Here's the background scene every strategically good book starts with: Crying, miserable, ready to resign her control over. Weeping until the breath is drained from her lungs at every sob, she begs for a second chance, a second happiness, something better than the brimstone fire of despair that burns steadily away at the pathetic embers of her broken facade. "Please," she begs, "Please just let me be happy again. Give me a second chance and You can decide whatever You want. Show me and I will listen. I am so sorry for forsaking you in the first place. I swear I'm Yours. Take me back. Help me, please, You are the only one who can..."
So someone should totally smack me. Seriously. You know how Russians hit shit to make it work? Maybe I need that to get my brain to work. Let's take a simple quiz.
You are unable to focus on a movie because you're too busy getting butterflies in your stomach for the man you're laying with. Making out with a hot Army guy that you're pretty much smitten with, the phone rings. It's your ex. You:
a) Turn your shit off
b) Continue. Next is the shirt.
c) Throw your new phone
d) Pick it up.
Hey, here's a hint. Maybe the answer isn't D. 0. You got a 0 on this quiz you dumb bitch. Fail. EPIC. I know what was going through my head, though, and it was honorable. He told me once that if I only picked up he'd stop calling. I just wanted him to stop calling.
He had every right to get hurt or insulted or angry. He had every right to make me realize how wrong that was. If it were me, I probably would not have even been so understanding. Forgiven, my downtrodden stupid self went for a ride to clear my head. Mayank wanted me to call, and I wanted to call.
"Hey so who were you watching the movie with?"
"Alan."
"G?"
"No, Army."
"Oh. May I ask you a question, and you sure you won't mind?"
"Yes, please do continue."
"Do you think you'll move on?"
"I don't know what is in my future. I can't see that far ahead. All I know is that I like spending time with him and he makes me happy, and I have no strings attached to anybody."
"Do you think you will become attracted to him?"
"Yes I do. I want to learn more about him, and the more I learn about him, the more I like. I like his personality and we have a lot in common and he puts me at peace. I didn't used to understand what Josh meant when he told me some things, but I understand now, and I am happy."
The only thing that I didn't tell him is what isn't any of his business, only mine and Army's.
Let me summarize the agonizing minutes into the basic points. I easily replace people. I broke promises. I lied when I said I'd give him a second chance for a mistake. I'm doing this on purpose. I am doing this for revenge. I move from guy to guy. Let's get back together. Just give me a chance. I know you are happy, but I can make you happier. We can work on it if we try.
Let's tackle that list, shall we? I do not replace ANYONE. No relationship I build with anyone is the same as any previous or forthcoming. I break no promises because I make no promises I can't keep. Mistake? Having a shitty relationship is not a mistake, it is two people being wrong for each other. You broke up with me, you fucked this up, I tried my best. Doing this on purpose? I'm trying to slow myself down so I do this all right. Let's not get back together. I would be living a lie. It's not about fights anymore, it's about romantic feelings--I have NONE. You can't work on something like that. If you even had a chance, why would you have kept it? You have done nothing but proven me right from text message to text message to phone call to facebook status that you are a cruel, hurtful, mean person and I knew exactly who I am broken up with and that I was right and he hasn't changed. How can he even begin to understand what makes me happy? I'll tell you what. What does it take for you to understand and believe me that it is NOT HAPPENING because I don't WANT IT TO, it's MY CHOICE, and I am happy? Should I tell you how I feel when he's around? When I look into his eyes? When he touches my hand? He's not a rebound; I experience genuine happiness. Is that so wrong? Am I sleeping around? Expecting commitment or relationship? Hooking up? Using someone? Being conscienceless? No. None of the above. I told Army the truth. His friendship plus whatever we have going is worth more to me. I lost the best thing in my life. I'm not fucking up a good thing. I'm not fucking up my second chance at happiness for the same reason I fucked up before. I'm not being stupid this time, and I'm not spitting in God's face. I told Mayank everything, and when he didn't understand, I said it blatantly. I do not want to get back together, it is not happening, and no, I can't spend as much time with him as with Army because the kind of time I spend with Army is differently motivated. There's so much to learn. He intrigues me, interests me, makes me happy, and gives me peace. I don't see my best friends every day unless I live with them. I see Army daily, though.
Crowning jewel on this monarchy of Suck:
"You are worthless to me if we are not together. You are the biggest liar I have ever met. You are a worthless piece of shit. I truly and seriously hope that you end up in a divorce with some asshole and are miserable and alone. You lost all of your friends because you fucked up. One more thing--you can go suck his cock. I'm going to write you an e-mail sometime this week. Read through it and really think about where you're headed in your life." Dana, may I get off the phone now?
Um...I won't do that, but if you like, if we ever have sex, I'll take pics and send them to you attached to a Thank You card for your friendly advice.
Whatever. I'm glad this happened. I probably wouldn't have been ballsy enough to do what I did if Army didn't hand it to me straight. I can't believe I almost fucked such a good thing up. At least I have time to make up for it. I started by calling him and telling him that I came clean.
Choice quotes:
"I won't let this happen to me." Oh really? What will you do? I'd rather die than live a lie knowing I could have been happy with someone else.
"Once you lose me, I'm gone forever." Big loss. I really need someone in my life to make me feel like shit on the bottom of a jogger's shoe.
"How could you do this after someone did it to you?" Because it makes sense to be happy instead of being bitched at. I know what he's going through, and I also know he's wrong. Love is wanting someone to be happy and doing whatever it takes to keep them in your life. Not the opposite. This is all a little too crazy for me. I'll take my snowed in cuddles and intoxicated Tuesdays in peace, Thank You.
Damn...God Bless America. *salute*
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
The Wood.
There is no coming back from this. There is no tumult waiting to capsize my calm. There is no rustling in the warm, sunny glad within me. There is only sunlight, yellow and fertile. The buds wait only for the word, and they will bloom. No, there is no wind and no threat, there is only quiet luxury of peace and the sound of life.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
BBFF: Blog Best Friend Forever
I know...I'll tell you!!!
I wanted to tell someone [other than my mom, whom I called at 5:30 am about this] about how I feel. I don't think anyone is home who would empathize, and my boyfriend is being mock-happy and sarcastic right now, so I have a blog!
