Self-Esteem Issues

I used to not be as insecure as I am today. In the past, especially during my middle-school years, I didn't give a shit about what others thought about me. All right, perhaps that's not entirely true, even though I was aware of the negative criticisms, I never let it affect me. I was flamboyant (borderline flamer), expressive, and most important of all, I was happy.

At some point, I changed. I admit I have become jaded. Even though I told myself that I will never become jaded or consider myself a victim, I still turned out to be. I was so afraid of becoming something that the fear of becoming "it" kept me from seeing my very fears creeping up on me. At one point, I was an expressive person; I took pride in that. Everything that I felt and thought, I was able to verbalize in words. People admired how in-tuned I was with my emotions. I was never confused or uncertain about how I felt and I always trusted my intuition.

Whenever I take a step forward, I become afraid and take two steps back. Whenever opportunities were presented to me, I would get ahold of them, then let go too soon. I have become so afraid and so affected by others' opinion of me that my own opinion became lost to them. Often, I thought, "I don't deserve this positive opportunity," or, "someone else is more well-deserving." What I thought others thought of me became my thoughts, my opinions, my direction. I became so afraid to commit because I didn't know when in the future I would be let down again. I became a gray canvas because I am too afraid to be my inherent self, too afraid to be criticized, too afraid to be alone. I was a gray canvas, not blank, because there is a self I am aware of, but have tried over and over again to paint over.

I am where I am now because I am in between two phases. I have let others determine who I am, yet I am aware of the individuality I possess. There is conflict between two identities as one is a part of me that wants to be accepted (no matter the cost), therefore passively letting others determine my identity, and the latter that desires me to stand for something, to stand up for myself, to express the opinions and thoughts I've come to suppress, and to just be me.

I don't know what specifically changed me. Sure, I could think of key events in my life that might have steered me towards the direction I am facing today, but I'd rather not dwell on them. Dwelling on the past would only tempt me to rationalize what has already happened and make excuses out of them. At this point, I've already made too many excuses, I've mourned and reflected, and now it's time to move on. Where exactly do I move on from here?

How can I reconcile the two and be the person that will make me the happiest?

I Feel Degraded

For the past two weeks I have been trying to get into this certain professor's Italian-101 course. I wasn't able to simply register into the class since the class was full by the time I could register for classes for this semester. When I spoke with the professor at the beginning of the semester (i.e. two weeks ago), she told me that she can't do anything during the first week since it's add/drop week. She suggested that I come to each class, participate, try to get in the class if a seat opens during the first week, and if not, she'll see what she can do the following week.

After a week of going to an 8am class at below 10 degree weather every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and participating as if I was actually registered for the class, the professor tells me to talk to the chairperson of the department. When I spoke with the chairperson, he told me to pick up a course add/drop override form from the dean's office, get it signed by the professor, and he'd sign it. When I went to the dean's office/advisory office, they told me they no longer used the form that the chairperson was talking about and all they'd need is a signed notice signifying permission from the chairperson. I tried to go back to the department chairperson's office to explain what the advisory office had told me, but he was no longer there. Afterward, I e-mailed the professor and told her the whole situation with the chairperson wanting a documentation of her permission and that the advisory office just needed the chairperson's permission. So in essence, all I needed was for the professor to e-mail the chairperson, who can then give me a documentation of his permission, which I could pass on to the dean's office. Of course, the professor didn't reply to my e-mail, but the e-mail system my school runs on showed that she had opened it an hour after I sent it.

After going through that whole situation, I came to class, participated, and tried to talk to the professor again after class. I asked her if she had received my message and what she thought I should do. She said that she'll talk to the department chair, then she said, "You better not make me regret this. You're making a lot more work for me. You better not make me regret doing this," in this annoyed tone. In my head I was thinking, "Is she threatening me? I get to class every morning before anyone else does, I actually am the one to turn on the lights in class, and I participate as much (if not more than) any of her registered students just to prove my commitment." I felt so degraded as if I was an unnecessary inconvenience to her. Yes, I know that adding one more student to a closed course can add a little bit more workload for her like grading an extra quiz/exam, getting participation from one extra student, adding one more name to her roster, but was it really necessary for her to make me feel like I was wasting her time? Did she really have to threaten me?

Today, I went to class again, participated, and tried to talk to her and ask her what's going on with the whole situation. My exact words to her were, "***** I was wondering about the course override." She replied, "What about it?" I responded, "Well, I was wondering if I've been registered in your class?" She replied, "Well, non, you told me that you were confused as to whether a course add/drop form would be necessary. Once you find out, get back to me." Again, in my mind, I was thinking, "Why is she being so apprehensive towards me? Didn't she say that she would talk to the department chairperson herself?" I felt like I was just slapped in the face. I felt so low at that point.

