So You Want to Know Me

When I think about what I would say to someone I’ve just met, I realize that introductions rarely give true or genuine insight to who that person really is. And perhaps that's due to the fact that that individual themselves has yet to pin down their identity. However more often than not, the reason that strangers tend to swim in the shallow end of another’s identity is because our deeper identities are intimate in such a way that merits greater familiarity or kinship. But what is lost when our first impressions are superficial? So instead of giving an application in the clever disguise of prose, I’ll deliver a narrative of what I think were the most significant moments of my life that dictate how I identify myself in this moment.

My first day of elementary school is not something I remember in terms of actions but by feelings. Lost, confused, misplaced, and insecure are all words that describe how I felt as a new immigrant into my would-be-home in Fort Collins, Colorado. English was still something that I had to fight for to grasp and I didn’t understand this drastically different culture that I was unceremoniously dropped into. And it was at this point that began my long time struggle with my cultural identity. I felt as I belonged in neither world given the clash between cultural expectations from my home life and at school. Even though sleepovers are commonplace among most American households, there is somewhat of a taboo regarding the notion of staying the night at another individual’s home as a child. I realized that how I look dictated a lot of how people perceived me at first glance here in the States; more specifically I was an outsider. It wasn’t until later on in high school when I visited my dad who is building his career in Korea that I realized that rather that feeling that I don’t belong in either realm that I should appreciate the fact that I can choose to be part of both worlds in my own unique way from a perspective that can comprehend the nuances of each side.

Moving past my heritage, I want to talk about a great and terrible love that I have in my life. I don’t really recall ever having an absence of music in my life. As a kid, I jammed out to Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera. In elementary, I struggled with the ivories and the fiddle, which was a struggle that continued brutally until I entered middle school. While before I entered middle school I had a love-hate relationship with the instruments that I played, I never conceded defeat in the war that was musical education. It was when I sat down for orchestra for the first time my seventh grade year that I became amorous towards my varnished friend all due to the great passion instilled in me by my director, Ms. Elley. This love grew deeper and stronger and I’m sorry to say that my black and white companion quickly faded out of the picture. So by the time that I entered high school, I was in a fully committed relationship with my violin and you could say that things were pretty serious. If I think about all the times I’ve sat in a room full of musicians who have committed themselves to weaving the breathtaking tapestry of an orchestral piece, I can feel myself filling up with joy in a way that no other experience has matched. There is something about the experience of contributing your individual capacity and love for your instrument to the greater whole that is not only cathartic but also fulfilling. But now that I’m here in college where everything seems to be a possibility, I find myself regressing back to my childish love for singing. I have always been a car belter, meaning that I cannot possibly drive tightlipped if the radio is on. I’d never felt as though my voice was something spectacular enough to showcase but now I feel as though I shouldn’t shy away from the chance to start up a new romance.

But as far as passion goes, I lost a lot of it the further I got into high school. It was around my junior year that I started becoming an insomniac. But the thing about those who stay awake when all are asleep is that after a certain point if feels like there is absolutely nothing to do. I tried my fair share of nocturnal activities: watching the epitome of terrible late night television, reading and rereading the books in my room, attempting productivity to relieve academic guilt, and the list goes on. One night, I stumbled upon this link from a social media outlet, one of the many that I sadly subscribe to, that took me to a Youtube video that was titled ‘An Open Letter to Feminist Trolls’ and that marked the first time that I started labeling myself as a feminist. I remember watching this video around 2 in the morning and just watching video after video from this Youtube feminist’s channel until the sun started pouring through my curtains. I’m not sure I can really describe what I was feeling in that moment and why that was the turning point in how I started thinking critically about society and the media. For the longest time, I went about my daily life without really feeling as though something was driving me forward or propelling me into the next day. Hearing the strongly voiced, rational rhetoric of this feminist just illuminated something within me and I think I can safely say that I felt true passion, something that I had lost in the monotony of high school.  I still carry that fire inside of me now and I have a feeling that this fire will continue to burn as long as I can still think for myself.

Even though I may not have explicitly told you what my name was or where I’m from, I would like to think that these anecdotes have told you more about who I am than any series of introductory questions would have. So this is who I is my scintillating life in a nutshell.

