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Posts Tagged ‘Thoughts’

April Who’s Day?

Posted in Writing, tagged , , , on April 1, 2013 | 1 Comment »

“You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.” -Abraham Lincoln

So, I’m giving up on writing. What does it matter that I started to write in my head because I was bored (She wrote while staring at the wall because she has nothing to do). Or that I wrote to prove that I could despite having a learning disability and others said I couldn’t because of this fact (‘learning disability since when?’ one friend said).  Or even the fact that my overactive imagination won’t stop working ( ‘hmm, I wonder if a college student ever stood on the side of the road collecting money because they couldn’t find a job’  she said one day while looking for a part-time job and saw a broke man with a cardboard sign).

None of this matters because let’s face it, what having a blog ever done for me (expect, of course, boost my public speaking ability and my confidence in such event). So, I am giving up on writing because it has never benefited me (not even exploring my inner most thoughts and feeling and sharing it with others).

So, goodbye cruel writing world, I’ll never interact with you again.

Happy April Fool’s Day.

Expect another post next month.

2012-092 April Fool's Day

2012-092 April Fool’s Day (Photo credit: mrsdkrebs)

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Why So Morbid?

Posted in Life, Personal, tagged , , , , , , , on November 17, 2012 | Leave a Comment »

English: Alfred Hitchcock showing Norman Bates...

“In films murders are always very clean. I show how difficult it is and what a messy thing it is to kill a man.” - Alfred Hitchcock

Some find it disturbing that I spend time completing murder. Of fictional characters, yes, but the notion is still there. How can someone think of something so twisted? How can someone read books about asphyxiation or decapitation without despair? How can someone study pictures of human remains without grimacing? For me, it started as an unconscious attempt of immersion therapy.

Everyone is born dying. Some are just more aware of it than others. I’m prone to cancerous moles. I was practically born with one. I remember as a toddler going to the doctor to get a small mole on my thigh freeze off. It came back. Again. And again. By the time I was five it was about the size of a nickel and quite dark. The doctor said I needed surgery. Or it will kill me by the time I hit puberty. Went under. Came out. I was fine. But I had a scar that would grow to be two and a half inches long with an indent running the entire thing. The cancer was so deep they had to dig into my muscle. I was told that this was not a one off thing. It could come back. But as a young thing I didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation.

I was a precocious child. Desisting lizard eggs. Trying to convince mother that since marshmallows has less sugar than milk I should be able to eat them all the time. Figuring out how to rearrange furniture for maximum benefit faster than either my parents. But no matter how intelligent I was, death never seemed to bother me. It was an abstract idea that my concrete brain could not comprehend. It wasn’t till I was eight when it knocked me upside the head.

I was at my grandparents for the summer. We went to a funeral. A toddler died of brain cancer. We shared the same favorite chips, pizza flavored Pringles. Nothing flushes out the abstract like an example. For the next six years I would cry, scream and whimper if I came near a graveyard. I was able to force myself to go to a grownup friend’s funeral during that time. But guilt overrides every other emotion I felt that day, the last time I was with her I acted like a spoiled brat. And yet she still gave me a story book to say she was sorry about the confusion of going to a rollerblading rink instead of an ice skating one.

I was in the band from sixth to twelfth grade. I play the flute. And the high school I went to for my ninth year held a tradition on Veteran’s Day. We play at the local cemetery. On top of the graves. Not beside. I dreaded it.  But I had no choice. I played. But kept my feet off the grass the best I could. And when I had to step upon the lush green, I walked around the plots. I knew that necrophobia was irrational. And I hate being irrational. So it was shortly after Veteran’s Day that I become fascinated about forensics.

To get over a phobia, one has to understand it. And so I did. Some might call me strange or morbid but…I rather be weird than illogical.

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Fleeting Normalcy

Posted in Life, Personal, tagged , , , , , on October 27, 2012 | Leave a Comment »

Black Sheep 1

Black Sheep 1 (Photo credit: Ionics)

“Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.” -Morticia Addams

I don’t do normal. I am, by my very nature, contrary. I can’t help it. I don’t do it on purpose.  And because of this I possess many nicknames in my family. All given with love and affection, mind you, but they’re not what you would expect to be given. Nor what you expect to be cherished. The Mysterious One, The Dark One, Morbid Child, The Black Sheep. These are my names. They’re not normal. But then, neither am I.

