My Hero

Jan. 14th, 2022 09:43 pm
takethisforexample: (Default)
My dad is a person who I truly love. It's honestly a shame I haven't talked about him more here. I've noticed since I've gone to college that he really makes an effort to spend time with me and I'm glad that it has been something we prioritize when I'm around. For all of my life, I can't really think of a time where things were tumultuous between us, although we've had our fair share of parent-child arguments. Even in those memories, the thing about my dad and I is that we know how to apologize and make it up to each other. We can go back to having a stable relationship in no time.

I'd describe my dad as a pretty classic conservative middle-aged man, which I guess is sort of ironic considering my... unconventional beliefs. A few years ago he told me that I should always fight for what I think is right even if he doesn't agree with it, so that's more than enough for me. He likes knives and guns and leatherworking and would probably do anything for this family even though he's pretty edgy about it. Everything he owns is in some way "tactical" and August and I like to joke about that with him. He takes himself seriously sometimes about it but we have him figured out to a T- all you have to do is say "boobs" to him and he'll start cracking up. Despite being traditionally ignorant, he has always supported his kids and our identities. However, unlike August, I have the advantage of sharing some interests with him, like music and knife collecting. Those things have made us much closer and we get along really well. He's generous, too, and he gives solid hugs. He's an admirable father and I have always looked up to him. When I was younger I wanted to be just like him, and at this age I still appreciate him deeply for everything he has done for me.

One of my most distinct memories with my father was when I was eight. We were on vacation in Ocean City, and we were driving home after crabbing in the afternoon. I was buckled up in the back of his 1998 Jeep Cherokee and "My Hero" by Foo Fighters was playing on the radio. He was singing it sort of quietly the way he does while driving, and from that point on, I always associated that song with him. It's one of those songs with a clear-cut memory attached to it that I hold close. My eight-year-old brain thought "Hey, my dad is sort of my hero. This song was basically written about him." I never revoked that title.

My dad is human, though. He has a few weaknesses, albeit they are nothing compared to his wife. My dad is not exactly confrontational unless he really has to be, and has gone down some weird constitutionalist pipeline which was so annoying during the Trump presidency. He can be hot-headed and say hurtful things he regrets, and sometimes he yells instead of actually arguing. It holds more weight coming from him so it's easier for him to make me upset. He also takes my mother's side in his ignorance and can even come off as strict, but that was never really a problem growing up and isn't a problem now since I'm in college. It's hard to approach him about emotional stuff or some of my interests, but I can't tell if that's me or him. Sometimes I just have no idea what to talk about and our car conversations are a bit contrived. I'd take that over the proleptic arguments that seem to happen when I talk to my mom. I guess the difference between him and Mom is that he has the rationality and conviction to identify when he's wrong instead of feeding into his ego or exercising a ridiculous level of control. It's hard to describe his downsides when we are ultimately an amicable duo, though. I like to be around him and he likes to be around me. He shows me affection and protects me. He is able to say and prove that he loves me.

On Thursday he asked if I wanted to go to the thrift store with him. On the way there I asked him what he needed and he said "nothing, just thought it would be something to do". We got lunch after and I was able to get his perspective on the ordeal with Mom. Even though I might not agree completely with where he stands on it, I can tell he's just doing what he thinks is best and his best isn't unagreeable enough for me to deem it unacceptable. In the end he assured me, holding back tears, that all he wants is for August and I to be happy, healthy, and safe.

And with that, I segue back to the state of this family. I've gotten everyone's point of view on it. That's some quality journalism right there, huh? August sent me a long text from the heart the other day, clarifying that they recognize Mom's behavior as abuse. They like to run from their problems though, and with the pressure they've had on them over the years I can't blame them. My mom asked me the other day if I knew if August was trying to cut them off, and the answer is pretty much yes. Yet, I didn't tell her and said it wasn't my place to confirm that if I knew. Dad says Mom is afraid of losing us and I can tell he is, too. I'm not losing Dad ever, but everything about my mom makes me want to run the way August did. Dad is worried. Mom is worried. August is stressed. Obviously I am, too. I know all of this, but I can't be the one to patch this family back together. Unless Mom sees a therapist I doubt anything will change at all. August said they want to bring that up with her, so we will see how it goes. Right now I am just thankful for what I have been able to establish with my father and sibling amidst all of this. Admittedly, I am afraid that if I distance myself from Mom, Dad will be a part of that. I would hate for us to drift apart or have awkwardness because of it. At the very least, August and I are pretty much on the same page. My connections with these people are important. I will do my best to preserve and strengthen them. I'm really not keen on losing my dad in all of this, but somehow I think that would be difficult. He's my hero, after all.

