You were doing just fine until someone broke out the kiwi-flavored seltzer water. Then suddenly you were transported back to that time when the two of you were in the grocery store pretending the kiwis on the shelf were baby mice making squeaky-voiced professions of love to one another, all the while passersby surreptitiously giving you disapproving looks. The memory transformed the innocent beverage into an instrument of cardiac torture, and finding yourself on the verge of a complete emotional breakdown in the middle of The Simpsons, you excuse yourself for the safety of your own room, where you can indulge in a salty tearfest without any witnesses, except maybe for your roommate, who has learned by now to ignore you when you get like this anyway.
At first your friends were helpful. They listened. They were outraged on your behalf. They declared your utter innocence. They gave helpful suggestions. They commiserated on the incomprehensibility of the opposite sex. By now, though, they’ve moved on past the slight tingle of disappointment they felt at the breakup. It’s easy enough for them to stop thinking of the two of you in couple terms anymore, but you’re not there yet. You don’t feel like yourself without your — ugh — "ex" there anymore, but no one else is suffering from the same state of cognitive dissonance. You know it because they’ve given up plotting how to get your recalcitrant ex back. Gone are the schemes for the ultimate passionate reconciliation with your beloved, gone the blueprints of a deathtrap for the suspicious third party who might be the cause of all this woe. Now they’re saying things like, "I never did like the way your ex..." and "You can do so much better." But you loved the way your ex did it, or you are not even remotely convinced that you can do better, or what "better" in this case would even look like. You defend your ex and your friends can’t imagine why, so sooner or later you shut up. Your grief has gone from communal to isolated, and even though you no longer cry every day, you sort of wish you still could.
In the stable moments it embarrasses you. You catch a glimpse of yourself looking good one morning and remember there’s more to you than that other person. You laugh with old pals over a silly escapade that doesn’t involve your ex at all. You find yourself enjoying the nice weather in a plain and simple way, and momentarily you’re actually enchanted with the prospect of going it alone. You start to recognize your own strength again. You think you’re getting somewhere at last. And then, as soon as you know what your worth is, you recall to mind the baffling fact that your ex doesn’t love you in all your strength and uniqueness and wit and stories and memories. And what good are all the things that make up you, if you are unloved by this one particular person?
Then you descend into the sap again. You write poetry and oh, it is so bad you can’t even believe you let yourself mark up a piece of innocent paper with such drivel. You start listening to Carole King songs and marvel at her profundity. You reread every single email your beloved ever sent you, even the one asking if you had an extra one-cent stamp handy — you couldn’t bear to delete it. You play "your song" over and over again, licking the tears off your face as the melody steamrolls through your heart and flattens it. You walk past the coffee shop where you had your first real conversation together, linger by the window, and dream up the imminent rainy night surprise rendezvous when you’ll reunite. A happy couple comes out giggling; you reel back, as though physically assaulted, and then push on through the sunny day that seems to mock your misery.
Then comes the big challenge. You have to face this person again, this person that you used to address by a whole dictionary of pet names and now is relegated to the bleak and empty category of EX. Just ex, the former, the past, the no longer, the never again. Ex marks the spot where your heart used to be. It’s been long enough now that you can keep yourself together. Your chin doesn’t wobble and your eyes don’t well up. Then a little voice inside you whispers conspiratorily, Death to dignity! Impale your pride! Throw yourself on the ground and beg for reconciliation! Offer anything you’ve got, nothing is too valuable, give it all away for free, the more melodramatic the sacrifice the better your chances! But you’re armed, thankfully, with that tiny bit of leftover self-respect that won’t impale your pride for anyone but God, and you hold out. You act carefree, lighthearted, cheerful, busy, ambitious. Your ex doesn’t suspect a thing. You leave, having had the better of the situation, and immediately you convince yourself that your ex is as wounded as you inside and your strength has only made matters worse. You think you should’ve gone crawling back after all, but instead you really ruined your chances. Your friends see that look of doubt on your face and come to your rescue. It was a narrow escape.
A few weeks slip by because you’re so buried in work to ease the pain that you don’t even notice the time passing. You think you should be recovered by now but you’re not. Someone offers the helpful calculus that half the length of the relationship is the amount of time it takes to recover. That discourages you, because it means you’re nowhere near through the grieving process yet. You try to deny your ongoing pain. You hide it well. You cry only in secret, only occasionally. You start burning the love letters, commenting on fresh possibilities, joking about your ex’s character flaws the way your friends did at the outset. It feels kind of OK. You can put on a tough front to soften the knots in your heart.
And then one day it happens. You crack. It hits you with the force of a revelation — all the things this person did wrong to you, all the lies, all the half-truths, all the leadings-on, all the hopes with no promises, all the promises with no fulfillment. You suddenly see that you have no vested interest in defending your ex’s character and so you snap to the other extreme: You take that heartless spawn of the devil apart scale by scale, analyzing every error, scrutinizing every fault, until you have mastered the situation. You explode into rage, well-controlled and well-concealed rage. You almost laugh at the calm you exhibit in that person’s presence, because all you want to do is reach for that tender throat and rip it out. You want to shout over the loudspeaker your catalog of every injustice committed in your whole relationship and the extraordinary cruelty of the breakup. Your ex can do no right, and after awhile your friends are the ones defending the helpless victim of your wrath, not you, and you get enraged at them too, even if you admit silently to yourself that they have a point.
The rage flames hotly, brightly, and briefly. It can’t sustain itself for very long. You exhaust yourself with the intensity of your hatred. Then all you have left is pity. You can’t hate all those flaws and unkindnesses anymore; your ex is just too pathetic for that. You don’t have the energy to despise. You wonder, with the slightest itch of condescension, how this miserable creature is going to make it through life and love in that state. In a rare moment of altruism, you wish you could help. Then you realize you can’t. You don’t really care.
Just as suddenly as you found yourself dumped, just as suddenly as you became angry, just as suddenly as you started to pity, now suddenly you find yourself indifferent. All right, there are those pangs of jealousy whenever you see someone else moving in on your former territory. The kiwi still makes you a little depressed. But your ex — you’re OK with saying that now — has lost the claim to your heart. It’s your own again. You can see your ex walk by without the desire to breathe poison in that direction; you can flirt with someone else without feeling guilty. Despite the occasional regressions, you know you’ve moved on.
More time passes. You can rationalize the hurt a little better now. You summon up all your faith to your aid and teach yourself all over again that this is in the Almighty’s hands. God’s will be done, and if in the long run that means someone else for you, so be it. You marvel a little at a world where love is rejected and goes to waste. You wonder if it’ll ever be redeemed. You remember all that business about taking up the cross, how glorious and courageous it sounds on paper and in church, and then you realize that you’re doing it now and it’s not glorious and it doesn’t require courage because you don’t actually have a choice about it.