In the Life and Times

It's been a while since I've told a good "In the Life and Times" story, so I thought I'd share one from a few weeks ago. Graduating high school has opened more than just a few doors for me. I closed a chapter on my horrifically, bland life and I allowed myself to experience more. It was my plan to hold off on typical adolescent behavior until I walked out of my high school doors for the last time. So the summer started with a few samplings of get togethers and parties. I regret nothing. I chose to partake in things that some would frown upon even though I was aware of the potential consequences and repercussions. I can't exactly say that the whole ordeal suited me in the end but I'm glad I tried it all out. Any who, after the first few mediocre attempts, I decided that I was done for a while. So most of the summer passed without fulfilling most of the expectations I had for my first time being free of my high school chains. But then I started getting agitated and impatient about leaving for college and perhaps a little nostalgic for the times when my friends had time to hang out instead of working to pay tuition. So when the chance arose to try one more time, I took it.

I'd like to say that I'm a very good judge of my limits and that I'm resistant to peer influence, but I let my guard down this last time. So there was this pretty decent guy at a party at my friend's new place of residence (I don't venture to call it a house) and we got to talking about random shit. All was fine and dandy, but my judgement upon the matter may have been a little impaired for various reasons. Eventually, it was pretty clear what his intentions were and they were honorable to an extent. I had a moment of pure "fuck it, why the hell not?" running through my head and before you know it we're in my friend's bedroom with the light off. Body contact was made to a certain degree and then lead to the step that comes after chess compressions in CPR. I was perfectly okay with how things were going up till this point. (Well, besides the fact that my back pocket kept vibrating because my mother would not stop calling.)  And then he deadpans, "I don't expect sex or anything if you don't want to."

It was like I woke up suddenly from a bad dream. It just clicked that I was making out with a virtual stranger in my friend's bedroom while all my school friends were just outside in the living room. (Oh. Interesting detail. The only other guy I ever kissed was among the people out there.) I booked it the hell out of there after making some vague "I gotta go" noises. Don't get me wrong. The guy was a genuinely nice guy who obviously respected my boundaries and he was actually some major eye candy. I just wasn't about to make seriousness happen with a stranger. Checking my phone after the ordeal, it turns out my damn maternal figure called me about 25 times within the last 30 minutes period so I figure I'm in some deep shit if I don't get my ass home pronto. So I as a friend to drive me home and guess who meets me on the porch? Mother Fucking Goose. Let's say things got a little ugly and leave it at that.

I guess romance is really not written in my cards or stars anywhere because of the lump sum of all my guy experiences, I guess it was evident somewhere on my being that being romanced is not my thing. Just jump right into the hanky panky. That's fine too.

The Persistence of Media Negativity

After being on any form of media for a few minutes, I feel heavy and exhausted. And it isn't because I've become sedentary and dependent on social media or because the screen lighting is straining my vision. It's because there is this constant stream of negativity that cannot be avoided through these media outlets. From cynical and demeaning comments on Youtube videos to rants on social media that has the singular purpose of criticism, the media has become this oppressive source of ill will. What happened to the media that delivered clear information about the world around us? What happened to the media that kept our growing and expanding populace informed us of the change and the progress of our developing world? Why is it that the majority of our media has given way to deconstructive arguing rather than constructive conversation?

There's no other way to put it. It's just a big bummer. The fact that you go online to see a video from an artist that you admire and have to see all the negative comments about how much people dislike such and such for such and such reason. I'm not saying that people aren't allowed to dislike what is out there in the vast and mysterious mediaverse (everyone is entitled to an opinion). But if you're sole intent of posting raging, negative, hateful comments is just to be hateful ... well then, do yourself a favor and go do something else. More often than not these spiteful comments are regarding an issue not even relevant to the media content it is tagged to. People use their ability to comment anonymously as a way to perpetuate bias, prejudice, racism, sexism, homophobia, and many other subdivisions of discrimination. Is it really necessary to point out someone's sexuality as a comment in a music video? What does this accomplish? Is that supposed to be some ill-formed way to diminish the accomplishments of that individual? Because honestly, it just shows how close-minded and prone to hate you are. Instead of trying to commend someone for their accomplishments or their abilities that they show in our media, people are quick to judge and to pin some sort of flaw on what they are seeing. I'm not sure why people insist upon propagating their hate and their negativity on something that they were not obligated to be a part of. No one forced you to watch that video, no one forced to you buy into that form of social media. So why is pushing for negativity preferable to just walking away?

