On language and its implications

I had an interesting exchange today with someone, revealing that even though we were speaking in the same language (but one none of us is a native of) using the same type of words, we were managing to be completely tangential as for the meaning. After the initial shock, I started to think, maybe a common language is not what connects us as people, but rather creates an illusion of clarity, an expectation of instant transfer of understanding, which in turn causes a larger disappointment when this does not happen.  Intercultural and interpersonal differences still play a huge role in our perception of others' feelings and thoughts, and the fact that we are stringing together words drawn from the same pool is not enough to close that gap. On the contrary, misunderstandings become not only much more common, their effects are much more drastic as well. Since the resulting confusion cannot be blamed on the language difference per se, one starts to assume malicious intent. Then things start to get tricky. In any case, slinging personal insults carries pretty much the same meaning across the board: it is unproductive, bad form, and frankly, a sign of immaturity.  Those should be avoided at all cost, if the goal is to reach to any understanding at any time in the future. Also, fuck you.

About a rant that I just wrote and then took down

I just finished writing a long rant about this person that makes me pretty angry these days. I put it online for a minute, and felt the satisfaction of it. Then thought better and took it down.

It doesn't matter how many times I say 'fuck you' or 'fuck this', how many times I lay out every single thing that bothers me or how many swearwords I sprinkle it with, a rant is a rant is a rant.

I may not know how to deal with this problem right now, and I may feel overwhelmed and maybe a bit fed up and even wanting to blow it all to hell, it is not what a responsible adult should do. I just need get over it, suck it up, put up my big girl panties, and do what needs to be done. I can surely limit my involvement, too, maybe that's a good idea.

From 6/26/2009

I am in a really interesting place right now. It's a moment in my life that I am not facing any important decisions, no life-changing experiences, no crazy trips to Europe or drunken stupors. Everything has a pleasant routine, streams are flowing calmly in their beds, there is nthing to stress about too much. It's like every outside stimulation is shut off. So, I'm having an internal journey. I'm going on to an adventure in my own mind, with the ultimate purpose of self discovery, but I am determined to enjoy it all the way through.

What's going on?

I feel like writing, all of a sudden. It's easier to do, since I'm doing it in a forgotten place, what's better than a blog inactive for the past 8 years, right? Nobody will read this.

Then why not write it into a notebook? Well, here's the thing: My needing to write comes from a need to share. I don't have anyone in my life at the moment that I can say all these things I'd like to talk about, or maybe I'm just not that person anymore who likes to talk about her feelings. It leaves me vulnerable.

Also, when I'm talking, I get lost in the beauty of words and expressions, and the meaning starts to take a back seat sometimes.

Also, when I'm talking to someone, I start mirroring their take on things, my mind slightly molds, adapting into the shape their minds crave to make a contact with. This makes me the perfect listener, but I end up saying things that are not exactly not true but maybe not the things I wanted to say. I am physically not able to be hundred percent honest when talking to another person. I find myself second-guessing every word, analyzing every reaction, playing a game. I enjoy it, it's amazing and satisfying, but at the same time, it's both involuntary, like an automatic reaction, and definitely not what I need.

Also, I do sometimes have an ulterior motive. I can't help it. If I like the person, I like them to like me. If they're pretty, even more so, I want to impress them.

If it's a stranger, I have an image to project. OK, that image is not really all that different from who I am, a neat mixture of who I am and who I really want to be. And it's a work in progress, I'm trying to become who I want to be any way. But anyways, I'm not going to talk to a stranger about my private thoughts and feelings, right? Hah, but I'm perfectly willing to put them up for anyone to find. It's like a kid hiding their diary but hoping that the mom will actually find it and see how unfairly they are treating their precious kid and repent. I did that all the time as a kid. Complained about my mom and dad in writing, then accidentally 'forgot' the diary on their dresser or something. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) for me that they respected my privacy. Life's funny like that.

Eh, so yes. Writing in a forgotten blog, then. Let me know if you find this, it would surely mortify me :)

Sometimes poetry is not the right way. But then again, without it, I'm afraid that I might give too much away.

Dear Diary

One day. It only took one day, one day of hard work, one day of getting dog-tired, brain half shut down, one day of doing actual work, getting lost in it, sinking, losing sight of the surface, then kicking back, breaking out, finding yourself again. Turns out, you found more than just yourself, hurt and battered, with invisible scars and the ghost of an headache. Or you just truly found yourself. When you have no energy to think, no energy to care, things look so simple. It's all trivial when you think about it.