To make the best of it, you reflect on all the lessons you’ve learned. You know something new about communication, something new about the opposite sex, and something new about yourself. You don’t regret it, you say again and again. You’d do the same thing all over again, it was totally worth it, no remorse. But you know in the secret depths of your heart that no one could pay you enough to go through it again, and you won’t do it again, and you’ll keep your heart safe this time. And you wonder how much longer things have to go on like this.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Friday, August 22, 2008
A Phelpsian affair
Phelps baby dominated the pool at the Olympics to sweep eight olympic gold medals. I am very much aware how stale this news must be and the world probably is groaning at the slight mention of the name Michael. Honestly, I know jack about sports or Phelps. However, I, like all helpless and desperate species from venus who knows how to glee at his amazing body and salivate non stop on how good he looks in his speedo also possess sudden urges of creavity to write more about this man named Michael Phelps. God created land animals on the sixth day, rested on the seventh, and created Michael Phelps on the eighth. I hear his saliva is the cure to cancer and water magnetically resists his godly presence (it's how he can swim so fast). Years ago, Phelps discovered the meaning of life, but reportedly forgot to write it down. Chuck Norris often has nightmares of Michael Phelps.
The American who has the face of a donkey and the body structure of a sea mammal dethroned Ian Thrope, the Australian with the camel face and the body of an extraordinary sea animal, by breaking world records and splashing the waters in the Beijing Olympic pool to such tsunami heights the world has not seen. Phelp's Sunday Gold also marks the end of a world record - that of Mark Spitz's seven gold medals won 36 years ago at the1972 Munich Olympic Games.
Many Americans celebrated jubilantly with Phelps on that fine Sunday morning. Many Americans (and many foreign supporters world-wide) have been following Phelp's quest closely since the beginning. Eager and loyal "Phelps Phans" worldwide gleefully celebrated every stroke, every qualifier, every gold medal and every world record. Indeed there has been many - Phelps has set a world record in every finals event he participated in save one. Even in that singular 100-meter Butterfly final that Phelps did not set a world record in, Phelps gave a nothing-less-than-spectacular performance. Phelps trailed behind then-leader, Milorad Cavic from Serbia during both laps of the race and only caught Cavic at the end of the wall by a mere 1/100th of a second for a hair-splitting photo finish.How does Michael Phelps do it? How does a man beat 7 world records in one week and literally washes away (pun intended) the competition? Rivals and Olympic ethics personnel have cried foul play.
However, considering the scrutiny of the 2008 Beijing Games' atmosphere of fair play and the extensive Anti-Doping Committee, medical doping and use of anabolic steroids are most likely out of the question. Journalists have tried to gain footing into the mystery. Some cite Phelp's impressive 6ft 4 inch frame, his large plate-like hands, and his gigantic size 14 feet. Even Phelps himself has admitted that he eats over 12,000 calories each day, six times the 2,000 calorie intake needed by the average man.
Well, as the world remain stupor to Phelp's victory at the Olympics pool and go about speculating about his sea animal abilities, all I care about is that I love Michael and want to have his illegitimate gay-sea-animal baby. Let's call our baby Sunday Lavender Nemo Phelps, shall we?
The American who has the face of a donkey and the body structure of a sea mammal dethroned Ian Thrope, the Australian with the camel face and the body of an extraordinary sea animal, by breaking world records and splashing the waters in the Beijing Olympic pool to such tsunami heights the world has not seen. Phelp's Sunday Gold also marks the end of a world record - that of Mark Spitz's seven gold medals won 36 years ago at the1972 Munich Olympic Games.
Many Americans celebrated jubilantly with Phelps on that fine Sunday morning. Many Americans (and many foreign supporters world-wide) have been following Phelp's quest closely since the beginning. Eager and loyal "Phelps Phans" worldwide gleefully celebrated every stroke, every qualifier, every gold medal and every world record. Indeed there has been many - Phelps has set a world record in every finals event he participated in save one. Even in that singular 100-meter Butterfly final that Phelps did not set a world record in, Phelps gave a nothing-less-than-spectacular performance. Phelps trailed behind then-leader, Milorad Cavic from Serbia during both laps of the race and only caught Cavic at the end of the wall by a mere 1/100th of a second for a hair-splitting photo finish.How does Michael Phelps do it? How does a man beat 7 world records in one week and literally washes away (pun intended) the competition? Rivals and Olympic ethics personnel have cried foul play.
However, considering the scrutiny of the 2008 Beijing Games' atmosphere of fair play and the extensive Anti-Doping Committee, medical doping and use of anabolic steroids are most likely out of the question. Journalists have tried to gain footing into the mystery. Some cite Phelp's impressive 6ft 4 inch frame, his large plate-like hands, and his gigantic size 14 feet. Even Phelps himself has admitted that he eats over 12,000 calories each day, six times the 2,000 calorie intake needed by the average man.
Well, as the world remain stupor to Phelp's victory at the Olympics pool and go about speculating about his sea animal abilities, all I care about is that I love Michael and want to have his illegitimate gay-sea-animal baby. Let's call our baby Sunday Lavender Nemo Phelps, shall we?
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Starbucks sweetness...
Four weeks ago on the night before I went to Mull, I had a dream about him. It was a recurring dream that I had been having for about three months. It was not a pleasant dream in any regard and it always left me with a worthless feeling. The dream was that he worked at Starbucks and it went like this: I’m sitting at a table when I hear his voice behind the counter. I turn around and see him although he doesn’t see me. Terrified, I get on my hands and knees and crawl out of the store, carefully making sure that he doesn’t see me. When I get outside, I cry uncontrollably until I wake up. The dream is vivid and frighteningly realistic. It takes place at the same Starbucks store that I go to almost every day. It’s the same Starbucks where I go to be a tool and order pretentious espresso drinks and “chai tea” lemonades. It’s the same Starbucks where I go to hang out with all the other jackholes with laptops and write, study, blog, look cool, listen to easy-listening adult contemporary music and partake in other forms of postmodern coffeehouse douchebaggery.
It’s the same Starbucks where I go to escape real life because Starbucks is the only place in the real world that does not remind me of him. So when I first had this dream three months ago I felt angry and upset that he had infiltrated my only haven. Furthermore, I felt defeated because the Universe wasn’t going to let me forget him in real life or in the dreamscape.
