No Goodbye

My Mom was the first person close to me to die. I was two months exactly from 19. I had just finished up my first year at a community college. I had just had my first student art show. My Mom was too sick to go. I think maybe two weeks later, she was gone.

I used to have a bad habit of leaving parties and such without saying goodbye. Its still a habit. I just feel like it’s wasted time, at least partly. I usually did it when I just wasnt feeling it that night and would leave relatively early, and if I said my goodbyes, I would be prompted with questions asking me if everything was ok, because why would I be leaving so early?

Truth is that I feel in most part, specifically to my life in the last 3-4 years, I have existed in outside circles. Most of my life has been that way, really. I have many amazing friends, I am very lucky. Maybe its a 20s thing, and I have a feeling it’ll be a 30s thing too, the changing and morphing of relationships. Going back to school at 23 was like having a foot in two worlds at all times. At first I tried to keep up with outside friends, relationships that existed before going back to school. The first two years were decent, then it dwindled. All of us sort of drifted, and now things are so much different. All of my before friends have different lives and I dont really fit in them any more. And while VC was very close knit and I will always see those people as a family, I was still a bit of the outsider. The college experience is not the same when you are 23 and a freshman, but I still did have a fantastic experience. Best decision I ever made. And I do have some lifelong friendships from those years. But I wont be apart of any of their inside circles.

So slipping out without saying goodbye just was the natural choice. Same thing when I moved out of my studio after graduation. No goodbyes. I dont see the point.

And I wonder if my Mom felt the same way. She was the first person I ever lost, someone that meant a lot to me, but the experience in dealing with someone who has died was very new. So I didnt know what was normal in these situations. There is no guide book.

I find myself looking back and wondering why my Mom didn’t give her goodbyes. She wrote no letters, made no last requests, made no effort to do anything she hadnt been doing before the cancer. She just lived each day like the day before, like we didnt know what was coming. I dont understand it. At all. At the time I didn’t know what was normal. But now. It haunts me in a way. Why didnt she try to tell me all the things she knew she wouldn’t be able to tell me in the future? And why did I not ask her any questions? Why didnt I ask her what her first kiss was like, what was the happiest day of her life? Why didn’t I ask about her childhood? I did ask her if she was scared. She said no. Sometimes that really pissed me off.

I guess maybe that was her way of leaving the party with no goodbyes. Because what is the point? What could she possibly say about her emotions and her feelings towards me that I didn’t already know? And while I can understand it from that perspective, I cant figure out hers. I cant figure out why there wasn’t a desire to do these things, to make sure to leave your mark, to cross your t’s and dot your i’s before you die.

But the more I think about it, I cant say I wouldn’t do the same. I suppose I’ll find out what its like, if I know it’s coming like she did.

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Confidence Man

Why is it that for me, 27 is a significant age for me. In a single term I would call it awakening. But was it all there all along, slowly building like a snowball downhill?

I don’t think I’ve ever had a real problem with confidence. I was in some way, always ok with who I was. And I think that in some way may have influenced how others perceived me growing up. I cant say for sure, because when I look back I dont find anything signifying any moments in time where it seemed to be an issue. But when I look back and try to find moments where I doubted myself, I cant find those either.

That isnt to say that I was breezy all the time. Or maybe I was and other people didn’t like it. I cant remember. But I do remember being scared, all the time, especially through most of K-12. I just wanted to have fun. I wanted to be inside like everyone else. I was scared of doing something that would call for ridicule. I never had a problem getting up in front of the class to read something. I was confident in my ability to read, and to read in front of others. I was afraid on those small moments here and there where there was a tear in the armor, perhaps in the form of my tongue stumbling over a word, things I couldn’t control. Or when I forgot what to do. I just tried to blend in. I didn’t need people to like me, but I needed them to stop torturing me for just being me.