A little later, I went to the advisement office and talked to another advisor. I explained the whole situation to him, how I've basically been passed around from one school administrator to another and with no answers. In the end, the advisor basically just told me what I've been hearing the past few days I've tried to settle this whole situation, "Ask the professor to e-mail me saying that she gives you permission." In essence, I've been running around for the past week trying to get some person's permission who only points me to the people who told me to get the former's permission in the first place before the latter gives me theirs.

I'm frustrated and I feel degraded by these people. How can these people call themselves educators? They're so blinded by the bureaucracy that they lost sight of their main goal: to teach and nurture students' education. All that these people have done is humiliate me and belittle my desire to learn. I want to get into a class because I want to learn. I have been sitting and participating in the class every Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 8am and getting there before anyone else, so they can't tell me they don't have a seat for me; I've been sitting in one. I cannot believe that these people can pride themselves in the notion that they're positively influencing the futures of students. I want to learn. I am committed to learn. I have been trying to prove that to them, but all they do is pass me on to someone else because none of them want to send the simple e-mail to one other person among them with a statement as simple as, "Kenneth has permission to be in this class." Instead, they prefer to have me run around between each of them, nod my head, accept some bullshit excuse that the previous person also gave, and go back and forth with the same message.

These people are not educators. They do not deserve to take pride in such a title.

Searching for Mr. Stranger

I found the guy I met on the train on Facebook. Yes, I know it sounds kind of creepy that I was able to find him just by his first name and where we he mentioned he worked. I want to assure you that I'm not a creeper or a stalker at all, this is the first time I've ever done something close to "Googling" a stranger. If you knew that you could possibly find the guy you believe you made a connection with, wouldn't you? Considering the whole scenario: he started the conversation with a mere stranger (me) in the dead of winter for no apparent cause or benefit to him, he continued a conversation with me even after we got on the train (there were empty seats, yet he chose to stand across the aisle from me near the doors), and a stop before I got to my train stop he suddenly decided to tell me that he was seeing Black Swan at 7:45pm. Who tells a random stranger that they're going to see a specific movie at a specific time, when no preceding statements from either persons related to cinema, entertainment, etc.? Is it reasonable for me to believe that he told me that specific information for some reason other than to tell me he's going to see a movie?

In any case, before I decided to message the guy on Facebook, I asked a few of my friends (heterosexual females, one homosexual male, and my heterosexual male roommates) if I was just imagining the connection I thought I felt and if it would be too creepy to pursue/message him. Also, keep in mind that when I tell stories, I try to be as elaborate as I can in recalling situational details and dialogue in order to keep the story as objective as I can. So after telling each of my friends the whole situation, they all believe that I wasn't imagining the possibility that he was hitting on me and that I should message him. The overall belief amongst my friends was the fact that I have nothing to lose. Sure, perhaps it will result in this stranger thinking that I'm a fucking creep or I may befriend a really great guy. Either way, I at least would have found certainty.

So the following excerpt is the message I sent him via Facebook after getting a few tips on how to write it from my roommate Gabe.

Hey Dan, it's Kenny, I don't know if you remembered, but we met on the train this past weekend. What's up?

I know this might be kind of weird, but I remembered you telling me that you worked at ****** ****** Dance Company, so I thought I might try and hit you up. I enjoyed our conversation on the train and I thought that perhaps you might want to get some coffee the next time you're in the city?

Hello Stranger, are You my Lover?

Earlier this evening, I met a guy.

I was standing on the train platform zipping up my coat when I quickly glanced to the left me to see if the train was coming. At that point, I realized that a guy standing in the direction I was facing, was looking at me. When I realized that we were making eye contact, he smiled. I looked away then looked towards his direction and smiled as well. After I glanced at him the second time and smiled at him, he pointed out the book I was holding; I had bought Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom an hour or so earlier. He told me how he had read the book a few years back and how it was really inspirational. I didn't really know how to respond since a stranger has never struck a conversation with me before (unless they obviously were insane), especially a cute guy. For the most part, before the train arrived, I asked him what I could expect from the book and if I would like it; he said I would.

When we got on the train, he kept standing and so did I. We stood two to three feet away from one another. After we passed a train stop, he asked me if the train we were on was going to stop at a certain train stop. I said it would. I took a small leap of faith and introduced myself; his name is Dan. We then started talking about school, a little more about the book, where he's from, where I'm from, and those sort of things. I learned that he's a ballroom dance teacher in the suburb where he lived, he studied communications, he has two brothers, and he studied abroad in Australia. The whole time he was talking, I couldn't stop looking into his eyes. He had this chestnut brown eyes that we dark, but light enough where I could still see his pupils. He also had this smile that was sincere and sweet. I thought to myself whether he noticed me looking at him more intimately than just a stranger casually talking to another; I definitely felt myself attracted to him.

