— the laid.back buddhist —

Practicing Some Practical Idealism

Sometimes, I like asking people whose opinion I value and respect what they think. Although most times, I ask after the fact just to get a different point of view. And almost always, I end up doing what I want to do anyhow, taking into consideration what I feel to be the most important. No wonder my grandmother told my mom I’m a willful child. Or maybe it’s just a self-fulfilling prophecy, hmm…

Anyhow, this is particularly true for matters of the heart, since I’m not one to hide it. For one thing, I can’t do that very well, as one of my good friends from high school can help illustrate:

“Ok, ok, let’s practice.”

“Shoot.”

“So, I show up at your door with flowers, what are you gonna say? I’m him.”

“Hmm, I guess I’d get real quiet because I’d try not to show my emotions.”

He laughs at me, “You can’t do that!”

“What!?”

“That shows the most!”

“Oh. Well, that’s what I did last time, damnit.”

“No, do something that you know he wouldn’t expect. What would he not expect you to do?”

This is tricky, so after contemplating it for a moment, I finally say, “I guess I’d whack him for doing something that’d make me cry.”

“No, no, no…” He gives an exasperated chuckle, “You can’t do that either!”

“Darn.” This is hard.

He goes on to explain, “’Cause then it’ll show him he can make you cry.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” But ever the Hopeful Heart, I charge ahead, “Let’s try another scenario? Maybe?”

“Haha, okay. Let’s say he calls you and asks you to do something with him—“

“I don’t pick up!!!” I say excitedly before realizing, “But then it goes to voicemail, and I’d have to call back…”

Unsurprisingly, we never really did resolve my issue to a satisfactory conclusion, although I definitely felt a lot better. And started seeing the lighter side of things, so to speak.

I suppose if we’re really going to analyze the situation here, I don’t believe in hiding emotions (professionalism excluded, of course) of my heart because I don’t want to ruminate about those What Ifs or swallow bittersweet regrets.

Or maybe I do regret some things, and am only in denial. But I figure if I know that I wouldn’t have done things any other way (even if looking back I probably should have), then at least I can let go and move on.

Then again it can very well be the utter lack of control over certain situations or knowing beforehand it’s really gonna hurt me something terrible that causes me the most stress. Either way, all I know is that I haven’t felt this much stress since my laptop took a swim a few weeks ago. Which, get this, got fixed for FREE by an on-site Sony technician!!!! I mean, there’s a slightly faded 1” vertical strip that wasn’t there before, but they extended my warranty 90 days…so, I’ll be getting a new LCD screen, too!

And sooo, who totally ROCKS? *raises hand*

Alright, I ought to stop my blogging and start all those papers I need to do, all of which are currently nonexistent. Well, unless you count blank Word documents with saved titles…

…in which case, they’d only be nearly nonexistent, right?

Maybe it’s not a u-turn after all

I want to thank you. For your friendship, patience and humor.

Have wanted to express that sentiment for some time now. Like sudden epiphanies—it was wished for sooner, but came not a moment too late. So I thank you, for having made me both deliriously happy and yet ridiculously scared. You brought out some deep insecurities I hadn’t been aware of and some of the boldest courage I didn’t realize I possessed. But that’s not what I’m going to remember you for…

I thank you, for making me realize that I did not find myself once again but am finding out the person I am going to be.

If change is a continual process, then so is acceptance.

For awhile I had to constantly keep reminding myself of that: those things are different…I am a different person today. Like, I’ll take something really mundane. Say, these new shoes I’m wearing—they’re different. So is the ground, that path I walk on as I take the detour around all that new construction going on around here.

It’s those little things, you see. Those subtle changes speak of a major change in my attitude—whether it’s the new hair color (brown instead of red) or body lotion (lavender instead of rose). Because it all points back to me, being becoming different. Things aren’t the same, and a damned good thing they aren’t. It’s like a you-can-do-it mantra you just have to keep repeating whenever you feel yourself slipping back into self-destruct mode. That, or re-watch Enchanted* for an instant pick-me-upper!

As each day brings me closer to the one year mark…the last week of May (with the biggest hurdle probably being April 16^th), I find myself celebrating those small internal victories no one ever knows more and more often.

And so, I thank you. While remembering to give myself a pat on the back, too.

*Becoming Jane, Ratatouille, Over the Hedge, and Little Miss Sunshine are excellent alternatives as well.

Damn your dirty blonde looks.

Let’s take this moment to psychoanalyze ourselves for a moment, yes?

Speaking in a purely superficial sense, I’ve found myself instantly drawn to 2 types of looks. The first—which shall be oh-so originally dubbed as Type I—is the dark (like, dark-brown to black) and maybe slightly curly hair with brown eyes that twinkle.

Hell yeah, I am completely serious about the twinkling eyes part.

A couple years back, someone once asked me what I thought most attractive about a guy, physically. I immediately replied with, “He has eyes that twinkle.”

“What the?” The guy who asked took his eyes off the road to turn to me and exclaim, “Are you serious?!”

I nodded. In seriousness.

“How do you make eyes twinkle?” He gave a scornful laugh, “Walk around holding a mirror under your eyes? Always be seen in candlelight?”

I responded with a half-shrug, but I distinctly remember how I felt every one of my then 18 years because with extreme effort and embarrassment I bit back the words well, if you don’t know… you obviously don’t have twinkling eyes.