However, the dream I had before my trip to Mull was different. It began the same way with me sitting at a table and hearing his voice. But when I turned around I saw him and Andrew (a guy I see frequently at Starbucks) arguing over the tip jar. The only thing from their argument that I remember being said was Andrew retorting, “…because it’s a real five-pound note.” When I woke up I felt a mixture of emotions. I was frustrated for having dreamed about him again. I was confused for having dreamed about a guy who I had only a mild crush on (Andrew). I also felt a newfound respect for authentic five-pounds note. But most shockingly was that, for the first time, I woke up from a dream about him without feeling depressed.
I’m not a dream interpreter so I don’t know if dreams mean anything more than what they are. If they do, then what they mean is something that I’ll never understand, and I’m fine with not knowing what transcendent meaning lies underneath whatever I think about when I’m sleeping. But, this dream affected my life probably a lot more than it should have. It was an episode of transient happiness. As a despondent individual who struggles with finding real happiness, transient happiness, despite how inane or mundane it is, gets me through a day.
People around me seem genuinely concerned that I have dreams like this. I’m generally perceived as someone who cannot “get over” someone from the past and people would like to see me “move on” and find someone else to bother. I can certainly understand the spirit of their sentiment because I know that these people have nothing but my best interests in mind. I genuinely want real happiness, but I know that I don’t deserve it. Finding love is like playing the lottery. The lottery is designed to allow regular schmucks like me and you a chance to win a shitload of money. However, no one plays the lottery because they need the money, but people play because no one will deny that a little extra money will make them happy. Everyone would like to win a million dollars, but most people don’t go out of their daily routine to pursue a million dollars.
Some people play the lottery for the big jackpot, while some people play just to win whatever amount of money they can get. Furthermore, no one deserves to win the lottery. It’s fun to play, and if you win then that’s just an added bonus. If I play the lottery, I play for the jackpot. If I win a million dollars, I’ll take it but I know I don’t really deserve it. If I find love and if love finds me, I’ll take it but I know I didn’t do anything to deserve it. If you agree with me on this, you’ll probably say something supportive. If you disagree with me, then you’ll probably say something like, “That’s just YOUR opinion and you’re trying to pass YOUR opinion as fact!” I don’t care if you’re one or the other. A great man once said, “Don’t believe anyone who praises you, and don’t believe anyone who criticizes you. If you allow other people’s opinions to affect how you view yourself, you’ll never do anything.”
Since that dream I’ve hang out with Andrew more often than not and I’ve realized that he's the only guy I’ve ever met who has the potential to be better than him. For years I’ve been wishing on every star in the Southland sky for this moment to happen. Maybe dreams can come true?
I’m kind of bummed I've to go back soon though.
It’s the same Starbucks where I go to escape real life because Starbucks is the only place in the real world that does not remind me of him. So when I first had this dream three months ago I felt angry and upset that he had infiltrated my only haven. Furthermore, I felt defeated because the Universe wasn’t going to let me forget him in real life or in the dreamscape.
However, the dream I had before my trip to Mull was different. It began the same way with me sitting at a table and hearing his voice. But when I turned around I saw him and Andrew (a guy I see frequently at Starbucks) arguing over the tip jar. The only thing from their argument that I remember being said was Andrew retorting, “…because it’s a real five-pound note.” When I woke up I felt a mixture of emotions. I was frustrated for having dreamed about him again. I was confused for having dreamed about a guy who I had only a mild crush on (Andrew). I also felt a newfound respect for authentic five-pounds note. But most shockingly was that, for the first time, I woke up from a dream about him without feeling depressed.
I’m not a dream interpreter so I don’t know if dreams mean anything more than what they are. If they do, then what they mean is something that I’ll never understand, and I’m fine with not knowing what transcendent meaning lies underneath whatever I think about when I’m sleeping. But, this dream affected my life probably a lot more than it should have. It was an episode of transient happiness. As a despondent individual who struggles with finding real happiness, transient happiness, despite how inane or mundane it is, gets me through a day.
People around me seem genuinely concerned that I have dreams like this. I’m generally perceived as someone who cannot “get over” someone from the past and people would like to see me “move on” and find someone else to bother. I can certainly understand the spirit of their sentiment because I know that these people have nothing but my best interests in mind. I genuinely want real happiness, but I know that I don’t deserve it. Finding love is like playing the lottery. The lottery is designed to allow regular schmucks like me and you a chance to win a shitload of money. However, no one plays the lottery because they need the money, but people play because no one will deny that a little extra money will make them happy. Everyone would like to win a million dollars, but most people don’t go out of their daily routine to pursue a million dollars.
Some people play the lottery for the big jackpot, while some people play just to win whatever amount of money they can get. Furthermore, no one deserves to win the lottery. It’s fun to play, and if you win then that’s just an added bonus. If I play the lottery, I play for the jackpot. If I win a million dollars, I’ll take it but I know I don’t really deserve it. If I find love and if love finds me, I’ll take it but I know I didn’t do anything to deserve it. If you agree with me on this, you’ll probably say something supportive. If you disagree with me, then you’ll probably say something like, “That’s just YOUR opinion and you’re trying to pass YOUR opinion as fact!” I don’t care if you’re one or the other. A great man once said, “Don’t believe anyone who praises you, and don’t believe anyone who criticizes you. If you allow other people’s opinions to affect how you view yourself, you’ll never do anything.”
Since that dream I’ve hang out with Andrew more often than not and I’ve realized that he's the only guy I’ve ever met who has the potential to be better than him. For years I’ve been wishing on every star in the Southland sky for this moment to happen. Maybe dreams can come true?
I’m kind of bummed I've to go back soon though.
The bittersweet pill of Grace
I have a friend whom deep down "I wish was dead!". This has been going on for well over 5 months now. you maybe somewhat baffled as to why I hate him so much or that I could hold onto so much resentment for so long. we are both church-goers and were congenial to one another before. But then something happened. Something just snapped. In the eyes of one, a crime was committed that was so heinous that the other, seemingly, can never be forgiven.
I know I'm not perfect, but I never thought that I could be so bad that I would hate someone so much. I have nothing but wished I could have more love for this guy and would like nothing better than for me to let go of this rage toward him and live in peace.
See, I don't claim to have a perfect understanding of God's grace, but it is something that He reveals to me more and more as I live. At the same time He is (quite painfully) showing me just how imperfect I am and how my friend may be perfectly justified in calling me out on my character flaws - which makes His grace all the more awesome in my eyes. And I'm also learning that in response, I can do nothing that allows me to boast, "Hey, look at all this grace I have! I must be really special to God - unlike YOU!" In fact, it should be more the opposite response of "hey, this grace stuff is enormous! And it's all for... me?"
