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The Ballad Of Delusion And Madness

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Today I want to tell you part of a story.

Imagine the scene, eighth-grade year, the last year of what be the school that this barely even teenage kid had devoted seven long years to.  This kid was by no means a stellar student or popular. He had to deal with all the crap that comes with not being particularly liked, but at this point, he was more than happy to have others to share that dark spotlight with. Truth be told, he was more concerned with keeping his head down and out of the way than with trying to stand out. Let me tell you, that’s hard for a kid who’s a bit too zealous with asking questions and answering them especially if that boy has a tinge of awkwardness that follows him around like a cloud.  Either way, the year was almost over, high school was on the horizon, but a great debate about the future seems to lurk around every corner. He seems okay but underneath it all,  he’s being crushed by the weight of a decision that ultimately isn’t even his.
You see, his parents are divorced and separated by miles and miles of road which was perfect for the moment. Great until it becomes time for something to spark a change. To ignite a wildfire through their lives. Their sin, love for their children and pride. It would send earthquakes and aftershocks in the future, but neither of them knew that at the time. All they knew is that there was a wind blowing and change coming and they wanted was the favorable wind.
With types of fights, the large hand of justice looms overhead and intervenes for the sake of “the children.”  Setting up arbitration and evaluation to determine what is right and what is good, the decision is quick, but the process is not.  A member of that hand comes to observe and report what should be and what is.  Writing notes and recommendations about where this future should go, and what direction it will take. I wonder what they saw though, especially for this boy. Did they capture all the loneliness he felt? Did the capture his alienation?  Did that hand understand what it mean to be him and how that all he wanted to do was escape into a different world that might be able to understand him a bit better? He even wondered if they were looking.
Adding on top of this multitude of problems is youth.  You see, the poor kid started developing a crush.  A crush on a girl who didn’t go to his school but was the first one who he felt gave him the time of day.  Someone who seemed excited to talk to him or wanted to hang out. This was all new to him, he needed guidance so unlike what he is used to, he sought help, unlike he’s used to, people wanted to help him. For once in his life he felt like this might work out. A seeming oasis from his tribulation, he felt like with his peers helping him he didn’t have to be alone.
But that’s just the setup for the final act, the set up that would ultimately fall like dominos one by one.
So here we are, the beginning of May and the final piece that comes to play is set up.  Courage and love. The boy finally works it up, after much thought and deliberation he hatched a plan with his peers to finally chase after what he wanted.  To ask a question of the girl he didn’t know the answer to.  He decided it would be at the annual school festival, he knew she would be there. At the annual school festival, so would everybody else.
So there we are, a morning of the day that he is nervous. Adrenalin takes hold as he makes his way alone to the school.  Fun, games, and people all around. Laughter, and noise filling the air along with the smell of baked goods and grilled meat.  He was there that he knew there was no backing out now, he felt the power of the world behind him, and he couldn’t let them down.  So by the time the afternoon came, he found the girl wanted to question.  By the late afternoon, he was ready for what he thought the answer would be.  But hardly ever are expectation and reality something that goes hand in hand.    It was then he found out she had a boyfriend, it was then he knew thing weren’t going to work out.  It was then things began to crumble. It was then he needed help.
Where did he go for it? He went to his peers.  Some offered a small condolence, but the boy searched for the people that helped him. He searched for the ones who spent all this time helping him along the way.  But what he found was nothing, not a care or a word.   What the boy didn’t know is that the kid of the moment became old news.  He was no longer interesting, so there was no need to care.
This is when he began to fracture, this is when he began to see the breaks within.  He put on a tough face but after it all, he walked home through the night, tears flowing from his eyes wish it would all just go away.
The domino had fallen, sending rest of them falling down the line. The cogs began turning, and the world changed slowly.  Soon enough the decisions by the looming hand of justice were being made. For high school, it chose for him. For his schedule, it chose for him. Where he would be living, it chose for him.  This looming hand was determining the course of his life.  What again was it that he wanted, after it all, he didn’t even know anymore.
His parents bumbled and blustered, even though the spent all that time beating and bruising each in the court room never really got what the wanted.  Each decision wore away a bit of the boy, who at this point was already broken.  He felt like a rock in the desert slowly being eroded away, day after day with no end.  Soon, all that was left was void, a void where he threw all his emotions and feelings. He felt empty, and this made him content.

