Doom and Gloom Part 2 – Trapped in Suburbia

So, it seems that I have returned to this strange, depressing state of doom and gloom. This specific thought has occurred to me many times, and creates an indescribable feeling of dread, of a rather depressing lack of will to even carry on with this fucked-up charade we call freedom.

What am I referring to, you ask? Only the disheartening fact that our society has developed in such a way that your life basically has a pre-determined start-and-finish, everyone’s checkpoints and ‘milestones’ marked out for them. If you grow up in a poverty-ridden shack without access to proper education, without a high school diploma, you are destined to complete menial tasks for someone richer than you, just to put food on the table, just to wait for death to claim you. If you grow up in a typical middle-class atmosphere, your life will fall into the same mold as ever one else. Grow up… get a job… buy a house… have kids… pay of some credit cards…die.

This terrifies me to no end. You don’t truly have freedom. As soon as I graduate high school, I don’t gain freedom, I lose it. I have always dreamed of a life where I can just get on an airplane, fly somewhere far away without worrying about anything else. That, I have realized is impossible. If I want to support myself I have to get a job. As soon as I get not only a job, but a job I enjoy, I’ll be stuck, tied down by work. A bit of a paradox, wouldn’t you say?

While the realization that I will never be truly free haunts me, what worries me even more is our society’s expectation of how your personal life should be run. You’re supposed to get married and make wonderful little babies. But what if you don’t want to? While everyone around me is saying “I do” or “I’m pregnant, baby!” am I just going to be standing alone, still shouting self-righteous slogans about how the institution of marriage is a scam, about how family values are more than dead?

Nothing on earth sounds more nightmarish to me than being trapped in suburbia, with kids and a husband and those awful-sounding adult responsibilities. I just want my freedom. I want to be able to get up and go, whether it be to a party or even on an airplane to Europe, without having to worry about kids or a husband. Is that too much to ask?

I have officially decided to step out of the mold of middle class life, to take the more interesting, if not more bumpy, ride. I refuse to be tied down by the boring life society suggests I have. If one day I do wake up to discover myself trapped in the life I so feared, I promise you, bottomless internet void, I will be slicing my wrists open with my designer kitchen knives (they were on sale, 50% off!) faster than you can say “mortgage loan”.

I see my parents going to work, fetching us from school, cooking supper, then settling in front of the TV, only to go to bed and do it all again the next day. It makes me want to grab them by their shoulders, shake some sense into the, pinch their arms, slap them until they wake up. How can they possibly be happy? How can anyone possibly be happy with that?

One day when my peers die, they may be surrounded by husbands, wives, children maybe even grandchildren. At their funeral everyone will have tearfully fond memories of Sunday barbecues, funny office antics, birthday parties, graduations and family vacations. They will forever live on, in that every time someone sees their child they will be remembered with something as simple as “you look just like your mom, she’d be so proud”.

When I die, the funeral will be simple. My brothers and sisters, perhaps a boyfriend if I get lucky enough to find someone to put up with me for that long, will go to the seaside. On a quiet, rocky beach, they’ll throw my ashes into the restless water, ad my remains will be gone forever. There will be no children for people to remember me by, no mini-me’s running around wreaking havoc. There will only be the memories that those whose lives I entered have. My ideas and my contributions will live on, and that’s enough for me. As long as I escape this gut-wrenchingly boring mold of modern life, I will be happy.

So, about this blogging thing…

Well, blogging is all around pretty cool. I mean, I get to do the creative writing thing, and write about whatever I want. Pretty damn awesome in itself. But it does appear as if this blogging thing has become less of a harmless creative outlet and more of a highly addictive  hobby. So, I present to thee, bottomless internet void, my 5 Observations about this blogging thing (so far):

