always on my mind

I will return to you soon, blog.

peace.

As I Watch

I wrote this a week ago. There's this guy on campus who reads everyday, usually from the Bible. It's an older gentleman, and he's like some millionaire, yet he choses to spend his afternoons on a college campus reading. No one pays much attention to him, he's become such a common fixture. But everyday I get a chance, I just sit and watch him. He treats everyone with such kindness although others scoff in his direction. One day I'll work up the courage to talk to him. But right now, he's like a celebrity to me, and I'm still awestruck. But he was the inspiration for this. I gave him a copy, just because I felt like I should, and he read it aloud. He's incredibly amazing.

Just because something hasn’t been done before

Doesn't mean it can’t.

Because we are our own Gods

Watching the world play before us.

And it never really seems like we really have a place

Because there is no place for God in life.

So we make our own audience

and we don’t give them a choice

because God answers to no one,

Not even himself.

So we make our own podium

out of a worn, green chest that’s too short to serve it’s purpose.

But so are we, so who are we to talk?

So we preach our own doctrine

Though we know no one is listening.

Because we don’t preach for others,

We preach for ourselves.

So we stand nude in front of others

because clothes hide too much

and we have souls,

And souls weren’t meant to be hidden.

peace.

The End is Nigh

I posted this on my travel blog, but the tone really seemed to fit more with this blog, so I thought I would repost it here:

Whenever I leave a place I’ve stayed at for a substantial amount of time, I often wonder if it will miss me. I know it sounds silly, personifying such a large area, but I can’t help wondering.

When we first arrive in an area, we go through an adjustment phase. We get used to the feel, the look, the smell, all those good senses. For example, my room and the doorway to the bathroom. There is this ledge from my room into the bathroom and sits about an inch off the ground. The first night I got here, I walked into the bathroom, and stubbed my toe, tripping over the ledge. I did that for about two days, cursing myself, and that dang ledge every time. But now, I don’t even notice it. It’s amazing I remembered it at all actually. I avoid the ledge with complete subconscious dexterity. I have adapted.

There are many more examples I could site, and you know exactly what I am talking about. You do it in your own homes, too. That squeaky part of the stair you avoid, that screen door you slowly close to prevent it slamming shut, the drawer you have to gently open to prevent it from coming off the hinges. We adapt, without hardly noticing it.

So places must do it, too, right? I know, places are just nouns. They don’t have beating hearts or buzzing brains. They can’t remember, and they can’t feel. But they get used to you, too, just like we get used to them. Your desk chair knows your weight, your keys recognize your touch, and your office feels your presence. So when you just leave, when you just go, it must notice your absence.

People don’t thank inanimate objects enough. But if you recognize those tools that make your life so much easier, you develop an attachment. Not an unhealthy attachment, like most of the ones people have with objects. But an attachment of adoration built from appreciation.

This place here, my office, my dorm, my bike even, they have been home. When I first referred to my dorm as home, it felt awkward, unnatural. I actually corrected myself, calling it my dorm, not my home. But this is my home. The dingy walls lined with my Jonas Brothers and Miley Cyrus posters have become a familiar sight, the squeak the broken hinge on my wardrobe makes, a usual sound, and that annoying ledge that gave me so much trouble my first few days, is now just a commonplace fixture. It is safe to say that I will miss all of these things, as trivial as they may seem. And though I know life will go one here once I leave, that some new resident will take this room and make it their own, I wonder if the chair will miss my weight, or the keys notice my vanished touch, or my office feel my absence as it gets to know it’s new inhabitant.

peace.

