Month: June 2014

Freedom, Where is Mine Going?

Freedom of speech, unless what you have to say is not politically “correct”. Freedom of speech, unless you hold beliefs that don’t blindly accept those of the world. Freedom to have an opinion, as long as it’s the same as the majorities.

Freedom, I don’t think it means what they think it means. I don’t agree or support hate, I have friends who are same-sex attracted and I love them and I support them as people, even though I can’t support their identified attractions. I have friends who are Muslims and even though I wish they shared the same God as me, I loved listening to their religious opinions, and have learned quite a bit from them. Just because I have a belief that doesn’t allow for multiple roads or for compromises, doesn’t mean I hate Oprah. Though I don’t like her book club stickers that are so stink-en sticky and leave behind a residue…  

I live in a country that I love, but it’s affection for me seems to be fading away.

I fully recognize the faults of Christian’s and the harm that the church has committed against the world. I get it. I’ve seen it, I’ve experienced it, and I hate it. But, just like how not all Muslims are American hating extremists, not all Christians are Planned Parenting bombers.

The fact that I am a Canadian citizen, no, the fact that I am human, means that I should have the right and the freedom to believe what I believe and to have a voice for my said beliefs. If the media can support every other opinion and give voice to all the wonderful cultures our country has, then what justification is there for their silencing of the Christians? 

Hate should be stopped, yes, but hate isn’t just another word for a lack of acceptance. I don’t have to accept anything, and I certainly don’t have to accept everything. But I am called to love the people of this world. That’s what being a Christian means. Did Jesus accept the tax collectors crimes? No. But He didn’t stop loving the man, in fact He went to his home and spent some quality time with him. Was Jesus okay with a woman’s prostitution? No. But He cried at the giving of her offering. There is no one that Jesus does not love. Plain and simple. Even though He was pretty pissed from time to time, He never stopped caring.

Being a good person doesn’t require that we live in a completely grey zone. Unfortunately some things are wrong. Luckily it’s not my job to judge, and the last thing the Christian God would want me to do, is become self-righteous.

Loving someone doesn’t mean you blindly accept all of what they do and think. I don’t love how a person can put a needle in their arm. I don’t love how a person can spend most of the night drinking away in a bar or alone on their couch. I don’t love how a person can smoke like a chimney despite all the obvious risks and warnings. I don’t love how a person can look at themselves in a mirror and find fault with everything that they see. And I don’t love how a friend of mine can have a same-sex relationship. I don’t. But I do love them. With all of my heart, and I will stand by their side and fight with them through any battle that this overly opinionated world, tries to throw at them. I’d stand up against all the bigots, no matter their chosen form of prayer. Because Jesus didn’t take things sitting down. He took them to the cross.

Real love doesn’t require any kind of blind acceptance, it requires a whole lot of heart. It means showing up for someone even when you don’t or can’t agree with them.

I don’t hate anyone. I know what I’ve written could be slanted and seen as anti gay or anti LGBTQ. But just because I don’t agree with those life choices, and because I don’t yet fully understand this deeply heart-felt and known pieces of their identity, doesn’t make me a monster. It makes me a free human being with an opinion.

No group of people is made up of carbon copies or clones. I am me. The only one of my kind. I’m also a Christian. A small piece of a bigger and broken whole, and an even smaller piece of a messed up world. I am in no way properly or honestly represented by the media, and neither is Jesus. If we were then I wouldn’t feel the need to write this.

I don’t want to rob anyone of their voice. Like all of you I want only to have it protected and to be able to use it. So please, I’m asking you, don’t silence me because of the crimes of others.

I Am Mountain by Gungor

“I Am Mountain”

I am mountain, I am dust
Constellations made of us
There’s glory in the dirt
A universe within the sand
Eternity within a man

We are ocean, we are mist
Brilliant fools who wound and kiss
There’s beauty in the dirt
Wandering in skin and soul
Searching, longing for a home

As the light, light,
Lights up the skies, up the skies
We will fight, fight,
Fight for our lives, for our lives

I am mountain, I am dust
Constellations made of us
There’s mystery in the dirt
The metaphors are breaking down
We taste the wind and sight is sound

As the light, light,
Lights up the skies, up the skies
We will fight, fight,
fight for our lives, for our lives
As the light, light,
Lights up the skies, up the skies
We will fight, fight,
Fight for our lives, for our lives

Momentary carbon stories
From the ashes, filled with Holy Ghost
Life is here now, breathe it all in
Let it all go, you are earth and wind

Things I can’t Recommend

1. Waiting to get your learners and drivers licence. Just get it over with, I still don’t have mine.

2. Having a tooth pick go almost completely through your foot, accidentally. No stitches, cool story, but it really hurts.

