Interesting Humans~

I have never been much of a people person. I prefer watching them and reading them and studying how they move and act. It's a force of habit I've never grown out of, and it's something I'm usually thankful for. For one, I'm probably one of the few who can easily tell if somebody's depressed by looking at the slightly faster-than-usual walk or the heavy way somebody picks up a bag. It helps my writing too, since I can pattern my characters after real humans.

Unfortunately, I am often quiet around people who don't take the effort to talk to me first. I'm not entirely sure why that is, but it's another one of those things I've never grown out of. I'm not shy around people I know well enough, but I will remain quiet until I'm comfortable with those people. This is why, it seems, I've been called boring by most of my classmates.

Not that I care that much, but it's interesting to note these things. Especially when I think that I'm actually not all that dissimilar from one of them in particular, it becomes a little funny. On that note, I refuse to believe people who do nothing better with their time than fangirl over a girl rescuing a guy are worthy of judging me. But it is as funny as hell when they look at somebody and say that this person is bossy and that one is a know-it-all bitch or this one's a lunatic with nothing to do with his life.

That said, what makes one boring?

For me, there is no such thing as a boring person. Since I look at the world from the eyes of one who may write about it, everything and anything is a source of inspiration. The unique quirks and buttons of people make them interesting to me; one never knows if this big old tough guy will be a pussy with kittens or something of the sort. This is actually one of the things I like about those I will become friends with: they must at least know the rudiments of how they think and perceive. So far, I've been very good at telling those people apart from the others.

It isn't just because somebody's smart or a nerd that he'll know how he thinks. It takes a certain sort of maturity and not a little heartache to know this well. I've found that those people who aren't usually accepted very well by others have this trait the most often. Not to say that all of them have it, since I know of many who're ostracized and don't realize it.

But they aren't boring.

Now for other people. I think they might believe that just because I don't interact with them that often that I'm boring. I am, as a friend of mine put it, "work-oriented". I won't lounge around doing nothing but watching anime when I have work to do. Well, I will sometimes, but I will get my work done and on time at that. I don't interact with them because they don't speak with me either. I've said it before, in different words: a handshake isn't done by one hand. Even if I do speak with them, I find they turn away fairly quickly. It isn't as painful now as it was several years back, probably since I've adjusted now.

My dad says it's because they're jealous that they'll take any stab they can make. My friend thinks they just don't understand me at all.

I don't really mind. I'm used to being forgotten. Compared to being hated, I think being forgotten is much worse. I've seen people still recognize me after years of being apart, though, so I can't say that I'm always forgotten; just that, more often than not, people's eyes will pass over me.

I like people. Well, most of them. I like people I see are worth it to notice. Being bland, cookie-cutter popgirl is fine, as long as you have something inside you that minds being seen merely as that. But when you're bland, cookie-cutter, and use a posse to reinforce your position because you have no idea who and what exactly you are? Please, get out of my sight.

On Debate and the Ways of Saying It

While I cannot pretend to be an expert debater, I have some carp in my system I need to ejaculate. And quickly.

First of all, what is a debate? To me, a debate is an intellectual meeting, where a policy, an idea, or a matter of paramount concern can be hammered out. For the competition type of debate, this then becomes a matter of synthesizing ideas into concrete plans, of saying the words and how you mean them in the most eloquent way possible. That is what debate is to me. It is beautiful, elegant, and one of the few real tests of human's ability to reason -- if not to reason out, then to move the often boxed view of the world.

The first foray I had into debate was sometime in Grade 5 or Grade 6. I believe it's in grade 6, however, based on what my sister is currently going through. The topic back then, and I remember this well, was the issue of whether this one or that one was supposed to be our national hero. I lost. I still don't understand why, considering I made many good arguments, and some of the counterarguments against my claims were weak and not related to the topic by more than a thread of a narrative.

When choosing a topic, it is unfair to any side to choose one with clear black and white sides. It is also unfair to choose one that has an overwhelming number of concrete arguments misbalanced to just a single side. It is never good to debate about morality, war economics, or whether or not the child next door should be fed. It is good to debate about the ethics of morality, the feasibility of war economics, or whether the child next door should be fed with charity or with a state feeding program.

