I'm sorry if I ruined your life

Existing inevitably results in time spent with others. People come and make memories, they build their nests in your chest and leave their favourite albums in your car and their video games strewn on your bedroom floor and occasionally you may find one of their old t-shirts in your drawer. Then they leave, or they give you enough reasons for you to take your leave, and they're not just fond memories now, but relics from a simpler time. You pick one up and you turn it over in your hand and wonder, what was all of this for? How amazing it is to find a piece of history! but with discovery comes responsibility, and are you meant to catalog all of these things, write about the emotion they invoke and the surrounding context and the time which they date back to? What are the proper steps to be taken after finding such things, whether they be in your head or objects that survived? Survived what? There is so much to think about that you render the warm stirring of nostalgia to be grossly exaggerated, the pain involved outweighs any satisfaction; and so you regard it as bad move, something to be avoided at all costs. Escapism will get you far, and the days become fewer and father between when you will unearth your ancient heart. New nests are built, but the remains and the memories of those former homes are like callouses, like stains, like rotting leaves under the last of the winter's melting snow.
And like a cancer, you don't get to choose if they're malignant or benign.

i used to write poetry that expressed how i (still) feel

You announced that life is beautiful,
a sacred thing;
it was not a suggestion, nothing like a harmless challenge
and I was not permitted to be discordant.
Again I was reminded,
no, prod and subtly forced in your Nazi method
to participate in your joy.

Through the looking glass is not all
white rabbits
small, harmless creatures
with pink eyes winking up at you,
daring you to scoop them up in your Mother Teresa hands.
The fur does not stay white and smooth
like a baby's skin, like ivory
because children are pure, white as snow.
That snow melts.

Where is your great happiness now?
Raping and pillaging the countryside;
he wasn't even beautiful when he was born,
rupturing from the only good home you've ever provided.
There was pain - you snap at men, who don't understand -
you both bled;
but he knows that better than you do.

Existing is a curse.
I tried to warn you about the cracks in the sidewalk;
he just steps on them to spite you
and I'm stranded,
like you were,
to bless this accursed Earth
with more sanguinary plebeians

Sarah Belbeck, 2010

how do you write about love?

I wasn't planning on writing anything today, but I came across this photo and was instantly inspired to attempt to do this very thing. I'm not sure what other people go through when they feel positive emotions towards another person. I'm not sure if some people find it easy to explain why they love someone, or if it's universally been accepted as one of those tasks that we can't seem to succeed at, no matter how hard we try. The words never seem to come out right, and especially not at the right time. We tend to think telling someone you love them and that you would do anything for them is a candlelit dinner or sitting under the stars on a warm, summer night kind of affair, but it usually comes up at inopportune times. I understand entirely. I know that once you find those words, you don't want to let them go unsaid. What if you never find the right combination of letters and sounds again?

I often wonder what it is that other people answer to a question like, "why do you like your significant other?" Is it because they're attractive, or they're fun or make good jokes, or something deeper than that? How do you know when you love someone? Is it just a feeling? I know I believe that love and relationships take mutual effort, but what is love, that moment where you fall into it? How do you explain that? I've been thinking about how to explain these things that I often take for granted, because I think that's what happens sometimes when you don't try to pinpoint what it is that you really feel. For myself, I tend to let it become this thing that is never going to be properly voiced, so I stop trying. I am a mess of inaudible grunts and smiles and grabbing hands when it comes to spending time with the person I love. I have to be satisfied with, "you're so cute, I love you!" because nothing else seems to be good enough. I'm not even satisfied with those silly things that fall out of my mouth, because they don't fully capture the complexity of the emotions I experience. Then there is this whole archive of what it's meant to look like based on films and television series we've all seen, or how our parents act or our friends and their boyfriends or girlfriends. Everyone has this preconceived idea of what being in love looks like, and no matter how hard to try to erase that from our memories and work on the living person in front of us, we still get caught up in those beliefs. I don't want to say things like

you mean everything to me

I want to do everything I can to make you happy

I would do anything for you

I want to share everything with you

I don't like it when you're not around

Such words reek of desperation. They remind us of the kinds of people we don't want to be in relationships with. No one should make another person the center of their universe, right? Isn't that what people believe? So how do you express those sentiments without saying those things? You usually don't. You usually suppress them and say something simple and safe instead, even if it isn't what you really meant. Thus begins the cycle of feeling like you have never expressed how much someone means to you. You're constantly thinking of new ways to do it, but if it's close enough to matching your emotions, it's usually not kosher.

