windows

The two former Marines that I sat across didn't know each other until moments ago. One had finished his service 3 years ago, the other just 3 days ago. I observed them talking about where they were based and what places they traveled, but there was not one word between them about what they did or what they saw. Instead, they exchanged annoyances about administrative duties, and eventually began talking in acronyms and numbers until I was lost and sat there blankly. 

Suddenly, I snapped out of my trance because I noticed the silence between the two young men. Each of them were facing forward with their eyes cast slightly downward towards their thoughts. Each man had the look of a person reliving a memory; the eyes empty and devoid of sight, while the mind takes over and plays the recording of what the eyes had once witnessed. After a few moments, the older Marine, still not looking at anything in particular, said, "I'd never do it again." The younger Marine without pause replied, "Yeah no way. I'd never go back. I'm done." The two didn't talk a word more about their service, and carried on about their families and homes.

Bless those that have seen war. I'd want to leave it behind too.

if i do this, then this happens

I'm fascinated with cause and effect. So much that sometimes I don't even need to physically carry out the action because I can find satisfaction in living the action and result in my head. 

Why not take something dark for example? Yeah. Why not.

I can hold a knife, and envision tearing deep lines in my wrists. I don't think of this dark event because I want to die, but because I want to toy with the reaction. In my head I believe it would hurt, but it's not a normal kind of pain. It's a deep, warm, almost dull pain. The dark red heating my skin and filling my vision. My body, being the conscious machine that it is reacts wildly to defend and preserve itself. My heart racing, only speeding the streams. Meanwhile my mind stays calm as the decision-maker...but like on the edge of a cliff...in awe and wonder that the body is on the verge of destruction. The body scrambles and fights in vain to live, making me feel warmer and warmer until I sweat. It becomes like there are truly two of me, one letting go and the other desperately pleading for life. 

When I have imagined this, I sometimes feel like I can get the high, or the rush of the reality. I don't know why my mind goes there...but it has liked to for many years now. I'd never actually do it. You see, I don't actually want the ultimate effect!

My addiction isn't always sadistic; I told a story not long ago about me wanting to run out onto the Texas Rangers Ballpark.  

Sometimes I'll even play out little reactions, like if I am exchanging something between a person, I'll try to keep my grasp lazy or aggressive to ensure that I touch their hand...simply to get that feeling of closeness to another individual. Other times I'll give a person a compliment that, although is genuine, is unnecessary--not because I want to express my feelings, but just so I can watch how that person reacts to my words. It reminds me of being a kid and making faces at a dog or cat, just to find out their response to a particular image of me. 

Maybe it's an infatuation with power; the ability to move an object or create an event with my will. Perhaps it's no different than a child pushing a button to hear a sound; satisfied with the result because "I did it". 

high brain occupancy

Females. Is it such a focus of the 20-something male? Has it always been? Is it just me? I'd like to know, then I can work on figuring out why they are something I think about nearly every sleeping and waking hour of my life.

When I am with someone, that girl is nearly all that I see. I'm a loyal guy by nature. But the fact still remains in that I think about that girl throughout my day. I'll end up thinking things like: how great they are to me, something they did that confused me, how I couldn't wait for the next time we would have sex, a new idea I could do for them to impress them, a particular trait that I wish would change in them, or just an imaginary conversation in my head between the two of us. That girl is a relentless thought.

Yet even when I'm single, my focus is still women. I'm making plans, playing out conversations to make various girls laugh based off of their individual sense of humor, gauging things I like or don't like about them, texting and calling them, imagining the next level of a relationship with them, and wondering what exactly they think about me. Those girls are relentless thoughts.

All day long I'm checking my phone, playing the guy-likes gal game and cautiously calculating my moves in a way that helps me continue being myself without looking like a man-whore. What can I say, I feel more comfortable respecting a woman's boundaries.

Still, I didn't realize until recently that females occupy my thoughts all day. What gives? Isn't that kind of a big deal; that I spend so much of my time focusing on that? At least it hasn't become a distraction...or has it? 