I still have no idea why certain things have transpired the way they did. I remember in 7th grade trying to talk to a girlfriend on the phone and this girl in 8th grade actually calling the emergency breakthrough service to get me to hang up with my friend so that she and the others could harass me over the phone. If I wasnt already on the phone, they would usually tell my Mom when she answered that their name was one of my friends names. I dont know why 3-4 girls would get on 3 way calling, and go so far as to devise a plan, abeit a tiny plan but a plan nonetheless, to give me a hard time. I cant even remember why.

There was a new girl at the school in 7th grade and we became good friends. I was always happy when new students came, it was always so easy to be friends with them. We had tons of sleepovers, watching Grease and listening to No Doubt. I still dont know where or why things turned sour there. Eventually the new girl went in the direction of the better liked folks at the school. And she turned on me. It wasnt a simple phase out, it was something else.

Maybe I was too sensitive. I still am in some ways. Maybe I was an easy target but it didnt make me change, it just made me miss my friend.

So the new girl, another girl in my grade, and the 8th grader would call the break through service. I would hear a third voice come through in the middle of my conversation, a new person just busting right in and telling me I need to hang up the phone because someone with an emergency is trying to call. And I must have had moments when I wondered if one of my parents was dead. But no, it was just those girls.

One of them works at Walmart now. Ive even gone through her line, and not said a word.

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In The Sky

With the Arab Spring, the middle east has come to my attention. It was always there, comically in a way almost but no. There is always a problem in the middle east. But for me, growing up with a father in the air force during the time of the Gulf War, I have always been aware of a problem in the desert, in this exotic region so different in every way from my own.

Growing up, I guess I just glazed over it. I dont know if its an immaturity thing, or maybe I just couldnt grasp it at that point, what was really going on. I just knew it was about religion and God and America and Sadam and good, bad, all that. When something is already happening when you come upon it, and it continues while you continue, it becomes.. normal, maybe even cliche in a young mind. It simply exists.

As I got into my later 20s, I started paying more attention to the news. I had always watched the news, or checked CNN at work a couple of times a day, I assume most people do that. Early on I wasn’t reading into politics or international affairs, just things I could relate to. Around the time I started at UD is when my interest in politics and society grew. Small at first, but once it took hold, it did not let go. By the time I graduated, I was watching the news 3 hours a day, reading all that I could about politics, thinking about ways to use my skills in graphics to possibly make a difference to support what I thought would be right. Maybe I am still in that mindset, I can’t tell right now.

When the Arab Spring started to happen, I was in full swing, addicted to politics mode. It caught my attention. Something was different. It wasn’t simply the historical aspect of it all, but my ability to comprehend it. It shook me up a little. Maybe my eyes glazed over, it was normal that over in the middle east, people were dying every day, living in the desert, women being oppressed. And I do know there are great parts of the middle east where this doesnt happen, but I didnt gain that knowledge until I went looking for it.

I’m a white girl, middle class, I live in America. I have it pretty good. Its hard for me to fully understand what life must be like in the middle east. And because of my ignorance, it doesn’t affect me, and thus, I don’t have any actions to stop it. But now with the Arab Spring, something with me has changed. I don’t know if its simply that I am older, adult and grown up and I can handle it now. I don’t think that’s it entirely. I understand it more in relation to myself. We are all humans, at the base of it all. There is a link between all of us, and a lot of people don’t want to recognize that, which is, simply put, killing the world.

Watching it all unfold has been memorizing. Truly. To watch revolution happen in the age of YouTube is quite amazing. Not all of it is pretty, most of it is gritty. But it got to me. It got to me because I too, am part of this generation, the emerging generation. We all exist inside different circles, linked to one another. So I woke up, and I have a hard time describing what the difference was in how I viewed the middle east when I was young versus now. I just didnt have the experiences, the understanding to comprehend it all. Maybe I still dont, but it’s partially loading at least.

So I have had more interest in knowing what is going on, so I watch more news coverage of the middle east, and as the Arab Spring has spread, my knowledge has grown. Libya got a lot of attention, partially because the US and NATO were involved. Egypt turned quickly. Libya, it took a little bit. Only 6 months. It’s funny when you compare it to civil wars of countries past.

