Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
God bless you all.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
rebirth
people are reborn every day
new faces, new noses, new lips,
new chests. regenerated with
new parts because you didn't
like the ones you were born
with.
new faces, new noses, new lips,
new chests. regenerated with
new parts because you didn't
like the ones you were born
with.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
in between
today i went to get my second session of acupuncture; i sprained or strained my back playing basketball and it was getting better until i decided i was well enough to lift weights and play football. i wasn't well enough. so i walk in with my copy of Scar Tissue, a sex, drugs, and rock and roll memoir by Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. there are two sides of chairs facing each other; two black people were sitting on one side with a seat in between them and there are two korean people on the other side with a seat in between them. without thinking about it, i sat down between the korean people and a few minutes later i realized what i had done and remember that before i came in i saw a couple of black people in a car next to where i parked, and i had a sudden rush of fantasy involving them stealing my car. all of these negative stereotypes of black people flood into my mind as i sit there reading my book, but all of that changes as the black woman sitting across me opens her mouth. it turns out that she's African and then i relax. i don't know what it is, but African people and African-American people are completely different. a whole bunch of other African dudes walk in and sit down, and i continue reading.
a little girl runs in holding her friend's hand and says hi to her grandmother who is sitting next to me. she speaks better korean than i can and i wonder if that was how i started out as a kid. a little boy running around saying hi in the language of the motherland and i get a little sad knowing that i've lost a lot of that language. soon the waiting crowd dies down a bit and an older grandmother walks out and she slowly shuffles towards the empty seat next to me (the other grandmother switched to the other side somehow). she's a bit hunched over, has white hair, but is rocking a Coach bag as perhaps a status symbol or as if to say fashion doesn't grow old. she uses her energy sparingly and i'm honored that she uses it to sit next to me. she asks me in korean what was wrong with me. and i answered in my limited korean that my back hurt. she asked if i was a high school student. i told her i was in college and that i was 22. during the conversation she had a very soothing warmth to her voice and she put her hand on my knee just as she would to her own grandson. she went on to talk about things that i couldn't understand, but i caught the korean words for "acupuncture clinic" and "best" so i put two and two together and found that she was talking about how she looked for a good acupuncture place and that she heard that the one we were in was the best. she asked me a question that i couldn't quite answer in korean, but right when she asked the doctor called her over to give her the prescribed herbal remedies. i saw a white man come out and watched him pay the doctor for his own herbal supply, but i heard him ask, "is this one, mom's?" pointing at one of the boxes of herbal remedies, i assumed that he was either a son-in-law or some kind of caretaker, but the first seems more likely. the grandmother got up and paid for the box and she came over to put on her jacket. i said goodbye as she left and she said goodbye. as she left the little girl came back running around not knowing what to do with all the energy inside her little body.
i realize that i'm in between. in between death and life, between old and young. i'm not considered old yet, but i'm not considered as a kid either. i can't speak korean as i can english, but i know that i'm not fully american or korean. i'm in between. i look forward to looking at youths when i'm an elder. i just don't know what to do with the time between then and now.
a little girl runs in holding her friend's hand and says hi to her grandmother who is sitting next to me. she speaks better korean than i can and i wonder if that was how i started out as a kid. a little boy running around saying hi in the language of the motherland and i get a little sad knowing that i've lost a lot of that language. soon the waiting crowd dies down a bit and an older grandmother walks out and she slowly shuffles towards the empty seat next to me (the other grandmother switched to the other side somehow). she's a bit hunched over, has white hair, but is rocking a Coach bag as perhaps a status symbol or as if to say fashion doesn't grow old. she uses her energy sparingly and i'm honored that she uses it to sit next to me. she asks me in korean what was wrong with me. and i answered in my limited korean that my back hurt. she asked if i was a high school student. i told her i was in college and that i was 22. during the conversation she had a very soothing warmth to her voice and she put her hand on my knee just as she would to her own grandson. she went on to talk about things that i couldn't understand, but i caught the korean words for "acupuncture clinic" and "best" so i put two and two together and found that she was talking about how she looked for a good acupuncture place and that she heard that the one we were in was the best. she asked me a question that i couldn't quite answer in korean, but right when she asked the doctor called her over to give her the prescribed herbal remedies. i saw a white man come out and watched him pay the doctor for his own herbal supply, but i heard him ask, "is this one, mom's?" pointing at one of the boxes of herbal remedies, i assumed that he was either a son-in-law or some kind of caretaker, but the first seems more likely. the grandmother got up and paid for the box and she came over to put on her jacket. i said goodbye as she left and she said goodbye. as she left the little girl came back running around not knowing what to do with all the energy inside her little body.
i realize that i'm in between. in between death and life, between old and young. i'm not considered old yet, but i'm not considered as a kid either. i can't speak korean as i can english, but i know that i'm not fully american or korean. i'm in between. i look forward to looking at youths when i'm an elder. i just don't know what to do with the time between then and now.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
time
my sense of time has always been limited to calendars, clocks, the sun. i don't think i ever noticed i was getting older, that one day i would look my dad when he was 22, 23, 24. i don't think i ever knew that one day i would get lucky and find a girl that had enough pity on me to marry me, but that hasn't happened yet so i'm still crossing my fingers. i never understood really why my father would lecture me whenever we were alone in a car, it never hit that he was preparing me for the world, that in the world you were responsible to God, to people, and to yourself. but as the numbers increase every year i have a sense of urgency, a sense of overwhelming sadness that nothing is made to last, that everything that began will end.
we're all people getting older, we're all people that could use something, somebody, we're all people that are going to end. will our bodies become part of the earth for others to grow on, step on, cry on, love on, live on? are we just animals without souls, full of air? or are we souls trapped in bodies waiting to snatch a better one after this one dies? are we meant for eternity, to truly live, to be made new, to worship and give our all to our Creator? am i on my out? or am i on my out to something beautiful?
i feel like a child. i don't want to see my parents go, i don't want to lose my friends, my brothers, my sisters, i don't want to see my dog meet his end and know that he simply does not exist anymore. i don't want people to die without seeing life for what it is. life is a journey, a gift, a chance to truly live in eternity. life is hugging your mother, arm wrestling your father, laughing with your sister, playing guitar with your brother, watching a movie with a girl you like, awkward first kisses, lying on grass, climbing trees, taking vows, making toasts, having someone next to you in bed to keep you warm at night, helping those in need, loving those who hate, raising up hands, delighting in God, growing old, watching your kids grow old.
i can't help, but shed tears at funerals, at the thought of death. people say they're in a better place, but i'm not there with them or they with me. i cry that death is an option, that death must happen, and that people believe death is it. some days i believe the whole world deserves death and some days i believe everyone is innocent. i cry at the void that death leaves. the empty space that was once filled. they always will be refilled, but never the same. i cry at the loss of life; it was someone's father, mother, daugher, son, brother, sister, friend, lover. now there's a void where they once were. in time, we're all on our way out. in time, death is the final count.
we're all people getting older, we're all people that could use something, somebody, we're all people that are going to end. will our bodies become part of the earth for others to grow on, step on, cry on, love on, live on? are we just animals without souls, full of air? or are we souls trapped in bodies waiting to snatch a better one after this one dies? are we meant for eternity, to truly live, to be made new, to worship and give our all to our Creator? am i on my out? or am i on my out to something beautiful?
i feel like a child. i don't want to see my parents go, i don't want to lose my friends, my brothers, my sisters, i don't want to see my dog meet his end and know that he simply does not exist anymore. i don't want people to die without seeing life for what it is. life is a journey, a gift, a chance to truly live in eternity. life is hugging your mother, arm wrestling your father, laughing with your sister, playing guitar with your brother, watching a movie with a girl you like, awkward first kisses, lying on grass, climbing trees, taking vows, making toasts, having someone next to you in bed to keep you warm at night, helping those in need, loving those who hate, raising up hands, delighting in God, growing old, watching your kids grow old.
i can't help, but shed tears at funerals, at the thought of death. people say they're in a better place, but i'm not there with them or they with me. i cry that death is an option, that death must happen, and that people believe death is it. some days i believe the whole world deserves death and some days i believe everyone is innocent. i cry at the void that death leaves. the empty space that was once filled. they always will be refilled, but never the same. i cry at the loss of life; it was someone's father, mother, daugher, son, brother, sister, friend, lover. now there's a void where they once were. in time, we're all on our way out. in time, death is the final count.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
self-sabotage
I think that when those of us that will become chefs, there is a decision-making process involved that no one can really understand; it's a thought process that ultimately makes you decide that you will be the best, and that you will do whatever it takes to get there -- it's kind of a rockstar attitude, if you think about it.
Then, reality strikes. There's a lot that you don't know -- there's a lot of experience out there that you have to learn in not a lot of time. A lot of times, you overcompensate, however you can. Maybe you yell, maybe you take really basic dishes and try to get them to a point of inutterable perfection, maybe you flirt with the waitstaff. There just always has to be something that puts you on top or makes you unique from the others -- more noteworthy.
This leads to a lot of self-sabotage. With the long hours and the moments of intense stress, things get blown way out of proportion. Someone borrowing your knife suddenly becomes someone disrespecting you and yours. Long days of pent up aggression at work get taken home and hard as you might try to smile, you're surly. Other nights, you get so fed up you can't handle anything and you end up wanting to be anywhere but in bed. You lose friends, because you don't they understand, and you gain drinking buddies, because they always do.
Then, when it's quiet, you check yourself and see what you have left in your reserves.
If you come up with a little bit left, you invest it. You find something precious to you and you invest it and pray that in the long run, the investment will blossom with your career. If you come up empty, you find that at the end of the day, the best things you have in your life are your knives.
-w
Then, reality strikes. There's a lot that you don't know -- there's a lot of experience out there that you have to learn in not a lot of time. A lot of times, you overcompensate, however you can. Maybe you yell, maybe you take really basic dishes and try to get them to a point of inutterable perfection, maybe you flirt with the waitstaff. There just always has to be something that puts you on top or makes you unique from the others -- more noteworthy.
This leads to a lot of self-sabotage. With the long hours and the moments of intense stress, things get blown way out of proportion. Someone borrowing your knife suddenly becomes someone disrespecting you and yours. Long days of pent up aggression at work get taken home and hard as you might try to smile, you're surly. Other nights, you get so fed up you can't handle anything and you end up wanting to be anywhere but in bed. You lose friends, because you don't they understand, and you gain drinking buddies, because they always do.
