I didn't write this.
Here is a little something from someone else about many things I agree with. We're all circling this life, but how makes the difference.
-Amie
"Apologies"
How many times this year have you apologized for something?
Did you really mean it?
Perhaps you were saving face. I'm guilty of that. I've made apologies for my actions when I knew exactly what the consequences were. Mostly these actions came at the price of someone's feelings. It's very rude and self-centered and yet I did it.
They say to err is human nature. That begs the question why do we as humans fuck up so much? I'm not particularly fond of that word in most cases but it serves a purpose here. We, as people, are pretty hard to deal with on occasions. Why? If you find a straightforward answer that doesn't deal with our "nature" I'd love to hear it.
I tend to play most things pretty close to the vest and would be viewed by most as pessimist. I read once that a pessimist is a just a disappointed idealist. I think that sums it up very well. I don't agree with the "world is going to hell in a hand basket" group but I don't disagree with them either. That is a contradiction. Allow me to explain.
We, as humans, have been doing the same things to each other for centuries. Cheaters, liars, brats, immature adolescents past the age of adolescence have been around long before me and will be here well after I'm gone. Every generation wants to believe they're the ones going to change the world but if we're going off history's standpoint your major accomplishments will be minor considering human err and general debauchery will continue on as always.
Here's what I know. It's tough to love unconditionally when you've been pressed against the wall a few times. Hasn't happened yet? Just wait. Think I'm angry? You're wrong. I just don't see any improvement and I'm not going to push my money all in without having an exit plan. Because as much as the world needs people with great ideas and hope there's people like me hedging our bets and coming out in the black.
Here's where it gets tricky. I don't follow most of my own advice. Funny right? I've been let down a fair bit, especially lately but I'm just a speck of dust when it comes to the big picture. Who am I to complain? No sense in it and truthfully you don't want to hear it and I don't want to hear yours. There are a few moments in my life that I'll never give up because in between it all it's not so bad and although karma isn't a natural law I believe we all get what's deserved.
Love deeply. Be the change you want see in the world. Be whatever inspirational quote you see on the Internet, just own your mistakes and don't be a liar. Or be a pessimist like me and we can shovel the dirt together just don't be a total downer. We don't need anymore of us around.
Did you get my point? Well you're a step ahead of me. Because I'm not sure what the hell I just wrote.
Signed,
Anonymous
China will always be home to me. My sacred place and point of origin. It is after all the place when I decided I was me, not damaged, not stupid, not ugly, not the mistakes I'd made, not what someone else said or thought. Just Amie.
Moving home is a huge step for many reasons, but most importantly, to see if the Amie I've become can thrive in her natural habitat as well. It's easy to be new and different when we are amongst strangers in a foreign land.
I will forever have a nostalgia for China and the life I've built here and the experiences I've endured, but I will never be nostalgic for myself. I will persevere in whatever I do because I want to and it truly is that simple.
The thing is I'll miss a lot, but I'll treasure it and remember it. And although some stuff are not things I ever did before, they became a part of my daily life. I don't have to let them go forever. When I was home in May, it was just a holiday. I was back talking with a twang in no time and I picked up and threw back the same ol' brew. My concern now is submerging in a foreign land again. I have a certain lifestyle in China that evolved when I was here and I lost chunks of the lifestyle I came from. Although Louisiana is home and where I come from, I see it differently now. In China I am a foreigner, and for awhile, I foresee I will remain a foreigner in Louisiana as well.
When I got to China, in training we were introduced to the concept of culture shock. In a nutshell this is all of the stuff you don't understand, know or have in your own countries. Basically, you're shocked at some of the revelations you uncover, but you live here and now you must deal with them. With culture shock comes reverse culture shock, or the after effects of living abroad. Here's a breakdown of how I believe it will pan out.
I will always know how to be with my family, jog with my dog, eat Southern Maid Donuts, find my way through the dirt roads, and read English.
