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.