Perhaps it is simply a need that I am trying to fill. Perhaps it is a temporary facet of my life until I get older. Perhaps it is society. And perhaps it will be something I will manage the rest of my life. Interestingly enough, I just want one. Just one. I want mine, damn it. Females.

a couple of things

I feel nearly the exact same dissatisfaction with my life that I did a year ago right now. Despite all the changes I've made: the different relationships, the different city, the different job, the different effing haircut...I'm still angry.

Hmm, it must be me. Well no shit. It just makes me wonder if it was even worth it to leave in the first place. Let me back up again, why have I always looked ahead? Why have I been so eager to move on and run away to the next place? Why can't I just sit still!?

I don't want to cry because it feels like admitting that I give up

I was always working so hard to make sure that you got enough

But these sleepless nights and heavy heart

Make me want to rip what we built apart

It's funny how feelings can be so fleeting and yet at other times so concrete

And with us it seems like those emotions were incomplete

I don't know what else to do to try and make myself happy

But numb that memory for now and pretend to be laughing

I'll be okay in my own time and in my own way

Because the sun will rise tomorrow again and bring another day

God I can't take this anymore...

What are you saying?

It can be a psychological trap. You get these feelings of being overwhelmed with caring for people and investing in their lives and well-being. I think it could be dangerous. I know that some of the refugees kill themselves because they can't bear the feeling of failure, and I'm not worried about "offing" myself, but I can't help but fear the idea of failing another person...especially people who have been through so much. 

There's got to be some sort of balance. It could be harmful to my personal and professional life, and I'm not sure I've figured out how to juggle it. Is it so easy to leave my personal life at home and yet go to work and try to help people in their own personal lives? My reference is my own life...and I can't help but see through my own eyes. Does it wear on my relationships? My personal health? My job? My psyche and way of thinking? Too much thinking.

The work is so high stress; it's rewarding, but the fact that you are so involved in the well-being and future of people's lives sometimes...cripes it's hard. It demands the best that one can give because some of these people have literally been through hell on earth, and now they look to you for not just help but HOPE. You aren't supposed to think of failing them, but it's there in your mind, and you realize that you are creating a feeling of self-worth in another human being. This is a beautiful thing.

Compartmentalize, Ryan. Smile. Leave as much in your personal life at home. I can do this sometimes, but like I wrote, it's difficult to do work compassionately when you are trying to "turn off" your emotions. It's a job. It's not just a job. The client-employee relationship is tricky. 

I feel like the people I try to help see me in too bright of a way...like some sort of beacon of hope and opportunity. I suppose I am supposed to be, but it creates pressure. I care a lot about those I try to help; it's hard not to when they look at me that way. I must find a way, but it's unfortunate that you have to segment someone's life for a spot of time. They need you, and you give them an hour of your time and move onto paperwork and dealing with other people. Did I do enough? Will things work out for them? What's a reasonable amount of help I can give?

Can I talk to my co-workers? I don't feel confident enough to. I'm new. They're seasoned. 90% of my co-workers are former refugees themselves. I'm the only white male in my office. How the hell did I get this job? The work is often sad. You're cleaning a mess, fixing a wrong, improving a bad condition...toiling to build something new. It's always uphill, but at least it's for a good. Then again, the world is often sad. That's not my worldview, but when you work all day and see that negativity, it's hard to stay optimistic about everything is going on. All of these people from around the world having gone through such trauma. God help them. God help me never look at the world in such a bleak way. I can see it in some of my older co-workers that have been doing this for years. Some can be so negative and pessimistic. Did the job make them that way? I'll never let it happen to me.

They had a workshop for us where they suggested we relieve stress among other employees by talking about our problems. They told us to rely on others that do similar work. They wanted us to stop and enjoy simple things like tasting our food when we eat, watching the sun rise and set, listening to music, and feel how soft a blanket is. Hmm. Practice being "aware". 

