r-assignment [6]
A few years ago, I would've said that my dream is to love and be loved in return. To make a difference. To help people. To become a great doctor. To matter. There was really very little I would not do to achieve those things.
Now? Now... I have one simple (but by no means easy) dream -- to hear, "Well done, good and faithful servant," when I go Home one day.
And what would that cost?
Everything. It costs everything.
But, damnit, if there's one lesson that I have learned over and over again in my life, it's that it is so worth it.
Now? Now... I have one simple (but by no means easy) dream -- to hear, "Well done, good and faithful servant," when I go Home one day.
And what would that cost?
Everything. It costs everything.
But, damnit, if there's one lesson that I have learned over and over again in my life, it's that it is so worth it.
Written on Thursday, November 14, 2013 at 2:03 PM
by twentyxfragments
r-assignment [5]
Author's note: Please don't think less of me after you read this. I'm begging you.
Eurotrash Girl: A Very Poor Byronized Summary
Eurotrash Girl: A Very Poor Byronized Summary
He looked for his Eurotrash Girl every
where, without saying what the
hell that is,
and found out that crabs were
quite contrary.
Why should I have to write in
rhyme like this?
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
celery.
He ne’er found her; it was a hit-or-miss.
It was probably for the best; it
seems
like he should delegate her to
his dreams.
Written on Monday, November 11, 2013 at 7:57 PM
by twentyxfragments
r-assignment [4]
The other day, I
accidentally
spilled moonlight on
the shadows
where you used to
sleep.
I almost cleaned it
up
until I realized it
didn’t matter anymore.
I told the clouds
they were not
welcome to shed tears
over your side of the
bed,
that the rain had to
drown me too.
I asked the sunset if
it ever missed the
sun,
if vermillion meant
farewell,
if the dusky purples
hurt
when they were
pressed,
if the coming
darkness
felt as natural and
as effortless
as it looked.
And when the night
finally fell
in black oblivion
I found the light you
left
in the corners of the
room,
under the pillow,
in the spaces between
my fingers.
I found it everywhere
in the darkness
and nowhere in the
daylight
and I hate you for
that –
Which is why I
started
making room for the
moon in my bed
even though he
bleaches the sheets.
And I let the clouds
lay down their burden
gently, gently over
your pillow
in place of my own.
I stopped asking the
sunset questions
that I couldn’t
answer
and started digging
my hands
into the gracefulness
of the sky and the ocean and
everything in between.
everything in between.
Written on Friday, October 18, 2013 at 10:46 PM
by twentyxfragments
r-assignment [3]
We are an insulated society. We
isolate ourselves. We walk on the streets and plug in our headphones and let
the music become a soundtrack for our invincible minds. We look down at our
phones, pretending to have suddenly gotten a text message or notification so
that we don’t have to look someone in the eyes and tell them, “No, I don’t have
spare change,” as we walk by with our new shirts or Starbucks cups or updated
iPhones.
How uncomfortable.
As I watched people walk down the
Drag, it seemed as though there were small pockets of space around the homeless
who stood on the streets or sat against the sides of buildings. It was subtle,
with the typical traveler leaving enough polite distance between them and the
homeless. It was an interesting juxtaposition of two worlds, two kinds of
cultures, when the homeless were gathered in a group as groups of frat boys
walked past them. Some people seemed flippant when a homeless person asked them
for change, brushing them off with a frown on their face. Others just pretended
that they hadn’t heard anything, ducking their heads down and leaving a wide
circumference of space around them and the other person. Many people appeared
to be uncomfortable to speak to a homeless person, as though interaction with
that homeless person would be factored into their social status.
Watching other people interact
with homeless people struck a nerve. I always hope that a homeless person won’t
ask me for change or talk to me as I walk down Guadalupe. I feel guilty that I
sometimes buy into the stereotype of them being lazy, addicted bums who just
didn’t work hard enough to move up the social ladder of society. It reminded me
of how fast this world moves, with people always having somewhere to go and
money to earn and things to buy. Conversely, I wonder what it’s like for
homeless people to watch people walk by. I wonder if they notice things that
people ordinarily wouldn’t see or care about, like the beautiful simplicity of
a couple holding hands, or that one person who begins to cross the street with
only 3 seconds to spare. I wonder if they think about that.
One thing I did learn, however,
in this practical exercise: All people may be created equal, but they certainly
don’t always end up that way in the real world.
Written on Sunday, September 29, 2013 at 12:49 PM
by twentyxfragments
r-assignment [2]
In all honesty, I was hoping a
Friedrich painting would appear in this list of artwork. I fell in love with
his work ever since Professor Richmond-Garza (I love that woman) used him to illustrate a point
while we were reading Goethe’s Faust.
The problem is, I never stopped to ask why: why did I fall in love with his
paintings, why did I feel the way I felt? Just. Why?