The Mysterious One. My lovely aunt started the trend of nicknames. She gave one to the four oldest cousins.  My sister, the eldest, is The Straight Arrow. She always must do what is right. Always. Regardless of the consequences.  My eldest cousin is Risky Behavior, i.e. the wild thing. Multiple piercings, dyed hair, sky diving. The thrill enraptures her.  Kissy Casey is Risky’s younger sister and moves from one boyfriend to the next. Every time I see her she has a new boyfriend  She is the youngest of the four and yet the first to get in a relationship (though my sister is the first to get married). I am The Mysterious One, for I am unpredictable. My thoughts and feelings are my own. And what I show may not be what I feel.  Only those who raised me may perceive me. I am an introvert. A loner. An observer. I stay in the background but that does not mean I cannot enthrall those around me.  Even though I like my solitude and being invisible, I can command a room-if I choose to. I am distant but warm. I smile easy and laugh often. I am kind and nice to everyone. I draw others in. Without trying. And without notice.  Most of the time I don’t even realize that I wound others around my fingers. I am myself. And yet they flock.

The Dark one and Morbid Child are presents from my sister. She is my opposite. We love but don’t understand one another. I am the scientist, she the historian. I look to the future, she the past. I possess high ambitions, she’s a homemaker (not that there is anything wrong with that). Because of our dissonant, what I find fascinating she finds disturbing. I once dissected lizard eggs when I was six.  She as a child would not leave the blanket to step upon the grass. I often read books and watch shows on forensics, criminals, and mysteries. She prefers Disney and love stories (nor is there anything wrong with this). She finds my hobbies dark and morbid, thus my name.

‘Black sheep, black sheep got any wool’ says my grandmother. I’m the odd one out. I’m not like the rest of my family. I’m quiet. I’m serious. I’m aloof. I get along with my family and love them desperately but we are different. Such is life.

Normalcy is an illusion. It simply does not exist. But we pretend that it does. If there is no concept of normal then how do we distinguish ourselves from others? I’m not normal, but then again, neither are you.

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Time? Where?

Posted in Life, tagged , , , , on August 2, 2012 | 1 Comment »

 

“At my back I often hear Time’s winged chariot changing gear.”- Eric Linklater

 

The Passage of Time

The Passage of Time (Photo credit: ToniVC)

 

Time flies like a stealth bomber: invisible, fast and dangerous. You won’t know that it’s come and gone till it’s too late. The damage that you will suffer from the ignorance of Time’s flight is irreversible. Tomorrow becomes yesterday. A day lost. Gone from your radar. Never to be recovered. And I’m a victim just like everyone else.

 

 

 

A month and a half has pass since my last post. This is unacceptable. I tell myself I’ll do it is this environment. That I’ll better write soon and yet I don’t. Time mocks each and every one of us. And we don’t do anything to about it. We don’t sneer. We don’t snark. We don’t put Time in its place. We let it become complacent. We let it take advantage of us instead of the other way around. But for me, not anymore. Time, you’re mine.

 

 

 

I will be the one to manipulate you. I will stop letting you get your way and take control of the situation. My Time will not slip past my notice. I will count every minute and make sure that it is put to good use. No waste. Not anymore. Time get ready to be owned. Get ready for the bridle and bit. I hold the reigns. You go where I direct you. You’re not wild anymore. You will be tame for I will break you. The blinders will be taken off of me and to be put on you. I am your driver and you will go where I say.

 

 

 

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How Troublesome…

Posted in Life, Personal, tagged , , , , on May 19, 2012 | Leave a Comment »

“It’s my belief we developed language because of our deep inner need to complain.” – Lily Tomlin

My apartment flooded. Through the sewage system. The bathroom, hallway, closet, and parts of the carpet got thoroughly soaked. I spent two and a half days getting everything back to normal. Thankfully the only thing that got ruined was a pair of shoes that were six years old and falling apart. But I did need to have a giant fan that gave me a constant headache for two days because it was so loud and a humidifier that not only dried out the carpet and air, but me as well. I can’t tell you how many ounces of water I drank to keep myself hydrated. Now, I could do the annoying thing and complain till everyone else’s ear bleed but where is the point in that? Since complaining won’t get me anywhere, I decided to simply sigh troublesome and move on. After all, if life’s annoyances get you down how will you deal with something that is truly devastating?

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The Unaccepted Starving Artist

Posted in Writing, tagged , , , , , , , on January 29, 2012 | 1 Comment »

The Poor Poet, by Carl Spitzweg, 1839. (Neue P...