takethisforexample: (Default)
I came home to Pequannock for Christmas break yesterday. I don't really know if I should count this place as home anymore because it really doesn't feel like it. When I'm at college, my parents miss me and our interactions through call/text are fine. When I'm home, their judgement weighs down on me and makes me feel like a caged animal.

The terror began when I got pulled over yesterday. I was petrified because first of all, I hate authority, and second of all, I knew a ticket would be another reason for me to get chastised at home. Sure enough, it was. Even though I skimped away with a $55 obstructed view charge, my mom was immediately up my ass about it when I walked in the door. Neither parent greeted me. My presence feels so burdensome. "Pay the ticket." "Start looking for jobs." "Take care of this or that." Or whatever. How about "Hello"?

It doesn't matter if I pull all A's my first semester. It doesn't matter if I prove myself to be independent. My mom's satisfaction with me is so impermanent and conditional. I could win the goddamn Nobel Peace Prize and she would probably just find something to berate me for instead of congratulating me. Now that I actually have things worth being proud of, I feel like they aren't recognized. And when I'm home, my independence seems to suddenly mean nothing to these people. It makes me feel restricted. Being in this house is suffocating. I understand now why August is never around.

My dad doesn't really seem to be helping the whole situation... sort of unintentionally. He can tell that I'm not thrilled to be here and tries to make things better but I'm just not in the mood. I want to hang out with him, I really do, but I know I'll end up going on a tangent because of how I feel right now. I have been so unbelievably stressed these past couple weeks and there is no way to put that into perspective. Turning down my dad when he wants to spend time with me, even if it's for a good reason, makes me feel rude and unappreciative. I know I'm too hard on myself but regardless, I'm going to make sure I correct that. Maybe I'll ask him to go fishing with me this week or something.

Awhile back, I deleted a few entries I had written about my mom. I'm going to put them back. They were written at points when I was not on good terms with her. It makes me sad to think the only way we can exist peacefully is through long-distance communication. Judging by how Thanksgiving went, I don't have the highest hopes for this month, but I will make the best of it.

Speaking of August, I don't remember if I ever mentioned them here. August is my older sibling. They are 21 and go to college for graphic design in Georgia. We didn't have a great relationship growing up, if you even count it as a relationship. I always assumed they hated me when we were younger but it turned out that much of their withdrawn and defensive behavior was due to mental illness. Nowadays, we both are in better places and recently we began talking again. They are in Toronto right now but will be home for a few days, and we are actually going to hang out. I've never hung out with August. We grew up in the same house but know virtually nothing about each other. I'm really excited to hopefully have a healthy relationship with them. In the past I thought that it would be difficult because they are closer with my mom, but I'm not sure that's the case anymore. When we talked the other day, it came across as if they are just as dissatisfied in this house as I am, and that's a pretty clear sign to me. I want to talk about the trauma my mom inflicted when I was younger and for years I've known that the only person who could possibly understand that is my sibling. Looking back, they had to have had similar experiences as a kid because I remember listening as my mom screamed her head off at them until they couldn't breathe.

So yeah, that's what's new. Great entry, I know. Fortunately, I just got a call from my old job and I'll be working 30 hours next week so I won't be in the house too often. I need the gas money.

To Mom

Jul. 15th, 2021 11:02 pm
takethisforexample: (Default)
Mom,

I'm writing to tell you that I have picked up on things now. I’ve become wiser. Maybe that’s why you sounded afraid when I told you I saw it in me some months back.

“I’m not interesting enough to spend time with. But I’m interesting enough to pay the tuition. I’m just a fucking checkbook.”

Yes, you are, and I want nothing to do with you beyond what you provide me financially. You seem to have forgotten the years of intimidation and harassment you’ve inflicted, or maybe you just don’t realize that I hate you. Since I was a young kid I’ve never seen you succeed at understanding me, but I'm just too kind aren't I? Too forgiving? Too good of a kid to question authority?