3. Looking up Brown Recluse spider bites on Google images. Just don’t do it, you probably haven’t been bitten by one, and if you have look at the words before you look at the pictures.  

4. Getting lice. You might not be able to help it if you’re working with street kid’s in India, but do your best to avoid the itchy, scalp eating, bugs. Darjeeling doesn’t have lice killing shampoo. 

5. Eating your gelato cone upside down sucking the stuff out the bottom, while in Italy. Old Italian men think it’s weird, and will probably comment on it. 

6. Getting into an argument over Batman and Spider Man, with a friend. It’s just not worth it.

7.  Killing anything out of anger, even if it’s an ant. You’ll just feel really guilty afterwards and not be able to sleep…

8. Not paying attention to your fingers while using a sewing machine. Almost sewing through your thumb isn’t as scary as actually sewing through your thumb, but it freaks you out none the less.

9. Crying while going through American customs. It get’s awkward almost instantly.

10. Staring at some people while purposefully not looking at others. Both groups can tell what you’re doing, and it makes you look like a jerk.  

There you go, a pointless list of things to avoid, not do, or possibly to do better. 

22

I’m not feelin it. Maybe having my Grandmothers funeral on my birthday draped a numb curtain over the whole “getting older but still having a developing brain” thing.

No boyfriend. Check.
Unicorn title still in tact. Check.
Not a whole lot going on. Check.
Happy, confused, and lonely. Check, check, and check.
Dreaming instead of sleeping. Always checked.
Forgetting about the heart breaks. Working on it.

I must be 22, I even feel like ditching this “scene”. Dear me, this seems to be just a touch sad, haha. Oh Taylor, how you have managed to capture the essence that is being a white, western, middle to upper class, 22 year old female. There’s just a tinge of sarcasm there. But this song actually does make me feel a little bit better about myself.
There are so many things that I don’t have to be, and one of them is perfect. Few, I dodged that bullet! Instead I can be me, trying to figure things out, failing at times but succeeding at others.
I can be 22. what ever that means.

Art: When You Seem To Be The Only One

I have done a few things, taken a couple of pictures, drawn a few sketches, and it has been painfully obvious that I was the only one who thought they were great.

I don’t think its bad to really love something that you’ve made. I think it’s even healthy to look at something and smile at what you’ve just done.

The irritating part is when you’re the only one who has that reaction, those feelings and that opinion.

What are they missing? What can’t they see? It doesn’t have to be the greatest thing since sliced bread, even to yourself, but come on! It not being sliced bread doesn’t mean it isn’t awesome.

It could be a bit of a darling situation. Maybe they thought you killed it already but are now faced with it yet again. This genius you just can’t let go of. Or maybe it’s something they don’t have a reference for, nothing to compare it to. Or lastly, maybe they just really don’t like it.

So what does that mean? Is the piece of art you have just created not real art? Have you been given a chance to experience a small, minuscule taste, of the torture that Van Gogh went through? Or is it really just crap?

Can something be art if it’s only art to you?

Can the words you have written only sound sweet to you and still have their truth? Can the lighting you have created or captured within a photograph, still convey emotion even if you are the only one who feels it? Can a painting or sketch hold true depth, even if you are the only one who can see, that there is no easily reached ocean floor?

Do you need others to be an artist? Yes. If you want to be successful during your life time that is. If you want to sell what you create then someone has to agree with you.

However, art, even if you’re the only one who calls it that and sees it as such, should still be made. Enjoy the works of your hands and imagination. Stay true to every emotion you make tangible. Sometimes (maybe most of the time) no one else will get it, but if you make art to heal and to grow (like I do, supper cheesy I know), then it’s worth being the only one who sees it’s value.

It has to be. Quitting is for everything that ceased to matter, or never really did.

To Dream A Little Bigger

There are a few things that I haven’t bothered trying. Things I have only let myself day dream about for fear that anything else would take away from their idealized perfections. 

Sometimes I think about all the people in the world that have been deemed grand by their successes. I get distracted by who or what a person is now, and forget that at one point they were something quite different.

They were single geeky college students, high school drop outs, waitresses and depressed train passengers. They were regular folks,and the only difference between them and me is that they actually did something about their big dreams.

Anyone can work hard, and even though few might ever get lucky, we are all allowed to try. Whether you’re a house wife with dreams of sparkly vampires, or a young boy who sees dragons flying over head, you have a right to dream and to try.