Last night was the best night ever. After three classes (skipped one) and work, my assistant manager came in to relieve me at 9:00 pm so I could go to the Russian club meeting. I went home, quickly changed, made it on time, and took a seat. There must have been about 30-40 people there! I was nervous and a little shy at first, and after introductions, everyone was welcome to Russian refreshments. I meekly placed a couple of treats on my plate and sat down. After sitting along for about 2 minutes like a dumbass (who goes to a club to meet people and sits alone?) I went to go chat with Etel. Another officer chimed in, Sasha, and we struck up a conversation about our mutual suffering in engineering. This conversation dominated and led back to the desks (after we realized we were the only ones standing) and continued on to what classes he would have had cancelled the next day, Differential Equations, and zodiac signs, including whether or not we believe. He's a Scorpio, too, October birthday close to mine. Anyway, the meeting continued with a rousing(?) game of Mafia, a suspicion game based on accusations and murder (yay!). Some people (with a sense of humor and fun attitudes) enjoyed it more than others (who have trouble understanding the concept of suspense and why not anonymity is crucial to the game). I was a cop and they killed me off for trying to help them pin a mafioso. Damn it I'm a cop it's my job (literally, in the game, only we know for sure) to know. Afterward, we broke up into small groups to play/learn to play a card game called Durak, with relatively complicated rules. It was still so welcome and so strange to hear and understand Russian conversations behind me in the classroom. Sasha was advising us newbies on the strategic methods best to use in Durak, and after clean up, I bummed a ride home. Upon arriving to Mayank's place (where I got dropped off) he seemed okay enough, though perhaps a bit bummed at not being able to see me to hang out. However, not five minutes after I got there, Etel called me back and invited me to their apartment to hang out with her, her roommates, and the rest of the club officers. This time, Oleg swung by to pick me up with the others in tow, and we stopped at 7-Eleven for fruit punch before heading to join Sasha at the ladies' Busch apartment. Upon arrival, I popped open a beer (Natural Ice...because even piss is tolerable cold) with the guys and relaxed on the couch before Nastya made the jungle juice and we began a round of Kings. The slightly different rules were fun, though, and the game lasted an extremely long time. Of course, only Russians would make rules like, "Every time you drink, you drink twice." and "Drinker picks a buddy" and "Drinker's buddy picks a buddy." Around the third rule (Drink every time you say "like"), everyone began to get understandably fucked up. This mission was further accomplished by the guys' desire to finish off that crappy 30-pack of Natural Ice, which triumphantly ended in a shirt off, with drunken dancing, ghetto strobe lights, and awesome Russian techno music mixed in with our usual favorites. After several rounds of creative Truth or Dare (nothing inappropriate, actually--what do you think we are--Americans? lol)
...Aaaaaand what a great idea it would be to go have a snowball fight! When we first got to the apartment, we saw scantily clad (for February blizzards, that is) black guys completely fucking each other up in the snow. We decided to be with each other in the snow, completely fucked up. The others lit up a cigarette and then came the horseplay. Idiots that we were, the booze made us feel warmer than we thought, so Etel insisted on preventing my hypothermia with the generosity of the warm contents of her closet. On our slippery, wobbly journey to the door, Sasha sabotages our desire for not-pneumonia by pulling us away, inevitably ending in rolling around in snow, throwing snowballs, and uncontrollable laughter paused only for excited shouts in Russian. Though being shirtless with just a light windbreaker open over his torso was enough for him, Etel and I successfully returned warmer and dressed more heavily in preparation for going on the swings. "Teeeshe, teeshe, ve zhe znayeti shto shas Indeeskaya zhenshena budyet kryechat na nas?" she warned, "Etel, yazhheee smaguuu po Hindiiskii na neyoo nakreechattt!! Shto tie volnuyeshsya!?" I warned, barely clinging in an awkward position to being carried across the yard. On the swings, we discovered that it is difficult for someone to sit on your lap while swinging. We next discovered a snowman, which was promptly destroyed by the gentlemen after a valiant effort by Etel to thwart their snow pillaging. We rebuilt it, crooked, many times, with sticks in the wrong places and lumpy middles insulting human design, but stumbled away successfully to go aid some guy who drove his Mustang into a drift. Shouting proudly about the RUSSIAN COMRADES TO DE RESCUE, we huffed and puffed his 8-cylinder out and started for the apartment. While Sasha was insisting on drifting his Kia, completely wasted, in the parking lot, I tried to convince him instead to give me the keys. When that didn't work, we convinced him we'll go after we warm up inside. On the way back home, I saw it. A shopping cart. I screamed, "A SHOPPING CART!!!!!!!!!1" and climbed in, proclaiming what a great idea this was! They drifted the cart with me in tow in the wet, sticky snow and after falling several times, we went back to the apartment. For more drinking. And more dancing. And more Truth or Dare, before Colya finally drove me home in his BMW, which, by the way, BEASTED the snow. At 6 am, groggy and gushing with joy, I went to sleep with a cranky Mayank.
So what of this evening? I cannot even begin to describe the feelings of belonging that this awakened in me. After so many years of wondering what it was that was making me feel just slightly out of place, I was welcomed into a group of friends and hospitable hosts that carried on in traditionally influenced fun. How can I explain what makes it so different? How can I adequately describe the relief of being able to speak Russian to people my own age, with similar stories, attitudes, and beliefs about fun and good times? I never ever felt so comfortable, and the atmosphere never felt so genuinely dripping with goodwill as I felt last night in the company of Russian/Belorussian/Ukrainian Americans. I never quite fit in with Russians, and I never quite perfectly fit with Americans, but Russian Americans are exactly my breed of understanding! No one here is faking kindness, or grinning an awkward smile to be polite. No one is trying to get laid. No one is getting fucked up to see how much they can chug. No one is waiting for someone to pass out to draw on them (they were conscious for that part). No one is lazy, on the couch, talking about how fucked up they are. We all got together for a relaxing fun time around friends to enjoy their company and feel a sense of togetherness from the unique brand of party that comes from our blended cultural backgrounds. I felt a sense of trust, kinship, friendliness, honesty, innocence, and goodwill that can often only be achieved around people you've known your whole life. Yet, with Russians, this feeling happens after an hour or two of knowing them. That's what makes our social life and behavior different. I finally belonged somewhere. I finally had an identity, found it, sharing its skeletal contours with many wonderful people who inherently understood and shared my sentiments.
Did I mention the hospitality?
