Girl Blue

Girl turned blue. What did she do?

No I will not attempt to type some elementary rhyme to mention not her hue, but her demeanor. The girl has turned blue.

In a constant to remain hopeful of something to intrigue her mind. What is it? A longing for that star since burnt out beyond her years of existence. She longs to find the other side of the universe. Or perhaps to find that time and space are part of a continuum without a clear beginning or ending. 

How do we imagine the beginning, before the universe as we are becoming to know? A white empty space. How do we imagine the end? A seemingly spontaneous unfortunate event were the moon collapsed and had fallen onto Earth. More accurately, when our star has past its time into death. May we be dragged into the pit. Frightful, panicky, perhaps already extinct. 

This girl is blue because she is unconcerned with what the mundane world, society and life may offer her. There isnt a thing at all imaginative about that relationship to materials; jobs to purchase materials; people around another to reveal, compare, and to relate about materials. 

What is imaginative, inspiring to write what no one would ever be able to read: her trip to visit the stars. A journal of isolationism, omnipotence written for her. A letter to herself in the past about her being so blue. 

She’s lost interest in this mundane world. At some point attempted to reconnect. Only to find the pointlessness of it all. She lost all hope of finding a common understanding in all aspects of appreciating another. Then a slight advice from a concerned spirit raised her interest to rekindle what was lost in the form of communication. What she had found instead was the same, the mundane. Lonely as ever walking through life gazing up and around. Those around staring at someone quite strange, or as some one to take precautionary measures of… she walked alone. 

No one else to understand who she is and why she may appear with her eyes dark and face wet. A polite smile to strangers that walk by in judgement of her. 

How else does she imagine isolation? Oh so much so wanting an unfortunate event to take place where she is then left stranded. On an island that she will not assume possession of, a claim of discovery, and never will deface the nature. What does she imagine? To sit alone on the beach and to stare out at blue. To walk slowly, to feel the sand beneath her toes. She oh so want to feel the deafening silence of loneliness. 

To sit and wait for the sky to turn orange, red, then to turn black. We’ve rotated away to face the moon. She looks up again and imagine the night sky grabbing hold of her body. Shred her being apart so that only in essence does her mind and vision exist. Traveling throughout space to experience the evolutionary happening of possible new beginnings of life-too curious about their purpose. 

To float, no, actually to fall into space forever a wanderer who has lost all sense of contentment. No longer a person, without a pronoun to describe the body’s physicality in a sense. This life falls forever into space for eternity. A blue phenomenon receptive of every other element that extends beyond the universe that was known in the previous history.  

The imagination is extended to spontaneous energy forming to conduct a strike on the blue phenomenon. Hurt in a way, how to rejuvenate in this vastness? As in the previous history, to find a source of energy, perhaps a comet. No cosmic rays existing as natural sources of energy. The blue phenomenon latching on again. The uncoordinated destination is Earth.

Dead stars become blurred, new formations become seemingly rapid. A color of blanketed clouds, or as it seems in a stand still. Swirls of light, color, pressure all around. The blue phenomenon overwhelmed. Snatched and sling forward, thrown from its attachment, declining back down to Earth at an ever increasing speed.

The girl wakes from her trance. Where is she? ‘She’ is I, and I am here walking past hotels. Sitting alone at a table abandoned somewhere that was once something. I am she dozing off thinking of an island with the sky reflecting the ocean blue. This is me, my upset, my longing and so forth. A life lived in the present has nothing to offer for a curious star gazer.

Rough Draft: When You’re Older

Previous Rough Draft: A Reflection

Lisa S.

I cannot look to you without reminding myself of all the pain and confusion I’ve caused you. I know that it isn’t your fault that you are here but…just, dammit I wish you wasn’t.

Lisa is stifled by tears, overwhelming her body and her will to write. Pen and paper on the dining table, now smudged with blued-black ink. Her sweater sleeved used as a napkin to wipe tears of fear and frustration. What does she write? Littering the pages with the fear of judgment that may implore her with questions of ‘why?’ She may regret this letter written she thinks. She sobs in tears. A letter to her secret child, wanting forgiveness. What is there to forgive? She had left her secret child confused and abandoned.

I tried my best but this thing, this relationship I cannot do. At least not now, I mean that I need time to learn how to love what I hated and blamed for so long.

Lisa takes a pause, a deep breath, while wiping away tears as she confesses:

See I wanted mom to take you away. If she could not do it, I wanted to take it away myself. I spent those months with you, inside of me, causing pain. The pain so unbearable sometimes that I even contemplated suicide. Not just to take my own life, but yours too-the subject of my pain and discomfort. I wanted you out, right then, taking pills if I could. Drinking what I was not allowed to drink. You have to understand the mental anguish you see, draining every bit of my… ‘soul’- I don’t know how else to word it. But now I look to you and see everything that is sweet and beautiful.