After it all they made him go see a therapist, in hopes of reducing the damage they had caused him.  But it was too late, the kid had built himself a mask, a mask to show the world what they wanted to see, a mask that would save him the trouble of having to worry about being exposed because if everything seemed alright, then nobody asked questions. If he could mimic human life, then he can live in this void forever. The therapist thought the boy was fine, the boy thought the therapist needed someone to talk to so they talked about him. Soon enough the boy was out to clean bill of health but just as empty as ever.
As the dust settled the kid wore that mask, and for a long time, all he felt was nothing.

That’s not where the story ends for the boy, there more to come. How those events will shape the boy. Events that helped set him down that spiral downward.
Again, this isn’t the end of the story, just a part. So if you could wait until next week to hear the end and what happens to the boy with the mask, I’ll be there to finish it.

Not Anymore

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So I needed to watch a sexual assault awareness video to register for classes
It was called Not Anymore
A long interactive video that seemed to drag
This isn’t the first video I’ve had to watch of this type
It probably won’t be the last
Some of the antics are ridiculous
Some of the acting is crazy
But it makes me wonder
Will this help anyone
Will this stop an attack
I can’t help but to feel that most of the time
Assailants know what they are doing
They may not label it at the time
They may not refer to themselves as a rapist
Or a sexual predator
But there has to be something deep down that had already told them that it was wrong
That what they were doing is bad
But it keeps on happening

Maybe it’s an effect of people believing that they are the exception to the rule
Maybe it’s them being in denial
But I doubt most rapists think their rapists
So will this video help?

This video becomes clear toward the end
It’s not for them
It’s for us
The ones who know right from wrong
The ones who see it happening and decide to look away
The ones who don’t want to have that awkward conversation with a friend
It’s telling us to do something
To act
And potentially be the hero somebody needs
or
To stop this violent act from happening again

So perhaps the video shouldn’t be called Not Anymore
But Now More Than Ever

My Father’s Hands

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My hands are becoming like my father’s hands. I’ve been looking at them as I have aged and they have had these lines I always admired, the veins and creases have started to show up. There is a significant difference though, between us, his hands are worn and beaten from years of work.  They are darker and rougher than mine from all the years out in the sun.  I have watched his hands all my life, and sometimes wonder what it would take for my hands to become like his.

There was a lot to them, a complexity that they seemed to both be visible but invisible. A hidden modesty of hard work.  I remember, they were always big and in watching him type away at the keys of a keyboard that always felt a little too small for his ideas. There were like magic, making all that hard work and long hours look like a walk in the park.

Now I sit in the car, hands on the steering wheel and can catch a glimpse of you, of all those hours we spent in the car, hot or cold with your hands on the wheel driving us both place to place. I remember the summers with the windows wide open, hoping to flush out the heat of the season, driving along the highway listening to news or music.  Hours of time that we couldn’t avoid but neither of us complained about the company.
I remember your hand in the winter, which stayed warm from all those years of having to fight back the cold while I was bundled up and whined being able to see my breath.

Large hands made to hold many things, mainly the responsibility of raising two stubborn kids who couldn’t seem to get along.  They were both the peace maker and the hands of logic and reason. I remember them because they were always cast out in aid, hands made to help others before they helped themselves.

I look at my hands, and I see a bit of you, my hands don’t hold as much, are not as worn or beaten, but in some ways, I hope they will be because I’ve always wanted to have hands just like yours.

The World In The Life Of A Guy: Part 5 – Courtesy Conundrum​

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There’s an interesting juxtaposition of being courteous and being modern. Not that I think these two things are opposing each other, but at times they lay on opposite sides of a very fine line. Let me explain.

Growing up, boys are taught to be forward, to go after what they want.  To be gentle, and kind but in some ways more aggressive. To protect and to fight.
It’s in these things where the social dynamics take an interesting turn.  Imagine this, you go out on a date, to for a guy, a lot of the time, it’s engrained in us to pay for the meal. Not a bad thing, or a thing I am complaining about, but something to be very aware of.  If we don’t, we are thought of as cheap or stingy.

