Sorry about yesterday,

You'll have to forgive me for my blog post yesterday--I wasn't in my right mind. I'd wanted my tone to be a little more solemn, not whacked-out-crazy, but apparently, that was not to be. I hadn't even remembered the most important lesson of my reaction to my sickness yesterday: I never again want to be in control of my breathing. Of all the things I am glad, and the things for which I am grateful, automatic breathing has become my favorite. It feels very good to be able to think about other things and breathing just sort of happens in the background; it is when I have to remember to breathe while I'm thinking that's tricky.

You see, what I'd wanted to post yesterday I shall have to post today: an encouraging note I found in the deep corners of my journal. This is what it reads:

Dear Magistra [Teacher] Triumpho (sic),

Thank you for always being there as a teacher and friend. You’ve helped me everytime (sic) I was down by either making me laugh, smile or look at the bright side. You make me understand who I am. Thanks, Love Naty.

When I first read her note to me I could not cry because I was too shocked and honored at receiving it; that and I thought it was adorable how she misspelled my last name- how phonetic. I did not know my actions meant more than I intended, so much so, that I helped a young lady understand her very identity. Indeed, I only thought I was helping her to conjugate Latin verbs.

I do wonder, though if the outcome would have been different if I did intend to help her understand her identity, and not how to conjugate Latin verbs. Eh, who's to say what could've happened--that, at this point (two years later), is irrelevant.

But her gratitude does then make me consider: if my positive actions can incur such humbling gratitude, what sort of impact do my negative actions in incur? Of course, that begs the question: is it a positive action to intend only to help in academia, and therefore a negative action if I intend to influence and develop her life outside of academia? Vice versa? But, frankly, no matter what my actions are it is only she that can determine her reaction. People can become good people in spite of poor parents and teachers. People can become bad people in spite of good parents and teachers.

Whatever.

I don't know, and couldn't give a damn.

Those are such petty questions when I should really keep in mind: I hope Natalie is doing all right. I do hope she has other teachers who help her build up her individual identity. I hope she is taking full advantage of whatever opportunities are coming her way. Make mistakes, Natalie.

Special Words

I am not a very consistent person. Nope. Ain't got the attention span for it. That's probably my fault. Whatever. Anyway! So, today- this morning- my parents and I went to the park to exercise. You know, walking or jogging a few laps. We had a few church friends join us, then my Dad said, "Oh, call your grandparents. See if they want to come."

Now, I initially didn't want to call them because that meant I would have to walk with my grandma, and not exercise on my own. Not that I don't enjoy walking with my grandma, but because of my inconsistency this was my first week working out after a month of sedentary habits. But, I called my grandparents, of course, I did, who do you think I am? They'd said they'd come.

I knew that I had about thirty to forty minutes before my grandparents would show up so I decided to take four quick laps around the main area of the park (that's about a mile). When my grandparents arrived, I just finished my laps, and could now attend to my grandma. (Grandpa doesn't want me to help him walk around because my helping him makes him look old. Don't tell him, but I think he looks old without my help.)

When I walk with my grandma I sometimes I forget I walk too quickly for her. That I need to slow down. At a few points during our walk she needs to sit and rest. I took advantage of this and did a few squats, when she turns to me and says, "You're not stout. You are skinny."

"Oh, I-. Thanks, Grandma."

Self-consciousness is not reserved for the female half of the species so I probably don't need to tell you how I can 'feel fat' even though 'fat' is not a feeling. Sadness, anger, happiness: those are feelings. I probably don't need to tell you how frustrating it can be to go clothes' shopping; or how I don't want to do Zumba, or Crossfit, or go on diets after looking through magazines or watching television or surfing the internet.

In fact, a lot of my reasons for refusing to lose weight stem from a desire to stay away from the hype and need to 'look good' in clothes I can't afford or that I even like in the first place. I have no desire to post my day-to-day progress from a size 10 to a size -3. I don't like when people look at me now, why in the world would I want people to look at me when I'm 'really attractive'?

But then Grandma told me, "You're not stout. You are skinny."

I'm 5'2 and weigh about 165 lbs: I am far from 'skinny' for my dimensions, but as it is, I like to think I look well enough; I like to think that I'm confident enough in myself, in my appearances to brush off any insult...but not all the time.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with posting your day-to-day progress. There's nothing wrong with wanting to look good in clothes, especially if it's something you like, but I cannot tell you how many times those worries have overpowered the better desire to be healthy, confident, and happy. I cannot tell you how many times I've covered myself in shame for being unable to wear what the mannequin's wearing.

I can't believe I can be intimidated by something that doesn't breathe. At all. Nor would care to!

I suppose, in so many words, my grandma meant to say I've changed. Perhaps she meant to say I'm pretty. Whatever she meant to say I was glad she said it. Glad to hear her stories. Glad I asked for my grandparents to join us. Glad my weight problems are mere mole-hills instead of mountains, as indeed are all my problems mole-hills.

well-intentioned

thank you for your attempt!
that was very...well-intentioned of you.
i can't say i saw it coming,
no more than you really will keep it coming as you promise to do, but thank you.
your consideration for my...inherent?
my...obvious?- devastation is still kind.
thank you.
you are kind.
as kind as i will ever be.
although i don't remember drowning, choking, or bleeding
i still thank you.
perhaps i was drowning, choking, or bleeding at one point.
i don't know.
i'm sure there are cases of people drowning, choking, or bleeding without knowing.
surely, yes.
i've lied without knowing.
i don't know.
but, thank you.
your intentions will not go unnoticed.