Hasn't it been that way this whole time? Can you remember this? Can you keep this in mind the next time another pretty face bats his eyelashes at you, the next time a mean, jealous comment burns a hole in your psyche, the next time you feel the bitter taste of your own jealousy clouding your mind and you start to think like a character from a book you'd stop reading the second you saw such behavior in?

Stories and dreams

I'm losing the grip on reality. It's an eery feeling that I can't shake off. I constantly read about other worlds, placing myself into those magical stories. I'm wearing them like a second skin around me, dreaming, wishing so hard as to bend the walls of everyday existence. Escaping any company, any distraction, confined in my body but not imprisoned by its limits, I weave a net of insanity with my thoughts. I start to understand why I never wanted to be alone. Eventhough I loathed invasions on my privacy, I'd do nothing to prevent them. Now I see why. I see why I chose the life I'm living now, the men I'm with, my destiny. Because I can't escape the power of my imagination by myself. I need iron restraints to keep my feet on the ground. The soothing pressure of a strong arm around my waist, the intellectual challenge of doing research, the fear of being ridiculed by the ones I hold dear. Without all those, I slip into a self inflicted scizophrenia. Because life is never as interesting as what the mind is capable of producing. And passion, almost materialized by unsatisfied desires, pushes me to the edge. One more month, and I'd be lost forever...
Well, I only have one more week, to be in this state. Then I'll be back to the city again, to the crowds, friends and family, and I'll behave. My mind will be too busy reading the minds of others, planing my steps, avoiding confrontations, enjoying conversations. And when I'm back to my little house, the dreams will be gone.
What if I had a chance? What if I didn't fear about anyone missing me, anyone being upset, and let go of reality? What if I could slip into a coma, doing nothing but sleeping, dreaming? Well, it would be easy, no? In dreams everything turns out just right, in our thoughts we are the most beautiful, the most desired, the most succesful. It's a lot easier than to work for it. One might as well work for a whole lifetime, achieving nothing but a flimsy wreath of flowers at the funeral. Youth is temporary, so is strength and fulfillment. One you lose, and there is no going back, the others come and go as they please. I'm not strong. My will is weak, resisting temptations is not an art that I could master. And then there is him. All my speeches of emancipation are worthless. I miss him, not just the way one misses a lover, I miss him as I miss firm ground beneath my feet. The only thing that binds me to mundane truth, against the seduction of living in a limbo of suspended life, comatose, in my dreams. That's why I love him, among other things, while I am incapable of loving anything/anyone else.
I wonder what his reasons are though...

Dear Diary,

Seems like I just hit that age where everyone around me seems to be getting married. 4 new weddings just this month, all people of my age, or younger. And twice as many in the previous months. Weird. Or maybe not. I don't know.
I'm really glad that my choice of lifestyle kind of protects me from hearing the question too many times. I know that people look at me and think, 'when?'. Well, that's only to be expected, especially since I'm with the same guy for 8 years. None of the people getting married have been together for so long. The only thing that stops people from actually asking the question is that I'm not around long enough for them to ask it. Oh, and also, that I still count as a student. Even though it's my job now, and I'm getting paid for it, I'm still a student. That helps, really. People stop and think, well, maybe once she graduates... Not that I care what they think though, but I tend to get irritated when people expect me to answer them about something so profoundly personal.
'When?' Or rather 'if?'.
I can't say I don't have my doubts. The question is there, unspoken, but the answer is taken for granted. Because, you know, that's what you do. You marry the man you love. There is certainly no doubt about my love. It's not a fairy tale sort, nothing like a movie or a song. It's a fact, solid as a rock. But... One doesn't get married to the person, no? It's the whole package. It's a package that supposed to make you change, it supposed to make you more responsible. You have to think about everything you do, you have to seek approval of a multitude of people that you didn't even felt their existence before. Especially, if that's how your significant other expects you to act.
This is getting too personal. I just wanted to write my general thoughts about the subject but I'm returning to the same point again and again. If I would, for a moment, believe such a thing as soul, I'd say mine is just an untamed beast. Even the sight of a possible confinement sends me running to the hills. I don't even like when people try to give me advice, on anything. My most valued possession is my freedom, I can only sacrifice a small amount for the sake of the man I value above all, and I'm not really very successful in that. Not that I don't want to, I just can't. So what if I'm forced to consider not just his feelings, but a bunch of other people's, too? Other people that frankly, for the most part I don't give a damn about, may be from my side or his. I don't give a damn about no one, I guess, when it comes to my place in life. Even the ones dearest to me get horrified by my crude reactions when they insist on expressing their opinions about my choices. Either that, or I simply don't listen, doing the mental equivalent of covering my ears and singing loudly. And next time I make sure that I avoid the subject. Maybe that's a bad thing in itself. But everyone knows, I take full responsibility for my actions, I gladly admit that if things go wrong, it's my own fucking fault. Well, likewise, if things turn out right, I'm happy to accept the praise. And I really like it that way.
Back to our subject. Do I need to make the effort? Do I need to consider a change? Do I owe him that much? Or is it fair to expect him to accept me the way I am. Not that I was any different anytime. Will I always feel the same way about things? Huh, I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