P.S. WARNING: BREAKS TONE OF BLOG ENTRY. I wake up to a Mayank angry about what time I came home, sarcastically urging me to sleep and insisting that I need it. Seriously? What happened to a boyfriend being there to listen to their partner and being supportive of their emotions? What happened to the listening---the understanding? How can I tell him the deep satisfaction of the connection I made? Isn't he supposed to be the first one I gush to--and he's worried about what time his prized posession comes home and how proper or improper it is, and how to leash the pet he's parenting? I'm 21, not 45. At 45, I'll only stay out to 4 am. I just hate the piss-poor level of understanding and the finger wagging and the silent anger, burning caustically in the phrases dripping with sarcasm. What happened to being each other's best friends? Does that stop? I just left. I left, finally, without trying to start an argument. He doesn't realize how he made himself appear the other day when he ignored me and coldheartedly, cruelly cast me aside as some animal. He doesn't realize that I no longer trust him enough to tell him my deep emotions from last night, and that is the most costly loss I can think of. This is a different kind of trust. This is the trust you have when you believe people will listen, when people will care, when people will understand. I don't trust him to listen to me--to see me as a human being with feelings and deeper emotions. I can't confide in him. What is that? Who will see me as a person? I'm tired of being a posession, when the only thing that matters in the stead of my happiness is what time I come home and do as is wanted or expected of me. I thought I moved out of my house, and even my parents never ever lost my trust in that regard. (I called my mom at 5:30 am to tell her about this and she understood so perfectly.)
I wanted to tell someone [other than my mom, whom I called at 5:30 am about this] about how I feel. I don't think anyone is home who would empathize, and my boyfriend is being mock-happy and sarcastic right now, so I have a blog!
Last night was the best night ever. After three classes (skipped one) and work, my assistant manager came in to relieve me at 9:00 pm so I could go to the Russian club meeting. I went home, quickly changed, made it on time, and took a seat. There must have been about 30-40 people there! I was nervous and a little shy at first, and after introductions, everyone was welcome to Russian refreshments. I meekly placed a couple of treats on my plate and sat down. After sitting along for about 2 minutes like a dumbass (who goes to a club to meet people and sits alone?) I went to go chat with Etel. Another officer chimed in, Sasha, and we struck up a conversation about our mutual suffering in engineering. This conversation dominated and led back to the desks (after we realized we were the only ones standing) and continued on to what classes he would have had cancelled the next day, Differential Equations, and zodiac signs, including whether or not we believe. He's a Scorpio, too, October birthday close to mine. Anyway, the meeting continued with a rousing(?) game of Mafia, a suspicion game based on accusations and murder (yay!). Some people (with a sense of humor and fun attitudes) enjoyed it more than others (who have trouble understanding the concept of suspense and why not anonymity is crucial to the game). I was a cop and they killed me off for trying to help them pin a mafioso. Damn it I'm a cop it's my job (literally, in the game, only we know for sure) to know. Afterward, we broke up into small groups to play/learn to play a card game called Durak, with relatively complicated rules. It was still so welcome and so strange to hear and understand Russian conversations behind me in the classroom. Sasha was advising us newbies on the strategic methods best to use in Durak, and after clean up, I bummed a ride home. Upon arriving to Mayank's place (where I got dropped off) he seemed okay enough, though perhaps a bit bummed at not being able to see me to hang out. However, not five minutes after I got there, Etel called me back and invited me to their apartment to hang out with her, her roommates, and the rest of the club officers. This time, Oleg swung by to pick me up with the others in tow, and we stopped at 7-Eleven for fruit punch before heading to join Sasha at the ladies' Busch apartment. Upon arrival, I popped open a beer (Natural Ice...because even piss is tolerable cold) with the guys and relaxed on the couch before Nastya made the jungle juice and we began a round of Kings. The slightly different rules were fun, though, and the game lasted an extremely long time. Of course, only Russians would make rules like, "Every time you drink, you drink twice." and "Drinker picks a buddy" and "Drinker's buddy picks a buddy." Around the third rule (Drink every time you say "like"), everyone began to get understandably fucked up. This mission was further accomplished by the guys' desire to finish off that crappy 30-pack of Natural Ice, which triumphantly ended in a shirt off, with drunken dancing, ghetto strobe lights, and awesome Russian techno music mixed in with our usual favorites. After several rounds of creative Truth or Dare (nothing inappropriate, actually--what do you think we are--Americans? lol)
...Aaaaaand what a great idea it would be to go have a snowball fight! When we first got to the apartment, we saw scantily clad (for February blizzards, that is) black guys completely fucking each other up in the snow. We decided to be with each other in the snow, completely fucked up. The others lit up a cigarette and then came the horseplay. Idiots that we were, the booze made us feel warmer than we thought, so Etel insisted on preventing my hypothermia with the generosity of the warm contents of her closet. On our slippery, wobbly journey to the door, Sasha sabotages our desire for not-pneumonia by pulling us away, inevitably ending in rolling around in snow, throwing snowballs, and uncontrollable laughter paused only for excited shouts in Russian. Though being shirtless with just a light windbreaker open over his torso was enough for him, Etel and I successfully returned warmer and dressed more heavily in preparation for going on the swings. "Teeeshe, teeshe, ve zhe znayeti shto shas Indeeskaya zhenshena budyet kryechat na nas?" she warned, "Etel, yazhheee smaguuu po Hindiiskii na neyoo nakreechattt!! Shto tie volnuyeshsya!?" I warned, barely clinging in an awkward position to being carried across the yard. On the swings, we discovered that it is difficult for someone to sit on your lap while swinging. We next discovered a snowman, which was promptly destroyed by the gentlemen after a valiant effort by Etel to thwart their snow pillaging. We rebuilt it, crooked, many times, with sticks in the wrong places and lumpy middles insulting human design, but stumbled away successfully to go aid some guy who drove his Mustang into a drift. Shouting proudly about the RUSSIAN COMRADES TO DE RESCUE, we huffed and puffed his 8-cylinder out and started for the apartment. While Sasha was insisting on drifting his Kia, completely wasted, in the parking lot, I tried to convince him instead to give me the keys. When that didn't work, we convinced him we'll go after we warm up inside. On the way back home, I saw it. A shopping cart. I screamed, "A SHOPPING CART!!!!!!!!!1" and climbed in, proclaiming what a great idea this was! They drifted the cart with me in tow in the wet, sticky snow and after falling several times, we went back to the apartment. For more drinking. And more dancing. And more Truth or Dare, before Colya finally drove me home in his BMW, which, by the way, BEASTED the snow. At 6 am, groggy and gushing with joy, I went to sleep with a cranky Mayank.