Then, when it's quiet, you check yourself and see what you have left in your reserves.
If you come up with a little bit left, you invest it. You find something precious to you and you invest it and pray that in the long run, the investment will blossom with your career. If you come up empty, you find that at the end of the day, the best things you have in your life are your knives.
-w
I was bored the other day when i decided to stop by my mother's house; i had three loads of laundry to do at my apartment, which translates to one load and nine dollars saved at hers.
The house itself doesn't feel like home anymore, but there's still a nostalgic familiarity to it -- pictures on the wall, places where memories were made, etc. At some point, i found myself in my old room, rummaging through little things that i'd left in the closet. I'd left some sheet music, a couple old magazines, yo-yos and the like.. I'd forgotten that i'd left memoirs from ex-girlfriends on the top shelf.
The thing about high school is the overwhelming sincerity; every girl is "the" girl, and every that you do is the most important thing in the world, as well as completely justifiable, every time.
One was a photo frame from my first prom; she was in maroon, and each picture had managed to catch her with the biggest, most genuine smile I'd seen in a long time. I haven't talked to her since we broke up the summer before she went to college, so the memory and pictures are all i have left of her. On top of this picture frame was a little green box, where i had kept all of her letters that she ever wrote to me. Who writes letters nowadays, anyway?
However, the most jarring was a little styrofoam container. it sat quietly as i looked at a young me smiling proudly with the love of my life at the time. It finally caught my eye at some point because the words on it caught my peripherals.
"why do you build me up, build me up, buttercup, baby, just to let me down.." read one side. the rest of the box was covered with the lyrics as well; on the top, was a message that told me she hoped my SAT's went well and the like, and had made me a cupcake, which was carried by the container.. Things were so innocent at the time. I thought back, and realized that she was the most appreciative and giving girlfriend i had ever had, and also the one that i had broken up with over the worst reason (in retrospect, of course).
We're also facebook friends. She's engaged now.
It wasn't the jealousy that sent me whirling over who i was and what i was looking for in the next couple of days, but it was the sudden awareness of just how much time had passed and what i had learned since that time. Suddenly, it's time to get things in order, time to pull friends that i had pushed away, back, and time to stop dwelling on the past.
I'm never going to be able to remember anything about the cupcake, though.
-w (copied and pasted from my track records blog)
The house itself doesn't feel like home anymore, but there's still a nostalgic familiarity to it -- pictures on the wall, places where memories were made, etc. At some point, i found myself in my old room, rummaging through little things that i'd left in the closet. I'd left some sheet music, a couple old magazines, yo-yos and the like.. I'd forgotten that i'd left memoirs from ex-girlfriends on the top shelf.
The thing about high school is the overwhelming sincerity; every girl is "the" girl, and every that you do is the most important thing in the world, as well as completely justifiable, every time.
One was a photo frame from my first prom; she was in maroon, and each picture had managed to catch her with the biggest, most genuine smile I'd seen in a long time. I haven't talked to her since we broke up the summer before she went to college, so the memory and pictures are all i have left of her. On top of this picture frame was a little green box, where i had kept all of her letters that she ever wrote to me. Who writes letters nowadays, anyway?
However, the most jarring was a little styrofoam container. it sat quietly as i looked at a young me smiling proudly with the love of my life at the time. It finally caught my eye at some point because the words on it caught my peripherals.
"why do you build me up, build me up, buttercup, baby, just to let me down.." read one side. the rest of the box was covered with the lyrics as well; on the top, was a message that told me she hoped my SAT's went well and the like, and had made me a cupcake, which was carried by the container.. Things were so innocent at the time. I thought back, and realized that she was the most appreciative and giving girlfriend i had ever had, and also the one that i had broken up with over the worst reason (in retrospect, of course).
We're also facebook friends. She's engaged now.
It wasn't the jealousy that sent me whirling over who i was and what i was looking for in the next couple of days, but it was the sudden awareness of just how much time had passed and what i had learned since that time. Suddenly, it's time to get things in order, time to pull friends that i had pushed away, back, and time to stop dwelling on the past.
I'm never going to be able to remember anything about the cupcake, though.
-w (copied and pasted from my track records blog)
Monday, September 28, 2009
evolution 2
i believe the greatest potential in a person is to change.
i am not who i was when i was 17. nearly 5 years have gone by and i have no regrets in my past that haunt me, no future that i know of. all i have is now. another 5 years will pass and i will look back to say that i am not who i was when i was 22.
when did this start? us getting old? remember us hanging out at fast food joints, looking for something to do, something to say, something to laugh about? we thought we were invincible, immortal. i thought that once you hit a certain age you would grow up. like pushing a button. or winning a prize, receiving a present. if you make it to 30 you get a wife and 2 kids, congratulations. you made it. you lived your life, now help your kids make it to 30, and repeat.
what happened to our dreams? surely they were just dreams. but we had them, we had hopes for something different. isn't there more to life than eating? than drinking? than wearing fine clothes? than making a million, shiny stones, sleeping with strange women.
don't we have something to say? or have we grown up just to be fed? adults that do what rich people say. buying and doing what the media tells us to do so they can make money off their lies and so we can live in ignorance.
isn't it all chaos? isn't it all purposeful? you must choose one or the other. either the world is mad going in circles or the world is faithful and going towards the end.
it's nothing or something. what have you got to lose.
i am not who i was when i was 17. nearly 5 years have gone by and i have no regrets in my past that haunt me, no future that i know of. all i have is now. another 5 years will pass and i will look back to say that i am not who i was when i was 22.
when did this start? us getting old? remember us hanging out at fast food joints, looking for something to do, something to say, something to laugh about? we thought we were invincible, immortal. i thought that once you hit a certain age you would grow up. like pushing a button. or winning a prize, receiving a present. if you make it to 30 you get a wife and 2 kids, congratulations. you made it. you lived your life, now help your kids make it to 30, and repeat.
what happened to our dreams? surely they were just dreams. but we had them, we had hopes for something different. isn't there more to life than eating? than drinking? than wearing fine clothes? than making a million, shiny stones, sleeping with strange women.
don't we have something to say? or have we grown up just to be fed? adults that do what rich people say. buying and doing what the media tells us to do so they can make money off their lies and so we can live in ignorance.
isn't it all chaos? isn't it all purposeful? you must choose one or the other. either the world is mad going in circles or the world is faithful and going towards the end.
it's nothing or something. what have you got to lose.
boy meets girl
in all reality joe would never have talked or gotten close to anna. joe was content with his circumstance; he had grown numb to any guilt or shame that he experienced after every release. and anna was lonelier than she had ever been, but had discovered the other side of internet pornography. she had discovered that there were girls with websites that showed videos and pictures of them naked and performing sexual acts. there were levels of intensity ranging from fetishes to hardcore acts. anna wasn't shocked that the girls would do these things, but of the overwhelming attention that each of these girls received as a result of their websites. anna decided to try it out, but had no idea on how to start a website. joe spent all day and night on his computer so inevitably he picked up some tricks and decided to take computer science classes in school. it happened one day that anna walked in to the computer science classroom after school to ask the teacher on how to start a website. it also happened that on rare occasion joe was in the classroom making up work that he had missed on a "sick" day. he had spent that morning burning with desire and decided to lie to his parents and called in sick. one may say that God brought these two together for good purposes, one may call it
fate or destiny, others will call it luck, but this was the day that boy met girl.
"hello, i had some questions about starting up a website," anna said to the teacher. she was a little nervous in asking, wondering if the teacher knew her true intentions and would tell her to repent and sin no more. but there was no such response; the teacher, too busy helping another student, pointed to joe and said, "oh, umm, i'm a little busy, honey. i'm sorry. but that young man over there can help you out. joe's handy with that stuff." the teacher went back to helping the student while anna looked over at joe. joe always brought his headphones to class so he could listen to music while working. at that moment he was listening to a radiohead song called, "nude." joe was falling into a trance thinking about the lyrics to the song.
"don't get any / big ideas / they're not going to happen / you paint yourself white / and fill up with noise / but there'll be something missing / now that you've found it / it's gone / now that you feel it / you don't / you've gone off the rails / so don't get any / big ideas / they're not gonna happen / you'll go to hell / for what your / dirty mind / is thinking."
joe snapped out of his trance as soon as the last line was sung. he saw a reflection off his monitor and turned around to see that anna was behind him. joe didn't know what to say. in front of him was the girl that his friends had warned him of, but he wasn't scared or appalled. he was intrigued and surprised that the girl in front of him was, indeed, that girl. anna was beautiful, but she did not exude the confidence or pride that many beautiful girls thought they had the right to as goddesses. anna gave off the aura of a common girl, a humble innocence that joe couldn't understand. anna stared at joe's facial features; he was good looking though only when one got a good look at him. at first impression anna thought that joe looked rather mean and then she looked into his eyes and saw that not only that there was a certain beauty to them, but that there was an emptiness that she wanted to fill. anna felt secure when she looked at joe, not because he had confidence, but because she felt joe's potential to forgive. joe felt vulnerable as she was standing in front of him; she was like a dirty mirror that had to be wiped off to see the reflection of your soul. he felt a pang of dark hopelessness as he looked into her eyes because he wa reminded of his own shame and guilt that he had thought he lost so long ago. "joe? hi, my name is anna. i was hoping that you could help me." joe winked his eyes a few times and said, "oh. hi. i'm joe," he had already said this as he realized that she knew what his name was. he quickly recovered with, "so what do you need help with?" "um. i want to start a website, but i'm not sure how to or even where to begin." "oh, ok. umm. can i ask what kind of website?" "oh... it's a personal website." "what do you mean?" "well, it's for me." "you mean like a blog or something?" "oh no. it's... well... could you just tell me how to start one?" "oh yea, sorry, i guess i can help you with that." anna sat down and joe took her through basic steps to starting a website, but the directions grew more complicated as time went on and anna got more and more confused. there was so much detail that there was no way anna could learn all this in a short time so she decided to take a chance.
chance. "actually, do you want to make the website for me? i can pay you, well not now, but later." "uhh, i'm not sure if i could really do that." joe had no doubt in his ability, but was unsure of what form the payment would come in. was he ready to finally give into his desire for flesh like his friends and was he ready to give himself to anna? anna replied, "oh, please. i really can pay you. i need this." joe felt some compassion for anna and was willing to go without payment, but answered with a "ok." anna asked, "can you do it anywhere or does it have to be in the school?" "it can be anywhere. i can do it at my house if you want." "ok, great! so do you have time tonight? or is that too soon?" "well, i guess i can start tomorrow, but i kind of have to know, what kind of website do you want to start?" anna was afraid of involving joe or anyone from the start of this endeavor because of the high risk that she would be denied or betrayed. but anna was honest and she knew someone would find out sooner or later so she replied with, "i'll tell you tomorrow. is it ok if i come over then?" joe was a little nervous in having anna over his house, but could not fight the fact that his fantasy was extending into reality as he spoke to anna. "sure, ok. how about after school?" "sounds good, i'll meet you on your bus." "ok, cool. it's number 11." "ok, then. see you tomorrow. thanks." joe was left sitting and wondering what could happen the next day as anna thought about how the next day would either be the beginning or the end.
fate or destiny, others will call it luck, but this was the day that boy met girl.