Trembling now as she writes the last words-to each written word turned into a sentence. With every letter revealing her cruelty, misplace blame and hatred on a child innocent. A child that did not ask to be, but has become something quite pleasing to the vision, quite pleasant to hear. How can she shatter the perfection? This now young woman, almost, face crumbling due to disappointment and a product of family shame. But her secret child needs to know the truth, to then understand that though it hurts, it is a story called life. Here in this story exist no person perfect; no feeling of emotion provided the correct course of action. These emotions written are matters of the heart and as it is sensitive, prone to cause more harm and trouble, it has every right to be read aloud.


Secret Child

JR pushes the clothes on the rack in excitement. Her first day as a senior, last road trip as a teenager. Where does she go? Pursuing her dreams in ‘Cali’, hoping to be something more like a national icon. She has the beauty and the smarts, well, we know that her beauty will take her far.

Turning to mom, asking for advice on the color, size and style of her crop top or off the shoulder look for the first day. Mom disapproving of new generation, but yields, pretty baby will get her way. Anything for her she supposes, not that she is treated any differently from the other girls. Dad walks up from behind to ask mom for the keys. He had left his wallet in the truck and thought to bring it round to the front. To sit and wait per usual, or whenever they were satisfied, purchased and ready. Mom hands the keys over, without turning, from her purse. Dad leans in for a nudge or something. Stepping away to the side-she’s too busy for an affectionate touch. She’s really trying to monitor and parent poor, almost raunchy styles.


Lisa S.

Time for a break.

Lisa scoots back her chair, stands up to enter the kitchen for a drink. Who cares if she counts one more day of sobriety. A moment of afterthought, she grabs the juice. Closes the fridge, walk and sip. Where to go back to? She enters the dining room again, yet walks past the paper and pen. She is need of rest for her mind. Into the kitchen again for a tall glass and some ice. A preference for chilled juices. Walks into the living area for the television.

A wonder the imagination can be-but nothing remotely interesting today or any other day. Plopped down on the sofa, relaxed, frustratingly pointing the remote every which way for recognition.

“Ugh, turn dammit” Sport clips, baby mama drama; bored to death wealthy people constantly in drama…Oh, scientific discoveries or the classics?

Too much time to think, too much on the mind. Lisa chose the classics.

Mr. Grant thinking he was fine as ever. Who is this? Another damsel or dame? Never mind, the characters were well dressed, naturally rehearsed. The music and time presenting something fine and delicate during all the shit storm going on then.

Her mind, where is her mind? Stop. Her mind clouded with thoughts of her, then thoughts of she. What and where? How come this and why not that? Her mind running through every obsessive thought of what cannot ever become altered through introduction, or intervention. Stop.

She calls twin from her room.

She’s probably hungry.


Twin

Not every story is about emotional devastation, yet these are the stories that make for good, or rather decent, writing. What more relatable than the topic of love, anger, or something so emotionally devastating to cause a person the imagination of wrenching out a bleeding heart forever pumping and gushing for familiar continuity.

Like a nasty break up:

Heart in anger- a contest to prove who was better in stating the same concern over again. Passionate anger now, to hear the other out. Love, the two will speak of it in different languages it seems. Love spinning around and round again in a room. Dizziness follows as the two contested are falling out of breath, out of words to express more of what will be left misunderstood. This exhaustion clinging for understanding-begging and pleading for affection, or really to be heard.

What have they produced instead? A tormented child caught between two extremities of the words love and hate. Twin, too abandoned and forgotten. Left isolated at so young of an age that she fell into silence. A deafening silence for whenever she enters the room. Slow, mechanical like walk to and from where she is called. To and from and where she may go, to walk aimlessly at night in the woods. Where does she go and for how long? No one knows. Lisa knows she is troubled, so let her be…she understands.

Lisa makes lunch for Twin, something simple as she’s unable to voice her thoughts. Fried egg hard seasoned with salt and pepper, slice of ham, tomatoes and olive mayo spread between two whole grain slices. Perhaps some chips around the plate and juice as well.

Nuked

Waging war to achieve a mark upon history as the greatest nation ever to kill the most people ever, over an issue that no one would have ever thought was in need of a lesson.

You’ll See. Fire and Fury.

The call to wage war is still so primitive in nature. A cause to lose lives, both innocent or guilty; and those that are willing or involuntary participating in the act to fire at will to become forever scarred. For what purpose exactly, other than to avenge honor?

The Bush, The Clinton and The Obama allowed [them] to get away with everything.

All of this call to arms, the bigger the better. The strongest, most deadliest bomb one could master to achieve built and built again, as if one was not already damaging enough by simply existing. The matter now is only time and to call a bluff. The matter now is to call attention from the greater enemy determined by Commander and Chief long before the election date.

We will teach them a lesson.

And what lesson may the be in particular? That our leaders may willingly take away our lives to prove honor and blind patriotism. And no we are not the fortunate one’s-that song again about Vietnam. We may never see your sons and daughters enter battle over something senseless and inconsiderate. Hopefully the greater voting public may not be tricked into praising such dishonorable tactic to shift focus and attention from what matters in a peaceful, working society.

