When I was growing up, one of my main goals in life was to be beautiful.
I really couldn’t have cared less what I looked like for my really early childhood…I was too busy playing “pigs” in the mud with my brother (which is essentially a game of rolling in the mud) and building lego palaces. And I couldn’t really tell you the day I (Noticed? Decided? Figured out?) that I wasn’t beautiful, but I remember a lot of times when this was reinforced. I remember one Halloween when I went out with my sister and two brothers (and my mom) without really thinking about how I looked all too much (I was mad about having to wear the winter jacket under my dress, but you know…a pumpkin bag full of candy cures all). And it was all cool until we got to this one house where the guy decided to have his own costume contest, where the “cutest kid can come get candy first”…I was picked last. At the time, this was slightly depressing, but that was quickly solved with a mars bar. But it was just one of those moments I remember, to this day, crystal clear.
Later, I was an awkwardly built grade four student with a mushroom cut. I’m pretty sure most kids had to go through the unfortunate mushroom-cut phase…but mine was especially unfortunate since I didn’t have a bubbly personality to make up for it. There was this one older girl at my elementary school—I think she was in grade six at the time—who I thought was the coolest person ever. Her name was Nicole, and I wanted to be exactly like her. So, you can imagine how exited I was one day when she and one of her posse hollered at me and came over to the soccer field where I was playing. They started walking over and I hurried to meet them mid-field, thinking they were going to compliment me on my awesome soccer skills and tell me they needed someone with my athletic ability in their group (side note: I wasn’t remotely coordinated, nor was I capable of understanding that diversity wasn’t a key factor in the development of elementary school-age girls friend groups. This was delusional on my part)
Anyway, when they got there, the other girl spoke up. She said “Hey…we were watching you guys over there, and we were wondering…are you a boy, or a girl?”
That was…depressing.
My heart sank, but I was mostly bewildered. I mean, I remember looking down at my pink shirt and my favourite flare jeans with the pink flowers embroidered on them and wondering how they managed to get me confused with a boy. But you know how it is, Over time, every incident adds up and the face in the mirror begins to look a little more unfortunate. I remember that every time I had a shower, I’d imagine that the last little bit of water that came out of the tap had the power to make me beautiful, so I’d always wait and rub it on my face…just in case. I’d pray that God would make me beautiful, one day.
And these little childhood moment stories are nothing without the story of who I became because of them.
It’s not like the ugly duckling story…sometimes, an ugly duck is still a duck, and isn’t gonna turn out to be a swan. However, it can still grow up to be a better looking duck.
I’m getting all rattled with what my point is now, since there are people who actually read this haha, but the point is…everyone has moments that make them who they are. Things that hurt, things that build you up, and sometimes those that do both. Not everyone gets a fairytale ending where they triumph over all of their flaws—sometimes, you just get strong enough to get through them. As a kid, I had an awkward smile, a series of unfortunate haircuts, and my mom insisted on dressing all of us kids in fluorescent clothing with weird patterns. And I mean, I’ve grown up some—the braces helped, I developed some social skills, a slightly better fashion sense, and my hair grew….but I’m the same person.
Beauty isn’t the point of all this, though.
I mean, there’s been enough said about it…probably too much… and it’s destroying people. It’s beneficial, I’m sure, but it isn’t what’s going to save us. It won’t make significant others stay faithful, it won’t save your dying child, it won’t bring inner peace.
The point is that our childhood fears and insecurities sometimes get carried around with you without you even realizing it. And then some days, bam, they come back to you, and you have to decide if they matter or not. I’d say that they do, a lot of the time, because they influence our fears and insecurities in the present time. Which in turn impacts how we treat others. So, personally, due to my relived memories of childhood, I resolve the following:
I will never have a child cuteness contest
I will never ask anyone what his/her gender is.
I will never dress up any child of mine in bright paisley, nor will I give him/her a mushroom cut.
And I will never again start a blog entry without a clear idea of where I’m going with it :/
Whatever. Take from it what you will. I’m done.
peace.
24.5.10
6.5.10
It'll just take a second (chance)
You only get one opportunity to have a second chance.
Maybe you will get a third, or a fourth, or a fifth….but here will only be one time when the people you screwed over once will trust that it was a one-time thing, and believe that you’re not going to do it again.
The problem is, as a general rule, humanity makes the same mistake twice. Three times. Four times. A hundred and four times. More.
And while you might still get chances, they will show more about the person/people giving them than who you are. More chances show more grace—more faith in your ability to change, and to keep from doing it again.