"hello, i had some questions about starting up a website," anna said to the teacher. she was a little nervous in asking, wondering if the teacher knew her true intentions and would tell her to repent and sin no more. but there was no such response; the teacher, too busy helping another student, pointed to joe and said, "oh, umm, i'm a little busy, honey. i'm sorry. but that young man over there can help you out. joe's handy with that stuff." the teacher went back to helping the student while anna looked over at joe. joe always brought his headphones to class so he could listen to music while working. at that moment he was listening to a radiohead song called, "nude." joe was falling into a trance thinking about the lyrics to the song.
"don't get any / big ideas / they're not going to happen / you paint yourself white / and fill up with noise / but there'll be something missing / now that you've found it / it's gone / now that you feel it / you don't / you've gone off the rails / so don't get any / big ideas / they're not gonna happen / you'll go to hell / for what your / dirty mind / is thinking."
joe snapped out of his trance as soon as the last line was sung. he saw a reflection off his monitor and turned around to see that anna was behind him. joe didn't know what to say. in front of him was the girl that his friends had warned him of, but he wasn't scared or appalled. he was intrigued and surprised that the girl in front of him was, indeed, that girl. anna was beautiful, but she did not exude the confidence or pride that many beautiful girls thought they had the right to as goddesses. anna gave off the aura of a common girl, a humble innocence that joe couldn't understand. anna stared at joe's facial features; he was good looking though only when one got a good look at him. at first impression anna thought that joe looked rather mean and then she looked into his eyes and saw that not only that there was a certain beauty to them, but that there was an emptiness that she wanted to fill. anna felt secure when she looked at joe, not because he had confidence, but because she felt joe's potential to forgive. joe felt vulnerable as she was standing in front of him; she was like a dirty mirror that had to be wiped off to see the reflection of your soul. he felt a pang of dark hopelessness as he looked into her eyes because he wa reminded of his own shame and guilt that he had thought he lost so long ago. "joe? hi, my name is anna. i was hoping that you could help me." joe winked his eyes a few times and said, "oh. hi. i'm joe," he had already said this as he realized that she knew what his name was. he quickly recovered with, "so what do you need help with?" "um. i want to start a website, but i'm not sure how to or even where to begin." "oh, ok. umm. can i ask what kind of website?" "oh... it's a personal website." "what do you mean?" "well, it's for me." "you mean like a blog or something?" "oh no. it's... well... could you just tell me how to start one?" "oh yea, sorry, i guess i can help you with that." anna sat down and joe took her through basic steps to starting a website, but the directions grew more complicated as time went on and anna got more and more confused. there was so much detail that there was no way anna could learn all this in a short time so she decided to take a chance.
chance. "actually, do you want to make the website for me? i can pay you, well not now, but later." "uhh, i'm not sure if i could really do that." joe had no doubt in his ability, but was unsure of what form the payment would come in. was he ready to finally give into his desire for flesh like his friends and was he ready to give himself to anna? anna replied, "oh, please. i really can pay you. i need this." joe felt some compassion for anna and was willing to go without payment, but answered with a "ok." anna asked, "can you do it anywhere or does it have to be in the school?" "it can be anywhere. i can do it at my house if you want." "ok, great! so do you have time tonight? or is that too soon?" "well, i guess i can start tomorrow, but i kind of have to know, what kind of website do you want to start?" anna was afraid of involving joe or anyone from the start of this endeavor because of the high risk that she would be denied or betrayed. but anna was honest and she knew someone would find out sooner or later so she replied with, "i'll tell you tomorrow. is it ok if i come over then?" joe was a little nervous in having anna over his house, but could not fight the fact that his fantasy was extending into reality as he spoke to anna. "sure, ok. how about after school?" "sounds good, i'll meet you on your bus." "ok, cool. it's number 11." "ok, then. see you tomorrow. thanks." joe was left sitting and wondering what could happen the next day as anna thought about how the next day would either be the beginning or the end.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Because sometimes you need a push.
It's been a long time; I'll be the first to admit that. Part of being responsible is accepting sacrifice; learning to be responsible is to learn to sacrifice the right things. Great leaders make great sacrifices.
What do I really want to write about? Writing's usually a reflection... My reflection's been murky lately. I look in the mirror and I see dark circles -- creases that will be making their permanent homes on my face long before any chubby fingers will ever explore them with any real meaning. Long before anything under this roof will be filled with anything but aimlessness and yearning.
I've learned that some things count for nothing, and that the future is nothing you can count on. I've learned that past personal decisions are things to learn from and change, not forget. I've learned that a good work ethic is something that will always keep you on top. I've also learned that in the right position, work ethic doesn't matter.
-w
What do I really want to write about? Writing's usually a reflection... My reflection's been murky lately. I look in the mirror and I see dark circles -- creases that will be making their permanent homes on my face long before any chubby fingers will ever explore them with any real meaning. Long before anything under this roof will be filled with anything but aimlessness and yearning.
I've learned that some things count for nothing, and that the future is nothing you can count on. I've learned that past personal decisions are things to learn from and change, not forget. I've learned that a good work ethic is something that will always keep you on top. I've also learned that in the right position, work ethic doesn't matter.
-w
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
The Day
The day starts with me getting off work, another late night shift of missing a good night's rest. I don't mind anymore because I've gotten used to it, the morning sun gives me a second wind of energy, it's invigorating. I'm home and sitting in front of my computer for the next two hours contemplating staying up, forgetting about sleep. Maybe I'll fix my sleeping schedule finally. I'll stay up and get burnt out by the end of the day and sleep sound fully at night. I realize I work again at midnight and don't get off till six a.m. Another wasted attempt, I crawl into bed and try to sleep. I wake up around six in the afternoon and notice I am hungry. My hunger doesn't come first before my bladder. It also doesn't come before a few hours of internet. I sit there entranced at the bright screen. It gets dark. I decide it is the appropriate time to eat my first meal. I eat, shower and go to work. My coworkers all bring their laptops. During the summer there aren't many residents, a few conferences, summer school students, an uneventful building. Occasionally we'll play poker, usually we're on our laptops. Tonight I decided I'll leave mine at home and open my notebook to write. I write a sentence. It isn't clear usually, it's a feeling I have of the moment. It's a sentence that makes more sense in my head than on paper. I stare at it and think more. I can't write anymore. I can never write anymore than this. I wonder why.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
a good boy is hard to find
anna was a year above joe and she wasn't the prettiest girl, but she had a radiance about her. what she lacked in physical beauty she compensated with her charm and she was confident in her demeanor, but never felt as if she was above anyone. although she would be the first to strike up conversation she wasn't insistent or overbearing. she knew the right things to say; she knew how to respond to each kind of person learning different mannerisms and gestures to attract people especially boys. anna did not get along with the girls in her class because of this and she had few girl friends whose sole purupose in befriending anna was to learn her secret in attracting boys, but they did not realize that to anna it wasn't so much a secret than it was just knowing that all people were lonely in one way or another.
anna longed for friendship, for acceptance. many boys accepted her, but for her touch not her heart. anna's girl friends kept a distance from her because they did not fully understand her motives, so they kept close enough to study her interactions with boys and their conversations revolved around that subject, but they didn't care for her company. anna hated to be alone; she needed to be outside her house, to be with someone, and if it had to be a boy she did not mind as long as she could have his attention because attention was one of the symptoms of the love that she longed to catch. the love that anna desired was not a romantic love, but a pure love, something that would last and replace the desperation developing inside of her. she did not want to give up her physical purity, but felt as if she had no choice. for pure love she would sacrifice anything including her flesh.
anna would spend time with a few boys at a time testing to see who seemed most genuine. she didn't know that to them it was a test of endurance and of who wanted it the most. anna would wait until she saw something in one that she did not see in the others, an emptiness, a desperation like hers. she often mistaked a boy's fiery lust for emptiness and she would say, "i need you." and that was it. after the boy got what he wanted he would move on while anna, heartbroken, would mourn in silence until the next boy came along. she was left feeling more desperate than before and that loneliness would outweigh her shame, so much so that she would repeat this cycle of looking for boys and giving herself away.
one day anna was watching television and she turned to a news special about a man who had been crippled by a drunk driver. the man was testifying in court and the drunk driver was present. she watched footage from the court as the man limped up to the drunk driver he held out his hand and looking up to the Heavens he said to the drunk driver, "i forgive you." the drunk driver broke down and threw his arms around the man as the man embraced him back. anna could not contain herself and she broke out in tears uncontrollably. she sobbed and sobbed repeating the words to herself, "i forgive you, i forgive you." she thought about the story and the words every time she slept with a boy and sometimes would cry during or after scaring the boys. soon word spread about the "sob slut" and very few of the boys wanted anything to do with her.
that was until she met joe...
anna longed for friendship, for acceptance. many boys accepted her, but for her touch not her heart. anna's girl friends kept a distance from her because they did not fully understand her motives, so they kept close enough to study her interactions with boys and their conversations revolved around that subject, but they didn't care for her company. anna hated to be alone; she needed to be outside her house, to be with someone, and if it had to be a boy she did not mind as long as she could have his attention because attention was one of the symptoms of the love that she longed to catch. the love that anna desired was not a romantic love, but a pure love, something that would last and replace the desperation developing inside of her. she did not want to give up her physical purity, but felt as if she had no choice. for pure love she would sacrifice anything including her flesh.
anna would spend time with a few boys at a time testing to see who seemed most genuine. she didn't know that to them it was a test of endurance and of who wanted it the most. anna would wait until she saw something in one that she did not see in the others, an emptiness, a desperation like hers. she often mistaked a boy's fiery lust for emptiness and she would say, "i need you." and that was it. after the boy got what he wanted he would move on while anna, heartbroken, would mourn in silence until the next boy came along. she was left feeling more desperate than before and that loneliness would outweigh her shame, so much so that she would repeat this cycle of looking for boys and giving herself away.
one day anna was watching television and she turned to a news special about a man who had been crippled by a drunk driver. the man was testifying in court and the drunk driver was present. she watched footage from the court as the man limped up to the drunk driver he held out his hand and looking up to the Heavens he said to the drunk driver, "i forgive you." the drunk driver broke down and threw his arms around the man as the man embraced him back. anna could not contain herself and she broke out in tears uncontrollably. she sobbed and sobbed repeating the words to herself, "i forgive you, i forgive you." she thought about the story and the words every time she slept with a boy and sometimes would cry during or after scaring the boys. soon word spread about the "sob slut" and very few of the boys wanted anything to do with her.
that was until she met joe...