What I won't know is how to interact with strangers who speak English and don't need me to grade my language, speak slowly or use my hands. (Of course I am with and have met other Americans in China, but here we habitually communicate this way for the most part.) I won't know which items to choose at a WalMart or Target because there will be far too many options. In a restaurant, I won't do well being asked what toppings I want, how I want my steak cooked or which kind of beans do I want. I've relied on pointing to pictures of food for 18 months and hoping for the best. I won't know how much things really cost because my brain knows converting RMB to USD, not USD to RMB so I can't compare the difference in prices. My basic manners such as: "excuse me, sorry, thank you, hello and goodbye" will come out in Chinese for several weeks. And although I've kept all of my kind habits like holding doors, smiling at strangers, waving at neighbors and giving my seat to someone else, I'll be surprised when the large majority of the population does these things for or to each other. Although it's familiar territory, the city will have altered and undergone construction in some places, and I'll be lost a lot. Taxis don't really exist, and neither does walking to should be nearby places like the supermarket, work, restaurants, etc. I'll need to learn to judge time differently when planning my day and commute because I'll drive, not navigate underground and by foot. All of my friends and family in Louisiana will be awake and asleep at the same hours as me, but my friends in China will not. I will have to switch the people I communicate with during the day and night via WeChat and FaceTime. I'll need to use regular text messaging, and re learn SnapChat and Twitter. All the things I missed doing that gave me independence like paying bills and writing checks I will have to re learn (not credit cards, but electricity, water, and stuff). I won't need to turn a VPN on every time I fire up my computer. I'll be expected to know and indulge in all the things I did before I left, but maybe those things no longer interest or entertain me. The jokes that were once funny, will probably not amuse me. It's overwhelming to be asked a bunch of questions about the place you love dearly and have someone be utterly clueless about it, so please don't bombarde me. I'll be uncertain about emotions and responses to conversations that used to be so routine. I'll laugh as we re hash memories, but maybe inside I won't remember why it was so funny at the time. I'll want culture, diversity, language and adventure so maybe I'll be a bit blue about the mundaneness at times, but I won't mean to offend you. And this doesn't mean I'm unhappy.
Most of these are all small habits in the grand scheme of things I know, but for me this is like going back to caterpillar and becoming a butterfly again. Because although I'm not afraid I'm still extremely nervous.
After a night of ugly crying to my best friend and losing my composure, I'm officially ready to come home. I know I made the decision months ago, but I never had the mentality. I was so concerned about what job I'd land. How I'd get there. Where I was going to live. How long would people help and support me before it became an inconvenience. The usual things that come with a big move I suppose. However, after the combination of a little meditation, tears and wine, I'm ready. I cannot control my future. I can simply show up and participate in what it is I desire, but I needn't fret over it.
What I love about China is often a 360 from what I love about home. I compiled the following lists to show what I'm looking forward to about coming home and what I'll miss and not miss about China. Also, I hope it helps you understand how truly different the world is, especially when you jump hemispheres. Not only the differences, but how there is a major difference in traveling and living abroad.
What I'm looking forward to.
-Air so fresh it's like landing on an undiscovered planet.
-Being barefoot. More so, being barefoot in my own home.
- Driving (If I still remember how). I can't wait to blast some old country and roll the windows down.
- All of the little things that now seem huge: drinking water from the tap, toilets, bath tubs, central heating and air, dryers, outlets that don't require an adapter, uncensored Internet, English.
- The food: Southern Maid Donuts, Johnny's Pizza, Doritos and Mountain Dew.
- The obvious: My family, my friends and my pets. Let's throw in running with my dog here. :)
-The fuss over Mardi Gras, but more importantly, King Cake.
-The things I never realized were such a large part of my life until I left them: domestic beer, honky tonks, BOOTS. But the bigger things like brick houses and trailer parks. There are only apartments here, and if you live in a hutong it's in a crowded space. There are no houses on acres here.
-The countryside and the dirt roads that lead there. Bonfires and sitting on porches. That sort of thing...
-Lastly, being understood when I use an ism, slang or metaphor that was clearly born in the South and not meant to be understood by outsiders.
What I'll miss
-Aside from the over crowding problem, public transportation is fantastic. It's super convenient and one of the few ways I was still given my independence.
-The hutongs. Excluding the smells, there is something majestic about them. So homey. So simple.
-The feeling of being unique. In the beginning, and again toward the end, the stares were annoying and sometimes invasive, but people stare because they're fascinated. Curiosity is in abundance between foreigners and locals here.
- The fresh vegetables from the markets. I'm talking fresh out of the dirt and needing 15 minutes to wash it away fresh.
- Obviously the authentic Chinese food. Even if made by a Chinese-American, the ingredients will never match. And there is no spicy like certain provinces here.
- Seeing, learning and experiencing something new every day. I think that happens in one's daily life regardless of location, but it's never as exotic as when living in a foreign land. Everything is fascinating. Like wtf are you selling this for in your convenient store, and how the hell did you get Cool Ranch Doritos and are they authentic?
- The neighborhood feeling among foreigners. --- "Hey man, I've never seen you before but you're not Chinese. Let's politely nod or wave at each other just because."
-While it has it's frustration, I'll miss the daily communication in another language. I'll forever speak while using my hands.
-Street sleepers. People just nap anywhere and everywhere and no one cares or bothers them. They're not homeless, just taking a break. It's always been my favorite site here. Viva la siesta :)
-Being able to walk almost anywhere within 20-30 minutes and there always being a sidewalk or pedestrian pathway.
What I won't miss
-The toxic air. The dirty air that's completely fixable or at least there are alternatives but the government refuses to spend the money. Cheapskates.
