Monday, November 30, 2009

Bitter-Sweet Freedom

People speak of freedom as something heavenly. Something that is great and awesome. I agree, do not doubt this. Freedom is something necessary.

I have freedom, in a way. I can come and go at any time, and eventually my parents will stop yelling, stop asking questions. If something gets too much, I can leave and find a different place to stay. I can walk out, I can walk in. I can basically do what I wish. This is freedom, is it not?

But what most don't realize when they see my freedom, when I smile and tell them I can go anywhere, do whatever, and get few protests, if any, is that my freedom is partly born of sadness, and my smile is slightly bitter at the edges. It's all like a picture with burnt edges. You, the onlooker, see it in a gilded frame. You only see the picture's center, whatever it may be. A butterfly? A colorful, flowering meadow? Happiness, surely. But me, being the owner of the picture, I see the middle, and how beautiful the picture is, but I also know the burnt edges, the smudge of soot that is hidden behind the gilded frame you view the very same picture in. I see the singes, the scorch marks.

What are these singes, scorched paper, smudges of soot? They are the bitterness of this freedom I have, for I have this freedom simply because I have accomplished something that not many people dare to, it seems. I have made my parents, caretakers, and anyone who tries to watch over me give up. I have made them realize that they can't control me, they can't force me to do something I don't want to do. That if they try, it's a waste because I'll ignore them completely and they'll lose anyways.

So I call my freedom bitter-sweet. I can go wherever, whenever I want, really, all because they can't do anything about it. They don't care to anymore.

And I think that's a bit worse than having them control when and where I go.

Sunday, November 29, 2009


Dear M,

No, I will not join you for lunch tomorrow. I do not wish to feel as out of place as you tend to make me feel nowadays. I do not wish to tempt fate and have you not show up, despite your invitation. I do not wish to be alone in a group of people I hardly recognize, the least of all being you.

Instead, I will stay here on my one morning free from you, free from everyone, and mingle with my peculiar and not so fleshed friends who you never cared to see. I'll write my heart out in words you never understood. I'll belong, which is more than you've let me be in these many months.

So, no. I will have to formally decline your invitation to lunch with you, and I'll be much better for it.

Yours Truly,
The one you keep forgetting to talk to.


Is it weird that what was once something I used for attention last year, I don't want to tell a soul this year?

It was pretty bad last year, but when it happened, people noticed me, and I got the attention I craved (after all, many people in my life were failing at giving me the slightest bit of attention). I turned something "pretty bad" into "somewhat okay" and maybe a bit "Kind of good."

An opportunist move, you could say, done by a girl who was being ignored in most aspects of her life.

And now?

It's happening again. It's barely contained. And do I tell a soul?

Not a one.

Sure, there's a hint dropped, but to someone who wouldn't know a hint if it was spelled out in front of him. And everyone else? Nothing. There's a pile of backspaced words with the names of my friends on them, and they won't be entered any time soon.

What called this change? I don't know. Maybe it's because I finally have some kind of attention of someone I desperately wanted it from, or maybe I've grown up a little bit.

We may seek a fortune for no greater reason than to secure the respect and attention of people who would otherwise look straight through us. -Alain de Botton

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Missing Your Grace

If someone told me a year ago that I'd be missing four horses terribly right now, I wouldn't have believed them. If someone told me that in February, I would have assumed a whole different scenario entirely, if I believed it.

Funny how things can change so much in just a year. In just half a year. Makes me wonder what I'll be feeling a year, even a half a year from now. Who will I be missing then? Will I still miss Summer, Montana, Whistler and Dakota? Or will something have happened to change that woeful feeling? Will I have free reign (lol, pun, that made me smile even in my depressed state) to see them? Or will something else take their place? Or will they simply fade from memory?

Option A is my favorite, right now. I think it will always be...

A lovely horse is always an experience.... It is an emotional experience of the kind that is spoiled by words. ~Beryl Markham

A horse is the projection of peoples' dreams about themselves - strong, powerful, beautiful - and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence. ~Pam Brown

Sunday, November 22, 2009

To Listen without Criticism (a method you never learned)

When I talk, do you listen? Or does it disappear in the crowd of your own thoughts, your own wants and desires that you press on everyone else? When I talk, does any of it get through to you, through that pushy crowd and into some actual space where I can be heard?