So what of this evening? I cannot even begin to describe the feelings of belonging that this awakened in me. After so many years of wondering what it was that was making me feel just slightly out of place, I was welcomed into a group of friends and hospitable hosts that carried on in traditionally influenced fun. How can I explain what makes it so different? How can I adequately describe the relief of being able to speak Russian to people my own age, with similar stories, attitudes, and beliefs about fun and good times? I never ever felt so comfortable, and the atmosphere never felt so genuinely dripping with goodwill as I felt last night in the company of Russian/Belorussian/Ukrainian Americans. I never quite fit in with Russians, and I never quite perfectly fit with Americans, but Russian Americans are exactly my breed of understanding! No one here is faking kindness, or grinning an awkward smile to be polite. No one is trying to get laid. No one is getting fucked up to see how much they can chug. No one is waiting for someone to pass out to draw on them (they were conscious for that part). No one is lazy, on the couch, talking about how fucked up they are. We all got together for a relaxing fun time around friends to enjoy their company and feel a sense of togetherness from the unique brand of party that comes from our blended cultural backgrounds. I felt a sense of trust, kinship, friendliness, honesty, innocence, and goodwill that can often only be achieved around people you've known your whole life. Yet, with Russians, this feeling happens after an hour or two of knowing them. That's what makes our social life and behavior different. I finally belonged somewhere. I finally had an identity, found it, sharing its skeletal contours with many wonderful people who inherently understood and shared my sentiments.
Did I mention the hospitality?
P.S. WARNING: BREAKS TONE OF BLOG ENTRY. I wake up to a Mayank angry about what time I came home, sarcastically urging me to sleep and insisting that I need it. Seriously? What happened to a boyfriend being there to listen to their partner and being supportive of their emotions? What happened to the listening---the understanding? How can I tell him the deep satisfaction of the connection I made? Isn't he supposed to be the first one I gush to--and he's worried about what time his prized posession comes home and how proper or improper it is, and how to leash the pet he's parenting? I'm 21, not 45. At 45, I'll only stay out to 4 am. I just hate the piss-poor level of understanding and the finger wagging and the silent anger, burning caustically in the phrases dripping with sarcasm. What happened to being each other's best friends? Does that stop? I just left. I left, finally, without trying to start an argument. He doesn't realize how he made himself appear the other day when he ignored me and coldheartedly, cruelly cast me aside as some animal. He doesn't realize that I no longer trust him enough to tell him my deep emotions from last night, and that is the most costly loss I can think of. This is a different kind of trust. This is the trust you have when you believe people will listen, when people will care, when people will understand. I don't trust him to listen to me--to see me as a human being with feelings and deeper emotions. I can't confide in him. What is that? Who will see me as a person? I'm tired of being a posession, when the only thing that matters in the stead of my happiness is what time I come home and do as is wanted or expected of me. I thought I moved out of my house, and even my parents never ever lost my trust in that regard. (I called my mom at 5:30 am to tell her about this and she understood so perfectly.)
Saturday, January 16, 2010
My Ridiculous Life
Oh, how bitterly I used to weep and wistfully lament the existence my life has become. My grades! My love! My homestead! My circle! How lovely and peaceful my life was--all smiles, laughs, and glittering success. 3.9's, high school sweetheart, and best friends--bless my heart!
At Rutgers, my beautiful fantasy came crashing down...or so I thought.
After all has been said and done, I have had a chance to reflect back on what I've been through, and just like the tears I cried my first night at LA/ST--I want to smack myself and tell myself to grow the fuck up. The school of hard knocks has beat me to shit and replaced my broken bones with a priceless diploma that I cannot possibly regret earning. Yes, I earned it. I earned it with my blood, my sweat, my desperate, protesting tears, and soundless screams that fell upon the deaf ears of the deans responsible for my education. I'm sure in some cultures men have "rites of passage" to officially be considered adults in their tribe. Similarly, all the cutesy traditions our civilization on this side of the world has are all little play-games of "House". I have seen what it takes to be a woman and I could not be more sure of it.
Ahh, my love life. A hot topic of sordid details that has become quite the Achilles' heel for the naysayers that morphed into what the haute-couture is to fashion. Everyone knows everything, I'm so sure. Everyone is an expert when it comes to love--especially when love is a commodity, not a priceless treasure. Those who claim maturity have yet to display it, and those that proudly tout their good sense have yet to use it. I have heard more than my earned share of disparaging comments on this aspect of my life--but enough about them, because this paragraph is for the life itself. What a gorgeous, hardwood floor I tread upon! How lightly I tread upon it! I never paced and walked on tiptoe, leaving my stilettos at the door. Its chestnut glamour shone so brightly in the afternoon sun of the balcony at its far reaches. Once in a while, gazing back at it during the day and admiring it at night--I wanted to jump right off that balcony and sail down into oblivion just to see where I landed. As proud and comforting as its stability and lacquered finish were...I did wish for a carpet, if only to keep me warmer or add a softer touch with its shag luxury. CRASH! How suddenly, as I walked along right to the center, the floorboards gave way beneath my long, lithe legs to leave me plummeting in free fall through the darkness into the unknown. The mind-shattering pain shot excruciatingly through my body upon impact, threatening to scare my consciousness away into the recesses of my mind as I wavered between drifting into oblivion and screaming out in pain--and scream I did. I screamed and screamed for the neighbors. I heard their voices--most of them peering down through the hole. Only a couple made it down to my level--wherever it was that I fell to. My best friend, the most beautiful woman I know. My most divulged friend, the toughest, most sensitive man I know. These shouted at me from somewhere very near to me, 'Calm down!' they hollered, 'You will be okay,' resounded their all-too-true promise. I heard a door open in the stillness. Four footsteps, an echoing click, and the millisecond delay after it as the dim light instantly illuminated my surroundings and steadily grew brighter, whiter, purer. Oh...my goodness. Looking around, my tear-stained cheeks dropped to let my jaw slack. My watery eyes gazed out, wide with amazement, temporarily drowning out the pain. The floor was a rich, crimson shag that rose up to cradle my supporting palms. The pillows--there were so many! Purple, peacock, emerald, bronze, gold, silver, ruby--each beaded with an intricate Eastern design to adorn the satin, taffeta, plush, velvet, and silk. And Eastern it was. The entire room screamed of vivid passion in the colors it boasted, and everywhere I looked, cultural scenes hung, framed in gilded rectangles that adorned the painted mural backdrop of three walls. I knew that I had landed somewhere better than where I was...warmer, richer, more luxurious, and ecstatically fantastic. I cannot wait for my bones to heal from the breaks they incurred from having my floor torn from beneath me. I think of those glistening amber floorboards occasionally and how they glowed in the afternoon sun, and sometimes I think it was just an illusion. Regardless of how wonderful it may have been...the cold balcony drafts never failed to chill me, and it still could not prevent its own collapse--let alone mine.