Playin' it Safe

It’s somewhat ironic, isn’t it? That I continually ignore the one thing I want because the one I currently have is safer. I’m all talk, really. Let me lay it all out for you. I used to be innocent. I used to be completely clueless of the workings of the world and how everyone always gets fucked in the end. I used to be a dreamer. And what sucks is that I’m young enough to want to return to that “used to” time, but old enough to realize that it is no longer possible. I’ve been talking a lot about being an adult and growing up, but I’ve finally pinpointed the exact time when it happened, when all my innocence was lost. It was when I began to make my choices based on what was safer, instead of what made me happiest. It was the moment I thought, “Yeah, well I would like to do that, but that’s not very probable. I better play it safe.” We always play it safe. I always play it safe. Why? Because the risk is too great. The chance that you might fail is a very real possibility. And then what? And then you look back and wish you had played it safe. Except, would you? Now that I think about it life really always does work out in the end. It’s like I was told, it doesn’t matter how much you make, you’re always going to spend it all anyway. And really when you think about it, that really is what is driving our safety; money. Because money brings security, regardless of how false it is, it doesn’t change the fact that it seems very real. So what if I don’t want to play it safe this time? What if I want to write? Will anyone read? Maybe a few. But those who write for money aren’t really writers. They’re crooks, manipulating the system. I write for different reasons. Not for audiences, but to live, because no matter how much I try to ignore it, the only time I come alive is when I’m creating. So I guess the question isn’t really, will anyone read, the question is,

Will I play it safe?

peace

Great Expectations

Just recently I graduated high school, right? The last few months or so, the teachers got all emotional like. They would tell you how much they were going to miss you and how much fun they had with our class and what not. We had our little award ceremony where we get our prizes for doing shit we should have done anyway, like taking AP classes and taking four years of a certain subject and all that other shit. I mean, you have four years of high school, why shouldn’t I take four years of math? Seriously, quit being lazy, that’s why we’re all so stupid.

But anyway, the last few weeks of school, teachers really get into it. At least they did for me. Almost all of my teachers told me how impressed they are with me and things like that. First of all, I hate when people tell me things like that. It makes me cry. I know that seems odd and sounds stupid, but that’s just what it does. Not like ball or anything, just teary eyed. I think I get embarrassed.

But a lot of my teachers began telling me that I was going to do great things, and that really made me upset. That’s such a scary thing to say. Do you know how much pressure that puts on a person? These people barely know me, all they know about me is what they’ve gathered by that hour I spent in their room five days a week. There are twenty three other hours in the day. How do they know I’m not out selling drugs or stealing from stores? They know nothing about me, or at least very little, yet when they tell me I’m going to do great things they say it with such certainty. I can’t handle that.

I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I have big dreams, but who doesn’t? Dreams mean nothing, it’s reality that counts. What do they even mean by great, anyway? What if all I want to do with my life is be a mommy and raise my kids and take care of my husband? What if all I want to do with my life is be a librarian and never marry? What if all I want to do with my life is become a nun? You may answer, “Well it’s you who defines great. That’s what they meant when they told you that you would do great things. So they we’re right.”

Bullshit. If that’s what they meant, then they would say it to everyone, and I know they don’t. I feel like this post is making me sound conceited, but that’s not the tone I want to give off at all. I’m upset, if anything. But no one refers to being a mum, a librarian, or a nun as great things. Sure, they’re caring, necessary, and noble, but they’re not great, by societal standards anyay. So what do they mean by great?! If they’re so sure I’m going to do them, you’d think they’d give me a hint. There is so much pressure with the word great, so many expectations. I don’t know if I can live up to that. Or if I even want to.

Peace.

Long time...

Greetings,

So I did this blog interview thing and I guess I’m suppose to post the link on one of my posts, so here it is.

http://bloginterviewer.com/randomness/dont-worry-tamara-marcus

It’s like some website that interviews writers of certain blogs to help get them more publicity or something. I’m not sure how reputable it is, but I figured I might as well do it. It can’t hurt, right? You can read my interview if you want, it just explains my blog a little more, so if you’re a new reader, it might give you a better idea of what it is I do, or at least try to do.

I’ve been really busy the past few weeks, graduating and shit. I leave in a couple of days for my internship in Taiwan. I’m actually keeping a travel blog, so if any of you are interested in checking it out, here’s the address:

tsmarcus90.wordpress.com

That blog is just about my Taiwan adventures though, this will continue to be my home base. I should get back to posting regularly in the next week, so look back soon. I’ve been working on this story recently, and I want to try out a few paragraphs on you, so look for that too.