Will these things make my work easier? I doubt it. I have so many nightmares...when I can sleep. It's like I'm awake all night fighting to sleep or fighting a terror in my dreams. It's exhausting and I go to work feeling like I have a hangover. It creates frightening thoughts in my mind throughout the day. Is it work that is doing that or just myself? I believe strongly in Stoicism and finding a strong askesis in myself, but is that the right way to go? Being more emotionally numb? Developing an apatheia? Maybe...only if I can still do a great job with my work. Is that possible while being objective? I have to wrestle the bad down and rise above, but I can't figure out if that's through a reflective philosophy or finding/creating something positive to balance it out.

It's easy to say "don't think so much".

Bad Idea

"Ryan what the hell are you grinning at?" my sister said. My grin widened as I kept staring at the ball field, not giving an answer. "Ryan what is wrong with you?! You're so weird." she continued. "Ah, it's nothing..." I shook my head, making it clear I wasn't going to say anything further. I didn't want to explain to her that I was imaging myself running out onto the field, dodging security. 

Our seats were in the second row behind home plate, and I played the scenario so far in my head that I figured out the best place to hop onto the grass and start running. As fast as I am I knew the guards would have no way of catching me...though their tasers might. If I somehow eluded them, I believed that I could climb the fence in centerfield and pull myself up onto the lawn. Security wouldn't be able to get me up there, but I'd have to be quick with crawling over the railing and back into the crowds of people walking around the concessions. I figured I could always just keep running into the parking lots, getting lost in the thousands of vehicles. I'd be clear then. 

Yeah right, if I made it that far. I smiled to myself and gazed at the ball park. If I got caught, I'd probably never be allowed back into this stadium again. That would be a shame. Definitely not worth it, but who  knows what comes over people on the verge of something drastic? That's when my sister snapped me out of it.

It was a Saturday Night in Autumn...

It was a Saturday night in autumn. I almost always went out every non-school night back then, but this particular night I couldn't find anything to do. If I'm not mistaken my roommates and closest friends were too hungover from the night before, so I was on my own if I was going to do anything. Back then it used to eat at me when I didn't go out on the weekend because I always felt like I was missing out on something.

At times like that I would reach outward from my circle of good friends to lesser-friends and acquaintances, and this night it happened that one of those outer-circlings was having her birthday party at her house. I knew  her and her roommates for a few years by then, as far back as freshman year, and even one of them from college orientation. I knew that they partied hard, they were lustful, and fairly attractive and thus, would be able to pull a good party. Cute girls can always host and throw a good party. Guys flocked to that, not only for the hostesses, but because of their friends. Hell, I was one of them. And it's a simple fact that females feel more comfortable going to a party at a girl's house than a guys in the first place, but females tend to have more female friends, and are usually more generous with their booze. Needless to say, I didn't have to be begged to want to go as there were perks. 

However, a couple of things made me think of just staying in and watching a movie: one being that none of my close friends was going. To some people that doesn't matter but to a house party where you may know no one but the wasted hostesses this fact can be discouraging. The other thing was that one of the hostesses, Rachel, had always had a crush on me and was always relentless...no relentless is too subtle, ravenous maybe, to get me in bed. Now I have a strange conscience in comparison to some males, and I am turned off by a girl throwing herself at me and being strongly aggressive (unless she's my girl). Furthermore, I knew all too well that she slept around quite a bit, and we had this goofy relationship where she would tell me her "count" every so often through our college careers. It seemed in a way like a goal for her. I think that she was simply a nympho, she talked about sex openly quite a bit in a very confident way. But it wasn't just her, it was her roommate Noelle as well. They were both very notorious among people that knew them for being sexually strong personalities with bisexual undertones. Overtones? I don't know, I just remember that they talked of their exploits with both genders with bravado.

I think that it drove her crazy that I would never sleep with her, and would repeatedly turn her down time after time. It's not that she was ugly, but she wasn't gorgeous either, it was just that there was no sacredness to her with the act of sex, and there was for me. 

I thought about the prospect of going a little more, and the most obvious and legit reason for going dawned on me: It was my friend Noelle's birthday. A good friend, no matter where in the circle of friends, is still a friend and should make the effort when they can. It took me long enough to think of that, but at least the thought came. Lacing up my trusty addidas, I threw on my usual t-shirt and jeans and headed out the door solo, grabbing my you'll-never-see-Ryan-without-it red jacket. It was November and I remember that the Missouri air had a remarkable crisp feeling to it, the girls lived in a residential area south of campus, so it was about a half-mile walk for me from my apartment. The autumn air gave me a boost, and I suddenly felt excited during my trek that this could be a fun night. 