Our media has become cheapened by the fact that technology has made it so easy for anyone and everyone to become a critic and a cynic. There seems to be this unspoken rule that mature individuals become cynical of anything and everything. Caring too much is a sign of weakness, being too passionate is looked down upon. We instead think being jaded and nonchalant about the crucial things in life is somehow more "progressive" and "cool" (though I hate to say so). We see an eccentric and outgoing individual and we label them "weird". We see a male that talks with certain vocal fluctuations and deem them "gay". We see a female that has a crew cut and rocking arm muscles and we call them "butch". Our collective has grabbed on to this habit of identifying differences and using them as an arsenal for perpetuating hatred for one another. Our collective has decided to no longer be accepting of individuals for their differences but rather to shun them because their differences make us uncomfortable. And why is it that we are uncomfortable around things that are different? I blame the media. After seeing all of the images and depictions of individuals who perform under this umbrella of "social acceptability", we forgot that people don't actually live under this oppressive domain. So when seeing someone who colors outside of the metaphorical lines of social mores, our reaction is to reject them.

Media has become this huge machine is self-operating and now the people seem to no longer be able to control what it propagates. We've created a monster. A monster that perpetuates stereotypes, a monster that promotes ill-will amongst people, a monster that does its best to tear down rather than build up individuals. Our standard of beauty has become increasingly discriminative because of the myopic view we have grown accustomed to due to our media. We subscribe to a social construct that has become toxic for both men and women who are forced to feel insufficient in who they are because they do not fit the mold fashioned from stereotypes and sexism. We've become blind to the strings that control our society because we fail to see who and what controls our media. The notion that discrimination is no longer a pressing issue because we've overcome slavery and given rights to certain groups is a lie that our media has been feeding us. Just because we no longer see blatant acts of discrimination does not mean that it has been banished from existence. No, rather it has found more subversive ways to infiltrate our societies and in some ways is more frightening in its seemingly innocuous form than before. Not being able to see it makes it hard for us to register its presence and thus makes us complacent to its hold. And all of this is because our media has become its PR representative and allowed it to hid behind a facade of pleasant advertisements and surface level humor.

I'm not saying that all media is evil and we must dispel all things media. Of course not. Media has and will continue to play a huge role in how our society develops. I don't discredit the good things that do come from some of the media that the people put forth. Positive social messages are out there if you look for them. It's just hard to get there through the muck. The media used to be this force of good that propagated news and information, that used to advance social and political movements, that used to be a platform of conversations between people. And I think we can go back to that. And maybe you think that's overly optimistic or naive of me to say. But I believe in the capacity of human beings for good. I believe in the capacity of knowledge and understanding, of education and tolerance. If we all decide to recognize the negativity of our media and choose to become conscious, educated members to can filter media and become literate in this way, then that's the first step. If we choose to see past the pretty pictures and see the actual messages that are being propagated and we then choose to change the status quo, then I think we're well on our way to a better society.

My Feminist Awakening

I think for the longest time, I chose to disregard the fact that women were indeed less than equal within our society because I wanted to believe otherwise. Not too long ago, I shied away from the label "feminist" because I misunderstood everything that the term implicated. For me, feminists used to be these highly vocal, highly emotional, highly aggressive figures who fought for the "fairer sex" by tearing down those in their way. I thought that they were individuals who subscribed to a cause that had already been fulfilled.

How wrong was I? Very. Being a women in a system that puts on a facade of equality made me truly believe that this status quo was all there was. But reflecting upon all of the negative body image messages I got over the years, upon the brutality against women, the substandard emphasis of the sciences for women in our education system, and on and on, I realized that I had subscribed to a very cleverly disguised rose colored pair of glasses with which I viewed the world. Feminism for me is the activism towards crushing this faulty system of oppression and misogyny that is bred by the hegemonic patriarchy that misrepresents the majority of the human race. Feminism for me is a way to achieve gender equality by bringing women up in society to be alongside men, not to push men down in our efforts to climb up. Feminism is asserting my right to live autonomously without having factors that I had no active choice in determine my quality of life.

So thus the social issues of our time come to mind by extension. People may think that social issues that don't concern us or that aren't directly relate to us are issues that are not our business. Gay rights, racial equality, and many other issues are some that some of the majority marginalize for this very reason. But if we analyze the greater scheme of things and if we decide to really look at the core issues, these marginalized issues have some way of implicating severe consequences in our own lives as well. These issues of gender, sexual orientation, and racial equality all reactions to the social mores that we have contrived from discrimination and prejudice. So thus fighting for these social issues means that you're working to dismantle the status quo of our society that pushes for discrimination. Thus any social issue that pertains to the degradation of other individuals, the conditions which we allow for individuals to live autonomously, is an issue of great importance that deserves to be addressed. We are all working towards bettering the society around us and thus we should all subscribe to a pair of critical thinking glasses with which we can accurately see the strings in our system.