Until then,

peace.

this is what i got

I’m not the best talker. I mean, I can hold a decent conversation with almost anybody, it’s not hard to find something in common. Although I don’t particularly enjoy small talk, I am amazing at participating in it. It’s the big talk that always gets me, the personal topics. It’s very difficult for me to share any information of value with people, I can’t think of one person who knows about my life. It seems, that by being so well trained at small talk, I have successfully managed to keep my secrets secret.

I realize that this quality of secrecy has probably hindered many of my friendships and most likely all of my relationships, with old boyfriends, as well as with family. Do I like it? No. But can I fix it? I have no idea how. I believe that this is why I found such solace in this blog. I am a very emotional person, but a strong one too, which is a horrible combination. Because I have such intense emotions, I feel great sadness at times. I cry a lot. But because I wish to maintain my strong image, I cannot share anything with anyone, for fear of crying in front of them. That is my biggest embarrassment. It could be because I don’t want to appear weak, or it could be because I hate sympathy more than anything else. But I guess that goes back to the weak thing, doesn’t it? I view sympathy as an emotion given to those you pity, and you know that when you’re pitied, you’re perceived as weak. I understand the emotion of sympathy, and I am not afraid to experience it, to give it. But when you are the one it is being given to, that doesn’t make you feel good either. To me, sympathy is the emotion you give in lieu of a better one, like happiness. Why would I want sympathy when what I really want is happiness? The presence of sympathy just highlights the fact that I am not happy, and I don’t need to be reminded of that.

I am told that depression is common, which reassures me some. Given the way I feel, I have no other explanation than depression. MInd you, this post is not intended to be whiny, or generate sympathy of any kind, because my words above are genuine, I really do hate it. This post is mostly for me, I think, because this is the only way I know how to talk, and I have so much I need to get off of my mind. It seems like my depression didn’t start until last year. It was around the middle of the school year. I was convinced I was going insane, but I now recognize it as the same feeling I’ve felt on and off since then, and I’m almost sure it’s depression. Just recently it seems like it’s been getting worse. I’ve come up with a set of reasons that could have resulted in this.

For starters, my grandfather died a few months ago. Notice how I say died, not passed away, or some other stupid euphemism. That wasn’t accidental. You could say I’m not quite over it yet, but that’s a whole other post.

My grandpa dying, I think, added to another reason I think it might be worse. I think it’s caused me to start thinking about my dad more. Like I’ve said before on here, I never really got to know him, or even see him. My grandpa was like my only father figure, and I think it’s just brought about a lot of confusion about my father.

My last reason is stress. Stress and worry. I think with school ending soon and AP exams, I’ve just been a little stressed lately. Not to mention the worry about next year and going to college, and of course, paying for school. It’s just a scary time right now, trying to figure out if I’m going in the right direction.

I don’t know, there’s probably more going on and other stuff I should talk about, but this post is long enough, and I’m tired of analyzing for the time being. Just try not to worry.

peace.

title

Today, I realized just how old I really am, and it terrified me. I have never felt like an adult, I mean an actual adult. I’ve felt adult-ish, but I’ve never felt committed to the idea of being an adult. But today, when I looked in the mirror, I realized that that’s what I was, that it’s what I am. I look at the freshmen walking in our halls, and they all look so young. I remember being a freshman, and looking at the seniors and thinking, “They look so old.” That’s how I must look to them...old, like an adult.

I suppose everyone has this moment, when they realize they have passed from the land of the child to that of the adult, but does it usually come this early? I’m only 18. I had always thought that if you continued doing the things that have always made you happy, you could always retain a bit of child in you. But as I look through my room, and through myself, I find that all the things I enjoy doing, all the movies I like, all the books I read, all the things I say and think, and believe, they’re all so adult, and I don’t know when the fuck this happened, or how I could ever let it happen, but I feel as though I’ve lost those very things I thought I never could. And I have no idea what to do now.

