woundedbutterfly's Blog

 

A lovely blue-skied day.  I woke a few minutes before my alarm went off and dove into the day: classes, then lab, then lunch with a famous physicist visiting the university.  She was really quite amazing.  A blind, syrupy-voiced Egyptian woman with a charming personality and a firm handshake.
We sat in a room I didnt know existed in the physics department, panelled with polished wood on the walls, antique leather chairs, portraits hung on the walls.  15 or so of us, mostly grad students with a few undergrads (probably came for the food haha) and even a few professors.

The head of the physics department introduced me to her by my name, and described to her my work with the orphanages.  That was a pleasant surprise.  I didn't know she had known about my orphanage project, let alone recognized me, despite the smallness of the physics community. 

Kelsey-- the overly-eager, socially-awkward, but absolutely lovable and sweet freshmen, also a physics major, and also blind, came 15 minutes late.  The two blind women shook hands over the table, and I was momentarily overpowered.

It was such a beautiful moment.  Not intentionally sentimental, or I'm sure, seemingly so to anyone other than anyone as secretly soft-hearted as me, but something about that moment-- the hands outstretched, open palms roaming in space, chancely approaching, and then miraculously, as though they were separately conscious, magnetically snapping together.  I came back to my dorm in the shimmering morning sunlight and wept a little bit, and was so inspired that I sat down and finished a sketch thats been in my heart for some time now. 



I had intended on attending her guest lecture that evening, but ended up staying in. Not for lack of interest.  Things came up.  I skipped the women in leadership and philanthropy meeting too.
They sent me a personal invitation but I couldnt bring myself to go, after my grades fell last semester and I was removed from Honors, I just didn't feel like I deserved to be there.  I still feel a twinge about that, wisps of shame, inferiority, disappointment, and frustration rising to my throat.
That was a very personal blow to me.

I don't know why I did that to myself.


Instead I sat with my friends at a table in front of the coffeeshop, 10 of us squeezed around a single round table.  I had just come out of the coffeeshop, after a few hours of fruitless studying with my friend, when I ran into them on the way out.   It was a lovely evening.  My roommate was holding a fundraiser selling pancakes, with her sorority.  I savored those moments, sitting there with my friends, laughing, and joking.  They were teasing me about my failure to realize some of my guy friends' true intentions, my tendency to mistake affection and romantic pushing as mere friendliness, and my habit of leading guys on, that occurs as a result.

It was revelational and amusing all at once.  They were shedding light on things I hadnt possibly considered-- friendships that in my view had been purely platonic that might not have seemed so for the other one involved.

I've gotten past the initial hesitation I had when my friends first began trying to absorb me into their social group.  It seems strange to me now that I might have resisted at some point, turning down their offers to hang out, and instead staying locked up in my room all the day long.
I've never been a very social person.  At least, not in the sense that I consider meaningful. 
But I have grown very fond of my friends now.  We're such an eclectic mix, certainly one that I never pictured coming together in the way we have.

The rifts I had almost nearly let go of, over the past several months, have proven themselves to be still present, it seems, for today the topic of my future again came up.  And as I have somewhat come to expect, it ended with me in tears, as usual. 

In spite of me repeatedly stating that I inteded physics/IT as a back-up, that psychology and social work are my primary interests, I suppose my father still hasn't come to terms with it.  He was silent for a few minutes thta felt like ages before muttering, this was not his expectation, and leaving the room.
For once I was happy that there isn't a light in my bedroom, no one would have to see my tears.  I shut the door and stood there for some time, listening to my parents discussing me in the other room.  I couldn't make out their words, but by then it no longer mattered.


I see the rest of my life before me.  My soul will always be the same, I will always try to serve those who move me, and my father will never accept that.

The other day in the car, when he told me he didn't want me getting a job over the summer as I had intended because "being around those people will kill your brain.  they are stupid people with no goals or expectations, working where they work".  I pointed out the case of Sabrina's mother (an employee there)-- her father quit his job and ran off to Pakistan with the family's savings to build a mosque, leaving a mother who speaks little English to financially provide for the family--as an effort to show my father that people don't work retail or fast-food because of lack of motivation or that they don't strive for anything more. Sometimes they have no other option.
But my father merely chuckled and told me I needed an attitude fix.  I knew it then itself. 

It is not a mere miscommunication.  It is a total lack of understanding.  And it will always be such. 
My father doesn't care for seeking out and attempting to heal all of the tragedies, miseries, and injustices of the world, when in his view, people hold in their own hands the capability to change their own lives. 
He doesn't feel the profundity of the underlying human condition as I do. 
And he certainly doesn't see very much worth in people such as myself who, showered as we may be with opportunities for great monetary wealth and elitist pursuits, choose instead to return to the slums my grandparents struggled their way out of, to be the offerer of, instead of the seizer of opportunities.

Spring break has passed by rather quickly. 