“The writer must believe that what he is doing is the most important thing in the world. And he must hold to this illusion even when he knows it is not true.”- John Steinbeck

“Oh, you’re a writer; when are you going to get a real job?” Every person who has put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard has heard a variation of that statement. We, the word artist, are a forgotten breed. It is acceptable for a musician to be between concerts; or a painter to stand at the side of the street and sell his work to those who pass daily. A wordsmith can no longer be a starving artist. We can’t just play in our medium and dedicate our lives to it. We must do it as a hobby only because there is no way we can live by words alone. The world sees the word sculpture as an ill drawn dream. It’s impossible to reach the top percent of paid authors, so why try, they tell us. Because we–like every other artist–has a need, a drive, to form a composition that has never be heard before. It’s a compulsion. We must drain what is in our minds. We need to share our interpretation of the world around us. We believe that it will be the most important thing we will ever do. We hold unto this thought even if the world conspires against us. We must, or we feel unfulfilled and unnecessary. There’s no stopping it.

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Don’t Just Breathe, Live.

Posted in Life, tagged , , , , on January 12, 2012 | 3 Comments »

 

muggy sunset 2

“Stop a moment, cease your work, and look around you.”- Thomas Carlyle

                Each of us is born dying and yet we live as if we can’t. We never have as much time think we do. We build and build towards the sky but we’ll never reach the heavens. No matter what level of success we work for, it will never be enough. There’s always something else in the distance. There’s always one more thing. We need to stop working towards an unobtainable goal. Stop merely breathing and live through the day.                       

                We live in a society where being a workaholic is commonplace. We buzz around working endlessly. We always work for tomorrow and never stop to appreciate today. Waiting for the future isn’t living. Now, I’m not saying that we only live for today and never look at tomorrow, but sometimes we forget that tomorrow isn’t concert, sometimes we just need to remember the little things in life that makes living worth it.

                A seemly insignificant moment can make the day special. A loved one’s touch, a child’s giggle, or a simple sunset can mean more to you than rest of the day combined. If we ignore these possible moments in our lives then the day is wasted.

                The world is a beautiful place. Everything in it and on it is special. If we don’t stop and look around us then life will become a span of busy nothings. Do something with someone to break the monotony. Take a moment. Breathe in the air. And live.

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Betrayal and Forgiveness: My Story

Posted in Life, Personal, tagged , , , , , , , on December 6, 2011 | Leave a Comment »

“There is no revenge so complete as forgiveness.” – Josh Billings 

                I was thirteen years old when my best friend effectively traded our friendship in for popularity.  Like every betrayal it started out slow. Her mother had cancer. A child simply can’t understand that some things just happen. They try to explain it but fail. She grew mad at the world for her mother’s pain and the tearing apart of her family. In middle school she was desperate for attention. Her father was constantly working to pay for medical bills and her mom was always resting. My family tried to fill that hole but nothing can replace familial love.  Middle school would be the end of our bond.

                Eleven is such a different age from ten, the second decade of your life is about finding yourself. You explore the freedom you didn’t have preciously. You’re expected to be more self-reliant. For a girl in turmoil, this is hazardous. Cliques are formed. Hierarchies are established. Romances start to ignite. She was a pretty Irish girl whom blossomed early. She was doomed. And there was nothing I could do.

                Our birthdays showed the disappearing of our bond the best. For my eleventh birthday, she was an hour late. She spent the night at someone’s house and didn’t bother to ask her father to pick her up early. It was not the fact that she had other friends that bother me, but that I invited her to my party weeks beforehand and she forgot. I, her best friend for most of our lives, wasn’t important enough to be remembered. I was sad. I was angry. But I cared for her. So I forgave her.

                Twelfth.  She was there for a half hour, and brought a friend. Someone I didn’t know. It was a beach party and I was at the shore with the rest of my guests. When I saw her walking on the sand, I was excited because I thought she wasn’t coming. When I saw that she wasn’t in a swimsuit and with a girl whom I didn’t know, my heart enfolded upon itself.  The girl spent the night at her house and my best friend was going to spend my birthday at this other girl’s house. I think not coming at all would have hurt less. At least then I could have made up an excuse instead of being confronted with the reality. I knew she was slipping away from me but I wanted to hang onto her for a little bit longer. So I smiled and covered my disappointment.