Finally, when the topic's been assigned, the work actually begins.

First of all, let's tackle the "cannot think of an argument" end. When an argument cannot be thought of, the best way to work on it is often to think about the many different points of view of the people involved. Obviously, this does not apply to the "national heroes" debate above, but it works with many types. Also, when an argument cannot be thought of, it is sometimes effective to think about the possible arguments of your opponent. Anticipating arguments can lead to a point of your own, or maybe even open up a "brainway" to a new argument you'd never have thought of otherwise. The brain works in mysterious ways.

Second, the "too many arguments" end. The best advice for this is: if you can't defend it, drop it. To save a whole vessel, you must sometimes cut off the worst parts, a bit like amputation. Better to do it while you're planning than have your opponent do it for you later. Reassess based on how strongly they support your point, how well that point supports your case, and how well that case supports your position. When looking at a point for the second time, it always helps to keep a mental file of it. During your prep stage, you never know what arguments your opponent will pull out of the hat. Although you keep the best points for inclusion in your main speech, those best points will not always be enough to give you the win. Build up your case, but try to break down your opponent's while you're at it.

Finally, let's finish this off. Presenting the debate speech itself.

Start strong and end strong. Your impression must be that of a confident and strong person. You can stammer or stumble, but never waver. If you're pressed on an issue, always put your best foot forward. If you can't answer a POI, say that you will address it later and try to incorporate it into your speech; people are likely to forget it if you don't bring it up anymore. That said, always try to address them at opportune moments. Don't drop what you're saying just to address one.

Last but not least, be calm whether you win or lose. The experience is all the for the best. It's okay to cry over loss or to gloat over winning, but always be sure to stow away what you've learnt.

Look Up and Smile

It has not been a good time for any of us poor souls.

I like to think that grades don't really matter to me as much as they do to other people. It does off me, however, that I seem to be missing the marks for a grade up by around a single percent or so. Especially considering that many of those could have been prevented had I been a little more careful, or in one case a little more diligent upon following up a submission.

Barely five hours ago, Truth was setting up for a Reader's Theater presentation. I'm not entirely certain how somebody can just decide to back out a scant ten minutes before going on stage -- though, yes, she had been attempting to back out of her solo role since last week -- but it was done. I can't really comment on other people's presentations, since I didn't see them, but I have this to say about ours: the worst things that could have gone wrong did not. Lines were said more or less identically amongst the choir, and most of the characters were able to portray the scenes well. I have bones to pick with a couple, especially the ones whose last-second "changes" detracted from the poetic stability of the piece, but in the end it was able to give us a grade on the borderline of top.

Looking back, maybe I should have worked more on the script. Considering how much the other classes toyed around with their scripts, it seems the original "You may change the words but the essence must remain" and "The piece must still be poetic" rules were thrown out the window. Not that I mind much, of course, since this probably let our characters have their way with their lines. But the script which I had to sweat over because we were deviating too far from the Word of the Boss (i.e. the Fitzgerald translation of the Iliad chapter 24)... well, I feel the tiniest bit disgruntled.

This, combined with the exhaustion of nigh-daily practices until god-forsaken hours, has taken its toll on my poor body. It currently feels like it's running a fever with some measure of muscular pain on the side. No matter, a four-day weekend is coming up soon. As long as I don't pass out tomorrow, I should be fine. I've always wondered how it would be to pass out and find myself staring up at a ceiling I don't recognize as being where I last was anyway. CAT tomorrow should be fun.

I haven't posted for quite a while, from the looks of it. Well, now that I've finished off the reasons for that, I can proceed with the pseudo-philosophical ramblings.

I once heard a saying, something about how only tourists ever look up. I can honestly say this much isn't true, though on second thought I could say I am a tourist in this world. I look up at the ceiling a lot. Not because I'm looking for spiders or lizards or anything, but just because I do. I think it started as a habit back when I was little. It isn't a useless skill, either.

