In the eye of the storm, I realized things unknown to me. I saw things that I did not notice in motion. I was a part of it. Not until I was silent and still did I discover the movement of all things around me.
In the present moment, Natalia Ginzburg is my muse and her writing currently fuels my writing.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Perhaps Men Aren't Necessary
Since I came to Italy, I've increasingly realized that perhaps I don't need a man to be happy... ever. Sure, it would be great to have someone to come home to, to be intimate with, to help validate our worth, to support us, and to have sex with. However, are those things necessary to be happy? Do I necessarily need to attain these things from a man or various men? Maybe not.
Yesterday was Valentine's Day. Valentine's Day is my favorite holiday out of the whole year. I like it more than Halloween, New Year's, my birthday, and Christmas. I know people, who are single or perhaps even in relationships, that dislike this holiday. I love it not only because it shows me how happy people are in reaffirming their love for each other, but it also allows me to contemplate the self-respect and self love I should have for myself.
This past Valentine's Day, I realized that I'm happy. I'm happy to be surrounded by the friends and acquaintances I have come to possess. I don't really know if I will ever have that one person who would exceptionally love me. I'm fine with that uncertainty because the friends I have right now give me the certainty I need to know that someone will be there, around me, to love and support me.
Last night, my friend and I stayed in instead of going out to the bars. I've always been single and she recently broke up with her boyfriend a few weeks ago (he broke up with her via Skype, which is a shitty move considering that he's back in the U.S. and we're in Italy), so we thought it'd be nice to stay in and watch a movie. We chose to watch Halloween (yes, very fitting, right?) while eating whatever we could find out of the fridge. Yes, imagining it, the latter act seems like something someone would do to compensate for their emotional distress. However, for us, I think we just didn't give a fuck and wanted to indulge ourselves and enjoy each others company. I loved it. Certainly, the fact that it was Valentine's Day was mentioned once or twice between us, but we didn't make a big deal of it. What mattered to us was the company of the other and having a good time no matter the situation.
Sexually, I haven't had sex or been physically intimate with another guy for the past two months. I haven't even jacked off in the past three days (which is notable considering that I usually jack off five times a day, everyday). I'm still a sexual person and I do have a sexual attraction towards men, but I feel more in control of it. Maybe it's the fact that the men here are beautiful by any standards and they can keep entertained amongst themselves, but at the moment I feel that I have greater control of my sexual drive. When the time comes that a man actually shows interest in me, I believe that I'll have the will and power to decide as to whether it would be a worthwhile encounter that would benefit me overall (and not pounce on him because he's the first guy to show interest).
In two weeks and two days, I will be leaving for Morocco and traveling around the country for ten days, on my own. People I've mentioned this to are surprised, perhaps even concerned, that I've decided to travel on my own in a foreign country, especially one like Morocco. I think that it's a trip and journey I need and want to take for myself. I want to actually be alone with my thoughts and emotions in a place that holds no memory of me and perhaps come to a realization of self. Three nights in Marrakesh, two nights in the Sahara Desert, two nights in Fez, one night in Tangier three nights of wherever the wind (and trains) may take me, and back to Marrakech on my last day for my flight back to Rome. Wouldn't it be lovely to say that I traveled to such an exotic place by myself for such a length of time? This is one of those rare moments in which I can say that I'm proud of myself and happy.
Yesterday was Valentine's Day. Valentine's Day is my favorite holiday out of the whole year. I like it more than Halloween, New Year's, my birthday, and Christmas. I know people, who are single or perhaps even in relationships, that dislike this holiday. I love it not only because it shows me how happy people are in reaffirming their love for each other, but it also allows me to contemplate the self-respect and self love I should have for myself.
This past Valentine's Day, I realized that I'm happy. I'm happy to be surrounded by the friends and acquaintances I have come to possess. I don't really know if I will ever have that one person who would exceptionally love me. I'm fine with that uncertainty because the friends I have right now give me the certainty I need to know that someone will be there, around me, to love and support me.
Last night, my friend and I stayed in instead of going out to the bars. I've always been single and she recently broke up with her boyfriend a few weeks ago (he broke up with her via Skype, which is a shitty move considering that he's back in the U.S. and we're in Italy), so we thought it'd be nice to stay in and watch a movie. We chose to watch Halloween (yes, very fitting, right?) while eating whatever we could find out of the fridge. Yes, imagining it, the latter act seems like something someone would do to compensate for their emotional distress. However, for us, I think we just didn't give a fuck and wanted to indulge ourselves and enjoy each others company. I loved it. Certainly, the fact that it was Valentine's Day was mentioned once or twice between us, but we didn't make a big deal of it. What mattered to us was the company of the other and having a good time no matter the situation.