My circle. Around the round table sat many faces. Long and uninterrupted this legislation reigned--trusted and renowned, old and established. There they sat, daily, in convention. Laughs dotted the interrelated, complicated relationships that filled the air between us, travelling across the length of the table, dependable...but not loyal. As I fell it is this table that crashed, giving out on its own with no help from the floor. The legs gave out, weighted by the evil, envious, shrouded, fallacy that unwittingly defined the word "friend". The shifty eyes that wagged from side to side like the tail of a selfish, hungry dog after its own reward soon revealed themselves for the ocular pools of lies that they were. These were never to be trusted anyway, and blessed I was to be relieved of the intruder's presence at my council. On one term of discussion the communication hung dead in the air, splitting the party and ostracizing the speaker. For countless issues I remained without judgment--listening, guiding, loving unconditionally, only to be berated by the sarcastic nuances of subtle persecution. They spoke their verdicts in eerie, friendly lies, delaying the inevitable that I would soon discover the depth of kin of their spirits to mine. A few, however, said nothing in front of the rest, but quietly massaged my shoulders and patted my back, sympathetic, empathetic, understanding eyes dripping with genuine concern and friendship. It was this defining moment during which I wasted no time with the distraction of 'friends', but rather deepened my love, affection, and abiding respect for my Friends. How lucky I was to have received the blessing in disguise of discerning who deserved my love. I know for a fact that my love is irreplaceable and indispensably invaluable, and it would be wise to apportion its benefits such that the deserving get the lion's share they deserve for standing by me. I love you, and you will always know who you are because though I will universally aid those in need, it will be a different emotion that shines through my face when I live my life by your side.
My homestead. What a quaint, peaceful, yawning house in its grandeur. Family, fun, friends, and fries--the four "F"'s that were supposed to define the Fourth academic year. I forgot the Fifth F: Fraudulent. The first friend was a fraud, the fantasy was a fraud, and the freeholder was a fraud. The filthy fossil of a vermin-infested ticking time bomb proved too much for the exorbitant rent. Thanks to one of the [true-blue] friends I kept from the dissolution of the Circle and the demolition of the Table, we received our one-way ticket out. In this confusing maze that became a corrupted trap of fake leads and dead ends, nothing worked. No legal loophole, no reserved rights, and no city conscience, all was lost. It seemed endless, forever waking up early, forever being let down. It ebbed and flowed between hope and its destruction until finally everything built into a frightening crescendo and then!!!!!!!!!...our light at the end of the tunnel. The ace, the trump card, the Poker's full house paid our one-way ticket out of a hellhole and into...a Full House. Full of safety, sanitation, responsibility, renovation, realtors, rooms, and savings. I was lucky to have the table crash so I knew who could stand by me when trouble grew into a tempest. Everything was going wrong. Suddenly, once the crowded fear died down and the rubble dust settled, I looked around to find...A house. Two. Roommates. Savings. How come everything was going right? Because it had to go wrong first. I had to learn what a bad landlord is. I had to learn what a bad house is. I had to learn was a bad deal is...only by crying and struggling through it first. Now, I am not just smart, I am street smart, and my mother graced me with a compliment after today's successes: "With your organizational skills, the only job that could fit you lies in leadership...you should be President!" Although I appreciate the compliment, I don't do these to toot my own horn. I don't do this for me or my walk-in closet. I don't do this for kicks, for ego, or for a power trip. I do this for the people who are bearing with me through all this grime, fighting by my side at the most and understanding me without harboring resentment at least. I do this because if someone is capable of helping, they should, especially if they have the time, knowledge, and ability to. I do this because they deserve a nice house, and if I'm the one they trust to lead the search, I am the one responsible for succeeding. I am not scared. There is not room for Fear or Freezing houses. Fuck.
School? Well, what a shitty year. I learned entirely too much to just be a bitter, cynical has-been. I am a bitter, cynical, has-been ENGINEERING STUDENT. Damn it. I programmed my way through 15-hour homeworks, failed my way through critical finals, and confused my way out of exams. I messed up more than I could ever have known, and where did it get me? A whole hell of a lot farther than if I had attended Communiversity. I know how to stay awake during lectures, I know how to grin and bear it, and I know how to learn. Instead of being given an easy spotlight in a small classroom, I have learned how to earn my name among hundreds. Instead of easy questions on exams, I forgot what it even means to be afraid of open-ended critical thinking questions. I forgot to be afraid of failure, and the best leader is the one who considers only logic, not emotional tyrants such as fear. I know how to stay up and I know how to pick out the important notes. I know that it is more important to understand than to memorize. Most vitally, I don't even know how this happened--but I absorb more knowledge now than ever before. I feel my memory being sharper, and if I have nothing else to credit--I credit my last-minute procrastinating tendencies for training my mind under pressure. Factually, there exists no pressure anymore, because there exists no fear. There is only time and its management. I know how to work hard, yes, but now, I know how to work smart. Working smart is a priceless asset that some people only wish they learned, had they only pushed themselves to their rock bottom to learn it. I do wish there was an easier way than falling from grace and a cheaper price than sacrificing my GPA. However, when I get back up there, I will be the proudest, smartest, most resourceful survivor that I could ever have even dreamed the engineer in me could be. I won't be able to promise Them a 4.0, but I'll be able to deliver, on demand, a sensible leader that knows the equations and facts that she needs to know, without all of the fluff that 4.0's waste their time on instead of learning management and networking. I do what I need to do when I need to do it, and when I promise, I will deliver, working harder to compensate for my competition than even competitors could dare rival. Everyone values a resurrected, penitent survivor because there is no doubt if they can successfully handle real-life problems and rescue themselves and the company from failure. With the ones who have never fallen, we can never know if they know how to rise, especially when push comes to shove comes to collapse. Take that in your diploma and sell it.
Fuck Failure. Bring it on, because even rock bottom isn't hard enough to cripple my spirit.
At Rutgers, my beautiful fantasy came crashing down...or so I thought.
