To the Truth

Mar 10th, 2012 12:18:00pm

I shut people out. Simple present, not past. It’s not something I had been doing in the time that I have been missing from this place, it’s what I do. I shut people out. I have built walls so high that the terms “expressionless” and “uncaring” are often used in conjunction with my name. And don’t just imagine a single boundary of brick and cement, oh no, but layers of them. Once you get over one, you find another, and another.
Someone very dear to me recently said, “They don’t even know you.”

I have always been aware of this. Anyone who has ever met me and tried to penetrate themselves into my psyche, tried to find out what goes on beneath the exterior I show them, is aware of this. They’re not stupid, and more than once I’ve felt their frustration and my ensuing guilt. However, it’s only when those words were spoken to me directly, pained and frustrated, that the thought has haunted me more than usual, resounding in my head whenever I interact with people.

Every time I’m speaking to a friend, there will be a moment that jars with it: “They don’t even know you.”

Every time I’m speaking to my family, even worse and more persistent: “They don’t even know you.”

No, they don’t. No one does. Not even me.

I’m a sensitive person (though this is the first time I’ve ever openly admitted it), who is growing up in a world where you’re taught that the sensitive don’t survive. Or at least are more beat down than the rest. This world has phenomenal beauty, tenderness, and kindness; that is undeniable. Yet to think that one can get by without a thick skin and a whole lot of strength is self-deluding. I learned that early, and found out that I couldn’t give myself thicker skin. I didn’t know how. So instead of learning how to keep as much of the world’s harshness out as I could, I learned to keep my weakness in where no one could see and take advantage of it.

I built walls.

And they’re cracking.

This blog was a place where I could reveal the part of me that I was too scared to show out in “reality”. It was a place where I could think more deeply, wonder more, dream more. It was a place where I dared to hope that I could make a difference, not only in the people who read it, but in myself. The truth is, though, this past year I have shrunk further and further inside myself. Walls I thought I was finally learning to let go of, came up bigger and more ominous than ever until I was so lost the people who meant most to me were literally terrified I was gone for good. Or would be, soon enough.

I stopped dreaming. I stopped thinking deeper. I stopped wondering. I stopped writing, and reading, the two things that could always induce me to feel. I didn’t even have an interest for them anymore. I stopped being the person this blog is an embodiment of, because I couldn’t stand the weight of it. Have you ever felt that? That crushing weight of all the people you could be, all the people you want to be and all the people you don’t, screaming and shoving each other inside of you like it’s a crowd at the most popular ride in the fair…

And you don’t know who’s who, so you don’t know who to let out, what the consequences would be.. So you sit there being practically nothing. Playing different roles for different people, never really knowing which one is you. They all are, but they all aren’t, and it does your head in just thinking about it. Then you start feeling like a fake, like maybe none of you is real and you’ve always been an empty shell made only to be what people need you to be at any given moment.

It’s been a long, dark rabbit hole that I’ve been travelling in this past year, and there’s more to go yet.

However, a few days ago, I decided to try writing myself to the truth once more. “Writing my way to the truth” is a phrase a former tumblr-writer used to use. I’ve always adored it, and I hope she doesn’t mind my borrowing it now, because that’s what I used to do here. I have not found my cause, so I tried writing myself into one. I have not the strength that people think I do, so I made my words my pillars. I could not, can not, guide myself to where I need to be yet, so I try to guide others in the hope that one day, maybe I’ll give myself the courage I still don’t have to follow the dreams I refuse to admit to. I don’t reveal myself in person, to anyone, so I revealed little bits of myself through writing.

I don’t even know all of me yet, so I hoped to discover it along the way.

It felt wrong, sometimes. It felt hypocritical and fake. And I’m sure it will again, during days where it’s darker in the tunnel than usual, but it’s all I have for now.

So maybe someday I will find the truth I seek. I don’t know what it is yet, but that’s part of the fun, isn’t it? We’re all searching for a truth that we won’t recognize till we’re ready to find.

I think it’s time I shared my search with you again.

I shall not return to signing off. Because truly, whatever I choose to call myself, be it Dreamer, Warrior or perhaps even Seeker, it will always end up subject to change dependent upon the stage I am in in that moment. A dreamer imagines, a warrior fights for the right to make that imagination reality and a seeker searches for the truth that will help him obtain that reality.

Right now, though?

I dream.

