In a brief moment of despair at not being in love for far too long, I summoned up my favorite lover from my memory. After dancing the softness of his skin and reliving the sparkling spot in my soul where his memorizing eyes met mine, I finally remembered what it felt like to be in love again. For a brief second the portal between us opened again, long enough for me to whisper “but i love you…” Swooning once again in a state of ecstasy, he awoke from my spell, “Mareks…Mareks, darling are you still there?” said a sweet voice over the phone. “Hm, hmm, yes yes, uh blue, blue is a great color for the guest bedroom, look I’ve got to go, I’ll call you back when I’m on my way home” he replied….”Love you too….cheers….bye”. He nervously stood up and looked out the window over Sydney Harbour. He remembered too.
As social beings, we are naturally inclined to react to other people. Growing up, we are conditioned on how to behave towards people as well as how to read the basics of communication, yet there is still so much for which our vocabulary is heavily insufficient to explain. Often people apply all the right rules and following all the social back and forths only to be further away from others than they were when they were strangers. In all manner of capacity, the cultural social cues should have been enough, but more often than not, they fail us. In all honesty, human connection is one of the least understood aspects of life, cognitively speaking. There is no explanation for subtleties affecting why certain people are great friends yet others can’t stand the mere mention of one anothers’ names. In reality it isn’t the social banter that it important, it is how others make you feel. There are some of us who are quite sensitive to how other people affect us, meaning our internal reaction to someone’s presence drives whether or not we bother to make contact or continue on with mindless social exercises. There are many different ways that people make me feel. Some more pleasant than others. One feeling in particular is horribly annoying: the allergic reaction.
Like any allergy, it take a few interactions with a person to realize that I am allergic to them. Once the allergy is full blown, my immune system switches my brain into self preservation mode. All energy goes into getting as far away from the person as possible. My vision narrows so that my brain can focus solely on escape routes as well as be unable to make clear eye contact. My vocal cords tighten to only allow out desperate cries for freedom. My sinuses tighten so my nervous system can be ready to produce tears in case I really need to show someone how serious I am. I instinctively want to curl up into a ball by hugging my knees to keep the individual from thinking that I am open to their presence.
I know this is an allergic reaction because once the allergen is gone, I feel relieved that I am able to act normal again. Like any in any other allergy situation, the best thing for my health is to avoid the allergens, so I do…and guess what?!?!? I’ve been allergy symptom free! 🙂
I don’t think I want to get married. It is odd how difficult it is to admit. All paths on the map to get there are dead ends. Thinking about it hits my nervous system and almost makes me want to cry. But I don’t cry, maybe a slight sob will come out. I’m mourning the loss of my dreams. At one time I had thought that’s what I wanted.
The next thoughts is, “What am I going to do instead?” I think that’s where the lost cry comes from because I don’t know. I guess I will just work, save money, travel, enjoy my freedom, continue to dabble in experience with men if I met one who is interesting enough. That’s all. It can be summed up that quickly. Mourning the loss of my dreams because I have out grown them. I always had difficulty accepting that I have to grow up. I’m never fully ready for it, usually I’m way past the point when I realize what about me needs to be changed.
I still have some hope that the world with change and I will be able to see things differently, but as far as I can tell, the situation is out of my control. The guys I like don’t like me, I don’t like the guys who like me, I’m broke, so are they… I don’t enjoy feeling obligated to socialize with people, it exhausts me. I am happy the way I am with my day to day happenings. I see dating as a form of prostitution and marriage as a prison where I am damned to be the bitch he cheats on and a surrogate mother he has to ask for permission to stay out late.
You feel confident when in certain situations, but when specific people are around you feel the need to compete for the friendship. Your “friend” encourages this by naturally not making social concessions/offering agreed upon reassurance towards you. When confronted your friend acts like they didn’t notice because they do it on purpose as their way of controlling you. Confused you assume it is just in your mind, so you try to ignore it. It happens again when the “better” friend is around.
Suddenly you realize that there is a hierarchy and the needs of the friends higher on the list are met before yours. Often the needs of higher friends is that your “friend” be cold to their lower friends. This modern day Machiavellianism is how friends exert dominance other each other for their own negative, controlling self indulgence.
The world is apparently flattening yet all over I still sense a need in people to cling to old forms of social class structures. Top schools, top jobs, top companies, top designers, top top top top top. Are we working for money or recognition? If someone pays you a salary, you are working class. If you live paycheck to pay check, regardless of income amount, you are broke. If your net worth is negative, you are broke.
The standard of living gives people a false sense of social standing. The ability to talk and act “up” also give a false sense of where they stand. People aren’t competing against each other, people are competing against what others claim to have or be doing. There is a big difference, especially if you encounter a habitual exaggerator who defines themselves by their dreams not by their actual accomplishments. But anyway, why the need to compete after the contest is over? After the good school, good work experience, good standard of living, etc. At what point does the competitive drive just allow everyone to kick back and simply enjoy the fruits?
i guess I just want the competitive people to shut up. It is the noise coming out of their mouth, infecting my ears that irritates me. For some reason my brain finds meaning in it, fearful meaning. Perhaps my sensitivity to words is just flaring up again. The words hit at my insecurity about no being smart enough or good enough. So whenever I hear the competitive chatter, it gets to me. I don’t like being taunted, teased, or put down. Words have meaning and I respect them. Therefore I don’t use them aggressively unless I mean to, but that doesn’t mean I should expect everyone else to follow my same doctrine.