Earlier I had said that I will never be a working animator. That wasn’t a completely honest thing for me to say, seeing as it isn’t what I want or dream of doing. Regardless of that fact, it was wrong of me to so lightly disqualify myself.

The dream, no matter what it might be, may not be easily attained, but it shouldn’t be given up on either. 

Who is to stop me from trying anything, but myself? I have the same right to dream big as everyone else. The same right to try, as every one who as ever had the good fortune to survive their failures, and succeed. You don’t have to be a Spielberg or a Rowling, you just have to be a you that tries. A you that works and fights for what you want. For what you dream about throughout the day.

Fear of failing and never trying, is far worse than any real failure could ever be. 

So in conclusion I will say this; what’s the point in saying never, unless you plan on proving yourself wrong?

It could be you. The next sensation in music, the surprise Oscar winner, the New York Times best seller, the hometown hero, a life saving doctor or firefighter, a world traveler… It could be me, but I won’t know till I try. Till I let myself fail and succeed.

Alone By Myself, With Me…

Louis C.K. got me thinking. His hate for cell phones from what ever year that Conan interview was from, had me laughing. Of course I could tell you what the one thing is, that thing that will fill the “forever empty” feeling in your soul, but you’d probably roll your eyes and stop reading. So I won’t tell you, instead I’ll just write about being alone and lonely… without a cell phone. I’m probably one of the few people my age in all of the western world, that doesn’t have a cell phone, and never has.

I have always really known how to be alone, but lately I have started to feel lonely.  

When I say lonely I don’t mean the kind where you’re bored and just need to go draw in the corner or read a book, I’m talking about the kind of lonely where you feel like you need someone to prove your existence to you. The kind of alone that feels empty and tragically needy.

This is where my laptop comes in. I might not have a phone, but I do have access to Facebook with every awakening that I put my Dell baby through. Any time I start to feel completely by myself I open it up. I could go downstairs, try to strike up a conversation with the wonderful family that I have, but no. Instead I check to see what the 90% of FB strangers who I like to call “friends” are doing, and maybe even find a little red flag from the 10% of people I would actually really love to talk to. But most of the time Facebook is disappointing. A reminder of just how lonely I really do feel.

Of course it’s in those moments where I find a video like this, ironically posted in my news feed.

I’m starting to forget how to be alone. I am a very good hermit, and there are days where I could easily win some kind of award for my introvertedness… I’d probably get the honorable mention due to a lack of actual participation.

Anyway, it’s the lonely feeling that I don’t know what to do with. The itch of the “forever empty” state, that no one would openly judge me for scratching. Probably because we are all doing the same thing to one extent or another.

We check the updates, we write out hundreds of hello’s, we edit every thought and choose the absolute best lighting, and only show people what we want them to see. The temptation to stay on just the surface level is overwhelming. Why dig any deeper when we seem to be getting our “needs” met instantaneously from our current shallow footing?

Really getting to know some one is hard work, you get dirty when you try to dig a little deeper. Things get messy and complicated, and there’s no spell check or auto correct that could possibly make something better once it’s been said out loud. Once someone standing before you has heard it. All you can hope is to be misquoted, should the opportunity arise.

Or, dare I say, be heard and clearly understood and appreciated.

I somehow seem to avoid considering the positives whenever I feel like crap. But even though a real connection doesn’t come in a box and you can’t just add water, real relationships are worth learning and taking the time to make. And I think it can be the same with, and between, just you and yourself.

It might sound odd, but if you aren’t going to take your lonely lonesomeness, and go out and have coffee with a friend, then maybe you should just go have a coffee with yourself. All you really need is a living, breathing human being, the confidence to sit by yourself where people may or may not see you, and the willpower not to touch your phone.

No one needs to know that you’re spending some you time. Allow yourself to make no updates on any social networking site. No instagrams of what ever you happen to be drinking or eating, or the view before you, just sit there. Breath.

No matter what truth you know, things can get lonely and overly itchy at random moments in life. I may not know how to fix lonely so that it’s never felt again, but I actually quite like being alone. Spending some time with yourself can be refreshing. It’s a chance to learn more about you. You can be eventful, or lazy as heck, it’s up to you. What ever you do or don’t do, just take the time to find out what kind of company you make. 

I’m not bad to be around. I like myself well enough, and really, I could be stuck with much worse. And so could you. 

 

Geeks, Nerds, and What have you…

*DISCLAIMER: I don’t really like this post (in terms of writing and logic hierarchy), but I’m bored.