Guilt

Experts say that guilt is the most useless of all human emotions. And a large part of me wants to believe that this is true. I keep finding myself feeling remorse for my fatalistic take on life because compared to the many individuals who live sparse existences, my life cannot possibly that horrible. Compared to the suffering of those who are ill, those who have lost much more than I have, those who's lives go unfulfilled of the most basic amenities, my own suffering seems trite. But a wise person once told me that our suffering is our own and that we have the right to feel pain and grieve for ourselves because pain is pain no matter what. But I can't surpass this feeling that I would lead a selfish existence if I let myself become so myopic in my world view. I want to diminish my own concern for my suffering because I feel obligated or guilt-tripped, you could say, into believing that I must uphold greater suffering of others first.

I had an interesting conversation with an acquaintance where we discussed if our lives are really our own. In the greater scheme of the vast universe, it seems absurd to say that our individual lives amount to any great consequence and thus what we choose to do in our allotted time on this earth is indeed our choice. But a ethical voice inside me says that our existence must amount for more and that in a way, we are all living on borrowed time. Time given to us to do some good, to propagate benevolence. I very much believe that there is no purpose of existence and given our most evident mortality, we derive our own value for our lives. That being said, this affirms the notion that our lives are our own. So why do I innately feel as if I should live my life for others, to alleviate the suffering of others before my own?

Mutual Parasitism

A parasite. Any organism that subsists upon the wellbeing of another. A leech. A vine. One would rarely think that a parasite could become a victim of another parasite and moreover to think that those two would feed upon one another seems to evoke a paradox. But this mutual parasitism exists more often than one expects. Day by day, I see these toxic relationships around me and even in the very relationships I am in.

Have you ever seen something become so intertwined with something else that it is no longer possible to determine which part is of one or the other? And eventually these braided existences cease being distinct and meld into a nauseating conglomerate of dependency? This is mutual parasitism. They become so engrossed in each other that they don't realize that they are sucking the life blood from each other until they no longer hold an individual identity. They no longer have the characteristics that make them distinct species. They become Monanthro unum, an organism that was once made of two that now are just halves. What they don't tell you about the Monanthro unum is that it is a species with no personality. It has become evolutionarily inclined to forget its natural behaviors in order to appease the organisms it becomes dependent on. It cannot think for itself in the singular form. It cannot decide for itself. Its absorption on its other half makes it forget of the external world because all they have the capacity to acknowledge is the mutual parasitism of the two halves. They lose touch with reality and they never reach a point of consciousness that allows them to break the malefaction that is their relationship. They become dead to the world around them.

But there is a secondary part of mutual parasitism. One that arises from a de facto connection between two species rather than a constructed relationship. It is because of this de facto cord that ties these two species together that they are forced to subsist on each other. Slowly they drive each other mad as they feed upon the livelihood of the other but they cannot stop and will never stop. They cripple each other and their ability to thrive. Slowly killing each other in mutually assured destruction.

Master Harold

I realize that there was a reason why the play "Master Harold ... and the boys" had such a profound impact on me. It's not just the fact that it addressed discrimination in such a powerful manner; it's that I felt an odd connection to Hally. I know that he is the juvenile, disappointing character of the play but I feel as if the struggles that he goes through as an individual mirror mine. The idea of oscillating between hope and despair for this world, I understand that concept intimately. The fact that Hally has these moments of clarity in which be sees the world only to revert back to bus superficial and juvenile self ... I find myself in the position all the time. 

I want so badly to be able to come to a certain realization about my life and existence to to be able to act accordingly in an enlightened fashion. I want to live a life that does not forget the things I come to know. But I've too often forgotten the things I find to be true about this world. So I lose my place and have to be reminded again of these thoughts. A pitiful cycle of remission into the cancer of my existence. Why can't I be the person I want to be? Why am I so incapable of controlling my own mind and thoughts? Why does my existence scare me?

Critical

I made some decisions recently that I don't really know if I regret yet. At the moment, I just feel angry. Angry at those who can't see past my actions, angry at myself for putting myself in this position, angry that the world is the way it is. It's ridiculous quite honestly to hold such negativity regarding things I can't change. So I lash out. And I point fingers. I am still a child.