Funny thing about emotions...

So, the funny thing about emotions-. No, wait. The natural thing about emotions: they change. They're supposed to change. People whose emotions don't change are annoying and fake. We don't like annoying and fake. We like honesty and realness. Now the funny thing about honesty and realness is that one can often be too honest and real? You think that's impossible? Well, have you ever verbalized what's really on your mind when you're angry? That's being too honest.

One of the greatest, most precious, consequences of being too honest, however, is discovering who won't hate you for it. Discovering who won't run away from you. Also discovering how much you might need to change in order to deserve the people who won't hate you, or run away from you.

I've been told that change is good. I like change. I don't like big changes toppling after me like dominoes. I like subtle changes. I appreciate subtlety. I like when-the-ocean-beats-against-the-rocks change. I like slow, steady change. Change that must occur day to day, like routines, so that when I turn around to see the hole I've dug, I've actually not dug a hole at all. Really, any holes I might have dug are just exits out of the mound! Ooh, like Edmond Dantès and the Priest digging out a tunnel! Or!- or like Andy Dufresne! Yeah, Andy!- you redeem Shawshank!

But back to emotions naturally changing.

If emotions didn't change I wouldn't know the people I do. If my emotions never changed- well, I- I wouldn't've known such great things as love, longing, friendship and sadness exist beyond my imagination; that these emotions exist as fluidly and abundantly in a stranger's life as in my life. That's a sad existence: to live without others.

No man is an island. Even monks live in community, however solitary.

Even the annoying, fake ones--what's life without them? What if they want to change in order to deserve your friendship? What if they're waiting for someone who's willing to be that person who will hear too much honesty and realness? I don't know. Maybe. It's just a thought I had.

Because sometimes I don't like how my emotions change. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to feel so self-conscious, aware of someone's compliments or insults--what then would my reason over-think if I didn't have these emotions?

Ah, I must be a whole person:

"And all the time--such is the tragi-comedy of our situation--we continue to clamour for those very qualities we are rendering impossible. You can hardly open a periodical without coming across the statement that what our civilization needs is more 'drive', or dynamism, or self-sacrifice, or 'creativity.' In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honor and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful." -C.S. Lewis' The Abolition of Man

Yes, this is a little out of context. A lot out of context, but basically!- I become upset with others who treat me poorly--who did not give me my dues--but who've I treated poorly? Who've I disregarded? Who've I walked all over? I probably have done all those things. I'm not better than the person who did so to me.

I can't expect someone to be virtuous, enterprising, beautiful, endearing, encouraging without being so myself? Not that I'm going to walk around showing everyone what it means to be all those things--that's stupid. But to just be those things, right? Am I right?

Ah, I'm probably wrong.

All I know is that I can't be afraid of fickle emotions. I can't be afraid of angry, sad or bitter thoughts for these emotions give way to peace, happiness and contentment.

Have a good night.

"You're just saying that!"

A couple days ago I finally got my haircut, and since then I've received many compliments.

"Super cute haircut, really!"

"Oh! It's so different from what you had before! I love it!"

"So, you got a haircut? Oh. Looks nice."

Before the haircut I had my hair up in a ponytail and when my hair dresser took that first big snip my head suddenly felt ten times lighter. I bet I could jump off a building and start flying, if I really wanted to. I'll let you know how that turns out my next blog post.

But I'll be honest, I was kind of nervous about my new haircut. I've had it short before, yes, but not this short (it's a pixie cut). A barrage of self-consciousness thoughts invaded my mind palace (wink wink); I was suddenly worried if my face were too round, if I picked the right color hair dye or what if I was the only one that liked my haircut? For me, long hair is such a security blanket, and now that it's all so short I have nothing  to hide behind.

Right after my haircut I had work and one of my coworkers said to me: "When you walked into the break room I only saw the back of your head and thought, "Who is this person?" but then you turned around!- very nice! Is that a shade of red I see?"

And the only polite way to respond is, "Thank you."

Yet however much I consciously believe the compliments something rather subconscious (therefore deadly, thank you, Freud) tells me that these compliments aren't true. I mean, what else are these people supposed to say?

"So, you got a haircut? You want me to go get a paper bag with eye holes because that cut and color are offensive."

My subconscious screams, "They're just being nice! They don't want to hurt your feelings!"

My conscious will almost always submit to my subconscious...BUT NOT THIS TIME!

Whatever niceties my coworkers, family or friends give me I need to remember their sincerity...sincerities. (I'm a slave to parallelism.) My modesty and humility need not become false. There is a difference between accepting compliments and expecting compliments.

I'm no Helen of Troy (what do I want a thousand ships for?), but I'm also certainly not one of the Twits. Whatever beauty I do possess is kept in check by the occasional pimple or pair of jeans that shrunk folded up in the dresser drawer, a reminder that beauty needs to be preserved.

In the same way I catch the log in my eye before I poke out the speck in your eye, I need to remember my own beauty, my own value, before I can remember your beauty and value. After all, we are human: beautiful in our ordinariness.

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