                Her thirteenth birthday made me cry. She didn’t even bother to invite me. I waited weeks for the invitation to come in the mail. It never did. I thought she was going to tell me in person. I waited. Her birthday came and went without a word. I asked her about it and she gave a lame excuse. It was at a water park and since my parents are big on modesty I would wear a t-shirt over my swimsuit. She said that the shirt would get caught on the slides the park had. I looked it up. No such thing existed. She didn’t want me there. I cried. I couldn’t face her, so I wrote her a letter and stuck in the bag with her birthday present. I asked her about it a week later. She said “What letter?” I cried some more. I then came to a decision. My thirteenth birthday would decide the future of our friendship.

                Months of worry awaited me. She grew ever distant. I barely saw her and she lived down the street. The day came. I invited her to my sleepover. She came but I felt that she didn’t want to. She mostly hung out with some girls from our school. I don’t remember having a conversation with her. She avoided me. When I said goodbye to her in the morning, I gave up. She got held back a year. I knew since I would be going on to high school and she would still be in middle school, that our friendship would end.

                I had a class with her older sister whom I was still friendly with. I would occasionally ask about her sister. She wasn’t doing well. She was dating a much older guy and might be held back another year. Then I heard that she might drop out. This went on for a year. After my freshman year, my family was moving away. The older sister came to say goodbye to my family. My former best friend was in the background. I think she felt guilty, but she never said she was sorry. I gave her a hug anyway. I wanted her to know that I forgave her for everything she put me through. Our second decade is about finding ourselves and sometimes that means changing.  People come and go in our lives. We have to let them go and move on. In order to pass that stage of life we have to forgive what happened. It’s been over five years since I saw my former best friend. I don’t know what happened to her.                                        

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How To Deal With Criticism

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , on December 1, 2011 | Leave a Comment »

“Any fool can criticize, and many of them do.”- Cyril Garbett

       It’s impossible to live without unwarranted advice. Often we are told what to do and how to complete the given task. And sometimes these know-it-alls will tell us that we can’t do something and that is what bothers me the most. I can handle feigning interest when listening to advice that I figured out way before they did or is not helpful, but being told that I’m not capable of the task racks my nerves and flashes my ire. Before I open my mouth to vocalize the best insult I’ll ever regret five seconds later, I try to remember three simple things that help control my tongue.

1) Who is giving the advice? The identity of the person who is giving criticize can change the context of what is being said.

a. Does this person usually offer good insight? If they often do maybe you should give the criticizer a little leeway. Collapsing the bridge into the water won’t be beneficial in the future when you might seek out advice.

b. What is their personality like? Bluntness, though sometimes refreshing, can be the result of the inability to use tact. The adviser could be truly desirous to help but is not sure how to get their thought across in an acceptable manner.

2) What is the tone? Recognizing how something is said is far more important than what is said.

a. What inflection is in use? A single sentence can have a variety of meanings. If the end of the criticism is a higher pitch than the beginning, then the comment is a question not a doubt.

b. What is the texture of their voice? If it is soft or docile than person is genial and sincere. But if it feels like sandpaper was rubbed across your face than they aren’t being amiable.

3) What does their body language convey? Humans communicate verbally only 7% of the time, we use visual clues the other 93%.

a. What stance does their body use? If their arms are crossed and their torso is angled away than the chances they are being negative is significantly higher. If their feet are pointing towards you or they make physical contact they aren’t trying to hurt your feelings.

b. What eye contact is being used?  In western cultures, direct eye contact is a sign of respect and sincerity; don’t worry if it isn’t constant. If they won’t meet your eye at all then they are subconsciously untruthful.

       After mentally checking this list, not only do I have a better idea of why the criticism was said or what it means, but enough time has passed for me to calm down and gain control of my tongue. If we let our brain bridle our words than we can deal with difficult situations and we don’t have to waterlog the bridge that connects two people.  Don’t degrade yourself as another fool who criticizes.       

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“We don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are.”- Anais Nin

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on October 6, 2011 | Leave a Comment »

Perception is, truly, everything.  Our childhood, our community, and our environment shape to how we see the world.  We evaluate our surroundings because of who we are. Subjection can never be ruled out completely.  Biases creep in our heads and mess up our eyes. As each person is different, so are our views.

What I think of a quote can, and probably will be, different from what you think it means. But this doesn’t mean that we can’t share our views with each other. In fact, we can grow from hearing opinions that differ from our own. Our mind expands and our understanding of others deepens.   In ancient times Greek philosophers met at the Areopagus (Mars Hill) in Athens. These philosophers were not always from the same school of philosophy and  were often at odds with one another. But they continued meeting and sharing their views with one another.  Likewise we can learn from others if we try to see them as they are and not what we perceive them to be.

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