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Daughter of Celts...A Melodramatic narcissistic page for those who can't seem to sleep at night... August 23 A Little bit about me...I have a tendancy to be overly-intellectual whilst blogging, at least thats what I attempt to do. Whether or not I succeed in this endeavour is not entirely up to me. Intellectualism, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. I am certain that many people who have read my blogs regard me as an utter ass.
So I have decided, for this isolated incident, to defer my natural tendancy to sound like a badly written university essay and embrace my need to blog about...well...me (and my life). I won't compose anything of a complex nature, or even an interesting nature, I'm simply relaying to you, the reader, the things in which my opinions are simple, and not over-thought...black and white, as oppose to relative and subjective.
Now, where shall I begin? One's opinion about oneself can be equally as complex as one's opinion about one's life, so I'll just launch into this blog entry and stop waffling on about nothing.
I don't particularly like myself. I do sometimes, but other times, I really don't. I think that physically I'm pretty average, but never beautiful. This is an objective opinion. There are some people that I'm attracted to, and some people that I'm not attracted to, ergo, I am one of those people that I am not attracted to.
I like the way that I dress. I like my corsets, garter belts, stockings, high heels and boots. I like my Zeppelin hooded sweatshirts, my converse trainers and my band t-shirts. I like wearing black.
I don't like showing emotion to people and I don't like crying in front of anyone. If anyone asks, I'm fine. I don't like being vulnerable and I don't like everyone knowing about my problems. I don't like people who talk about my problems with other people, thinking that they know every detail about my problems, when they really dont know anything. This leads to misconceptions and assumptions regarding my behaviour and my personality...I dont like that. I dont like people who think that they know me better than I know myself. I like objective opinions from others about myself, but not concrete statements that are unchangable. I don't like people who feel that they always have to give me advice instead of just listening. I like people who will listen quietly. Having a friend that will just be there to listen is good enough for me. If I wanted advice from a psychologist, I'd go see one.
I don't like having a heart that can be bruised easily, but never feeling like I can reveal how much being bruised hurts to the person who has caused the bruising. I don't like being so nice and so forgiving that people feel that they can take full advantage of that, thereby walking all over me. I don't like that I allow this to happen, because it's my fault for not being stronger. I like that people can always come to me about anything and I will always accept them, I will always love them and I will never point a finger at them, because chances are, I'm just as bad. If I'm not just as bad, that's okay, because chances are, I'll care way more about you than I would about anything you've done.
I don't like men who ask for my number and then never call me. I don't like men who have no sense of chivalry or manners. I do like men who are willing to walk me to my tube station on a dark night, or who will put their arm around me if a creep standing on a street corner starts leering at my breasts. I don't like men who are so selfish that they won't take no for an answer. I don't like men who see me as just a body that is to be used as a means to an end. I don't like arrogance. I do like men who like my body, but like me for everything else too. I don't like men who have to be coaxed into being respectful and polite, if they were interested they would make the effort because they want to, not because I feel that they should. I like men who make an effort if they are interested, at least then I will know I am worth something to them. I like men who play guitars in rock bands...I really like men who play guitars in rock bands. I don't like the fact that I like men who play guitars in rock bands because this gets me into trouble.
I don't like women who say no but really mean yes. This confuses men and makes things very difficult for those of us who are actually honest when we say no. I don't like it when women get angry at a guy for opening a door for her or pulling out a chair for her. These women are ruining romance, and even friendship for the rest of us.
I like rock n' roll...I really like rock n' roll. I don't like hip hop or R n' B. I'm sick of it, please don't make me listen to it. I like metal music too...I really like metal music. I don't like "artists" who get their gear off to boost record sales and then claim to be talented. If they were talented, their gear could stay on and everyone would still buy the music (you don't see Eric Clapton parading around in ass-less chaps, do you?). I don't like female celebrities who strip down and claim that it's because they are strong and independent women who want to make a statement about female sexuality. Thats old, we've all heard it, find something new to make a statement about. What would be a miracle is if a female celebrity kept her clothes on and still made a statement about being a strong and independent woman...I would like that.
I don't like people who think that I'm incomplete and/or worthless simply because I won't shag them. I have a complete life and a pretty good life, and I don't need to be shagging some guy who probably doesn't love me, appreciate me, or really even care about me in anyway just so I can feel better about myself, or rather, make him feel better about himself. I do like people who will be respectful of my standards and try to understand the resasons that I have for them. I have good and justifiable reasons for them, just like I am sure you have good and justifiable reasons for yours.
I like my piercings. I have nine of them and I would like to have more. I like tattoos. I don't have any tattoos, but I really like tattoos on men. I like piercings on men as well. I like London, I like the Intrepid Fox and I like Camden. I like my rock n' roll friends, my goth friends, my biker friends, my metaller friends, my punk friends and my hippie friends. I like my friends that aren't alternative in any way, because they accept me for who I am, and I accept them for who they are. I like people who are true to themselves instead of trying to be like everyone else. If that means you dress like a chav then that's fine, as long as it's what you truly want. If that means you dress like a goth, then thats fine too. I'd rather be friends with a chav who is truly a chav, than a goth who's dressing like a chav simply because he or she feels that's what he or she has to do.
I like my church, Asylum. I like that it's a loving and accepting place where everyone can go and feel free to be themselves. I don't like that people assume we're not a real church or that we're not real followers of Christ just because we're alternative. Of course, people didn't accept Christ because he was alternative too and look what happened to him...I bet they feel bad about that now.
I like bellydancing. I like walking in the rain. I like the smell of rain. I like thunder and lightening. I like forests, lakes, rivers and mountains. I like being outside at night. I like candles and things that smell pretty. I like being around and in water. I like good food and healthy food. I like journalling and writing random quotes and thoughts down on bits of paper that I'll probably lose later anyway.
I don't like litter, especially when there's a garbage bin ten feet down the road. I don't like romantic comedies. I like biting and I like being bitten. This can be an erotic thing, but it can also be a sign of affection as well. I like literature. I like books. I like turning the page of a novel so that I can find out what happens in the next paragraph. I like feeling the paper in my fingers. I don't like it when people walk really slowly in the middle of Oxford Street.
I don't like capital punishment. I really don't like capital punishment. I don't like war or terrorism or needless suffering. I don't like that humanity feels the need to destroy ourselves on a very constistent and brutal basis.
I like people who can have a good conversation.
I think that covers it for now. I will probably add more later, or maybe delete some things, as I am consistently changing and growing.
I thank those of you who actually read this entire entry. It was long, monotonous and self-centred. But hopefully you learned some things about me that you didn't know before.
Cheers.
Willow xx June 13 The Devils - Part IIThe Devils – Part II
It was never my intention to write a series of essays regarding this one book. But I have decided that by keeping an up to date log of my thoughts regarding Dostoevsky’s work, I would avoid the predicament that I experienced after reading the Hunchback of Notre Dame – that is, being innundated with thoughts, feelings, ideas and suggestions, but then forgetting the more poignent of these due to not keeping track of them.
This book is unlike many of the other works that I have been immersed. Typically, I don’t simply read books, I devour them. Most books that I read provide a temporary satisfaction to my insatiable desire to further my understanding of classic literature. However, Dostoevsky demands attention. His characters depict ideas and thoughts that are not only intrinsic to the plot line, but were intrinsic Russia at the time, and indeed, intrinsic to our lives today. I would also like to preface this entry by saying that although Dostoevsky’s ideas and thoughts are intriguing, I don’t necessarily adhere to these ideas, nor do I fully reject them. His ideas are more like suggestions, as though he is asking the question, “what if…?” Therefore, I am placing his ideas in my blog so that others may ask similar questions and perhaps even elaborate on these very ideas.
The following passage takes place in part II of the novel. This is a conversation that is occuring between two people, Stavrogan and Shatov. Both of these men are in similar situations, yet zealously wary of each other, and with good reason. I am reluctant to reveal the nature of their relationship, and even the motivation or the context of the conversation, as it is essential to the plot line and I would hate to ruin the story for any potential readers.
“‘ Not one people,’ he began, as though reading it line by line and at the same time continuing to look menacingly at Stavrogin – ‘not one people has yet ordered its life in accordance with the principles of science and reason. There has never been any instance of it, except only for a moment, out of folly. Socialism is by its very nature bound to be atheistic because it has proclaimed from the very first that it is an atheistic instituition and that it intends to organize itself exclusively on the principles of science and reason. Reason and science have always, today and from the very beginning of time, played a secondary and a subordinate part; and so they will to the end of time. Peoples are formed and moved by quite a different force, a force that dominates and excercises its authority over them, the origin of which, however, is unknown and inexplicable. That force is the force of an unquenchable desire to go on to the end and, at the same time, to deny the existence of an end. It is the force of an incessant and persistent affirmation of its existence and a denial of death. It is the spirit of life, as the Scripture says, ‘rivers of living water’, the running dry of which is threatened in Revelation. It is the aesthetic principle, as the philosophers call it, an ethical principle, with which they identify it, the ‘seeking of God’, as I call it much more simply. The purpose of the whole evolution of a nation, in every people and at every period of its existence, is solely the pursuit of God, their God, their very own God, and faith in Him as in the only true one. God is the synthetic personailty of the whole people, taken from its beginning to its end. It has never happened that all or many peoples should have one common God, but every people has always had its own special one. The first sign of the decay of nations is when they begin to have common gods. When gods begin to become common gods, the gods die as well as the faith in them, together with the peoples themselves. The more powerful a nation, the more individual its god. There has never yet been a nation without a religion, that is to say, without the conception of good and evil. Every people has its own conception of good an evil and its general among many nations, then these nations begin to die out, and the very distinction between good and evil begins to get blurred and to vanish. Reason has never been able to define good and evil, or even to seperate good from evil, not even approximately; on the contrary, it had always mixed them up in a most pitiful and disgraceful fashion…’”
I am sure that you can infer that a conversation such as this, taking place in Russia in the late 19th century would be quite revolutionary. I am by no means a connoisseur of Russian history, but I understand enough about the blending of church and state, as well as the results of corrupt governments (and indeed, spiritual institutions) ruling a nation, to know that this excerpt is absolutely relevant, both then and now. I am not implying that I entirely agree with the passage, but I can certainly understand the relevance of his words.