‘Work Is Worship’

Sep 6th, 2011 2:47:00am

I wrote a poem of that title, a long time ago. I wrote it is a reminder to myself during a time long ago where my heart was weakened by events that rendered it bruised and sore. I felt the best way to get through the pain would be to bury myself in whatever work I could find. Schoolwork. Homework. Housework. Writing, running, anything to keep me occupied and keep me from dwelling on the slow, hesitant way my heart beat. Gingerly, as if to avoid any more pressure than it needed and so avoiding any more hurt.

It was a sad time, and I don’t think I ever did take my own advice. Instead I ploughed on the best I could, always aware of my pain, but pushing it aside until I didn’t feel it anymore, except when a memory would send me reeling back to that place. My heart did heal, yet it did so with me being aware of every slow step towards recovery when that was not initially my intention. I wanted to so bury myself in things to do that by the time I looked up from my work, I’d find my heart alright again.

I all but forgot about that poem.

However, I find myself thinking about it a lot today, and wanting to finally put the words into action. Except this time – thankfully – for different reasons entirely.

This time, I do not want to work as a way of escape. I want the work to be invested towards my escape. My freedom. That involves working on myself, I admit fully. I may be a hopeless dreamer now, but I’m finally sick of being so. I don’t want to continue hopelessly dreaming yet never taking any action towards those dreams. I don’t want this blog to be merely a storage for my thoughts and fantasies, a place to return to and smile bitterly at all I’ve never had the courage to do, to show the world.

There is so much in me. So much more than a hopeless dreamer. I am a rebel. I am a fighter. I am no longer a survivor. I refuse to call myself as such, because from now on, I am going to live.

This is going to involve doing things I’m not going to like at first, but are necessary all the same. It’s going to involve fighting my own inhibitions, fears, and shackles I myself have placed on my mind, even more than than it will fighting the restrictions set by people around me. It’s going to involve work.

And so I shall bury myself in it. I will take the plunge and I won’t come up for oxygen because the air around me is stale until I purify it. Only me. This is my battle, and I shall live up to everything I’ve posted, everything I’ve thought that I haven’t shared here. I shall live my dreams and show this world all that I am. No more masks. No more pretenses. No more hiding behind my own words, this hopeless dreamer has turned into a hopeful warrior, fighting for her own life and not giving in till she has it.

The world is changing all around us. It is up to us to decide whether we want to let it change to whatever the hell it wants to and have us adapt, or whether we are going to get up, push back and mold it to what we want it to be. Feel the sweat escaping through your pores through work that is good, work that is pure, work that will lead to your salvation. You make your world a better place and the rest of it will follow suit. You want to change the world for good? Start with your own and watch the chain reaction blow your mind and everyone else too scared to see the truth until you shove it in their faces and force them to. Until it can not be denied even by those most determined to be blind.

Work for what you want. Fight for it and don’t let anyone get in your way. Be kind, but don’t be taken advantage of. Be brave, but don’t be reckless. Find that balance and you’ll be able to do more than walk the tightrope of life: You’ll be doing flips on it and loving every second. Make life a thrill, the best kind, the thrill of happiness. Light a match in the dark and keep going till you find the kindle to set the tunnel aflame. Don’t give up hope.

I am diving into the work I need to do and I will relish every drop of sweat and blood that will be invested into it. I will smile, even when it gets hard, gets excruciating and inside I just want to give in and cry, because I’ll know that it will pass. That it’s worth this effort, this pain. I will overcome, knowing that every second is working towards a purpose: freedom to live.

So yes, right now, and for however long it takes to reach my goals?

Work is worship.

Thud Thud Thud Goes the Slack Drum~

Jul 23rd, 2011 2:13:00am

“There is no escaping reason; no denying purpose. Because as we both know, without purpose, we would not exist. It is purpose that created us. Purpose that connects us. Purpose that pulls us. That guides us. That drives us. It is purpose that defines us. Purpose that binds us.” Agent Smith | The Matrix Reloaded

A fine quote from a fine movie, which has the added advantage of being completely and utterly true. Without purpose, we wander aimlessly and listlessly in this world. Our passions are as short-lived as the effects of a drug: a temporary high before returning to a reality of… what? Short-lived because while it is a discovery of something new, once we realise it isn’t really for us we give it up and continue our search for… what?