I think that one of the greatest demonstrations that you have an understanding about God's forgiveness of you is to forgive others as well. This is contrasted in the parable of the unforgiving servant where a wealthy man's servant was forgiven of a debt he could never realistically repay, but then the servant turned around and would not forgive another who owed him a relatively paltry sum.
Colossians 3:12-15 says:
Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.
I am convinced that if you find yourself saying that you can "never forgive" someone for something they did, you truly don't have any idea of how much you were forgiven... from what you were forgiven... how pointless and empty this life would be without His grace. Are you sure you knew what you were getting into when you signed up for this "Christian life" stuff?
Colossians 3:3 says: For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.
It doesn't say... "For you just needed a little help..." or "For you had a personality makeover..." or "For you took a break..." It says that you DIED. So why are you trying to resuscitate the anger and bitterness that you were a puppet to before you met Christ?
And the thing about bitterness is that it doesn't hurt anyone but the one who is bitter. Let it go. You have been saved by a tidal wave of grace - how can you withhold your teaspoonful? Whatever crime someone has committed, is it so bad that it was not covered by the cross? Does the sinner need all of God's grace plus a little of yours in order to be redeemed?
I will close with a quote. It's about how, for Christians, there is never an occasion that prohits one from showing another grace. I agree completely. I know it's hard to put into practice, as I am very petty sometimes as well. But I have to believe that this is one way we Christians must live differently than the world. Or else, what's the point?
You will never be called upon to give anyone more grace than God has already given you. - Max Lucado
Do you struggle with bitterness? Are there any people in your life that you have yet to "make things right" with?
I know I'm not perfect, but I never thought that I could be so bad that I would hate someone so much. I have nothing but wished I could have more love for this guy and would like nothing better than for me to let go of this rage toward him and live in peace.
See, I don't claim to have a perfect understanding of God's grace, but it is something that He reveals to me more and more as I live. At the same time He is (quite painfully) showing me just how imperfect I am and how my friend may be perfectly justified in calling me out on my character flaws - which makes His grace all the more awesome in my eyes. And I'm also learning that in response, I can do nothing that allows me to boast, "Hey, look at all this grace I have! I must be really special to God - unlike YOU!" In fact, it should be more the opposite response of "hey, this grace stuff is enormous! And it's all for... me?"
I think that one of the greatest demonstrations that you have an understanding about God's forgiveness of you is to forgive others as well. This is contrasted in the parable of the unforgiving servant where a wealthy man's servant was forgiven of a debt he could never realistically repay, but then the servant turned around and would not forgive another who owed him a relatively paltry sum.
Colossians 3:12-15 says:
Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.
I am convinced that if you find yourself saying that you can "never forgive" someone for something they did, you truly don't have any idea of how much you were forgiven... from what you were forgiven... how pointless and empty this life would be without His grace. Are you sure you knew what you were getting into when you signed up for this "Christian life" stuff?
Colossians 3:3 says: For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.
It doesn't say... "For you just needed a little help..." or "For you had a personality makeover..." or "For you took a break..." It says that you DIED. So why are you trying to resuscitate the anger and bitterness that you were a puppet to before you met Christ?
And the thing about bitterness is that it doesn't hurt anyone but the one who is bitter. Let it go. You have been saved by a tidal wave of grace - how can you withhold your teaspoonful? Whatever crime someone has committed, is it so bad that it was not covered by the cross? Does the sinner need all of God's grace plus a little of yours in order to be redeemed?
I will close with a quote. It's about how, for Christians, there is never an occasion that prohits one from showing another grace. I agree completely. I know it's hard to put into practice, as I am very petty sometimes as well. But I have to believe that this is one way we Christians must live differently than the world. Or else, what's the point?
You will never be called upon to give anyone more grace than God has already given you. - Max Lucado
Do you struggle with bitterness? Are there any people in your life that you have yet to "make things right" with?
Friday, August 15, 2008
Why - is it so hard to recover?
My sister reminded me of how difficult it really is to "recover." My sister often called me an "impatient patient", and she was always right. It is hard to be patient with recovery because - quite frankly - you have to put up with a lot of crap.
You're stuck with people shooting off polished Christian platitudes, telling you to "Cheer up!" when they have no idea how much you're hurting. You have people who are angry with you for being unable to help them in their times of desperate need, even though both they and you realize that this is a completely unreasonable sentiment. You begin to suspect well-wishers of ulterior motives... that perhaps their encouragements are merely ways for them to feel better about themselves, as if they had done you a great favor by lavishing pity upon your poor and pity state.
You use your pain as a crutch and excuse to avoid your responsibilities and you hate those who call you out on it. You are frustrated with people because they just don't understand what you're going through... even though deep down inside, you are really just frustrated with the fact that you are weak weak weak weak weak.
While recovering from my own emotional pain, I wrote this e-mail to a friend who was also in the process of recuperating:
Recovering is tough. I know it was for me, and mine wasn't even that serious of a surgery or condition. My mind often flips back and forth between the present and the future: the present condition of being helpless and weak (which goes against with every feminine instinct in my body), and the anxiety over an uncertain future.
Since high school, I aspired to do medical missions somewhere in the boonie-lands of Africa or China or Oklahoma or similarly backwards country (i was in high school! young, naive and carried lotsa wild dreams)... and all of a sudden, I found myself unable to even help myself. All those dreams and visions and hopes put into doubt are still cast in doubt. It's been tough sometimes; realizing that you're weak is always tough. But looking back over the past five months, I don't think anything else could have been better for me. This "sickness" was the first step in breaking my addiction with myself, my own achievements and my belief in an infallible self. It forced me to face many sins in my own life.
It made me realize that the flurry of seemingly productive activity I engaged in was really just a smoke screen to distract me from a lot of problems and fundamental dissatisfactions with myself.I can't say that I've "fixed" all, or really any, of these things... but I'm learning to struggle with them once again.
If nothing else, I have learned that God is far wiser and stronger and kinder than we give Him credit for. Tragedy is never tragedy if Christ dwells within us, for our suffering only serves to make us more like Him. It has been one of the most painful, but beautiful, lessons that I've learned so far.So! Sage advice? Don't rush to get back into "the thick of things" so quickly. Listen, and listen carefully for the whispers of the divine.
You may never get the chance to listen like this ever again. One tune that was stuck in my head during my stay in a limbo state was a little chorus to a song. It goes, "I am alive in this moment; in this moment I am found. I am alive in this moment; in this moment I belong." The essence of patience is, as Henri Nouwen once put it, having "hope for the moment". Grasp that, and the moment is yours forever.
As the other "patients" I see who get sicker and sicker, I've developed more profound respect for those who persevere in recovery with joy and endurance. I've found that the people who complain the most are usually the ones with the most superficial problems. The most admirable people I know are those that maintain hope for the moment despite overwhelmingly grim circumstances.