Sexually, I haven't had sex or been physically intimate with another guy for the past two months. I haven't even jacked off in the past three days (which is notable considering that I usually jack off five times a day, everyday). I'm still a sexual person and I do have a sexual attraction towards men, but I feel more in control of it. Maybe it's the fact that the men here are beautiful by any standards and they can keep entertained amongst themselves, but at the moment I feel that I have greater control of my sexual drive. When the time comes that a man actually shows interest in me, I believe that I'll have the will and power to decide as to whether it would be a worthwhile encounter that would benefit me overall (and not pounce on him because he's the first guy to show interest).
In two weeks and two days, I will be leaving for Morocco and traveling around the country for ten days, on my own. People I've mentioned this to are surprised, perhaps even concerned, that I've decided to travel on my own in a foreign country, especially one like Morocco. I think that it's a trip and journey I need and want to take for myself. I want to actually be alone with my thoughts and emotions in a place that holds no memory of me and perhaps come to a realization of self. Three nights in Marrakesh, two nights in the Sahara Desert, two nights in Fez, one night in Tangier three nights of wherever the wind (and trains) may take me, and back to Marrakech on my last day for my flight back to Rome. Wouldn't it be lovely to say that I traveled to such an exotic place by myself for such a length of time? This is one of those rare moments in which I can say that I'm proud of myself and happy.
Monday, February 13, 2012
You've All Abandoned Me
No one reads "me" anymore. People stopped commenting, viewing, or even glancing at my blogs. I first started this as a tool for self-contemplation. However, I came to feed off of people's thoughts on my experiences. I left in order to start anew and see if a part of my "self" existed there in my second blog. Even there, I sought attention, which was left unnoticed. Perhaps I wanted you all to see that I can be happy and believe in such happiness, hoping that you all could convince me as well... in my successes of traveling abroad. However, you all left.
The hallways of opinions have gone silent. Not even an echo of my words or the trailing footsteps of my thoughts linger. Do you all remember me? Do you all know me? Feel curious about me?
I am a person who reaches out hoping to be noticed. An existence wanting to be acknowledged. Or will I be forgotten? Will my words, which I hoped to touch even one person, be scoffed and weathered down to nothingness by time and progress? Will I diminish back to being a stranger?
I can offer no sexually provocative pictures, hilarious nor cynical quips. All that I can offer and have offered is myself.
You are all gone. Should I disappear as well?
The hallways of opinions have gone silent. Not even an echo of my words or the trailing footsteps of my thoughts linger. Do you all remember me? Do you all know me? Feel curious about me?
I am a person who reaches out hoping to be noticed. An existence wanting to be acknowledged. Or will I be forgotten? Will my words, which I hoped to touch even one person, be scoffed and weathered down to nothingness by time and progress? Will I diminish back to being a stranger?
I can offer no sexually provocative pictures, hilarious nor cynical quips. All that I can offer and have offered is myself.
You are all gone. Should I disappear as well?
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Mother.
My mother just sent me an e-mail saying that she was recently released from the hospital after experiencing a mild stroke. I never realized how close Death and how real mortality is until an encounter is experienced by a loved one. It's a strange feeling when one realizes the inevitable transience of life... For a moment, my head felt high. My mind felt numb. My body tingled as if it had fallen asleep. Is it what they call disbelief? Doubt?
After the initial shock, my mind goes back to doubting death. It goes back to hoping, perhaps even silently pleading. It's not a sharp pain or even excruciating. It's a dull, mind grinding pain. It's like a sort of pain that one should get used to and be able to ignore after some time... but one never does. It feels as if you're on the cliffhanger waiting for impending doom to occur. Yet you still hope for the best. Even pessimists hope.
After the doubt, my mind cycles back to the reality of the matter. What will happen next? What if something much worse happens? Who will take care of my family? Who will take care of my little sister? I'm in a totally different country, a totally different continent. What can I do? Why am I so helpless? Who will hold the family together? My mother was the one that held us together even when she wasn't physically there. Yes, at times we dreaded the gravitational pull she had on us, but subconsciously I knew... I knew that it was home. Where my heart was, where she was, it was home. No matter how much I wanted to prove my independence, to show that I could survive without her, without any of my family, I still wish for them to be by my side nonetheless.
I'm not emotionally close to my mother. I love her and respect her, but I stopped telling her I loved her when I was around 11 years old. At that point, I thought that sort of love was implied. I believed that it didn't need to be said. In the past I've thought of how my parents' passing is inevitable. I thought of how I should, how I must, savor every moment I have left with them. My mother's face will be preserved in pictures, but her voice, her warmth, her presence will certainly fade. Once my parents are gone, the world will truly be uncertain as my generation, as I, will have to completely reign over life and guide it with the voice left by what will soon pass.