Even this blog, this very post, in fact, ages me. But these are the things I’ve made my home in the past years. It’s not a real a home though. It’s one built on the idea that the more you read, the more you learn, the more you feel, the more interesting you’ll become. Fuck that. In all reality, the only thing that happens is you become enlightened enough to realize that interesting and creative don’t mean shit. Enlightenment condemns you.

I don’t want beliefs. I don’t want literature. I don’t want knowledge. I don’t want to be an adult.

peace.

happy monday

I hope this short note finds you all in good spirits on this wonderful, early Monday night. I felt very close to a moment of ultimate calm, and I thought a short post might complete this near serenity experience.

Some things for you to ponder, if interested:

First, are you one who takes their time to go to work? Or are you one who rushes to go nowhere?

And second, somewhat connected perhaps. How many ticks are in your seconds? How much joy in your minutes.

Not having a job is peace. Now I just need to find my calling. Make the most of the day that's been given.

peace.

i'll trade you

So, I recently quit Culver’s. After three and a half years working in that blue hell, I finally managed to make it out, and thank gosh I’m alive. Why, you ask? Was the pay too low? Well, yeah. Were the working conditions sucky? Oh god yes. Were my managers bitchy. Fuck yeah! But that’s not the main reason. It was mostly because I was told to take my nose ring out, and homie wasn’t having that. So I quit. Do I have a new job? Nope. Am I going to get a new job? Maybe. Should I have found a new job before I quit? That would have been the smart thing, but it’s fun to be irrational sometimes too.

But while I was laying in bed, enjoying all the comforts of unemployment, I began thinking about how I’m going to buy things from now on. I’d rather not break into my savings and my mother is eventually going to get tired of me asking her for money, so what am I going to do? And as I looked about my room, clothes I probably didn’t need strewn about the floor, my mac I probably could have done without on my desk, and my movie posters I most likely paid too much for hanging on my wall, I realized what these possessions meant. I have no real connection to these things, no real use for them. People have long since survived with three pairs of jeans, no computer, and no decorative posters with Johnny Depp and Penelope Cruz lounging on the floor, so why do I feel the need to have these. Perhaps the only thing that would be difficult to part with would be my books. And yet I have these things, things I don’t really need, and you know what that translates into? Time, and then eventually life. My life is in this computer, in these clothes, in these posters. I have sacrificed my time, and ultimately moments of my life to purchase these things. I have traded forgone memories, experiences, pieces of my life, for these possessions, clothes that will wear out, computers that will break, and posters that will rip. And when I think about this, I wonder, was it worth it?

peace

make your move

So while I’m not taking Robinson’s crazy side on the issue of Haiti, this whole thing bothers me. It’s the one thing I really hate about America, and news in general. The only time shit like this makes headlines, the only time people know about how sucky our world is, is when something big happens. Haiti’s government and society has been in turmoil for years; actually, ever since the French first colonized the Haitian “savages”. But who cared to notice? Not half the people caring now.

I know Haiti's situation is fucked right now, and I applaud all those people who are willing to help and are putting in the effort to clean this up. But I also beg those same people, all people actually, to give a damn before something like this happens. Right now, Haiti has been getting the attention, all the sympathy. But there are other countries out there, people who need help are waiting. Why can’t we make a move now, work on prevention so we don’t have to worry about cleaning the mess up. Look beyond yourselves. It’s hard to do that sometimes, especially with all the things we’ve been given. Damn we’re lucky. But I implore you, make your move now, don’t wait for something big to act, something big to go wrong, because I assure you, it’s the little things that make the difference.

peace

to my anonymous critic

So my last post was supposed to be about firsts and how dull life is without them. I used the rule of three triad of sex, drugs, and alcohol since rock n’ roll isn’t really a big part of my generation. I had used these three merely as examples, to convey a much more meaningful message. When I checked back on my blog today I saw this:

“quit being a beatnik and quit trying to prove that you have taken the "smart" approach to using drugs even if it is your second time doing something it is your first time doing that thing the second time. you should try having original thoughts rather than the same thoughts about original experiences”

So first of all, calling me a beatnik is no insult at all. It’s like the hippie of the 50’s.