Hope for the moment comes at the cost of the pleasure of indulgence in self-pity and self-loathing. Hope for the moment comes from humility and the recognition that this injury, this sickness, this handicap is merely an accurate reflection of the truly broken state of my heart... and that in Christ there is the indefatigable power to heal. It is a frightening and fearsome recognition because it demands that I lay aside the crutch of my pain and fall into the arms of something intangible and uncertain and something wholly other than myself.
Perhaps you are in a situation of transitions, of tortured waiting, of changes and healings or hurtings that take place "in-between". How are you coping, and how can we transform these moments of frustration, anxiety, and waiting into moments of hope? What does that hope look like?
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Midsummer night's dream
Summer 2008, will remain embalm in my heart as the summer I will always recall. where two lonely people in the world, finally found one another to fill the emptiness with laughters and intriguing memories. where the world of munckin and cupcake converge into a shakesperian play.
we took flight on our virgin communication in an arabic airport where people scavage around the floors like refugees in a fully air conditioned camp. it was the least romantic place i would admit, but hey, i was in a foreign land filled with bearded men who looked like they were all ready to take me as their bride. so i had to indulge in a conversation with a safe, decent looking man to make myself seem 'taken' and 'protected'. and that was him. the man. the munchkin. the yellow stranger. the stranger whose face i've seen splash all over some websites but whom i've never met. the stranger whom i've heard of but never knew. a stranger my heart grew to attached itself to.
he was sweet - all too good to talk to, all too kind to be true, with a mind blowing charisma. the world stood still as we get to know each other and said our first hello(s). little did we know, someone up there is watching and making the world less of two lonely people.
the next few months whirled by with simplicity. polite conversations tainted with chauryness and coyness. in all grand scheme of things, you do not bumped into a person twice in a year on two remotely places on Earth. by fate or by chance, we did crashed into each other on aussie soil in Christmas 2007, laughing at how small our world has become. no matter how ultramontane we travel, something or someone up there has brought us together just to say hello again. a spark that was dancing around us.
summer arrived. where the air was soft and warm and the night was just right. add in a sprinkle of makebelieve, and a dust of thaumaturgic, it was when the curtains pulled up and the midsummer night's dream began. we shared our first nostalgic moment. our first waltz. our first date. our first strawberry kisses. our first walk under the stars. our first gaze into each other's eyes. our first shakespearian affair.
somethings are better left unspoken. underneath our 200000 words exchange each day, was a silence of unknown territary. a space we dare not traverse. a dream we rather lived in. we chattered, we giggled, we went all out to crave a niche into each other's dreams. as we walked under the pale summer sky, accompanied by the pitter patters of our feets and the echo of ringing laughters, i shudder at how i've allowed this yellow stranger entry into my heart in just a summer. a summer that came unexpectedly and whisk by just too soon.
as much as i want to hold on to you and hug you tight, snuggle in your arms, i have to let you go. to board your flight at the terminal. its the hardest thing that ever i do, to turn around and walk away pretending to be strong. as i walk away, you will never see me wipe away the tears, trying to hold back, silently pleading inside for you to stay.
thank you for taking me to Alton for my birthday. thank you for just being that ear and that shoulder. thank you for the little things you've taught me. thank you for everything that you've place in my life. thank you for taking me on a magical carpet ride and for holding my hands in the dark. thank you for putting up with me even when it was almost impossible. most of all, thank you for being you and so real in my life. you have left such an identation in my heart that now, it will be hard to forget you.
now that it has all become a past, i cannot help but reenact our midsummer nights in my thoughts every night. i bid farewell to this yellow stranger who has now become a resident in my heart. till the stars realigned and a rose shows up as a sign, we'll meet again. our crazy summer is the only thing we both share and it will be forever mine, forever thine, forever ours. can you hear me whispers these words in your ear? will the wind carry these words to you?
When you're gone, the pieces of my heart are missing you,
when you're gone, the face I have came to know is missing too,
When you're gone, the words i need to hear to always get me through,
the day and make it okie
I miss you
more than words could say!
Saturday, August 9, 2008
The terminal
I've always loved Airports. If ever you forget what life is about, spend an hour watching the people there. Everyone is either saying hello or goodbye to someone, something, some place, or some part of their life. The full range of human emotion can be experienced just sitting in a terminal, watching as people shuffle by: checking in, disembarking, loading, unloading, or running to make a connection at the last second. It's a place of missed opportunities, and second chances. Tears off all kinds are shed-- joy, sadness, laughter, frustration, loneliness, and love. Given the romance of it all, I have no idea why airport employees seem so jaded and pissed off. Maybe they block it out because the sheer amount of life happening around them is too overwhelming.
I once saw a man get off the plane and arrive at the baggage claim. He was in his mid 30's, Chinese, and looked to have just returned from a business trip. His hair was matted and unkempt, his appearance disheveled, and his clothing mismatched in a cacophony of color as if he had been traveling for some time-- away from the consistent attention of a female in his life. As he descended from the escalator, his weary gaze caught the eyes of his wife and child. The woman clutched her breast with one hand and her son in the other. The man broke into a grin and dropped his bags, as the boy dashed from his mother's grasp and leapt into his father's arms. The man kissed his son and lifted him into the air and beaming with pure adoration. He put the boy down, and father and son hopped up and down excitedly all the while clapping their hands and laughing.
From my vantage point, I couldn't discern what words were exchanged, but it hardly mattered. The man pulled his son against his chest and placed his hand on top of the boy's head as a way of measuring how much he had grown while he had been gone. He then shifted his attention to his wife, and both laughed as the boy ran circles around the couple making jet engine noises with his arms outstretched. My impression of Asian families, and Asian parents, being conservative and emotionally distant was cast aside in that moment.
In a place where everyone is coming or going, cultural differences are superseded by the better part of human nature. Everywhere you look in an airport there are kisses exchanged, hugs given and received, and raw humanity on display for all to see; no one seems to care that strangers are there to witness their intimate moment-- for they are but travelers whose paths will never cross with yours again. All that matters is where you're headed, and what you're leaving behind.
I will never forget the man in Tullamarine airport who has so kindly and literally emptied his pocket of australian coins just so i could make a phone call. i tried to offer him my pounds sterling in exchange but he simply gave me this huge warm smile and said, " go make your phone call". he must have took pity on my puffy eyes and tears striken face. that stranger who touched my heart by his simple gesture. it simply tells that there are people out there who knows what isit like to be at airports alone, afraid or totally shattered on the inside simply because of what you are leaving behind or where you are heading off to. it simply tells that there are people who understand how important it must be just to make that phone call, to hear that voice, or to say goodbye once again.