He told me that he was in the city for the weekend and stay at one of his girlfriends'. The first time he mentioned the word girlfriend, I thought, "He's straight and he has a girlfriend." It didn't get me down or anything. A part of me held onto his exact words, "... one of my girlfriends," meaning that it wasn't a girlfriend as in an intimate, sexually committed partner. The second time that he mentioned that he was in the city and staying with one of his girlfriends, he caught himself and clarified that it was just a friend that was a girl; I was relieved not just because of the fact that he possibly didn't have a girlfriend (meaning he was possibly single and attracted to men), but I also tried to interpret why he tried to clarify that his "girlfriend" was just a friend that was a girl.

Anyways, when we got closer to my stop he mentioned that he was going to see Black Swan at 7:45pm later that night. I said that I've never seen it before and how I really wanted to see it. I kept on repeating how I'd love to see it, hoping that he would get the hint that I'd want to see it with him, but I guess he never got the hint or he wasn't attracted to begin with. When the train pulled up to my stop and I was motioning to get off, he said, "Oh, is this your stop?" I said it was, I shook his hand, told him that it was a pleasure meeting him and that I hope to see him around the city again.

When I got off the platform, I started to think how stupid I was. I should have just taken a chance and asked for his number, but my nerves got the best of me. I never really got rejected before. Usually, I just let guys pursue me, which has perhaps led to many chances passing me by. So, I got back on the platform hoping to catch him at the stop he mentioned earlier and perhaps ask him for his number or ask him if he needed company for the movie. Whatever the case may be, even if I would get rejected, I would have at least tried.

Unfortunately, the train that would take me to where I expected him to be was ten minutes late, so I expected him to no longer be at the train station he was heading towards, and he would have caught the other train he was supposed to take. Even so, I hoped that Fate would be so kind and give me another chance. When I got there, as expected, he was no longer there. I kept hope in the possibility that he would possibly be at the closest major theater that he could possibly see Black Swan, considering that the area where he was heading towards only has one major theater. When I got there, the marquee didn't have a showing at 7:45pm, so it was quite likely he went to a different movie theater in the suburb where he lived.

I tried to make the best of it and bought a ticket for Black Swan anyways. The movie was good, but I definitely couldn't wait to get home. When I got home, I quickly got on the computer and wrote an ad on Missed Connections, where I described our meeting, him, and how I'd love to see him again. I do hope that he knows of missed connections and somehow he finds my ad.

This whole experience just proved to me how beautiful Serendipity unknowingly works. I do believe that my serendipitous meeting with Dan was magical, perhaps just a stroke of chance. Nonetheless, it has made me remember the great, beautiful mysteries that one can come across in the world.

I do hope I see him again.

A Cryptic Message from Myself

I was at a train terminal and I was putting my farecard in the slot, some woman behind me pushed herself to my back and put her farecard along with mine. She then pushed her bodies forward along with mine, which made us stumble through the gate.

The next thing I remember, I was in some small amusement park that had a Disney theme to it. I was standing a few feet away from a roller coaster ride, and as it was going down it's first slope, it turned over and off the track. All the Disney characters rushed to the accident and started picking up each passenger one by one. Donald Duck and Mulan were about to turn over the roller coaster car, which is when I thought they'd discover some dead, mangled body. They didn't find anyone under it, which caused the Disney characters to dance and say that there were 100% no serious casualties.

I then found myself in Canada with my grandmother, where I was interviewing her about death. I was asking her if she had ever thought about death and the sort. I don't remember her responses, but I just remember her responding to everything I said. It was night time, for some reason that small detail stood out.

The dream shifted again and I was in some random suburban house that I didn't recognize. It was mid-afternoon, it was sunny and summertime. My parents are sitting at the kitchen table with me and in this dream, I had the notion that my parents were divorced, but on good terms. I was having a discussion with them about living my life and being free. My mother than started to go into her guilt-ridding dialogue of how her children want to leave her and the sort. I tried to explain myself, but for some reason I couldn't speak the language I was trying to explain myself in. My father then chimes in and tells me that there's room in this random suburban house. I refused his offer and explained that I just want to be free and have the liberty to live. I don't want them to take it as if I am trying to leave them, but a matter of me just wanting to experience the life they've given to me.

What did these dream sequences mean? The second part definitely didn't make sense. The latter two seemed so real that when I woke up, I felt somewhat confused. For some reason, the dreams that seem so vivid to me have a roller coaster and a train platform/terminal. What is my mind trying to tell me? Is it even trying to tell me something or are they just mere neurons firing?