I am especially interested in the latter section of the passage, which touches on the issue of our concept of good and of evil. If you have read my blog before, then you would be familiar with my past entry regarding this very question. The definition of these two things vary’s with just about every individual who asks the question. In reading through this passage, I considered the possibility that perhaps there is no universal definition. If my concept of good and evil is defined by my cultural context, then it is not applicable to those existing outside of my culture. If it is defined by my spiritual context, then it is not applicable to those outside of my spiritual context either. If it is defined by my own consciencness, that is to say, my own feeling of right and wrong, then obviously that definition is not applicable to anyone outside of myself as an individual.
It would seem that what Dostoevsky says about science and reason is true, they have both failed to define good and evil. Reason endeavours to understand the nature of these things, but science, I doubt, would be able to come up with any sort of formula or mathametical equasion that can be equal to good or equal to bad. It’s too subjective, but in some cases, absolute at the same time. Good and evil, by their very nature, seem to be a paradox in and of themselves. To be subjective and absolute at the same time would seem to be impossible, yet this is a question that most people have asked for thousands of years, and still there is no absolute, or even a subjective answer, only ideas and suggestions… inferences even.
The easy answer seems to be, “well, what is good or evil for you may or may not be good or evil for me.” But then I put it into an extreme context, such as in the case of rape. How could I possibly say that to a rape victim? Then, I try to put that into a cultural context, “well, if rape was culturally acceptable, then would we effectively see it as good instead of evil?” That, I would think, would then change the nature of a crime. If rape were permissable then it would not be rape at all, thereby dismissing the argument for ethnocentrism. So how about the argument for a spiritual context? If a person’s religion permits it, then should it be considered less evil? Again, we have the same issue as the cultural context. By the very nature of the crime, rape can not be consentual. Of course, you could have one person consenting within the confines of his or her religion, and the other person objecting, regardless of their religious beliefs, so who then is correct? Naturally, we would all say that the rapist is indeed wrong, and the victim is very right to object. I suppose that this is what can potentially happen when the laws of subjective (moral) truth and absolute truth are blurred. I do believe in tolerance but sooner or later it must be decided thar regardless of our definitions of good and evil, we have to form an idea of what is benificial, of what is right and of what is wrong.
Again, I’d be more than happy to read any feedback regarding this entry, and be assured, there’s more to come. June 07 The Devils
Yet another blog entry based on my literary endeavours. I really should find something else to write about, but literature gives such a good basis for extracting ideas. I really don’t know what I would do without my books. Currently, I am reading "The Devils" by Dostoevsky. The story revolves around the nihilists and revolutionaries of Russia who are scheming to dispose of the Russian government and the Russian church. It was published in 1871 and so offered a fairly prophetic account of Russian events. I have only just begun the book, and am not very close to the end, but already I am entirely intrigued by the diverse and charismatic characters that have been created by Dostoevsky. Within Part I, the reader is introduced to a spectrum of colourful characters, all of which are unique in their own right, but equally as intriguing. Already I am captured by the question, "where are these people going, and what has happened to them before the start of this narration?" If a reader can be genuinely interested in questions such as this, after barely turning the first few pages, my guess is that it’s probably a work of literature worth reading. This entry is not intended to be a technical analysis of my first impressions. Rather, it is going to be a discussion based on an excerpt taken from the text that I found to be particularly interesting. Please permit me to quote the passage so as to give you the context for this entry. The two characters are having a psychological and spiritual discussion regarding the suicide rate in Europe. The dialogue takes place between the narrator and a man named Mr. Kirilov. " ‘ There are two kinds [of people who commit suicide]: those who kill themselves from great sorrow or from spite, and those who are mad or whatever it is-those who do it suddenly. They think little about the pain, but do it suddenly. But those who do it from reason-they think a lot.’ ‘but are there people who do it from reason?’ ‘Lots. But for prejudice there would be more many more; all.’ ‘Not all, surely?’ He said nothing. ‘But aren’t there ways of dying painlessly?’ ‘Imagine,’ he said, stopping before me, ‘imagine a stone as big as a large house; it’s suspended and you are under it; if it fell on you - on your head – would you feel any pain? ‘A stone as big as a house? Of course, I’d be frightened.’ ‘I’m not talking of fear. Would it hurt?’ ‘A stone as big as a mountain weighing millions of pounds? Of course, it wouldn’t hurt.’ ‘But if you stood under it while it was hanging over you, you’d be terrified of the pain. Everybody would be terrified – the greatest scientist – the greatest doctor. Everyone will know it won’t hurt, and everyone will be afraid that it will hurt.’ ‘Well, and what is the second reason, the big one?’ ‘The next world!’ ‘You mean punishment?’ ‘Makes no difference. The next world – just the next world.’ ‘But aren’t there atheists who do not believe in the next world at all?’ Again, he said nothing. ‘Perhaps you judge from yourself?’ ‘Everyone must judge from himself,’ he said, reddening. ‘Full freedom will come only when it makes no difference whether to live or not to live. That’s the goal for everybody.’ ‘The goal? But perhaps no one will want to live then.’ ‘No one.’ He said emphatically. ‘Man’s afraid of death because he loves life,’ I remarked. ‘That’s how I see it, and that’s how nature had ordered it.’ ‘That’s despicable and that’s where the whole deception lies.’ His eyes flashed. ‘Life is pain, life is fear, and man is unahppy. Now all is pain and fear. Now man loves life. And that’s how they’ve done it. You’re given life now for pain and fear, and that’s where the whole deception lies. Now man is not yet what he will be. A new man will come, happy and proud. To whom it won’t matter whether he lives or not. He’ll be the new man! He who conquers pain and fear will himself be a god. And that other God will not be.’ ‘So, according to you, the other God does exist, after all?’ ‘He doesn’t exist, but He is. There’s no pain in a stone, but there’s pain in the fear of a stone. He who conquers pain and fear will himself become a god. Then there will be a new life, a new man, everything will be new. Then history will be divided into two parts: from the gorilla to the annihilation of God, and from the annihilation of God to-‘ ‘To the gorilla?’ ‘…to the physical transformation of the earth and man. Man will be god. He’ll be physically transformed. And the world,too, will be transformed, and things will be transformed, and thoughts and all feelings. What do you think? Will man be physically transformed then?’ ‘If it is all the same whether to live or not to live, everyone will kill himself and that’s perhaps the only change that will come about.’ ‘It makes no difference. Deception will be killed. Everyone who desires freedom must dare to kill himself. He who dares to kill himself has learnt the secret of the deception. Beyond that there is no freedom; that’s all, and beyond it there is nothing. He who dares to kill himself is a god. Now everyone can make it so that there shall be no God and there shall be nothing. But no one has done so yet.’" This is a heavy, albeit long, passage. Several different ideas are discussed here. I don’t think that suicide is really the main point of the dialogue. A person could look at this conversation and see positive vs. negative, atheism vs. spiritualism, humanist vs. humility. Obviously, such statements as in the quote above can not be slotted into nice clean catagories such as "humanism" or "atheistic existentialism." It seems to be so much broader than that. So what is the essence of this passage? What exactly is Dostoevsky trying to communicate? Mr. Kirilov is of the opinion that should man rise above fear and pain, he will become a god, thereby dispelling the obsolete idea of our current pereception of who God is. Neitchze, I am sure, would have something very interesting to say about this. This concept is very interesting coming from Dostoevsky, especially when compared to the character of Raskolnikov from "Crime and Punishment." Raskolnikov felt that some men are better than others, and therefore have a right to live outside the bounds of the law. Napoleon, for instance, was a great man (according to our hero) and so had the right to lead an army into battle, causing the death of thousands. Raskolnikov put this theory to the test by brutally murdering the pawn broker and her sister. If you have read this brilliant book, then you know the dark and chaotic results of his actions. But I have been distracted. Dostovesky seems to be driving at a concept relating to man’s place in this world. If we are the dominate life form, the intelligent life form, the "responsible" life form and we are essential nothing but evolved animals (which I do not believe) then is it natural that some human beings would evolve beyond others: that is, evolve past this "deception" of fear and pain and then move forward into whatever ensues after this evolution? Perhaps fear and pain has been placed in us for a reason? I am not saying that these are good things, however, they do tend to act as quality control. There are plenty of things in life that are not physically painful, but they can still be damaging, and so the fear of that pain, however contrived, is still valuable, and therefore prevents us from doing things that we could regret. I am not referring to my moral conscience, as that can be easily disuaded in some situations. It is allowing my irrational mind, which says, "that will hurt" take control of my rational mind, which says, "that will not hurt, therefore, allow it to happen." Mr. Kirilov uses the example of a large hovering stone and insists that if we put aside our fear of the non-existent pain, we will become gods. I beg to differ. If every person managed to arrive at that "god-like" mentality, would we not all inevitably be crushed? Where would that bring us, as a social order? Would it not then be anarchy that would come about? I have played with the idea of anarchy, and in theory it’s an idea that makes me smile. However, if humanism has showed us anything, it is that we are not capable of surviving in such a state. Too much freedom seems to bring chaos, and too much control, as in a dictatorship, seems to do the same. Democracy at the moment seems to be a bit of a disappointment as well, given the current state of things. So what then is our option? How then, as a "civilised" society (and I use the word civilised loosely) should we proceed? It would seem that regardless of our government controls, or lack thereof, our human nature, our fallibility, our selfish nature, will still lead to some sort of digression. We have free will and we make decisions, and each of those decisions effect others, just as the decisions of others effect me. Most of the time the decisions of others are decisions that I cannot control or influence, but I can certainly control my own decisions. Therefore, we are left with a responsibility to make choices that will ultimately result in good. Of course that begs the question of, "what is good?" but that’s another blog entry altogether. As mentioned above, according to Kirilov, some people would then be able to evolve beyond others, becoming gods. However, I personally believe that when a person is humble, (ie. Christ washing the feet of His disciples), then much more can be accomplished. "The last shall be first and the first shall be last" and so on. Obviously when only one or two people live by such principles, it is easy for others to take advantage of them, but surely, surely if the goal of a human being were to be one such as this, instead of being power-driven, our society would be completely transformed. I would honestly appreciate any feedback on this entry. These are ideas that surely everyone has some sort of opinion on, and I’d be more than happy to receive yours! April 25 Behaviourly Challenged...Recently I have been going through some difficult realizations regarding myself and my own character. As an adult with relatively strict morals and ethics, I have always hoped