I know what people mean when they say some cliche thing like, "it's just a feeling, you can't explain it." But the writer in me wants to be able to convey something so real and so universal. It causes me distress to not be able to write about the love that I have. I have to keep trying. I carry a notebook with me at all times. I try to write down the little details that make me feel that dull ache in my bones, the things that accelerate my heart, the moments that make me smile. I am trying.

 If only I were a poet.

Pablo Neruda

“Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,

or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms

but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;

thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,

risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

so I love you because I know no other way than this: 

where I does not exist, nor you,

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. ”

Such desperation smells much sweeter when written in stanzas. 

those moments when

there is nothing incredible happening to you, but you feel like joy is a tangible thing and it's running through your body, like it's in your bloodstream or perhaps even under your skin, rushing, and it's pleasant and invigorating and you can release your anxieties, your tension, the way you worry about everything that has nothing to do with you
and part of you wants to hold onto it, feel it going over your palm and between your fingers, make sure it's real and not going to be fleeting, flying or flowing or falling away any time soon, but the part of you that has let go of everything forces you to simply take what has been shown to you and accept it for what it really is
a rare piece of heaven, where the sun is just warm enough to kiss your skin but there is no way you will become uncomfortable, where the wind is mild and your hair billows around your face like a halo and your favourite song is playing in your ears, or maybe not your favourite but somehow it fits the moment perfectly and you couldn't have known that before this feeling came along and grabbed ahold of you, robbing you of your melancholia
you're walking across a parking lot, you were doing errands or wasting time or thinking about nothing in particular aside from how awful you are and how long it will take you to get back home, your feet hurt and you just came from the store but of course now that you're on your way, you're thirsty, and suddenly you realize, this is it. this is what I've been postponing my own death for, this is what I've been waiting to feel and I always wanted it on my own terms, I've always only wanted it to be a result of something I've done
but life isn't so beautiful when you memorize a formula and plug in the data and restrict and abstain and measure and plan and wait, the waiting, the expectations are what keeps us from ecstasy
you can be doing nothing meaningful, feeling only despair, knowing you're nothing special when this moment comes along and sweeps you off your feet and pulls you lovingly into the lap of liveliness because that's what it does, it makes you feel alive, and it doesn't take a hike to a mountaintop or a large sum of money or a jump from a plane to feel a rush
most of our lives will be insipid but I've never felt so alive as when I was walking across a parking lot on a Wednesday afternoon

on feeling like a failure

I took a few moments to think about what things I have "accomplished" so far in my life. The list isn't very long. I could probably count them on one hand. For the number of things that I perceive myself to have failed, however, I could likely write a formal essay.

Why is it so much easier to bring myself down than it is to encourage and motivate myself? Why do I give up so easily and complain that I haven't done anything, when the obvious answer to all of my problem is to simply make goals and work to achieve them?

I'm discouraged because of all of the things I've quit. I quit college the first time around. That also meant I was quitting my positions. I was going to be a residence assistant before I left. I left my student cabinet position because I stopped wanting to do it. I didn't keep my promises or challenge myself or do any of the hard work. I just quit. I quit my last two jobs because I didn't like them. I got up and walked away from both of them because I just didn't care anymore. In the back of my mind, I have the knowledge that tells me life is not going to be easy. It is not going to be comprised of all of my favourite things at all times. Every task I find myself committed to is going to have to be given at least some of my attention and skill, no matter how I feel about it. That's what jobs and volunteer positions are all about. I didn't have to take those specific jobs. I didn't have to tell anyone I wanted to be a part of a team. I didn't have to go to school. But I chose all of those things, and then I gave up on myself and everyone who depended on me to some, any degree.

I'm a quitter. I'm a failure. I'm a loser. I'm nothing.

People close to me tell me they're proud of me. They think I'm smart and I have potential to go places and do important things. I don't know who they're looking at, but I don't feel like it's me. I think there is someone inside of me that is strong and capable, but I don't know how to get her to come out and take the reigns in my life. I know I am a hard worker when I want to be. But I can't only do things that I enjoy and want to do, so how do I make myself put the effort in all the time?

