As I sit here crying because I’ve just rewatched my favorite film “Cloud Atlas”, I am reminded of change and dreams.
For a long while now, maybe a year, I’ve been in a slump. I’ve been thinking over and over about how my life is a “drop of water in an endless sea”. Pondering over how tiny I am, how mortality is so finite how could any of us bare the idea of immortality? How I will die inevitably and everything in our waking world is a distraction away from this death, it’s a monolithic movement toward a fake idea of eternal life. It doesn’t come from the Christians, although they now propagate this idea, and it was before the Greeks, before the Babylonians (pre-Judaism), and it was before writing. Humans lie. We lie to ourselves about our fate.We try to block it out, pretend death isn’t lurking under every rock, waiting to trip us up and break us, we shout “DANGER” so quietly.
I’m trying to be honest to myself. Telling myself of my death, that whatever I do, I will die. I’ve been giving up hope, I’ve let all my dreams go. In my depression and in my turmoil I have said “It’s impossible, I’m 1 and 8 billion+ and I am nothing.” I am nothing because I choose to be, but not because I am.
In Cloud Atlas Sonmi said “Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others. Past and present. And by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.”(David Mitchell, author). When she said this, she is staring at a room full of fighting. Everything knows death is inevitable but they are fighting for a better life. Dying for a better life for the other.
My eternal best friend Savannah said to me: “You aren’t great because you are great, but because I say you are great so you have to be, because I want you to be.” Now this sounds very backwards, but I knew exactly what she meant. She meant that even though I don’t think I’m great, or have purpose, or meaning, I am great because she knows so. Then she said “You may think you don’t have a purpose, but that doesn’t mean you can’t give yourself one. Make one up!!”
A few hours later a woman came out of an Irish bar on to the sidewalk where Savannah and I were standing, I gave her a light and she said to me “I want to be your mothah!” and then “Go do something amazing, change the world.”
More than all the religious and socio-political philosophical truths, I know that humans are only human with other humans. And we can only change when we step into the view of the other. The moment we see the point of view of someone unlike ourselves who is apart from us can we begin to understand we aren’t so different. The only way we can learn or affect the world is by changing ourselves.
I heard once that you don’t have to change the whole world to be marvelous, you only have to change one tiny world of someone else’s to make an impact. I hope to change a few, even if those worlds are just my immediate friends and family, I can be ok with that.
I won’t give up though, I’m revisiting my dreams of being a writer, a musician, an archaeology, a teacher, a lifelong learner. I am finding another path and I don’t walk alone, but I am connected with those I find, everyone’s whose path touches mine.
Those who are great most of the time never knew they were. They died, maybe for a cause to fight for the other and are remembered as great because they changed one tiny world, that created a wave to affect many. They weren’t great because they thought they were great, they are great we because we think they are. We think. Present active Indicative plural. We are plurality and individuality and we are being.
The lost art of really listening to people. The secret to it is we communicated with our bodies. Open stances or closed stances, fiddling and looking away, shifting glances, wild gestures or uncomfortable arm crossing. The saying “Actions speak louder than words” is a lot of the time true. That’s why reading body language helps tell us when we are being lied to or how people really feel versus what they are saying. A good listener can see these things. A true listener can start to understand someone better by these things. Seeing how a person responds physically can communicate their insecurities and their confidences, the things they like and dislike, and also whether they are extremely selfish or are relaxed and loving. Someone who really listens can see right through people.
Then sometimes silence (or the lack of action) speaks louder than words. Whether that inaction is someone saying one thing and doing another or being completely passive and not communicating at all.
That’s why I wrote a song called “Silence is death”
I wrote this because the lack of communication is a huge scream in itself. Crying silently, suffering in silence, sighing silently. It’s all a way of showing a burden, communicating pain or indifference. Especially indifference. “The silent treatment” is a way to communicate my pain that doesn’t need words to describe it. Everyone knows what it is. Everyone understands why. It’s because sometimes the amount of weight I’m carrying inside me is boiling under my skin and its turning my eyes red and soggy, its breaking me so much I can’t even speak. Sometimes the silence is necessary because I’m screaming so loud on the inside I can’t bear to speak anymore. Or maybe its the opposite, maybe it’s because the world and people around me are so loud I can’t handle the noise anymore so I stopped trying and shut down. Maybe I’m too tired of this sick mess to speak anymore. Words fall short of the things I want to say.