Saturday, April 18, 2009
a good girl is hard to find
nipples. that's what joe thought of when he was bored. every girl he met in school became a new fantasy and every night he would fall asleep to these fantasies. he wasn't a deviant by any means; no, when he fantasied he fantasied about marrying these girls and making love to them on their honeymoon. he wasn't like the other boys ranking each girl by a numerical value or filtering the girls into the "yeah, i'd tap that" category. in fact, joe was a virgin himself, and had never had a girlfriend. he just found these games to be below him and believed that every girl deserved to be in one of his fantasies. he walked around choosing who he would fall asleep to tonight. in his mind he was justified in having sex with these girls in his mind because in his mind he was married to every girl he met or looked at, and there was nothing wrong about that. he would lay in his bed or sit in his chair at his computer and consumate his marriage to his thoughts of these girls.
the girls on his computer screen were real to him; they were his perfect girlfriend. they wanted him and he wanted them. they gave him what he wanted and did not judge him; they became useful objects to him just as a toilet or sink was to him. to joe these girls were as real to him as were his fantasies. he would love them in his mind, flush them out of his mind when he was done, and he'd wash his hands clean of it ready to look for another. but sometimes ever so slightly he would feel guilt. the guilt did not last more than a few moments after his release, but it was still there. he wrote it off as the remnants of a man-made society of ethics and morals that suppressed human desire, but were today outdated and irrelevant. society had said that pornography was "smut" and was turning people into perverts. but joe knew that all people were animals and animals were carnal.
in middle school he remembers how the girls came of age, by giving blowjobs to their crushes in the dark corners of the theatre or outside the trailers of the school. he remembered how he was walking out of the theatre after a preview of Romeo and Juliet and how ashley was doing it to johnny in the back near the emergency doors. he remembered how he walked past them and the fire in johnny's eyes and the fire that sparked inside of himself. teachers caught them and joe remembers what his mother said to him, "back in my day we'd at least make a game out of it; spin a bottle or something, but you kids are straight to the point!" and she left it at that. his father commented on how the sex ed program wasn't doing enough. joe found out about the internet soon after through a guy named eric. they had gotten detention for cursing in class and weren't allowed to talk for an hour after school so they decided to practice reading lips. eric mouthed curse words and after he got it out of his system he mouthed, "i went on the internet and saw two naked ladies having sex." at least that's what joe thought eric said. then one day zack brought a sports illustrated magazine to school: the swimsuit edition. "i tried to sneak it in my backpack, but my dad caught me and i thought i was going to get beat for sure, but he said, 'oh, you're into that stuff now, huh zack?' and he let me take it." that was it for joe, he went home and complained to his mom that all the schoolwork now was easy to do because everyone had internet and they didn't. he even remarked to his mother that one kid brought a watch to school that could go on the internet. he didn't mention to his mother that they had tried to go on playboy.com with it, but failed.
joe remembers how he was watching tv one day and pamela anderson took her clothes off to be funny on SNL, but joe didn't laugh. he wanted to know what was behind the censors so he went to connect his dial-up phone line and went on the internet. he waited in anticipation as the images loaded slowly, but surely. nipples, then vagina. he remembers the blood rush, his heartbeat, rubbing himself later that night to an explosive climax. he scared the hell out of himself, wondering what the milky substance that came out of his penis was. it wasn't urine and he thought of glue and wanted to throw up. he felt the guilt strongest then. he went to sleep that night thinking of fully dressed girls in Catholic school uniforms. later he remembers going into the bathroom thinking of naked women and the tension he needed to release. he stroked himself wondering if this was how urine was churned into semen like milk was to butter. he remembers the euphoric, enlightening pleasure. he wanted to feel like this all the time. he came home after school every day and went into the basement to surf television channels for women who showed any bit of flesh. if his mother was out he would go into the living room surfing through hundreds of pictures that he committed to memory so he could recall them for later.
joe remembers how he asked his parents to move the computer upstairs into his room so he could focus on schoolwork more and for cable internet so he could work efficiently. his parents did not touch the computer and agreed because it would not make sense to turn down a boy's birthday wishes to do better in school. joe would come home every day and finish his work and spend the rest of the time finding new things. he found hardcore pornography which disgusted him, but hooked him at the same time. he felt nauseous and sick when he saw the moneyshots and wondered if women really enjoyed this. after a while, he didn't question it, he realized that maybe this was what sex was really like and this is what men and women wanted: each other's flesh. between school work and pornography joe could not find the time for girls. he hung out with a few friends from school who he befriended for the sole sake of talking about girls. while his friends ventured out and risked rejection from girls joe had no intention of going out with any girl. his girls were the girls on the screen who never judged him or rejected him. while his friends struck the jackpot of losing their virginity or at least half joe had no intention of doing so. this was joe's pride: that he was in this way physically pure. he had only tainted himself mentally, but not spiritually or physically. what happened in his mind stayed in his mind and effected no one else, but himself. he figured that if he had felt that guilt and fear the first time he had released himself then to do that inside of a girl would destroy him. to pleasure himself was an extension of his fantasy, but to carry out that fantasy into the real world scared him tremendously. so he stayed away from the opposite sex declaring to himself, "i have all the girls i could ever want." he was content or so he thought until he met anna.
to be continued...
the girls on his computer screen were real to him; they were his perfect girlfriend. they wanted him and he wanted them. they gave him what he wanted and did not judge him; they became useful objects to him just as a toilet or sink was to him. to joe these girls were as real to him as were his fantasies. he would love them in his mind, flush them out of his mind when he was done, and he'd wash his hands clean of it ready to look for another. but sometimes ever so slightly he would feel guilt. the guilt did not last more than a few moments after his release, but it was still there. he wrote it off as the remnants of a man-made society of ethics and morals that suppressed human desire, but were today outdated and irrelevant. society had said that pornography was "smut" and was turning people into perverts. but joe knew that all people were animals and animals were carnal.
in middle school he remembers how the girls came of age, by giving blowjobs to their crushes in the dark corners of the theatre or outside the trailers of the school. he remembered how he was walking out of the theatre after a preview of Romeo and Juliet and how ashley was doing it to johnny in the back near the emergency doors. he remembered how he walked past them and the fire in johnny's eyes and the fire that sparked inside of himself. teachers caught them and joe remembers what his mother said to him, "back in my day we'd at least make a game out of it; spin a bottle or something, but you kids are straight to the point!" and she left it at that. his father commented on how the sex ed program wasn't doing enough. joe found out about the internet soon after through a guy named eric. they had gotten detention for cursing in class and weren't allowed to talk for an hour after school so they decided to practice reading lips. eric mouthed curse words and after he got it out of his system he mouthed, "i went on the internet and saw two naked ladies having sex." at least that's what joe thought eric said. then one day zack brought a sports illustrated magazine to school: the swimsuit edition. "i tried to sneak it in my backpack, but my dad caught me and i thought i was going to get beat for sure, but he said, 'oh, you're into that stuff now, huh zack?' and he let me take it." that was it for joe, he went home and complained to his mom that all the schoolwork now was easy to do because everyone had internet and they didn't. he even remarked to his mother that one kid brought a watch to school that could go on the internet. he didn't mention to his mother that they had tried to go on playboy.com with it, but failed.
joe remembers how he was watching tv one day and pamela anderson took her clothes off to be funny on SNL, but joe didn't laugh. he wanted to know what was behind the censors so he went to connect his dial-up phone line and went on the internet. he waited in anticipation as the images loaded slowly, but surely. nipples, then vagina. he remembers the blood rush, his heartbeat, rubbing himself later that night to an explosive climax. he scared the hell out of himself, wondering what the milky substance that came out of his penis was. it wasn't urine and he thought of glue and wanted to throw up. he felt the guilt strongest then. he went to sleep that night thinking of fully dressed girls in Catholic school uniforms. later he remembers going into the bathroom thinking of naked women and the tension he needed to release. he stroked himself wondering if this was how urine was churned into semen like milk was to butter. he remembers the euphoric, enlightening pleasure. he wanted to feel like this all the time. he came home after school every day and went into the basement to surf television channels for women who showed any bit of flesh. if his mother was out he would go into the living room surfing through hundreds of pictures that he committed to memory so he could recall them for later.
joe remembers how he asked his parents to move the computer upstairs into his room so he could focus on schoolwork more and for cable internet so he could work efficiently. his parents did not touch the computer and agreed because it would not make sense to turn down a boy's birthday wishes to do better in school. joe would come home every day and finish his work and spend the rest of the time finding new things. he found hardcore pornography which disgusted him, but hooked him at the same time. he felt nauseous and sick when he saw the moneyshots and wondered if women really enjoyed this. after a while, he didn't question it, he realized that maybe this was what sex was really like and this is what men and women wanted: each other's flesh. between school work and pornography joe could not find the time for girls. he hung out with a few friends from school who he befriended for the sole sake of talking about girls. while his friends ventured out and risked rejection from girls joe had no intention of going out with any girl. his girls were the girls on the screen who never judged him or rejected him. while his friends struck the jackpot of losing their virginity or at least half joe had no intention of doing so. this was joe's pride: that he was in this way physically pure. he had only tainted himself mentally, but not spiritually or physically. what happened in his mind stayed in his mind and effected no one else, but himself. he figured that if he had felt that guilt and fear the first time he had released himself then to do that inside of a girl would destroy him. to pleasure himself was an extension of his fantasy, but to carry out that fantasy into the real world scared him tremendously. so he stayed away from the opposite sex declaring to himself, "i have all the girls i could ever want." he was content or so he thought until he met anna.
to be continued...