What's a Fag to a Fag Hag?

During the welcome week of freshman year, I was a total social butterfly. Once I had all my stuff in my dorm, I kept the door open greeting anyone that would pass by. I made so many friends and I would often hear my name being called left and right. I had people constantly calling my phone asking me to come join them in whatever it was they were doing. I honestly thought that everything would be different compared to high school; it was a new school, a new opportunity to be what I wanted to be without the limits set by reputation and parental control. From the moment I would wake up, I felt like I had something to look forward to, people I couldn't wait to see.

This school year is/was different. The people I called my dearest friends from last year are no longer around. A few of them, I haven't seen or heard from in the past 4-5 months, yet they live less than two blocks away. Is it because I no longer wish to go out to the bars and drink every weekend like they do? Was I truly even a friend to them as they are to one another?

I often blame myself for what has happened. I expected all of us to be a family of some sort, but I guess it wasn't the sort of friendship they were looking for. The close intimate relationship I wanted with them wasn't the sort they wanted from me. Why would they? The whole group consisted of girls, where I was the only guy. They were ignorant to the instances where I was left out because I was the one that was different, not them. No matter how I put it, I am a guy and I was hanging out with a bunch of girls. Yes, I am gay, the diplomatic bridge between men and women, but I still have a penis hanging between both my legs and certainly a full-fledged man. Whether they were conscious of it or not, it was a common trait between them (i.e. their femaleness) that provided a deeper connection for them to share.

Yes, a gay is a girl's best friend, but at what point is a girl a best friend to the gay as much as he is to her? The television show Sex & the City comes to mind. One scene in particular, Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha, Miranda, and Stanford were watching a fashion show when Stanford overheard Carrie talking about going out later that night. Stanford enthusiastically asked Carrie, "Where are we going?" Carrie hesitantly responded, "Oh, I thought it would be just a girl's night out, is that okay?" Often, those were the sort of situations I'd find myself in. I found myself investing so much time and effort in maintaining friendships with these girls that I came to think of them as my central group of friends. But when I realized that the feeling wasn't mutual, I found myself at a loss. Gays were always too nasty and unjustifiably competitive with one another, I was socially conditioned to stay away from heterosexual boys, and the girls I spent so much time with didn't see me as an equal, whether they were cognizant of it or not...

To try an put it in clearer terms... I accepted the fact that I was gay at a very early age, at an age where I was the only gay person I knew; I was 11 years old. At that point, guys made fun of me and they often ostracized me. If one guy showed any sympathy for me or try to befriend me, other guys would ridicule him, so I basically became a social leper to the guys of my school. At that point, girls were the only friends I could turn to. As far as I knew, they were the only ones willing to interact with me. As time went on and the guys continued to share their apprehension towards me, I never really got the chance to develop my social interaction skills with other guys. They feared that I would perhaps turn them gay or try to make a move on them. I knew that this would never happen because I was never attracted to straight guys. Nonetheless, I habitually learned to stay away from them. It was ingrained into me that me being gay scared guys and I didn't want to bother them or get myself rejected and be humiliated, so I stayed away. In the end, girls were the only people I came to depend on.

Unfortunately, as the years went on, I came to realize how gendered society was depending on age groups. Now in my early adulthood, it seems clearer to me that girls have their solid group of female friends as their central group, men have their solid group of male friends as their central group (which I never felt welcome to join), and I'm stuck in the empty space between these two spheres of gendered society.

Is there something wrong with me? Am I that much of a social failure?

Why I Want to Study Abroad

The following is something that I wrote for the essay portion of my study abroad application. Of course, I could have elaborated on a few things, but there is a one page (double-spaced) limit on the essay, unfortunately... Anyways, any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, thanks!

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Being a part of the world is a concept that can be described as gaining an awareness of what makes one different from others and finding common ground. By allowing myself to gain experience outside of the community/environment I am so accustomed to and experience things that are unfamiliar, perhaps even contrary to my own ideals, I will gain a higher level of reverence and awareness for a world outside of my own. Also, with faculty and peer support that emphasizes on the concept of “cura personalis” (i.e. caring for the whole person), I am certain that I will have the confidence and courage to strive for success whether it be in my community or abroad.
    Most people never get the chance to see a world outside of their own neighborhood. Studying abroad is an opportunity that holds a sense of adventure that many people never experience; it is an opportunity that I do not want to regret ever passing me by. As a Loyola University Chicago student, I know that I have other study abroad options such as Aix-en-Provence or Beijing. Nevertheless, I desire to study at the John Felice Rome Center in Rome, Italy because it will give me enough exposure to a culture so interestingly different from my own, but still provide me the comfortable atmosphere of home that I feel at Loyola’s Lakeshore Campus.
    Studying at the John Felice Rome Center would enable me to learn and grow as a person at a level deeper than what I can ever imagine. With Loyola University Chicago’s focus on helping students improve through individual care and attention, as embodied by the latin phrase “cura personalis,” I am certain that Loyola University Chicago’s John Felice Rome Center is the right place for me to grow as a person of virtue and as a compassionate citizen of the world.