Purpose. Something to live for. To work towards. A goal to achieve, a way of life to adopt. Something that brings up challenges everyday, challenges we relish in, because we know it is all worth it, because we enjoy the thrill of knowing that getting through it is one step closer to getting what we want. Our purpose – our true purpose – stays with us all our life. It is not a mere phase, a stage to get through. It is what we were made to do. Everything before then is passing the time until you figure out what that is. There’s nothing after.

One’s purpose sticks, forever. You are born with it, you lose it, forget it as you grow, and if you’re lucky, you remember once more later and fulfill it for as long as you live. You die with no regrets, knowing that you found out what you were here for and you went for it, day after day. You gave it your all.

Then there’s the everyday “To-Do List”. There are few people in this world who are satisfied with simply doing nothing. We must be moving, working, playing… We must ACT or else we wither away with boredom and the feeling that we are wasting precious time. As humans with limitless energy, we don’t do well with nowhere to channel it and nothing to distract ourselves with. We just get so darn… BORED. Our thoughts drift in and out… We feel useless. Like there’s something we need to be out there doing but since we don’t know what it is we just lay here, doing no more than existing. What of the plans we need to make, implement, be ready for? What of the goals we need to achieve or – on a smaller scale – the errands we need to run? That important project due soon, the book we need to read, the movie we want to watch… It goes on and on. The world is absolutely saturated with the different things to do, that are being done, that need to be done… We need to stay occupied, and the world is just filled with ways to do exactly that. To give us something to work towards, even if just for a short time. Something to complete.

It’s one of those never-ending cycles that runs rampant in society. We do things, look for things, create things, play with things, achieve things, and as soon as we’re done and the high of it has worn off, we move on to the next thing to do, look for, create, play with, achieve. We are always wandering, searching for that one thing that we can stick to and never tire of, getting other things done in the meantime so we can feel important, that our existence means something, is contributing something to the world. So that we don’t get squashed and suffocated with the realisation of just how small we truly are. We are like sharks: we need to keep moving, else we die (or feel dead).

In many ways, it’s wonderful. Our desire to make something of our lives has propelled us to amazing heights. Unimaginable heights deemed impossible not-so-many years ago. However, we all crave movement so badly that we’ve forgotten the peace and beauty of stillness. To lay in the sun, nothing pending, no distractions, feeling the breeze upon your face and listening to nothing but the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds. To climb up to a building rooftop at night and simply gaze at the stars. To appreciate the laughter of a child, hear the poignancy of silence. To lie in bed with the company of your own thoughts, or a loved one breathing softly next to you.

It’s all about balance, I feel. Without purpose… Well, Sylvia Plath put it best: ”If I sit still and don’t do anything, the world goes on beating like a slack drum, without meaning. We must be moving, working, making dreams to run toward; the poverty of life without dreams is too horrible to imagine.”

…Just don’t forget that there still is beauty and peace in being still, too.

The Future Is Bright

Apr 15th, 2011 4:34:00pm

I am officially in my last year of high school. Then A-levels (which is considered as college) then university.

Just yesterday, it was my first day in first grade, and I was silently crying because my bag’s zipper broke and I didn’t know how to get my books out, scared I’d get in trouble on my very first day.

I don’t really feel all that much about it. I don’t think it’s hit me yet. Or maybe I’m not one to put a whole lot of significance on something that is really just the end of another school year. I do know one thing, though. It sneaked up on me, this one. After years of complaining, unable to wait until I’m finally done with school, this year feels like it came out of nowhere. “Whoa. How did I get here so soon?”

There are three possibilities. To look back, and wonder about the “Shoulda” “Coulda” and “Woulda”s that one inevitably comes across during life. Or to panic and feel unprepared. Or, to remember that what is to come is going to be just as fleeting as what has been. To remember to start slowing down, not speeding up, before your whole life becomes a blur of “How did I get here?”

I want to slow down. I am looking forward to the future. Because I promise you all this, and I am going to take control of it. There is only one person whom you can allow to shape your future, and that is you. Only you. I don’t want to look back and wonder where my life went. I plan to look back and smile, with not a single regret.

I want to meet death as an old friend, and fear nothing, regret nothing, worry of nothing, because I lived my life the way I wanted.

I want to look beside me and see the person I made it through with, and smile happily because we did it together.

I want to grab time, that ever-in-flight spirit, and bring it close, forcing it to slow down for me so each moment is savoured.