Friday, April 17, 2009
The Elements
They have taken care of Panacea since the day it was created. With the birth of a new life, human beings became part of that responsibility. However, these humans did not respect Panacea as the Elements did. They waged war on each other, burned down forests, pillaging the earth. The Elements met with one another, Earth, Water, Fire, and Air. They argued, with the power they had, the fairly new human race could be easily erased. In essence, destroying human kind meant damaging their precious Panacea, Earth splitting continents, Water drowning all living things, Fire scorching every root of every tree, and Air covering the skies with darkness.
It was argued whether eradicating humans meant punishing Panacea, or if faith in human beings would help Panacea flourish.
And like darkness, creeping inside, consuming the human heart, the righteous as well as the feeble, weren't immune.
It was argued whether eradicating humans meant punishing Panacea, or if faith in human beings would help Panacea flourish.
And like darkness, creeping inside, consuming the human heart, the righteous as well as the feeble, weren't immune.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
dig narrative
I remember how my father used to lecture me when I was a kid. Whether I made my sister cry or made her cry a lot, he always asked, “If someone did that to you, would you like it?” That’s always stuck with me, this idea of putting yourself in someone else’s shoes. Throughout most of my life I like to think that I always felt for the outcast, or for the loser, or for anyone going through tough times. Maybe I haven’t had the same struggles as them, but I put myself in their shoes and felt sympathy, a desire to help them. I guess that was why I decided to go on a Habitat For Humanity trip during Spring Break in 2008.
I felt alone most of the trip, but I remember meeting the future owner of the house and the look of thankfulness and joy on her face. I remember feeling good about the time I spent as well as the work I did. I decided then, that I would go the following year as well. Spring Break of 2009 rolled around and I was ready to take a break from school, to build a house, and to feel good about myself again. This time, the group was a little bit smaller; 20 kids piled into 5 cars, and we headed down to Winston-Salem, NC. Something was different this time around. I actually got to know the group I was building the house with. We spent 5-6 hours working every day, and spent the rest of the day together as well. Last year, I felt like I was working alone. A lone hammer striking in nails, but this time, I noticed that we were a team pounding our hammers together in unison for this person whom we’ve never met, but loved.
We worked together, ate together, lived together, and loved together. The community’s atmosphere surrounded us as well; Winston-Salem received us with open arms and we could not help, but to embrace back. Churches fed us chicken-pot pie until we were content, and even gave us leftovers to take back with us to make sure we didn’t go hungry that night. One of the churches even had children put on a talent show for us making us laugh, which fed our souls. Kind, old ladies mothered us by cooking us home cooked meals of lasagna and garlic bread topping it all off with baked brownies with ice cream on top. We became closer as a fellowship and as a community -- we laughed together as we played card games, formed inside jokes, and pointed fingers at each other in the bloodthirsty, accusing game of mafia. I realized then, that we weren’t just building a house, but a community made from relationships of love.
I felt alone most of the trip, but I remember meeting the future owner of the house and the look of thankfulness and joy on her face. I remember feeling good about the time I spent as well as the work I did. I decided then, that I would go the following year as well. Spring Break of 2009 rolled around and I was ready to take a break from school, to build a house, and to feel good about myself again. This time, the group was a little bit smaller; 20 kids piled into 5 cars, and we headed down to Winston-Salem, NC. Something was different this time around. I actually got to know the group I was building the house with. We spent 5-6 hours working every day, and spent the rest of the day together as well. Last year, I felt like I was working alone. A lone hammer striking in nails, but this time, I noticed that we were a team pounding our hammers together in unison for this person whom we’ve never met, but loved.
We worked together, ate together, lived together, and loved together. The community’s atmosphere surrounded us as well; Winston-Salem received us with open arms and we could not help, but to embrace back. Churches fed us chicken-pot pie until we were content, and even gave us leftovers to take back with us to make sure we didn’t go hungry that night. One of the churches even had children put on a talent show for us making us laugh, which fed our souls. Kind, old ladies mothered us by cooking us home cooked meals of lasagna and garlic bread topping it all off with baked brownies with ice cream on top. We became closer as a fellowship and as a community -- we laughed together as we played card games, formed inside jokes, and pointed fingers at each other in the bloodthirsty, accusing game of mafia. I realized then, that we weren’t just building a house, but a community made from relationships of love.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
dig narrative
I remember how my father used to lecture me when I was a child. Whether I made my sister cry or made her cry a lot he always asked, “If someone did that to you, would you like it?” That has always stuck with me, this idea of putting yourself in someone else’s shoes. Throughout most of my life I like to think that I always felt for the outcast, for the loser, or for anyone going through tough times. I may not have been through what they have been through, but I put myself in their shoes and could feel sympathy, a desire to help them. I guess this is why I decided to go on a Habitat For Humanity trip during the Spring Break of 2008. I remember meeting the future owner of the house, the look of thankfulness and joy on her face. I remember feeling good, feeling good about the time I spent, and the work I did. I decided then and there that I would go the following year as well. Spring Break of 2009 rolled around and I was ready to take a break from school, to build a house, to feel good about myself. The group was a little bit smaller this year, about 20 kids piled into 5 cars, and we headed down to Winston-Salem, NC. Something struck me as different this time around. I got to know the group I was building the house with, even though we spent 5-6 hours working every day we spent the rest of the day together as well. Last year I felt as though I were working alone, a lone hammer striking in nails, but this time I noticed that we were a team pounding our hammers together in unison for this person whom we’ve never met, but loved. We worked together, ate together, lived together, and loved together. The atmosphere of community surrounded us as well; the community of Winston-Salem received us with open arms and we could not help, but to embrace back. Churches fed us chicken-pot pie until we were content and making sure we didn’t go hungry after they gave us leftovers, one of the churches had children that put on a talent show for us making us laugh feeding our souls, kind, old ladies mothered us by cooking a home cooked meal of lasagna and garlic bread topping it all off with baked brownies with ice cream on top. We became closer as a fellowship, as a community; we laughed together as we played card games, as inside jokes formed, pointed fingers at each other in the bloodthirsty, accusing game of mafia. I realized that this is what we were building, a community, relationships of love. I hope that we did our part in encouraging and helping by adding another family into a home that we built for this very purpose: introducing a new relationship of love.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Josephine's Diary
I tinkered with my Father's toys that Jewel had stored in her house before his house burned down.
It was during dinner at home Mother would always have us pray for the Fifth, so that the world would continue to be peaceful and prosperous in his absence. Without my Father, dinner would be as short and quiet as my prayers, shutting my eyes I'd let out a whisper, "Bless this food Fifth, come back soon." Opening my eyes right quick, I'd set them on the table, then to Mother since her eyes stayed closed. Mother would always pray the longest. I'd always stare at her serenity trying to imagine what she was thinking. Maybe she was picturing Father sitting at the table with us, his tongue as sharp as a knife when he'd say the food was a-getting cold. Father never understood prayer, but he said to me one night that her facial expression during it would remind him of the day I was born; a face that transcended pain. Back then I could hear them aloud. Now I had to bear with the silence.
My Father never believed in miracles. I gave an excuse to Mother one evening that if Father didn't believe in prayer why I should and she simply said, "When you're able to have society depend on you, and when you stop playing with toys." I rolled my Father's model car and rubbed my eyes. "I'm still a child Mother, I'm sorry I couldn't be more like Father."
He was a man of reason and his beliefs were simple, "Anything can be possible without the possibility of faith." He believed that if society continued to seek knowledge, they would eventually receive it. He'd say, "If half the world could sit and meditate to someone who didn't exist, they could be helping the other working half." I loved my Father but he was as stubborn as most of his colleagues were, especially when rumors broke out that the Fifth had come back to Panacea. I believed even if they were rumors, it brought hope back into society, but Father would always dismiss it completely saying, "if such a thing existed, I would be the first to see it." He always had a vision for the future, but it never included mine or anybody else's.
It was during dinner at home Mother would always have us pray for the Fifth, so that the world would continue to be peaceful and prosperous in his absence. Without my Father, dinner would be as short and quiet as my prayers, shutting my eyes I'd let out a whisper, "Bless this food Fifth, come back soon." Opening my eyes right quick, I'd set them on the table, then to Mother since her eyes stayed closed. Mother would always pray the longest. I'd always stare at her serenity trying to imagine what she was thinking. Maybe she was picturing Father sitting at the table with us, his tongue as sharp as a knife when he'd say the food was a-getting cold. Father never understood prayer, but he said to me one night that her facial expression during it would remind him of the day I was born; a face that transcended pain. Back then I could hear them aloud. Now I had to bear with the silence.
My Father never believed in miracles. I gave an excuse to Mother one evening that if Father didn't believe in prayer why I should and she simply said, "When you're able to have society depend on you, and when you stop playing with toys." I rolled my Father's model car and rubbed my eyes. "I'm still a child Mother, I'm sorry I couldn't be more like Father."
He was a man of reason and his beliefs were simple, "Anything can be possible without the possibility of faith." He believed that if society continued to seek knowledge, they would eventually receive it. He'd say, "If half the world could sit and meditate to someone who didn't exist, they could be helping the other working half." I loved my Father but he was as stubborn as most of his colleagues were, especially when rumors broke out that the Fifth had come back to Panacea. I believed even if they were rumors, it brought hope back into society, but Father would always dismiss it completely saying, "if such a thing existed, I would be the first to see it." He always had a vision for the future, but it never included mine or anybody else's.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
striving
I was on the metro once, taking a trip back to the Vienna station from DC, where I'd met up with an old friend an caught some lunch. We got locked into a conversation about whether or not we were satisfied with our lives. The answer was pretty mutual; to a degree, yes -- but to another extent, no, which is what keeps us going. It was accepted as part of the human condition.
But I don't want to accept that anymore. I'm tired of the relentlessness of a life led by how dissatisfied I am with my current condition, and others as well. Why do we always have to strive for the next goal? Why do we have to push ourselves over the top just to reach another plateau that is supposed to enhance our existence? Mind you I'm speaking on a personal level, not in terms of functionality, such as profession. Why should our personality change to suit another's?