After all has been said and done, I have had a chance to reflect back on what I've been through, and just like the tears I cried my first night at LA/ST--I want to smack myself and tell myself to grow the fuck up. The school of hard knocks has beat me to shit and replaced my broken bones with a priceless diploma that I cannot possibly regret earning. Yes, I earned it. I earned it with my blood, my sweat, my desperate, protesting tears, and soundless screams that fell upon the deaf ears of the deans responsible for my education. I'm sure in some cultures men have "rites of passage" to officially be considered adults in their tribe. Similarly, all the cutesy traditions our civilization on this side of the world has are all little play-games of "House". I have seen what it takes to be a woman and I could not be more sure of it.
Ahh, my love life. A hot topic of sordid details that has become quite the Achilles' heel for the naysayers that morphed into what the haute-couture is to fashion. Everyone knows everything, I'm so sure. Everyone is an expert when it comes to love--especially when love is a commodity, not a priceless treasure. Those who claim maturity have yet to display it, and those that proudly tout their good sense have yet to use it. I have heard more than my earned share of disparaging comments on this aspect of my life--but enough about them, because this paragraph is for the life itself. What a gorgeous, hardwood floor I tread upon! How lightly I tread upon it! I never paced and walked on tiptoe, leaving my stilettos at the door. Its chestnut glamour shone so brightly in the afternoon sun of the balcony at its far reaches. Once in a while, gazing back at it during the day and admiring it at night--I wanted to jump right off that balcony and sail down into oblivion just to see where I landed. As proud and comforting as its stability and lacquered finish were...I did wish for a carpet, if only to keep me warmer or add a softer touch with its shag luxury. CRASH! How suddenly, as I walked along right to the center, the floorboards gave way beneath my long, lithe legs to leave me plummeting in free fall through the darkness into the unknown. The mind-shattering pain shot excruciatingly through my body upon impact, threatening to scare my consciousness away into the recesses of my mind as I wavered between drifting into oblivion and screaming out in pain--and scream I did. I screamed and screamed for the neighbors. I heard their voices--most of them peering down through the hole. Only a couple made it down to my level--wherever it was that I fell to. My best friend, the most beautiful woman I know. My most divulged friend, the toughest, most sensitive man I know. These shouted at me from somewhere very near to me, 'Calm down!' they hollered, 'You will be okay,' resounded their all-too-true promise. I heard a door open in the stillness. Four footsteps, an echoing click, and the millisecond delay after it as the dim light instantly illuminated my surroundings and steadily grew brighter, whiter, purer. Oh...my goodness. Looking around, my tear-stained cheeks dropped to let my jaw slack. My watery eyes gazed out, wide with amazement, temporarily drowning out the pain. The floor was a rich, crimson shag that rose up to cradle my supporting palms. The pillows--there were so many! Purple, peacock, emerald, bronze, gold, silver, ruby--each beaded with an intricate Eastern design to adorn the satin, taffeta, plush, velvet, and silk. And Eastern it was. The entire room screamed of vivid passion in the colors it boasted, and everywhere I looked, cultural scenes hung, framed in gilded rectangles that adorned the painted mural backdrop of three walls. I knew that I had landed somewhere better than where I was...warmer, richer, more luxurious, and ecstatically fantastic. I cannot wait for my bones to heal from the breaks they incurred from having my floor torn from beneath me. I think of those glistening amber floorboards occasionally and how they glowed in the afternoon sun, and sometimes I think it was just an illusion. Regardless of how wonderful it may have been...the cold balcony drafts never failed to chill me, and it still could not prevent its own collapse--let alone mine.
My circle. Around the round table sat many faces. Long and uninterrupted this legislation reigned--trusted and renowned, old and established. There they sat, daily, in convention. Laughs dotted the interrelated, complicated relationships that filled the air between us, travelling across the length of the table, dependable...but not loyal. As I fell it is this table that crashed, giving out on its own with no help from the floor. The legs gave out, weighted by the evil, envious, shrouded, fallacy that unwittingly defined the word "friend". The shifty eyes that wagged from side to side like the tail of a selfish, hungry dog after its own reward soon revealed themselves for the ocular pools of lies that they were. These were never to be trusted anyway, and blessed I was to be relieved of the intruder's presence at my council. On one term of discussion the communication hung dead in the air, splitting the party and ostracizing the speaker. For countless issues I remained without judgment--listening, guiding, loving unconditionally, only to be berated by the sarcastic nuances of subtle persecution. They spoke their verdicts in eerie, friendly lies, delaying the inevitable that I would soon discover the depth of kin of their spirits to mine. A few, however, said nothing in front of the rest, but quietly massaged my shoulders and patted my back, sympathetic, empathetic, understanding eyes dripping with genuine concern and friendship. It was this defining moment during which I wasted no time with the distraction of 'friends', but rather deepened my love, affection, and abiding respect for my Friends. How lucky I was to have received the blessing in disguise of discerning who deserved my love. I know for a fact that my love is irreplaceable and indispensably invaluable, and it would be wise to apportion its benefits such that the deserving get the lion's share they deserve for standing by me. I love you, and you will always know who you are because though I will universally aid those in need, it will be a different emotion that shines through my face when I live my life by your side.
My homestead. What a quaint, peaceful, yawning house in its grandeur. Family, fun, friends, and fries--the four "F"'s that were supposed to define the Fourth academic year. I forgot the Fifth F: Fraudulent. The first friend was a fraud, the fantasy was a fraud, and the freeholder was a fraud. The filthy fossil of a vermin-infested ticking time bomb proved too much for the exorbitant rent. Thanks to one of the [true-blue] friends I kept from the dissolution of the Circle and the demolition of the Table, we received our one-way ticket out. In this confusing maze that became a corrupted trap of fake leads and dead ends, nothing worked. No legal loophole, no reserved rights, and no city conscience, all was lost. It seemed endless, forever waking up early, forever being let down. It ebbed and flowed between hope and its destruction until finally everything built into a frightening crescendo and then!!!!!!!!!...our light at the end of the tunnel. The ace, the trump card, the Poker's full house paid our one-way ticket out of a hellhole and into...a Full House. Full of safety, sanitation, responsibility, renovation, realtors, rooms, and savings. I was lucky to have the table crash so I knew who could stand by me when trouble grew into a tempest. Everything was going wrong. Suddenly, once the crowded fear died down and the rubble dust settled, I looked around to find...A house. Two. Roommates. Savings. How come everything was going right? Because it had to go wrong first. I had to learn what a bad landlord is. I had to learn what a bad house is. I had to learn was a bad deal is...only by crying and struggling through it first. Now, I am not just smart, I am street smart, and my mother graced me with a compliment after today's successes: "With your organizational skills, the only job that could fit you lies in leadership...you should be President!" Although I appreciate the compliment, I don't do these to toot my own horn. I don't do this for me or my walk-in closet. I don't do this for kicks, for ego, or for a power trip. I do this for the people who are bearing with me through all this grime, fighting by my side at the most and understanding me without harboring resentment at least. I do this because if someone is capable of helping, they should, especially if they have the time, knowledge, and ability to. I do this because they deserve a nice house, and if I'm the one they trust to lead the search, I am the one responsible for succeeding. I am not scared. There is not room for Fear or Freezing houses. Fuck.