I haven't been exceptionally productive.  Aside from sending out a few emails to prospective donors for my orphanage project*, and mending some torn clothes, not very much.  Most of the time, everyone is at work or school, and I am home alone.  I lounge around sipping green tea, doing yoga, poking around in the garden, watching independent films and reading Neruda and Nabakov-- "Lolita"

Such a beautiful, brutal story. 
I often forget the inherently pedophilic nature of the relationship between Humbert and Lolita.  But the Humbert character just fascinates me endlessly. I've had somewhat of an odd reaction to him-- far too sympathetic and even longing, at some points, to be acceptable. Within 30 pages, I had already spent at least 2 hours weeping about it.  The depth of his love for Annabel-- dreaming the same dreams long before they had met, and him hearing her thoughts passing through his head long after her death.  I picture Humbert to look like Jude Law or some other handsome actor with furrowed eyebrows and melancholy eyes.  It makes me think about the nature of sin, societal standards, the nature of love. 
I've always been drawn to shattered souls.  Pain is something that everyone experiences but there are some individuals for whom it is absorbed to their cores, and definitive of their beings.



*Fantastic news-- Someone read about my work with the orphanages in the newspaper, and contacted the office: they want to donate!!!! :)

I don't know if I should bother to continue keeping a blog on EP. 


So this may or may not be my last post.  If it is, then I bid you all adieu.  I'll likely be leaving EP for good. 

I feel very estranged from my family at times. 
It does make me feel quite a bit sad and guilty to say it, but its true.

They're so boisterous and well-to-do without any idea of savoring it.  Just constant luxury all the time but its no big deal.  We went to a restaurant last night, and though we've been in the states for several years now, I was astonished to see they still had very little etiquette.  Aside from the basics, they were reaching all over the table, knocking stuff over, and all in all putting me into agony over wondering how I should tell them without hurting their feelings.

I feel like a different person when I am around them.  And that's in a negative way.  I'm always so harsh and brutal and critical and aloof. I don't show it much in my personality.  But I certainly feel the change in the way I think.
My little sister is just like I was when I was her age.  Maybe thats why I hate her behavior so much.  Loud and obnoxious and outgoing and trying-to-hard.

She sits around all day watching TV.  Wastes money on fancy materalistic things that she loses interest in a week after purchase.  She never cleans up after herself and sometimes seems to lack even the  most basic of manners.
I was doing the dishes today, and half of them were from her failed baking attempt with a friend.  I told her you couldnt simply melt white chocolate and melt it as usual, but she wouldnt believe me.  The piping bag was covered in smears of hardened chocolate.  The piping tip was simply full.  I had to carve the chocolate out with a knife.
As equally troubled by the fact that she hadn't listened to me or even attempted to clean up after herself, I was disturbed by the pure amount of chocolate going to waste.

I dont know.
Whenever I see things going to waste, its almost a subconscious thing, but I always feel that I am denying it from someone else who might have appreciated it.  Its just my way of thinking.

I dont know how I ever came to be the person I am, living in this household.

And I think I've learned something about my family.  Even though my parents are always telling me that we are doing as much as we can, philanthropically speaking, it isn't so.  We're not down to our base needs.  And the only philanthropy we do is maybe donate our old clothes.  And we pay for random expenses for our extended family in India. But what does that do anyway? 
We have a 450 thousand dollar townhome. We've rotated through about five cars. We have a huge TV with surround sound that my dad is thinking of replacing "just because".
I am not allowed to want anything excessively.  The moment I declare the least bit of interest in something, my parents go out and insist upon buying it for me.

I'm sure other teenagers would love that, but I for one hate it.  How am I supposed to appreciate the value of anything if its given to me so easily, and I don't even have to work for it?   Its enfuriating.
And also the fact that they go to all these extents to shower me with luxury things that I dont even care for. 




I think my primary disturbance in the face of all this is the fact that I dont use my parents money for my own ventures.  Yes I buy the necessities, but I am always cautious about spending money on anything else.  For myself.  But by ventures I mean the projects I have wanted to launch.

Instead I've always earned the money for myself.   I worked my ass off for those fundraisers, countless hours spent toiling away, numerous headaches and even more breakdowns, all for what-- a measly $500 for the orphanages.
And its a hundred times easier when my father decides that I need to have a new phone because my current cell phone isnt fast enough.  And he goes out and buys the most expensive one on the market, no reason other than that it costs the most and therefore has to be the best.
The other day my dad wanted to buy me a new iPod.  I asked him why, if he's already bought me two.
Whats the purpose of it.  For gods sake i dont listen to that much music anyway.

The materialism.  The hedonism.  Its just so suffocating.  But its so ingrained in their practice, that they don't even realize it.  Thats what bothers me the most.


These things have become so clear to me in just two days upon returning home from college.

Its been eventful.

Saturday, I woke up early in the morning for a day-long volunteering event, packing food for people displaced by the earthquakes in Haiti.  I must have been there for at least 8 hours.  It was tiresome, but very well worth it.  I was a student leader so I basically oversaw various groups and made sure things were running smoothly.
Together, almost 2000 volunteers from campus and the nearby community packed about 280,000 meals. 