Everyone who has approached a party at night can imagine that sense of curiosity upon seeing the event: hearing the jolly hum of many voices talking over each other at once from one compact location, echoing off the street and nearby houses...the warm glow of the party, lit up to project the number of persons crowded into a house...the lines of cars framing the event by proximity, while a couple or two might be outside or on the phone having those unfortunately familiar arguments about their relationship.

I walked up the steps and squeezed my way through to the mass of people, all unfamiliar faces until recognizing the screech of Rachel as she bullied her way through her party to grab me and give me a hug. It was actually a relief to be embraced in that situation, so I gave her a grin and played a few flirtatious cards. 

I wanted a drink. Then again, she wanted to give me a drink. She always did. She had tried many times to do what guys usually do for girls: give them plenty of alcohol in hopes that there will be some less-than-conscious decisions. Honest mistakes if you will. Funny isn't it? One individual doesn't think the other person will like them enough to sleep with them sober with their own will, so they hope they will "earn" the other person under the influence. Yet it is a tried and true practice, and maybe people just ultimately want to have sex with each other, but getting rid of their inner inhibitions with alcohol is a precise ritual to make it happen. 

Anyways vodka and ice, I don't recall how many, mixed in with a beer here and there as the night went on. I met much of the unfamiliar crowd and made some one-night friends. I played Jenga, kissed a strange girl on a dare, made a temporary name for myself as an expert on screw-drivers after making one for the birthday girl, and found myself smiling and laughing. The time flies during that part of a party. 3 hours feels like 30 minutes. And thank God there was still a sense of self-awareness in me a few hours later as the party died down. 

The celebration had hit it's lull. The majority of the party had left, though there were still 15 people or so going strong, mostly guys still trying to impress and flirt with the last hand full of ladies after the dust had settled and the competition waned. My own flirtatious machinations had found me in the section of Noel and Rachel's rooms and their bathroom, which was sealed off by a single door that led to the rest of the house. At first it was me simply me using the bathroom and then playing with the music stereo in Rachel's room that projected to the rest of the house. Then Noelle came in closed the door, turned me around from the stereo and kissed me.

It was Noel's birthday's so I felt that this was proper. She was the prettiest of the roommates and had a great athletic body, she was a dancer and actress for the university theater I recall. So I was doing my due diligence. Indeed, I liked it and went with it, who wouldn't? Well I'll tell you who also wouldn't: Rachel. She followed into the room a couple minutes later, shutting the door behind her as well, grabbing Noelle, calling her a slut in a teasing fashion, and began kissing her. So there I was, exchanging kisses with both of them. I had tunnel vision, my sobriety was on the verge of blacking out and all I could see was the prospect in front of me that was going to unfold.

They began to take off a few articles of each other's clothes; me only relinquishing my jacket. The pressure was on, I turned to Rachel and said "Wait." when she started pulling at my belt buckle. I walked into their shared bathroom and closed the door to their giggling and heckling. I didn't have to pee. I had to find my soul. I put my hands on the sink and stared at myself in the mirror and asked myself "Can I do this?" I played out a few scenes of action that would come out of the next few minutes, then the next hour, and then...what! What would happen then? I somehow gained a bit of my senses back, likely because of the gravity of the situation. I thought about what the morning would be like after this. I thought about the boldness and lack of boundaries that these two girls had. I thought about the STD's that they likely had. In that moment, the thought of the pleasure, brag-rights, manliness, fantasy, and sexual tension were only whispers. 

I looked at the door with it's old-fashioned hook-lock and thought of the motion of me unfastening it and heading back out to meet them. I looked at myself in the mirror again and said to myself "Nope, this is not you Ryan. We can't do this." The only way out from here was the window, which I threw open to my disappointment to find a permanent screen. Noelle began knocking at the door and teasing me about coming out and being "ready for her" Whatever did that mean? I punched the screen and it broke perfectly at a right angle in the corner of the frame. I began to tear out an exact square that matched the window. No one would notice. Or at least that's how it looked in my drunken mind. I finally had the square out and moved to put myself through the window, to only realize that the door still locked, and with that latch it would be impossible for anyone to get into the bathroom after my escape. 