We are in need of affordable health care, however it may be compromised one day.

We are in need of affordable and quality housing. We are need of healthy solutions to our food alternatives; in need of better water supply; in need of a fair and just system; in need of a fairer wage; in need of funds for education not student loans; in need of relief of all other stresses causing a faction within our nation. Not bombs; a Korean… a Chinese person has never corrupted our system and caused stress onto our livelihoods.

We are in need of construction and unification-not dismay, rations, or a cause to keep the country on edge.

Rough Draft: A Reflection

Lisa S.

She claimed to have loved you. A simple statement covering all the mischaracterization and lies she wrote, to you, while in admiration. She claimed to love you for you. It was your smile that brightened her day. Your thoughts on the latest news, and all other topics concerning politics to religion. It was your beauty she grabbed, and mastered to then coerce your passions for her body and mind. All the physical and mental affirmation of love claimed to be faithful. ‘I love you’, Elia said straining to hold back. “And if anything happened to you I won’t be able to go further”. She only liked you when you were funny, not like this moping about. She only wanted to be around you because you’re different. And there is nothing more exhilarating than to add color to one’s life.

A young woman experiencing that new phase called love, yet she is already burnt out. What did Elia’s love mean to her in translation? “I love you because your mind is tormented and your life is not altogether”. PAUSE. “I love you because right now, you need to hear it”. A waste of breath. A waste of time and energy put forth to make the best of a toxic situation. Elia cares, but she’s heartless and self-centered. Lisa feels emotionally depleted, now. A love seeming to be the end of everything the future could promise in true love and affection. How to take her mind from Elia’s lies? She tried cursing her name. She tried a new love, yet that proved a pointless effort. Every new love a pointless effort.

Ear buds in, cell phone in hand, Lisa subdues the noise within her mind. Scrolling through her playlist to search for passionate anger and frustration about love. Searching for that song, and those lyrics about the troubles of love on a young heart. The song about that girl so trifling and dishonest about her character; deceptive about the cause of her love. She finds it, plays it. From the low taps of the drums to the shriek of the heartfelt singer she closes her eyes- Elia never loved me.



Elia M.

Elia lays with Dylan. Their love will be celebrated within a few months, so something right and special for him is being decided. Something right… Elia knows she will not find another guy like Dylan, as sweet and with patience so rare to find. He deserves someone better, certainly more attentive and sure of who she is and what exactly does she want. A woman that will treat him as the only person that matters most, adoringly and as a best friend. Elia has a best friend, the one isolate and always troubled and in need of comfort.
You love her dearly but not in the way that it is meant. You please her in every aspect, sexually too. Though in your complicated affair you cannot part from Dylan. To spare his feelings is never a contemplated thought as you love him. You cannot part from your friend as to do so would leave her so devastated, bouncing on and off her habit again. You’re not responsible but you feel obligated-to both. I mean Dylan is for your image, for your parents to accept you. For society to see that you too have conformed to what is right. All that fake exchange of pleasantries and then that dreaded presentation of a ring. What would you say if he asked? A sense of hesitation sits on your mind. To erase everything, shake your head, stand up and walk out. Making your way to the dining room you take your phone. Tell Lisa that you miss her.

 

 Writing A Book

To know how to read the student is taught to write. To know how to write the student is taught to read. 

The basics of the stroke of a crayon, pencil or pen in our early years tells us how to properly begin the story. They start with the article ‘The’. 

‘The boy’ as the subject. 

‘The boy ran’ as the subject doing something, in this instance [always] going somewhere in a forward direction.

‘The boy ran home’ as the subject going somewhere thought to be pleasant. 

The students are asked to write a forward thought as well. Why is the boy going somewhere pleasant? Is he anticipating something? Yes, he is anticipating to play, to eat, to do whatever that kid is concerned with more so than the lesson. Or so one may think as we were kids once but never overanalyzing kid-like thoughts. 

That’s the basic of how to write stories, and we continued to write stories that way until told otherwise. Or until told that the subject is someone else imagined. 
I’m typing this, rather, to explain my short trip to the bookstore. There I go to scan thoughts, phrases and ideas to soak in and to practice on my own. As well as I’m there I am always to read the preface, introduction or the very first chapter or sentence of the first or second paragraph of a thought. In those ‘firsts’ I gather the subject that the writer is to expound upon. As well, how the writer introduces the subject. 

I have come across that great stories or stories that are to mimic those that are great-it’s alright the first article ‘The’ was writen once before in billions of writings-begin either with a scene doing something or a person or thing doing something within the scene. 

For instance, the scene set in the time of marshes, raindrops left on the petals over night and fog is telling the story of a fantasy, of a crime or of horror. Some great writers write this scene to tell something about nature. What is its overall significance to the subject, the plot, or even the conclusion? Does this scene have meaning or is it simply the beginning? That all depends on how the writer describes the scene and how the writer writes-specific or overly detailed. Most importantly how well the writer may write.