that I would be strong enough and brave enough to curb my desire and actions with my wisdom and experience gained from the past. This, however, is not always the case. I have found that I am somewhat of a paradox, a walking contradiction. I, theoretically, maintain all of these ideals and values within my mind, but to apply them practically to my life is becoming increasingly more difficult. In fact, even after being presented with the negative consequences of my actions, I will often times continue, due to my stubborn self, to behave in a way that is in no way benificial. I suppose that a proper word to use could be "hypocrite" but I feel that the connotations of this word are a little too strong for my purposes in this entry. I recently confided these concerns with a very good friend of mine, and I was advised that many of my current experiences are completely normal for individuals that are my age. I certainly do agree with this sentiment, but then, I couldn't help wondering…is this an excuse? If I deliberately manipulate my circumstances in order to do something that I believe is wrong, can I simply blame it on my age and cultural context? Can I fall back on the old, "It's a post-modern and tolerant society, therefore, what's good for me isn't necessarily good for you" excuse? Is this an excuse at all? When it comes to issues of morality, is there safety in numbers? My greatest fear in all of this, is that I do not feel particularly convicted about my behaviour. I suppose that this is the point of my blog entry. I am not writing in order to find out if what I am doing is right or wrong, or somewhere in between (which is why I have not revealed what this specific issue is), I am writing because I feel utter apathy towards this particular issue, and that is a concern for me. Mentally, I do believe that this area of my life requires some amendments, however, I can not seem to comprehend this emotionally. It is this apathy that I find to be disconcerting, not the action itself. If I believe in something, I want to believe in it passionately, as opposed to having an apathetic and indifferent reaction to my adopted priciples. I still logically and rationally believe in these principles, but how can I make these things applicable to my life when the rest of my being (heart and body) do not seem to align with them? I wonder, to be honest, if perhaps it is not really a division between my emotive responses and my mental responses, as much as it is a division between my carnal side and my moral side. It takes a minimum amount of effort to become desensitized to particular patterns of behaviour, and so this behavoiur, effectually, evokes very little conviction. This is a very dangerous state of mind to be in, as it can cause the absence of accountability and a digression in social behaviour. That same friend who advised me regarding this situation, also added that even though I am observing patterns of behaviour within myself that are common for individuals my age, I am also a step ahead of the situation because I not only have observed this pattern, but I have decided that it is a pattern that I should not allow myself to maintain. Please keep in mind that although my desire is to overcome this issue, I am still struggling with apathy, thus the paradox. It's a tricky situation, but I am confident that with time, accountability and a lot of prayer, all shall be made right in the end. March 28 Survey Says...Why aren't I asleep yet? This is the question that plagues me as I sit before the mind numbing glare of the computer monitor. I have a cold, which has promptly gone to my sinuses. That is enough to keep anyone awake, I should think. I don't even have any good literature to write about, at this point. The demands of life have forced me to reduce my dedication to literary excellence...in other words, I just haven't had the time. It's a lame excuse, a sorry excuse, perhaps not even an excuse at all. My brain just seems to turn off outside of work. Of course, having a head cold in no way fascilitates the desire to reach new heights on the literary scale. But someday...someday I will write a brilliant entry about War and Peace...someday.
So, given my current state of health, I have decided that instead of ranting on and on about various paradigms, ideals, experiences and so on, I want to hear your thoughts. Similar to my previous blog entry, I will pose a question, and I would very much like your feedback, regardless of whether or not you know me personally. I am not so much asking a question that I wish to know the answer to, I am asking a question that can have as many answers as there are readers, thereby gaining perspective on what others think and feel. Okay, here it goes...
What, in your estimation, separates the good from the evil? Is it our actions? Thoughts? Environment? Cultural and circumstantial context? Is good and evil weighed against the deterioration or the edification of our fellow human beings?
It's a cliched question that really isn't all that new or profound, but it's not so bad given that I have a head cold. February 18 New PhotosI went to Cambridge today...what a lovely city! There's a bookshop there that had my little black heart beating wildly. It sold hardcover books for less than cheap prices, just because they had a slight flaw (ie. smeared ink or a small wrinkle in a page). It was a haven for your everyday academic who also pries themselves contually into the literary world....beautiful.
Anyway, I took some photos which are under "gallavanting the UK" and I also put up some older photos of some other friends from Asylum, which are under (take a wild guess) "my Asylum family."
I am trying not to make any more photo albums because I really don't want to make things all complicated. But please, enjoy the photos, even though they're fairly standard socio-gothic snaps.
cheers,
Linds January 30 The Hunchback of Notre DameAs I was coming to the conclusion of this book, I desperately read and re-read the closing paragraphs, stunned by the chilling yet morbidly romantic tale of love, lust, hostility and despair. As I lay in bed that night, thousands of thoughts floated through my mind, and I was determined to write a brilliant essay, worthy of a Master's thesis. However, in my life-long struggle with procrastination, I have forgotten most of those seemingly brilliant thoughts and now, three weeks later, I am sitting in front of my computer monitor, trying, with no avail, to recollect my initial thoughts and reactions. I apologize for my lack of insight, but I promise you, I did put a great deal of effort into my study of this book, even if it does not reveal itself in this entry.
First of all, I would like to speak to all of you who have seen the Disney film and therefore, feel no need to pick up the novel. The Disney film, true to it's history of mucking up great works of literature, has done exactly that. There is nothing remotely similar or accurate about the ending, or even the rest of the film. I knew not to expect three singing and dancing gargoyals, but at least thought that the ending would be somewhat similar. This, needless to say, just isn't so. Please, I beg you, forget thet disney film...erase it from your memory. It's rubbish, it's a travesty, it's a blasphemy to great literature.
Now, with that preface out of the way, I will attempt to reconstruct some of the bits and pieces of my original thoughts. To be honest, I was nervous that I would never even finish this book. Hugo had a tendency to go on long drawn out descriptions of various buildings and landscapes in Paris, which I could hardly relate to. I don't speak french, I have never been to Paris so getting through these initial passages was a struggle. However, knowing the outlay of Paris is important. As the story climaxes there are chases throughout the city, and the architecture itself is used as a colourful backdrop to the story. In fact, I would say that it is more than a backdrop, it is a character in and of itself. Hugo makes the importance of these historic buildings abundantly clear, and he is right in doing so. After I came to this understanding, I had much less difficulty in continuing with the book.
The characters are seemingly very cliche, but I believe that Hugo does this for a reason. Claude Frollo, the lust-driven priest, La Esmeralda, the beautiful and innocent gypsie...Quasimodo, the morbidly deformed and pitiful hunchback...Gringoire, a poetic failure at life and love and of course Captain Pheobus, the womanizing man in uniform who has no love for anyone but himself and his drink. I believe that although these characters seem to be cliche, they give a good point of reference. It is easy to envision these characters right from the beginning of the story, so that automatically puts them at a point of familiarity with the reader. Hugo does a marvelous job of developing the characters thus enabling me to maintain an interest in each and every aspect of their lives, even before they began interacting with one another. These were not just words on a page, but characters in a tragic faerie tale, some of whom I empathized, and others I loathed.
Admittedly, the ending surprised me. Hugo fashions this story more after a tale from the brother's Grimm than from the ghastly tales of Disney. Part of me was hoping and praying that at any moment Gringoire would charge onto the scene and rescue La Esmeralda (as I had given up hope on Pheoubus, that bastard), but unlike modern day disney stories, Gringoire held true to the character that Hugo ascribed to him, and of course never showed up.
I found it so fantastically interesting that although so many men were "in love" with La Esmeralda, none could do anything to save her from her doom. Quasimodo attempted this so valiently, but in the end, he too died from a broke heart, clutching La Esmeralda's dead and decaying corpse. Gringoire gave way to his selfish and cowardly nature and Pheobus...oh Pheobus how I hate him...he held true to his reputation of a manipulative sex-addict who uses women, drinks to the excess and basically has next to no moral fibre in his body. The really pathetic thing about his character is that he doesn't change, and he never intended to. All the other characters experience some sort of growth and development, whether it be a form of maturation or a form of digression. Phoebus, on the other hand, remained consistently dasterdly throughout the entire course of the story.
One of the saddest and most touching scenes in the story is when he is trying to seduce La Esmeralda, and although she knows that if she gives in she will never find her mother, she is overwhelmed by her love for him. She is a virgin, so pure and so innocent that she is completely unnaware of how she is about to be used. Pheobus, the bastard (that's my pet name for him because let's face it, the word "scoundrel" just isn't strong enough), is willing to let her give up her livlihood, her honour, the possibility of finding her mother, just so he can have sex with the poor girl. I was genuinely hoping that at some point Pheobus would feel some sense of remorse...a twinge in his conscience, anything to prevent him from taking every ounce of hope from the young girl, but unfortunately hopes and prayers can not change the outcome of a classic piece of literature. Claude Frollo shows up on the scene and in his jealousy, stabs the captain and allows La Esmeralda to be framed for it. It was this, and only this that prevented Phoebus from taking what the young girl should not have been willing to give to him in the first place.
In all of these characters, the only one who understood the meaning of love (that is, romantic love), was Quasimodo. This is a very interesting observation, as he was the character who, by all reason and logic, should be filled with the greatest amount of hate and malice. Even La Esmeralda's apparent love for Phoebus was, in my opinion, a sham. It is not uncommon for vulnerable people to fall in love with their rescuers, and as she had never really been in this sort of situation before, her niavety would certainly lend itself to an unhealthy infatuation. I believe that she was utterly sincere in the words she spoke, but as she had little experience with men, and as she was but a teenager, she was sure to confuse love with lust, hormones and gratitute. I would like to think that even though one fights for someone they love, one also knows when to let go of that someone as well, once they realize that he or she is never going to be the person that they hoped for. There were numerous times when La Esmeralda witnessed Pheobus with another woman, but would deny what she was seeing and refuse to accept that he did not love truly love her, but had deceived her. Quasimodo on the other hand, knew very well that she loved Pheobus, but he merely continued to serve her in his quiet way, never demanding anything in return. He was patient through his agony and suffered along side her, but in silence. Quasimodo had come to terms with the fact that La Esmerlada would never love him, but what gave him a measure of joy was being able to keep her safe inside the walls of the cathedral, not a confession of undying love.