  1. Obsessive email checks: Every time I turn on my trusty old computer (which is far more often than I care to admit), I immediately open up my email in the hopes of seeing a friendly email from WordPress, telling me that I’ve acquired another follower. So far, that is not a very regular occurrence. When it does happen, I go onto some strange sort of rush lasts for the next few hours. Its just the most wonderful thing in the world. Its me, some random sixteen year old with a laptop, internet access and an urge to write, suddenly being informed that not only did someone read her writing, but someone read her writing and liked something about it! It’s a pat on the back, and it’s a feeling that makes me way happier than it should. PS: This obsessive email checking is usually magnified during the twelve hours after publishing a new post.
  2. The obsessive Stats Check: Straight after I check my email, I dash off to WordPress to check my stats. This is a bittersweet mixture of disappointment and pure glee.  Glee because I may notice that someone viewed my blog. Disappointment because the view comes form the same country, and I realize it’s only my boyfriend. Then there’s the extreme, slightly scary happiness I get when I see someone from another country, somewhere first-world and sophisticated like America or the United Kingdom, has viewed my page. The disappointment because it is only someONE and not many.
  3. The Overflow of Ideas: I’ve heard it time and time again. Don’t publish too often or you will run out of things to write about. Easier said then done. I really do try my best to limit my posts to about once a week, but it is seriously difficult. I tell myself, surely more posts mean more views? Surely its better exercise for your writing skills? Surely all these millions of ideas flowing through your head aren’t going to disappear too quickly? I am being slowly drowned by the amount of half-written posts in my drafts folder. I keep telling myself to save them, that I have plenty of time, that I just need to save them for a few more days. I don’t even allow myself to finish them, or they’ll be published before my rational mind has a second to stop it. My rational mind really doesn’t have a lot of influence around these parts.
  4. The Strange desire to remain anonymous: I made a resolution to myself to not tell anyone about my blog. While this may cause an increase in the amount of traffic I get, I seriously have my reservations. If people know about the blog, there’s expectations. There’s criticism. I would have far less freedom when writing, because I would constantly be wondering what my mom or my friends or even some vague Facebook friend from primary school who barely remembers me may think. It would be a mistake, because I am, at heart, a people pleaser, and if people knew that it was me writing this, I would never be able to truly express myself. After a while, I did relinquish and I told only one person about my blog. My boyfriend has since become my real-life Alfred, he’s the only one who knows my dreadful secret, my double life, and he’s the only one who knows that I’m Batman.
  5. I LOVE this blogging thing: Blogging is absolutely amazing. It gives the perfect opportunity to practice and hone ones writing skills. I would stick to a diary, but it’s just so different. Writing in a diary is all about daily occurrences, my life and my feelings, and it’s all just for me. Blogging lets me write in a way that communicates. It’s so much easier to write this way, because I feel as if I’m trying to communicate a message, not just doodle some meaningless t=dribble about my feelings or the latest gossip. Even if only my Alfred is reading this post, even if only three or four people actually see it, its something, its three or four more who would have read it anyway. So even if, for the most part, this writing is only falling into the bottomless void of the internet, I get the warm-and-fuzzies knowing that bits and pieces are being snagged on branches on the way down, or that there’s someone standing at the bottom with a bucket, catching a little bit of meaning from my thoughts.

This is how I feel about blogging, and it has become something fun and almost necessary for me to do. If someone does happen to read this and shares my opinion, et me know! If you have a completely different outlook, that’s cool too, I’d love to hear it! I am now going to publish this post way too early, because my rational thought lost again and I let myself finish this post.

 

Chronic Clumsiness

I am a sufferer of chronic clumsiness. I mean, its not just like the occasional fall. Its a mortifying, daily and painful suffering. I cannot drink coke and walk down stairs at the same time. I walk into walls that I know have been in the same place for years. I once tripped whilst sitting on a table. For these, as well as numerous other reasons, it is not a good idea to take me ice skating. Contrary to popular belief, apparently.

My friends all seem to think its hilarious that I say I have difficulty ice skating (and by “difficulty” I mean: OHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT *smack* OHSHITWHYISTHATWALLSOCLOSEOHSHIT *fall* OHMYGODTHISISTORTURESOMEBODYSAVEME *break multiple bones* WHYISTHISCONSIDEREDFUN) .

Okay, so that is kind of funny. Its always funny watching me trying to do anything vaguely athletic. That’s because I’m THAT kid. I’m that nerd who spends all her time behind a book, computer, or other device and shudders at the mere thought of sport. Awkward, clumsy and continuously walking into stuff. So, take that and put it on blades. Then put it on ice.

The last time I went ice skating was five or six years ago, and all I remember from that is being so proud of myself when I managed to skate around the rink all by myself. Of course, this was promptly followed by me managing to twist my left wrist and ankle simultaneously. I’m all right now though (I hope someone gets that).

The worst part is that I have somehow managed to end up with friends who are the opposite of chronically clumsy. A crazy blonde health nut and an amazingly strong ballerina, and a hockey-playing, tennis-playing super fast runner of a boyfriend. I have become the token clumsy friend.

I have to concentrate on walking down the stairs while everyone else practically does cartwheels and somersaults. I have to spend so much time just making sure I don’t fall, i literally can’t walk and chew gum at the same time. I have to constantly run away screaming from soccer balls because even when I’m not directly involved in a game, they somehow  find their way to my head. And if, God forbid, I try to deflect them, I normally end up punching myself in the face. Lastly, no matter how many times I try, and no matter who tries to teach me, I will never truly be able to ice skate.