Can't I Just Get with an Italian?

Well, here I am, sitting outside my desired Italian class. Unfortunately, the class had filled to capacity before I could register for the class. I e-mailed the professor that I wanted, but she never replied back. I was planning on just going to the class (basically crashing it) and talking to her before class. I was expecting her to be in the designated classroom before any students arrived (I woke up really early to get to the class early enough), but she arrived latter than everyone else. Also, I didn't know what she looked like, so that made it much harder to flag her down. I only realized who she was when she loudly said, "Bongiorno," as she entered her class. I thought it was too late to get her attention at that point, considering that there were students already in the classroom and I felt uncomfortable hassling her in front of her legitimate students asking her to take me in. Hah!

Anyways, here I am, sitting outside her class hoping to get her attention and speak to her after her class. As I am sitting here, I can hear her solely speaking in Italian to her students; it's pretty intimidating. (And to think that it's an Italian 101 class!) She's already teaching her students how to say certain things and now it makes me wonder whether it'd even be worth it to try to get into her class. I'd be a day behind.

My reason for wanting to get into her class is legitimate, right? There are only four sections of the class in session for this semester and each one of them is up to capacity. This specific professor's class is the only one that fits into my schedule without causing any conflicts. It's my minor and even if I get into this 101 class this semester, I'll still have to take one during a summer session to fit in six credit courses of Italian to fulfill my minor requirement. Also, from what I've heard she's the most enthusiastic and the most helpful of the Italian instructors, so why wouldn't I want to get into her class... right? So what else can I do? If I wait another semester to get into an Italian 101 class, I will have to take a class of Italian during the summer for two consecutive summers. We shall see what happens... :(

Back to School: With Pictures!

I got back to my dorm yesterday and I'm the first out of all three roommates. Neither of my roommates are back yet, but I'm assuming that they'll be here by tonight (tomorrow's our first day of classes). Even though I couldn't wait to get back to the city, leaving home was somewhat bittersweet. Even though I'm not that close to any of immediate family members, I felt somewhat sad about leaving. Anyways, my parents were (and still are) out of the country while I was back home in suburbia with my older sister, so all I did was sleep, eat, and laze around. It actually came to the point where I started to get muscle aches due to muscle disuse atrophy. Even though I felt a tinge of sadness from leaving, I'm glad to be back in the city where trains and buses are relatively dependable, more diverse restaurants are close by, etc. There's just so much more to do in general. I came back with a notice on the kitchen sink noting that the kitchen sink is being fixed, that sucked.

The view from one of our windows. That's my James Dean portrait. Currently, I'm attempting to read two different books, Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy and The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers.

My desk with all the books I need for this semester. On the right side of the shelves is my DVD collection consisting of Breakfast at Tiffany's, La Vie en Rose, Roman Holiday, Sex and the City: Seasons 5 and 6 (Part 1 and 2), and many others. I also have a jar of condoms on the top shelf and the game Dirty Minds, which I got as a gift and have yet played.

This is our kitchen. My roommate eats a lot of cereal; those boxes of cereal on top of the fridge are all his. Even though we have a stove top and oven, for some reason I'm the only one who actually cooks.

My roommates and I share a bedroom. Can you guess which bed is mine?

Anyways, now that I'm back at my "second home" and school resumes tomorrow, I had to pick up my books. It's upsetting how expensive college textbooks are. It's even more upsetting when an author/publisher comes out with a new edition, therefore making the preceding edition worthless and a student would be unable to sell back their book. It's distressing because a student in general pays about $100-$200 in books per class on average (assuming that each class uses a textbook). When a student tries to sell their books at the end of the semester and discover that the publisher has come out with a new edition, therefore their $100-$200 book has no value at the bookstore, it's upsetting and unfair. Correcting one typo (i.e. misspelled word) in a textbook can be considered a new edition, which is totally absurd and unfair; publishers are taking advantage of students that are already thousands of dollars in debt!