I'm the kind of girl that can skip class and read over her notes half an hour before an exam and still pull off 80%. I could be the girl who gets perfect. But I don't do that. Why be perfect and do work when you can be good enough and do nothing? I'm the kind of girl that has personality and occasionally says something people like or think is smart, so generally I'm off the hook for all the other things I'm not doing well enough. Why work your tail off and not get recognized when you can put your two cents in when it's appropriate or needed and just drift along the rest of the time?

I'm a procrastinator. I'm comfortable where I am as long as I don't think too hard about anything. But I want to be someone, go somewhere, do something. And unfortunately for me, I wasn't born into riches and I don't know a lot of people with power. I have to do the work to have the things I want. So I'm torn between wanting more for myself but not wanting to make any effort, which is probably something a lot of people feel even though we might not want to admit it. I know promotions and good jobs and awards and recognition and reputation and money don't just walk up and sit in your lap. I don't need to be told that.

So what is it that I need?

I can't even make myself go through the motions and steps that are proven to give me what I want. I can't even eat the right food or get enough exercise to lose weight. I cry myself to sleep for being unhappy with my body, then wake up and eat two of my meals out and sit at home all day. Why all the sabotage? Why doesn't my head connect with the rest of me?

I can tell other people how to make goals. I can pour information out of my mouth into the minds of others like some sort of Wikipedia syrup. I can talk forever if I know something someone else doesn't. But would I ever take my own advice? I highly doubt it.

I wish I could say that the turmoil I feel when I don't accomplish anything is enough to motivate me. I wish I could hate the way I behave enough to change it.

I already know the solutions. I'm lazy, and that needs to change. I need to have a better, different perspective. What about the things I have done? I need to believe in myself. And as much as I hate the idea of it, I need someone to check in on me and shake my shoulders when I get too lost in my melancholia.

"Failure" is this utterly debilitating state when you bring it on yourself. No one has ever told me I'm a failure before, at least not at any tasks I've tried to perform. I do this sort of thing to myself. I want to feel like everybody else does about what I do and am capable of; full of pride and happiness. And when things are too hard, I don't want to quit, because I know how good triumph feels.

Maybe it has to have more to do with wanting to enjoy and share my accomplishments than trying to escape my imagined failures.

What I'm Reading

This is the pile that lives beside my bed/on my desk! I move it from place to place, though I'm not sure if it's because I'm trying to make it visible to myself at all times to remind myself to keep reading, or what that's all about. I'm about half-way through both Thus Spoke Zarathustra and The Second Machine Age, which are both proving to be highly interesting and are keeping me on my toes. I want to write reviews or summaries or something after I finish each book over the next little while. Though right now, I have a horrible habit of starting too many books at once (and this is how the pile grew to its current height).

I know that there seems to be a theme, but I promise I'm not an aggressive atheist. I'm just reading a few things at the recommendation of others, and we'll see how I feel in the end. That's the point of reading and reviewing material, right? I read Why I Am Not A Christian by Bertrand Russell in the winter and it was the most helpful thing in the world to me at the time. It was not because I needed convincing or even that I necessarily wanted to be validated in my feelings, only that it seemed to put into words the very problems I had with religion and the church, but had never taken the time to write it down myself.

This may be a slightly unpopular opinion, but I think even those of us who are Christians or of other faiths should be reading philosophies and world views that are not our own. Even a decent book on apologetics is a good start if you want to evaluate your belief system (read: you probably should be constantly doing some serious self-reflection and evaluating). Many will say that is too dangerous and will frown upon such a suggestion, but I think it's important to be a well-rounded person and learn as much as you can. Examine why you believe what you believe. Allow yourself to face those who are different than yourself. So often the general rule seems to be that anyone who is different is going to try and take you away from what you believe, but I can't seem to figure out why hearing new information will have the potential to ruin your life. If what you believe is important to you and you don't have any solid basis or reason to question it, simply knowing more about the world around you should not have a negative effect. I feel like a lot of people are ruled by fear and are overprotected, and I don't know how anyone can experience a life where everything is a danger to them. Knowledge is great! The world is a vast and mysterious place!

So...what are you reading? And what's the verdict on fiction vs. non-fiction for you? (I challenge all you story-readers to pick up some non-fiction for your next read!)