Call Me By My Name

I have quite a few pet-peeves that make me instantly dislike a person and almost nothing can redeem them. One of the fastest ways of me declaring someone as an undesirable is the way they’ll interact with me in the simplest of ways.

The way they’ll use my name.

Where I come from, a name can morph. You can make it sound cute and adorable, you can make it bombastic and intimidating, you can even show that you’re familiar with someone, using it as a term of endearment.

I have a memory engraved in my head so vividly that it still pisses me off.

My grandmother and I were walking to the supermarket; I must have been around 4 years old. It was a hot summer day and it was all pretty lethargic up until that point.

A neighbor stops us and smiles at me. I was the firstĀ  grandchild of the family so I guess I was a novelty for my grandmother. The lady that had stopped us exclaimed out loud how much I looked like my father by jokingly using his name towards me. Yes, the child that was caught in a time warp. I was my father, still a child, their own local peculiar case of Benjamin Fuck-Off.

I don’t know why it pissed me off but it did. It offended me that I had to look like someone and couldn’t just look like me. I remember my brain’s inner monologue… I sounded like an appalled posh aristocrat.

It’s been a constant ever since, I don’t enjoy any desecration of my name. I might grin and bear it if there’s no other way but I find it disrespectful when my individuality is at stake.

So yes, I’d kindly ask you to call me by my name. No, not you dear internet person, for you will ever only meet my virtual footprint. For all of those out there in the real world, stick to the script I provided.

 

 

Closure

yep

The thought’s been hovering in my head since forever but I still haven’t taken that final leap of getting closure.

My grandfather died in 2004… I think. I say I think because I’m mentally trained not to even ask about it. It physically hurts, even now. It was July and my sister, mother and I were at a local swimming pool on an island (we have a summer house there). It was all fun and games up until my mother got a call. There had been an accident and it was serious.

I remember getting on the first ferry out of there and it was all a daze. The very same night, we arrive back to the city and I know that I have to be there to see him because my grandfather would probably like it for me to be there. You see, we have always been best friends, almost in an us-against-the-world kind of way. I knew that me being there would change everything. My parents thought it was a bad idea. He had been hurt when a car ran through a red light and I shouldn’t see him that way. One could say he was… killed?

I guess that what I really wanted was to say goodbye. My mind goes back and forth on that, yes, it would be terrible to see him dying but then again, it might have made things easier in hindsight.

That same night my sister and I were told that he died. I don’t remember how I reacted because I pretty much spent the rest of the time wishing I had called him that morning just for a second, so the car would have passed, so I could have prevented this with such a simple solution.

I was already a strange kid but this fucked me up a lot. I didn’t cry at the funeral because I was so angry at everyone pretending to be upset, people my grandfather made fun and people that never seemed to care when he was alive. I felt like it was up to me to represent him so I couldn’t cry, I had to be strong.

Honestly, the rest couple of years were a blur of just lying in bed and wishing that my life would turn into a Hollywood movie. The movie where you wake up and it was all a dream. I wish that movie cliche happened in real life… but guess what? It doesn’t. I’ve never tried to conjure anything as hard as I wished my grandfather was alive.

The divide I always had with people now had visible boundaries. They could so easily get over things. Who the fuck cared about grandparents anyway? Weren’t they just old people who gave you candy? What kind of relationship could you have with them that matters so much?

Well, it mattered to me a lot. He was my best friend and this loss haunts me a lot. I don’t know when it will become a fond memory, how many decades are supposed to pass me by? Let’s try and put down those countless dreams where I randomly see him in a crowd and holy fuck, the mind can be so scary because I can see him in every single detail. And I’m always asking him how come he’s here, he’s dead, long gone, how can he be here and talking to me?

I don’t like to admit to bring him up but it’s not healthy to react to his memory in sadness and tears anymore. I want to remember how he hated having people over and would wear his pajamas and proclaim loudly to the guests that he was sleepy.

So… I want to get closure.

That’s by confronting family members instead of having fantasies about it.

That’s by going to the cemetery and visiting his grave for the first time since he was buried. I’m not religious or spiritual but knowing that there’s just a layer of dirt between us feels soothing.

I think I’d like to do that.

 

I Think Everyone’s Mission Is To Push Me To My Limits

I’ve been trying to focus on this one song that calms me the fuck down because it has the perfect harmonies, perfect I tell you!

There’s a tightness around my chest and throat that doesn’t go away and my eyes are on the verge of tearing up all day long. It made for a poetic image this day while I was walking to work with a big coat on, you’d almost think I was French. This is me talking about my day-to-day life instead of rambling on about a loose idea or opinion. This is my actual life, just like the one you have.

Anyway, I have a terrible relationship with my sister. I’m not an easy person to be around when you’re the complete opposite and I know how to make my words sting like a papercut when I want to put her in her place. But I’ve tried very hard to turn this thing we have into something that could work.

