Sunday, September 23, 2012
Weekend Mornings
Some mornings I wake up to the screaming and violent presence of an angry mother. An unpleasant beginning begets another dull day, either ending with me doing absolutely nothing productive or being harassed to some level. That is how my weekends usually carry out... It's a terrible process. All I want is a quiet day, one where I won't have to hear about my useless contribution to society and life in general. I passive-aggressively approach this situation often in my head; I always end up being some sort of doctor, fixing life's mistakes–myself and my actions. Other times, I create an alternate universe because reality is not my friend. In the end, I always bear with the situation and say nothing, do nothing, and act as though nothing happened. The other day, someone told me I was perfect. Funny, because I am no where close to perfect.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Extraordinary
I look at the mass of flesh in the mirror and I see someone normal. I am not fat, but not amazingly thin. My legs are far from bulky, but they are not fragile sticks. I am normal. I want to be extraordinary. Not normal. Far from myself. Extraordinary. Just for you.
Next to you, I am a destructive wreck, a sharp contrast from the perfection that you are. Subconsciously, I feel that I do not deserve you in my life, therefore I don't deserve to be happy. You are too perfect. I want to change. I need to change.
Your presence brings the feeling of joy to the surface. I don't know how to cope with being happy. I don't know how to handle kindness and your undying grace. I want to deserve you.
Next to you, I am a destructive wreck, a sharp contrast from the perfection that you are. Subconsciously, I feel that I do not deserve you in my life, therefore I don't deserve to be happy. You are too perfect. I want to change. I need to change.
Your presence brings the feeling of joy to the surface. I don't know how to cope with being happy. I don't know how to handle kindness and your undying grace. I want to deserve you.
When I say I love you, I love you wholly and tragically. I love the sincerity in your smile, the way the ends of your lips lift up, and how that could drastically change into a broken frown, a grim line, quivering and shaking. I love the crinkling of your wonderful eyes, as it glistens with your illuminating joy, and I love it still, even when the tidal waves come rushing out, leaving nothing more but a jaded expression and a dull gleam in those once shining orbs. I love the timbre of your speech, the melodic values of your voice, how it leaps from tone to tone, akin to a symphony, and how it trembles and shakes with dissonance whenever you are distressed.
I love the soft pitter-pattering of your feet, the music your feet create when you walk; I also love your retreating figure, your slouching form, the way it fades with the distance as you walk away from me. I love you so much I think I need you. I love you so much I want to be the ideal of image of beauty you were looking for. I love you so much I think I don't need you. I love you so much I could throw away my silly desires for more and be happy with nothing more. I love you so much, but I need more. I love you so much, that I can't love you so much.
I love the soft pitter-pattering of your feet, the music your feet create when you walk; I also love your retreating figure, your slouching form, the way it fades with the distance as you walk away from me. I love you so much I think I need you. I love you so much I want to be the ideal of image of beauty you were looking for. I love you so much I think I don't need you. I love you so much I could throw away my silly desires for more and be happy with nothing more. I love you so much, but I need more. I love you so much, that I can't love you so much.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Don't Do Drugs
Don't do drugs.
The phrase is so simple, words we have all heard, reiterated time and time again, yet at the same time, it is tremendously demeaning. According to social constructs, drugs are seen through a negative lens, which then causes the people who associate with drugs to be dehumanized. This proves to be true in certain events such as death. When an individual's drug use costs him, his/her, her own life, some level of tact and sensitivity is expected. However, the incident incites the unexpected: apathy. The responses may range from "I knew this would happen," "I knew this was going to happen," "this was his/her fault for doing drugs," to even "s/he deserved it."
As humans, we truly haven't come that far in advances. Who are we to say who deserves to die? Are we even educated enough to truly come to that decision? Today, consumption of drugs is still popular, as it was back in the past, despite the fact it may not have the most pleasant taste or odor. This raises the question: "Why are people willing to involve themselves with self-destruction?"
Why is that? Do they feel lost in their own life? Have we lost ourselves? Do we need drugs to find ourselves? Or are we simply bored, bored of a painfully average life? Do we need that injection for a wave of euphoria and excitement? Or is it a result of social alienation? A need for acceptance?
