere. I thought it'd be best to focus more on possibly looking for some volunteer work or internships that would be more relevant to my current field of study (psychology).
Once I told my mother that I had quit from my job, she was actually pretty elated. She never really liked the idea of me working, some sort of maternal pride I guess. But in any case, she told me that she'd financially support me and that I should focus on my academic work.
And now, here we are, dear reader, sitting in my parent's dining room. Well, at least I am, but you know what I mean. Just found out that my parents are claiming bankruptcy, so that pretty much made me worry of my own finances; the word bankruptcy pretty much contradicts what my mother said about financially supporting me while I'm in school. I should start looking for a job.
But in any case, here I am. It has been at least 24 hours since I had gone to sleep. Why you might ask? Due to an illness I have called procrastination. No early onset symptoms, but when it gets to a cyclic stage called "DUE DATES" bags under the eyes due to all-nighters, coffee-stained teeth, and skin just looking really dreadful due to the lack of sleep and overdose in caffeine. I jest. I'm sure you knew that.
Kind of ironic though that I finished my paper just on time only to realize that my professor pushed the deadline back by 24 hrs. Silly Billy. In any case, yea, let's leave it at that.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Qui Suis-Je?
Who am I?
Am I an asshole, a bitch, a charmer, an altruistic man? Can't I be all of that at one point or another? Perhaps all at the same time? I must admit though, it was far more difficult for me to come up with positive descriptions like "altruistic man" than to come up with "asshole" or "bitch". Perhaps it means something? Perhaps not. Who knows.
But seriously, who am I?
People will surely put labels on us in order to convince us that we are who they think we are. But is that what our identities are contingent upon? Partially? Wholly? They say that people outside of ourselves are more accurate in reading who we are. What does that mean really? Our personalities, our intentions, or who they think we are in terms of their own affects? If it's the last one, then are they really that much more accurate in identifying who we are than we are in identifying ourselves?
Honestly, at this point, I guess I'm just rambling. I apologize, let me get back on the subject. What I'm saying is, I want to stop perceiving the words of others as truth and fact in terms of who I am. I want to look within myself and meet and learn the person that I inherently am before I let others define me. Is that possible though? Is it possible to find ourselves in an internal vacuum of mental space, absent of labels, external influence, and the sorts and find our true, innate self-interests? Or are we truly constructs of our social interactions?
Perhaps the latter is true, but that doesn't mean the former is absolutely false, right? I guess in a sense, with both questions combined, my question is: Am I strong enough to mold the person I am with just as much (if not more) certainty and conviction as others do in their attempts to mold those outside of themselves?
I guess that's a question that you, dear reader, will accompany me in finding the answer to.
Am I an asshole, a bitch, a charmer, an altruistic man? Can't I be all of that at one point or another? Perhaps all at the same time? I must admit though, it was far more difficult for me to come up with positive descriptions like "altruistic man" than to come up with "asshole" or "bitch". Perhaps it means something? Perhaps not. Who knows.
But seriously, who am I?
People will surely put labels on us in order to convince us that we are who they think we are. But is that what our identities are contingent upon? Partially? Wholly? They say that people outside of ourselves are more accurate in reading who we are. What does that mean really? Our personalities, our intentions, or who they think we are in terms of their own affects? If it's the last one, then are they really that much more accurate in identifying who we are than we are in identifying ourselves?
Honestly, at this point, I guess I'm just rambling. I apologize, let me get back on the subject. What I'm saying is, I want to stop perceiving the words of others as truth and fact in terms of who I am. I want to look within myself and meet and learn the person that I inherently am before I let others define me. Is that possible though? Is it possible to find ourselves in an internal vacuum of mental space, absent of labels, external influence, and the sorts and find our true, innate self-interests? Or are we truly constructs of our social interactions?
Perhaps the latter is true, but that doesn't mean the former is absolutely false, right? I guess in a sense, with both questions combined, my question is: Am I strong enough to mold the person I am with just as much (if not more) certainty and conviction as others do in their attempts to mold those outside of themselves?
I guess that's a question that you, dear reader, will accompany me in finding the answer to.
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