I'm just about the only person who can accurately describe most places I've been to. That is, including the ceiling. Or, if it's an open space, I could probably tell you how much of the sky was covered in clouds or if the clouds were moving strangely. It's been said that gods live high above us, behind the veil of clouds and the blue mist. I'm not sure if gods are really up there.

I've met a lot of people who believe in God, or gods, as the case may be, but I don't think I've met a person who knows exactly what they want from Him or them. Most people answer that mechanical textbook answer of "salvation". Others say "mercy". Some say "Love". I don't know what I want from who- or whatever is up there, mainly because I don't think I want to believe in beings so far removed from human life that they cannot possibly know who and what we are.

Living so high above us, anybody up there can't possibly walk the earth like we do. See the space like we do. Look up towards the sky like we do. This is probably the reason why gods in my writings are always able to walk on the ground. That way, at the very least, they can look up towards the same thing we do. If it doesn't sound important, maybe to another person it really isn't. But to me, looking up at the same sky simply means that the other being can look up with me and see something we both can understand. The sky is common everywhere and anywhere. When it turns dark, rain will probably fall. When large cotton balls float around, then the sun won't be going anywhere anytime soon.

Going deeper, this also means we can say we might wish for the same things. Gods can be omni-whatever, but many humans will only have a single true wish. To "fly". To touch the sky that seems far away and nearby. To reach the dream that we have planted there as children being taught nursery rhymes. The gods I write about may actually live there. But they will always be able to come down to understand how humans can always look up and look back down with a smile.

Psychological Works

I've recently finished watching a series called Neon Genesis Evangelion. It's known among people for being a pretty accurate depiction of how a person suffering from clinical depression gets on with life.

Now, tell me, if I honestly tell you that I go through life like that on a nearly-daily basis, what would you say?

To be fair, let's put it this way. I frequently follow the same trains of thought. I have had similar me and me conversations, especially during the rare bouts of suicidal thought. I can sympathize well with Asuka -- no, I have not lost my mother, nor have I been shunned. It's a matter of the same want of a mother, though.

Looking at my living conditions, it's likely I'd be proclaimed safe from depression. A five-member family, with one dog, and a couple of house-help. Not too rich, the parents come home everyday. In cases where the parents aren't around, an older member of the house generally takes up the slack. No evidence of abuse, nor of any psychological attack. Apartment's not close to much danger, and the stress levels are normally low.

And yet here I am, posing a disastrous example to established psychology. And have been for the last decade or so. It sometimes amazes me that I'm still alive. Then again, at other times, I feel disgusted at myself for the same.

I thought that I had gotten rid of all this nature some time last year, during my long hiatus. After that period, I was writing in a less markedly snarky sarcastic pragmatic manner, and a little more like how I frequently write when in a good mood. Why it relapsed so well may be blamed partly on the events of my third year, but possibly also on my own nature.

I've said somewhere here before that I know that I was a wanted child. It had taken so long for them to have a second safely born child, after all. That knowledge doesn't help much when my attitude clashes strongly with my mother's. No, it's not really an every-point-shall-we-battle kind of clash. In fact, it's mostly centered on a single specific topic: how I look.

To be blunt, I see no reason to spend time on being pretty. As long as I'm presentable, I'm fine with that. Unfortunately, the rest of my father's side of the family tends towards criticism. There are times when I think the only reason I'm around is to provide a baseline 10 for intelligence and a baseline 0 for both social skills and beauty. It does not help that I could possibly be a baseline 10 for all three if I had the interest to do so. It does not help that family hierarchy demands that I do my best to keep my parents from being criticized on the way they've raised me.

Oh, look at his daughter, doesn't even carry around a comb! They've probably never taught her that being pretty is essential to getting herself a husband!

Oh, look at his daughter, doesn't know how to call loudly! They've probably never taught her how to respect her elders!