It can be a tricky path to walk, since by nature our nature changes, but there's also a conscientious level to it -- why feed into that? Why say, "hey, I'm not good enough for you the way I am, so I'm going to change that" ? There are so many powers pushing and pulling, really vexing the emergence of a personality at any age, depending on where your self-confidence and personal development are, why make it more complicated?
I don't like redundancy in the slightest, but sometimes it's necessary to learn the same life lesson in a different chapter, under a different light. When we were younger, the idea of becoming our own people was forced into our heads. As time went on, we realized it was easier to adjust ourselves to everyone else. But later on in life, that aspect just becomes another part of you that you assimilate into your life experience and use to create your more developed personality.
So in reality, I'm content with my discontent. I've made that decision, and I'm not striving for something that's not going to happen.
Reality bites.
-w
But I don't want to accept that anymore. I'm tired of the relentlessness of a life led by how dissatisfied I am with my current condition, and others as well. Why do we always have to strive for the next goal? Why do we have to push ourselves over the top just to reach another plateau that is supposed to enhance our existence? Mind you I'm speaking on a personal level, not in terms of functionality, such as profession. Why should our personality change to suit another's?
It can be a tricky path to walk, since by nature our nature changes, but there's also a conscientious level to it -- why feed into that? Why say, "hey, I'm not good enough for you the way I am, so I'm going to change that" ? There are so many powers pushing and pulling, really vexing the emergence of a personality at any age, depending on where your self-confidence and personal development are, why make it more complicated?
I don't like redundancy in the slightest, but sometimes it's necessary to learn the same life lesson in a different chapter, under a different light. When we were younger, the idea of becoming our own people was forced into our heads. As time went on, we realized it was easier to adjust ourselves to everyone else. But later on in life, that aspect just becomes another part of you that you assimilate into your life experience and use to create your more developed personality.
So in reality, I'm content with my discontent. I've made that decision, and I'm not striving for something that's not going to happen.
Reality bites.
-w
Friday, February 27, 2009
What it is to be young...
People love to remind me of how young I am. I welcome it with a certain amount of warmth, albeit a smug, neutral smile I've learned in the past couple of years working in the hospitality industry. It comes from all directions -- both parents and friends alike, especially people sitting at the bar. I get asked the question of how old I am, or some reference is made to early 90's/late 80's pop culture that I don't know, and I'm hit with it.
Lately it hasn't been too big of a deal, I reply with the same smug smile and in my head, justify my feeling old. But that's how it works, isn't it? The young never feel young until years later, they look back and realize just how young they were, how much easier everything was. It's that old and very trite saying that goes something along the lines of, "a foolish man thinks himself wise, whilst the wise man knows himself to be foolish." So maybe it was a moment of wisdom when I was washing the dishes and cleaning around the apartment, realizing how carefree I carry myself and just how much further I have to go. Hell, I'm not even into my late 20's yet.
I haven't been taking the time to enjoy myself and be productive for myself; It's been weeks since I last posted on any blog, scribbled anything on a sheet of paper before I've fallen asleep, or spent an afternoon just making music without judging myself and giving up because I'm not up to par with my former self that used to practice hours on end. Instead I've been telling myself that I need to be, "responsible," and that I need to clean up around the house and do a bunch of other things that I never actually get to. In reality I end up spending my time shmoozing away online, wasting precious time. What it is to be young...
Lately it hasn't been too big of a deal, I reply with the same smug smile and in my head, justify my feeling old. But that's how it works, isn't it? The young never feel young until years later, they look back and realize just how young they were, how much easier everything was. It's that old and very trite saying that goes something along the lines of, "a foolish man thinks himself wise, whilst the wise man knows himself to be foolish." So maybe it was a moment of wisdom when I was washing the dishes and cleaning around the apartment, realizing how carefree I carry myself and just how much further I have to go. Hell, I'm not even into my late 20's yet.
I haven't been taking the time to enjoy myself and be productive for myself; It's been weeks since I last posted on any blog, scribbled anything on a sheet of paper before I've fallen asleep, or spent an afternoon just making music without judging myself and giving up because I'm not up to par with my former self that used to practice hours on end. Instead I've been telling myself that I need to be, "responsible," and that I need to clean up around the house and do a bunch of other things that I never actually get to. In reality I end up spending my time shmoozing away online, wasting precious time. What it is to be young...
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
free(d) slave
freedom. that's what people think of when they think of America.
"I believe in America..." that's the first line to the Godfather.
believing in America means believing in the American dream.
start from scratch and become rich.
but it's not enough. you want your kids to live the dream too.
start from riches and become richer. from generation to
generation, it becomes more about the individual.
it used to be about family.
each generation gets more selfish. looks for its place
in the world. for purpose. so they look to pleasure,
luxuries, and if anything gets in the way of it
they will fight for the freedom to have them.
the freedom to do what you want. to play video games
all day. to eat what you want and when you want and however
much you want. to have sex with whomever you want.
if it doesn't hurt anyone then it's ok.
i wonder if people see what i see.
this freedom that has enslaved us.
why do we smoke, drink, pleasure.
because we can.
i challenge you to stop. why?
because i can and i don't think you
can. try to stop. you'll find yourself
to struggle. as i do.
is this the freedom that our forefathers
dreamed about? it used to be simple.
work hard. love your wife. teach your
children. help your neighbor.
these aren't enough anymore. we are taught
to want more. there has always been a desire
in us for more. this longing to know why you
are here. who created you.
the longing for God is still here. it is filled
with cars, shoes, clothes, money, and other
things. but when you are old and gray and
your lust for women is gone
where will you turn to. retired, living off
your pension, collecting seashells on a
seashore. maybe you'll enjoy it, or you
will realize that you've done nothing with life.
find freedom. it isn't this. whatever this is.
look for freedom and escape the prison
of your mind and spirit. there's more.
there has to be.
"I believe in America..." that's the first line to the Godfather.
believing in America means believing in the American dream.
start from scratch and become rich.
but it's not enough. you want your kids to live the dream too.
start from riches and become richer. from generation to
generation, it becomes more about the individual.
it used to be about family.
each generation gets more selfish. looks for its place
in the world. for purpose. so they look to pleasure,
luxuries, and if anything gets in the way of it
they will fight for the freedom to have them.
the freedom to do what you want. to play video games
all day. to eat what you want and when you want and however
much you want. to have sex with whomever you want.
if it doesn't hurt anyone then it's ok.
i wonder if people see what i see.
this freedom that has enslaved us.
why do we smoke, drink, pleasure.
because we can.
i challenge you to stop. why?
because i can and i don't think you
can. try to stop. you'll find yourself
to struggle. as i do.
is this the freedom that our forefathers
dreamed about? it used to be simple.
work hard. love your wife. teach your
children. help your neighbor.
these aren't enough anymore. we are taught
to want more. there has always been a desire
in us for more. this longing to know why you
are here. who created you.
the longing for God is still here. it is filled
with cars, shoes, clothes, money, and other
things. but when you are old and gray and
your lust for women is gone
where will you turn to. retired, living off
your pension, collecting seashells on a
seashore. maybe you'll enjoy it, or you
will realize that you've done nothing with life.
find freedom. it isn't this. whatever this is.
look for freedom and escape the prison
of your mind and spirit. there's more.
there has to be.
Friday, February 20, 2009
history class
"if i said 'ass' an elder would slap me.
back when gas was 50 cents."
if anything was learned in history
class. it was that times change.
i sat in the back, wondering if an
old man would slap my history teacher
because he said the word "ass"
but perhaps he would be forgiven
because he was showing how
different it is now livin'.
i still sit in the back of class
except this time
my teachers are the old man
and old women. they don't
say "ass", but rather "shit"
and "damn"
i want to go up to them
and ask if they believe
in the Lord and if slaps
they can afford
telling them that they
weren't supposed to say
things like that. but one thing
i've learned in class.
times change. but i wish
we could go back.
back when gas was 50 cents."
if anything was learned in history
class. it was that times change.
i sat in the back, wondering if an
old man would slap my history teacher
because he said the word "ass"
but perhaps he would be forgiven
because he was showing how
different it is now livin'.
i still sit in the back of class
except this time
my teachers are the old man
and old women. they don't
say "ass", but rather "shit"
and "damn"
i want to go up to them
and ask if they believe
in the Lord and if slaps
they can afford
telling them that they
weren't supposed to say
things like that. but one thing
i've learned in class.
times change. but i wish
we could go back.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
monsters
are alive in your mind and in the
dark you give them life.
your hope is in your
blanket and your
closed eyes.
as the air thickens
underneath your blanket
and it gets harder to
breathe
what will you do?
you must
breathe.
in one
motion,
uncover.
breathe
deeply.
open your eyes
and see
nothing.
get up and wipe off your
sweat and turn on
the true light that
shames.
the light blinds and then you can see
the monster beside your bed.
now that you see him
are you still
scared?
dark you give them life.
your hope is in your
blanket and your
closed eyes.
as the air thickens
underneath your blanket
and it gets harder to
breathe
what will you do?
you must
breathe.
in one
motion,
uncover.
breathe
deeply.
open your eyes
and see
nothing.
get up and wipe off your
sweat and turn on
the true light that
shames.
the light blinds and then you can see
the monster beside your bed.
now that you see him
are you still
scared?
Thursday, February 5, 2009
She's Getting Married.
I spent most of the day thinking about all the things I was supposed to be doing as I moped around the house; I found myself on facebook almost incessantly, recently having been hooked on a lame application/time-killer called 'Mafia Wars'.
Since I was on facebook so much, I ended up looking a couple people up to see how they were doing... One of my ex-girlfriends is engaged. I browsed through some pictures as my heart slowly dropped. Surely, there was no way that we were going to ever recover any semblance of a relationship and me trying to say hello to her wasn't going to do either of us any good, but something in me had to.
Her pictures show an older version of the young teenager I dated, but with the same smile. Her smile is really actually what made her, I think. The ability to smile so happily in every situation, to know that while there were so many other things going on, that she should always smile. An admirable quality that makes me sick when I'm feeling like a nihilist. Nonetheless, she's smiling proudly in her pictures, happy. And engaged.