I want to live life the way it is meant to be lived. To the fullest.

Don’t let the years sneak up on you. Run towards them with determination and ambition. With passion. Follow your heart. There is a quote that says something along the lines of, if you don’t know what you want, then figure out what you don’t want and avoid it. Then what you want will come to you naturally. With every elimination of what you don’t want, you are walking closer to what you do. Keep walking. Never stop. You’ll get there.

The future is bright. It is always, always bright. The only darkness comes from the bleakness of the present. Don’t let it blind you.

Seize every moment. Take every chance. Remember to stop every once in a while, and look around. Make it so whenever you do, all you see is cause for a smile.

The world is ours. It’s ours. It’s ours.

See you on the other side. No regrets.

It Starts with One.

Jan 19th, 2011 9:40:00pm

One thought. That thought gives rise to another, and another, and another. On on and on, until you finally stop and wonder, “How did I get here?” Most often, or probably always, that first thought is completely unrelated to where you ended up, except through the series of connected thoughts that got you there. With me so far?

Who’s heard of the Six Degrees of Separation theory? I have always loved it. I find it fascinating. The possibility that any two people anywhere in the world, can be connected through six people or less. Imagine it. Six billion people in the world, and you could reach out to any of them through just six. Of course, it all depends on choosing the right first “degree”.

“It has been said that something as small as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world.” – Chaos Theory

That is a famous line, that is. Almost everyone’s heard of it. But has anyone thought of just how much it means? The implications? One word, one action, one decision. That’s all it takes to change… Everything. Anything. It shapes the rest of your life, until another decision alters it, and then another.

That’s how life works. You don’t know what’s ever going to happen because there are so many possibilities that open up with so much as the flexing of your little finger, ever changing with every movement, every moment. It’s mind boggling, but also, in its way, rather beautiful, while additionally being completely and utterly terrifying.

We are all connected. Every one of us. You can try denying it but honestly? There is no denying it at all. We live in one world, in one universe, under one collective consciousness that we may only be truly aware of in the deepest parts of our subconscious. And through that connection, our actions shape our world. Everything has consequence. Everything has a cause and effect, a reaction. It all lies in the choices you make.

Scary, isn’t it? This knowledge comes with such unbelievable responsibility, doesn’t it?
Think of it this way, though. You can’t ever say that you can’t make a difference. Anyone can make a difference. All they have to do is act. To try. Even if you don’t see the change you wished to create in your lifetime, at least know that you set the ball in motion. Your deeds have set a chain reaction in the world, and within our collective consciousness, and the world will never be the same again.

One thought. One decision. One action. It starts with one.

Make it the right one.

Enticement

Mar 24th, 2012 7:03:00pm

The following is an extract from the book Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury. It is what provided the inspiration for this particular column and may resound within you almost as much as it did within myself.

“…Now, look, since when did you think being good meant being happy?”

“Since always.”

“Since now learn otherwise. Sometimes the man who looks happiest in town, with the biggest smiles, is the one carrying the biggest load of sin. There are smiles and smiles; learn to tell the dark variety from the light. The seal-barker, the laugh-shouter, half the time he’s covering up. He’s had his fun and he’s guilty. And men do love sin, Will, oh how they love it, never doubt, in all shapes, sizes, colors and smells. Times come when troughs, not tables, suit our appetites. Hear a man too loudly praising others, and look to wonder if he didn’t just get up from the sty. On the other hand, that unhappy, pale, put-upon man walking by, who looks all guilt and sin, why, often that’s your good man with a capital G, Will. For being good is a fearful occupation; men strain at it and sometimes break in two. I’ve known a few. You work twice as hard to be a farmer as to be his hog. I suppose it’s thinking about trying to be good makes the crack run up the wall one night. A man with high standards, too, the least hair falls on him and sometimes wilts his spine. He can’t let himself alone, won’t lift himself off the hook if he falls just a breath from grace.