I have left behind alot in many airports. I left one litre of tears, the ones i love, the ones who love me and most of all, an entourage of bittersweet memories. I have also headed to many places from an airport. either to university, to see someone i love, so go back to someone i love, to a taxfree shopping haven, to see the world's most beautiful structure, scenery - i have almost done it all. most of all, this year alone, i left 3 different airports in 3 different countries with similar emotions - crying my heart out, carrying so much pain in my heart and reluctancy. If only i didn't have to leave on a jet plane...
I once saw a man get off the plane and arrive at the baggage claim. He was in his mid 30's, Chinese, and looked to have just returned from a business trip. His hair was matted and unkempt, his appearance disheveled, and his clothing mismatched in a cacophony of color as if he had been traveling for some time-- away from the consistent attention of a female in his life. As he descended from the escalator, his weary gaze caught the eyes of his wife and child. The woman clutched her breast with one hand and her son in the other. The man broke into a grin and dropped his bags, as the boy dashed from his mother's grasp and leapt into his father's arms. The man kissed his son and lifted him into the air and beaming with pure adoration. He put the boy down, and father and son hopped up and down excitedly all the while clapping their hands and laughing.
From my vantage point, I couldn't discern what words were exchanged, but it hardly mattered. The man pulled his son against his chest and placed his hand on top of the boy's head as a way of measuring how much he had grown while he had been gone. He then shifted his attention to his wife, and both laughed as the boy ran circles around the couple making jet engine noises with his arms outstretched. My impression of Asian families, and Asian parents, being conservative and emotionally distant was cast aside in that moment.
In a place where everyone is coming or going, cultural differences are superseded by the better part of human nature. Everywhere you look in an airport there are kisses exchanged, hugs given and received, and raw humanity on display for all to see; no one seems to care that strangers are there to witness their intimate moment-- for they are but travelers whose paths will never cross with yours again. All that matters is where you're headed, and what you're leaving behind.
I will never forget the man in Tullamarine airport who has so kindly and literally emptied his pocket of australian coins just so i could make a phone call. i tried to offer him my pounds sterling in exchange but he simply gave me this huge warm smile and said, " go make your phone call". he must have took pity on my puffy eyes and tears striken face. that stranger who touched my heart by his simple gesture. it simply tells that there are people out there who knows what isit like to be at airports alone, afraid or totally shattered on the inside simply because of what you are leaving behind or where you are heading off to. it simply tells that there are people who understand how important it must be just to make that phone call, to hear that voice, or to say goodbye once again.
I have left behind alot in many airports. I left one litre of tears, the ones i love, the ones who love me and most of all, an entourage of bittersweet memories. I have also headed to many places from an airport. either to university, to see someone i love, so go back to someone i love, to a taxfree shopping haven, to see the world's most beautiful structure, scenery - i have almost done it all. most of all, this year alone, i left 3 different airports in 3 different countries with similar emotions - crying my heart out, carrying so much pain in my heart and reluctancy. If only i didn't have to leave on a jet plane...
Thursday, August 7, 2008
It's Beijing, baby!
I love the Olympics. I LOOOVE the Olympics. I LOVE LOVE LURRRVVV THE OLYMPICS! Every four years around August my life comes to a screeching halt. My social life drowns, crickets chirp on my work desk, and my skin turns a pasty pale television tan color. And honestly, I'm not even much of a sports fan! The only sport I play regularly is ultimate frisbee (not considered a real sport by most Americans since there's no blood and no excuse to drink beer) and sometimes soccer. The only time I watch baseball and football is with friends as an excuse to scream unwarranted profanities at complete strangers.
So if not about the sport, then what? After all, the Olympics is an event about sports! In a word, for the humanity of it. The drama - the intimate human facet that gets unveiled at every single Olympic event is what I cherish.
For me, the Olympic games is not an event about sport, but rather about showcasing human excellence - a manifestation of what we can be, what we should be, and what we (hopefully) will become. The Olympics is all about overcoming limitations - physical and mental "cannots" that define the status quo and waving your gold emblem of defiance, telling the world that what was impossible only moments before is now a memory. Athletes pour their bodies and souls training for a fleeting opportunity to discover for themselves what the definition of "impossible" truly is. Essentially, the Olympics is about heroes, to let us know that we as a people can achieve better, do better, and that such a future is within our grasp if we want it enough.The Olympic Games speak volumes about humanity and hope. While people go to the Olympics in search of triumph and victory, they ultimately find self discovery and new friends. Despite language barriers, cultural differences, and the heat of competition, athletes recognize in their rivals the dedication and the countless hours of toil because they themselves have all endured the same undertaking. The Olympics is less about competing against rivals as it is about discovering what yourself is capable of. Victories are not so much personal achievements as they are achievements shared by a country, an ethnicity, a people, and a community. Achievements are statements about the frailty of limitations and the ambiguity of cannot.
True Olympic immortality transcends languages, political borders, cultural lines, faiths, and the negligible misunderstandings of history. This year, the 29th Olympiad will be hosted by the city of my birth. Many believed that Beijing was not wealthy enough, not organized enough, not politically open enough, and not clean enough to host the Olympics. But the Olympics are all about overcoming the impossible and granting a glimpse of hope where none resided before. This Olympiad is an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for my family and me. This Olympiad will be the first time that many denizens of the world will take their first steps into China and they will have the opportunity to understand for themselves that it is not the Communist prison that popular media have portrayed it to be. Furthermore, it is an opportunity for the Chinese to welcome the world into the heart of its culture and find out what they have been missing and that we are not all so different after all.
The Olympics is the ultimate cultural and ethnic intersection of the world. It is my personal hope that the Chinese will learn in these short weeks that having a diversity of ideology and thought are not as dangerous as they believed. The Olympics will propel tourists and western visitors into China for the next decade. Opportunities for ideological exchange can only increase from now on. The Olympics holds the potential for the greater liberalization and integration of China into the global identity.
After all, why not? If Olympic athletes can break world records and transcend the impossible, why can’t such a future be plausible?I love the Olympics. There is no greater celebration of transnational unity and peace. No medal or trophy any judge can give you can replace the respect and adoration you have earned from your peers. I promise you, when you cross that finish line, when you score that final goal, when you complete your flawless routine, when you pitch that perfect landing, and when you stand on top of that podium, regardless of your nationality or the flag flying above your head, I will be out of my seat and I will be cheering my ass off for you.
"Citius, Altius, Fortius"Faster, Higher, Stronger. GO WORLD!