I'm not so sure what it is about the fact that really bothers me, I think it's probably my ego being bruised and shattered because I know that the man she's with now fixed himself after they broke up and she dated me, and was the better man in the end. Or maybe it's the fact I'm not on that same level, that I don't have anything resembling that anymore, that tonight, I'm chalking the day as an epic waste of time.
Nonetheless, she's engaged. I sent my congratulations via facebook; sometimes being courteous is more painful to me in text because I can see the words that I typed anytime, fully knowing how I really feel. Jealous. -- Or is it stupidity? I know that we were young, but really I think my own stupidity is what really drives this jealousy, that I didn't take our relationship seriously enough and let it end as poorly as it did. Stupid, that I let us fall out of touch. Stupid, that the one time we met back up I was still stupid. But there are certain mistakes that you make and try to leave in the past, even though they will make you toss and turn at night, or fill the silence of an empty room with an uneasiness almost too heavy to bear. It's memories like those and situations like this that make realize how I should value everything that I do every day, that nothing is worthless, and everything will come back in the end.
-w
Since I was on facebook so much, I ended up looking a couple people up to see how they were doing... One of my ex-girlfriends is engaged. I browsed through some pictures as my heart slowly dropped. Surely, there was no way that we were going to ever recover any semblance of a relationship and me trying to say hello to her wasn't going to do either of us any good, but something in me had to.
Her pictures show an older version of the young teenager I dated, but with the same smile. Her smile is really actually what made her, I think. The ability to smile so happily in every situation, to know that while there were so many other things going on, that she should always smile. An admirable quality that makes me sick when I'm feeling like a nihilist. Nonetheless, she's smiling proudly in her pictures, happy. And engaged.
I'm not so sure what it is about the fact that really bothers me, I think it's probably my ego being bruised and shattered because I know that the man she's with now fixed himself after they broke up and she dated me, and was the better man in the end. Or maybe it's the fact I'm not on that same level, that I don't have anything resembling that anymore, that tonight, I'm chalking the day as an epic waste of time.
Nonetheless, she's engaged. I sent my congratulations via facebook; sometimes being courteous is more painful to me in text because I can see the words that I typed anytime, fully knowing how I really feel. Jealous. -- Or is it stupidity? I know that we were young, but really I think my own stupidity is what really drives this jealousy, that I didn't take our relationship seriously enough and let it end as poorly as it did. Stupid, that I let us fall out of touch. Stupid, that the one time we met back up I was still stupid. But there are certain mistakes that you make and try to leave in the past, even though they will make you toss and turn at night, or fill the silence of an empty room with an uneasiness almost too heavy to bear. It's memories like those and situations like this that make realize how I should value everything that I do every day, that nothing is worthless, and everything will come back in the end.
-w
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
is saying sorry
really enough? i didn't think you were one of those
who cared what people did with time. maybe you
care about what people do with your time and
i was too selfish to say that that time was yours.
i read poetry the entire time while you spoke
and others spoke about things that i thought
i knew enough about. you approached me
and i didn't see it coming.
all i saw were heels that looked too
old to be worn by my peers. you said
"outside is a nice place to read"
i said "i'm sorry"
you walked away as you said "it's okay,
well it's not okay, but..." and you stopped.
you left me hanging on your words.
i wonder if sorry was enough for you
the feeling of sorry or being sorry
or saying sorry. knowing that i can't
give you back your time or the respect
that i took from you.
all you had to say was "i forgive you"
or "it's okay" and you did, but you
didn't. "...well it's not, but..." doesn't
sit well with me.
and i deserve it. all i am now is sorry
in every way, shape, form and i can't
stop because i didn't hear "forgive"
like a song on repeat i keep repeating
sorry, sorry, sorry until you press the
"forgive" button and all is well with me.
ryan
who cared what people did with time. maybe you
care about what people do with your time and
i was too selfish to say that that time was yours.
i read poetry the entire time while you spoke
and others spoke about things that i thought
i knew enough about. you approached me
and i didn't see it coming.
all i saw were heels that looked too
old to be worn by my peers. you said
"outside is a nice place to read"
i said "i'm sorry"
you walked away as you said "it's okay,
well it's not okay, but..." and you stopped.
you left me hanging on your words.
i wonder if sorry was enough for you
the feeling of sorry or being sorry
or saying sorry. knowing that i can't
give you back your time or the respect
that i took from you.
all you had to say was "i forgive you"
or "it's okay" and you did, but you
didn't. "...well it's not, but..." doesn't
sit well with me.
and i deserve it. all i am now is sorry
in every way, shape, form and i can't
stop because i didn't hear "forgive"
like a song on repeat i keep repeating
sorry, sorry, sorry until you press the
"forgive" button and all is well with me.
ryan
Thursday, January 29, 2009
personal issues.
My uncle visited for a Chinese New Year's dinner at my mom's house last night; he happened to have a meeting here in Virginia that he flew to get to from California. It's always very strange to see my uncle, he's a striking image of his older brother -- my father -- and overly warm (in a comfortable way) to me, considering the fact that we only see each other once every couple of years and don't keep in touch.
Anyone who knows me, knows that for the most part, I try to kick the ass of the word, "convention". It describes ovens, and to me, supposed old traditions that I take the personal burden of doing away with by the way I lead my life. Because of this, I'm always getting advice that I have no desire to hear, or advice I didn't ask for. I saw that dinner was heading down the same route, which started of as a conversation between me and this man who had the striking image of my father.
It was a very strange thing -- I watched as he talked, and he was an odd blend of my father and my grandfather, but as I grew more familiar with his face, it slowly became very distinctly him. In parts of the conversation, he spoke with such lightheartedness it reminded me of my father, but as he got more serious -- mostly about me going back to college -- he started reminding me of my grandfather. My father and I have never been very close, and even when I visited him in the hospital for his leukemia, he treated me more like a bar buddy than a son. There were no words of confidence or of regret for the way things turned out, to him it was just a story that he was telling to an outsider. My grandfather, on the other hand, always thinks that we're a lot closer than we are, and tries to pass on overly trite advice.
As the conversation continued, however, he said this to me, "you have to choose a career that your children can be proud of," that in the end, family comes first. I've always had people living under my roof that I've tried to care and set an example for, who I've always considered as my kids, but I've never thought about what my children would think. Recently I've gotten used to sitting in the seat of the struggler, the one who always works hard, but is constantly screwed over by the way things work out -- actually more like the closet-martyr, who always says without saying, "woe is me". People have always told me to choose a good career that makes a lot of money so I would have time the time to pursue my hobbies, to which I always replied with, "how about I just pursue these passions and make money off of them?" The focus has always been on me, a person I've never really cared about too much, so sacrificing money for passion was no big deal. However, I'd never been asked to sacrifice my passion for my family. Not to say that I needed to completely stray and become an engineer or something, but more along the lines of something in my same field of interest that I could be passionate about. For instance, I've always wanted to be a writer or an English teacher. So why not go the extra step and become a professor? Teachers have always gotten screwed over by the counties that they work in with budget cuts and the like, but being a professor is stable, and carries a certain prestige, the kind that my children would be proud of me for.
I took the points in and looked upon the now-distinct face of my uncle -- he laughed and joked as he passed on more advice, but his face stayed the same. In his eyes, I saw the heart of a man who was trying his best to recover the mistakes that my father and his family had made to my immediate family. I saw a struggler. I saw a father. I saw a husband. I saw hope. I saw change. I saw convention. I saw individuality.
Later, after a long night, I looked at myself in the mirror; It was blurry, but I think I see the man my children will.
wesleigh.
Anyone who knows me, knows that for the most part, I try to kick the ass of the word, "convention". It describes ovens, and to me, supposed old traditions that I take the personal burden of doing away with by the way I lead my life. Because of this, I'm always getting advice that I have no desire to hear, or advice I didn't ask for. I saw that dinner was heading down the same route, which started of as a conversation between me and this man who had the striking image of my father.
It was a very strange thing -- I watched as he talked, and he was an odd blend of my father and my grandfather, but as I grew more familiar with his face, it slowly became very distinctly him. In parts of the conversation, he spoke with such lightheartedness it reminded me of my father, but as he got more serious -- mostly about me going back to college -- he started reminding me of my grandfather. My father and I have never been very close, and even when I visited him in the hospital for his leukemia, he treated me more like a bar buddy than a son. There were no words of confidence or of regret for the way things turned out, to him it was just a story that he was telling to an outsider. My grandfather, on the other hand, always thinks that we're a lot closer than we are, and tries to pass on overly trite advice.
As the conversation continued, however, he said this to me, "you have to choose a career that your children can be proud of," that in the end, family comes first. I've always had people living under my roof that I've tried to care and set an example for, who I've always considered as my kids, but I've never thought about what my children would think. Recently I've gotten used to sitting in the seat of the struggler, the one who always works hard, but is constantly screwed over by the way things work out -- actually more like the closet-martyr, who always says without saying, "woe is me". People have always told me to choose a good career that makes a lot of money so I would have time the time to pursue my hobbies, to which I always replied with, "how about I just pursue these passions and make money off of them?" The focus has always been on me, a person I've never really cared about too much, so sacrificing money for passion was no big deal. However, I'd never been asked to sacrifice my passion for my family. Not to say that I needed to completely stray and become an engineer or something, but more along the lines of something in my same field of interest that I could be passionate about. For instance, I've always wanted to be a writer or an English teacher. So why not go the extra step and become a professor? Teachers have always gotten screwed over by the counties that they work in with budget cuts and the like, but being a professor is stable, and carries a certain prestige, the kind that my children would be proud of me for.
I took the points in and looked upon the now-distinct face of my uncle -- he laughed and joked as he passed on more advice, but his face stayed the same. In his eyes, I saw the heart of a man who was trying his best to recover the mistakes that my father and his family had made to my immediate family. I saw a struggler. I saw a father. I saw a husband. I saw hope. I saw change. I saw convention. I saw individuality.
Later, after a long night, I looked at myself in the mirror; It was blurry, but I think I see the man my children will.
wesleigh.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Inspiration
If nothing is original, what is originality?
Even before I chose to write the opening sentence, I searched it on google with quotations to see if someone had said it first. I realized that the concept of nothing being original has given me doubts in my own work. Should we give up before we start? What's the chance of being original when there's over a billion people in the world thinking billions of ideas?
This is comforting for some. If it's all been done, then it's everyones obstacle and nobody faces it alone. You make a case that you took from and give credit appropriately. If you didn't know and someone tells you where they've seen it before you don't feel like you're completely screwed. You know this already, you've known it from the start that someone out there has done it first and it wasn't you.