I could go on for at least another 20,000 words regarding the obsessive lust of Claude Frollo, the lazy introspective personality of Gringoire, the recluse with the shoe, and significance in Quasimodo's tragic reality of losing everyone that bothered to care for him. Unfortunately, I'm not a Master's student in a lit class, so I don't particularly have the time to write all of that, but someday...~sigh~ someday I will and it will be far more articulate and academic than my silly little blog entry. Until that day, however, I shall add any temporarily forgotten thoughts that reoccur to me, and as for you - instead of keeping an eye on my blog, go read the book instead...you won't be disappointed. January 06 Problems only goths have...how to be a goth in 7 easy steps...Well, Friday the 13th will be upon is in a few days (which by the way, is celebrated as my goth birthday...oh Guido, how I miss you), and I decided that in honour of this rare occasion, I should do an entry to help people further understand the truly difficult and inconvenient life that a person accepts as a goth. All of these humorous (yet eerily true) tidbits are provided courtesy of www.the-night.net and I must admit...it's pretty accurate! Anyway, enjoy!ps...I put the ones I found particularly entertaining and more importantly true in bold. Problems only Goths Have
How to become a Goth in Seven Easy Steps... STEP ONE: PICKING A GOTH NAME When it comes down to truly exploring your new found Gothic freedom and "individuality," nothing helps more than a new Gothic name. Now is your opportunity to display your inner turmoil to the world and begin a new life of answering the eternal question "Is that your REAL name?" First decide what facet of your blackened heart you truly want to explore... 1) Your tragic, teary eyed, poetry writing, romantic soul? 2) Your arcane, mysterious, sexual, ancestral vampire past? 3) Your giggly, speed snorting, obnox...ahem..."perky" id? 4) Your scarred, angry, tormented and angst ridden ego? 5) Your carefully cultivated self loathing and destructive nature. Your main focus should be creativity, so let your imagination run wild. However, be sure to throw in a healthy dose of pretense and creepiness (You're Goth dammit!!). As an aid, here are some Gothic mainstays... 1) Names from the animal kingdom. The spookier the animal the better! (Bat, Rat, Raven, Cat, Spider, you get the idea.) 2) Names from fairytales and folklore (I think there are enough "Liliths" in the world and Brother Grimm is already taken, so hands off!) 3) Names from the underworld (There's a great book offering the names and descriptions of many minor and lesser demons called "Fallen Angels" by Robert Masello. Pick it up!) 4) Names from the bible (Unless you're Hispanic, I'd stay away from Jesus just to avoid confusion.) 5) Names of nasty inflictions or bad habits (Hmmm...how about Melena?) 6) Names from horror movies and/or books (No...Jason or Freddie don't count.) 7) Names from poetry (For you weepy types...*grrr*) Feel free to mix and match to taste. After all, Goth is about diversity, creativity and individuality (to a certain predetermined extent at least) right? STEP TWO: CLAIMING YOUR GOTHIC SELF Now that your named your Gothly self you will need to pick what kind of Goth you are.... And claim it as your own. This is most easily done by exploring the dark, sinister, self absorbed, angst ridden side of your personality... If you are a hippie, then dig down to the darkness that is the basis of all personalities... Become a Summer of Love Goth - If you are a Geek become a Cyber Goth, if you love the Ren Fair then try Ren Faire Goth, if you think of yourself as a Stevie Nicks clone then become an Etherial Goth. There is an endless list of the type of Goth you can be....Explore your inner darkness and let it shine darkly through!!! STEP THREE: GothITUDE While lurking in eerie, shadowy corners, your posture must be theatrical, vibrating with a melancholy that is as tangible as the clove cigarette you are smoking. Hunch lightly forward your delicate shoulders and perch vulture-like as you gaze despondently around the hazy club. Clenched gracefully in your pale hand with your jewel-laden, tapering fingers, slowly wave your ebony lace fan and keep your inky, kohl-rimmed eyes downcast, gazing gently and demurely. You are bleakly serene, demonstrating a superb maudlin poise. If your mournful, ivory face, should unexpectedly ripple with a rebellious glimmer of happiness, or even playful enjoyment, lethargically, with a tragic soft sigh, lower your head and shield behind your fan that unacceptable smile. Excuse yourself with a breathy whisper or a mysterious polite phrase and a tearful eye and languidly stroll toward the murky bathroom where you obsessively, with a poetically tragic stance, begin powdering your nose. Take great care to avoid sprinkling your silver nose ring, remember not to powder over your bhindi. When dancing, think of your dance as a magical conjuring or ceremonial evocation. Whirl, sway, twist and swoop to your own private and tormented rhythm. All movement should be listless, sultry, at times suddenly dipping dramatically to one side or lunging forward to express a sudden stab of inner angst or passion that is coinciding with (or not) a certain place in the music. Poetically speaking: You must convince people that you are trapped here on this dreary physical plane - forever wandering in search of mysterious, shadowy dimensions. The dark, yet gossamer wings of unremembered memories subtly inspire you, as you endure all the despair of your soul's existence, past and present. At all times, emote angst, apathy, and despair. Last, remember that being Gothic is not just a fashion statement, it's a cry for help and is a convincing solution to almost any Fashion Emergency. Release the batttttts..... STEP FOUR: MAKE-UP/HAIR 1) Facial hair Yes you can be Goth too even if you have a tan and copious facial hair. The first thing you need is a razor. If you're a dude with a beard think 'topiary'. Watch the three musketeers -- the one with Michael York. Pleeeeasee check out the guy with the eye patch who boffs the Fay Dunaway character and sculpt some interesting creative facial hair. If you want to maintain an aura of dark-manly-wolf (tm kallisti), leave your eyebrows to nature. Otherwise, shave them off. Eyebrows are an artform and cannot be contained by the whims of DNA. All Goths who want to identify with a feminine side, should shave their eyebrows completely off to cleanse the facial palate for true expression. 2) Skin tone -- Spoooky Clown White Use a powder base at least two shades lighter than your natural skin tone. Kryolan makes a good one. Think artifice. Think theater. All references to a natural daylight appearance should eradicated and spackled. Your lips have no boundaries. Cover their line. Your skin must have a luminous glow which will float disembodied in the candlelight. Creatures of the night unite! 3) Those lips! Those Eyes! Eyes can wing off the face. Or they can smolder like Valentino. This is where creativity can shine!! All novices must use black. You can't go wrong. Black eye liner is a must. Black powder eye shadow is fabu. Go wild. Lips? Don't be hindered by the memory of your previous self's lips. With a dark red or black lipstick and a liner you can create new lips. Take the liner, draw the outline of what you think your lips should be as your new Goth self and fill them in with the lipstick and blot. Please note, the liner does not have to be the same shade as the lipstick but it should be darker. Welcome the new flesh. 4) Hair - Rat it , dye it, torture it - Edward ScissorHands had perfect Goth Hair....Be sure to buy a can of super hold hairspray and apply it liberally. Or for a more dramatic effect, shave your hair completely off to make room for those fabulous Goth Eyes!!! STEP FIVE: FASHION Black is the corner stone of all Gothly styles... Do not be afraid. Find every piece of black clothing and cloth that you have available to you... Pin everything together... Think flowing, think wispy, think of a corpse raising from the grave.... Think vampires.... What would Lestat be wearing right this second??? The most important feature of any self respecting Goth is .... Accessories and Props: A partial list of the basics follows... use your imagination to create your very own personal style.... Cheap fishnet stockings worn on legs or pulled over head (cut a hole in the crotch and pull over your head, then stick your fingers thru the toes!!!)(if you need to buy these try New York Apparel on upper Haight), any old lace, ribbon, dead roses, dead pets, incense, nail polish, rosaries, crosses or other religious paraphernalia, clove cigarettes, whips, fetish gear, black scarves, tulle, etc., One of your most important props will be: a fan, a book of dark poetry, an antique lacy handkerchief, or anything else that you can use to hide that improper and unsightly smile. **please - No Tennis Shoes!!! STEP SIX: MUSIC Ahhh music - one of the most important items that separates Goths from the rest of humanity.... Check in your CD collection... Look for anything that is maudlin, dark, sad, evil, etherial, angry, angst ridden, pathetic - anything that brings self pitying tears to your eyes or hatred to your heart....anything that allows that inner darkness to come boiling to the surface... Play it over and over and over and over again... Make it part of who you are..... Identify with it..... Incorporate it into your total Goth identity..... STEP SEVEN: PUBLIC DISPLAYS OF MAUDLIN POETIC APLOMB Each Gothling-to-Be is required to write and internalize bitter poetic musings. This recitation can be likened to the talent portion of a beauty contest, although there is no crowned winner to be named -- Your deep inner ponderings should reflect accurately your assigned Goth name, your designated Goth type, and the resulting fashion, attitude and makeup adjustments.
December 29 Irriational Fears and Eyeliner...It is a common and relatively well-known fact that I dislike and fear clowns. Why, you may ask? Well, that's a very good question. I often times believe that it is because I can not see beyond the make up, the nose, the hair, the costume...it's a mask, a charade. I can't see or predict the real person beneath the facade, and so it causes elevated levels of anxiety. Don't worry, this blog does have an actual point, I'm not writing an entire entry solely about my irrational fear of clowns (and other similar things such as Ventriloquist dummies and mascots).