No. I don't think so. You, you, you. That is what runs your world. If it doesn't concern you, it's not worth the effort.

And, going off on a tangent here, ever think that maybe I don't have a solid, logical, makes-sense-to-everyone reason why I do the things I do? Why I will burst into a run from a calm walk, or will ask a question that seemed to have come out of nowhere, or will stare at the leaves and count their colors. Do I need such a reason, one of those reasons that will appease you? "Just because I wanted to," doesn't seem to be one of those reasons on the list in your head.

Can't I just be, and not be asked endless, cynical, obtrusive questions? Can't my reasons be left alone and not be picked apart and meshed into something that doesn't even vaguely resemble what it once was?

So hush. Listen to me. Let me breathe. Let me do what I want without having to answer to you. Then maybe we can avoid these "unfair fights" that always seem to be blamed on me, and this "moody attitude" I get whenever I talk to you and you fill it up with barely-concealed criticisms.

If not, bearing lychee-flavored gifts will soon not redeem you in my eyes.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Proving a Native Westdaler wrong :D

Okay, so, till Weil's, I've never been to Westdale, and so I obviously don't know the layout or anything, all I know is what is within sight from Weil's and the bus stop right in front. Today, Tom and I had to go walk to Koosh, one of the restaurants that orders bread from us, for delivery of 14 loaves of Italian bread. I stand outside Weil's, looking around and waiting for Tom to take the lead because I don't know where the heck I'm going, but I *think* it's down the street to the right
"Don't you know how to get there?"-Tom
"No." -me
"It's right by Pita Pit."
"I don't know where that is."
"You don't? You don't go that way?" (incredulous)
"Um, I don't live around here. I live on the Mountain"
"Oh, well it's that way" *points right*

So we get to Koosh and the lights are out and Tom bangs on the door, and it's in the middle of a long block of connected shops, and he gets angry because they're not open and they're not answering and he goes through this all the time, kicks the door in frustration. Starts complaining that he'll have to walk back to Weil's, call Koosh to open the doors, then walk all the way back.
I ask "Isn't there a back door?"
He replies "No, we always go through this one."
"Then where do they take deliveries?"
"Through this door" *kicks it again*
"That's impractical. What about during rush hour? It'll be too crowded, and it's not very professional"
"Well they don't have any other door!"
"There's always a back door, heading to the kitchen."
"There isn't a back door!"
"Whatever. I'm going to find this non-existent back door"
So I start walking to the corner and turn down, and I see a parking lot like they have at places like this, and he's dragging behind and I turn the corner. And there's people. They shout out "Hello!" and I say "Hey, you're Koosh?"
I turn to Tom and say "I told you there was a back door!"

Sunday, November 15, 2009


So I realized something while browsing the Life Issues forum (which I do sometimes). I bake and cook a lot, and I have had a couple of boyfriends, but I don't believe I've ever made a single one of them even a cookie. Even as my exes, I don't even think I've made JRoss anything... wait, there were those chocolates but they were for everyone, not specifically him.

Not that any of them but one deserves anything I can make (the one being JRoss).

So I guess it will be special if I bake or cook a guy something, since I don't seem to do it for just anyone. Of course, I might just get sick of this kind of track record and do it for kicks.

But where I am glad to make my girl friends anything, my guy friends? Not so much. Don't know why. Critical of myself? Maybe.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Frayed Strings

You are one of those people I just can't keep in touch with, it seems. We went so right (or so it seemed), and then the fairytale burst as I secretly (even to myself) knew it would. From there, it spiralled down like a dying phoenix- a dying burst of flame. And I can't really blame you, though you tell me I can (and should).

So our last kiss was the beginning, or maybe just the middle, of a dying correspondence. It's the cataclysmic event that caused all the strings to become frayed and confused- are they strings, or just particles? Are they whole? Were they ever whole? Were they meant to even exist?

I'd feel sad to be those strings, and must be grateful to only be the cause of those strings, the one that holds them as they weep for themselves and their questionable existence.