Here I sit, alone, in front of my computer, thinking about men that crossed my life at some point. I don't regret many of the things I have done, except for a couple of times that I allowed myself to sink a bit too low, and made it possible for others to hurt me. It's OK if someone I care a lot ends up hurting me, that's mostly an unavoidable fact of life. But if someone I see just as random play manages to do that, that means I'm doing something wrong. Well, it's always like that actually. It's always one's own fault, whatever happens. The other people involved can be the greatest assholes ever, still it's one's own fault, at the very least, because of putting up with those assholes. I didn't have those kind of people cross my path, really, so I was lucky. But sometimes, one can turn perfectly decent people into jerks just by expecting too much of them. That means, if he paralyzes you with his beauty, but there is nothing else about him that would attract you if he wasn't Adonis himself in flesh and blood, well, you can't fucking expect him to feel any different about you, either. Why would he fall in love with you, or even like you? More importantly, why does it hurt you to see that already ridiculous expectation isn't fulfilled? You didn't care about him anyways, did you?
Funny, isn't it? That's how we all are. We all want to be invaluable, irresistible, irreplaceable, even for those who are none of the said for us. But, if we somehow end up being in that position, and if that person gives us an open check about his feelings, we suddenly realize that it's not what we want anymore, we are no longer interested, and try to get away as soon as we can. Because, no one actually likes a doormat as a lover, really. Not getting to have them, or at least the possibility of losing them makes others truly attractive for us. Same goes even for long term relationships. If we believe that our significant other will be there no matter what we do, we start trying to see how far we can go. Sometimes that means as far as to not being able to find the way back... or also, not wanting to come back...
But well, beauty and desire are funny things. One can be as smart or experienced as it gets, the effects of beauty are still not negligible. Desire is capable of transforming the most civilized people into savants in an instant.
What I was thinking about? I was thinking about the men who crossed my path. Very few of them managed to have a place in my heart, really, but almost all of them managed to hurt me somehow. I am usually one that comes into people's lives, all of a sudden, stays there for a while and disappears again without leaving a trace. I could never be one of those people who shatter souls and leave such deep marks that people never manage to forget. I don't think I hurt anyone, ever. Maybe that's why no one ever thought I was irreplaceable. A sweet memory, maybe, remembered with a smile even, but never a hole that aches from time to time. You know, even he didn't call me... And I finally decided to let go of that old promise I made when I was young and foolish. I don't think he remembers at all.
That's enough of rambling for now... Maybe some more follows, maybe not, I don't know.

...

-Do you know what love is?
-No. I just hear people keep talking about it all the time. It must be the strangest thing, because everyone says something else.
-It is, well, if you see someone, and you feel all weird, like you blush and forget what you were about to say...
-I don't think Mrs. Wedma blushes when she sees Mr. Wedma though. And she always talks a lot, too. Yet people say they are still in love. And, you know, I feel like that a lot, especially if one of those people from the south show up. You know, the ones with honey-colored eyes?
-You do?
-Eh, they are beautiful people, no? And they talk so soft, looking one in the eye. I feel like I'm someone important when they talk to me. And they don't walk, they almost glide...
-Don't be stupid! Of course they walk. Besides, you can't be in love with so many people. There must be hundreds of them!
-I know, that's what I'm saying. Love must be something else then.
-What about, someone wants to do something, and you don't want to, but you want to do something together, so you do it anyways, and...
-That is what friends do.
-Yes, friends can love each other, too.
-No, it should be something special. You said it, you can't be in love with many people. It is one-person-only I think.
-That's funny. One person, then it must be the most special person in your life. Most important.
-Heh heh, Aina always says that I'm the most important thing in her life!
-That's because Aina is your mom, silly.
-No, she is not. She just found me in the bushes. I'm an overgrown blueberry!
-...which can talk.
-No, I don't. It's all in your head.
-We were talking about love.
-I'm bored. It's not worth talking anyway. Red says that you feel it or you don't. Well, I don't.
-How do you know that you don't, if you don't know what it is?
-Do you want to go swimming?
-No, but I'll come with you if you want to.
-A ha, that's not funny.
-We are friends, no?
-Well... yes... I don't want to swim now. I'll go home. Bye!
-Wait! Ta'ra! I was joking!