[And now I can begin to attempt
to answer those questions.]
In Friedrich’s painting “The
Wanderer above the Sea of Fog,” there is a man standing on a cliff. All we can
see of him is his back, an unruly mop of dark blond hair, his walking-stick,
his dandy-looking coat (my apologies, I am not, nor do I claim to be, an expert
in 1800s menswear), one hand either tucked in his pocket or on his hip as the
other hand braces the walking stick upon the rocks, and one leg propped up as
the other leg is still in the back. The fact that, as you mentioned, he is
hiking in formalwear simply made me wonder if we ever really take off all our masks. Who is he dressed up for?
What is he dressed up for? You may think that once you get home, you can take a
deep breath and be the real “you,” but is the real “you” the same “you” when
you’re on the internet, or cooking dinner, or preparing to go to sleep?
There is a lonely quality about
this painting that I find a little beautiful, a little haunting, and a little
all too familiar. Although the perspective of the image is such that it invites
us to stare out at the “Sea of Fog” along with this Wanderer, yet his stance
contradicts this with his back facing us, counting us out of the picture.
Whether Friedrich is trying to tantalize me with the promise and the curse of a
turned back, never allowing me to see this Wanderer’s face, I don’t know. But
oftentimes I feel like that Wanderer: alone, even with company. There is the
idea that you don’t know exactly how somebody feels, simply because you are
different people with different personalities and responses to life and even
physiological disparities that prevent you from knowing exactly how someone feels. Everybody experiences life differently,
but more importantly, everybody experiences life singularly – by themselves,
with their own inner thoughts and emotions. A depressing thought that I have
found to be quite true in my short span of life.
I found the colors dreamy and
captivating, a nice juxtaposition of the dark against the light. The dark
cliffs that the man is standing upon suggests that maybe he has just made it
through a personal darkness or hardship (A really crappy hike up a mountain
does count. Re: Lord of the Rings: All of them). The lighter colors in the
background are ethereal, full of light and maybe a little bit deceptive in that
they seem to promise the viewer a sunny endpoint/destination, yet there are
more dark cliffs and hills that lie ahead.
The first instinct I had was to
assign a specific destination at all to said Wanderer – the mountains in the
distance, or that castle-looking plateau ahead. Then I remembered that the
subject of the artwork is indeed a Wanderer. So there went that analysis.
Things are expressed differently from
medium to medium, in my opinion. I could describe that the sky is this
particular shade of cerulean, that the fog looks like wisps of freshly spun
cotton candy, or that Wanderer’s hair is a tangle of golden whiplash curls that
are darker near the roots but illuminated by the sunlight at the tips… but did
I really? Do you see the same thing I do? Do we see colors in the same way? Do
you see royal blue instead of cerulean? Do you think his hair just looks like a
mess? Nevertheless, seeing this image captured in beautiful words, I think,
would not diminish the emotions it evicted from my heart. The emotions are
identical, but the way in which we process and think about them may perhaps
reach vastly differing conclusions.
So, what did viewing, thinking
about, and analyzing this picture reveal about me? I’m really not sure, but in
reading my response, I can conclude that
A.
I’m a funny person.
B.
I ask more questions than I can answer, and I
often can’t answer the most important question at hand.
C.
I’m really fucking cynical.
D.
There is a difference between being alone and
lonely, and I am unfortunately both, but
E.
so, it seems, is Wanderer.
Written on Monday, September 23, 2013 at 8:40 AM
by twentyxfragments
r-assignment [1]
{K.A.}
I haven’t known her for long. Three months, maybe, and most of it from Tumblr but the first time I met her in person, we got along effortlessly.
I don’t understand that. Why it is easier to look certain people in the eyes but not others. Why words seem to dry up more quickly with some people but not others. Talking to her, the conversation never really seemed to trickle to a halt. We talked a lot, laughed a lot, and as time passed, I felt more and more comfortable with the silences in between thoughts – some people call it an “awkward silence.” I call it a break for my mind.
I think conversation with other females has a greater potential to be more intimate and contain a wider range of topics than with males. I am more likely to gush about men I find attractive to other females than to men. This is partially because I am sensitive to the fact that most men I interact with don’t have exalted bodies or faces like the male celebrities that society puts on a ripped, handsome, charismatic pedestal, and it’s demeaning and degrading to be constantly reminded of what you physically lack – especially when society says that that is what makes you desirable. The other reason is because there is really no appropriate response to a comment like that. But I digress.
As I spoke to K., and to other women in general throughout the week that I was thinking about this assignment, I found not only that I was more comfortable with discussing private things, but also that I tended to smile and laugh more genuinely. I was unguardedly and freely happy. My body language was relaxed. I was less self-conscious of my physical imperfections and whether I wore makeup or not. I was often more generous with my words and opinions (although my opinions are blunt and honest, and that never changes, no matter who I am talking to).