The question of what and who a true nerd is, and the standards that determine your nerdyness, has recently come to my attention. Especially as it concerns females. Now I saw this great little art piece, that detailed an “overweight” woman’s love of Wonder Woman alongside a socially attractive woman’s love of Wonder Woman. The difference between the two was how they were received by their male counterparts. One was deemed a whale while the other was deemed a slut.

The whole thing made me question what being a nerd really means, and who gets to decide its definition.

Guys who have never been able to get the “hot” girl’s attention, let alone the time of day from any other female, seem to have taken it upon themselves to defend their “territory” from the new line of offenses. Women who dress up as their favorite characters, or simply wear the logo, are questioned and doubted. And if by chance their information isn’t as “complete” as the questioner would like it to be, they are labeled as a poser.

This lead me to the question of what a poser is. For most people a poser is a girl wearing big glasses, a tight shirt, and a tragic overhanging caption such as: “I’m such a nerd, I read all five Harry Potter Books!!!” From these meme’s I have learned that what seems to be the general idea of a “poser”, is basically someone who is seen as a sleazy tease. She looks like the girl who the stereotypical male nerd dreams of but could never get, and is then made to look like an idiot. Thank you internet for coming along so far. I commend the creativity of your pathetically vengeful users. Well done.

So know that I seem to have an idea of what a poser is, I just have to find out what a “real” nerd is.

Unfortunately I already know what the general answer will be, and it tends to wear boxers or briefs.

I’m going to move on past the gender part of what makes a nerd. For now. I just don’t have the patience for that particular rant, so I’ll leave that lovely bit of joy to some other woman or highly evolved male.

Instead I will ask, who has the right to call themselves a nerd?

Not all nerds police their territory or are name callers and label makers. But there is a set of standards that certain nerds, whether male or female, expect to be met before the title can be claimed. Standards are after all a form of law. Without them anyone could claim to be a football player or an American idol. So should it be any different with the nerd culture?

Do nerds have the right to be exclusive and to levy demands just like sorority houses do?
I don’t know, but here is what I do know.
There are things that we love so much, that when it becomes the latest fad that’s feigned and blindly accepted by all those “jocks” and “big boobed cheerleaders”, we can’t help but get a little protective. And at times defensive and offensive.

But what if a person chooses, for example, to wear something simply because they like it? I don’t know Peter Parker’s whole life story, or the middle name of every single villain He’s ever met. I’ve never even read the comics, well, I think I read one but that was forever ago. But despite my lack of knowledge, I am still the happy owner of an Amazing Spider-Man Marvel T-shirt. It’s easily one of my favorite shirts as it depicts a battle between Spider-Man and Venom. It even made me a little popular with my cousins four-year old son. Now does my lack of comic reading and Stan Lee trivia, mean I don’t have the right to wear this shirt?
I had enough knowledge in the subject matter to warrant my happy and excited reaction when I found it in a thrift store in Hawaii. I was excited because it was cool and I simply liked it. Not because I thought it would make me fit in somewhere, or turn me into an appealing tease. In fact, I can honestly say that the only person I wear it for is myself.

To me being a true geek, nerd, or what have you, is when you love something unapologetically. No matter what your degree of knowledge on it might be.

To me, my nerdyness comes from the fact that Shiny has another meaning, New Zealand will always be Middle Earth, Han Solo shot first, Pixar’s art inspires and challenges me, and Jane Austen will forever be a factor in my love standards and relationship expectations.

I self identify as a nerd because I have watched the complete special features of the original Star Wars trilogy, about eight times and still enjoy it.

I feel like I can say I am a nerd because of the degree to which I love another persons creations. I get excited, I anticipate, and I die a little inside when the wait goes on longer than promised or expected (that’s right Steven Moffat, I’m looking at you!). I’m a nerd because I choose to be.

I wear my Spider-Man T-shirt because I bought it for less than five bucks, and because I like it.

To me being a nerd or a geek, isn’t a fad. It’s a way of experiencing and interacting with the world around you and with all the information it provides. It’s not just a style of clothing, the number of computer languages you know, how many dates you haven’t been on, or how much you know about Marvel or DC. It’s not determined by your gender, and the only thing that makes you more qualified is your level of genuine-ness.

Nerdyness is whatever you make it. Which is why I guess some people feel the need to protect it to the point of limiting it.

To me the problem is the sexualization of something I care about. The problem is in the judgement we cast down on each other. The problem is the labels women are assigned.

The problem is when we exclude people due to their degree of knowledge or lack there of.

Would you correct a little 4-year-old kid’s character description of Deadpool? Would you demand that same little kid should stop saying “HULK SMASH!” because he’s never seen any of the movies, let alone held one of the comic books? Why limit the joy that anyone can get from a FICTIONAL character, just because their information isn’t as good as your own?