Luckily for me, I’ve learned to live with it! I have not managed to conquer this cunning beast, but I have learned to laugh at it, as I lie in a crumpled heap on the ground, my limbs bent into unnatural positions.

P.S: I’d just like to say, when I open my in-box and I see that someone has read my blog, or when I check my stats and someone read a post, it makes me so unbelievably happy. The bottomless void of the internet got sightly less bottomless.

Death and Doom and Gloom

At the sort of late hour of eleven at night, it is not advisable to start having deeply philosophical thoughts about your mortality.

I’m calmly consuming large amounts of popcorn while browsing the bottomless void of the internet when suddenly my brain springs an awfully hard to swallow thought on me. It says “Hey, you’re gonna die one day. As a person, a soul, an anything you will completely cease to exist”. This, quite obviously freaked me out and gave me a lot to think about. I have always known, somewhere at the back of my mind, that everyone dies It’s just a fact of life. Yet I had never delved into the notion full on until very recently.

As far as I believe, human (and all other forms) of life were not created, but rather occurred naturally. The planet coming to be in just the right position that the first little cell could come to life (yes, I know it’s not that simple, but for the purposes of the thought I’m attempting to convey, it works just fine).  If we go with this theory, then its safe to say that life has no meaning. If we were not created, and if we just happened, then there can not possibly be a purpose to our meager existence.

So, we are given a life. A life without any immediately apparent meaning, but a life nonetheless. Not only have we been given a life, we have also been given a human life. Now, this is even more special, because as far as we know, human beings are so far the only creatures with the mental capacity to even ask the question “Why am I here?”. Most may not be able to answer that, but many attempt it, as I did a couple of nights ago. The following is what I came up with. Firstly, our life really doesn’t have a meaning, but since you’re here, you might as well enjoy the ride. You could be here for anywhere up to and perhaps exceeding a hundred years, but after that you will cease to exist. You will be forever gone, and you won’t even know it because you will not exist.

If you are an atheist, I believe you have two main choices. Either you can have some fun, do stuff you like to do and try to make other people’s lives a little bit easier, or you can waste away what you are given and die without truly ever having lived.

Those with religious beliefs have a few more options. What makes me so very jealous of theists is the fact that they are confident in the fact that there is life after death. A part of me would like nothing more than to share this belief. It certainly removes a lot of worrying about ceasing to exist and all that. At least you can be confident in the fact that your soul will carry on after your body has not. On the other hand, this belief in an afterlife may lead to a person not grasping the opportunity of life fully, as they believe there is still more to come.

After this very confusing and scary thought session, I’ve become overwrought with a mixture of sadness, worry and confusion, and I simply hate it. I wish there was a way I could stop my mind from wandering to such worrying places, and simply enjoy being here. Alas, it appears that for the forseeable future, I will be stuck with this massive sense of foreboding.

Remember, bottomless internet void, I would love any opinions or thoughts about this rather strange topic!

Oh, to be a Vegetarian

Vegetarianism is great, but I’m not going to lie to you, bottomless internet void, it’s also extremely difficult, scary, and sometimes hilarious. So, I present to thee, 4 of the joys of being a VegHead:

  1. The “Oh, I’ll just eat this salad”. So perhaps it is time for a family dinner out. Perhaps you’re grabbing a quick bite with your friends before going bowling. Whatever the situation, your vegetarianism poses to possible outcomes. Either your dinner partners kindly take into consideration your dietary requirements and choose a restaurant where you too can enjoy a lovely dinner. Far more likely is the scenario where you end up eating bread and lettuce leaves while your loved ones dig into some delicious flame-grilled beef at the local steakhouse. Because really, who gives a crap about what the herbivore’s gonna eat?
  2. The: “oh my God I think my ribs are piercing my skin!” This scenario may ver well be a result of the previous. One month after going vegetarian I was the thinnest and lightest I had ever been. This is NOT as great as it sounds. Being the only herbivore in a house full of enthusiastic meat eaters means lots of fitting in with their meals. After a month of way to many “oh, I’ll just eat breads”, you could play the xylophone on my ribs and hang your keys on my prominent little collarbone. It had gotten so bad that my mom was threatening to force feed me liquified steak through a tube while I slept.
  3. The “Hang on, let me check the ingredients!” Every. Single. Time. We go grocery shopping, little old me has to spend a total of at least WayTooLong squinting at ingredients lists printed in what has to be the tiniest, most cramped font known to humankind. Seriously, instant noodles, why is your ingredients list situated RIGHT ON THE FOLD OF THE PACKET?! These situations give me an intense desire to eat a lot of bacon. Not good.
  4. The “Why don’t you eat some meat, stupid treehugger!” There are a few things that happen as soon as someone finds out I’m a vegetarian. It usually goes a little like ” Oh. MyGod. You are sooooo strong! I can’t, like, live without meat! Its like, soooo yummy!” This is shortly followed by the question session. “So, where do you get your protein? Do you eat fish? ‘Cause they’re, like, not really animals, right? Why are you a vegetarian anyway?” After this, the individual I am talking to usually resorts to: quiet sympathy, telling me why I should eat some bacon, or loudly and grossly chewing on some or another hunk of meat while rubbing it under my nose.