{R.C.}
I have known him for no more than a week. He seems like the kind of guy who gets along with everybody effortlessly, and I appreciate that. I considered myself somewhat of a tomboy when I was younger, mostly because I wasn’t interested in princesses and unicorns and the color pink, and guys were more fun to hang out with anyway. But as I grew up and puberty (plus a little naivety) did traumatizing things to me, I became more introverted and more guarded around men. R. seems to be an exception. I have no problems with eye contact though I kept it on the minimal side, conversation flowed easily, and I warmed up to him quickly. Sometimes I find it difficult to initiate conversations or offhanded comments to men, but it wasn’t the case with him. Strangely enough (or not?) I am more comfortable with men initiating the topic of conversation and continuing that strand.
I often have difficulty with eye contact. If I want an easy way out in terms of explanation I blame it on being an INFJ. But a person’s eyes reveals a lot about them, and sometimes I simply find it disconcerting or disturbing. There are kind eyes, which I find the easiest to maintain direct and unwavering eye contact with. I don’t see many of those. And I find myself lowering my eyes as I walk through campus or sit on the bus, especially around men. I don’t think this is indicative of a subservience mentality at all, but merely that I am more guarded around them than around women. I slam the shutters around my heart quickly. Is there a why? I don’t know. Maybe it just is. Maybe I’d just rather not be like an open book until I meet a man who is willing to read to the end. It is an interesting mixture of both cultural norms and my personal experiences and personality.
I am many different types of myself when I am out in public, when I am class, when I am interacting with close friends, when I am interacting with acquaintances, when I am alone. I’ve always liked myself most when I am alone, to be honest. People are exhausting. And so are conversations.
I haven’t known her for long. Three months, maybe, and most of it from Tumblr but the first time I met her in person, we got along effortlessly.
I don’t understand that. Why it is easier to look certain people in the eyes but not others. Why words seem to dry up more quickly with some people but not others. Talking to her, the conversation never really seemed to trickle to a halt. We talked a lot, laughed a lot, and as time passed, I felt more and more comfortable with the silences in between thoughts – some people call it an “awkward silence.” I call it a break for my mind.
I think conversation with other females has a greater potential to be more intimate and contain a wider range of topics than with males. I am more likely to gush about men I find attractive to other females than to men. This is partially because I am sensitive to the fact that most men I interact with don’t have exalted bodies or faces like the male celebrities that society puts on a ripped, handsome, charismatic pedestal, and it’s demeaning and degrading to be constantly reminded of what you physically lack – especially when society says that that is what makes you desirable. The other reason is because there is really no appropriate response to a comment like that. But I digress.
As I spoke to K., and to other women in general throughout the week that I was thinking about this assignment, I found not only that I was more comfortable with discussing private things, but also that I tended to smile and laugh more genuinely. I was unguardedly and freely happy. My body language was relaxed. I was less self-conscious of my physical imperfections and whether I wore makeup or not. I was often more generous with my words and opinions (although my opinions are blunt and honest, and that never changes, no matter who I am talking to).
{R.C.}
I have known him for no more than a week. He seems like the kind of guy who gets along with everybody effortlessly, and I appreciate that. I considered myself somewhat of a tomboy when I was younger, mostly because I wasn’t interested in princesses and unicorns and the color pink, and guys were more fun to hang out with anyway. But as I grew up and puberty (plus a little naivety) did traumatizing things to me, I became more introverted and more guarded around men. R. seems to be an exception. I have no problems with eye contact though I kept it on the minimal side, conversation flowed easily, and I warmed up to him quickly. Sometimes I find it difficult to initiate conversations or offhanded comments to men, but it wasn’t the case with him. Strangely enough (or not?) I am more comfortable with men initiating the topic of conversation and continuing that strand.
I often have difficulty with eye contact. If I want an easy way out in terms of explanation I blame it on being an INFJ. But a person’s eyes reveals a lot about them, and sometimes I simply find it disconcerting or disturbing. There are kind eyes, which I find the easiest to maintain direct and unwavering eye contact with. I don’t see many of those. And I find myself lowering my eyes as I walk through campus or sit on the bus, especially around men. I don’t think this is indicative of a subservience mentality at all, but merely that I am more guarded around them than around women. I slam the shutters around my heart quickly. Is there a why? I don’t know. Maybe it just is. Maybe I’d just rather not be like an open book until I meet a man who is willing to read to the end. It is an interesting mixture of both cultural norms and my personal experiences and personality.
I am many different types of myself when I am out in public, when I am class, when I am interacting with close friends, when I am interacting with acquaintances, when I am alone. I’ve always liked myself most when I am alone, to be honest. People are exhausting. And so are conversations.
Written on Saturday, September 7, 2013 at 12:04 PM
by twentyxfragments