After the initial shock, my mind goes back to doubting death. It goes back to hoping, perhaps even silently pleading. It's not a sharp pain or even excruciating. It's a dull, mind grinding pain. It's like a sort of pain that one should get used to and be able to ignore after some time... but one never does. It feels as if you're on the cliffhanger waiting for impending doom to occur. Yet you still hope for the best. Even pessimists hope.
After the doubt, my mind cycles back to the reality of the matter. What will happen next? What if something much worse happens? Who will take care of my family? Who will take care of my little sister? I'm in a totally different country, a totally different continent. What can I do? Why am I so helpless? Who will hold the family together? My mother was the one that held us together even when she wasn't physically there. Yes, at times we dreaded the gravitational pull she had on us, but subconsciously I knew... I knew that it was home. Where my heart was, where she was, it was home. No matter how much I wanted to prove my independence, to show that I could survive without her, without any of my family, I still wish for them to be by my side nonetheless.
I'm not emotionally close to my mother. I love her and respect her, but I stopped telling her I loved her when I was around 11 years old. At that point, I thought that sort of love was implied. I believed that it didn't need to be said. In the past I've thought of how my parents' passing is inevitable. I thought of how I should, how I must, savor every moment I have left with them. My mother's face will be preserved in pictures, but her voice, her warmth, her presence will certainly fade. Once my parents are gone, the world will truly be uncertain as my generation, as I, will have to completely reign over life and guide it with the voice left by what will soon pass.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
I Was Afraid
I stopped writing because I was afraid. I was afraid of how I was portraying myself. I stopped writing in this blog because I found myself to be so depressing. Even when I wrote things that were intended to be positive and lighthearted friends would ask, "Kenneth, why do you sound so sad?" It would catch me by surprise or confusion because I thought I was happy. I thought that I had masked over the tinge of sadness quite well. However, the more light I shined upon myself, the greater the shadows seemed. The more inevitable and prominent it became.
I tried to escape my own mind by stopping the narration of certain aspects of my life. I thought that the negativity was perpetuated by my writing and its ability to recapture and dwell on fleeting memories... memories of bliss but also of pain. I believed that this blog, this area, this "thing" that has become an outlet for certain parts of my mind and heart had become stained. I saw it as a canvas that had become mistakenly stained by a pitiful darkness within myself. It became an apparition of my mind outside of my mind, therefore taking a life of its own. From this, it held a gentle grasp on me, to hold me where I was and to keep me writing of sorrows that allowed such an entity to exist.
I believed that if I walked away from this, my sadness wouldn't be such a threat, such a prominent figure in my life. I thought that if I started with a new canvas to write and perceive myself, I could steer it from gaining the same pattern as this blog had. Unfortunately, I was wrong. It didn't matter where I went or how I wrote, the sadness was still there. By walking away and shrouding over different fragments of my life, I neglected myself as a whole. Yes, I get sad. Sure, I get lonely. Certainly, I can be contemptuous. These things are me along with introspective, passionate, compassionate, intelligent, and progressive.
Life isn't as simple black or white, neither is one's soul. What I'm saying is that I've returned. I've come back with an improved perception of self. I admit to being imperfect, but I still see the life I live and my humanity as beautiful. What I must do is live with a heavy heart and mind... a heart heavy with emotions and a mind heavy with thoughts and curiosity that validate my status as a free-willed being.
I tried to escape my own mind by stopping the narration of certain aspects of my life. I thought that the negativity was perpetuated by my writing and its ability to recapture and dwell on fleeting memories... memories of bliss but also of pain. I believed that this blog, this area, this "thing" that has become an outlet for certain parts of my mind and heart had become stained. I saw it as a canvas that had become mistakenly stained by a pitiful darkness within myself. It became an apparition of my mind outside of my mind, therefore taking a life of its own. From this, it held a gentle grasp on me, to hold me where I was and to keep me writing of sorrows that allowed such an entity to exist.
I believed that if I walked away from this, my sadness wouldn't be such a threat, such a prominent figure in my life. I thought that if I started with a new canvas to write and perceive myself, I could steer it from gaining the same pattern as this blog had. Unfortunately, I was wrong. It didn't matter where I went or how I wrote, the sadness was still there. By walking away and shrouding over different fragments of my life, I neglected myself as a whole. Yes, I get sad. Sure, I get lonely. Certainly, I can be contemptuous. These things are me along with introspective, passionate, compassionate, intelligent, and progressive.
Life isn't as simple black or white, neither is one's soul. What I'm saying is that I've returned. I've come back with an improved perception of self. I admit to being imperfect, but I still see the life I live and my humanity as beautiful. What I must do is live with a heavy heart and mind... a heart heavy with emotions and a mind heavy with thoughts and curiosity that validate my status as a free-willed being.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)