Any chances granted past the second require the person giving them to believe that, although you have let them down twice before, and even though your forgiveness wasn’t enough to make them change the first time, maybe this one will be different.
And there are a lot of reasons you can need a second chance…
Getting the family car in an accident
Cheating on your boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse
Forgetting plans and standing people up
Not following through on a business deal
Showing up to work late
Breaking someone’s trust
Breaking promises
Breaking rules
Breaking hearts
Obviously, the list goes on. For every possible way one person can trust another, there is a way to screw up. There is a way to let people down. Intentionally or unintentionally, all of us do. And the reason this is addressed to “you” is more so we can all realize that we guilty.
We are ALL guilty.
It’s easy to think about all the people who’ve wronged us, all the people who’ve made you mad because you make yourself vulnerable to them in one way or another, and BAM. They let you down. And it’s sometimes easy to forget that we let people down too- a lot. So, instead of thinking about all the people who’ve wronged you (easy enough)…maybe we need to think about the people we’ve let down. And how we can make it right.
Maybe you will get a third, or a fourth, or a fifth….but here will only be one time when the people you screwed over once will trust that it was a one-time thing, and believe that you’re not going to do it again.
The problem is, as a general rule, humanity makes the same mistake twice. Three times. Four times. A hundred and four times. More.
And while you might still get chances, they will show more about the person/people giving them than who you are. More chances show more grace—more faith in your ability to change, and to keep from doing it again.
Any chances granted past the second require the person giving them to believe that, although you have let them down twice before, and even though your forgiveness wasn’t enough to make them change the first time, maybe this one will be different.
And there are a lot of reasons you can need a second chance…
Getting the family car in an accident
Cheating on your boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse
Forgetting plans and standing people up
Not following through on a business deal
Showing up to work late
Breaking someone’s trust
Breaking promises
Breaking rules
Breaking hearts
Obviously, the list goes on. For every possible way one person can trust another, there is a way to screw up. There is a way to let people down. Intentionally or unintentionally, all of us do. And the reason this is addressed to “you” is more so we can all realize that we guilty.
We are ALL guilty.
It’s easy to think about all the people who’ve wronged us, all the people who’ve made you mad because you make yourself vulnerable to them in one way or another, and BAM. They let you down. And it’s sometimes easy to forget that we let people down too- a lot. So, instead of thinking about all the people who’ve wronged you (easy enough)…maybe we need to think about the people we’ve let down. And how we can make it right.
25.3.10
Sick and Tired
So I noticed that I've been on a kind of downer note for a while. Sorry about that. I can promise that as soon as the nice weather comes back and the sun sticks around longer and-oh yeah- school's out for the year, I will be more positive. And I mean, it's not that bad right now. It's just that it's almost exam time and I'm worried about grades, like everyone else. And therefore, my eating habits are off, my sleeping habits are off, and basically everything else is too. Oh, and I might be sick. But not too sick thankfully.
But on that note, one of my friends has recently become rather sick. Chicken pox. In university. Now, that is rather unfortunate, since the older you are, the more dangerous it is to have it. Oh, and the timing is off too. So I've had the opportunity to help out in the past few days--you know, sick meals, that kind of thing. It's kind of odd, but I really like helping people when they're sick. Or just not doing well in general. It might be because of some sort of twisted psychological thing where I like it when people are vulnerable and I have the power to influence their health, or at least to glorify my own...or it might just be that I like helping. I'd prefer to think it's the last but I'm not entirely sure.
Tomorrow's a busy day and I have a ton to do so really, I think I ought to head to bed now. One smart(er) decision after a slew of bad ones (I really like that word...slew...magical). And I'll work on updating this more often. And being happier and more entertaining. But no promises.
peace.
But on that note, one of my friends has recently become rather sick. Chicken pox. In university. Now, that is rather unfortunate, since the older you are, the more dangerous it is to have it. Oh, and the timing is off too. So I've had the opportunity to help out in the past few days--you know, sick meals, that kind of thing. It's kind of odd, but I really like helping people when they're sick. Or just not doing well in general. It might be because of some sort of twisted psychological thing where I like it when people are vulnerable and I have the power to influence their health, or at least to glorify my own...or it might just be that I like helping. I'd prefer to think it's the last but I'm not entirely sure.
Tomorrow's a busy day and I have a ton to do so really, I think I ought to head to bed now. One smart(er) decision after a slew of bad ones (I really like that word...slew...magical). And I'll work on updating this more often. And being happier and more entertaining. But no promises.
peace.