At 13 you threatened me out of anger for my poor grades and behavior. You made me stay silent at family gatherings. You ignored my obvious issues with anxiety and self harm because you thought I was looking for attention. At 14 you berated me and put me on medication, and then at 15 you didn’t believe me when I told you I had a dependency issue. Yet you would use the drugs as a way to control me. At 16 you told me I’d look disgusting at prom and graduation. You rolled your eyes in frustration when I came out because that was a burden to you. At 17 you refused me gender reaffirming care and threw fits about pronouns and my new name. All throughout my childhood you convinced me, whether your realize it or not, that I would never be anything more than a disappointment to you.

Now I’m 18 and you tell me I don’t appreciate you enough and that I’m selfish. You think my friends are weird and that I have too much metal hanging off my face. Well, you know what I think? I think you should look in the mirror. Every year I see the wrinkles on your face become more prominent and watch the gray hairs replace the brown. And now, when I look at your bitter, exhausted expression I feel an emotion I can only assume is hatred for the years I spent trying to tear away from you. Even if you try your best, even if your intentions are good, at this age I feel like you have failed me. I am not bound to you. You tell me you want your daughter back. Well, I’m not your perfect little girl anymore. And truth be told, I never was.

Here's to less letters in the future.

Sincerely,
Ricky

Pisces

Jul. 11th, 2021 10:01 pm
takethisforexample: (Default)
I don't like feeling like I'm slipping away. My self-assessment has been poor lately, and I think it's because I've been high every night for the past two weeks. So, with the suggestion of cannabis comes the tale of the person who exposed me to it, a friend of mine I've been wanting to talk about here for awhile: Will. Buckle up, this one's a slow burner.

Will and I went to high school together and became close friends in our junior year. He was a semi-popular person in school because 1. he is gay beyond belief and 2. he is so tall that it's kind of hard to miss. That's a very shallow deduction of his character, though. What I see in Will is a gentle, kind, introspective, beautiful person. It only took hanging out with him once for me to realize that he is profoundly intelligent and emotional. It's hard to explain. I guess a good way to put it is that Will and I are very similar people intellectually, and naturally we became very close because of our demeanors. In fact, I can't say I've related to anyone more than I have to him. He was the only one who could hold a conversation with me about a variety of subjects, from our mutual love for nature to our mental health. We both knew exactly why we were friends. We never argued or assessed our relationship verbally because we didn't have to. When you get along so well with someone like that it feels like fate. It's a wonderful feeling. Will is not "like a brother" to me, he is my brother.

All last summer, Will and I hung out and traversed all planes of reality, from the great natural expanses set before us to the inner workings of our psyches. We hiked and took drives often, among other things like hanging around by his lake and with his equally chill brothers. In school, we were inseparable and we never stopped laughing. He introduced me to weed and in the latter half of summer, we got high together a handful of times which made us much closer. The amount of individual experiences I can recall with him are so many that I feel it would be useless to mention them in detail here (I've done that before... see "Ramblings of Maine"). In any case, around him I always felt loved and cared for. I hope he felt the same. Will and I were just strange people, and we were strange together. He taught me how to be truly happy with being myself, and I'll never not be grateful for that.

In the prime of our friendship, I realized that Will is (somehow) a more sensitive person than I am. Or rather, he can't handle the weight of the world as well as I can, which is sad because I do a pretty bad job. His empathy runs so deep that he is affected by almost everything around him, good or bad. Yet, despite his overwhelming purity and acuteness, Will was persistently plagued by trauma, mental illness, and horrible coping mechanisms. I guess it's true; we used to say he's like a frog, the way he is so vulnerable to the outside world. I tread lightly around his health because I knew that he had fears that he didn't want to confront with me. Everyone has boundaries, and it just wasn't my place to pressure him down a path he wasn't ready for. I don't blame myself, but I wonder now if I should've done something about it. Come winter 2020, Will and I were hardly speaking. I found out rather late that he had been admitted to three different psych wards over the course of a single month. I still have no idea why, nor do I want to hear from anyone other than himself. Currently, he is in a residential hospital and according to the one text I have from him, he seems to be doing better.