“Oh, it would be lovely if you could just be fine, act fine, not think of it all the time. But it’s hard, right? with the last piece of lemon cake waiting in the icebox, middle of the night, not yours, but you lie awake in a hot sweat for it, eh? do I need tell you? Or, a hot spring day, noon, and there you are chained to your school desk and away off there goes the river, cool and fresh over the rock-fall. Boys can hear clear water like that miles away. So, minute by minute, hour by hour, a lifetime, it never ends, never stops, you got the choice this second, now this next, and the next after that, be good, be bad, that’s what the clock ticks, that’s what it says in the ticks. Run swim, or stay hot, run eat or lie hungry. So you stay, but once stayed, Will, you know the secret, don’t you? don’t think of the river again. Or the cake. Because if you do, you’ll go crazy. Add up all the rivers never swum in, cakes never eaten, and by the time you get my age, Will, it’s a lot missed out on. But then you console yourself, thinking, the more times in, the more times possibly drowned, or choked on lemon frosting. But then, through play dumb cowardice, I guess, maybe you hold off from too much, wait, play it safe.

“Look at me: married at thirty-nine, Will, thirty-nine! But I was so busy wrestling myself two falls out of three, I figured I couldn’t marry until I had licked myself good and forever. Too late, I found you can’t wait to become perfect, you got to go out and fall down and get up with everybody else…”

 

Who doesn’t relate to this at some point or another? The struggle between being good and being bad. The temptation that lies in the promise of a thrill, a high, instant gratification as opposed to deprivation and the knowledge you did the right thing. Knowledge that – whether you choose to admit it or not – most often offers little comfort. After all, we are creatures of want, and we want it now. We seek comfort, happiness, good feelings, short as we may know they’ll last.

Rules. Rules. Rules. Rebellion. Rebellion. Rebellion. What will you choose? Why? When? Just once, or over and over again? Temptation licking its lips at the promise of another victim. But are you a victim or a willing participant? Do you choose to eat the cake or lay in a hot sweat, reminding yourself, “It’s not yours”?

Then, the greater question. Does eating it really make you bad? One slice. When is doing the wrong thing actually the right thing? We all know (unless you’re a hermit) that some rules are more for control and out of fear than for the betterment of mankind. We also know that sometimes, a little risk, a little bit of being “bad”, might end up being the best time you’ve ever had. A memory to last your entire lifetime. Or it may end up being a horrible mistake you regret. Then again, don’t people say that one’s greatest regrets are the things you didn’t do, try, experience?

Is there a line between it all? Because I still haven’t found it. Or perhaps my over-thinking it has made the line blurred beyond recognition. Maybe you’re meant to go with your gut instinct on these things. Then again, how do you tell the difference between instinct, base recklessness, and fear?

It gets so very tiring to be good all the time. The reliable one. The trustworthy one. The one you roll your eyes at the thought of them ever doing anything “bad”. Temptation is a beast that never tires, never surrenders, and can worm its way into every aspect of life. The longer one fights it, it seems, the stronger it gets, and the more exhausted and frustrated you get. The downward spiral is scary. There’s always the fear that giving in to Temptation once makes you more vulnerable to attack another time. It does, really, especially if trying something that’s known to be addictive. Once you’ve had a taste, just a taste… You find yourself longing for more.

What is right and what is easy? Why can’t the right thing be easy for once? Why is it that our “dark” side feels more dominant than our light? The eternal battle. How do you know which side to give in to in what situation? There is always risk, yes, but how do you figure out what is worth that risk and what isn’t?

Perhaps there is no clear cut answer. Maybe there really isn’t a line. Simply grey areas that everyone has to find on their own, depending on their own personalities, their own lives, their own beasts of Temptation.

Magical Pages

Aug 20th, 2010 1:56:00am

I love to read. It’s one of my most favourite things to do. No, scratch that. It is my most favourite thing to do. The beauty of the written word, its power and ability to change lives, to create, to destroy, to bring to life and surface things one would not have been able to imagine otherwise; it’s a remarkable thing. Words have impact.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”

I hate that line. Words do hurt. They can stab you where you least expect it. They have a greater effect than the originator of that line could have possibly imagined. Words can discourage and demolish, just as they can inspire and motivate.

Books are my source of pleasure. In them is where I seek those glorious words I have so much respect and admiration for. Books are where I find my escape.

That is why it saddens me, seeing all the new software for reading books digitally. Actually no, not reading books digitally, simply: reading digitally. I don’t consider a book a book, unless you can feel it, see it, smell it, turn its pages, open it with excitement and anticipation, and close it regretfully when it is over.

There are advantages to the software, yes. No need to carry a heavy weight. Cheaper because money that would otherwise be spent on printing and cover designing and illustrations is saved. Hey, no paper cuts! No fire hazards. No wastage of paper either therefore making it a greener option.