This is why people say things like this:
“If you’re really listening, if you’re awake to the poignant beauty of the world, your heart breaks regularly. In fact, your heart is made to break; its purpose is to burst open again and again so that it can hold evermore wonders.”
― Andrew Harvey
Sometimes its really hard to be bursting at the seems like this always. I take a chill pill and reseed into a happy numbness, which sometimes solves the problems and I start to see that I don’t have to hate and hurt from all the noise around me and inside me. I can let it out and in and breathe and be one with it or separate my self from it. Nothing is permanent. But I do wear my anger on my heart and not on my skin. I wear it on the inside where it festers and starts to boil again and I start my silence.
There’s a difference between serenity and being numb.
Communicating like this isn’t all there is though. Sometimes small talk and social interaction in the trivial pursuits can be a fueling ground for socialites or a draining all-consuming pit of terror. Sometimes I love to gossip and joke with my friends, and other times it tears me apart inside to hear idiotic and pointless words. I get so upset I give a silent tantrum and stop speaking to people.
‘Cause I’ve seen more spine on jellyfish
I’ve seen more guts in eleven year old kids
Have another drink and drive yourself home
I hope there’s ice on all the roads
And you can think of me when you forget your seatbelt
And again when your head goes through the windshield
Is that what you call tact?
You’re as subtle as a brick
In the small of my back
So let’s end this call and end this conversation
The Happiness of meeting again after a long time
There are lots of ways that people can be separated. Whether “separate” meaning ending of a relationship, friendship, or bond; or meaning separated by distance and time rather than breaking off that relationship, being apart is painful.
I’ve had friends all over the world, some which I’ve been able to see yearly or more and others that I have never seen.
I have friends I’ve grown up with that became the closest and most important people in my life graduate high school and go far away for college. It hurt to be apart from them. It hurt to lose the physical connection we had and to lose the fulfilling meetings we used to have regularly. But we had retrouvailles when we were finally able to get together during summer, winter, and spring breaks.
Separation changes relationships and changes people. Communication and visiting become more special, but also more difficult. Talking to one another can become a chore, or become monotonous because the same questions are always being asked. “How was your day?” “What did you do?” “How is everyone back home?” “How is school?” “What are your classes like?”‘How was work?”. After a while it feels like there is nothing more to say over the phone or via text.
It feels like the distance between the two of you is prying a wedge between you even more than you thought it would.
It’s costly on everyone in many ways. Seeing friends means gas money, spending money for activities, and food. Seeing friends means a plane ticket home or to them, expenses of travel and the like.
Being apart from friends means you might make new friends and lose those friends, or the flux of new friends is whittled down to the ones that you actually like talking to you, rather than the ones which are just convenient to converse with. The difference between a study buddy and a real pal. It costs time and effort to be happy, to stay happy, and to preserve the happiness that you have with those you love most in the world.
The hardest part about these expenses, is making sure they are worth it, and remain worth it.
Something being worth your time is far from something which is just convenient. Although, convenience does assist in keeping things that are worth your time.
Convenience is having a neighbor that you can barrow things from politely and they have the same relationship with you, but you wouldn’t invite them over for a heart-to-heart about your dying uncle and the struggles of cancer in your family.
The kind of person you invite over for that serious conversation who thinks you are worth their time is the friend that maybe it isn’t all that convenient for them to see you. That’s why it is special when you see each other, because when you do, both of you have planned that chat, that cup of tea or coffee, that special meeting spot, or the favorite seats in your living room. The date’s been on your calendar and it has been something the two of you texted about for weeks. Making sure both could be there around the same time, prepared and with lots to say.