I tried being carefree and bright (if you can believe it). I wanted to do fun activities, just so we can learn to become friends. We come from the same background and practically same experiences up until our teenage years. We never had anything in common but the path split up and led into completely different territories.

She thinks I’m terribly insecure about my life. Truth is, I’m very happy about where it’s at… I’m insecure about people stealing my happiness away just because my way of doing things is different.I’m tired of everybody bringing me down now that I’m up. Being down was my entire existence for pretty much my entire teens years. I’m somewhat tired of explaining myself, of justifying what makes me happy.

I don’t have the words to express how confused and attacked I feel.

This post was supposed to be longer, there was supposed to be some conclusion but I’ve got nothing.

 

Human Sapiens Sentient Entity AKA Finding Friends

I’m not a fan of people but I realize it when I’ve found the right one. They’re not a certain specific type but I just know it. There’s a common background of being an ultimate weirdo I guess… not a cool kind of strange. The strange kind of strange.

To be honest, people are a mystery to me. I prided myself in staying as far away as possible because there was (and still is) such a sizeable gap between me and them. For years I looked at them amazed because surely, there was something wrong with them! They had different drives and goals and thoughts, dramatically strange and pointless compared to my own.

The great divide was even more noticeable when I tried to immerse myself and try to fit in. I just couldn’t. I tried to read teen magazines and wondered why the fuck people live like this. It was like waiting for my Hogwarts acceptance letter that never came all over again… when was I going to be a part of the crowd? Is everyone else also going through a period of self-doubt or is it just me?

Yes, it was just me.

I’ve never been the one to feed on closeness and friendship, it just so happened that I didn’t need it and could function so much better without it… but you still need to have a connection. My few friends had fatal flaws that clashed with everything I held sacred but I had to bite the bullet and accept them because you never know when you’re going to find new friends. Add crippling shyness and social disgust and you’re basically fucked. Breaking the cycle and becoming a selfish adult was a glorious day because I discarded everyone that no longer fit with my real self.

The friend that I do have now is probably the first person I felt comfortable being real with. I might still be a freak but it isn’t easy learning how to do friendships on a genuine level. She isn’t like me in most ways but also is… if that makes any sense. I guess our minds are on the same wave-length and we’re preparing for the nuclear apocalypse together (that’s a joke but she is totally into those kinds of things).

What’s the point of this?

We might be the same genus but baby, we’re definitely not the same species.

That’s for all of you who are familiar with the taxonomic rank in biological classification. What I mean in a non-asshole way is that you will eventually find your kind.

 

The Small Things

There was a day many years ago when I realized that I wasn’t the only one preoccupied by things that the grand majority didn’t care about. My mother would comment on how involved people would get over movies and music and pictures, while I on the other hand would play a game of challenging myself to find more of just that.

I know it’s extremely utopian to believe the entertainment industry but I cared more about people in books than people in real life. Nothing could really match up to what music made me feel or what a painting could tell me.
There was a small nook in my room where I stratigically placed my cd-player and would sit there, getting into it. It was interesting to hear people creating sounds (and words to accompany it) that cared intensely about things. It was remarkable that musicians seemingly didn’t give a fuck about what others thought and said “Fuck it, I’ll write a song about ducks”.
I respect the insignificance, I might even value it more when someone is passionate about what makes them tick. There’s a great divide that seperates me from people (and I’m not saying that they’re in the wrong), it might be that I give a fuck about too much because I take everything into consideration before dismissing it. Add the fact that my face’s permanent state is “try me bitch” and you’ve got yourself quite a paradox happening. I care too much while appearing not to care.

The meaning behind fixating on the details makes for a grand bigger picture, doesn’t it? Can you feel happiness when you’ve never felt content? Would you like the movie if you hated the actors? Is it possible for a song to move you if there’s one instrument out of tune?

The Golden Age of “Get Me Out Of Here”

It’s hard to ignore this recurring theme of complete apathy and follow-the-leader trend among us. Simply standing by a bus stop has turned into a pseudo-apocalyptic scene where humanoids are oblivious to anything around them, enchanted by handheld devices. I was the only one today that noticed a man wave madly as the bus passed by (he knew no one on the bus, just wanted to wave for a bit).

 

You may or may not know that I’ve been unshackled by smartphones for almost a year now and the transition was difficult at start. Frantic moments were spent trying to entertain myself because my brain couldn’t funtion without having a direct link to the Cloud. I’ll be the first to praise technology but I don’t find that my life is defined by virtual profiles and liking an edgy photograph.

There’s a mixture of pity and minimum concern for people who’ve never noticed that any information around you is probably the first and last time you’ll see it in such state. I don’t know, does it really matter?

Becoming disenchanted and gradually angry at the world keeps on keeping on as the years go by, perhaps even wasting my time writing this is me conforming to the ever-ending argument of where this reality is leading up to, a wireless generation of sterile zombies or perpetual purists that can’t change…