It’s just strange to think about, the system or manners have a certain non-contemporary nature to it.  Most of the rules are in assuming a certain power dynamic between men and women.  With the rise of modern feminism, we need to take a brief look into how these manners manifest themselves.

Paying for a meal, now the best suggestion I have heard about this is either to split the bill or whoever does the asking does the paying (now that does lead first dates to usually lean on the guy but that’s a whole other issue).

Asking people out.  Though it falls primarily on the guy, I feel like now is a time where girls can feel comfortable (not that asking someone out for the first time is easy) asking.

Opening the door for people.  A little bit goes a long way, plus, I would be happy for people to open the door for me but maybe that’s just because I am a bit lazy.

Driving people. This goes according to comfort and vehicle.  I feel like this should just go to whoever feels least comfortable about things. Though it can be a good exercise in trust, meeting someone at the location has never been easier.

Not talking about politics or religion. Probably a good idea in general unless tha’ts what both people are bonding over.  Its great to know people and that is always a fun topic to talk about but the conversation has a lot of other places to go too.

Of course, the easy way to go about things is, just to follow the golden rule of “do unto others as you would have done unto you”.  This makes things very simple in the long run and can prove to be an effective way to approach pretty much everyone you come in contact with. Here’s the kicker though, people appreciate when you enact old time courtesies (the appropriate ones).
The difficulty stems from what to do and where in this environment its sometimes hard to gauge how familiar you should be with someone.  Each person is different as is each relationship.  Learning how to navigate it is going to become more complex as time goes on.  I think as long as you go in with good intentions and the other person well being in mind we will do okay.

I don’t think it will make things any less confusing but it will certainly make it so you know exactly where you stand.

Kiznaiver : A Clash To Empathize

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I was talking with my dad recently, talking about life and the feeling of being able to go back to school.   The part that I am started to get excited about the most is the fact that I will be surrounded by people who I might be able to connect with in some way. The conversation changed in tone when he told me that life is about finding your people. The people that understand you in some way and that get you.  This phenomenon is kind of a strange concept. A group of people that will understand me in my entirety seems kind of like a funny thought. I had talked about this before, in a way that used an analogy as a tree and its branches signifying how my life stratifies as time goes on reaching out in all sorts of directions. It about that connection, the empathy between two people that really matter.

Now I wanted to write about this for a while, this show I had watched many months ago, it’s called Kiznaiver. This show happened to resonate with me because of the topic that it covered.  The ability to connect people through empathy, now since it was a sci-fi anime its premise was that a group of people had their pain was connected, and through various events, they were forced to come together and understand one another.  Each participant out there struggling to connect with another person in some way but a lot of the time fighting to keep themselves from exposing too much.

It made me think about all of us nowadays.  We are throwing ourselves out into the world using social media and yet the way that the research goes, that it doesn’t make people any happier to do so.  It’s like a shout to be seen but only in a way that there is so little of us is showing at a time.  It’s troublesome because I think it’s these pain nuances that we tend to manicure out of our lives that really allow us to connect.  Though it seems strange, it’s our pain a lot of the time is a glimpse into this part of ourselves that doesn’t see the light of day. It’s touching of the core of who were are so people seek pain to feel real.  The question is if we keep acting this way on our social media, are we hoping our lives will follow the illusion or is it that illusion that sustains our lives. Will we finally be able to connect to one another if we make ourselves like all the celebrities we see or is the good ole’ fashioned way of being present and real with one another the key to living a happy life?

The reason I was talking about finding my people, was because I want to have a chance to connect with people. Sometimes in my day to day, I feel like it’s always I am a fish out of the water, gasping for air, expecting to break. The question is if I act as I do, will I gain the ability to breathe, or perhaps I should find other fish of the sea who might just be a lot more like me. I know when I have found these people in my life, I feel at ease and the suffering for air seems to slip away.  Who knows where all of the people who will impact my life will come from, but I can honestly say, I hope when I find them, I feel at peace because we will know we finally found a kindred soul to connect to.