You know I tried to save them, right? I tried to wind them back together, even if they were only a semblance of the strength they once were (which I must doubt was strong in the first place, but still). They just wouldn't stay. They won't stay. Maybe they've lost hope on themselves, or maybe nothing I do will convince them to keep holding on. Maybe I'm not trying enough, but honestly, this you cannot blame soley on me, my once-dear. The cause of this all- sure, the blame can go for a large chunk to me, but this is not going to be the same thing.

I hope it isn't.

I'm not too sure.

But slowly, I'm giving up on these frayed strings. I no longer wish so dearly to keep the connection alive and whole, and they don't seem to want to either. Should I try to convince them otherwise? Maybe. Quite possibly. Do I feel such a need?

No. I cannot say that I do. And I apologize one last time, because I do not want to apologize to you any more.

I'm sorry, and I'm not. I like you, and I don't. I hate you... and I hate you.

I know it is not much of an apology, but that is what you are getting. Exchange it for as much as it is worth, I'll give you no more.

Rules for those I cannot Talk to

It is superbly annoying when I have to be friends with someone who I can't talk to.

Usually it's a combination of them being unwilling to listen and unwilling to be wrong/have something pointed out that is completely obvious. I can see where the second comes into play- I hate being wrong and I hate the obvious being pointed out (I'm more frustrated with myself than them, though), but sometimes one needs someone else to see the whole picture, someone who isn't so close. They may see only one tangly path out of where they are, but because I'm not so close to the problem, I can scout out paths that are simpler, and may lead to less hurt.

I've got to put a few rules down, it seems.

1. Avoid any kind of sticky subject. This could be anything from religion to relationships to stories and writing (who thought that innocent writing would be a sticky subject?)

2. When trying to help (even if I'm asked to) say nothing but "mhm" and "I agree" and suchlike.

3. If one of these friends-who-I-cannot-talk-to is being totally irrational, do not attempt to rationalize them, as they may do a number of things that include cursing at me, swearing that I'm on "their" (whoever the enemy of the situation is) side, and insulting various aspects of me.

4. Smile and nod, or look sympathizing, or indifferent, depending on the situation. This can save my life.

5. When tempted to talk seriously with this person (which previous serious talks have produced unwanted results) write it elsewhere or talk to someone else instead.

EDIT: 6. Don't talk about taking naps or anything of the sort because they seem to be obsessed with telling me I shouldn't sleep so much, when they know nothing of how I've been sleeping this past week, month, etc.

(Rules are subject to change, mostly additions as subtractions would be foolish and probably produce undesirable results)

*sigh* Can you see me following these rules, as open as I am?

I thought not. But I'll try.

Monday, November 9, 2009


There's always a trade. Always a sacrifice you've got to make. Take one or the other, not both.

We grew up wishing to be older. We thought "Hey, it will be fun to be adults." We dreamed of the freedom, the late nights, the ability to go anywhere and everywhere. We had no true worries. Money was something that was infinite, despite whatever our parents said (they just wanted it for themselves!). Sickness was a cough, those days where we felt like throwing up or blowing our noses out the window, and we got to stay home. Fights didn't include words that would scar us for weeks to come. The biggest hurt was falling off something, like a bike. We never knew just how lucky we were.

And now we've got so much less, but so much more. We've got more freedom, sure, but there's so much that seems to go wrong with it. Scarier things lurk in the dark than the monsters under the bed. What ifs cloud our minds whether we want them to or not. Grades have a lot more meaning. No longer can we be anything we want to be. Sickness takes on a whole new meaning. fights cost us friends and sleep. A broken heart competes with everything else for the biggest hurt.

Are we lucky still? Are we not realizing how lucky we really are, just as when we were kids?

Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows. ~John Betjeman, Summoned by Bells

Monday, November 2, 2009


Don't ever try to be someone who you're not. Sure, you can reach out and make a new friend when you're shy, but know your boundaries. Don't act like someone else. It's quite possible you'll regret it the rest of your life.

I know this personally.

Sunday, November 1, 2009


To all those who belittle themselves and have put very little value on yourselves, stop it. It's silly to do such a thing. Everyone is worth everything at the beginning, and it's their view of themselves and the world that raises or lowers their value. Don't expect the rest of us to try raising your price.

If you really put a small value upon yourself, rest assured that the world will not raise your price. ~Author Unknown