10.3.10
Nellie Bly and the curious practice of stunt reporting
After my most recent journalism project, I have made a discovery:
I want to be a stunt reporter.
And just in case you didn't know or aren't suitably impressed by that statement, I'll explain what that means.
The woman who I researched in order to complete my project was a woman who went by the pseudonym Nellie Bly. She was the pioneer of women's stunt reporting, and did a bunch of ridiculous stunts for her job, such as faking insanity in order to be committed to an asylum, and therefore being able to observe the treatment of its inhabitants from the inside. She also posed as a prostitute in remission, a shopgirl, shoplifters, underage prey for prostitute recruiters...she was a woman of tenacity and courage, as well as an undeniable draw to the sensationalistic and dramatic.
But hey, that's why people read her stuff. She entertained them, and she was honest about her experiences and observations: a sort of combined hard news/soft news story that had both the news and opinion, intermingled so much that it would be difficult to tell where one element started and the other ended. But then, modern news can be kind of like that anyway.
All the same, it's unlikely that I'll ever do this, for several reasons: first, there is far less of a draw for stunt reporting now. And lawsuits have a lot more prevalence. Women are also far easier to find in terrifying circumstances, and there's also the safety aspect.
And of course, there's the fact that journalism isn't the profession it once was. In fact, it isn't the profession it was ten minutes ago. Always, always changing.
NOTE: This was a draft from last year, approximately this time. It still stands.
I want to be a stunt reporter.
And just in case you didn't know or aren't suitably impressed by that statement, I'll explain what that means.
The woman who I researched in order to complete my project was a woman who went by the pseudonym Nellie Bly. She was the pioneer of women's stunt reporting, and did a bunch of ridiculous stunts for her job, such as faking insanity in order to be committed to an asylum, and therefore being able to observe the treatment of its inhabitants from the inside. She also posed as a prostitute in remission, a shopgirl, shoplifters, underage prey for prostitute recruiters...she was a woman of tenacity and courage, as well as an undeniable draw to the sensationalistic and dramatic.
But hey, that's why people read her stuff. She entertained them, and she was honest about her experiences and observations: a sort of combined hard news/soft news story that had both the news and opinion, intermingled so much that it would be difficult to tell where one element started and the other ended. But then, modern news can be kind of like that anyway.
All the same, it's unlikely that I'll ever do this, for several reasons: first, there is far less of a draw for stunt reporting now. And lawsuits have a lot more prevalence. Women are also far easier to find in terrifying circumstances, and there's also the safety aspect.
And of course, there's the fact that journalism isn't the profession it once was. In fact, it isn't the profession it was ten minutes ago. Always, always changing.
NOTE: This was a draft from last year, approximately this time. It still stands.
27.2.10
"No Regrets"
So my first year of university is closer to the end than the beginning...and I mean, there's still about a month or two to go, but it's never too early for some reminiscing, right?
[wrong. there is a "too early" time, but I think it's close enough that I should be legal to go.]
I've learned a lot at school. Academically--not as much as I thought I would, although I've had some interesting classes and it was definitely good in that regard. But as far as life-lessons go, I think I've had a lot...not necessarily learned the easy way (aka listening to people who know better) but all the same, I've learned a lot. I was going to try and make a list of everything...but then decided it was just not going to work that way.
So I decided to talk about this "no regrets" philosophy.
I think it's crap. Basically.
Because having "no regrets" is basically translatable to "I will refuse to feel bad or about this later, in the event that it turns out to be a mistake, because it is something that makes me feel good now, and because of that, it's ok."
Maybe that seems cynical or something, but I think regrets are a good thing. Regrets are what keep you from making mistakes more than once.
Of course, to go one-better than that, not making mistakes in the first place is even better.
But, going with the assumption/fact that everyone makes mistakes...some more than others, some more often than others, some in a more extreme way than others...it's going to happen. Regretting mistakes is healthy, I think. Beating yourself up continuously and refusing to let go of the past is one thing, but having a healthy measure of understanding for when you've made a mistake is another.
And to be honest, I feel like I've got a lot to regret after this year.
I regret not standing up for what I believe more often.
I regret hurting people.
I regret the times I've had people counting on me, and I've let them down.
I regret the times I've not given my best in my school work, in my friendships, in my life in general.
I regret not caring when it mattered.
I regret not giving God my priority.
I regret not spending more time with the people who are worth spending time with.