It's a horrible feeling. Being betrayed. I can almost feel the knives that are stuck between my ribs from behind. I can't comprehend why that person would do this to me. They might claim it was for my benefit and for my own good. But how can hurting me like this lead to any good? How can you claim that your intention was not tinged with jealousy and spite when you obviously knew the outcome would leave me bleeding?

It's an even more horrible feeling to know that one act could have alienated you from the people you know and love. How can she say that it was selfish? What right does she have to judge me? I admit my fault in it all but apparently she has done no wrong. Of course. It makes sense with her impregnable morality and goodness. And I am left as the sole perpetrator. The one who has ruined everything. The ungrateful bastard who only thinks about herself.

It's funny how the same things are said to the people who contemplate the proximity of their own death. Of course it is selfish of them to take life in their own hands. What of the living left behind? What of the people who will mourn? Isn't it just as selfish to ask a person in that much pain to love another day in their stifling skin just so those who can be happy can remain so? What obligation do we have to others when we cannot even fulfill our obligations to ourself?

But in the end, apparently we are expected to live for others. Our lives are not our own to do as we please. We are born in chains as a wise man once said. Impenetrable. And in the end we are the villains to everyone else's story.

The People.

They are a sick and twisted conglomeration
Of borderline incestuous imbeciles
That relies on the subsistence provided by
The derivative juices of their
Tasteless minds and base comprehension of reality.
They spin a web that connects one to the other
In an endless labyrinthine pattern of convoluted dependency.
Dragged by the momentum from their trajectories,
they end in pit of their own desolation.
And I look in from the outside
With the view that only Dr. T.J Eckleburg is endowed
Feeling a great sense of superpower
In the form of all omni’s
Or maybe yet I’m disillusioned and am no better
Than the structures of adipose and fashioned calcium
That I’ve grown so critical of.
It’s easy to forge a path of self-righteousness
While under the impression that
Ones mind has surpassed the great ones,
Worked beyond what man has had the capacity to think
The internal ruminations that I am the single master
Of the world’s mysteries and intentions
And maybe then the mirage flickers,
The letters metamorphose to reveal
The underlying hieroglyphs that show that They
Is more closely synonymous to I than we think.
Leaving us with this fleeting sense
That we are no more than the dust under our feet.
How quickly we forget then this parable
Because we are afraid to accept the ludicrous
Wanting to patch and stitch our broken sense of purpose
With a sense of urgency and insanity.
So we smother ourselves in the salve of self-creationism
And it seeps into our cerebral cortex,
Working it’s magic to wash the growing Polaroid.
We realign ourselves with spines still curved,
Futilely trying to salvage what
We never even had in the first place.

Apocalyptic Renaissance

So it's funny to reflect on the year that has just passed and to see how far I've come and how much I've changed. I'm still disappointed to realize that all of the profound exclamations of self-actualization over this last year have amounted to quite little. I still seem to care about seemingly unimportant things in the grand scheme of life and that was never more apparent as it was as the year came to a close. I think in a way that I've let myself become defeated and that my subconscious self has lapsed into a state of stasis. Inactive. Irresponsive. Indecisive. I've put little effort into really making the things in my head come true and I'm baffled by the fact that I just continue to just expect things to happen as if I've earned it. But I guess that's my MO, isn't it? To start afresh and anew, speculate the downfalls of our coercive society, ramble and diminish the complexities of life into a few short declarations of an "enlightened child of the universe", and to wrap it all up with the expectations that I have become a reformed person. Except that never once have I been so wrong about myself.

They say that the easiest person to fool is yourself and for my entire life, I have done exactly that. I still bear the cross of my poor existence like a blind infant. I fail to resolve my supposedly hormonal angst that comes with any bildungsroman because of the common hamartia of man, pride. I've deceived myself into becoming a goddess within the palace of my own mind, unkind to this who criticize when only they speak the truth. I refuse to hear the words of those around me that try to show me that I am as human as the rest of them. I am drawn to people that playact as sirens only to become so destructive as to drive them away. I am my own failing and I am nothing special.

But this isn't some tragic soliloquy where I gripe about my unimportant existence but rather an acknowledgement that not all of us can be the "extraordinary man". I concede that I may never be better that those who I criticize for being dull and dimwitted because maybe to another I am equally dull and dimwitted. Is it tragic to say that despite all this, I still maintain hope for my future? That I can still see a brighter path down the way? Does that make me foolish or optimistic? Or do those characteristics go hand in hand?