One of the most frequent questions posed to me, as a gothic/rocker/alternative chick, is "if you are so afraid of clowns due to the inability to see beyond the mask, why is it that you wear all that black make up, there by concealing yourself, just as they do?" An excellent question indeed. I often tell people that I dress the way that I do because I genuinely like it, because I feel that it expresses the things in me that words or actions can not compensate for. It occured to me today that it takes a certain amount of bravery, not to mention honesty, to so openly express oneself. Vulnerability, as we know, is not always the easiest thing. I decided that the way I dress is a much easier form of self-expression, because it doesn't actually put my heart, my thoughts, my feelings and my desires out in the open, it simply gives an indication at what could possibly be going on inside of my head, or my heart for that matter. I suppose that in my own mental interpretation of people and situations, I automatically (and probably unjustly) see clowns and the like as people hiding and wearing masks, whereas I see my own style as a form of openness and honesty. I believe this to be a selfish outlook, afterall, who am I to decide why a clown looks the way that he does? Don't get me wrong, I still don't like clowns, they give me the willies, but I feel a bit better now that I've settled on a reasonable explanation for these feelings.
Amidst all these thoughts, came another, somewhat satisfying idea. If I express myself through the way that I dress and the make up that I wear, then what about those people who insist on wearing the fashionable make up and wouldn't dress in anything remotely alternative, even if their lives depended on it? Of course I know that not everyone expresses themselves through the same avenues, as there are thousands of forms of self-expression, but I often wonder if those people...the trendy people, the fashionable people, the people who are scared of us alternative types (not all of them are, of course, but lets face it, plenty of the trendies hate us), I wonder if their masks are even deeper and more challenging to remove. Yeah, people hate the goth look, but even though it physically looks like a mask, it's a very honest depiction of who I am on the inside. Is this truth the same for those who hate the goths, the punks, the metallers, the bikers and every other alternative sub-culture out there? If people like dressing trendily just because that is what's in fashion, then they are being far more untrue to themselves than any goth or punk. However, if a person dresses with the latest fashions in mind because they genuinely and sincerely like those fashions, then I'd say there's no reason for there to be conflict between the alternative crowd and that person. Hell, I don't think that there should be conflict at all, but we all know that isn't likely to happen.
This is sounding far more like an after school special than I had hoped, but I think I'm getting the point across. The idea that I am trying to communicate is that instead of pointing the finger at the alternative crowd, saying that we're hiding behind our masks made of eyeliner and extreme hairstyles, maybe it's the more...well...conventional people we should be pointing at. Although, I should add in a disclaimer that pointing is a very rude thing to do and I don't want to be one of those people who makes tons of assumptions about people I don't even know. But speaking on very general terms, I suspect that it's the more mainstream people that should be questioned, and not the alternative crowd.
Okay, this is all rubbish. At the end of the day, what does it really matter what a person is dressed like? Do you really think that a person covered in PVC with fifteen different facial piercings is all that dangerous? If you do, why? You think that person is scary? Why do you think that? Reason with that fear, put it under a mircroscope of rationalism, then see what happens. Social conventions and sterotypes have completely divided this society to the point where there are those who actually refuse to walk on the same sidewalk as myself, for fear of what?...being attacked, being hexed (hi, good little Christian girl here). The same goes for the alternative people. Okay, most of us have suffered a lot due to trendies mocking us or in some cases, physical assaults, but I am completely and 100% convinced that if one side starts being civil, then eventually the other side will come around. And if they don't...who cares? At least we can say we were the ones with the right attitude, the tolerant attitude, the non-judgmental attitude.
In order for me to avoid being a complete hypcrite, I will have to apply this philosophy to my fear of clowns. Okay, I'll work on it...but there's just something about them....
I'll be the first to admit that this wasn't the most intellectual blog entry. One of these days I will publish an essay from University on here, complete with footnotes, just to prove that I can be objective and intelligent, but for now, this is what I have to offer. These were just random thoughts floating in and out of my mind, I hope that I did a decent job of putting them "on paper" as it were.
Concluding remarks? Lighten up, it's good to think outside of the box, and the best way to do that is to get to know people that are different from ourselves. Forget the labels, forget the trends and the sub-cultures...just be you. ~Yah afterschool specials!~
"Fashion has done more harm than revolutions. It has cut to the quick; It has attacked the very bone and framework of art. It has mangled, hacked, killed the edifice, in its form as well as in its meaning, in its logic as well as its beauty."
--Victor Hugo, the Hunchback of Notre-Dame
November 30 Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde"Under the strain of this continually impending doom and by the sleeplessness to which I now condemned myself, ay, even beyond what I had thought possible to man, I became, in my own person, a creature eaten up and emptied by fever, languidly weak both in body and mind, and solely occupied by one thought: the horror of my other self".......
"The powers of Hyde seemed to have grown in the sickness of Jekyll, it was a thing of vital instinct. He had now seen the full deformity of that creature that shared with him some of the phenomena of consciousness, and was co-heir with him to death: and beyond these links of community, which in themselves made the most poignant part of his distress, he thought of Hyde, for all the energy of life, as of something not only hellish but inorganic. This was the shocking thing; that the slime of the pit seemed to utter cries and voices; that the amorphous dust gesticulated and sinned; that what was dead had no shape, should usurp the offices of life."
--Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Robert Louis Stevenson
The more I think about the story of Jekyll and Hyde, the more I come to realize how true to life this work of fiction is. The story is set in Soho, in central London (which, by the way, is where I go to church). I am sure that most of you reading this will be somewhat familiar with the story of Jekyll and Hyde: The seemingly innocent and well-meaning scientist who ingests a formula which transforms him into his evil alter-ego, Mr. Hyde. The more that I read this story, the more I came to realize that, although they seem like two different entities, Jekyll and Hyde really are one in the same person. I had a somewhat ominious feeling as I flipped each page, understanding the two different, yet intrisically bound, natures of humanity.
This is where it gets preachy. In my own estimation, every person is capable of an infinate amount of good, or an infinate amount of evil. I have often thought that any person is capable of any deed, but it is our social and evironomental conditioning that prevents this from being so. We see this all the time in our society. People who claim to love their spouses will have adulterous relationships...an innocent child will tell a lie to escape punishment, or someone hits an elderly person with their car and keeps right on driving. The point is, people will often say, "I could never do that!" or "I'm not capable of anything like that!". It's a sad commentary on society, but I do believe, that due to these dualling natures, we are all capable of pretty much anything, we simply make the choice to remove these things as possibilities. Mr. Hyde pushed over a small girl, he murdered a man, and was an all around mischievious creature. However, those who knew Dr. Jekyll would never conceive him to be capable of anything of the kind. My question, however, is that if Mr. Hyde was a different entity than Dr. Jekyll, what was it inside of Dr. Jekyll that would have caused him to release Mr. Hyde in the first place? My answer, as simplistic and obvious as it may be, is that Mr. Hyde was there all the time...he always existed, and was merely supressed because our own definitions of right and wrong demand him to be suppressed. Nobody wants to release the malicious and evil side of themselves, but we can see what happens when people do. Hitler did it, Stalin did it, Saddam did it...the list goes on and on.
But what about that innately good side? We can't be completely evil, otherwise we would have digressed to a basic anarchic society by now. What is it that keeps us in line and keeps Hyde hidden? (Okay that was cheezy, but it's just so perfect!). I could very easily go into the saving love of Christ, for as a Christian, that's what I believe to be my grace in life. However, there are millions of other people out there who would disagree vehemently with my religious beliefs, but yet still refrain from turning into Hitler, Stalin or Saddam. Is it merely a question of social conditioning? Proper parenting? Education? No, I would think it would have to be more than that. In our history, those who have committed the greatest atrocities have often had a good up bringing, a good education and by all appearances, should have been stable and productive members of society.
Maybe I'm not thinking this through properly (this is a last minute entry because my lovely and wonderful cousin wanted me to do more writing), but it must simply come down to choice, to personal accountability. Don't get me wrong, I do believe our circumstances effect our choices. I worked in a prison for kids where a young boy told me his mother gave him his first joint, which led him down a road of drug abuse and crime. Whereas I feel that the mother committed a serious grievance against her own child, I also feel that he, as a human, must have at some point known the difference between right and wrong. I know plenty of people who have had terrible upbringings, filled with all sorts of addictions and various forms of abuse, yet they have still been able to come through it with soul's that refuse to give in. They refuse to be conquered by their past and endeavour to go in a direction that is productive and...well..."good." Why it is that some people can take the good road, and other's don't, I'm not sure. It's always more difficult to do the right thing, so my guess is that it isn't about people being unable to take the higher ground, but perhaps people no longer allow themselves to even see the higher ground. That kid with the drug problem probably did think, at some point, that he was making bad choices, but chose to ignore that thought because keeping things the way they were would be easier and, let's not kid ourselves here, probably a little more fun.
The point is, I think, that Dr. Jekyll didn't have to toy around with releasing Mr. Hyde, but his own insatiable curiousity caused him to do so. As you could probably tell from the opening statement from the story, things didn't turn out too well for Dr. Jekyll. It's a sad story really. His own nature, his own experiment, his own self, destroyed him. When putting this story into the context of humanity, it makes a sick sort of sense...unfortunately.
By the way, it's a great story...go read it. :) October 01 an entry I am sure to regret publishing...In perhaps a disgusting and hormonally influenced moment of vulnerability, I've decided to write about the thing that copious amounts of people seem to idolize, idealize and dramatize, this being the concept of love. I never thought that I would write a blog entry regarding this subject, as it is so personal. That's the funny thing about blogs...they're like diaries and journals for intimate thoughts, observations and ideas, yet we share these things with all those who spend their time flying through the wires and circuits of cyberspace. This is beside the point, I'll get on with it.
When I hear people talk of love, usually it involves an explosion of emotion or a bolt of lightening. The way I have heard other people describe their experience with love, they seem to go on about all these bells and whistles that went off in their heads and in their hearts at the thought their object of affection. It was as though the rest of the world ceased to exist except for that one person who made life worth living.
Granted, I'm only 22 and perhaps I am too young in the world to speak of such things, but this has not been my experience regarding love and relationships. In my life time, I have had innumerable innfatuations, these of course not being love, but rather, a mixture of intellectual interest and physical attraction (let's just be honest and call it lust). But there have been times, times that are few and far between, where something is different. There is no emotional explosion or bells or whistles, no lightening bolts to speak of. Instead there's just a quiet fluttering in the back of my mind, it's tiny, almost insignificant. But that fluttering stays there, despite my efforts to exile it from my mind. Typically, I'll think, "surely I do care about this person, but to think that I could care for them in a way that exceeds friendship would be foolish. It would be unwise to acknowledge such a notion."