It can stagger creativity. I won't think outside the box if the box is in a bigger box. So I end up overthinking, overanalyzing, and editing the moment I write down a sentence. Eventually I get fed up and don't finish. Fewer and fewer I write, more ideas go unfinished, and progress becomes static.
But, has worrying about originality helped me become more original? I don't think so. Originality can have two interpretations. What came first and what came with it. People get tied up with striving to be the first person to do this and that and they miss it completely. You can be the first when you put your own personality into something. It can be different and unique. You can be influenced and those influences can become something more. You don't have to be the one that started the first fire. All you need to be is the one that keeps the fire going.
Sam
Even before I chose to write the opening sentence, I searched it on google with quotations to see if someone had said it first. I realized that the concept of nothing being original has given me doubts in my own work. Should we give up before we start? What's the chance of being original when there's over a billion people in the world thinking billions of ideas?
This is comforting for some. If it's all been done, then it's everyones obstacle and nobody faces it alone. You make a case that you took from and give credit appropriately. If you didn't know and someone tells you where they've seen it before you don't feel like you're completely screwed. You know this already, you've known it from the start that someone out there has done it first and it wasn't you.
It can stagger creativity. I won't think outside the box if the box is in a bigger box. So I end up overthinking, overanalyzing, and editing the moment I write down a sentence. Eventually I get fed up and don't finish. Fewer and fewer I write, more ideas go unfinished, and progress becomes static.
But, has worrying about originality helped me become more original? I don't think so. Originality can have two interpretations. What came first and what came with it. People get tied up with striving to be the first person to do this and that and they miss it completely. You can be the first when you put your own personality into something. It can be different and unique. You can be influenced and those influences can become something more. You don't have to be the one that started the first fire. All you need to be is the one that keeps the fire going.
Sam
freedom
At heart, everyone has freedom; it doesn't matter what kind of situation you're in, you always have the option of trying to do something. Sure, there're constantly thousands of forces pushing and pulling you to go in different directions, but ultimately, it's your choice to try to do what you want. (I'm not saying that success is necessarily part of this equation, mind you -- there's still the issue of reality to deal with.)
Aside from the obvious presence of reality, freedom becomes a question of what your values are; here's my first and only pop reference that I'm putting into this commentary: In The Devil Wears Prada, Anne Hathaway insists to Meryl Streep that she would never stab a friend in the back, after Meryl Streep's character gives part of the magazine (or something along those lines) to not-the-person-she-said-she-would in order to save her job. Meryl's reply is that Anne Hathaway had already done that by taking the place of someone too sick to make the trip. Anne's character stutters a little, trying to fight it and say that it was necessary or else, but in the end, she still quits and walks out of the limo after realizing what she'd done. /end pop reference.
Metaphorical reassertion: If you value your job, you'll let your job take your freedoms away. If you value your social life, you won't let your job take your freedoms away, etc. etc. Freedom is something that exists in everyone, to do -- or not do -- what you want, but the caveat is how you will be effected by that choice.
next topic: open
Aside from the obvious presence of reality, freedom becomes a question of what your values are; here's my first and only pop reference that I'm putting into this commentary: In The Devil Wears Prada, Anne Hathaway insists to Meryl Streep that she would never stab a friend in the back, after Meryl Streep's character gives part of the magazine (or something along those lines) to not-the-person-she-said-she-would in order to save her job. Meryl's reply is that Anne Hathaway had already done that by taking the place of someone too sick to make the trip. Anne's character stutters a little, trying to fight it and say that it was necessary or else, but in the end, she still quits and walks out of the limo after realizing what she'd done. /end pop reference.
Metaphorical reassertion: If you value your job, you'll let your job take your freedoms away. If you value your social life, you won't let your job take your freedoms away, etc. etc. Freedom is something that exists in everyone, to do -- or not do -- what you want, but the caveat is how you will be effected by that choice.
next topic: open
Friday, January 16, 2009
Message in a Bottle
"Why don't you just put the whole world in a bottle, Superman?"
Those are the haunting words written to Superman in Mark Millar's awesome "Superman: Red Son". Those are the words written from Lex Luthor, Superman's arch nemesis, that stopped Superman from taking over the world. Those words stopped communism, it stopped the most powerful being in the world from enslaving the human race, it made Superman fall to his knees and cry. Why?
There's something so simple and yet so deep about that question. If Superman existed and forced peace on Earth. Would it be peace at all? In "Red Son" Superman stopped crime, poverty, starvation, and war. But he didn't take into account individual human rights and freedoms that make us human. For the sake of the entire human race, individuality and privacy and basic human freedoms such as voicing an opinion are taken away. Would you do that?
I'm sure many of you would say no. But I think some of you would say yes. you can put it simply and say that all these little freedoms make us human. allowing to voice our opinions, making a lot of money and spending it on whatever we want. but are all these freedoms really worth the cost? can you stand there and sip your Starbucks while people are begging in the streets? you eat at buffets while kids go hungry every night in the U.S., you buy a new car because your old one doesn't have satellite radio, you buy more clothes because you want to be fashionable. i'm not saying these things are evil, but are they necessary? you say it's not your responsibility or your fault that there are homeless people or hungry kids, but isn't it? isn't it our responsibility as a society, as humans to look out for other humans? it's not easy and convenient, but it's worth it.
would you sacrifice your freedoms to end war, famine, poverty, and crime?
next topic: is freedom doing what you want to do or is it have the choice to do or not to do?
Those are the haunting words written to Superman in Mark Millar's awesome "Superman: Red Son". Those are the words written from Lex Luthor, Superman's arch nemesis, that stopped Superman from taking over the world. Those words stopped communism, it stopped the most powerful being in the world from enslaving the human race, it made Superman fall to his knees and cry. Why?
There's something so simple and yet so deep about that question. If Superman existed and forced peace on Earth. Would it be peace at all? In "Red Son" Superman stopped crime, poverty, starvation, and war. But he didn't take into account individual human rights and freedoms that make us human. For the sake of the entire human race, individuality and privacy and basic human freedoms such as voicing an opinion are taken away. Would you do that?
I'm sure many of you would say no. But I think some of you would say yes. you can put it simply and say that all these little freedoms make us human. allowing to voice our opinions, making a lot of money and spending it on whatever we want. but are all these freedoms really worth the cost? can you stand there and sip your Starbucks while people are begging in the streets? you eat at buffets while kids go hungry every night in the U.S., you buy a new car because your old one doesn't have satellite radio, you buy more clothes because you want to be fashionable. i'm not saying these things are evil, but are they necessary? you say it's not your responsibility or your fault that there are homeless people or hungry kids, but isn't it? isn't it our responsibility as a society, as humans to look out for other humans? it's not easy and convenient, but it's worth it.
would you sacrifice your freedoms to end war, famine, poverty, and crime?
next topic: is freedom doing what you want to do or is it have the choice to do or not to do?
Thursday, January 15, 2009
was it a moment?
was it a moment of truth? of brilliance, perhaps? the sudden idea to take these things, these afterthoughts of what's happened and what drives/separates us and put them into words. is it hope? how much? is there indeed... something? i'm not going to try to answer any questions; it'd be better to provide the context of the right questions that lead to the unique answers of each person.
there are so many things pulling on us at each moment, in every decision. is it going to be that you ditch the comfort zone and try a new view? i'm asking myself these questions now. this blog is the context of which i will be finding the right question that leads to better understanding/sharing this life and world around me. it's the question of whether or not this is that something -- that something that will force me to see if i have indeed found the answers to the questions i've been asking myself inside; is this how my life is going to play out? have i made myself into a man that i can be proud of? have i made myself into a man at all?
this week i'm posing the question of where life really starts -- biologically, we all have pretty solid answers. but in terms of life, where does it really start? right now, it feels like mine is. i live pretty independently, and make my own decisions, and have gone through a lot to get here. but have i just become another cog in society, or am i going to take advantage of my situation and make a difference?
i want to be able to take a step back and see what kind of difference i make, to see if after all this time, i've made myself into... something.
wesleigh.
there are so many things pulling on us at each moment, in every decision. is it going to be that you ditch the comfort zone and try a new view? i'm asking myself these questions now. this blog is the context of which i will be finding the right question that leads to better understanding/sharing this life and world around me. it's the question of whether or not this is that something -- that something that will force me to see if i have indeed found the answers to the questions i've been asking myself inside; is this how my life is going to play out? have i made myself into a man that i can be proud of? have i made myself into a man at all?
this week i'm posing the question of where life really starts -- biologically, we all have pretty solid answers. but in terms of life, where does it really start? right now, it feels like mine is. i live pretty independently, and make my own decisions, and have gone through a lot to get here. but have i just become another cog in society, or am i going to take advantage of my situation and make a difference?
i want to be able to take a step back and see what kind of difference i make, to see if after all this time, i've made myself into... something.
wesleigh.
welcome to the jungle
hope. i believe that is the basic human emotion that everyone can share in. there are people who don't know what love is or how it feels to be loved. faith is fragile and not unshakable, doubt will creep in some way, somehow. but hope, hope is renewed every day. it may die with the setting of the sun, but it will rise again with the morning. i believe in hope and i know you all do too. hope that tomorrow won't be worse than today. hope in that that the girl you have a crush on has a crush on you. hope that this, right here and everything you see, isn't all there is to life. tomorrow may be a worse day than today, the girl you have a crush on might not like you, and this could all be it, but you won't believe that. you refuse to believe that. you have too much hope. this blog and me and my fellow bloggers are here to assure that. this blog is about hope. hope that you aren't alone, hope that this problem isn't just yours, hope that you will get through your struggles. all of us go through life feeling lonely and wondering if anyone else is thinking what you're thinking. we all are. we're all in this together. we all struggle to survive in a jungle of struggles, addictions, questions that seem to have no answers, and loneliness. welcome to the jungle. let's help each other get through by giving each words of hope. whether through poetry, narratives, questions, answers, personal stories, testimonies, and memoirs let's get all this out there. who knows what kind of effect any of these entries will have on our fellow man so please leave any feedback on our entries because we don't have it all figured out. we're just guys trying to spread the love the best way we know we can. we will be posting regularly every week and if there's anything you guys want to share on the blog than please leave comments and we'll try to post. thanks for your time. God bless.
Ryan
Ryan
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