The whole psych ward revelation was genuinely scarring for me, even though many of my close friends have been to one before. But this was different. Will and I were always good at being emotional together, but what about apart? Suddenly I found myself deeply depressed by his absence, mourning his situation and hoping that his recovery would be safe and fulfilling. He is still away all these months later, and I think about him almost every day. He missed prom, which is still so painful considering we had excitedly outlined our plans for it together. Likewise, driving through his town is absolutely gutting and I cry if I think about him a little too hard. Everywhere I go, memories of last summer fill my mind, but amidst the gloom I find myself smiling fondly at the good times. The rainy days we spent outside, the hot chocolate simmering on his gas stove, all of it. It's bittersweet. I miss him more than I can put into words, but I am so relieved he is getting the care he needs. In the end, I know that what is happening now is for the better even if it hurts.

I think the reason Will's case is so important to me is because he was one of the only people who experienced the world around him the same way I did. We both felt so much and understood so little. I've never met another person like that and doubt I ever will. Despite our emotional dispositions, our friendship was never exhausting or fragile like so many turn out to be. I have a history of being in less than redeeming relationships, so attaining a friend like Will reshaped my understanding of a healthy one. Looking back, all I see is a strong, pure, mutual trust between us. Search as I might, I can't conjure a single moment of hurting or anything of the sort in the span of our friendship. Around Will, I simply was. And thanks to Will, I simply am. His return, whenever it may be, will definitely bring out some intense emotions.

This one's for you, Will. I miss you, man.

Will's Playlist



takethisforexample: (Default)
Today was alright because I walked into work and was immediately embraced by four of my coworkers. If there is one place I know I am always valued personally, it is there, despite it being a minimum wage retail job. Still, Adam and Jon were able to distract me for most of my day and were determined to do so. Adam was first to pick up on something being wrong (as usual) and really pulled through for me. He has this amazing ability to make me smile and I'll never not be grateful for that. He is an amazing person, and someone I will keep with me even after summer ends. Jon, on the other hand, has never given attention to me like he did today, and we shared all sorts of stories to one another throughout our shift. I can't even begin to explain how nice it feels to be asked to follow someone or have them follow you, or be invited outside just to talk. Maybe it's an adult thing, since I never really get that outside of work. Adam and Jon sort of saved me today.

I'd rather not talk about today's negatives since they are eating away at me ceaselessly and I don't want my friends' support to be in vain. I will, however, share a story I was vaguely reminded of today. It's not an easy one, but so many years have passed that I think it's time for me to write about it. Or rather her. This is a profile for Nina.

When I was in 7th grade, I had a best friend named Nina. Nina was a beautiful and intelligent Polish girl in my school, outcasted similarly to me for simply being strange. We became close friends very quickly and she was the first person I felt I could really tell anything to. She made me extremely happy. And being the confused kid I was, I developed a huge crush on her. I think of her now as the only person I have ever been truly in love with, in the most fucked up way ever. I don't even think of myself as conscious back then, the way I harbored such ill-fated emotions for a person, let alone my closest friend. But Nina and I had a... special intimacy. We spent copious amounts of time in her room talking and listening to music, melting away in the summer heat (her room had no AC). We were constantly on top of each other, touching hands and legs as if it didn't really mean anything, even though it probably did. It doesn't really matter now.

Nina came from a physically abusive household. Her parents yelled at her in Polish even when I was around, and I recall her having meticulous plans laid out for avoiding harassment. She refuted her trauma to me and became easily upset when it came up in conversation. I understood the position she was in at the time, but as a result failed to recognize abusive behaviors that she exhibited towards me. I had ignored, for two years, both physical and verbal abuse. Nina used to constantly degrade me for being "hyperactive" or "retarded", or would reprimand me for things that were inoffensive or not even my fault. She would grab my arms or neck often and even hit me on occasion. One time she hit me so hard in the side of my head that I lost almost all hearing in my right ear. Permanently. As time went on, she seemed to listen to me less and less. These things made me extremely self conscious and unstable. I was already dealing with mental illness that had only recently been diagnosed. My failure to gain her satisfaction led me to induce the most hardcore self harm I have ever experienced in my life. I would literally bash my wrist against my wall until it bled, or hold my knife to my wrists and cry hysterically for hours about my own inability to cut it open. And somehow, someway, I thought hardly anything of it because Nina was the only thing that allowed me to feel and to love. She was that person.