Yes, I don’t like it when someone says they’re a hardcore Star Wars fan and then continue to tell me how great the “new” ones were. But as much as I don’t like how anyone could sit through the newer Star Wars films without cringing, my opinion isn’t law. And nor should it be.

I might not have started with the first Doctor, but is my LOVE of Doctor Who made less valuable because of that? I draw fan art and get teary eyed over fan videos of 10 and Rose and 9 and Rose. When I get dressed I consider my wardrobe for the day in terms of what I could easily time travel and run in, should the need arise. I may not know any other Doctors other than 9 through 11/12 (depending on what episode you’re on that may or may not make sense), but I can appreciate the journey that the characters and the show have taken. And I can even marvel at the creativity used in the days of bubble wrap and plungers.

Being a female who self identifies as a nerd, doesn’t make me a slut, a whale, or a poser. And it doesn’t make your chances of getting lucky with me any more likely either. All it makes me is a fan, a person who knows what I know, and likes what I like. All without anyone’s sanctioning.

Jerks are jerks whether they wear a foot ball jersey or a broken pair of glasses. Don’t perpetuate the stereotypes, or build road blocks on anyone’s path to discovery. All you’ll lose is the chance of meeting some pretty cool people who are willing to give your world a try.

That’s all folks.

Dressing More Than Your Body

When will I learn?

Gahhh… clothes. I mean, why? WHY?!?!?! Why do I think that if I just have the right pieces, the right things that all go together, that I will feel better? What amount of power should my clothes have over my identity and self-worth? I think the answer should be none, but the real answer seems to be pretty different.

I still dress like a dorky preteen. Which is for many obvious reasons less than desirable. I seem to believe that in order to find the missing parts of me I need to find my own style. I need to find clothes that “work”.

People put so much value in all of everything we wear. No one get’s dressed by accident. Except for maybe when we’ve forgotten to do laundry, but other than that, NO ONE GET’S DRESSED BY ACCIDENT!!!

I feel sad.

My goal has been to find things, shirts, jeans, shoes, and other such whatnot’s, that show the world the me I want them to see. But now I’m starting to wonder if I’m trying to show them the me that they want to see.

Yesterday I spent almost 200$ on three items of clothing. That probably doesn’t seem like anything to most people, but to someone who has gotten almost all of their clothes from ValueVillage (by choice) since they were twelve, it’s a lot of money. Everything that’s now folded in my closest is really nice stuff. Shirts I will probably have to hand wash. That kind of nice. And even though today was a fantastic day, I feel a little disillusioned now that it’s over.

Usually when I go shopping I feel out-of-place, like I’m not supposed to be in this or that store, that they don’t want me there. It’s an altogether unpleasant vibe. I imagine it being similar to going to the gym for the first time. A feeling that some known or unknown force is scoffing; “Well honey, there’s just too much to fix, why even bother?”

It nags at me. It makes my graphic tees that cover up my collar-bone feel itchy, and it expands every bit of excess fat that I have on my body, till I can’t reach the door fast enough.

Today wasn’t like that. Today I decided that I had just as much right to be on that city street as any other human being that has ever lived. A few times I even remembered to pull my shoulders back and straighten my spine. “Confidence.” I said silently to myself. “Confidence.”

Why can’t I just straighten my spine and pull my shoulders back, in a baggy T-shirt and some self hemmed shorts? Why do I have to feel so completely out-of-place, and so completely unsightly?

To me clothes should be an extension of who you are. People are going to judge you anyway, they might as well get it right. But I’m still not sure who I am, so instead of finding a shopping spree fun and light hearted, I over think it and stress out. Even though I didn’t do it in the moment, I’m doing it right now as I write this.

Who do I want to be? What style of clothes do I want to let represent me to all the world’s prejudiced eyes? In a perfect world I would be like the women I saw while shopping with my Mom and sister. I’d be able to wear tank tops without picturing the fat in my arms moving along with or against me. I wouldn’t think about never having had a thigh gap, or the fact that I probably never will. Bat wings and chaffing would simply not be anywhere near the front of my mind. Instead I’d be confident. I’d wear what ever the hell I want.

Clothes wouldn’t define me, I’d define them. 

In a perfect world I would just wear things I like, things that are comfortable, things I think are cute and look nice on me. In this world I guess I’ll just have to do my best to overcome the limitations and opinions that I never signed up for. I’ll have to try to get over myself and everyone else. I’ll have to try to find what makes me feel like me, amongst all the things that try to tell me who I should be…

I feel a little better now.