The second instance being that the subject is either thinking, speaking, or the writer is speaking of the subject. Toni Morrison writes a poetic version of the writer speaking of the subject’s scene and viewpoint. Others like George R.R. Martin may write of a fantasy subject thinking then to explain why that subject thinks that way. Who knows what a ‘warg’ is and may do besides him? It’s the way in which the writer describes the subject that may captivate the audience to read more. 

The ability to imagine too, to identify with the subject or scene allows the reader to continue reading.

There requires no sophistication in word choice as the Victorian writers. There requires no complexities in sentencing structures, just the ability to connect with the reader. The ability to describe in a way that captivates your audience. 

The story simply has to be interesting to the imagination, intriguing to the mind. 

Hashtag ‘Talk To Someone’

I revealed today that I am in fact depressed. I took to my most frequented social media sites to confess what all I have been feeling. That is, I am depressed and have been this way since for as long as I can remember. I took to Facebook to tell the few high school classmates, college associates, immediate family members and strangers- that like my thought processing- that I suffer with social anxiety and depression. And that I have felt this way since I was 10 years old, maybe younger or slightly older.

This was a late night/early morning confession so the response was of only one private message. One of the strangers told me that she wholly empathize with me, then to suggest medication and therapy. Why, then? I had revealed within the confession that people, generally, are the source of my fears and pessimism. That I find discomfort not only in being around people, but people as individuals. People as in judgmental, uncaring, self-centered individuals that I have not understood and will never come close to understanding in time. These people, generally, are the source of my stress, anxiety, social phobia, dating phobia, etc. As I told her, the stranger, I have been medicated for this condition before. All the while taking the pills, feeling the medicine or rather feeling emotions that have been inactive for so long jitter about inside of me. Not once did it cure my response to how others mistreat and misinterpret me. I thanked her for the advice and the shared empathy anyway. In a minute later my mom ‘liked’ my post. She always accuses me of writing excessively, too much for her to read so she ‘likes’ the post, pictures and comments anyway. I then made a rash decision to delete, then to deactivate my profile.

I was a social media user since the age of 14 years old, around 2008 when I wanted to connect with my peers. As a quiet, introverted teenager never afforded the ability or the will to express myself it proved useful. I used social media to express my immature nature; my dumbed down nature to better relate to those around me in school. As well, I used it as a platform to discuss relevant issues that I normally kept quiet and complacent about. After some time I deleted the 13/14 year old ‘me’ to tackle important issues in politics, or about religion and other social issues. Not that I was popular anyway, not that anyone cared, but I posted and shared my opinions that my conservative Christian ‘friends’ disagreed with. As a result I became largely ignored. I continued to post and debate, alone, and to myself, anyway.

Today I deleted pictures, memories, post, and removed tags. The task was simple. Again by no means was I ever popular and I did not share as much compared to others. Today, as well I found a note from 2011 that I did not delete. The note was about my frustration with the homophobic comments my circle of associates, classmates, etc. often expressed delightfully. I expressed how disheartening it is to hear people speak in ignorance to those like myself. People like me who had yet to come out, my first story that I had shared here. I remember how I was feeling the time I had typed the note-a depressed teen, pessimistic and suffering from social anxiety. As I went further back I noticed more of largely ignored political social interest, and then more about my confessions. This has not been the first time, now as I was beginning to remember. This is not the first time I have deleted memories, confessions and the like. And in every time I deleted, only to retype and to reword again, my quality of life remained the same. I am depressed, as I stated this one last time.

The cause of my frustrations, pessimism and fears have been other people. Recently, all three are related to my recent heart break. I had to come to terms that I was using social media to make her understand how much her apathy, and unloving nature tormented me daily. And that her new found love just confirmed all that I have feared and confessed to her. I had told her that I had gone through bouts of depression since I was a teenager. No, I had not fully recovered though in my mind I thought I had done so, compared to her confusion and fears she too confessed to me. I had confessed that I am broken and expected her to break the cycle, to be different from others and to be understanding. It was then that I had failed to realize that she is like all other individuals. She is like all the others-the source of my frustrations and fears. One message after another for a month, all disconnected and all in repetition wanting her to acknowledge, understand then to apologize. My pessimism called for her to block me, to reveal that she is who I know her to be… Though it is difficult to say when you love that person. I had to block her instead, once I found out she blocked me as well, I had to make my last confession.


Celebrities are coming out to confess their thoughts as well. They make a head liner-‘I’m Depressed’. Or, at least, they vaguely mention how they are feeling so the editor comes to that conclusion to write that viral title. The public responds by saying: how can this be that someone rich and famous who is given all that they may ask for in life, only to be discontent? And as we read of another who has died due to suicide, we have the public reacting by stating even money cannot buy happiness. And now we must talk about depression. It is only during these moments that someone beloved and talented confess and/or dies that we must have this discussion. ‘#talktosomeone’ surfaces on popular sharing sites. The long passionate quotes liked and shared by those that agree are about encouraging people to come out and confess. To find someone, anyone to empathize with your suffering. The reason given is that you are not alone.