More Money, More Calculations

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Money becomes a huge focus when you seem to have run out of it.  It gets me thinking about the function of money in my life.  I work and I work, then I get paid a certain amount depending on what I put into it.  Now since I work hourly, my time is being bought, hour by hour.  Now that time as a quotient of my day and life is essentially putting a price on both the work that is being done and the person who is doing the work.  Once I have that I start to measure the cost of things in hours rather than dollars because it’s much easier to conceptualize.

Now, take for instance standing in line for lunch, should I go after that sandwich, that will cost me about half an hour, maybe I should pick up those chips, another fifteen minutes, drink will cost me twenty and I can make it a meal for the added cost of ten.  I wish when I came up to the counter they rang me up and said, that will about about an hour and fifteen, but thats usually what I try to do.  It makes me understand how I want to spend my time and money.  Unlimited music a month for one hour of my time, hell yeah!  A nice book, usually runs me about two, same with the interent.  My apartment costs me about 70 hours which is worth it but it does take up a lot of my time. Thats when I get to the problem at I don’t have enough hours to do the things I want to do or I might literally not have enough time.

It’s a strange exchange none the less but I find that there is a great motivation through it. I either find things that will take up less of those figurive hours that I sell or maybe I find that there is more value in the hours I have.  Our goal is to maximize our time output while minimizing the percentage of our time that every day expenses take up.  That way we can reach an equalibium where we feel comfortable with how much time we spend to fuel our lives. That way, we don’t have to worry about about the small things like how much time do I have to work to get a sandwich but think about how many hour we have to work to spend the time on memories, which ultimately are priceless.

The Place Where You Belong

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I felt it again today.
That surge of electricity that flowed through my body as if I had been I had been finally plugged back in again.
I sat around that table, flooded with this familiar feeling that had been gone for such a long time.
How could I have forgotten about it, how could I have doubted
I knew that life might not have been going the way I had wanted it to, but if how I felt is any indication of where I should be then it’s the universe telling me that I just struck gold.
I help but be excited
Finally, I feel like all of my zeal and passion is warranted
there I was, surrounded by the simple word peer again wrapped in the frame of cohort.
I haven’t even started yet and the questions began to flow, like a dried up creek after the rain.
I felt as sense of being alive again
Like blood was finally unstuck and my brain was taken off pause.
A sense of self that resumed naturally almost like automation
This is who I am and I haven’t felt this why in a while
My dad and I talked after
he said life is about finding your people
for now, I know these are some of them
maybe this will change in the future
I don’t know
I just know the electricity that I feel coursing through my bones
and the feeling of being alive again
This should be a good year.

 

The Storyteller

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I sit behind this keyboard regularly thinking about the various progressions and places my life goes.  All formatted and written in a way that I hope comes across easy and accessible.  I figure, if I can at least tell you all a story, then maybe it would make what I have to say more bearable.  I’m not a very good storyteller, at least in person I struggle with it.  There is something about proper storytelling that is mystical and enticing to me.  Great storytelling makes you feel what the teller is feeling, see what the teller saw, and understand the story that they are building right in front of you.  It grips you and takes you on a journey, only to put you back to where you were before right at the end.

I think we all experience storytelling, it permeates our lives in the small, telling people about our day, to the large, reliving a major event in our lives.  It’s how we go about getting updates and information about the people around us.

But for me, I always have a hard time with it.  I get bogged down with trying to explain everything, and if I miss something, I’ll go back and correct the record.  I don’t know where to start or end, the rise and fall that feels more like a plateau than the mountain it should be.  I get tripped up by the words and am compelled to go through the every minute and irrelevant detail.  A story people suspect should only be a couple minutes turns into a marathon full of tangential information and excessive need to correct.  The format to which feels more like a report than story, like the telling of facts than an adventure.