Whatever the reason, I will not closed-mindedly base my judgment of that person on their choice to do drugs. Adults have always told the younger generation, from childhood to adulthood, to not sacrifice their bodies to drugs. Uttering those three words: "Don't do drugs", people indirectly belittle other people's intelligence. The intention is to put an end to drugs, but the approach only creates a negative aftershock.
Have they taken the drug user’s circumstances into consideration? Or do they know? Then, why do they still repeat that phrase? The reason is: they (may have) made mistakes, some avoidable and some that remain as scars. With that in mind, people still choose to test that theory and not all times will the outcome be favorable, but tragic.
All in all, condemnation and enforcing one's opinion onto others is not the appropriate answer. We all undergo inner turmoil and to some people, drugs exist to compensate for their insecurities, numb their physical/emotional pain, or to appease boredom. Instilled with a various circumstances and upbringings, people will control their lives and walk a different path.
Drug use remains a controversial topic, carrying many positive aspects, as it does negatives. How an individual conducts his or her lifestyle is not any other person's concern. In no shape or form am I arguing that people should not involve themselves with drugs; we are entitled to our choices. Bearing this mind, one must demonstrate kindness, which will beget further kindness.
Please take care of yourself and your body. Most of all, show grace and spread benevolence.
The phrase is so simple, words we have all heard, reiterated time and time again, yet at the same time, it is tremendously demeaning. According to social constructs, drugs are seen through a negative lens, which then causes the people who associate with drugs to be dehumanized. This proves to be true in certain events such as death. When an individual's drug use costs him, his/her, her own life, some level of tact and sensitivity is expected. However, the incident incites the unexpected: apathy. The responses may range from "I knew this would happen," "I knew this was going to happen," "this was his/her fault for doing drugs," to even "s/he deserved it."
As humans, we truly haven't come that far in advances. Who are we to say who deserves to die? Are we even educated enough to truly come to that decision? Today, consumption of drugs is still popular, as it was back in the past, despite the fact it may not have the most pleasant taste or odor. This raises the question: "Why are people willing to involve themselves with self-destruction?"
Why is that? Do they feel lost in their own life? Have we lost ourselves? Do we need drugs to find ourselves? Or are we simply bored, bored of a painfully average life? Do we need that injection for a wave of euphoria and excitement? Or is it a result of social alienation? A need for acceptance?
Whatever the reason, I will not closed-mindedly base my judgment of that person on their choice to do drugs. Adults have always told the younger generation, from childhood to adulthood, to not sacrifice their bodies to drugs. Uttering those three words: "Don't do drugs", people indirectly belittle other people's intelligence. The intention is to put an end to drugs, but the approach only creates a negative aftershock.
Have they taken the drug user’s circumstances into consideration? Or do they know? Then, why do they still repeat that phrase? The reason is: they (may have) made mistakes, some avoidable and some that remain as scars. With that in mind, people still choose to test that theory and not all times will the outcome be favorable, but tragic.
All in all, condemnation and enforcing one's opinion onto others is not the appropriate answer. We all undergo inner turmoil and to some people, drugs exist to compensate for their insecurities, numb their physical/emotional pain, or to appease boredom. Instilled with a various circumstances and upbringings, people will control their lives and walk a different path.
Drug use remains a controversial topic, carrying many positive aspects, as it does negatives. How an individual conducts his or her lifestyle is not any other person's concern. In no shape or form am I arguing that people should not involve themselves with drugs; we are entitled to our choices. Bearing this mind, one must demonstrate kindness, which will beget further kindness.
Please take care of yourself and your body. Most of all, show grace and spread benevolence.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Tragic
Once again, I have found myself spiraling deep into the darkness of the mind. Thrust into a frustrating event, I enter an emotional frenzy, trapped by blinding confusion and the weight of my anger. As always, blame is always placed on me in the family.
I wear denim shorts, only to be accused of not washing them. When explaining that I had already washed them, my father somehow reaches the conclusion that I only put one article of clothing (the denim shorts) in the washer. I correct his false statement, leading to an argument that ends with him yelling, "STUPID BITCH, WHY DO YOU ALWAYS ARGUE? IF YOU DON'T SHUT THAT DIRTY MOUTH, I AM GOING TO HIT YOU."
I am the middle child, the one my parents deem as the mistake, the devil child. The baseless foundation of our relationship consists of nothing more than a mutual hatred. I suppose the most I can offer my parents emotionally is downgraded love, crossed with hatred, remorse, and disappointment.