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
on becoming another carla bruni
men generally seem to have strong reactions to women who are opinionated, smart women. they shy away from such venus like creatures and rather settle for the ones who suppose can stay at home and bak cookies. stay in the background and you are a bore; speak up, and you're a liability. Carla Bruni made an atonishing impact as first lady with new husband, French president, Nicolas Sarkozy. she enchanted everyone through her own demonstration of bravura brand and Je t'aime politics. watching carla twirl in the media spotlight, demure in Dior - i cannot help but wonder, what does it take to be the first lady?
on one hand, you're the wife of a prime minister or president on international stage, with all the eyes of the world wacthing you, you are living a life under a microscope. well, power and glamour follows your status. you only have to look at the world's first lady history to see what misery it can be to suddenly be rebranded as the arm candy of the world's most powerful men. from Imelda Marcos and her shoes, to Betty Ford and her alcoholism, through to Nancy Reagan and those oft-ridiculed 'adoring' gazes she used to bestow upon Ronnie, it appears that the first job of any First Lady is to divest oneself of any kind of human complexity and instead, become a cartoon for the public to love or loathe, as they see fit.
Sometimes, it only takes a couple of misquotes in the press and chummy fist-bump to be denounced as the horrible and bitter half. no amount of ivy leagues degress can help you. you have to be just right to the public taste. a clean slate of history, nothing and i mean, zilch nonsense from the past for them to pick up and throw at you. Carla Bruni nude photograph of her from her supermodel days were fantastic but they were printed in the press in an obvious attempt to belittle her, to put la jolie femme in her place. the public is interested in first ladies who smiles, pose by her husband like a chic little doll.
when interviewed about something your husband is doing, say, "it's his job, not mine". when your husband starts an affair and it goes public, never never say, "in the Bible, it says they asked Jesus how many times you should forgive, and he said 70 times seven. Well, i want youa ll to know that i'm keeping a chart'. and if you, unfortunately marry a president that nobody likes, say, "of course i'm passionate about my husband. I mean, that's why I'm here - because i married him", so just to prove that at least someone loves him.
proving yourself that you are not just another pretty face, you do need a balanced of brains and stepford wife points. you will be force to perform well in the whopping, jeering crowd. coping with criticism is another issue altogether. you just got to learn to shrug elegantly with the odd jug or two of Martini. I do not know yet what I can do as First lady, but I do know how i want to do it - seriously. always be my husband's number one fan will and might probably win me favour with the public. well..save the embarassing moments the press might dig out from my years and time in university that will most likely then propel me to become the public's premier whipping girl. till then, i am going to say it will style - i want a man with nuclear power.
on one hand, you're the wife of a prime minister or president on international stage, with all the eyes of the world wacthing you, you are living a life under a microscope. well, power and glamour follows your status. you only have to look at the world's first lady history to see what misery it can be to suddenly be rebranded as the arm candy of the world's most powerful men. from Imelda Marcos and her shoes, to Betty Ford and her alcoholism, through to Nancy Reagan and those oft-ridiculed 'adoring' gazes she used to bestow upon Ronnie, it appears that the first job of any First Lady is to divest oneself of any kind of human complexity and instead, become a cartoon for the public to love or loathe, as they see fit.
Sometimes, it only takes a couple of misquotes in the press and chummy fist-bump to be denounced as the horrible and bitter half. no amount of ivy leagues degress can help you. you have to be just right to the public taste. a clean slate of history, nothing and i mean, zilch nonsense from the past for them to pick up and throw at you. Carla Bruni nude photograph of her from her supermodel days were fantastic but they were printed in the press in an obvious attempt to belittle her, to put la jolie femme in her place. the public is interested in first ladies who smiles, pose by her husband like a chic little doll.
when interviewed about something your husband is doing, say, "it's his job, not mine". when your husband starts an affair and it goes public, never never say, "in the Bible, it says they asked Jesus how many times you should forgive, and he said 70 times seven. Well, i want youa ll to know that i'm keeping a chart'. and if you, unfortunately marry a president that nobody likes, say, "of course i'm passionate about my husband. I mean, that's why I'm here - because i married him", so just to prove that at least someone loves him.
proving yourself that you are not just another pretty face, you do need a balanced of brains and stepford wife points. you will be force to perform well in the whopping, jeering crowd. coping with criticism is another issue altogether. you just got to learn to shrug elegantly with the odd jug or two of Martini. I do not know yet what I can do as First lady, but I do know how i want to do it - seriously. always be my husband's number one fan will and might probably win me favour with the public. well..save the embarassing moments the press might dig out from my years and time in university that will most likely then propel me to become the public's premier whipping girl. till then, i am going to say it will style - i want a man with nuclear power.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Supassing the pain
People can exhaust you. And there are times when all we can do is not enough. When a spouse chooses to leave, we cannot force him or her to stay. When a spouse abuses, we shouldn’t stay. The best of love can go unrequited. I don’t’ for a moment intend to minimize the challenges some of you face. You’re tired. You’re angry. You’re disappointed. This isn’t the marriage you expected or the life you wanted. But looming in your past is a promise you made. May I urge you to do all you can to keep it? To give it one more try?
Why should you? So you can understand the depth of God’s love.
When you love the unloving, you get a glimpse of what God does for you. When you keep the porch light on for the prodigal child, when you do what is right even though you have been done wrong, when you love the weak and the sick, you do what God does every single moment. Covenant-keeping enrolls you in the post-graduate school of God’s love.
Is this why God has given you this challenge? When you love lairs, cheaters, and heartbreakers, are you not doing what God has done for us? Pay attention to and take notes on your struggles. God invites you to understand His love.
Prayer:
Father, You have offered us forgiveness and in Your forgiveness we find repentance. Help us to forgive and reconcile with our brothers and sisters. Remind us throughout our lives that You have given us Your Son to forgive us and that we ought to forgive one another. In Your Son’s name we pray. Amen.
Quote of the day:
“Forgive, and you will be forgiven”
~ Luke 6: 37
Why should you? So you can understand the depth of God’s love.
When you love the unloving, you get a glimpse of what God does for you. When you keep the porch light on for the prodigal child, when you do what is right even though you have been done wrong, when you love the weak and the sick, you do what God does every single moment. Covenant-keeping enrolls you in the post-graduate school of God’s love.
Is this why God has given you this challenge? When you love lairs, cheaters, and heartbreakers, are you not doing what God has done for us? Pay attention to and take notes on your struggles. God invites you to understand His love.
Prayer:
Father, You have offered us forgiveness and in Your forgiveness we find repentance. Help us to forgive and reconcile with our brothers and sisters. Remind us throughout our lives that You have given us Your Son to forgive us and that we ought to forgive one another. In Your Son’s name we pray. Amen.