It would be at that point that I go into denial. Ah, denial, our greatest friend and deepest nemesis. Deny, deny, deny, that is what I would do. In the meantime, this quiet fluttering continues in it's quiet way, persistantly nagging me to acknowlege what it truly is. My life isn't put on hold for the person, I don't think of them at the dawn of every day or at the onset of every night. Rather, it will be in my solitary moments, the times that have to myself when I'll think briefly of the person and then, of course, push him out of my mind and head straight back into denial.
Eventually that quiet fluttering, though not getting louder or bigger, get's to be exhausting, or rather, the denial gets to be exhausting. They both get to be exhausting. So there always comes a point when I will have to admit to myself what it is I am feeling. It's a painful process but I do it anyway, for my own sanity to say the least. But just as the fluttering remains quiet, so I remain quiet. I would not tell a soul, not anyone, what I'm feeling or who the man is that I am feeling these things for. In fact, these would be secrets I would take to the grave if I had to.
And that is, basically, how it ends. The man, the object of my affections, as it were, would never find out about my feelings, and I suffer in silence until that suffering drives me so mad that I just...well...get over it. There's no use dwelling on such things. I refuse to spoil a perfectly good friendship for something that, in all likelyhood, would fail anyway. I refuse to live my life focused on a love (I use that term liberally, assuming this is love and not some higher form of infatuation, which is probably all it is anyway) that will never be requited.
Admittedly. I have had my heartbroken, and that can take time to recover from. But (and here's the point of this whole long pitiful entry) I often wonder if that's the thing that allows most people to relate to each other. I've heard it said that love is the universal language and that love makes the world go round. But when I examine what I've written, when I examine the lives and stories of people from my past and present, the majority (not all, but the majority) of us have yet to experience a true kind of love, but we've all experienced heartbreak. That is what we relate to, not love. We relate to the tragedy, the stomach turning agony that everyone feels when a relationship comes to an end. Is it really love that binds us together, or are we merely feeding off of the hurt and lonliness of our respective peers and associates? I for one don't want to live my life in such a manner. Okay, I'll admit, it's a very "goth" thing to brood in a dark corner and go lurking about, thinking introspectively making life out to be this insurmountable giant that is out to conquor you, but playing the martyr only works for so long, moreover, it gets to be pathetic after a while. I will live my life, I will (have) moved on, and I will find my place in this world, regardless of the men present (or not present) in my life. September 18 curveballsSeveral weeks ago, as I was laying in my tiny little bed in my tiny little apartment in South Korea, I cried out to God. Since moving to Korea, my body refused to accept the changes. I couldn't sleep for over a month, I stopped eating, and despite my efforts to have a positive attitude, I just couldn't seem to manage it. So, that night, through tears and frustration, I begged God to bring me back to London. I let out a plea so that He may know the misery that I was feeling of every second of every day. I was working under a contract and I knew that there would be no way out of it unless it were through divine intervention.
It is funny the way that God works on our lives. After what was perhaps the longest month and a half of my life, I have returned to London. I won't go into details regarding the circumstances, but my contract was nullified and due to the generosity, love and support of several people in my life, I am now back in the United Kingdom. I am back where I belong. I am back home.
As trapped as I felt in Korea, it was not a complete loss. It would be very easy to be bitter and angry toward God, knowing that I went all the way to Korea, just to have everything fall apart, and then have to come all the way back. Why lead me there in the first place? It was widely known that I had no desire to go to Korea and that a person of my temperment would probably not enjoy living in a concrete jungle such as Seoul, so why was I so determined to go there anyway, when I myself loathed the idea? But even though my purpose, or at least what I thought was my purpose to go, fell through, I discovered something much bigger and much more beautiful. I met some incredible people whilst in South Korea. I met people who stood by me, who comforted me, who would not under any circumstances, allow me to feel as though I was alone and abandoned. I believe that it was for the purpose of meeting these people that I went to Korea. This family has become a second family to me, and I know without any doubt in my mind that the relationship we formed will continue to grow, for things of such purity last longer than those of a superficial nature.
I believe very strongly in personal accountability. I believe that I had a choice to go to Korea, and I had a choice to stay in London. I do not blame God for anything that has happened, because I believe that this deferrs the responsibility of the choices I make, therefore giving me an excuse to behave inappropriately. But I do, however, believe that God knew who was waiting for me in Korea and He knew how much these people would enrich my life. And I must admit that even though I feel like my time there was a waste and that I feel utterly drained (emotionally and physically), it was worth it to bring these people into my life. That is the reason why I was in Korea. It was unexpected, yes, but as a friend of mine said, "life always throws curve balls, and you have to learn how to take them." How very right he is. July 18 AsylumI have created yet another photo album. This one has pictures taken of my church and its members. As you can more than likely tell, the church is called Asylum. No, not the Asylum that refers to a mental institution out of Bram Stoker's Dracula or something. Asylum, traditionally, has referred to a place of safety and refuge. A place where people could go to seek escape from the things of this world which pursued destruction, over good. That is exactly what this church has been.
The reason for this is two fold. Firstly, this church is a place where God is glorified, and any place where God is truly and sincerely worshipped should, indeed, be a place of saftey. If I can't find refuge and acceptance in God, then I doubt I'll find it anywhere. His love should be the entity that allows us to accept and love others.
Secondly, Asylum is a place for those, in our society, who are considered different...the outcasts...the people that went through hell in school because they didn't wear the trendy clothes, but instead chose to be themselves. The goths, the punks, the bikers, the metallers, the tattooed the pierced etc. etc. etc...these are the people that, in several cases, have been looked down upon by much of the modern day church...(let me qualify that by saying that not ALL churches are judgemental or blind, but let's face it, it does happen, just like it does with any social grouping). In biblical times, Christ lived amongst the tax collectors, the prostitutes, the poor, the needy, the sick and the infirmed. He associated himself with the people whom society rejected, and he, himself, was rejected by society. So, if Jesus were to walk around on this earth today, whether it be in London or Vancouver or a small village in India...do you think he'd draw lines between social distinctions, class, caste, sub-cultures or the hardened divisions between those who dress like Paris Hilton (nothing against Paris, I'm sure she's very nice) and those who don't? Yeah, I don't think so either. Love isn't supposed to make such distinctions. Anyway, asylum caters to these people, it catered to me. God is using this tiny little church that meets in the upstairs of a pub in an astronomical way.
Okay, I'll discontinue my rant. If only you could know what they've meant to me. These people have been not only friends, but family to me during my stay in London. I consider Asylum to be my home church and it has been a complete inspiration to me. This church is dedicated to the alternative sub-cultures of London, which makes it genuinely unique. Anyway, if any of you are interested in finding out more information about it, see www.asylumlondon.com . Enjoy the pictures! June 20 Too good to be True...I hate to admit this, seeing as in my life I have never had any trouble finding work. Typically, after one or two days of job hunting I'll have three or four offers. I'm not sure why things are different here. But after spending over a month in London, I still have no work, and of course, no money. It breaks my heart, but it looks as though I'll be leaving for Korea much sooner than anticipated. My chest physically hurts at the thought of it. I truly feel like I fit in here, like this is a home, but it's difficult to live when one has nothing to sustain oneself. I have given myself until Friday to find a full time job, and if nothing comes up, then I'll be heading off to Korea. I really don't have many other options. I've had friends offer their homes to me, free of rent, however, that seems to just postpone the inevitable. Apart from rent there are other expenses, transportation being a rather important one. I am trying to find comfort in the fact that after spending time in Korea, I will have enough money to live comfortably in the UK, without having to worry about things like this, and perhaps go on to get my master's degree. I am thankful for the time that I have had here, although it feels far too short. Anyone who knows me will also know that it kills me to have come this far, and to be this close to Scotland, to then take my leave without having been there. This has been such a dream of mine for as long as I can remember...it feels somewhat like seeing an oasis in a desert but then revealing it to be a mirage. I guess that's it for now... June 14 Still Standing...I never in my life believed that I would say this, but I'm happy here. I feel more at home here than I ever have before. The people, the places, the history...everything. I feel such a sense of belonging here, I just never realized that it could be this captivating. In a way, it makes me a little bit anxious because I have promised myself to an English school in Korea, I'm supposed to go teach there in September. Now that I have been in London for a while and I realize how much this city is becoming apart of me, I just don't want to go anymore. I would love to travel more in my life, but spending a year or more in Korea no longer holds any appeal when it means having to be away from London for such a long amount of time. I have made up my mind to live up to my word and still teach in Korea. The school has made a very great exception for me, in that they have kept a position open specifically for me until September. It would feel completely wrong to let them down and go back on my word. However, the thought of leaving this city in a couple months also feels, yet again, completely wrong. All I can really do is hope and pray that at some point in the next couple months, something will change. Either I will become less enthusiastic about London, or the school will become less enthusiastic about me. To be honest I'm truly praying for the second option. I will go to Korea because I made a comittment to do so, but I do it for that reason, and that reason alone. Otherwise, London has become my home. May 24 Creating Havok...I finally made it...after years of dreaming and planning and talking, I finally made it to the UK. I really can not write much at this very moment, being in an internet cafe can be limiting in that respect. I don't think it would be wise to write a long blog entry about my experiences and my thoughts in England, when I really should be emailing my parents so that they know I'm not dead. I'll try to get some pictures up as soon as I can. May 02 Stories from the U2 ConcertSo this past weekend I went to see U2 in Vancouver. Some think that I'm insane seeing as I live in Nova Scotia, but I can tell you right now, it was worth it. Basically, I need to break up the weekend into sections, so that you can pick and choose what you want to read. So, first of all...
