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?
Sunday, November 28, 2010
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.
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