I grew up with them though.  The first storyteller in my life was my dad who used to tell me from the bedside, both reading from great books aloud right, and telling bits and pieces from his own life over the years.  There was always something exciting about it, it was then not strange that I picked up listening to others as a habit.  I relish the stories they decide to weave right in front of me.  That’s probably why I also feel so comfortable listening to the background noise of talk of radio and have filled my phone to the brim with podcasts spinning stories and narratives.
It’s just my hope that I can somehow capture the magic storytelling has locked within.  As with all things in my life, its work in progress.  I’ve been told to start with a place and a problem.  Both things that are hard for me, because my problems usually happen over many nights and many places.  It’s hard to pinpoint where there the breakthrough happens, so my stories muddle together and lose its meaning like a trying to transport a puddle with your hands.   It’s something I hope to work at for the future, so when it comes to my turn by to tell my story, people will be happy to listen.

Breathe

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I don’t know
I don’t know what I should do.
Ripped and torn from direction to direction
My life asunder
Tired each time I wake up
With no easing as the day presses on
So many things
It makes me feel as if everything needs to be done
But nothing really does
Just a swirling
A flowing of an ever growing
I know what I should do
I know what I actually do
And sometimes hope aligns them
Time escapes me
It hopes for me to duplicate
To be two or even three
Maybe then I can get things done
Maybe then I can I can finally catch up
That’s all I want
To finally get my head above water
And see the sky again
And breathe
Like I used to

The World In The Life Of A Guy: Part 4 – Hair

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In a way to stray from the normally serious and at times heavy nature of this blog I decided to cover something a little bit lighter this month. Hair, and it’s not just because I have beautiful flowing locks of brown/black hair, but its just something that people honestly don’t think about all too often and yet it takes up so much of our lives.

You see, just like for girls, puberty is a very strange time for us.  Other the hormonal cocktail coursing through our veins, hair, and body growth are two things we have to face.  Now growing taller, getting deeper voices was never something I felt self-conscious over, quite the opposite, I enjoyed every second of it.  The hair, on the other hand, was a very different issue.  For guys, hair becomes thicker and more noticeable. This is usually when things start to change depending on your genes and a bit of luck. I still remember vividly when this began to happen.  Changing in a locker room and looking down at my chest to see darker more pronounced hairs take root.  Before I knew it, it was everywhere, and for the most part, I was the only one who had it in spades. It was very strange, and for a while I was a bit embarrassed of it.  Even now, its at times a very funny thing to me.  If I wanted to go through the regular effor to remove it (which I have done with shaving and an attempt with my friends at some amature waxing (don’t ask, and yes it was as painful as it sounds)) it seems as time goes on it gets more difficult and time consuming.  It took a while not to feel uncomfortable with my shirt off, and its not like hollywood is known for having hairy actors.

But that’s not even the half of it. Learning to shave my face at first was a very exciting time, though it was nothing more than peach fuzz, by the time I was a junior in high school I was doing it regularly enough for it to become an inconvenience. This is given the fact that since it comes in patches, its like a jigsaw puzzle of epic purportions hoping the right pieces come together so you can actually make something cool out of it. I was lucky, I had more complete hair than guys my age but it also came with the price of having to shave more. So I grew out a goatee, and like all the other subsequent times I have grown out my facial hair, more guys comment on it then women.  Not to say that it isn’t nice to hear you have nice facial hair from a dude, but it isn’t exactly what I was going for when I decided to stop shaving for a while.  Doing it regularly is bothersome but necessary, but I count the minutes as I take in front of the mirror doing this repeatative task.

Lastly, its always strange, how many different styles of hair guys can have, depending on how the hair on their head compliments the hair on their face. A stereotype is that guy can have one hair style that lasts him a lifetime. Now the current generation has a little bit more fluidity of hair style but the traditional cuts are seen as more professional or clean.   I have to say though it really comes into perspective when there is a chance you could lose your hair, hair becomes very important.  Now, it’s something I have thought about, my dad is partially bald, and no matter how much I look I can never get a definitive answer as to which side of the family tree that gene comes from and to be honest, unless its good news I don’t want to know.  So I take the time to have a variety of different types of hair styles and types to make the most of what I have.  Who knows where it will end up but I realized that embracing what you have is really the way to go.

A lot of our lives are devoted to some form of hair management, and it show when there isn’t a lot of effort we put in.  I know guys don’t take as long or use as much product as girls but there is still there is a lot of hair in being a man, trust me, a little too much sometimes.