School? Well, what a shitty year. I learned entirely too much to just be a bitter, cynical has-been. I am a bitter, cynical, has-been ENGINEERING STUDENT. Damn it. I programmed my way through 15-hour homeworks, failed my way through critical finals, and confused my way out of exams. I messed up more than I could ever have known, and where did it get me? A whole hell of a lot farther than if I had attended Communiversity. I know how to stay awake during lectures, I know how to grin and bear it, and I know how to learn. Instead of being given an easy spotlight in a small classroom, I have learned how to earn my name among hundreds. Instead of easy questions on exams, I forgot what it even means to be afraid of open-ended critical thinking questions. I forgot to be afraid of failure, and the best leader is the one who considers only logic, not emotional tyrants such as fear. I know how to stay up and I know how to pick out the important notes. I know that it is more important to understand than to memorize. Most vitally, I don't even know how this happened--but I absorb more knowledge now than ever before. I feel my memory being sharper, and if I have nothing else to credit--I credit my last-minute procrastinating tendencies for training my mind under pressure. Factually, there exists no pressure anymore, because there exists no fear. There is only time and its management. I know how to work hard, yes, but now, I know how to work smart. Working smart is a priceless asset that some people only wish they learned, had they only pushed themselves to their rock bottom to learn it. I do wish there was an easier way than falling from grace and a cheaper price than sacrificing my GPA. However, when I get back up there, I will be the proudest, smartest, most resourceful survivor that I could ever have even dreamed the engineer in me could be. I won't be able to promise Them a 4.0, but I'll be able to deliver, on demand, a sensible leader that knows the equations and facts that she needs to know, without all of the fluff that 4.0's waste their time on instead of learning management and networking. I do what I need to do when I need to do it, and when I promise, I will deliver, working harder to compensate for my competition than even competitors could dare rival. Everyone values a resurrected, penitent survivor because there is no doubt if they can successfully handle real-life problems and rescue themselves and the company from failure. With the ones who have never fallen, we can never know if they know how to rise, especially when push comes to shove comes to collapse. Take that in your diploma and sell it.
Fuck Failure. Bring it on, because even rock bottom isn't hard enough to cripple my spirit.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
New Year, New Planner
Every year, what seems like half of America makes resolutions that might hopefully change their lives for the better come January 1, 20__. Most drop these by the end of the week, and the rest drop them by the end of the month, leaving a small percentage of people who actually succeed in maintaining a lifestyle that is now one resolution better, healthier, and happier. What makes that difference?
Well, for starters, the first step is to set a realistic goal. If your favorite food is McDonald's (and a large diet coke, please!!! :)) and your favorite dessert can be used to describe quantities such as a "mole" and structures such as the atom (my high school Chemistry teacher loved Twinkies), then chances are that losing fifty pounds by Valentine's Day is not only an unrealistic goal, but one that will make you look worse for having quit. I suppose the second idea that comes to mind is that although the new year is an excellent time to start some aspect of your life afresh, I don't imagine successful people needing the excuse of a "New Year" to wait to improve their lives.
However, I finally have found a resolution that I can justify waiting to implement. I bought a planner! This makes sense--it's realistic, because our purses have enough shit in it that it wouldn't make the slightest difference to carry one more thing around. Therefore, it is also realistic that it can change my life, because writing on the bus or before class starts on something that is within reach just inside my purse can make the difference between "OH SHIT THAT INTERVIEW IS TODAY?!" and "Honey, Happy Anniversary!" (Like I'd ever forget that). Also, I'm justified in waiting because I just spent 7$ on this shit and I'm not going to buy one just for the month of December when they start from January and last a year.
That said, my New Year's resolution is to WRITE SHIT DOWN so I don't look like an asshat for having my schedule all over the place. Every year, my life gets more and more hectic and I've done little to help my poor overwhelmed memory (already raped by equations and Queens Guard counts) cope with added classes, events, clubs, friends, and responsibilities. After missing important events, standing best friends up, and missing a final exam, maybe, just maybe, it's time to actually act upon coordinating my life in a way that makes it easier to keep track of things. I don't feel less capable, and I don't feel like my memory has worsened, but between a full course load at a four-year, work, Queens Guard commandership, a boyfriend, and personal goals, how am I supposed to remember all of the things I need to do when they're swimming around like retarded sperm cells in the midst of all of the turbo-fertile sperm cells that are the deliciously useful and pertinent fluid mechanics equations I just learned?
In addition, it may not be a moleskine--but it's pink and leather-bound! I bought a little pocket-sized Mead notebook to write down things throughout the day. What things won't be relevant to keeping in a planner? Well, any time I drive or contemplate sleeping through a class, I sometimes find inspiration when my mind drifts to the deeper, more satisfying aspects of life that don't quite conform to the rigid movements of the clock's two hands. I want to write down awesome quotes, thoughts, and philosophies that I think of so I can...
...actually write them in this blog!
How 'bout that? Two birds with one stone.
This is a way better gift than those jeans that were SO going to shrink in the wash that I returned to buy this stuff.
Update: Just found out this planner is sold by academic year. D'OH! Better stock up on the next one... -_-
Well, for starters, the first step is to set a realistic goal. If your favorite food is McDonald's (and a large diet coke, please!!! :)) and your favorite dessert can be used to describe quantities such as a "mole" and structures such as the atom (my high school Chemistry teacher loved Twinkies), then chances are that losing fifty pounds by Valentine's Day is not only an unrealistic goal, but one that will make you look worse for having quit. I suppose the second idea that comes to mind is that although the new year is an excellent time to start some aspect of your life afresh, I don't imagine successful people needing the excuse of a "New Year" to wait to improve their lives.
However, I finally have found a resolution that I can justify waiting to implement. I bought a planner! This makes sense--it's realistic, because our purses have enough shit in it that it wouldn't make the slightest difference to carry one more thing around. Therefore, it is also realistic that it can change my life, because writing on the bus or before class starts on something that is within reach just inside my purse can make the difference between "OH SHIT THAT INTERVIEW IS TODAY?!" and "Honey, Happy Anniversary!" (Like I'd ever forget that). Also, I'm justified in waiting because I just spent 7$ on this shit and I'm not going to buy one just for the month of December when they start from January and last a year.