But also with this best friend, you don’t always need something to talk about. Silence can convey what you need it to as well. Because sometimes all you can say is “I’m so glad you are here,” with me because I need you and you are worth it and I love being with you because I love you.
And you know they are thinking the same thing and don’t need to say it.
Harmony in the those moments of retrouvailles.
arousing curiosity or interest; holding or catching the attention.“an interesting debate”2. A term used meaninglessly and copiously by those with nothing better to say.
synonyms: absorbing, engrossing, fascinating, riveting, gripping, compelling,compulsive, captivating, engaging, enthralling;
So, now that we know what it means, what does it really mean?
To me, an interesting person is someone who rarely bores me, even if what they are talking about is on the uses of Tylenol. What my current dilemma entails is a girl whom with all circumstances and experiences should be the most interesting human on the planet, but she is one of those humans I have a difficult time speaking too without a group. Our one-on-one communication I would think would be amazing since both of us have similar interests in langue arts, linguistics, history, and religion; it seems though, that she and I cannot hold a conversation with each other in an empty room for more than a half hour without external input.
Secondly, I usually assume that people who are well educated, well traveled (even if thats just in the united states, Canada, and Mexico) should by default, according to their money spending track records, are an interesting human. These people should be eye catching, have good stories(even if these stories are fairy tales, making it all the more interesting), be inspiring, and be ready for adventure.
Unfortunately, I can’t figure out why this woman bores me to literal tears. Ultimately, I’m too hopeful and tend to lend my friends one too many chances to surprise me with their intellect and make me laugh with good(or terribly bad) stories, or even better: make our own stories. but I’m feeling drained. I give all my funny(or sad) stories to them, I share or invent adventures for them, I invite them to mad gatherings and try to inspire some spontaneity within them, but I’m slowly but surely giving up.
Live a little.
My Chemical Romance, no matter how much that proves that they are ingenious musicians, there is no way to disprove that they are obsessed with death and destruction of everything breathing…. But, I still love them just as much. Even though they are psychotic, but who do you think is writing? I am definitely not all right. “I’m not okay, (I promise)” Best MCR song EVER!
So its been 12 days since I wrote that. I’m slacking in my commitment to this blog. Majorly slacking.
In the past hour, and few days, I’ve been very…well pissed off about my schools regulations on “proper forms of affection”. I do not think that being a couple, or love struck teenager, is a sin that could damn me and my signficant other to hell. I believe the opposite. That, when in love, though there be restrictions according my beliefs, those are over come by marriage which is the union of goodness. Not damnation. This is risky for me to write, since one of my teachers has knowledge of this site. But, there is such thing as speaking one’s mind without being rude, but I am not well versed in that. Too bad.
My interest in Zombies, is declining with a sad and ungrateful noise. And my love for Aliens is now that I have become one in many ways to my peers.
Snitches. I call them snitches even though that probably isn’t the correct term for someone who complains of being uncomfortable around the hidden hormones of their friends, when really it is their own hormones they are uncomfortable with. The power of hormones is unstoppable, the public school is still trying to hide this despite of it’s blatantly obviousness in their halls.
My fashion sence has disappeared with the rules that constrict me. I am now submitting to the sad place where fashion becomes knife earings.
I was very frustrated because I typed the equivalent of three pages of blog post and it all got deleted with an accidental push of some unknown button that sent me back three tabs. My fingers suck.
You know how I’m obsessed with Zombies and Aliens? Well, I stumbled upon this blogger that named her blog “Milk and Zombies” which happens to be the name of one of my short stories. She also wrote about aliens! I’m not the only one!
Here is the link to her blog its very funny:
I had typed up an entire page about how my friend (Nye) decided he was going to stay up all night (doing what I dare not ask) and text me at 5:40 in the morning. This retype of already told tale is rather boring and insincere the complete opposite of what this blog stands for so I wont go on for long on this dreary subject of loosing all of my well typed thoughts and frustrations.
