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| Haven't written anything here in forever.
Life is so chaotic. I feel like my existence is in the throes of this ridiculous battle between my Love, my Future, and my Self.
And Love is bitchslapping me in the face
My Future is running farther and farther away
And I can't even find time for myself at all.
These aren't the good times.
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| just recorded a new slam poetry track
http://www.myspace.com/combustiblemusic
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| Just came back from 5 weeks at Northwestern University in Evanston, a little college town on the outskirts of Chicago. Being back at home feels so relaxed yet so confusing.
After spending all 5 of those weeks absorbing the most complex theoretical methods of logic and obscure strains of philosophy, after spending every night awake in a dorm researching political theory and reading decade old volumes on the intricacies of postmodern urbanism; I've begun to re-evaluate the way I've been spending my teenage years.
This wasn't just a thought provoked by the chilly breezes of chicago, it's been something brewing in my mind for a while. Many of you may not know, but in June me and Justin made it to the final round of policy debate national championships - and as I stood in front of a crowd of over a thousand people and in front of the many many more watching across the country that were embodied by the blinking video cameras, I thought not only on everything that had brought me to that point - but everything that journey had left out.
Sometimes I feel like I've sacrificed what should be an integral part of my childhood for this activity. Summer days that could have been filled with warm relaxation, swimming and biking around the city, hanging out with girls, writing poetry, browsing through elements of a college application, were instead taken up by me attempting to master the art of speaking at 500 words per minute, listening to Calum Matheson explain why nuclear radiation is in fact healthy, and waking up at 8:30 every morning to cram as much information into my head as possible.
Where has the time gone?
In about a month I'll start the last season of my high school debate career - the final stretch of a race that embodies 4 years of undying dedication, sometimes with disappointing results, sometimes with experiences so rewarding that they'll be burned into my memory forever. And, despite my gratitude to the dozens of people that have helped me along this journey - I constantly ask myself if this is a path I should have ever embarked upon.
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| I just underwent one of the trippiest experiences of my life. Not one of those things that happen and you're like "Oh gosh this is crazier than anything that ever happens!" and then the next day you realize it really was just the daily mood swing. I underwent a very strange interaction with my memories.
Over the past week or so, Rohit and I have been going on these really long (1 to 2 hour) runs which end up being walks for at least half of the time. And what always happens is that we just talk about absolutely everything. Usually in the context of people. We might talk about Bonan and then just discuss how we feel about like societal influence versus rationality and the self and shit. And then we'll just talk about Sylvea and then just discuss kind of what love means and all these past experiences we've had and why they happened and everything.
Tonight we talked about dozens of people, but it was definitely more of a Demetria night. Because one thing me and Rohit have in common is that we love analyzing the people and interactions that are in fact near impossible to analyze. And then we talk about why we even like analyzing the impossible to analyze. It's awesome. But all of that is just to kind of explain the mood in which I was thinking.
So we continue on our run/walk after talking about all these people - and the topic comes up as to why Rohit just straight up did not have any crushes for the first 15 or so years of his life, in contrast to my very active attractions throughout even elementary school.
So I told him this story.
I was never very good at remembering places, people, numbers, or words. However, some experiences stand out to me and will never be forgotten. Small segments that have contributed enough to who I am to actually be something that I will take with me for the rest of my life. Certain moments with Ashley Candea can only be described as significant portions of those segments that make up my identity.
On the first day of Kindergarten, I walked into Mrs. Wetzell's class and sat down on a rainbow colored mat on the floor. The class started, she introduced herself, but all I could do was look around at everyone else and gaze at the clock. It was the first time I had ever seen a clock where the minute hand spun instead of ticking. My mind was blown. Five minutes after class started, the door opens and a small blonde girl and her mother walk into the class. Her name was Ashley Candea, and I was in love.
I expressed this love in the oddest of ways. I let it be known to everyone around me that I hated her. I would spend every single recess of my kindergarten and 1st grade years chasing her in anger at her mere existence. There was a tree that grew just adjacent to Pioneer's playground and it would have small pods that fell that to me were and are only known as spiky balls. I would chase her round and round this tree, throwing the spike balls at her, tormenting her, yet it was the first time I had ever chased a girl.
And this girl confused me so. She gave me a pink barbie invitation to her birthday in first grade and my immediate reaction was to tear it into shreds and throw it into the trashcan. Not because of its color, but because now I realize I simply didn't want to admit to myself how much I truly and deeply adored her. Yet I still chased her in circles around that tree, punishing her with my small spike balls of justice for being the object of my infatuation.