The reality of depression is that you are alone. You are alone in your thoughts. You are to deal with it alone despite the helpful advice, therapy sessions, or sympathetic individuals that struggle and fumble with their words of circular positive encouragement. Depression affects the individual and by no means will talking to someone help, or always help concerning the severity and specifics of the illness. The depression may last a short while, given the changes in environment or other self-improvement tactics may help. Then there are others that will suffer through it, or probably not that much longer considering the common end of this illness. Something that I too have contemplated from time to time. It is when the negative thoughts, expected behavior of others, the low self-esteem; the conditions for living on this Earth, in this society, etc. becomes too overwhelming for the person to handle mentally. The ill person then release their emotions and thoughts through silent tears, music, writing, drugs, alcohol, anger, or something else to distract them. In whatever way the person may deal with or to solve their illness the person does so alone.


How do I best deal with my illness? I take a walk. Reconnecting with nature has been something recent and fulfilling. It’s the thought of the pavement or the feel of the grass beneath your shoes do I feel grounded. Most certainly I feel something the moment I walk, to feel the world around me slowed down to a normal, walking pace. To feel nature surround my body, pushing and pulling at my hair, clothes and skin. To feel the heat of the sun…It is then that I feel a sense of release, my mind just as chaotic as ever, but simple. My thoughts become slowed as well, but simple.

I may park my car somewhere, lock it of course, and just walk. I walk away from the noise, the commotion of people. Then to walk away from my life-responsibilities, concerns and anxieties about my future. I take so much pleasure from the brief moment to walk away from the noise and to walk away from my present life. So much so that my thoughts, whenever inclined to self-harm and neglect I think instead of simply walking away. And if it weren’t for the demands of society to have a job, car, and house to survive I would do just that. If it did not mean upsetting my mom as I leave, disappear without a trace, I would do just that.

Since I feel shackled by obligations I only dream to be either taken away or to disappear. I have dreamt of an airplane crash, though I have never flown before, where I became stranded and alone. I could imagine how I would feel based on the brief moments of freedom I have now. To feel nature pushing and pulling me. This is not likely to happen, so instead I like National Geographic pictures of indigenous people whose feet have been shaped by the land. In other dreams I thought to quit, to sell, to remove the excess baggage and just walk away. Where would I go? I would go everywhere, in the heat, under the sun with shoes tapping the pavement. I would just go at random.

If I ever feel stressed by what I am unable to do, I will write it down instead. There was a concept essay in my 10th grade class that my close associate and I wrote separately, then shared. We were to write individually about the greatest invention and to explain why it is great compared to others. My associate and I are similar in thought, still, even though we no longer speak. She wrote that ‘paper’ was the best invention in our world, which allows us to read. She’s still a bookworm. I wrote that the ‘pen’ was the greatest invention as it allow for ideas and thoughts to be more easily shared. In that I discussed written language as the beginning of all other great inventions. I remember now, I asked her about her topic then I shared my own. We playfully argued which of our topic was better in answering the writing prompt. I ended with, if it were not for the ‘pen’ what purpose would the ‘paper’ have been in the course of our human history?


Feel as I may and will forever feel as it seems, I’m fortunate enough to live in a time and place where I am able to share my thoughts. Whether I am to share my thoughts on paper or on the screen there is still a sense of release. This is where I tell myself all is fine as long as you have a mind of your own and the will to express it to yourself first.  You may be depressed, you do indeed suffer with social anxiety but so long as you are a confident thinking being you can forget about the approval of others. Then I leave all other thoughts to rest.

I mean I am talking to someone about it. I’m talking to myself

Would You Like To Upsize?

In the time being that I an here, I am aiming for a purpose or something anticipated. I am aiming for a career as a writer, as an author, as an acclaimed thinker. This has always been an underlying desire since childhood, though never brought forth and managed until now. Only until recently have others suggested that ‘with all of your knowledge and quest for more, as well for your need to express such a need to let it all out…’ Why not become a writer? I made a post, inspired by a questioned phrase stated by myself. ‘Why not now?’

This has been a new pursuit, well a rekindled desire with a direct purpose and reasons to back it. It was of my sophomore year as a an undergraduate college student that I found my desire. I wanted to write, I had typed and shared on a previous blog. I wanted to express myself, however I did not know whether fact or fiction would be my strongest. So I had tried fiction first. As imaginative as my words may appear to be, I have found that my challenge to write a fictional character about an emotion or thought I have not expressed or felt myself proved to be more difficult. I can write, well I can express myself poetically but the stories I find myself writing have no beginning or ending. They are at random occurrence, in the middle of a sentence or thought. For example, the boy walking through the woods. It was at random, a young masculine of center appearing person. The time and place was undefined. The nature was not adequately expressed but I was thinking of autumn. Where he was walking from and to was unknown to the reader and myself. In a sense what I aimed to capture was a feeling, or something I have felt and experienced myself. A person walking through the woods. A person that feels and hears the overwhelming presence of nature in the absence of disturbance by humans-except myself. What I was I thinking remained in my mind alone-chaotic. What I was feeling was so profound at that moment that I had wished to share it. The ability to express that moment and feeling in writing remains as a task to master.