Harnessing my own insecurity would help. If I accepted that I am perfectly fine and capable, then I could move on. I could fill in the empty space were my old insecurity sat with something better that doesn’t listen for fearful confirmation. I could replace it with confidence and the ability to not need to second guess myself.
This world is highly evolved, I’m still amazed by the existence of the clock. I think it is funny that one day someone looked up and realized that time exists and we can track it. I think it is even more funny that people write about different worlds because seriously this place exists and has a history (proof of which is given in the existence of a clock) so other places must exist too, right? What I don’t understand is why this idea of other worlds became embedded into everyday life; here is my guess for how it got started:
I think that once everyone realized the odd existence of this world and postulated other worlds, the idea sparked the dawn of a new industry. Everywhere people started preaching of what they thought other worlds would look like. Since technology didn’t exist back then, there was no way to answer the question of “But how do we get to these other worlds?” So the smartest preachers said “You get to them when you die!” “When we die?” shrieked everyone in the crowds.
The farmer preacher said “yes! but only if you plough my field really well for your whole life, will you be able to get there.”
And the Doctor preacher said, “Only if you maintain your health and the health of your family will you get to see the best of the other worlds.”
And the evil preacher said, “only if you give into temptation, will I let you have power in the other worlds.”
And the scientist preacher said, “If we can build a space ship together, we can fly past the stars and take a super nova wormhole to travel to other worlds.”
By this point the idea of other worlds had become so prevalent in the society of humans on earth that no one dared question it. Over time certain preachers gained larger followings than others and we able to wield power over larger and larger groups of people.
It just makes sense to me to stay living for the real world… the one we know exists, then figure out the other worlds when we get there. But maybe that’s just how I travel.
My imagination depresses me. It shows me so much possibility in the world, but when I open my eyes and take a look around, I’m often completely unsatisfied with what I see. On the inside are my goals and dreams, on the outside are the actual tools to accomplish and realize those goal and dreams. Unfortunately, just because the tools are there doesn’t mean that they will be willing to come to my assistance. I always seem to dream one step beyond what i can actually find in the world, hence the depression. This depression always accompanies the resentment because “this is all I can get?!?!? the best I can do?” I just want to step into the world and pick up all the pieces that so nicely fit together to form my life puzzle. This often takes more work, more money, and more energy than I forecast and often leaves me with extra parts and relationships that serve no other purpose but to annoy me. I think I could cope better with more work, more expenses, and more energy being expelled if the “good enough” clingers didn’t drain me dry in the process. It is sad that some people think that love and friendship is in the air when all I did was say hi and have a conversation. I’m sick of being taken advantage of because I enjoy being nice to people. A smile, a glance, and a few conversations mean nothing; nothing other than the fact that you’re speaking with a girl who took etiquette classes in junior high. If all it takes for you to think you like someone is their manners, then I suggest therapy, because you don’t know what love is and you’ll keep getting in people’s way in the process.
Crush always likes to slam into me like a 30 foot tsunami. I just don’t know what hit me and I don’t see him coming (no pun intended). His desperation for a home is a result of my desperation for autonomy. I say he is “desperate” because his fancy takes such a wide variation of forms, so wide that I couldn’t possibly choose just one. I love them all (all meaning foreign ones, domestics are just pass times). He makes me love the way they speak, the words they say, the tone they use, the stuff I would normally shun, the actions they so easily express without asking…I love it all. I want to take it home with me. Nurture it and live off it to the point where I am completely dependent on it.
Sadly crush doesn’t stay in one place for long. His constant shifts sadden me. But in my deepest, darkest despair over what I can’t have there is always a little light checking in. He feeds me attention when I least expect it. He actually gives me hope…. but I think it is just crush in friend’s clothing…
My words are ink blots, designed to play upon the very essence of what my readers want to hear. Sadly, I have neither granted wisdom beyond what they already knew, nor I have provided them with insight beyond what pieces they had already put together. Whatever it is that they seek they will not find here. But what of me you ask? What do I see in it all? in every word I see his bright blue eyes peering down at me in first sights spark, I feel his arms toss me into the sky only to catch me in his bed of roses, I hear his foreign voice resonate through my mind in a harsh language spoken so sweet, I see that smile that was only for me that night he took me to watch the Emerald City’s lights, and I feel my heart start pounding again like it did when he put his palm to my chest and astonishingly said, “you have a pulse.” In the divine, star-crossed madness of it all, I have to catch my breath and smile because I can still feel him pulsing through my veins.
I envision that in my old age, after all the major phases of life have passed, I’ll often ponder back on my old emotions. I’ll spend time remembering how long it took me to classify and name them all and how hard it was to tame them to the point that I can appear in public without incident. I’m sure by then they will sit in my mental tool box as neatly arranged packages, patiently waiting until I decide which ones I need to use for life’s, now commonplace, occurrences. I imagine that by then they will know how to take their turn and so very few of them will take me by surprise. Even if I am by chance caught off guard, I will have already developed a technique for being caught off guard and so will not cause anyone alarm. Thus all this time I now spend starring endlessly at my ceiling, pondering what the hell just happened, will eventually be spent on more practical tasks. Though I am sure I will miss these oh so wild states of fits and passion that currently embarrass and haunt me. I will probably yearn to encounter new pieces of myself and wish that it all wasn’t so well organized….