Being a vegetarian is mostly awesome. I mean, there’s that warm, fuzzy feeling you get inside of you. Vegetarianism is also probably on of the only situations in my entire life where I have managed to maintain strong willpower. Three. Years. Of willpower. No way am I giving that up. Lastly, and this is something few vegetarians will admit, it occasionally does give me a kind of holier-than-thou feeling. And it feels good.

In all seriousness, if you are or do decide to become a vegetarian, please do a bit of research and figure out how you are going to maintain a relatively healthy diet (ha, look at me saying ‘relatively healthy diet. I’m writing this while eating a chip sandwich for lunch). Malnutrition is no joke, even if  key hook collar bones are kinda funny and useful.

Come on, bottomless internet void, it’s the right thing to do!

Terryfying Lack of Terror – Exams

I sit at my desk, staring at mountains of impeccably neat study notes. My desk is scattered with pens, calculators, textbooks, exam timetables and to-do lists. I’m in the tenth grade, these are my mid year exams! My freaking third last year of highschool, exams which count 75% of the term mark! I tiny part of my brain is quietly suggesting that I freak out and start studying. Most of me shrugs with quiet indifference and wanders off to play Mario.

What is wrong with me? Am I broken? I know how important these tests are, yet I can’t find an inkling of motivation. Two weeks ago I was frantically summarising and planning study sessions in the library, yet now I honestly couldn’t give a flying monkey. Yesterday in the middle of a challenging AP maths exam, I stopped writing for a few minutes to doodle about fifty stars on the front of the question paper.

This is an oddly surreal feeling, and one that I’ve experienced before in different situations. Fighting with a close friend I am void of any anger. Broke my ankle, couldn’t care less. Freaking magnificently important exams, no stress!

Is this simply a sign that I am prepared and ready, or is it something deeper? Are these emotions, or lack thereof, a manifestation of me being unattached to my emotions? Are they a sign that I am a complete social failure who should be kept in a cage and studied by psychologists?

Maybe, maybe not, but now I shall force myself to dejectedly study a teeny bit more. Farewell, absolutely nobody. Farewell, bottomless internet void.

Political Correctness… Eek!!

Being a strongly opinionated little nerd, I often find myself biting my tongue to avoid spitting out thoughts which may wind me up in a fair amount of trouble. See, the problem is, those who dislike my opinions are also those who hold positions of power capable of making my life very difficult. For example, I can NOT tell my school principal he’s a narrow minded, sexist bigot. I also have to make very certain that my essay outlining the, often humourous, downsides of Christianity does not fall into the hands of a bible-thumping grandmother.

I hate the fact that I live in this world where I am terrified of voicing my opinions. Of course, I know I have the right to freedom of speech. I know I can speak my mind without judgement (while not disrespecting others). Yet, I know for a fact that if most people knew what was really wirling through my head, I would be far more of a social outcast than I already am. An I’m already the weird bookwormatheistvegetariangeekgirl.

So, here, thanks to the fairly anonymous nature of this blog, I can shamelessly give forth my opinions without worrying about the devastating effects it will have on my already barren social life. I can not, no matter how hard I try, comprehend the basics of any religion. My brain will simply not fit around the idea that some greater being created us all. This does not, however, make me glad. It makes me feel left out, dejected. I wish I was able to believe that there is someone watching over me, that some all-powerful, mighty man-in-a-beard was looking out for poor little old me. Alas, my brain has been wired in a way so that all I can see is an amazing, beautiful, yet wholly unexplicable universe.

Again, I say, with a sort of nervous hopefulness, if anyone out there, anywhere, in  the gigantic world of the internet sees this, and has any thoughts, please comment. It would be much appreciated and I would love to know if even one person is reading this.