But what really bothered me was that my anonymous critic totally missed the purpose of my post. Instead of reading deeper into the what may have seemed like superficial examples, they chose to pick out the one they found offensive as they read it simply at face value. My post was not about drinking, smoking, and sexing, it was about living, with or without those things.

And not once did I even say I smoked. I have no problems admitting I do because I doubt Ayers still reads this crap and no one else who does can really do anything about it unless they want to spread it around school, which doesn’t worry me. And on the off chance Ayers does occasionally stop by this site and does notify my mother, meh. But I still feel like they shouldn't have assumed I did, just by my example. And why is that one is so much worse than the other two? If I had just left it at pre-marital sex or underage drinking, would they still have been as offended.

And that being said, when did I ever claim to be taking the ‘smart’ approach to drugs. That’s like taking the ‘smart’ approach to drinking. It doesn’t exist, you’re still out of your right mind while doing it. I know I’m not being smart when I get high. I mean I’m as smart as I can be, but of course there’s danger. But I don’t go to school high, go to work high, not hang out with my friends to get high, spend all my money on getting high, etc. It’s just not a big deal to me, whether I do it or not. People who think that this one thing defines a person are nuts. I still work hard, I still read, I still care about things, I’m still me.

And to the last part, about having original thoughts, I can’t really argue that. My writing and thoughts probably aren’t original, but to me, they mean something. They help me figure things out, they help me develop my views on life and my perspective on living. I’m 18. Very little of what I say is probably original. I’m just trying to figure stuff out. Like I said, to you, it may not be original, but to me, these realizations are some of the coolest shit.

So I guess thanks anonymous critic. I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for on my blog. But like I said, my writing is primarily for me.

peace

firsts

You know why people like New Years? It’s the same reason people hate it. It signifies a new beginning, and humanity loves new things. If you’re a happy person, a new year is a joyous occasion. If you’re depressed, the new year is an ominous horror that reminds you you’ll have to go a whole other year, being depressed.

But people like more than just new years. They like anything that’s new, that they’ve never done before. Why do you think being young is so much fun. It’s not that we can do things adults can, in all actuality, they are legally allowed to do more than any of us. But the same stuff doesn’t appeal to them because they’ve already done it a million times before: sex, drugs, alcohol. It’s lost its novelty, and therefore its appeal. You always remember your first time, in anything, and so you compare every other experience to that. The rest of your experiences are based entirely on the first. The first time is a defining moment in your life, and shapes your perspective thereafter. But there are only so many firsts one can experience. Pretty soon we’ve all had sex, we’ve all gotten high, and we’ve all gotten drunk. And after we’ve reached a point, it all just becomes habitual, expected, common, and consequently, boring.

My theory is that people aren’t afraid to get old and grow up. I mean I thought I was, but I don’t think that’s it. Sure, I’m afraid of dying, but I’m trying this whole not worrying thing, so it isn’t on my mind as of this moment. But becoming old doesn't really scare me as much, not anymore. What does scare me is becoming bored, of running out of firsts. People are leery when it comes to trying new things, as we are taught to be. But there are so many new things to try, and I’m talking more than positions, narcotics, and wines. My hypothesis is that as long as you keep trying new things, you’ll keep living life, and eventually, that worry of growing old will just die away. Maybe.

peace.

it's good to be here

Welcome to 2010. It’s my graduating year. That seems weird to think about, that this is the year.

I have two resolutions for you, 2010.

1.) Keep with my writing, which includes bloggin’

2.) Stop worrying so damn much. Although my blog is cleverly named Don’t Worry that is simply because that is what I have to tell myself every second of the day. This year, I'm gonna do it.

And for those who care, tonight I celebrated my second year of being a vegetarian. People told me I wouldn’t last two months; some didn’t even give me two weeks. To those people I say,

fuck you.

peace