I got my books this morning and the total cost was $640.46. I bought five of my books and rented six of them; I opted for used copies depending on availability. I allegedly saved $277.49 by renting more than half of my books. If I chose to buy all of my books, it would have cost me $917.95. Anyways, what can you do other than oblige?In any case, let's just hope that I put them to good use. The classes I bought the books for are as follows:

MWF: ITAL-101: Italian I, MATH-131: Applied Calculus 1, PSYC-349: Psychology of Maturity and Aging, PSYC-338: Psychology of Religion
TuTh: SOCL-245: Sociology of Religion, PSYC-306: Research Methods

This semester, I want to do as well as last semester, if not better. I'm also planning on being more active on campus (i.e. joining and participating in clubs) and find a job. I need to start saving up if I want to make my study abroad trip to Italy in two semesters a reality. I just hope I can juggle all this. I think I can. Wish me luck!

In the Eyes of the Beholder

Last night, rather than being a productive individual, I spent my time looking through profiles on a certain social networking/dating site. As I glanced through profiles, one in particular stood out: that of a severe burn victim. As an individual's picture is the first thing one would see, what I initially noticed was the severity of his burns. The first thought that came into mind was, "What happened?" As I further read through his profile, I learned that he is around my age, he's going to school for his bachelors in psychology (like me),  and he had spent over a decade at a burn victim camp.

What I found to be really fascinating was the optimism he had displayed throughout his written profile. He wrote about going to school for psychology, his desire to become a counselor at the camp he attends and help other burn victims, his love for laughter, etc. Even though he had gone through something so tragic, he is still able to face the world with certainty and confidence; he truly exemplifies what it means to be resilient.

It has definitely made me reevaluate my own situation and the way I perceive my life. Yes, I was always cognizant of the fact that there are others who are not as fortunate as me in some way or another. Unfortunately, it's hard for me to close or even bridge the empathy gap between myself and those that are supposedly in worse situations. I have always told myself that I should live for those that were not fortunate enough to have the same liberties and opportunities as me; it's similar to when your parents tell you not to waste food because there are starving children in the world, but the thought is more self-driven. I can appreciate the significance of such a statement. Previously, bringing such concepts to the forefront of my awareness never made much of a difference. I have the great fortune of going to university, I have parents that financially support me, I have a home to return to whether it be on campus or at my parents', yet I must admit that I don't appreciate them as much as I would like to. To know that I am in a better position in society compared to others should motivate me to take full advantage of what I have been fatefully given, yet I find myself slacking.

Previously, my focus was often on what others have better than me and what my misfortunes are. I criticize myself for having mild acne that leaves superficial scars, being a minority in the gay community and not being seen as attractive by the majority subgroup within said community, etc. By identifying with the man mentioned above, I'm able to see the world in a more universal perspective. Also, I've come closer to setting my priorities straight and I'm increasingly gaining the motivation to strive for something. I believe that I am no longer just cognizant of my great fortune and liberty, but I can actually use my knowledge and awareness to actively live. There was no emotional connection with what I knew, hence why I could not appreciate and/or take full advantage of what I have and what I know I can attain.

By disregarding the opportunities and fortune fatefully (or arbitrarily) given to me, I would be disrespecting not only my own self-interest, but also those that are in less fortunate situations than I am. I can pay homage to those that could have best utilized what I have by living my life the best that I can.

Am I Going Insane?

Ever since my recent panic/anxiety attack while taking an afternoon nap, it has been somewhat difficult for me to get a good night's sleep (or even falling asleep for that matter). I'm afraid of experiencing another attack. I'm afraid of laying myself down in bed and having those few minutes to think before actually falling asleep. I'm afraid of relaxing and actually letting my mind wander since it could possibly lead to me thinking about death, therefore another attack.

Like I've said before, I'm not afraid of death itself. What I'm afraid of is the idea of the unknown and its uncertain arrival. In truth, I am just as afraid of consciously living for an eternity as I am dying unexpectedly (whether it be tomorrow, in a few years, or a few decades). I don't know how to explain it; the concept of being eternally conscious or unexpectedly just going black makes my stomach sink. I tried to Google what I am experiencing and the closest thing I could find was something called "thanatophobia," the fear of death.

"People who are highly intelligent and inquisitive are often at greater risk for this type of thanatophobia, as are those who are questioning their own philosophical or religious beliefs."

Could that be true? Am I developing some sort of phobia or am I just having the occasional panic attacks?  Could being quite intelligent and so desiring of uncovering the unknown cause such a problem? Sure, I would say that I've been questioning my religious and philosophical beliefs, but what gay young adult/teen isn't? I am concerned that I'm either going insane or I'm overreacting. Nonetheless, my recent experience(s) has led to my insomnia.

I need someone to talk to, not a professional, just an ordinary person. I don't need some individual shoving the DSM-V down my throat along with a few prescriptions. I just want someone to talk things through with. I want to be reassured that I'm not the only one in this world that has experienced these sort of thoughts. Whatever "this" may be, I don't want it to progress any further.