But is it really a wastage of paper? Is the excitement of holding a book in your hands, either a fresh copy or one that’s in tatters from being read so often because of words that comfort you in their familiarity, no matter how much things have changed around you, is it really to be replaced with what would be to me a duller version of the feeling when you download something new to read?

To me, books aren’t a heavy weight or a paper-cut risk. They are real. You can run your fingers over the printed words, that slight scratch beneath your fingertips: the unique feel of paper. You can gaze at beautiful covers, while deciding whether or not to begin or continue, or to save the pleasure for a later time. You can take them down from your bookshelf and dust them off years later, to read to your friends, or children, or grandchildren your favourite lines.

They are comforting, books are.

There is comfort in opening a book. It’s like opening a door to a new place. You don’t know exactly what you’re going to find, but you’re eager to find out. And as you turn each page, sinking further into what you’re reading, all you see is what the writer has laid out for you. The lightness of the page and the darkness of the printed word are easily a front. A disguise. Hiding beneath it a glorious world of opportunity, of history, of tales of old and the creativity of the new. I don’t feel that reading from a laptop. The glare of the monitor and the sheer… coldness, interfere, reminding me that I am here, in the real world, sitting at my laptop reading things that could never be or already have been and shall not be again.

There is comfort in closing a book at the finish. A sadness, yes, for you feel almost like you’ve lost a friend, as the saying goes. However, there is the comfort in the finality. You know it’s over and now you are free to think, to ponder over what you’ve read as the back cover stares up at you, confirming its ending.

Books are warm. They are tender portals into all new planes, taking you gently by the hand and leading you down endless paths. They trap memories within their pages, so that every time you open that one book you’re taken back to the feelings and places you were at the time you first read it.

Technology has taken over a lot of things. It has made things easier and cheaper on one front, and harder and more expensive on another, but it has taken over. I just hope it doesn’t take over this as well, despite showing signs of it.

I truly believe it could never match up to all those feelings a lovely printed manuscript, with beautiful jackets that enclose magical pages, provokes.

Stream of Consciousness…

[Original post date unknown]

“It’s funny how things change.”

A cliche statement, but only because of how often it is used. One situation, status, quickly morphing into something completely unlike itself. It happens all too often, proving that Life, Fate, Circumstance… they are the true masters of happenings.

Do they toss a coin? Close their eyes and point?

No. Can’t be. Far too cunning. Far too much irony. Too much.. everything, for it to be a random thing, left to their friend: Chance.

They like spontaneity. Being unpredictable. Though sometimes they give clues to prepare you for what they have in store. Chance plays her part well, here. It is her element. Deciding whether or not you spot them.

They play carefully, strike suddenly. For the better here, for the worse there.

A game? No.

An art? Perhaps.

And undeniable fact. A truth that cannot be ignored. That is the true nature of this.

Change. Funny how it happens.

Funny how things change.

But not funny at all.

It is, after all, the only constant. It happens too often.

With cruelty. With kindness.

Alternating. Coming in all at once.

Good with bad. With more good.

So many possibilities. A choice you make and their plan alters instantly.

Funny? Not funny.

Beautiful. All kinds.

Even while lamenting now, in the end, when it’s over, when every feeling has been disconnected and discarded, it is seen, in it’s truest form. Beautiful. 
It passes. It all passes.
Beautiful.
 When you have overcome. Seen your strength. Your power. Beautiful.
When you make the choices that trigger their kindness. Beautiful.
When, at the end of it, you finally know who you are: Beautiful.

Yet still we say: “Funny how things change.”

No. Breathe. Breathe and whisper, “I am where I am meant to be. It shall pass.”

Change. Funny.

This was written on a whim. Straight from my thoughts, not a single word changed or rephrased. Although the paragraphing has been, as it was originally written line by line. I don’t know where it came from, but here it is.

Learning Experience

Sep 5th, 2010 1:26:00am

A few days ago, I was being yelled at by my little sister. (Yes, little sister. I am older and therefore not allowed to retaliate.) This is a common occurrence at home. We don’t exactly get along for the most part. On this particular occasion, she was yelling because she had washed several dishes – almost all, in fact – which is my job, and I hadn’t expressed a single word or look of gratitude.