I regret more than I want to, and more than I've written, but I don't want to be an exhibitionist nor do I really want to go and have an emotion-vomiting session in a public forum. But I'm just saying, there's a lot of things I wish I did differently.
On the positive side, it's never too late to change. I mean, it is once you're dead. But as much as there are consequences for screwing up, giving up on putting in the effort is a lame way to cope. Refusing to think about things, refusing to care...in as much as it's effective, its like putting a bandage over a bullet wound. Sure, you can't see it anymore, and you might be able to stop the blood flow, but sometimes you have to take the bullet out cause it can still cause damage in there.
Ok...and my medicalish analogies suck, but hopefully you see what I'm getting at.
All this being said though, I've learned some other stuff too.
I've met some awesome people at school, who I would never have predicted becoming friends with. And some of the people who I don't necessarily have a ton in common with have become some of my best friends, and I've really appreciated that...in as much as they might not know it because I am not always good at proving that. I've learned that family is important, and that ultimately, the people who have brought you up and loved you your whole life know a lot...and even if you disagree with them, they're worth listening to.
I've also learned to make my own decisions, and while they aren't necessarily ones I've been proud of...I know I can make my own. Which is slightly frightening and also encouraging.
I guess, ultimately, it takes effort to stand up for what you believe. And to be disciplined with freedom. But it's worth it. And as much as I regret over-using my freedom, I don't plan to anymore. And maybe I'll mess up again, but I will not make the same mistakes. That's my plan. AND, I'm sticking to it.
peace out.
[wrong. there is a "too early" time, but I think it's close enough that I should be legal to go.]
I've learned a lot at school. Academically--not as much as I thought I would, although I've had some interesting classes and it was definitely good in that regard. But as far as life-lessons go, I think I've had a lot...not necessarily learned the easy way (aka listening to people who know better) but all the same, I've learned a lot. I was going to try and make a list of everything...but then decided it was just not going to work that way.
So I decided to talk about this "no regrets" philosophy.
I think it's crap. Basically.
Because having "no regrets" is basically translatable to "I will refuse to feel bad or about this later, in the event that it turns out to be a mistake, because it is something that makes me feel good now, and because of that, it's ok."
Maybe that seems cynical or something, but I think regrets are a good thing. Regrets are what keep you from making mistakes more than once.
Of course, to go one-better than that, not making mistakes in the first place is even better.
But, going with the assumption/fact that everyone makes mistakes...some more than others, some more often than others, some in a more extreme way than others...it's going to happen. Regretting mistakes is healthy, I think. Beating yourself up continuously and refusing to let go of the past is one thing, but having a healthy measure of understanding for when you've made a mistake is another.
And to be honest, I feel like I've got a lot to regret after this year.
I regret not standing up for what I believe more often.
I regret hurting people.
I regret the times I've had people counting on me, and I've let them down.
I regret the times I've not given my best in my school work, in my friendships, in my life in general.
I regret not caring when it mattered.
I regret not giving God my priority.
I regret not spending more time with the people who are worth spending time with.
I regret more than I want to, and more than I've written, but I don't want to be an exhibitionist nor do I really want to go and have an emotion-vomiting session in a public forum. But I'm just saying, there's a lot of things I wish I did differently.
On the positive side, it's never too late to change. I mean, it is once you're dead. But as much as there are consequences for screwing up, giving up on putting in the effort is a lame way to cope. Refusing to think about things, refusing to care...in as much as it's effective, its like putting a bandage over a bullet wound. Sure, you can't see it anymore, and you might be able to stop the blood flow, but sometimes you have to take the bullet out cause it can still cause damage in there.
Ok...and my medicalish analogies suck, but hopefully you see what I'm getting at.
All this being said though, I've learned some other stuff too.
I've met some awesome people at school, who I would never have predicted becoming friends with. And some of the people who I don't necessarily have a ton in common with have become some of my best friends, and I've really appreciated that...in as much as they might not know it because I am not always good at proving that. I've learned that family is important, and that ultimately, the people who have brought you up and loved you your whole life know a lot...and even if you disagree with them, they're worth listening to.
I've also learned to make my own decisions, and while they aren't necessarily ones I've been proud of...I know I can make my own. Which is slightly frightening and also encouraging.
I guess, ultimately, it takes effort to stand up for what you believe. And to be disciplined with freedom. But it's worth it. And as much as I regret over-using my freedom, I don't plan to anymore. And maybe I'll mess up again, but I will not make the same mistakes. That's my plan. AND, I'm sticking to it.
peace out.