I found that writing in fact to something proved to be more rewarding; inclined to my nature and thought process. The way in which I think is called ‘conceptual knowledge’, though not in reference to math functions but to a personality or way of thinking about ideas. I have shown this in one of my lengthy blogs, The ‘Borg’, as I relate a larger sporadic concept to a defined understanding as it relates to our own reality. I anticipate to write further in this way. As well, constructing arguments to widely held ideas is best described as a ‘brain workout’ for me. Again, another anticipated writing.

The Hunt

Through all of this anticipation, pursuits, and fire where am I? Outside of this screen, outside of my books and journal I am a fast food worker. A recent college graduate who is finding the ‘recentness’ of her expensive, yet to have been paid off, piece of paper- indicating ‘this person is versatile and educated’-is a negative. The moment an employer looks upon my resume they see food- menial task and job regarded for those without a degree. The moment that the employer see a list of my work experience primarily being in food-the assumption goes that I have absolutely no experience worth noting, worth to take a chance on. It is discouraging. Actually quite frustrating knowing that at the beginning of my resume list all of my achievements, education and skills and knowledge acquired that they all claim to so desperately want and need in a qualified candidate. Yet, here I am denied before I make an appearance, denied because they refuse to think outside of the box. As one interviewer rudely, and by ignorance, stated “but you only have fast food experience here”. I would assume that in order for me to not ‘only have something’ I must be given the chance to have something else. However, since I had managed to struggle for years to acquire what I only have now, then what I anticipate to have instead will be years to come. As a fast food manager, I wait and write until that chance is given.

I have played all of the possibilities for myself to become someone to another. I have tried every entry-level job position though without success. They want actual work experience. Since I am unable to lie as it is suggested often to me, I have totally given up. Why? I can rewrite my resume to reflect either the exact details as described in the job advertisement or write all that I am and can potentially be, but still I am worth nothing without experience. To have experience is to be given that chance to acquire experience and not to be judged for not having it. My struggle is in line with all other college graduates underprivileged, yet hopeful.

Though my family would have me to believe that it is my appearance that causes for my denial at every turn. They wish the best for me, though in their taking my interest at heart they ignore their own prejudices loudly projected. In the time I have applied for jobs, similar positions at a time, resume rewritten to reflect their purpose as my own, I have only received 4 interviews in this year thus far. Of those four interviews I have received one position for a temporary job working for the state education system. For every interview I had had, I have followed the correct behaviors and formal dress codes. I came prepared, pen and folder in hand. I came neatly, well dressed and groomed. My tone, manner of speaking always considered professional, proper or well spoken. What is the issue then? I am clearly a masculine of center female destroying heteronormative values and expectations, though not as a stereotype. Those within my community will consider me to be a dapper ‘stud’, or a masculine of center black lesbian female well dressed. According to my family this would all be fine if I were a male, preferably heterosexual, but as a female I should not exemplify that standard. And if I refuse the standard to be feminine then what will come to me is discrimination, but that is not how they phrase it. What will come to me are employers judging me based on my appearance and deciding to not give me a chance because of that fact, and they are right to do so because that is how society works. As I am often told, ‘we have to play the game’. But in their assumption they believe I have had more interviews requiring my presence, or what I look like to be known. No, out of hundreds of applications I have only had four interviews. This means only four out of hundreds know what I look like beyond my name in bold. And what my name bolded and enlarged can tell about my appearance is that I am a black American and that I am female.

What I tell them then, what they are suggesting is the issue now, is that I am to expect discrimination based on my gender expression. However, if I am to walk the line, to appear feminine as society may demand, what if I am denied a chance because I am a black American? The discussion changes, as this is a common issue that they are most passionate about. What if I were denied simply because I am female? To suggest that I must change would also reinforce a common racist and sexist mindset that once denied qualified or candidates with potential that so happen to be not white and not male. And as I recall- throughout my lessons and personal readings-that such forms of discriminations are not to be tolerated any longer. What I tell them then is that they are simply projecting their own prejudice about my appearance. And that they are living in a time where they are unable to give me, anyone else young, advice in how to navigate this struggling economy.

A Crowd

As I tell my mom, as worried as she is about my prospects in life-that I am one among millions of young hopefuls unable to prove their worth in such a tough economy. She will ask me often what I am doing, implying what am I doing with my life so that I can honor my degree. I tell her that I am trying, have given up but trying again. In the process of myself trying I do not mind so much working in the restaurant industry. There I am among several others thinking about obtaining a degree, those in the process of obtaining a degree, and those that have since graduated and searching for a purpose too.