I admit that at the time I wasn’t grateful. I was annoyed.  See, I am a “just-so” type of person, meaning I have a system of how I do things, and like to have them “just-so” (I bet you saw that coming). Besides, she had never washed dishes before, so I was sure she wouldn’t have washed them properly and I’d have to do them again anyways. I would have rather done it myself in the first place.

That got me thinking. How many of you prefer not letting anyone try something, simply because “you’d rather do it yourself”? How many of you don’t like giving someone a chance to attempt anything, because it was that someone’s first try and you thought they would make mistakes you would have to fix? I bet there’s loads of you, like me, who would be more annoyed than grateful. So, how many of you are getting in the way of someone’s learning experience?

Humans are such contradictory beings. We all know that part of learning is making mistakes, and that you never know if you don’t try, and that it’s good to attempt something new and different. Yet, when it comes right down to it, we are hesitant to allow it, because of that same knowledge: mistakes happen. And we don’t want to deal with them, even if it means that a person is going to benefit by learning something.
We confuse, delude and contradict other people and ourselves constantly. This being one of the several cases in which we do. What is so wrong about making honest mistakes?

Why is it so hard for us to let go enough to let others just… try? Even if it’s something as small as washing a few plates and cups? Why is it so hard to let people screw up, even it means you’d have to help clean up the mess?  If they gain something from it… experience, knowledge… then shouldn’t that be worth the trouble? They don’t even always make mistakes. Sometimes they find something they’re good at. Something they can easily do, and do well.

I wonder how many others have been kept from learning something, or were too afraid to try because of the response they would get. It makes me sad, knowing that there are probably so, so many. Because of our own hypocrisy. Because we didn’t give them the chance, and derided and refused them when they asked for one.

I realised all this while my sister slept. When she woke up, I thanked her. And in my heart, I apologised for being annoyed at what was simply a learning experience.

Oh and for the record: she did wash them properly.

Secrecy

Aug 25th, 2010 1:45:00am

This is [WordPress]. Over one billion posts by people from all walks of life. Some people blog purely to share the beautiful things they find. Some people blog for publicity (yes, we have celebrities on here too, although I’m sure they’re not all just doing it for that).

Some people blog to unleash their creativity upon the masses, hoping that someone out there will appreciate their work. And then, there are the people who blog for themselves. Who use [WP] as a journal for their thoughts, their feelings and their experiences. Things they want to let out.

I’ve heard people scoff and say, when for example they ask someone for their blog link, “If you don’t want people to read it then why are you posting it all over the internet for the world to see?”

The fact is it’s the people who are actually in our lives, people who we either don’t want them to know about our experiences, or are actually involved in them, they’re the ones we don’t want to read it. It’s a sort of relief, sharing a bit of yourself to complete strangers. They can’t judge you (although many, many will, unfortunately) because they don’t know you. They can’t force their own beliefs and judgements and opinions upon you, because they’re not in your lives, so their effect is limited. I’m not underestimating the power of words, but still. Being judged online by a complete stranger is different being judged by someone who is actually involved in your life.

There are so many people in the world. And it’s comforting sharing it with someone who can maybe relate to it, maybe offer a perspective the people in our lives can’t, maybe discover that they’re not as alone as they thought.  There’s also a sort of freedom. It’s like it’s now out there and it isn’t gnawing at you anymore, and you can breathe easier knowing that no matter what, it’s out there now. You can delete it anytime you want, but for now, it’s released.

I had a personal blog once. I deleted it ages ago, for several reasons, but I still remember that feeling of relief once I got things off my chest and just tossed it out for the world (okay, my followers, none of whom I had known in real life) to see. It was wonderful. It was therapy.

Here’s the opposite. It’s slightly masochistic, I suppose, but also comforting in a way. Holding back and keeping quiet. Not only because you don’t know how to word it in the first place, but because it’s familiar in its safety. No one knows. It’s like your little secret, hidden and only explored at the times where there’s no activity to distract you, outwardly appearing to be staring at the ceiling, while poking and prodding and pondering and wondering on the inside. It’s almost fun, seeing how far you can go before you snap and tell someone, do something, say something, release it, share it.

How many of you have done this? Either before getting a blog, or still, now, today, this very moment perhaps, clutching to your heart something you can’t bring yourself to release, either not knowing what it is, or knowing and keeping it close regardless? A dark secret that keeps you up at night, maybe, or a feeling you just can’t describe? Something you want to speak out loud, but just can’t? I’d like to know. What are you not saying?

Your secret’s safe with me.