I guess one must also consider the fact that I've been cooped up in my parents' house all alone for the past week or so. I have only left the house two or three times in the past week, could that possibly have something to do with it? Perhaps I've just had too much time to think.

I Want to Feel Again

 Since then—'tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads

Were toward Eternity— 

- Emily Dickinson

I just woke up from a nap. What I experienced soon after waking up is one of the things that makes me hesitant about going to sleep in the first place. It doesn't happen often, but considering the experience itself, it's not something that should ever happen. I felt like my chest was collapsing in on itself, reality seemed much clearer than it had ever been, and impending doom was all that I could think about. I felt as if time was accelerated, yet my mind was stuck on one thought: death and decay. What raced through my head is the fact that I am mortal, I am dying, and I am afraid of the unknown. It wasn't the fear that made it excruciating, but the feelings of deep sadness and hopelessness that followed. In truth, these moments are the clearest that I've actually felt alive. The idea of death doesn't usually bother me except for when I have these attacks.

For most of what I can remember of my conscious life, the days seem like a movie. I feel as if my whole life is something that I'm not living, but watching through a television set. I see and hear my life occurring, but I cannot feel it. It feels as if I am not truly experiencing life. Sure, I cry when I am sad and I laugh when I am happy, but a part of me feels as if I am not feeling emotions to their fullest extent, especially happiness. It's like holding something in your hand while wearing latex gloves; you feel yourself holding the object, but you're not feeling it's texture, it's warmth, etc. All that you know and feel is the simple fact that there is an object in your hand. Sometimes I try to break the glass wall between me and the experience of life, yet when I feel so close to grasping it with my bare hands, it escapes me and I revert back.

When I wake up in these states of panic, life seems so much more real. It's a powerful feeling as if a bullet of emotions had been shot into my chest and head. All I can really do is quickly get up from bed, make a whimpering sound, followed by me telling myself out loud to stop thinking. Sometimes, it's not so bad and all I have to do is distract myself (e.g., get on the computer or turn on the television) in order to stop the attack. Whenever I think of these events occurring, I feel crazy and embarrassed. Not only do I feel embarrassed by the possibility of someone seeing me during such an event, but I also feel guilty that I feel the most alive in such a state of mind.

I don't think it's always been like this. I believe that before I felt "numb" to life, I actually enjoyed and relished in what was in front of me. I don't remember ever experiencing these attacks before the numbness developed either. I do believe that my constant feeling of numbness towards life is linked to these occasional attacks. If it is so, I want to fix it. Some might suggest seeing a psychiatrist and getting prescribed antidepressants or whatnot. The thing is, I don't want to start taking pills to escape this experience. I may be romanticizing the problem, but I do believe that the solution can be found through a more humanistic process. I don't know what that may be, but I am certain that I don't want to chemically alter myself with medication. The world is chemically-altered enough, voluntarily and involuntarily.

Am I crazy? Am I alone in this? Will I ever again experience happiness to its fullest extent? Will these attacks stop? I don't know. I don't fear death. What I fear is life with nothing on my mind, but the coming of the end.

Who We Are: to Ourselves and to Others

I just recently got back from hanging out with my friend Drew. Drew is one of those guys that I would categorize as a "pretty gay." He's tall (over 6 feet), blond hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, well-dressed, etc. He's the type of person that I have often observed turning heads. For example, earlier this evening, we were in Starbucks. When he walked to the counter to get my coffee or when someone outside would pass by the window where we were sitting, they'd turn their head to look at him. Contrary to the stereotype of good-looking gay guys with bitchy, pretentious attitudes, he's actually the opposite; he's very silly, generous, kind, and quite the gentleman.

Sometimes, gay friends come across a dilemma where a friendship is implicitly expected to evolve into a friends-with-benefits relationship, an intimate boyfriend-boyfriend relationship, or any sort of relationship between them simply dissolves. With Drew, we're comfortable with just being friends. Frankly, the absence of any sort of sexual attraction between us has enabled me to open up to him at a level greater than I have experience with any other friend. Whenever he and I are hanging out, I don't feel pressured to behave a certain way or censor certain thoughts/opinions. With such statements considered, is what he sees of me the truest form of my identity? When we are stripped of expectations and given the chance to behave in any way without fearing rejection, do we come to see our clearest reflection?

After hanging out with Drew a few times, he has stated that I am very sweet, kind, cute, and quite innocent. He questions why I have yet to find a man and all I can do is shrug my shoulders and respond, "I don't know." In truth, am I truly as sweet, kind, and innocent as he says I am? I feel no attraction to him or any conscious desire to please him, therefore I can only conclude that he sees me in my most basic form. With others, I have sometimes found myself having to act a certain way (jaded, overly optimistic, cold, aloof, etc.). I often feel as if I'm emphasizing certain facets of myself with others, whereas with Drew, I am just me.