We all discuss our dreams. I wish to be a medical assistant. I wish to be part of a professional sport. I wish to own my restaurant, too. I wish to do something but have not quite figured it out yet. Then I add, I wish to be a writer, but in the meantime I wish to teach. As we discuss everything other than fries and rude customers, it’s like we bond more closely. We are able to laugh. We cut up sometimes and I too try to remind them that this life is only temporary. Why? Those fries, temperature logs and a higher manager yelling about what we didn’t do or could do better again will get to a person. As I tell the others, sit them down, focus on the best that you can do and laugh at everything else. Yes the older customers tend to think of you as ‘lesser than’ or uneducated as they forever remain indecisive and entitled, or unknowing how much of a skill it takes to multitask at an ever increasing speed. I’m referring to restaurants where short staffing means you are the only person taking the order, cashing out the order, filling the drinks, bagging the orders, then ding! next person in line and impatient. I tell them, yes pick up the pace as I am your manager, but relax. Find your rhythm and relax, because you will have something better waiting for you.

Then I think of all others that have given up. The retail managers that laugh about their expensive piece of paper that is still worth everything to them. The same ones that make enough money to afford the essentials and all other leisure time, since they can pay as little as they can to their student loan debt. Not all, but some here are this way. They are those older than I am, a college graduate four years ago or more. And really, what is there to do when one lacks work experience for a position that basically requires what we have been doing and prepared for since the age 9 years old or so? I told this to my coworkers. I was denied a job once for something that I had experienced for years now and that is typing and knowing Microsoft programs. All of this practice, and as I remember began when I was 10 years old to my college freshman year, worth nothing at all. You are among everyone else with the same exact experience and know-how, aiming for the same entry-level positions to get a foot into a door for another.

Here we go, begging for more hours and better pay instead. We ask for a higher position, management, for those exact purposes. Then left limited as the business is limited as well-sent off to other stores to save hours and to gain more. Our best bet is for a second job, another possible yet impossible endeavor. Employers seem to want your time indefinitely no matter if they only schedule you for 15 hours per week. This means that they much rather have people whose hours a free of hassle and careful consideration. Why? They have enough on their plate too, perhaps struggling as we are in home life, work, college classes, etc.

The Purpose of This

I’m not trying to make a statement. Or to make this experience beautiful in writing to captivate an audience that is, too, disinterested. This is simply practice. I am to tell others of my experience, my current thoughts, and what I am about in several post. Then along the way to showcase my true interest in writing, in forms of analytical essays. Or an amateur approach at philosophy. Those are of my greater interest and purpose in writing, and wanting to write and to share more. And I do think this is my true calling here. That is to write in fact to something. This is to share my experience, feelings and knowledge rather than to give a fictional character to represent it all.

Discouragement

After experiencing technical difficulties with this website I felt lost. I had just nearly completed an essay, lengthy as my writing usually can become, only to find it erased. It’s as if I never typed, retyped or researched my topic at all. What was left are notes for this section, careful consideration for the reader. All of it now gone, disappeared.

The feeling was of anger, mostly. I deleted what was saved here as it was not much to revive to its original perfection. I was angry contemplating whether or not I should contact whomever that cannot do the impossible. That is to fix a computer glitch that exist as a technical issue, only on my end. I felt angry, then disappointed. To think of the hard work now left forgotten and unknown to the public.

I felt this emotion but decided to type here instead. I may feel discouraged in my plight to become something I once thought was meant for those brighter than myself. There will be times were I will lose all that I had worked hard. But if I continue, anew, with a different frame or mindset that I can still write, and write well. And here that I may type my heart’s desire of all of the various interest and passions, then I can do so again. The topic and many others will resurface again and I may write and relate to others as best I can again. My mind is endless and so is my time.

Heaviness of Heart

Negative emotions seeps way down into the very pit of her stomach. Friendless and without a companion, she stirs the feeling of loneliness within her mind. When existing with an innate wanting for companionship, you feel the isolation of being without another person. When existing within a society that craves a companion for the sake of having one, for the sake of never ever being alone, it’ll torment your mind. Why? She longs for a connection of a likeminded person. She doesn’t believe in souls or soulmates, or anything else of the imagined spiritual world. She craves for someone real and likable for once. But not to crave a body, but of a person. A body is merely a vessel that carries the character that exist within our minds. Have you ever thought about that exactly? The essence of our existence, what makes us the person that we are, is entirely composed of neurons and tissue that exist as the brain. She wants more than ever to crave that person, and to have and to hold dear of that person for forever long. This is simply not possible. She exist among a popular frame of mind that being with someone, rather, is better than being alone. A culture shock as she flip through the books of ups and downs in relationships that cares more for a person’s body than the actual person. She is sick, now, as she too was used by past lovers to satisfy this insisting need to not be alone.