As silently as possible I unhooked the latch and put myself in the window, one leg over first to find something to hold my weight outside the sill. I found nothing, and realized that this old house's first floor window was a good 7 feet from the ground because of the basement. I began to shift my body out of the window to where I could dangle myself from the bottom of the frame, but before I could get my second leg out a brief two knocks came at the door and the knob began to turn. I threw myself out of the window and waited for the ground to meet me. I landed in the dark yard, made soft my grass, dead leaves, and adrenaline. I heard a questioning voice inside, and looked up at the window to find myself basically in the square of light reflecting from inside. I quickly rolled out of the way into the darkness and ran. 

After about 80 yards from the spot of my fall I began to laugh. I don't think I could have had a more stupid grin on my face as I walked the rest of the way home.

so great

She has the athleticism, body, and beauty that Jamie had. But it's still her own.

Like Jamie, she makes me confident and sure of myself...but in a way I never knew I had within me.

She has the intellectual capacity, challenging attitude, and constructive criticism-nature that Katie had, but it's better.

Like Katie, she makes me look critically at myself and my beliefs, and realize that people are so beautifully different...but this one can make me feel positive about everything.

She has the gentle and kind heart that Julie had, the sincerity of her actions and words are with a grace I have never seen, and yet she does it with this humility that expects no gratitude. 

Like Julie, she makes me a better person. She creates an example of a human being that I look up to and try to imitate every single day...but in her way I have already seen that even I can be an example to others.

par example

I am living very near where I grew up now, and with that experiencing things and being around people day-to-day for the first time in nearly a decade. 

It's odd how so many things about home have continued to stay the same; it's as if everything remains frozen or isolated in some habitat that keeps away change...take my dad for example.

I have always remembered him as a patient, wise, hard-working man who loved my siblings and I--and my mother even more. Nothing has changed. How is it that I feel I have changed enormously, several times throughout my years, yet my father seems to me to have had no transformation? Maybe it's because of age, our experiences, our personalities, or it even could be the fact that external perceptions are often misplaced.

And yet I write this because of my dad, who exists in my mind almost no differently than the way I remember him growing up except for one thing: his slowness to anger. Like any child growing up with a father, they can remember him cursing and yelling in frustration with something. It's usually a humbling experience because there is this figure who is always right while you are always wrong...an individual who is strong and unwavering...wise and deep in experience--who is suddenly subject to a fate that is beyond his control. 

Over the last few months, I have seen some unlucky things happen with my dad. And he simply deals with it now with a laugh; a joke at himself and a deflection to the fates that have continued to befuddle him while I was away. He doesn't yell and curse anymore, and somehow this reaction was always in him in other things he did. It's merely as if his sense of justice and equilibrium with the world has stayed the same, but now he has learned to accept it for himself.

I pray that I can inherit this wisdom!

and so it came to pass...

...that they were right. Things always do have a way of working out. Everything did come out okay. They kept telling me, and I listened but it seemed impossible for things to get on track. It's almost as if I didn't want things in my life to fall into place...as if I embraced the chaos and uncertainty. Maybe I did. Maybe it's because it was more familiar. 


Josh told me recently that I was the most optimistic person he knows. That no matter what I always seemed to stay positive and upbeat. It didn't feel like that, but his words made me happy with the fact that I would at least outwardly project that things are okay. I would hate to have my attitude bring those around me down. I'm trying to never do that again.

The Olympics are in London right now. Here is a picture I took in London of Westminster Abbey. Suck it.

Tú eres mi otro yo

“Tú eres mi otro yo” By Maria Brazil

Tú eres mi otro yo. Si te hago daño a ti, Me

hago daño a mí mismo. Sí te amo y respeto,

Me amo y respeto yo.

