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.
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