She is bitter. An emotion that cannot be denied as she questions the predators of her lonely sensitive heart. Do you understand her or do you simply want of what you see? Do you like her or do you like an idea of someone so insightful and inquisitive that you cannot wait to master the experience of someone like her? Like her to place on a pedestal, like her to use as someone to make up the time and space left and forgotten by a past lover-or so it seemed. You do not actually care for the person that she is, really. She is a place holder within the chapter of your life, as you navigate your wants and need in a person through trial and error. Her limbs trembling with…stress, perhaps anxiety of meeting someone like you. Like the ones that left her broken, sunken in self-pity and regret that she may never let go. She may never trust again.

To exist alone until someone takes her love seriously.

On Dating A Narcissist

I have had unsuccessful immature relationships so far in life, and so far into my adult life. I have yet to experience a relationship whereby the person has not said, towards the end of it all, that we are ‘two different people’. In my mind this is plainly obvious that we are two different people. I do not understand by the key break up line-that concludes every relationship that I have had-that we are too different to be together for an indefinite amount of time. Here, I’m thinking these geniuses are truly and remarkably blind. How did you not know that, in the beginning, I preferred talking insistently about abstract ideas and of society, whereas you preferred the behaviors in the expression of love [i.e. cuddling]? How did you not know that my version of relaxation is to nap and to sustain knowledge on various subjects at once, whereas you wanted to go outside for play? How did you not know that I prefer meaningful and thought-provoking conversations, whereas you assumed I required frequent responses of infatuation and laughter? I was certainly aware of such differences and of others more personal. Why are you only aware towards the end of it all? Or, a better question here, why do you assume that awareness of differences is a sign that we are a mismatch, or too imperfect to remain as a couple?

Some people tend to assume that true companionship is with a person that complements in a way that they are ‘twins’. They are the exact copy of the other. They are the reflection in the mirror that they wake up to and either reluctantly stare or smile. I cannot bear the thought of being with someone that is the reflection of me. Not that I do not love myself. However, if I am to want someone that is the exact version of myself or somewhat similar then I rather be single. Why take on an extra bill for takeout dinner, or to purchase matching outfits for my personality doppelgänger, when I can do so cheaply and alone? What satisfaction is there, for myself, if I am constantly surrounded by my own mindset, beliefs and ideas when my personality craves for different opinions and intellectual arguments? I enjoy the debate between individuals, preferably with someone who is different. Now my character, my personality resembles that of the Carl Jung/Myers-Briggs personality type INTP. I do not give much weight to astrology or personality typing, however I find it very helpful to explain my nature and character-which is considered odd and rare to most people. As I crave intellectual stimulation, I have been accused of wanting someone who is of that exact type. I have been accused of, towards the end of a relationship, of being a narcissist. Why is that? I insisted on doing something that is of my character to do. Howlever they are mistaken. I wish to create meaningful conversations with people regardless if it is of their nature or character to argue. I wish to engage their minds, of their thoughts and opinions on various abstract thought or of society. This person need not to have a preference for doing so, as I find arguments or any sign of disagreement scares people. I crave different experiences from those of different backgrounds, so that I may better understand the greater subject of humanity. If I had some exactly like myself we would write a book together. While that is all fine and anticipated for future collaboration, I have not gained nothing more with someone who simply wish to analyze and to retain as well.

Do opposites attract then? According to the article, ‘The Science of Narcissism: Why We Really Just Want to Date Ourselves’, relationship ‘twining’ or a person wanting a complement is greatly desired. As a side note here, I will reference the article that first presented the idea from my original search. Then I will follow the links provided by the author in order to find the original topic or study published. I have found that Business Insider will have authors linking to a previous Business Insider article- for more views I suppose. The original article cited included a study about how humans, as all animals, tend to have or to seek partners that bear similarities to their parents. The comparison used was the hair color and the eye color of the person’s partner compared to their parents. The study claims that there is a form of genetic imprinting that conditions us to continue a preference for certain genes. This may be the case for basic, instinctive tribal survival. However, in a more modern world I would see that this is more of a cultural familiarity or preference due to some perceived ideological necessity. For example, the black activist that insist that interracial dating is futile to the radical and never-ending upset nature of one. And since this study indicates a bias towards heterosexuals or those that engage in opposite-sex attraction more so than others, I find the study to have little understanding of human attraction.

But can opposites attract then? According to several articles, though one I’ll site here: ‘Attracted to Your Opposite?, people do prefer their ‘twin’. This is a chemical balance that we are unable to detect, but are sure to know when we find someone exactly like ourselves. Essentially, if you like something, then you like what you like and will seek out that likeness in someone else. While others enjoy a reflection of themselves in others, there are those that are truly attracted to opposites. This is to say that everyone loves differently and in regardless of their reason. The point that I agree with is concluded within the article about the subject of love. It is concise-love is ‘the simple ability to overlook everything you cannot stand in someone’. I have experienced that precise point. To be aware of such differences, but to make it work  regardless because that is love.