I remember one night in June we had hung out the entire day, and the rays of blue-green light were still peaking over the middle school field as we sat in the empty library parking lot. I can revisit this memory as if it happened yesterday: our unending laughter as we threw fistfuls of maple blooms like snow, how they got stuck in our long hair and on our socks, how amazing she looked to me and how amazing I felt. All of it. After we had exhausted ourselves running around, I took her by the hand, breathing heavy, and we laid in the baseball field and let the night consume us. When we finally left, she told me to text her when I got home safely, and in that moment I was in love. This memory is preserved in a singular light and I cannot experience it any other way. I shared this experience with someone who hurt me deeply. Someone I purged from my life confusedly and unintentionally. We went to different high schools. At some point in my freshman year I was possessed by a spirit or something and blocked her on every social media platform we talked on. I only saw her once after that, and she flipped me off.

My relationship with Nina ended swiftly but painfully. I only began to understand how unhealthy it was after I started going to therapy, and I could identify habits (both mine and hers) that had effectively torn me to shreds and caused me to hurt myself. But for a long period of time after our friendship had ended, I felt like I had nothing without Nina. I still wished that she was around despite all of the horrible things she did to me, and I never told my therapist this. Instead I made my own deduction that I am terminally connected to the people that come and go in my life. Even the people who hurt me. The tainted memories of yesterday still sit in their detailed bliss with only the omen of bad things to come, things that have already happened. Sometimes I still think about Nina and miss her. I know it's wrong and it makes me really uncomfortable. Since Nina, many people have come and gone, but none were the same. All the loss I feel and the issues I try to mask have become some sort of bastardized cakewalk. A cycle of pronounced devastation and slow, private healing.

This story has never been exposed to daylight, only briefly when it is relevant. It's still depressing to think about, but it would be unlike me to discredit the knowledge I gained from it I guess. From Nina, I learned that I am incurable. I'm unbelievably sensitive and expressive in unusual ways, and try to hide it from other people. All I do is feel. Feel but refuse to think, stare but refuse to see. I have my own emotional deficiency, my own 'brick wall' of sorts in that I just feel too intensely. I don't really know what more to write about it besides that.

takethisforexample: (Default)
Jatin and I went to high school together. He was an icon of sorts- known for being a well-versed and argumentative communist (at least in my circles). He was also rich, and had a friend group of people who were above me socially, but quite irrelevant to my circles and therefore not very important to me. My earliest impressions of him were poor due to his dismissive personality and also my unintelligent agenda at the time. I remember having one conversation with him before junior year, and even then the details are slim. He was gone for some of freshman year because he was in a psych ward or something (corrected after I asked him), but for some reason I don't remember anyone really caring when he casually reappeared next year. At that point, we had more classes together and I began to pick up on his mannerisms and such. Although I had a vague notion of this already, I classified Jatin as a dangerous person. There was no way in Hell that his general lack of expression and strange behavior meant nothing. I suspected he was mentally ill in various ways and thus adopted a new unintelligent agenda of trying to become his friend. And no, it did not produce a heartwarming story about camaraderie, trust, and coming-of-age because Jatin is a sociopath. Ironically, it has been almost a year and a half since we went to school together and Jatin is currently my closest friend, despite moving away.

The great juxtaposition of our friendship is twofold; the disparities of our social backgrounds and personalities relative to high school make us an unexpected duo, but I find that most of our differences are purely innate and far beyond our egotized school identities. We communicate almost exclusively one on one over the internet, too, so the circumstances are extremely specific. Our relationship is exhausting, unfamiliar, and exactly the type of social stimulation I desire. Becoming close to Jatin requires that one shed all forms of judgement they may carry and attempt to understand him on a strictly pragmatic level. He is not kindhearted or remorseful for his behavior in the slightest, hardly ever displays empathy, and seeks to manipulate for his personal gain. He finds joy in hurting others and seeks attention where he knows he can get it. He harasses others, has episodes, and produces nuclear amounts of hatred. This being said, despite being one of the worst human beings I have ever met in my life, I am keen on seeing how far I can push the envelope in being his friend. In this sense, I am glad we interact exclusively one on one. I am an overtly emotional person and I navigate my relationships cautiously with the intention of breaking them in, past the point of fruitless surface-level conversation. This being said, most of what I have just stated is all to Jatin's knowledge and I have made my intentions specifically clear.