My guy friends always like to tease me and give me shit about this Twinkling Eyes Attraction of mine. Which in turn has caused me to ponder the roots of it. You see, I figure that people with twinkling eyes have great smiles. And people with endearing smiles by default ought to like smiling. And people who genuinely like to smile almost always like to laugh, too. Can you tell where I’m taking this? I like people I can share laughs with…ergo, I like people with twinkling eyes! At least, that’s one theory I cultivate to explain the unexplainable.

But back to the Types.

Type I

After re-reading The Count of Monte Cristo (quite possibly my all-time favorite book since the 8^th grade) over winter break for the umpteenth time, I realized that my long-time girlish attraction to the character of Edmond Dantés could be part of the reason.

Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Poor girl, Edmond Dantés is fictional, you kindly remind me.

But to my (uhh, generally) sane mind, it doesn’t matter because he’s also insanely hot.

Type II

Ugh. Well, Type II is a recent realization that I’ve developed an inclination towards dirty blondes with a slight scruffy look.

Allow me a moment to sound indignantly stereotypical: ha, me! like blondes?! pffft, as if!

However, one of the voices of sanity in my life confirmed my mounting fears.

“Darmstadt had dirty blond hair.”

“Yeah…I know,” I gave an internal wail of resignation, “Horrible, huh?”

“Well, I like big noses and beards.”

Even though that phase in my life is done and over with, it’s like I’m still judging all dirty blondes through these obsolete “darmstadt” rose-colored lenses. I won’t get new, updated ones until one day, I find myself genuinely falling for another guy.

So basically, it all implies that my basis for attraction depends on those guys I have or previously formed a serious attachment to.

And now before this train of thought turns full-out Freudian on me…

…let’s end this psychoanalytical moment here.

Demystifying the Romantic Egotist

Sometimes I think I suffer from a Personal Fable Syndrome. Like everything else, it always starts after a tentative self-diagnosis, this time after reading adolescent psychology (holy shit! what if, developmentally speaking, I never really left my teens?!).

Almost 2 months ago, I was (again) asking myself that question while (again) internally freaking out because I could see how the answer might (again) be an “oh, crap!” yes.

Conclusion as of right now? I think I still will always suffer symptoms of the personal fable. The difference being, however, that I gradually learn to be less arrogantly self-absorbed while being more accountable.

That’s the hope, at least.

Anyhow.

From my time away over winter break, here’s the latest top-down self re-evaluation of my life:

On Family. Love doesn’t always equal tolerance. When something needs to be said, who else but the people who’ve loved you all your life to say it? Being the over-indulgent older sister doesn’t negate my guilty feelings from being away from home so much—it’s compounded. And disapproval shouldn’t be smothered in the name of filial piety. The hardest thing was realizing that for the people I love and care about, respect meant a refusal to ignore what’s right and wrong.

On Relationships. Let go of wallowing self-pity, and let live again. The hardest thing was realizing I had already let go of you back in May because it means these past 7-8 months I’ve been…hah. Um yeah, I’m so glad I finally got over myself, cripes.

On the Future. If you want something, take action. If you’re dissatisfied, take action. If you don’t know something, even if you’re scared shitless…yeah, you guessed it: take action. Seeking comfort outside of yourself can be both misleading and stagnating, not to mention frequently temporary. The hardest thing was realizing how often the very things I try to escape into are the very opposite of what I should be doing.

There, demystified.

Now all that’s left is to figure out just what to do about my Princess Complex.

KIDDING.

Sort of.

To a stubborn fault

He was an obsession. I recognize it now.

I also know it is entirely too easy for me to blame it all on him—he kissed me first, he always knew where I stood on things (as complicated and as blindingly simple it often was) between us, he was the one who’d take two steps forward every time he felt me pulling away because we both know he couldn’t give what I wanted…

He was the one terribly confused, you see. Not I.

There are moments when my love for the other people in my life nearly overwhelms me. I have it for my family, for those close few who instinctively understand that a comforting presence can be worth infinitely more than passing words or pieces of advice. I also have it for the simple sake of being alive during the impulsive moments of my solitude. Love is something I inherently understand and accept with open arms to flood my heart.

It also has the power to completely unhinge me. To consume me.

However, at the core, I am an intensely private person who always consults herself first before listening to the opinions of others. Perhaps to a stubborn fault. As a result, many of my friends trusted in my ability to handle the situation I found myself so seemingly inextricably intertwined in last year. I remember how one time after working out at the gym, a friend had said to me, “Wow, you have a way of clearly putting what’s happening between you guys into words.”

Words may communicate how I feel, what I know and see, but they can also be just words. On the exterior, I can be calmly rational, even wryly practical, about things. Yet, my nature is more of the all-or-nothing sorts, which is certainly fueled in part by my irrationality.

I am one to continue walking, ignoring the “Dead End” signpost just to see where it actually ends. And what it looks like, for myself. If I fail, I must fail spectacularly before rising back up again. This, I know, is most definitely to a fault.

One of the striking moments during that time was when I realized that as much I loved my friends, there were some who simply understood me better than others. A sort of kindred spirits tumbling in a whirlwind of flight. These were the people who disliked my former lover not because of him as a person, but because of what my relationship with him was doing to ME. They didn’t harbor hopes of us working it out, they had hopes for me to come to terms with myself.

My mother once told me that my passionate sensibility makes me lose my head over a boy. Luckily for the sake of her white hairs, this has only happened twice. Once in a brief, truly idealistic, meeting-of-minds, and long-distance relationship during high school. And once, last year. To her summation of my nature, I only nodded and gave a noncommittal “Hmm.”

She’s right, though, because she’s one to know…

Who else but her did I get the ability to love so freely and so fiercely?