Chapter 1: The flight out to Vancouver Well, the plane was delayed thirty minutes, and then there was a problem with the actual time in getting there, so that meant that I had to make hasty phone calls from my cell right before take off. It all turned out tho (obviously.) I seem to have rather bad luck when it comes to flying. Airports and airplanes seem to not like me, because either the luggage gets lost, I get trapped on the plane because the bridge won't connect to the terminal, customs freaks out at me because they think I'm smuggling stuff, and never do I get seated next to the cute young guitar playing man with an accent. Anyway, this is all besides the point, so I'll continue on... Chapter 2: The reunion I finally got to see some of my closet friends, some that I haven't seen in over a year. It was amazing walking through those doors and having some of the most influential and marvelous people I've hever known come running to me squealing my name. Christine did the whole run and jump thing and nearly knocked me over. It's a good thing that she's tiny. Lucus and Lisa looked fabulous, as always, and I truly felt like it was a strange sort of homecoming (yes, that's a cheeze U2 reference, you'll be reading lots of those, because that's the type of person I am.) Chris, whom I didn't know very well before the trip, as we'd only hung out a couple times, was there as well, and so it was an absolute delight to get to know him more. I think he was dubbed the the portable party due to his groovey dance moves in the back seat. We spent the evening in White Rock, walking along the beach and eating at this cute little fish 'n chips place. After that I actually got pretty sick, probably jet lag and dehydration. I was pretty close to passing out yet I still wanted to get into the concert lineup and wait all night. That didn't end up happening, which was probably for the better. Chapter 2: The Line up So, we managed to get in line at the stadium around noon. As it turns out, the line was still small, and not only that, people who go to U2 concerts are apparently all nice as well! It was fabulous! We came and went from our spot, walking around in Vancouver, going to the library and just exploring in general. We would come back to our place, just as we had left it. By this time, I had been reunited with Steve and Seth. This, of course, being another incredible moment. I had seen Seth a few months earlier on a road trip that we'd taken, but I hadn't seen Steve since October I think, so it had been far far too long. I had missed both of them dreadfully, so seeing them as I ascended the steps to the stadium will forever be a memory that I'll cherish. Once the doors actually opened, we were patted down, as there were no cameras allowed and no alcahol etc. As it turns out, however, you're allowed to bring in a camera so long as it isn't a professional one. This really disappointed me, because as I was a good law-abiding citizen, I didn't bring my camera in with me. But the awesome girl ahead of me agreed to email me her photos, so hopefully she follows through. If she does, they'll be up on this web site ASAP. So anyway, we made it into the stadium and everyone was so calm! There was no running or shoving or pushing. It was the most polite rock concert that I'd ever been to, perhaps due to the image that U2 represents. We had floor tickets, which meant that if you had a good place in the line, you'll also have a good place on the floor. And guess what, we had an AWESOME place on the floor. There was only two people between me and the stage...that's right, two people between me and the biggest rock band on earth. The opening band, Kings of Leon, was okay. To be honest, I wasn't paying them much attention because I was far too preoccumpied with the fact that U2 was wandering around somewhere near by, and I wasn't in the mood to hear any other band. In other words...please wrap up so that I can see the band whom I flew across the country for! Chapter 3: U2 So, after what seemed like endless waiting for the roadies to set up after Kinds of Leon, the lights finally dimmed and everyone went crazy! A spot light came on and out came Larry, then Adam and then the Edge and then, of course...Bono. It was a spectacular moment. He looked like the traditional Bono image, in his sun glasses and jacket. The opened with "City of Blinding Lights" which is truly melodious. Probably one of my favourits from the new album...of course, I can't really decide which is my favourit, I'm not very objective about them at this point. Anyway, Edge's solo on bullet the blue sky made my jaw drop. This guy must have extra hands hidden somewhere because I have no idea how anyone can play the way that he does. It was truly impressive, not to mention humbling. What really stunned me was that Adam actually walked around and out onto the catwalk. He's usually pretty stationary but at this concert he was rather sociable with the audience. I've always really liked Adam, so I was more than happy to be only ten feet away from him. Did I mention that already? I think I did...yeah, we were only about ten feet away, so these guys seemed larger than life, although Bono's only 5'8. Larry had a little drum set out on the catwalk as well, but he, of course, did his aloof, "I'm so cool that I won't smile" look, which is fine. That's the way Larry is and that's why we like him. I have to say that one of the highlights for me was when they had the human bill of rights scrolling on a big screein with someone reading it, as a launch into Pride. That song has always had a special place for me, so as you can more than likely tell, I was thrilled. Bono also went into a really touching story about a boy whom everyone thought was brain dead, and then one day the doctor's managed to find a medicine that allowed him to move, even just a little. He learned to type using an apparatice attached to his forehead, and as it turns out, he had all this beautiful beautiful poetry in his head, and now has a book published. The song was Miracle Drug and it really made me think of Terri Shaivoh. The band also made a point to make sure that we contact Paul Martin about making good on his promise in giving a percentage of Canada's income to relieve third world poverty. Everyone (all 20,000 of us) seemed pretty enthusiastic, so they also made a point to say that this can't be just a passing idea, we need to live this dream in order for things to change. How very true. The entire experience really was outside of anything that I had seen before. These guys believe in what they say, it isn't some PR stunt to get people to like them. Of course Streets was phenominal. A song that has that much passion and that much personal conviction in it is practically created to see live. My only complaint is that With or Without You (my favourit song of all time...ever) wasn't performed. But other than that, it was amazing. Nothing I write here can really communicate that to any of you reading this, unless you were there or are huge fans of U2. I'm sure it will just seem like an over-enthusiastic fan blubbering about how close she got to some men that shouldn't be held in such high regard, but I assure you, this experience was truly mind-blowing. You have to be intelligent and aware of the things in this world in order to really understand where these guys are coming from, and I can't even say how much I appreciate that. Chapter 4: All That You Can't Leave Behind The rest of the weekend was lovely. We spent time on the beach, we hung out and saw people that I hadn't seen in forever. Robb and Mystique looked wonderful and it was such a relief to swap stories with Mytique again. It had been far far too long since she and I had been able to talk. Saturday night we went to a place called "Ethical Addictions" which is a coffee shop that supports fair trade and all that. I bought a shirt that says, "Our coffee has never even been to Seattle." Which is ironic, because on Sunday we headed down to Seattle and went to the first Starbucks ever. I had been there before, but I love Pike Place market, so I never have objections seeing it. After that we spent time at the beach and then went out for supper. We said our tearful goodbyes (ugh, that makes me sick, I HATE saying goodbye) and Steve and I left, as he was taking me back up to Vancouver for my flight. However, seeing as I always have things go wrong when I fly places, I realized that my flight was to leave at 10:40pm not 11:40 pm, so on top of being absolutely depressed about leaving everyone, I was no completely stressed about missing my flight. But Steve, bless his heart, got me there on time and I made it. The lady at the counter actually told me that I had missed my flight, but then said she made a mistake, and proceeded to lecture me about getting in on time. Anyway, the flight wasn't all that great, but I managed to squeeze in a little sleep. I'm back in Nova Scotia now, and will be leaving in less than two weeks for the UK. It's been a crazy trip, but it was well worth the money and well worth the tears to see those that I love...oh, and to see U2, we well. That about covers it...well, the basics anyway.
April 21 with sympathy...Today, whilst waiting in line to order my legal addictive stimulant at the mall coffee shop, I observed an elderly woman belittle the hard-working teenager behind the counter, because he forgot to give her a creamer. I watched the scene play out with a great deal of curiosity and an equal amount of disgust. Since when did our society become so anal-rententive and intolerant, that we have to verbally hurt someone for a simple, honest mistake? On the same token, perhaps that old lady just lost her husband or several hours of shopping had made her very weary, but in any case, why take it out on the poor kid who's really just trying to do his job? This little anecdote was actually a precursor to my real rant. Sympathy...tolerance...empathy...understanding. These words, which truly should be valued, are either overemphasized in an attempt to be politically correct, or completely disregarded in an attempt to appear strong, steadfast and opinionated. Opinions are wonderful things. What makes them so wonderful is that we're all allowed to have them...our very own. But that's besides the point. What I am trying to get at, is the frequent occurance of people demonstrating a complete lack of understanding. Recently, I observed (I do this often) a girl who simply stated that she would be seeing a man she had met earlier that week. She was not implying anything romantic or erotic, simply a social get together where two friends could further their aquaintence with one another. The person she was addressing rolled her eyes and said, "I'm beginning to not care." This statement was made in reference to the aforementioned girl's rocky and difficult past with various men. The girl who made the sharp comment later followed it up by stating that she was joking. So now we have a predicament. The one girl was feeling very hurt and rather abandonded by her good friend, yet the other insists she was joking. The second girl demonstrated a lack of empathy and understanding, regardless of her humorous intentions. I'm not saying that we should lose all sense of humor, I for one adore laughter, it's one of God's greatest gifts. But why does so much laughter have to be at the expense of others? Why must one person degrate the history and the circumstances of another, just to make a point? Maybe the first person was being overly-sensative, but does that invalidate her feelings? Something that must always be remembered is that there will always be at least two sides to every story. The woman with the creamer probably had a story of her own, just as the man behind the counter did, just as the girls in the second story do. So where do you draw the line? Where do I decide that I am being too empathetic or too callous? I've spent the entirety of this day trying to sift through the propondurance of situations in my life, evaluating what should be different, what could be different, and how I can change things. I've spent countless moments regurgitating past occurances for the same of never repeating them. Everywhere I look I see people hurting, I see myself hurting and it really just plays out my last blog entry over and over again. These burdens are not mine to carry, but I can't help wondering...if we simply exercised these things known as empathy, tolerance and understanding...would the burdens be so huge in the first place? Would the opinions of others, though the differ from our own, be so hard on our very ears? I know this entry is all over the map...it is disorganized and full of seemingly random strings that form into long winded rabbit trails. This is a poor attempt at trying to capture and tame some of my scattered thoughts. I hope, reader, that you can make at least a little sense of what I have been attempting, albeit poorly, to say. "If an idea's worth having once, it's worth having twice." --Tom Stoppard April 14 from a moment to forever...Have you ever suddenly realized, in one moment, that you've been hurting inwardly far more than you could have thought possible? I'm not talking about the tragic death of a loved one or some other circumstance such as that. What I mean is a seemingly random moment when everything seems relatively okay, and then you blink, and it's there...this pain you didn't realize existed within