And thus, my mother frequently (angrily as well, but that's beside the point) comments on how I look like I was picked out of a sewer. Before people comment, this is usually right before and right after I get to school. Occasionally in the middle of the day, when we're together. This includes hair, clothing, figure, and facial expression when applicable. Before I proceed, I should note that I did not learn how to smile and frown properly until I was in grade school. Yes, I am that maladjusted.

On the figure bit, I know for a fact that I have a large ribcage. Well, I don't know how to call it per se, but I'm fairly certain I'll never be able to reach the perfect 20 waistline my mother wants me to have. 24 is fine with her, but unfortunately, she hasn't heard of the BMI, and it doesn't matter to her that I'm already considered underweight and just barely acceptable on the BMI. Having broad shoulders, inherited from my father, does not help my case in the least. It just lends room to plenty of complaints when clothes-shopping. And she then complains that I don't like clothes-shopping.

On the hair bit, I have naturally frizzy hair. What she decided upon doing was hauling me to the salon for a thermal rebonding session, knowing full well I have CAT classes in the coming school year, and with my warnings that long hair must be tied back for lab sessions. For the uneducated, thermal rebonding does not allow tying, clipping, and any form of while-wet hairstyling. And then she states that she wants this to last until March of next year.

It's also worth a mention that she's obsessive-compulsive on how neat things are/should be. It's to the point that she grows stressed when she sees the house dirty. Now, there are three of us children sharing one room, and one of us has no concept of the word neat. It would be fine if she didn't blame all the un-neat things on the women. "You're girls, you should know how to clean up your things nicely! Never mind him, just clean up after him too!" It does not help that I frequently put things that I might need again in a short while in easy reach.

I don't feel any better for letting all this out. I've repeated such things to myself many times over the last few years. It all boils down to just taking it, because there exists no such thing as a psychological problem in the family. If there does, expect it to be a product of bad raising.

The noise and the bustle of school allows me a brief respite, I think. I don't have to think about where I put down somebody else's dirty tissues, or about ensuring that my speech and manner are perfect (well, as restaurant-perfect as shouting "Welcome, Auntie/Uncle/Tita/Tito/Whatever!" at the top of my lungs can be). Yes, being introverted has no place in this family.

This hated me, I wonder if it's possible to be rid of her?

This me that is capable of calmly looking back and knowing what she did wrong. This me that is the one who is responsible for my still somewhat intact sanity.

If I lose this self, I wonder, will I finally be able to etch the cross on my wrist? TV does not do suicide justice, probably because they don't want to show you how to do it yourself. To break the major artery in the arms, just slitting the wrist isn't enough. It would take hours to bleed to death by that method. Another line should cross the lateral slit. Two lines, in a cross, the longer one reaching about midway down the forearm. Also, for even faster death, a larger major artery is in the thigh. Might take a bit more to reach, but definitely a more sure-fire way of never reaching the hospital.

How do I know? Blame it on the suicidal bout that led me to know where all easily-reached possible kill areas are.

A Thought on Distance

I've just finished the animation movie "5 Centimeters per Second". It's subtitled, "a chain of short stories about their distance". In a way, I found it one of the movies that have made me react not with my rational, nit-picky self, but with the side of me that I more frequently choose to write with. Wikipedia has a decent summary, if you ask me, so go look over there if you want to figure out what I'm talking about here.

It's been a pretty long time since I last wrote anything about becoming separated, for good reason. In a way, I'd come to accept very well that most of the people I know now, I'll lose contact with very soon. It doesn't really matter how far away they are, or how close modern things like chatting or blogging make us feel. That's because, no matter how much you write each other, there is nothing that replaces being together. It's already incredible how Akari and Takaki manage to keep in contact for half a year, if you think about it, in the decade of snail mail and red boxes.

However, it must also be realized that simply being together isn't enough. There's a certain rapport that isn't present with casual friends. The people that one really treasures have a way of pulling themselves outside of your memory. Kanae possibly allowed me a glimpse into that. However, she also allowed me to think about another, slightly sadder, thing. One has to wonder how things could have turned out. The distance, for Kanae, was not physical distance. I doubt it was because she had forgotten her feelings either; she manages to mail a message to Takaki in the third story, at least, I think it's her. Yet, there was something that kept them apart. I understand that allowing the people you care for the most to go and find themselves, and the things that they search for, will almost always mean that you allow them to leave you.