What I'm getting at is that I want others to see me as he sees me. I want the rest of my friends friends and other men to see me for who I truly am. Some of us find ourselves trying to play roles other than our own. There are times when we want to seem suave to others, therefore we act more aloof, haughty, or obnoxious. Other times, we want to seem innocent, so we act too optimistic, too friendly, or too accommodating. We try to play these roles in order to satisfy other people's perceived expectations, which we can never truly fulfill, and we forget our role as ourselves. One quote that resonates with what I'm trying to say is something that Judy Garland once said, "Be a first rate version of yourself, not a second rate version of someone else." The thing is, the only way to generally succeed in this world is to stay true to ourselves and to take advantage of our own individuality.

With further reflection, yes, I am a sweet and kind-hearted person. I have tried to portray to others a character that seemed cold, aloof, and suave or too optimistic, enthusiastic, or friendly in order to hide my vulnerabilities. In consequence, portraying traits that were on both extremes of what I truly possess, I have come to surround myself with people I could not develop clear, intimate connections with. I found myself confused and not knowing which direction to take in my life because I lost my sense of identity under layers upon layers of supposed expectations.

With all things considered, I think I'm comfortable and ready to be me. I think I can move on forward and be honest with myself (and others) as to who I am.

A Future Deferred

For the past few days I've just been hibernating. This past week I have done nothing but watch television, eat, and sleep (excessively). Frankly, I feel guilty for not posting a blog in the past few days. I don't know whether it's because I just don't have anything to write about or I've just given up.

I often find myself struggling uphill in order to initiate a task (e.g., blogging, exercise, completing my study abroad essay) unless I get a surge of inspiration from something external; once I've actually gotten myself started, the momentum helps me complete the tasks at hand. I find this to be an unhealthy process because I am always tempted to just do nothing; I'm simply not a motivated person and I don't know how to change that. I want to be a motivated, task-oriented, and to actually get things done. I hate being pressed for time and that sense of pressure often being the only thing that pushes me to complete a task. I want to be driven by my own will and desire, not by some external stimuli or catalyst.

I've come to acknowledge goals to reach for that should fuel my determination and motivation to move forward in the world, yet it seems to not be enough. I'm afraid that this uncertainty in pressing on towards the future will lead to my very downfall. I have dreams, yet I doubt myself. This disbelief that lurks in shadows of my conscious mind seems to have an unmeasurable hold on me. I want to go to Italy next year, I want to have the (realistically fit) body I had always wanted, I want to succeed in school, I want to find a career that works for me. Unfortunately, I find myself so overwhelmed by the challenges that are keeping me from attaining those things; I'm tempted to just give up. It seems as if sleep and simple distractions have become a quick fix. Obviously, they're not actually fixing anything. Instead, they're distracting me from the guilt of being afraid of taking on the challenges before me. I'm leading myself to failure by simply not taking an active role in my life. What can I do? How can I fix this?

Resilience is the word that has been coming to mind recently; to be able to pick oneself up and try again may be the answer for me. Can I do it? Can I be resilient whilst having self-doubts still lurking in my mind? How can I conquer my own reflection?

Bondage and Inherent Liberty

I wonder, what is the purpose of our existence?

I always believed that our ultimate purpose is to find purpose for ourselves. I believe(d) that our reason to be is to find what satisfies our individuality; a presupposition that would argue the existence of our free will. If my beliefs are incorrect, if we do have a purpose set by some higher order, what is it?

I consider myself to be a wandering spirit. I don't like to be bound by obligations, guilt, or expectations. I see so many people struggling and working just to live. When do they actually find the time to live? People look to the far future, to their expected retirement, as the time when they'll finally be able to live their lives as they desire so. I question why people must wait until later in their lives. We were not born as laborers or as servants to those that suppose their superiority over us.

The only masters I can admit to are the hunger and desires of my body and soul. I often feel the hunger and thirst for nourishment. The purpose of nourishing my body is to continue and preserve its existence and the existence of my consciousness. But what is the reason for our continuing existence in body and mind? The soul/heart's hunger for the passion(s) which would satisfy it.

What is my passion? What does my heart and soul hunger for? I must admit that what's hungered and desired by my intangible self is currently uncertain. All I can be certain of is that I want to live. I want to live not as someone's subject or to labor on until my later years in order to live. Why must I sacrifice my life in order to supposedly gain the means of living it? I want my body and my mind to be willed by one another and by no other outside of myself.