While watching and reading all that I could about this particular part of the spring I started to hear more and more about the “Pan Am Disaster” which I hadn’t heard of before. I was only 3 years old when it happened. Im sure I heard about it here or there, referenced somewhere, but I never really knew the incident or what happened. I didnt know what a horrible atrocity it was.

I read the Wiki article on it, in its entirety. It is one of the hardest things I have ever read. How the people on the plane died, how the plane came apart, all these facts down to a science, it was massively depressing. I had never read something like that before, that was so to the point, but unabashed. I was reading it like visual information, just information, this is what it was, in letters. It will never leave me, I am sure of that.

And I hope there is someone out there, who reads that article and feels the same way I do. But at the same time, I hope no one would ever know what it feels like to realize it.

I dont understand.

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I have written probably 20-30 posts, and then deleted all of them. I wrote some, deleted those, wrote some more, deleted again. And now I simply have the first post. I need to stop doing that. But in a funny way it reflects largely how I feel at the moment, how I have felt the last year or two. Trying to figure out what direction I want to go in, but I cant decide. I feel like there has to be something else there, something to help me decide, but I don’t know what it is or where to find it. I do have time though, and in some ways it is hard to have time to figure it all out. I just want it to be figured out already. It’s hard to sit still when you know you have to. But I need time. I need this time, maybe a year, maybe two. But despite knowing that, it doesn’t make the waiting any easier.


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I dont really have a central focus for this blog. Lately I have had building urges to write. I prefer to hand write my thoughts, and I do keep little notebooks and journals, but overall I am not very productive because I usually have too much on my mind, and I wont finish my thoughts. It is probably a time thing, it takes longer to write everything out on paper, so I tend to get discouraged without even really thinking about it. But I still do write out some things. Paper allows for some things that this doesn’t. I have considered getting a typewriter, an old fashioned kind. I always liked the look of it.

I write about a lot of things. I strive to not be too systematic about it, not to worry too much about the raw form, just get it out, but its a continuing struggle. I worry too much, about how the words come across. I find that funny because I have no one in mind who would read any of it, but it’s always a possibility.

I just turned 27, and I don’t know if 27 is a weird age for anyone else, but it is a bit to me. 25-27 have been weird years, but not necessarily in a bad way. I don’t think it’s just the age thing, but circumstances and how my life has played out. I think I have been in a sort of whirlwind the last few years, with so much going on I didn’t really see time passing. So I find 27 to be a weird age, mainly because I feel I have changed a lot in a short time, or perhaps, I have changed a lot over a long period of time, but I am realizing it only now, in a rapid fashion. Parts of it are unsettling, but mostly I have enjoyed a somewhat new state of mind.

I can’t say for sure what I will write about. I have a lot of interests, such as politics, philosophy, history. I am also a huge lover of film and have been watching more and more movies lately, all kinds, from all decades. I work as an artist so I will inevitable discuss things in the art world, what I’m working on, and things related.

Most of all I will probably simply write about life, how I think, things that have happened to me. I think my desire to write deals most with self reflection. Not only, how did I get here, but also where is “here” in comparison to everything else out there. Becoming an adult, I have come to find that I don’t think I could ever have imagined what being 27 would be like, the same way I cant at this moment understand at all what being 37 is going to be like. Because it’s not just about what happens from 27-37, but also, how I feel in relation to my entire past. I now have a past. As children, we don’t have much of a past. I think that this is the first time in my life that I have enough of a past that I start to question it, to figure out who I was, who am I now, and how I developed to think and feel the way I do today.

I am not a perfect person, but I will strive to be honest in these writings, because I really don’t enjoy lying to myself, I don’t see the point. I have always been fairly realistic about things. But I am also for the most part and optimist. It may seem at times I am not, but I can assure you I am. I am simply someone who is becoming less and less afraid of going deeper and deeper into the human condition, to find what exists beneath it all. Sometimes it scares the fuck out of me. But I can’t say I don’t enjoy those moments.

So I write.

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