I wonder, though. After years of searching, all that Takaki came up with was a vague dissatisfaction of his surroundings. It was more of a sense of a loss of purpose, I think. After years of working, living, and blindly walking, he lost all drive. If that is what will happen to people, if that is what will eventually happen to me, then maybe it is best to act upon those occasional suicidal whims. And what an amazing distance it is, that separates him from Akari. Is it for the best that he accepts the distance he's formed from all other people? We never really see him interact with anyone other than Akari. His interactions with Kanae are not much different from with random unnamed classmates.

Is this the distance that I will face too? The extent of loss that he had, I wonder, will I someday be that way as well? It wasn't just a distance from people, it was a distance, a detachment, from the world itself. Will I be strong enough to remain firmly grounded? I can't really answer that. If I were to judge from my actions until now, then it's almost certain I'll be lost.

Maybe there's a small touch of hope here, too. It's possible that everything really did turn out the best way they could. Waiting for both trains to pass, hoping to see the woman he just passed, well, if he did, what difference would it make? She's married. An argument could be made that she would help him land his cuckoo and get some drive back, but in that state, he's about as likely to just decide to shoot himself. If Kanae had confessed her feelings, what would happen then? There would be a pressure on their relationship, a tenuous one supported only by the lack of physical distance. He would leave soon anyway. To know those feelings would be of no help. From his dreams during that time, and from what we see before the train crossing scene, it's actually very likely that he kept searching for things that reminded him of Akari, years after they last met.

So what can we do to help keep ourselves close to each other, to declare our friendships "unbreakable", to find ourselves with bonds stronger than iron? Maybe nothing. Distance is an inevitability in life. I can't expect anybody to always be beside me. Even for those who don't go far away, there is the grim final farewell that will someday come along. So, there isn't a thing we can do to keep the physical distance from eventually increasing.

But, maybe, for the other kind of distance, there may be ways. To remember something gingerly, whether the memory be sweet or bitter, so that the memory does not become warped. To keep these important thoughts and feelings close to heart. I can't ensure the other person's heart will hold mine close to his or hers. But, at least, I can make sure I hold theirs close to mine.

To Believe in Hope

It's the end of a year, kiddies. Well, an academic school year, at least. Plenty of things to think about again.

First and foremost, we have the little thing called a club revival. It's going to be rough to say the least. The main reason we couldn't revive it last year was because our leadership faltered in the middle of the year. Needless to say, I want to see the club up and running by the time I leave. Because of the tedious schedules of people, we've also had to stage a total party kill on our DnD game. No points for guessing what exactly we need to get up and running next year.

We've kept forgetting the most important elements though. I recently finished watching Higurashi no Naku Koro Ni, and a number of the lessons I picked up from there are surprisingly fit for the case.

First: The formation of a club depends on how much the people involved want it.

Second: The most important thing when trying to battle against a powerful force is belief.

Third: In anything, creativity and innovation are always needed. But never forget to be observant too.

How do all these link to our condition now? Well, I'll tell you.

Inkwell has been around for a pretty long time, just not as an officially recognized club. That's because, to be officially recognized, a club has to have income and expenses, a membership list, a credo, and so on and so forth. Things that usually don't appeal to your average student. Here is where the first lesson comes in: How much do we want this? I'm certain that there are at least a few people who honestly want this. However, those people might not feel that they can do anything for what they want. This is most definitely a misconception. This is where the second lesson acts: The people must believe that they can do something. Wasting time and hope wishing for something to come true but not doing anything for it yourself is a stupid action, deserving of getting hit by the powerful Rena-pan. When wanting to have a toy, do you just sit back and wait for it to fall on your lap? No! You, if you're old enough, scrimp and save to buy it. If you're young enough, you make puppy-dog eyes at your parents and ask them in your sweetest and most kiddie voice to buy it for you. Either way, you did something. It's the same here. I don't care if people want to take the initiative or not, but show some durned interest! It's the most disheartening thing when people don't seem to care whether or not the club remains on life support or even if we decide to euthanize it!