yourself. This happened to me today. It's happened before, but I've never really taken time to think of it. But in that one singular moment, I felt my heart sink into the very depths of my being. There was no trigger, no derranged thought which led to such intense emotion, it was simply a moment of realization where I understood that my heart is broken. It was as though all the walls that I had built up...all of my methods of protection...were suddenly stripped away and I stood there, naked and vulnerable, for the world to see. It was terrifying and seemed to cover the duration of eternity, until I blinked again, took another breath, and continued on with the tasks at hand. When I look back at these experiences, I truly wonder if they are a direct result of my habitual suppression of such deep and purposeful emotions. There have been repeated occasions where I have deliberately pushed away how I actually feel in order to maintain an image of strength, indifference, happiness and so on. I, like everyone else on this earth, have experienced a proponderance of emotions, yet really I only convey a fraction of them. There are social contstraints that simply do not allow true expression of emotion. Of course this is necessary, to a certain extent. In truth, I could merely be overanalysing a singular moment in time that really is inconsequential. In the end, that sudden rush of pain may mean nothing...nothing at all. Who's to say? March 31 meanwhile...It is so crucial to at least make an effort to see things from other perspectives. Depending on the issue at hand, I can completely fail at this, or excel in it. How do you deal with a person who completely refuses to even try to understand something from your point of view? Initally, I would try to see things from their perspective, but if in doing so, you still find that you whole-heartedly disagree with them, how can you continue the discussion when you know that where they are coming from is morally objectionable? I'm not talking about moral relativism, because I do realize that there are gray areas. I do believe in right and wrong, and there are just somethings that should not happen. So when a person refuses to see that their behaviour is hurtful, what do you do? I suppose it comes back, yet again, to personal accountability and free will. I can't change their hearts...I can't make them see how they hurt others. These are things that they have to realize in their own time, on their own terms. I guess that the major question, really, is trying to decide on what to do in the meantime. Do you continue to get hurt, in the hopes of change, or do you completely put a stop to everything, assuming that there is no hope, whatsoever? It's a continuous battle, not so easily won. secrets of the universeI'm listening to Dazed and Confused by Led Zeppelin, how very fitting. The past several months feel entirely too surreal to me. All this moving around...all this self-discovery...it tends to wear out the soul. I have recently been presented with two seemingly paradoxical viewpoints which have brought me back to this journal. A friend of mine insists that due to the infinite size of the universe, we are worthless. We overestimate our own importance and forget that everything is so much larger than ourselves. We do not matter, our problems do not matter. Of course that could very easily descend into an absurdist spiral in which we all believe we're worth nothing and therefore kill ourselves before having to experience any more angst. Now on the opposing side, is the view that all life is sacred. There should be respect for life because this is what we are presented with. Of course the universe is much bigger than ourselves, but this life is what we have been given, and because it is all we have comprehensably, it is therefore important. One side seems to be absurdist, the other seems to be humanist. I can see validity on either side. Often times I am sure that I underestimate how massive the universe is, thereby overestimating my own importance. However, it is also entirely true (more often than not) that I underestimate my own value as a human being, and that I fail to comprehend what kind of impact I have on the lives of others. So I'm wondering if there is a sort of medium that can be assertained. Yes, this life is brief and small in comparison to the vastness of the universe, but it can still be important. If importance is based on the duration of time, then what is the point in existing at all? I think that maybe what I am trying to say, is that life is what we make of it. If we allow it to be useless and pointless because we feel so insignificant in this universe, then that's what it will be in our eyes, but if we strive to make it something meaningful and hopeful, then it's altogether different. It can feel like such a tug-o'-war. Hope vs. hopelessness...life vs. death....the infinite vs. the finite. It's so mind boggling it's scary sometimes...but I wonder...I wonder if any of that really matters. What I mean to say is, we can't understand it, so should we even worry about it? I know that I often worry about it, and it can sometimes feel all-consuming. Alas, my mind will never be appeased, so I shall have to press on and live my life the best way that I know how, regardless of how large or how small this lifetime is. March 20 right...So I'm poised here at the computer, staring at this screen, typing, obviously, although that in and of itself took some effort. It's interesting because all too often, I realize that there is so much that I want to say, so much that I want to express, yet I really just have no idea as to what exactly that is. I truly don't know what to say this time. I would love to ramble on about philosophy or religion, but right now...I'm stumped. I mean, there's plenty to say and an endless well for me to draw from, but the words just aren't making it down to my fingertips quite yet. So I suppose that this entry really has very little to do with anything, and has more to do with nothing (no Seinfeld reference intended). This is what happens when I make a rather pitiful effort at writing before midnight. Better luck next time. March 08 dreamingAnother sleepless, dreamless night. It is the sleep that I crave, not the dreams. I just wrote a massively long blog entry about the nightmares that I am greeted with each night, and then I erased it. I'm not sure why. Possibly because I am so completely unsure as to where these images originate, that any speculation that I have to offer would merely be "a shot in the dark," so to speak. Dreams are associated with innumerable ideas...some psychological, some physiological, some spiritual and so on. I can't even begin to dissect where mine originate. All I know, is that when I go to sleep at night, I don't want to close my eyes and see the things that I have been seeing. I could go into specifics about what I dream of, but I'm not entirely sure of the appropriate nature in doing so. How silly is it for a grown woman to be haunted by nightmares? Irregardless, I do feel a slight sense of anxiety, because when I go to bed, I can only guess at what may come to me as I sleep. I mentioned in an earlier entry that all I really wish for is a peacful night's sleep. That wish still applies. It is a different context and the ideas are altogether different, yet it all revolves around the idea of peace. Maybe that is what I have been looking for this entire time...not love or security or passion or knowledge...simply...peace. March 06 existingA friend once told me that she didn't want to merely exist, she wanted to really live. That inspired me. I've realized that I've been moving through life without truly living. I make my deicisons based on necessity, not really out of desire. My motivation is born from my responsibilities, not my passions. As a person who values passion so strongly, I decided that this was not acceptable. I tried moving to different places in order to rid myself of complacency, but that didn't particularly work. It isn't something that geography can remedy. It isn't even something that the man of my dreams or love of my life can remedy (if he were to even be in my life). It is something that I am solely responsible for. Complacency is something that happens when I've become to comfortable with an idea, a person or a situation. I must choose not to take these things for granted. I keep hearing about the tragedy around us...not just the Tsunami, but so many other situations that most people would never find out about...and it scares me. It scares me because we are all mortal. I do not fear for myself, but for the people I love, and for selfish reasons too. When someone dies, we do not mourn the pain or anguish or fear they went through (usually). The stereotypical reaction is to mourn what we lost...to mourn the prospect of having no further memories with that person...to mourn the fact that our lives are emptier without them. That is what makes complacency so easy to fall into, yet so very bitter. It can feel safe to be complacent because in our minds, we are less hurt this way. If we lose someone the pangs of anxiety and hurt are seemingly less intense. But at the same time, to be complacent is to fail to appreciate the people we love...instead we take them for granted. We should let ourselves love our loved ones as they should be, but that can be as an open wound at times. Another friend said to me, "marriage either ends up in divorce or death..." That truly makes me wonder...can we experience that life long joy without the concept of loss and death hanging over our heads? I have been asking this ever since I was a little girl. If I were to get married and be happy with my husband for fifty years to come...would I trade those fifty years in order to spare myself the pain of losing him? Could I be capable of picking up the pieces after the death of the man most dear to me? I really don't know. But I do know that I don't want to live a life of emptiness...a life of complacency...a life of shallowness. I want to feel things deeply, and I want someone to feel them with, despite the inevitability of death. I'm not sure what inspired me to write this...perhaps the death of the four RCMP officers in Alberta...or perhaps some other events that are not to be relayed in this entry. But what I am sure of, is that I hurt for those families that hurt, and the very last thing that I could ever feel in regards to them....is complacent. February 20 memory...Today I found myself telling someone, "it is better for me to be a pessimist so that I can find joy in the things that happen, rather than being an optimist, so that I end up being disappointed all the time." That statement has kept me awake all night. It sort of floats around in my head along with all the other memories and thoughts which seem to plague me tonight. It's one of those nights where every trivial and not-so-trivial thing in my life runs its course repeatedly through my memory. After a while of that, my mind drifts over to all my various decisions, and soon starts visualizing the fictional scenarios of what may have happened, had I done anything differently. It makes for a difficult night, seeing as these are all things that I can not change, so there is no point in even thinking on it. Yet I do, and I feel unable to stop it. I'm in desperate need of sleep, yet all these things combined apparently keep my mind far too active for sleep to come. I have had many hopes in my life...many dreams. Some have come true, and of course others haven't. The ones that I have managed to accomplish feel somewhat small and inconsequential compared to those that I have yet to achieve. However, it is these "larger" goals that seem to be the most out of my hands. They require the precision of not only my decisions, but the decisions of other people. So is it foolish of me to continue to drive toward these things? Should I give up hoping for them simply because I am required to depend on other people, as well as myself, for them to happen? Is there really a point to getting my hopes up, only to have them crushed? Being let down, disappointed and/or hurt is an exhausting business. It takes time, it takes energy, thought, worry and a lot of over-analysing. So I suppose that's what has brought me to my initial statement. It just feels so much easier to be a pessimist, because as an optimist I'm practically inviting hurt into my life. Now, some would argue that this will lead me to build walls and not trust people, therefore shutting people out etc. etc. Anyone who knows me can't really deny that this certainly has been something which I have done in my ilfe...walls seem to be quite the specialty with me. But can there not be a balance? Is there not a way to trust people without being vulnerable, or to be rational without being overly optimistic or pessimistic? There has to be a way to be guarded, yet open...hopeful, yet realistic...vulnerable, yet strong. Then again, maybe there isn't a way. Maybe you have to keep guessing until at some point you get it right with the right person in the right situation. That sounds a little bleak and hopeless to me, but I suppose that's what this entry is all about anyway. I'm not asking to live a life without pain or disappointment, that wouldn't be realistic. I'm actually not too sure what I'm asking for. At this point, a good night's sleep would do just fine.
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