I feel like this should be a dynamic of the relationship I have with God. Maybe I do. I don't love her in the way that a male and female do, not yet anyway. But I feel this with her. But I'm afraid to tell her something like this, not yet anyway. She means a lot to me.

Punch! Punch!

I raised an eyebrow to find "I hit myself..." being finished by Google with "...when I'm angry". The reason beingggggggggggggggggg I do this. Probably since I was 8 or 9 I think I can remember starting to do this. I'd punch myself in the head, thighs, or abdomen at certain times when I became angry. I slammed a door into my head yesterday and realized..."wow I still do this?" 

When I hit myself I don't want to hurt myself or damage anything, which is why I do it out of sight and not with anything that would have brash results. I have come to the conclusion that it is a crude way of dealing with anger. I'm not sure if I want it to stop. It's not that I like hitting myself, it's just that I don't care. I like my other mediums of mitigating being upset by running, reading, blogging, or trying to be around friends or family, but those are not always available, nor do they always seem like appealing solutions. 

But I will say that when it happens it eases the stress slightly. I don't think anyone has ever seen me do this, and I have not ever had an awkward conversation about where a bruise came from. I never thought all of this time that it was harmful. I probably still won't. I guess what sucks is the fact that I still get so enraged at myself. Sometimes the cause is bad luck, but in the end I will find a way to blame myself for not being able to avoid something or make a better decision somewhere along the line. More often than not the reason I hit myself is because I can't stand the fact that I made a bad choice. I have never hit myself because of anger at someone else, which is good I think. 

I feel stupid, embarrassed, and even childish about this behavior. It's strange, or maybe not after reading some of the comments, questions, and diagnosis about this on the web. But either way I have never been able to let this go over the years...but at least it's not an event every time I get upset. 

I've read extremes; that some people take this habit as far as cutting themselves or coming close to suicide. I've never considered doing anything like that...for me it has always involved quick, furious blows to a part of my body. It usually lasts only a few seconds. I'm not quite sure if it's a way for me to punish myself, or just to feel something. I've read that some psychologists relate it to depression and/or to distract from the present emotion of being disappointed in oneself. It beats me. (haha)

Anima

We focus on where the soul will end up. Those that believe in the soul anyway. But for those that do, maybe we care so much for where the soul will end up because that is where it dwells for the longest amount of time. "We" are in our bodies for only so long, a flicker of time compared to the amount of time it is nonexistent or beyond in some other plane. 

Then again, maybe we care so much about where the soul ends up because that is the continuation for those that die and leave their bodies. We want the solace and peace of mind that the individual we knew is still existing somewhere. We like to tell ourselves that the deceased person, their soul, is in a better place if they were good. Some like to imagine that those who were evil are in torment. That even though their bodies are dead, their soul is somewhere suffering and paying for what they did in that flicker of time here among the living. 

I wonder if the soul can do good or evil after it has left the body...it's hard for me to imagine not. The choices and actions of good only seem to be as such because there is an experience of evil and bad. I have no answers though. I'm not sure what to think about the soul. I believe in its existence, but I don't know when it is born. When it enters the body is a mystery, and it may not even matter. Some say it is once the egg is fertilized. Some say the heartbeat. Some say when the body opens its eyes. I've even read in some places it is not present until the individual has a name or can speak. 

If the soul is associated with the afterlife so much, I wonder what its role is here and now. Again, we focus on where the soul will end up. What about now? Are our bodies more than vessels that carry the soul to the next place? Do our bodies mean anything at all? Should I focus more now on my soul while I'm here? Heavens! How do I focus on it? I don't even know how to reach it! I could be reaching it now and not know.

things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me things will work out for me thigns will work out fo rme things will work out for me things will work out for e thisgn will work out for me things will work out fo rme thing will work out fo rme

Mirror

I hadn't stared into my eyes in the mirror in quite some time. I've practiced this in the past before some significant even or change, or maybe during some great obstacle in my life. I haven't done this in a while not because I haven't had my struggles...and not because I haven't made some big shifts in my life and philosophy...rather I just simply hadn't given myself a moment to stop and reflect.