She moved away halfway through elementary school. I had never got a chance to say goodbye to her because I hadn't even admitted to myself that I wanted to be friends with her. I wish I could remember exactly to where she moved, from some conversation I had with one of her friends, or from something I overheard - but at this point I can no longer discern the facts about Ashley's years after elementary school from the reconstructions I face in my dreams. Let me explain.
It's very seldom that I remember my dreams, but one with her is a dream I'll never forget. During middle school one weekend I went to foothill high school for one of my older brother's volleyball games. I remember seeing the long green rails ascending the front steps of the school and I vividly remember seeing her again, briefly talking to her, and then going on to watch my brother's game. Two weeks later, my mom asked me if I wanted to come watch my brother play a volleyball game against foothill. I of course agreed! Seeing her the first time felt great. As soon as I got out of the car, I saw that the building had no ascending green rail up it's steps, but was instead just another cluster of concrete protrusions upon the face of the city. I stood there confused, but understanding that my prior interaction with her had been nothing but a dream.
I still have these residual dreams and recurring memories of her at times. My first love made quite the impression on me.
Rohit nods in either interest or feigned interest about an experience he seemed to be trying to understand.
Then I looked around.
During this entire story and conversation, me and Rohit had been running circles around my elementary school. I looked and saw the classroom I first met Ashley in. I looked and saw the cluster of buildings which housed the trashcan in which I had thrown the shreds of a letter that soon became nothing but paper droplets of regret. This was tripping me out, but I kept running, circling the school remembering all the more vividly what had happened.
Then I saw it. The tree. I stopped circling the school and ran across the field to it, and it was still standing there - tanbark intertwined with the roots that were still barely sticking up from the ground. And as soon as I touched the bark, I saw the spike balls that still were gathered around it. A decade ago I chased what was then the love of my life around these very roots. Yet here I stood, clutching a spikey seed pod, remembering a past that may have disappeared from her memory years and years ago. The same tree, all that had changed was time.
I stood there, no idea how long. Then I walked home. Space I can understand. Time, I cannot. | | |
| My entire life, emotions have confused me more than any other aspect of existence. Why would anything but pure survival instinct and hyper-rationality be included in the process of evolution? The boyfriend in that tiny apartment in Atlanta who kills his girlfriend because he can smell the scent of another man on her dress was genetically programed to react in such a manner that would kill his reproductive mate and end all future chances for his own reproduction. Why? Why have the genes been evolutionarily chosen for that allow a person to grieve the loss of their lover for the rest of their life and never mate again? What we perceive as the seeming fabric of our interactions and reality seems instead to be the appendix of the human mind - serving an evolutionary purpose lost in in the crumbling parchment paper of a time that no longer can be remembered.
Emotions are indeed a fickle thing. Many it seems, have simple embraced their own lack of pure rationality - and accepted it for what it is, and why shouldn't they? Our chaotic world doesn't necessarily need to be treated like a game of chess. Nietzsche wrote it best with his firm beliefs about questioning the solemnity of existence:
And we should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once. And we should call every truth false which was not accompanied by at least one laugh.
But, what frustrates me right now more than anything is not the existence of emotions - nor the emotions we use to position our existence, but instead the existence of so many fucking contradictions in my own emotions.
A quarter of me naive and wistful - the part of me that never moved on from a girl I've seen only once in the past year and a half. Although at times that fourth is the strongest - knowing that although she's certainly moved on there exists the slight possibility that somehow we'll end up together. Ironic that my belief in a future together is strongest with this girl when she has been almost completely removed from my present, and for the majority of my past plays the role of a friend instead of girlfriend. Everyday she unknowingly teaches me the harsh consequences of having a relationship that contained nothing but happiness between us. What could be more difficult to move on from than something that contains absolutely no regrets.
Another quarter of me unphased - wanting to pursue someone new despite knowing deep down that a relationship at this stage in my life would be nothing but emotional suicide, simply begging to be hurt. But this is the part of myself that I cannot stop, it acts with a primal instinct of it's own accord - loving the pursuit and chase even more than that ultimate goal that in all likelihood will never be achieved.
The other half of me sits squarely upon the Fuck-It Button. Frustrated with the untruths, exxagerations, and perceived immaturity of most high school relationships. Looking back upon what once seemed like the most sacred of bonds - I often find nothing but laughter at my infatuated confusion. This half of me cares little for the other parts that ache to feel that infatuated confusion again - no matter how bittersweet. Instead it wants to feel the bittersweet happiness of a physical relationship that skips those soft spoken words that seem to dissolve far too easily in the gentlest of winds.
My drive for the simply physical, for the never ending past, and for the pursuit of the near term future all coalesce within me resulting in nothing but pure confusion. Fuck It. The Fuck-It Button is winning.
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