Quote of the day:
“Forgive, and you will be forgiven”
~ Luke 6: 37
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Together as one
In a healthy relationship, there is a delicate balance that needs to be respected. Knowing that someone is your equal helps keep people from overstepping their bounds. No matter how good of a person you may be, it will not end good when the other person roots their identity in what makes you happy. Liberties can and probably will be taken, resentment builds up, frustration surmounts communication. I never really consciously acknowledged some of the ways I screen people when I meet them as potential for dating.
I know what catches my attention (looks, personality, humor, etc.), and I know what keeps it (chemistry, stolen glances, lingering smiles), but I never took full note of my methods. I know I can tend to come across as a bitch, and I don't necessarily mind that. I'm not the vicious sort, more just sarcastic. I think it is partially a defense mechanism to filter out the losers from the ones who can keep up, and also to keep people somewhat at a distance until I am more sure of who they are.
Its not that I put on airs of being something that I am not, its just my way of magnifying parts of my personality that can make or break someone's interest. We all have our own personal dating idiosyncrasies, that I suppose, just happens to be one of mine. I am overall a pretty nice person to be honest, and I am sensitive to other peoples threshholds and boundaries. I won't go out of my way to step on anyones toes, I don't boss people around, I will never belittle someone on a personal matter. Jokes are jokes, and to be honest, if I thought that low of someone, I would have zero interest in even saying more than a quick hello, if that.Compatibility is definately a huge ingredient in the recipe for success. Meeting someone who is compatible, but also your match is something that is a little more rare. Sure people complement each others personalities, others will stroke your ego, others can make you laugh.
Finding someone who can do all these things, while still driving you to be at your best is like divine inspiration. No one is perfect and thank god for that. Peoples imperfections are what make them unique, and I find that twisted to a positive light, a source of inner strength that you can only find through embracing and owning those character traits. That said though, how you interact with someone can be quite close to perfection.
There are alot of factors that you can weigh. You can divide and analyze the who, what, when, where, why, and hows to it all. In the end though, there is no need for any of that emotional dissection. There is simply appreciation, and value, and trust. I know that honesty is always one of the major hitters on the checklist, but true, sincere honesty that is inextricably centered in someones persona is something that I value whole heartedly. It is rare to come across, and most people don't like to be on the receiving end of blatant or blunt statements.
In my opinion, I would rather have that in my life than to hold doubt that there is anything being held back. I don't want a watered down version of who someone really is. It drives me crazy when I talk to passive aggressive people who can't speak up. I am not a mind reader, so if something is bothering you, don't assume that I should just automatically know what it is. I am all for tact and grace in handling situations, but if I had to choose, I choose a straight dose of truth. It saves alot of time and pain, and guessing games are for children. In an adult relationship, they are just hurdles that hold you back from any real progress and growth.We are all human, we all make mistakes. If we choose the people around us wisely, we are given golden opportunities to learn from those mistakes.
Just as part of human nature, we are all prone to reverting to old habits, or irrational reactions, such as jealousy, fear, anxiety, insecurities. Being able to recognize these triggers, and realizing that you are with someone who is not that same person from the past who did you wrong, are essential keys to curbing those reactions. That is a direct path to really healing old wounds. No one can change you, nor should they want or feel they need to. It is true only you can change yourself, and it has to be for yourself and your own reasons. Change should never be forced just to make someone else happy. However, you can find new, and beautiful aspects to yourself that you've never given light to through the company of someone who can ignite you from within. People affect us more than we may give them credit for. Don't just settle for someone who chooses not accept you for who you are.
I know what catches my attention (looks, personality, humor, etc.), and I know what keeps it (chemistry, stolen glances, lingering smiles), but I never took full note of my methods. I know I can tend to come across as a bitch, and I don't necessarily mind that. I'm not the vicious sort, more just sarcastic. I think it is partially a defense mechanism to filter out the losers from the ones who can keep up, and also to keep people somewhat at a distance until I am more sure of who they are.
Its not that I put on airs of being something that I am not, its just my way of magnifying parts of my personality that can make or break someone's interest. We all have our own personal dating idiosyncrasies, that I suppose, just happens to be one of mine. I am overall a pretty nice person to be honest, and I am sensitive to other peoples threshholds and boundaries. I won't go out of my way to step on anyones toes, I don't boss people around, I will never belittle someone on a personal matter. Jokes are jokes, and to be honest, if I thought that low of someone, I would have zero interest in even saying more than a quick hello, if that.Compatibility is definately a huge ingredient in the recipe for success. Meeting someone who is compatible, but also your match is something that is a little more rare. Sure people complement each others personalities, others will stroke your ego, others can make you laugh.
Finding someone who can do all these things, while still driving you to be at your best is like divine inspiration. No one is perfect and thank god for that. Peoples imperfections are what make them unique, and I find that twisted to a positive light, a source of inner strength that you can only find through embracing and owning those character traits. That said though, how you interact with someone can be quite close to perfection.
There are alot of factors that you can weigh. You can divide and analyze the who, what, when, where, why, and hows to it all. In the end though, there is no need for any of that emotional dissection. There is simply appreciation, and value, and trust. I know that honesty is always one of the major hitters on the checklist, but true, sincere honesty that is inextricably centered in someones persona is something that I value whole heartedly. It is rare to come across, and most people don't like to be on the receiving end of blatant or blunt statements.
In my opinion, I would rather have that in my life than to hold doubt that there is anything being held back. I don't want a watered down version of who someone really is. It drives me crazy when I talk to passive aggressive people who can't speak up. I am not a mind reader, so if something is bothering you, don't assume that I should just automatically know what it is. I am all for tact and grace in handling situations, but if I had to choose, I choose a straight dose of truth. It saves alot of time and pain, and guessing games are for children. In an adult relationship, they are just hurdles that hold you back from any real progress and growth.We are all human, we all make mistakes. If we choose the people around us wisely, we are given golden opportunities to learn from those mistakes.
Just as part of human nature, we are all prone to reverting to old habits, or irrational reactions, such as jealousy, fear, anxiety, insecurities. Being able to recognize these triggers, and realizing that you are with someone who is not that same person from the past who did you wrong, are essential keys to curbing those reactions. That is a direct path to really healing old wounds. No one can change you, nor should they want or feel they need to. It is true only you can change yourself, and it has to be for yourself and your own reasons. Change should never be forced just to make someone else happy. However, you can find new, and beautiful aspects to yourself that you've never given light to through the company of someone who can ignite you from within. People affect us more than we may give them credit for. Don't just settle for someone who chooses not accept you for who you are.
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