Sunday was a bit more on the dull side.  I took the bus to the store and picked up some last minute things for the bake sale fundraiser I'm having tomorrow(!!).  In the evening I finally heard back about my application to the community service abroad.  They're keeping me as an alternate.
Needless to say I was a bit shattered that I wasn't chosen.  As soon as I finished reading the email, I promptly closed my laptop and decided it was time for a hot shower to soak things up.
Thats what I do when I'm feeling upset.
I cried at first.  Just a slight weeping.  Quietly so no one in the bathroom could hear me.

But then slowly I let go.

Out of the shower, fresh and clean, I decided it was time to let go of all the pain I'm still holding on to, from being rejected.  Not only from the service program.  But from my top choice colleges.  And then some deeper things.  Rejection from the people I've loved.  My father. 
Maybe even a bit from myself.

Even though I've smiled and laughed a million times since April, even though I've told myself and everyone around me a million times I'm over it, I still feel a twinge when I think about it sometimes.

I came out of the shower, sullen, tearless.  Chin high, shoulders back. 
Sat down with a philosophy book and contemplated for a bit.
What I need to do is want things less.
The pain of rejection comes from my fear of failure which ultimately is proportional to how intensely I want something.  I've decided that I'm going to remain passionate about the things I care for.  But it should not be such a source of negative presence in my life.


And so I've decided to implement a bit of change around here.

Its something of an air of detachment.  Slight indifference, but passion where it counts.  Determination.  Failure is just part of the journey.  I've heard it so many times and its unpalatably cliche but it doesn't quite alleviate the pain of actually failing.
So I've decided to flip around my perspective of it all.


I was wait-listed to the service program not because I am inadequate.  But because I need the experience of being rejected once more to finally come to terms with all of the sub-surface pain I've been repressing for so long. 










Yes.

I am going through with my plans.  Tomorrow is my bake sale.  My dorm is filled with boxes and boxes and tubs and tubs of cake mix and icing and sprinkles and miscellany.  And I'm going to do what I love, for what I love. 

This mornign I did more volunteer work with a local campaign to fight hunger.  Cutting up apples to turn into applesauce to give to impoverished familes in the area.  The cannery was a very old cabin with exposed wooden beamers and bare lightbulbs.  And it was very very cold inside, even with me bundled up in my 4 layers of clothing.  I cut up huge platters full of apples collected from local orchards.  And the other hallmates and I steamed them and mashed them to several dozen pounds of apple-sauce.  At least 50 jars worth. 
And I smelled like fruit for hours afterward.

My psychology professor finally returned today, all handsome in his dark blue shirt.  Not a very social fellow, but social enough and kind and sincere and quiet and thats what I find attractive.  After class I asked him if he hadn't been feeling well last week, and that was why he was absent.  He didn't hear me the first time since I have a rather quiet voice, so he leaned closer to me, and I saw that he had blue eyes.  A soft, dull kind of blue.  Maybe the color of the ocean on a stormy day.  Or perhaps a faded woolen blanket.
Hm.

After my classes I picked up my package, the artists coloring pencils I ordered from the interwebz.

I used to think such things were a waste of time.  Maybe thats why I always felt something was lacking.  I colored in some of the sketches I've been working on.  With a new approach.  Before, I would fill in the lines and grow frustrated at the vitality my drawings always lacked.  Today I penciled in the lines very lightly and added color in layers.  The result was the vibrancy and depth I've been craving.  The sense of satisfaction I've sought for so long now. 




Anyway.  This whole week has been very significant. 
A week of confrontation, coloring pencils, epiphanies, old wounds, and blue eyes the color of blankets.

Well.
I did it.


After hours of wordlessness and glazed over eyes,  I decided to follow my own advice for a change.  And I broke up with him.



Felt like shit at first.  He seemed to not care much at first.  When I brought the topic up, he said that if breaking up with him would make me happy, I should do it.  It took a lot of effort on my part.  Not because I care about him like that, but because I know that even if he's not showing it, he's taking it pretty hard. 
In some sense I wish things didnt have to be this way.  But there's a point where it just starts to saturate.

I feel so.....artificial.

A few hours later, he started to show some emotion.  Frustration.  Defensiveness.  I tried to tell him that I am still here for him whenever he needs to talk-- I am still his friend-- but he kept insisting that I had broken up with him because I found him boring or something.
He took it personally.  Then at one point it just became grief.   He started asking me what he did wrong.  Apologizing for the fact  that he isn't as philosophical as me.  Saying he was holding back tears.

That upset me.  Someone as independent and hardened as him on the verge of crying. 

He told me that things had been hard fo rhim in the past few months, and that I was the one who made it better since I was always there for him. 


I felt odd.  A mixture of guilt and cruelty.
His friend told him that I was just toying with his emotions.  I hate to admit this, but in a sense, I guess I kind of was.  I never had romantic feelings for him.  When he asked me if I did, I could never bring myself to say no because I knew he would have been very hurt.  So I lied and pretended to like him back.

I guess I hurt him even more this way.  :/
ugh

This morning I sat on my front step and watched the sun rise.  In all the six years I have lived in this home, I've never once done that. 

 

I think I'm ready for change.