It took me a long time to make headway with Jatin. First came the issue of my own emotional tendencies, being used to establishing close relationships rather quickly with people. I had unrealistic expectations for Jatin and very little understanding of his lack of empathy. He picked on me relentlessly because that's what he does. There were multiple occasions where I anticipated some sort of sincerity from him and ended up hurting myself as a result. There were also instances where I felt he was forcing himself to deliver an answer I wanted to hear, but could see directly through it. We argued a decent amount, and admittedly, my perseverance during this stage was purely out of weakness and inability to leave unhealthy situations. The specifics of these events don't come clearly anymore because they are not recent, but I remember enduring a great deal of pain. The kind someone is supposed to run away from. Sometime in January after seriously contemplating whether or not I should keep talking to him, I realized that I would have to be the one to change if things were to improve. Most normal people would probably leave at this point. Instead, I started reading more about sociopathy. I asked questions on forums, read a plethora of articles, questioned my sanity, and prepared to see it through to the end. Eventually, I told Jatin that I could be a better friend to him, and from there things improved. We began having healthier conversations and I feel generally safe pointing out behaviors that upset me to him, and I'm relatively certain he feels safe being honest about it with me. That communication is extremely necessary and something I prioritize in our friendship. I figure it's probably a good thing for him to have people to talk openly to, and giving him the freedom to do so has brought out shades of him I did not expect to see (i.e. apologies, general consideration of my emotions, not making me feel stupid anymore, etc.). I understand him pretty well now, and he is not as unpredictable or harsh as he lets off. I've broken him, I think. His behavior is merely a science, and an easy one to understand at that. I keep his urges to lie, exploit, and harm in mind when I analyze anything he says to me. I am basically bulletproof. And it's true that there is change happening on his end as well. Very recently he said (quite timidly) that he thinks he has an emotional relationship with me, which caught me completely off guard. It makes me happy, sure, but again, this isn't a heartwarming tale. I am still unsure about just how deep his lack of emotional intelligence runs, but there is one thing I am certain about- he at least tries for me... sometimes.

With Jatin comes a flood of apprehensions and paranoia. I still wonder if I am subject to his manipulation because I know I am very prone to that. He has even reminded me verbally that I will be taken advantage of many times in my life. I already know that. I don't like to live with that fear, but even if I'm wrong, I'm still an idiot. I think it's natural for me to feel this way. Jatin requires an extraordinary amount of patience and acclimation. He may not realize how high maintenance he is, but I am the same way. He's a relatively normal guy when we aren't psychoanalyzing him into oblivion. And besides, I've hardly talked about all the things I appreciate about him. I love watching shows and movies with him, or playing video games, even just talking, whatever. He's got a good sense of humor and good taste in just about everything. He doesn't give a shit about my gender identity or interests, and resents my mom probably more than I do. He's probably one of the least judgmental people in my life, and to that extent I think there's more to learn from him besides how to torture yourself emotionally. I love him like I love any of my other close friends.

I could seriously write so much more about this guy. I didn't talk about the gun or the cocaine or the raves or anything. This is somehow still a very vague description of him. But that's close friendship I guess. Once again I've exerted my mind for the sake of documentation, and it was well worth it. I can't wait to read this in two years and take in that I am out of my goddamn mind.

Maggie

Jun. 5th, 2021 09:35 pm
takethisforexample: (Default)
Today I had a few of what seems to be my final formative experiences. It's weird to think that these type of memories can never be made again due to my mental and emotional obligations at this age. I feel like today was the beginning of the last chapter of my childhood, and so I am trying to enjoy it as much as I possibly can, almost desperately.