After a storm, disorder crumbles into the warm image of peace. However, nothing is ever constant and excess trust is bound to be placed on that sense of security. One suppresses the trauma and basks in his or her new-found solace, only to return to the stressful environment of an imperfect reality.
Reality itself instills me with sadness. My close friend, suddenly ended her phone call with her boyfriend and entered my room. She uttered these truly heart breaking words: "Do they do this to (hit) you often?" I did not know how to answer her. I couldn't answer her.
It's almost tragic.
I wear denim shorts, only to be accused of not washing them. When explaining that I had already washed them, my father somehow reaches the conclusion that I only put one article of clothing (the denim shorts) in the washer. I correct his false statement, leading to an argument that ends with him yelling, "STUPID BITCH, WHY DO YOU ALWAYS ARGUE? IF YOU DON'T SHUT THAT DIRTY MOUTH, I AM GOING TO HIT YOU."
I am the middle child, the one my parents deem as the mistake, the devil child. The baseless foundation of our relationship consists of nothing more than a mutual hatred. I suppose the most I can offer my parents emotionally is downgraded love, crossed with hatred, remorse, and disappointment.
After a storm, disorder crumbles into the warm image of peace. However, nothing is ever constant and excess trust is bound to be placed on that sense of security. One suppresses the trauma and basks in his or her new-found solace, only to return to the stressful environment of an imperfect reality.
Reality itself instills me with sadness. My close friend, suddenly ended her phone call with her boyfriend and entered my room. She uttered these truly heart breaking words: "Do they do this to (hit) you often?" I did not know how to answer her. I couldn't answer her.
It's almost tragic.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
College & Life
Last week, I started the high school extension program commonly known as community college. Today marks my third day there. To be honest, it feels like a big, fat joke. Life is such a joke.
Moving forward simply frightens me, yet I don't want to be chained to the present. However, that stressful phase of my life was mundane with its daily routine, but I found comfort in its sameness. At the same time, half of me wanted to leave this place, forget everyone and everything associated with what I call "home." My last two years of high school was spent in extreme anxiety. I was simply overwhelmed and scared–about the future, the present, everything, thinking to myself, "Should I take a step forward? Or step back?" As a result, I didn't make any big step and here I am, stuck in a small community college. It's a baby step, but it's worth SOMETHING.
When I attended my first college class, I realized how... easy it was. Really, it's all a matter of perception. In my head, I overcomplicated the concept of life after high school. Perhaps I am too sheltered. Perhaps I am too much of a perfectionist at heart and drastic change is too great for me to process. I am NOT comfortable with mapping out my entire life in the last few years of high school, being expected to carry out my plans directly after high school, utilizing a considerable sum of money on academics and on a new lifestyle, and leaving myself so vulnerable.
Most peers would call me mature, but at this stage in my life, I would say I am far from a responsible, capable young adult. I recognize my artistic talent and my academic abilities, but I am not confident. I revamped my wardrobe; I'm not going to rush myself. Step by step, I am growing up until I feel secure with myself, my life, and my talents, all to become the respectable college student I expect myself to be.
Moving forward simply frightens me, yet I don't want to be chained to the present. However, that stressful phase of my life was mundane with its daily routine, but I found comfort in its sameness. At the same time, half of me wanted to leave this place, forget everyone and everything associated with what I call "home." My last two years of high school was spent in extreme anxiety. I was simply overwhelmed and scared–about the future, the present, everything, thinking to myself, "Should I take a step forward? Or step back?" As a result, I didn't make any big step and here I am, stuck in a small community college. It's a baby step, but it's worth SOMETHING.
When I attended my first college class, I realized how... easy it was. Really, it's all a matter of perception. In my head, I overcomplicated the concept of life after high school. Perhaps I am too sheltered. Perhaps I am too much of a perfectionist at heart and drastic change is too great for me to process. I am NOT comfortable with mapping out my entire life in the last few years of high school, being expected to carry out my plans directly after high school, utilizing a considerable sum of money on academics and on a new lifestyle, and leaving myself so vulnerable.
Most peers would call me mature, but at this stage in my life, I would say I am far from a responsible, capable young adult. I recognize my artistic talent and my academic abilities, but I am not confident. I revamped my wardrobe; I'm not going to rush myself. Step by step, I am growing up until I feel secure with myself, my life, and my talents, all to become the respectable college student I expect myself to be.
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