I have always seen myself as two. My heart and conscience, and my mind and body...I think that's how I separate them. When I look into my eyes in the mirror, it is as if I am looking into this familiar being that I love like no one else. While the entity that is doing the loving, has no body at all.

A couple of days ago I confronted myself. I looked into my eyes. I watched my pupils waver...growing and shrinking in size despite my steady disposition as I held my face a couple of inches from the mirror. While staring at those familiar eyes, I drifted into the sense that I was standing nearly nose to nose with another being. I became conscious that I was not looking inward but outward. For a brief moment I felt as though I was not looking simply at my reflection, but Ryan.

I let my head fall against the mirror, and it seemed like I was leaning my head against Ryan...and we were understanding our joys, pains, and worries. It was as if Ryan was sympathetic to me because I was sympathetic to him. I reached my hand up and pressed it against the mirror. In the same way, it was as if Ryan and I were reaching out and putting our hands together...feeling moved by that basic human touch that seems so powerful at times.

I stopped looking into my eyes and looked down...and it still felt like I was leaning my forehead and pressing my palm against someone. I began to cry, slow at first. My abdomen and chest tightened and I gasped, holding my breath lightly until I could shiver out shaky, drawn-out breaths. Tears welled up in my eyes, and in my peripheral sight I could see that reflection dealing with the same emotions. Noticing this made me break. I tried to suppress my tears and gasping. My choked breaths broke through though...and I could see the tears falling off of my own face and into the sink. It felt comforting. I felt like I was grieving with someone and supporting them at the same time.

It wasn't until I was writing this that I realized I hadn't cried with someone in a very long time.

Where I come from

My parents are very keen on genealogy and they love to spend countless hours finding links in their families trees...often competing with one another to see who is closer linked to a famous person in history or who can trace their lineage back further.

More recently as I have been interested though, I have come to discover that they have to use distant links even to start somewhere. They use their grandparents siblings or cousins, great aunts or uncles, 2nd or 3rd generation cousins--all as jumping points to start working back. 

In such a way I have realized that all of their, and ultimately my family lineages in a direct descent are unknown. We have definitely been on the losing side of history on both my mother and father's side.

My mother's father was an Scottish-Irish immigrant who came over with his half-dozen brothers and sisters, and they grew up in Texas during the great depression. They left their clan of McGarrah's behind in the UK in order to find a way out of their poverty, only to find an uglier face of it here in the US.

My mother's mother was an alcoholic Osage Indian, and so was her mother and mother before her of Pettit's. I don't need to mention how well the records and treatment were kept of Native Americans...

My father's father was one of 12 Catholic Bennett children that moved from Missouri, Arkansas, to Texas during the depression. Their father was an orphan and nothing is known about his family...well he was an orphan...dead end there.

My father's mother was a Russian/Polish Jew. Her family of Schmidts and Feinbergs came over from Vilnius in modern day Lithuania around the time of the Russian pograms and moved to Brooklyn. Not much of a direction there, it's definitely not as if I can trace any Jews living in Poland, Russia, or anywhere in eastern Europe for that matter.

At least I know who my mother and father are, and who their parents were. That's something! I wish I could go back further though.

Here is an ode from the Greek Pindaros:

Even high deeds of prowess

Have a great darkness if they lack song;

We can hold up a mirror to fine doings

In one way only:

If with the help of Memory in her glittering crown

Recompense is found for labour

In words' echoing melodies.

my sentiments exactly sir

Crush a bit, little bit, roll it up, take a hit
Feelin' lit, feelin' light, 2 a.m., summer night.
I don't care, hand on the wheel,
Drivin' drunk, I'm doin' my thing
Rollin in the Midwest side and out,
Livin' my life, getting' out dreams
People told me slow my roll,
I'm screaming out, fuck that
Imma do just what I want,
Lookin' ahead no turnin' back
If I fall, If I die,
Know I lived it to the fullest,
If I fall, if I die,
Know I lived and missed some bullets

CHORUS:
I'm on the pursuit of happiness and I know,
Everything that shine ain't always gonna be gold
I'll be fine, once I get it, I'll be goooood.
I'm on the pursuit of happiness and I know,
Everything that shine ain't always gonna be gold
I'll be fine, once I get it, I'll be goooood.