We had a small party today for the side of my family that I don't get to see as often, which includes my two aunts and uncle, grandparents, and my two cousins. Maggie is my youngest cousin at the moment, and she is 4. I have a lot of little cousins, but I am not great with young children and have felt quite negative about them up until very recently. Today I made an effort to get to know Maggie because she is probably the last cousin I will get, and she does pique my curiosity despite being so young and oblivious. I want to put effort into being a part of her life because I have never navigated any relationship with a young child. There is so much to learn from them.

Maggie likes to draw with chalk and play with water guns. She also likes playing my keyboard and looking at everything on my bookshelf. She didn't want to leave my room because it is "so pink" and she enjoyed being in it. She is an energetic and happy kid, which I gathered from her general excitement about everything. I found it endearing. Children have a type of easily obtainable admiration founded on their curiosity, and I think that's where familial love begins to blossom. Little kids come to love you very quickly. This was my first time actively creating memories with Maggie and getting to know her as a kid, so I was surprised when she held hands with me to show me something or hugged my leg just because she felt like it.

Maggie, like all young kids, is tremendously impressionable. It feels like an honor to pass down undoubted moral knowledge to a child who requires such lessons in their early years. Today Maggie was afraid of the carpenter ants in my driveway, so I picked one up and explained that they are living creatures that pose no threat to us. She watched the ant crawl on my leg intensively for a few moments with an expression so innocent and full of wonder that I could actually see the gears turning as she assumed a new opinion of ants. It was fantastic. It makes me feel very old in comparison, despite still having these sort of bright-eyed epiphanies once in awhile in my own life. But nothing beats the whimsical worldview of a child, and to see it vicariously is completely different. This is something I can now deduce for certain thanks to my little cousin. I really am thankful for the time I was able to spend with Maggie today. With the end of my childhood comes the beginning of hers. It really is an amazing thing to watch.

takethisforexample: (Default)
>If things are to continue the way they are, this can no longer be my alter ego. I must become a person that does not exist.

Yesterday I took an impromptu road trip with Adam to Philadelphia. Adam is my coworker. He is 24, but honestly a very similar person to me. We hit it off immediately and once in awhile we will hang out because we are much too preoccupied to talk philosophy at work. I almost feel like a student in his presence, although our exchanges are pretty equal. It's hard for people like us to find each other. He agrees.

Adam was deliberate with this two hour ride to the city. Halfway through discussing the fleeting nature of the human body relative to the mind, he said something along the lines of "this is why I brought you". It feels good to feel appreciated like this. I'm glad other people value this type of banter as much as I do, especially since our road trip conversation made me rethink what I said previously on ego death.

I'm not sure ego death is the key to "enlightenment" anymore. Adam says that enlightenment is *probably* an unachievable thing, which when I think about it, I don't disagree. Previously, I expected that getting over my ego would help me reach my end goal, but I realize that while I want to ascend the trivial nature of humans, I still need to be human. In fact, it's the focus on trivial things that lets me appreciate all of life's details, and I don't want to thwart that fascination because it is not only innate, but important to my personal development. Having an ego is different than having a personality. I don't need to be a saint to get where I am going, and I don't need to punish my nature to live an intelligent life. My focus has now changed to slowly controlling or removing traits that interrupt my intellectual pursuit instead of aiming for perfection. I should learn to love my personality as I love others', because in the end I am no different from them. Like them, I am human.

A secondary narrative plays indefinitely in my mind 24/7, which I didn't really notice until yesterday. The influence that little voice has over my temperament is much more effective when executed in reality. I think a good example of this is the fact that I rarely feel impatient anymore. Yesterday I observed this while waiting for Adam outside of a gas station in a Philly neighborhood, sipping birch beer and feeling no obligation towards time. I was more than content absorbing my surroundings, and continued to do so as we walked through subways, stations, side streets, and even the overwhelming center of the city. It's a pleasant balance of thinking and feeling, nothing more nothing less. This is a trait I see in Adam, too. I learned something important from him yesterday. I'm really grateful for that.

On a lighter note, our night in the city was fantastic. We had some amazing Mexican food at Los Caballitos Cantina, a restaurant that was bustling with punk-clad servers and happy hour patrons. I was able to eat comfortably in public for the first time in years. As for everything else, Adam is generally a exuberant guy to be around, whether we are invested in a deep conversation or racing each other down a flight of stairs. I think we both had a great time.

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