If people have actually read the above, then you'll realize that the third lesson still hasn't fallen into place. That's because this lesson can only be put into practice if people have done the first two. It's mainly a lesson for the leaders, but even members need to learn it, since we are a creative writing club after all.

There's just one more year to go before I leave high school. Thus far, in all my three years, I haven't done anything I consider worthy to be written down on a college application at all. In all my three years, I haven't done anything that I can be proud of because it was my own effort and strength that led me to it. I want to believe that I can gather the people together to rally against this apathy, just like the miracle that brought down the seemingly inevitable fate. I want to believe that, finally, I can do something without relying on what others throw at me.

That is, I want to believe in hope.

Belief, and by extension hope, is a powerful force. It is this that allowed the fascists control of Europe, and Hitler his Nazi Party. It is this that allowed the medieval crusades to occur, for religion to spring from its seeds. I'm not aiming for something that's going to be in the history books. It's likely not going to change what I'm going to be one day either. It's probably not going to help me get into some large Ivy League University after a few years. The one and only thing I can hope to gain from this is the strength to act upon what I want to happen. That is why it is essential for me to believe that this lonely, weak, pitiful I can manage to do enough to help.

And so, I stretch out my hand. Who will reach out for it?

On Fate, Fact, and Farce

There are many things that I should have blogged about. Because of Blogger's problems with loading, I haven't had the opportunity. But that's all right. I'll write now and see whatever else I can do about things like this later.

On February the 16th, I attended the prom. As a prom, I must say it wasn't at all what anybody would hope for. But there are other things that a prom is for. There's the signal that, "Hey, we're finally growing up." There's the thought that, soon enough, everything will be over. Even if we're only third year, it's still already our third year. We've been through a lot, and we've been in high school for two years, both yet and already. Soon enough, we'll be fourth year.

We celebrate our coming of age. And yet, I feel that we also dread it. As a child, nobody expects much of you. You make a mistake, it's all right. You mess up your room, it's all right. Your parents are there to help you out. We never really appreciate much of this until we're about to leave it behind. Once you reach high school, things change a lot. Your mistakes are your own to repair. If its irreparable, tough luck. Most parents begin to let go, to decide that you should learn to make your own way. Very few actually realize that this is when we need their help the most.

Sure, there're always rebels. There's a bit of that rebel in anybody. But that's exactly why we need our parents even more. It's not when you're in your room that you need help, right? You need help when you're lost, confused, and scared in a big dark forest. You need help when you've found that you're too weak and desperately need to find a way back again. So don't give me any words of "But that's the only way you'll ever grow up." I never asked that parents should keep us from making mistakes. I only asked that they be there to point us in the right direction.

That's the most inevitable part of growing up, I think, getting lost. You'll finally make your own mistakes, attempt to learn from them. There're people who're strong enough to find their way back to the road they want to take. There are those who stray only so far. And there are those who foolhardily stray into the darkness and never come back. It's inevitable. That's why it's to frightening.

I wonder how far I'll wander. Fate is so highly mutable that I never really know if I'm on the path I'm supposed to take, or if I've strayed too far from it and have to forge a new one. How do I find out? Will there be someone around the next bend who'll tell me that I'm on the wrong path?

And, if there is, how can I tell that he speaks the truth, that I am irrevocably lost?

There's always a part of me that's scared of that.

But, fact is, there isn't anything I can do. This is the route I've thus far chosen to take. There will be more forks here and there, more ways to get lost in a twisty maze of passages. Who can I rely on to help me through all this? Since I was little, I've never really taken the time to get to know someone deeply enough for them to keep by my side no matter what. Recent events have shown that I've changed a bit, but will the relationships I form now, in high school and in third year to boot, be enough?

Lying to other people is bad enough; lying to myself is unforgivable. And I fervently wish I can face the truth.