My cow zip-drive is headless…its lying next my computer, its key chain tail looks tangled. I feel oddly sorry for it… I remember when my mother brought it home for me from Staples. Its head was securely attached to its detachable body, and there was a white and yellow daisy stuck in its smiling mouth. How cows manage to smile when they are made of rubber I will refrain from trying to understand that. Rubber does not have muscles. I remember that little flower falling out of the square hole it was popped in, I glued it. And returning to the computer the next day, found that it had been picked off by my brothers grubby fingers… He destroyed the flower, and lost it forever in the cracks and leaks in my house. Now the head of the cow is missing and it has a small hole where its flower used to sit, seemly between its lips.
The internet has decided to hate me. It makes annoying sounds at me when I unknowingly press the wrong button when IT does not cooperate with my commands. It has swallowed up and chewed happily upon my poor blog post this morning that is now laying lifeless somewhere in the internet’s ancient vacuum. It’s probably in the purgatory life of the lost documents and papers, or due presentations that were deleted eagerly by its greedy mouth.
Hopefully it isn’t feeling the lost I feel towards it at this time. I’ll morn its loss till I forget.
I’m ignoring my tedious pile of perpetual homework. It bothers my brain and my social life. (this is in red for effect, if any of my teachers read this.)
I’m enjoying speaking of inanimate things as people or organizations….I meant to make an analogy of a cell. Something about working and jobs… how hellish.
Tea, is one of the first words that comes to mind when I think of Dean. He’s awesome.
Dean, is a friend of mine, that has become a brother, though two years older than me, he feels like my little brother. *pats him on the head* Dean thinks I play video games too much, primarily Black ops (Blops), and that’s what gives me such scary dreams that I tend to blog about. This mornings dream…was really strange and was the aftermath of a conversation I had last night with my friend Nick. Hopefully what happened in my dream will never in the world happen in physical reality. I’d be very…terrified if it did. Zombie apocalypses that everyone is ready for anyways isn’t so terrifying. Well…maybe a bit hard to comprehend how they would happen but, you could always reference any horror movie or video game for that information. Like wise with Aliens and vampires. I wonder how a Vampire Apocalypse would turn out? hm..there is a good song about that one though: Vampires will never hurt you, by My Chemical Romance. LOVE THAT SONG!! moving on….
Going through my closet the other day and attempting to clean it, I remembered that I have….dare I say, over 40 dresses. I also have probably 10 different jackets, 5 of which are all black. I also noticed that I have an extreme number of small frilly skirts from hot topic and a scary accumulation of one piece casual jumper things… I’m wearing one right now. Good thing I don’t have as many shoes as I know some other friends do.. *sighs of relief* Need to cut back on my fashionesta-sprees! I haven’t shopped for months and I am really feeling the with-drawl.
I have homework to write an essay analyzing Frankenstein by Marry Shelly. I picked the most interesting topic I was slightly inspired by, unrequited love. Its gonna be a really depressing paper. Just like the book. Did you know that in each paragraph there is at least 3 words describing some type of sad feeling. The words, “Grief” “Fear” “loathsome” “disturbing” “demon” “hateful” “distaste” “anguish” “mocking” “unhappiness” “hideous” “wretched” “filthy” “deformity” “gloomy” “murderer” “destroyed” “suffering” “illness” “weakness” “despair” “loneliness” “evil” “horror” “agony” “desolate” “terrible” “disaster” “frightful” “guilt” “lawless” “aggravation” “deserted” are putrid and ubiquitous.
This is your personal blog post.
This blog post, is dedicated to you, because you read my blog and endure my silly thoughts that I type here.
I’m really happy to know that I and strangers are not the only ones reading this. It brings me some hope that I can finish a book or two, with fans,
Oh, now for Zombies and Aliens, they are….ah usually flesh eating beings who tend to be a part of my every blog post. And….that makes them….important? The fictional things that make up my life are really stimulating for my stories. I should write something about aliens now…
I keep listening to “the Death of Judas” over and over again. He has so much passion when he sings, he sounds so inspiring, and I wonder if he was what inspired My Chemical Romance to use rock and roll and his screamo jazz together.