18.2.10
Pro-Crastination
At the moment, I'm at a weird place. And I don't mean that in a metaphysical sense--although it fits there too--I'm sitting in my bathroom at home, typing on my laptop because the Olympics are going on downstairs and my essay's supposed to be going on up here, and this is the quietest place in the house. And I still can't focus. So I figured I'd talk on here, because sometimes that helps. To be honest, I don't expect it to. I've been working on this essay for the past three days and I have absolutely motivation. I couldn't care less about Stevens the butler and whether or not he's a reliable narrator in The Remains of the Day. I didn't hate the book, but I hate writing about it. I used to love writing-that's why I'm studying Journalism, that's why I have this blog...well kind of...the blog thing was more because I thought I should start liking writing again, and maybe it would take more practice to get into the habit and then the habit would make me like it.
Or maybe getting a good mark on my essay would be what it would take to start liking writing again. But you know how it is--the more it matters, the more I freeze up. The more I care, the more I can't bring myself to meet my own expectations. No, it's not particularly logical, but that's how it is.
Back on subject though.
Remains of the Day is a decent book about a guy who trusted the wrong people and subsequently has to deal with the fact that the guy who he gave his wholehearted loyalty to wasn't a good guy to follow. He refuses to acknowledge his emotions, and doesn't even seem to recognize them himself till it's too late. It's depressing, but simultaneously fascinating to get inside the guy's head.
But then, people who aren't emotional have always been fascinating to me. The repressers, the sociopaths who have no remorse...I'm jealous sometimes. I've always had a hard time lying, and more often than not, everything in my head is written in my face for the world to see.
Some days, it would be a relief to feel nothing.
That's kind of an emo note to leave off on, though, so I'll try to fix that: on the plus side, I'm getting an education, I have a roof over my head, I have indoor plumbing, and I have the freedom to write in this thing, whether it's anything really beneficial for the rest of the human race or not, and therefore, I have very little to complain about. Nothing really.
So. Enough stalling. Essay time.
Or maybe getting a good mark on my essay would be what it would take to start liking writing again. But you know how it is--the more it matters, the more I freeze up. The more I care, the more I can't bring myself to meet my own expectations. No, it's not particularly logical, but that's how it is.
Back on subject though.
Remains of the Day is a decent book about a guy who trusted the wrong people and subsequently has to deal with the fact that the guy who he gave his wholehearted loyalty to wasn't a good guy to follow. He refuses to acknowledge his emotions, and doesn't even seem to recognize them himself till it's too late. It's depressing, but simultaneously fascinating to get inside the guy's head.
But then, people who aren't emotional have always been fascinating to me. The repressers, the sociopaths who have no remorse...I'm jealous sometimes. I've always had a hard time lying, and more often than not, everything in my head is written in my face for the world to see.
Some days, it would be a relief to feel nothing.
That's kind of an emo note to leave off on, though, so I'll try to fix that: on the plus side, I'm getting an education, I have a roof over my head, I have indoor plumbing, and I have the freedom to write in this thing, whether it's anything really beneficial for the rest of the human race or not, and therefore, I have very little to complain about. Nothing really.
So. Enough stalling. Essay time.
15.2.10
Rewind | Backyard
So I was lying on the grass in my backyard
Looking at the typical bright blue springish sky
Feeling the hundreds of little poking green blades
Smelling the slightly perplexing mix of the neighbours' hamburgers and lilacs
Trying not to think about all the little bugs I was possibly squishing
Listening to cars pass on the road with all their little screeches and squeaks
Letting myself be microwaved by the sun
And somehow, it was one of the best moments ever.
Because nothing was expected of me
And I didn't have to fight for anything
And existing was easy
And I didn't need a reason for everything, it just was.
And I was happy for no reason--or maybe without needing to look for a reason.
And I could just lie there and write a lame little poem-like thing that had no rhythm or rhyme or complexity, and be ok with that.
Looking at the typical bright blue springish sky
Feeling the hundreds of little poking green blades
Smelling the slightly perplexing mix of the neighbours' hamburgers and lilacs
Trying not to think about all the little bugs I was possibly squishing
Listening to cars pass on the road with all their little screeches and squeaks
Letting myself be microwaved by the sun
And somehow, it was one of the best moments ever.
Because nothing was expected of me
And I didn't have to fight for anything
And existing was easy
And I didn't need a reason for everything, it just was.
And I was happy for no reason--or maybe without needing to look for a reason.
And I could just lie there and write a lame little poem-like thing that had no rhythm or rhyme or complexity, and be ok with that.
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