Tell me what you know about dreamin' (dreamin')
You don't really know about nothin' (nothin')
Tell me what you know about them night terrors, every night
5 a.m, cold sweats wakin' up, to the sky
Tell me what you know about dreams, dreams
Tell me what you know about night terrors, nothin'
You don't really care about the trials of tomorrow
Rather lay awake in a bed full of sorrow

CHORUS:
I'm on the pursuit of happiness and I know,
Everything that shines ain't always gonna be gold
I'll be fine once I get it, I'll be goooood.
I'm on the pursuit of happiness and I know,
Everything that shine ain't always gonna be gold
I'll be fine, once I get it, I'll be goooood.

I'm on the pursuit of happiness and I know,
Everything that shine ain't always gonna be gold
I'll be fine, once I get it, I'll be goooood.

I'm on the pursuit of happiness and I know,
Everything that shines ain't always gonna be gold, hey
I'll be fine once I get it, yeah, I'll be good

I'm on the pursuit of happiness
And I know everything that shines ain't always gonna be gold, hey
I'll be fine once I get it, yeah
I'll be good

Pursuit of happiness, yeah.
I don't get it, I'll be good

Ugh.
Ah, man,
Ugh, ayite, ugh
Room's spinnin'. Room's spinnin'.
Matt... Zulie... wait.
Oh my god why did I drink so much and slug so much?, ah
Ugh, fuck.

beep beep

I will miss the bus rides in the mornings and evenings on my way to and from work. The familiar faces of the 20-somethings who cram together with me for our commute. None of us know each other, we are all strangers, yet we all recognize each other from the transit, day in and day out. I'll miss that. It is like we are part of an unidentified society. 

And on those bus rides I'll miss that these New Englanders often leave their shades open to display their cozy homes. The warm glow resonating from inside their homes are just as much a window for me to capture a glimpse of their lives as it is for them to see the day begin and end. So many people. So many humans! So many snug brick-laden streets and American flags.

Gosh...it's really awkward to observe this when all of these atrocious things are happening in Syria. Their city neighborhoods are being shelled by the armies and government that is supposed to protect them.

Wilted

uproot by Grace Kim

I'm like a plant that has been grounded and pulled out so many times that my roots have become torn and lost. And yet I have ripped them out myself. Never in my life have I seriously considered that I would stay where I am. It is as if I have always expected to uproot myself time and time again, so often that it seems practically an inevitable and natural course of my life. 

Home is home; in Texas where my mother and father are, with our land and country home. I think it will remain 'home' until I have a family of my own. But as early as high school, I knew that I would leave, I'd go some place new for college. Then, in college I knew that I wouldn't stay there further than my studies, and go some place new for work. And now everywhere that I have worked, I have never thought for a moment that there was any permanence to my dwelling. 

I now realize that my roots have been long gone; there is nothing left to grasp myself into the ground because of the constant planting and break-away. I know my roots can grow back, but I convince myself of the plan to move on to something else, leaving no time for them to truly regenerate.

What am I becoming?

"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."

Citizenship in a Republic
Theodore Roosevelt Speech at the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910

I'm becoming part of an item.  This is good, and I like it, which is a strange feeling for me.

And, I am having less nightmares recently, my dreams are becoming more neutral.  I have more or less just been wandering around in my dream worlds instead of having something chasing me or pulling me around.

And, something is going to happen soon.  Maybe not.

And, I am probably going to vote for Barrack Obama again this year, I still support him, and fear the ideals that his opponents hold.  I think people forget that no President in modern times is ever truly popular among the people in the United States.  In hindsight things always get special attention and perspectives become skewed. 

And, back in 2005 I came to the conclusion that anything by Writer/Director Terrence Malick was worth seeing for me.  He creates such a deep, emotional trance in me that it becomes hard for me to come back to earth and not remain careless, almost in a state of perpetual melancholy.  Here are a few of his recent works:

 

The Tree of Life

The New World

The Thin Red Line