That said, my New Year's resolution is to WRITE SHIT DOWN so I don't look like an asshat for having my schedule all over the place. Every year, my life gets more and more hectic and I've done little to help my poor overwhelmed memory (already raped by equations and Queens Guard counts) cope with added classes, events, clubs, friends, and responsibilities. After missing important events, standing best friends up, and missing a final exam, maybe, just maybe, it's time to actually act upon coordinating my life in a way that makes it easier to keep track of things. I don't feel less capable, and I don't feel like my memory has worsened, but between a full course load at a four-year, work, Queens Guard commandership, a boyfriend, and personal goals, how am I supposed to remember all of the things I need to do when they're swimming around like retarded sperm cells in the midst of all of the turbo-fertile sperm cells that are the deliciously useful and pertinent fluid mechanics equations I just learned?
In addition, it may not be a moleskine--but it's pink and leather-bound! I bought a little pocket-sized Mead notebook to write down things throughout the day. What things won't be relevant to keeping in a planner? Well, any time I drive or contemplate sleeping through a class, I sometimes find inspiration when my mind drifts to the deeper, more satisfying aspects of life that don't quite conform to the rigid movements of the clock's two hands. I want to write down awesome quotes, thoughts, and philosophies that I think of so I can...
...actually write them in this blog!
How 'bout that? Two birds with one stone.
This is a way better gift than those jeans that were SO going to shrink in the wash that I returned to buy this stuff.
Update: Just found out this planner is sold by academic year. D'OH! Better stock up on the next one... -_-
Inspiration
As beautiful and ornate an inspiration love can provide, I am just a little frustrated that it is one of the few things during my winter break that can inspire me. As a result, I have written a lot this past break--little of it (pretty much just one blog entry) inspired by anything other than love. Therefore, I have written maybe 2-3 choppy drafts of entries that have lasted barely more than a paragraph before being prematurely abandoned. Oh, shit...here comes another creative angle. I must write--until my return!
...I failed. I feel blank right now. I honestly just want to sleep; to play my Bejeweled in peace while a soundless Lifetime movie plays its blurred frames just out of eyesight's focus on the plasma screen behind my laptop. Regardless of whether or not I have anything to write about, I started the blog for more than just creative outlet. I started it to keep myself writing. It appears that love has maintained this steady habit, but nevertheless, what good is an empty blog? I'll brainstorm a list of things I can write about once the inspiration occurs or desire strikes:
My Christmas tree
Snow
The suffocation of school
The paradox once I can breathe
My alien dream I had last night (which I'll more than likely forget)
Peace
Religion
Wow this list is getting very macroscopic and philosophically intense. I am going to chop this one short, as well. I won't force this tonight. Not at 3:29 am.
...I failed. I feel blank right now. I honestly just want to sleep; to play my Bejeweled in peace while a soundless Lifetime movie plays its blurred frames just out of eyesight's focus on the plasma screen behind my laptop. Regardless of whether or not I have anything to write about, I started the blog for more than just creative outlet. I started it to keep myself writing. It appears that love has maintained this steady habit, but nevertheless, what good is an empty blog? I'll brainstorm a list of things I can write about once the inspiration occurs or desire strikes:
My Christmas tree
Snow
The suffocation of school
The paradox once I can breathe
My alien dream I had last night (which I'll more than likely forget)
Peace
Religion
Wow this list is getting very macroscopic and philosophically intense. I am going to chop this one short, as well. I won't force this tonight. Not at 3:29 am.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Channeling What, Exactly?
A few questions to start my awfully original and completely significant blogging experience:
Why the corny name?
Phoenix: Because no matter how much I suck at life (especially the last three semesters of my four-year University) I just can't seem to be less optimistic.
Super: A cool prefix to...
Nova: Chosen just because it's in my real name...like about 80% of my ethnicity's last names.
Why the blog?
If I said, "My college English teacher told me to" would you believe me? I chose to have an outlet for my writing for several reasons. The way I behave around friends is dominated primarily by my pursuit of laughs and indulgence in often perverse humor (as one personality test on Facebook termed it). I wanted an outlet for the more beautiful side of my life and the meaning inside of me. I always thought to myself that there is a difference between those that exist and those that live--like if a Matrix truly existed, who is real, and who is a computer simulation? Who has a soul? Doesn't everyone? I want to channel everything inside of me because if my life means nothing to anyone else, it means everything to me. Those that may just know me for my personality have little idea how much substance I have. Belonging in society through your behaviors and motivations is one thing. The depth of the human spirit is another. I want to channel my human spirit because I'm with it every day, but not everyone else close to me is (Thus the title: Channeling). Also, I want to stay in touch with and expanding upon my writing skills, since English is better suited to my diligence and work ethic than Statics seems to be.
Who do you love?
Everyone equally and some more than others.
Look for witty, charming, ingenious, inspirational, or stupid quotes! You heard it here, first, folks!
Why the corny name?
Phoenix: Because no matter how much I suck at life (especially the last three semesters of my four-year University) I just can't seem to be less optimistic.
Super: A cool prefix to...
Nova: Chosen just because it's in my real name...like about 80% of my ethnicity's last names.
Why the blog?
If I said, "My college English teacher told me to" would you believe me? I chose to have an outlet for my writing for several reasons. The way I behave around friends is dominated primarily by my pursuit of laughs and indulgence in often perverse humor (as one personality test on Facebook termed it). I wanted an outlet for the more beautiful side of my life and the meaning inside of me. I always thought to myself that there is a difference between those that exist and those that live--like if a Matrix truly existed, who is real, and who is a computer simulation? Who has a soul? Doesn't everyone? I want to channel everything inside of me because if my life means nothing to anyone else, it means everything to me. Those that may just know me for my personality have little idea how much substance I have. Belonging in society through your behaviors and motivations is one thing. The depth of the human spirit is another. I want to channel my human spirit because I'm with it every day, but not everyone else close to me is (Thus the title: Channeling). Also, I want to stay in touch with and expanding upon my writing skills, since English is better suited to my diligence and work ethic than Statics seems to be.
Who do you love?
Everyone equally and some more than others.
Look for witty, charming, ingenious, inspirational, or stupid quotes! You heard it here, first, folks!
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