-The constant cloud of second hand smoke. Even on non polluted, blue sky days, the air is a cloud of cigarette molecules.
- Being the only hare in a population of tortoises. Even on a patient day, the speed at which humans move here drives me bonkers.
- The lack of patience. The constant push and shove of getting on and off of public transportation. Like bro, another train will be here in three minutes tops.
- In regards to the above, the lack of personal space. There is no concept of it among Chinese.
- Haggling. If I go to a store I will see the price tag. If I want it I'll buy it. If it's too much, I won't. End of story. Haggling is practically a favorite pastime here, one which I do not enjoy participating in.
-Lack of traffic rules and regulations. In general, the traffic. Y'all just think New York is crowded. Beijing is triple NY's size so you can use your imagination on the traffic scene.
-Not understanding certain cultural norms. I love the diversity, but there are certain things that will never make sense or be explainable and it's frustrating.
-People holding their children in the air spread eagle to pee when there's a bathroom feet away.
In fifth grade, my best friend was Debbie. I asked mama if she could spend the night one weekend. She agreed, as long as it was ok with Debbie's mama. All mama knew was Debbie and I were best friends since she is the friend I talked about every day. "Today at school, Debbie and I...." You know how you are at age 10. My mom will tell this story repeatedly like it was yesterday. (I think it's the first time she was proud of me, and maybe she knew then how much I would embrace unfairness.) Anyway, when we got to Debbie's house, mama was surprised because Debbie is black. It didn't matter because it was 1999 or something at this stage of the game. And it never mattered to my mama because she loved Debbie instantly, and to this day, she'll randomly ask, "How's Debbie doing?" She was just surprised, because even in 1999, it was a fairly new concept for children to play together and simply be children, wasn't it? We were never troubled with color (at least not yet.)
We aren't all so lucky to remain best friends with the people we loved at age 10, but at one point, they are the friend we loved most. That feeling, or memory never really leaves. Nonetheless, I think it was Debbie, as one of my first best friends, that plays a large role in who I am today in the sense of my views of equality, inequality and civil rights. She was the first person of another race I ever loved. And although we don't communicate often anymore, there is the beautiful thing of social media. I watched her graduate college and she has a great job and is now having a child of her own. I can still watch her grow and love through photos and words, just as she can watch me.
I've now loved a hundred people of different races, colors, religions and sexuality at this stage of the game. However, as ignorant and embarrassing as they may be, I have some things to confess and address.
See, recently I've been honored with the friendship of this girl Samantha. She's like a little sister to me. She puts up with me and listens to me and she loves in the most innocent way. She and I share an interesting bond because we are about as opposite as two humans can be right down to the fact that I'm white and she's black. But, here's a funny story about us...
On our trip to the beach a few weeks back, Sam and I were the only foreigners for miles in this tiny beach town. I kept saying things like, "they've never seen so many white people in one place." She would give me this look like, 'are you for real right now?' and that was it. She'd laugh and call me crazy. Then we were retelling the story to Gurpreet and she said, "I just really thought you forgot I was black." And serious as a heart attack I looked at her and said, "I did."
When I look in the mirror I see myself: white girl, average weight, fairly tall for a woman, brown hair, etc.
When I look at Sam, I just see a woman with a beautiful complexion, eyes as big and wide as a child accompanied by a voice as soft as a mouse. She speaks English. She's American. She knows the same American customs and such as I do. I just see a girl I love. I don't give a shit what color she is, so I guess my mind categorized her skin color as irrelevant. As it should be.
Here is where the confession comes into play. Some truth that maybe other Southerners have been afraid to say, or simply to ignorant to realize like myself. We are all aware that racism is not dead, although LBJ signed the Civil Rights Act of 1964 that changed history. But by how much? And why is race still an issue 51 years later? That's at least two new generations born into this mess. For most of us, we can't possibly imagine what it must be like to be discriminated against simply for being born (and don't be the ass who says, 'yeah, but blacks hate whites, too.')
So, here I will once again offend some of my Southern brethren (the caucasian lot of you, anyway).
As a southerner there are certain ways you abide, actions you perform, hobbies you participate in and phrases you use that make you a southerner. It really is a different planet and another world in ways. Unfortunately, a more ignorant and naive world at times.
There are things no one ever says but at least one person is thinking it. And if it is said, ridicule and crucifixion follow. About the South and Christianity. About life, sex, drugs and alcohol. But above all of those things, we fear speaking about race. It doesn't mean we are or are not racist. It's just one of those tabooed subjects. Never discuss politics and religion if you wish to keep the peace. And in the South I believe it adds race to that list, because unfortunately there are still people who cannot un see color.
Sam and myself, along with another black and white co-worker (both of them from the South) were discussing history, race, lynchings and stuff. Who knows how the subject arose, but nonetheless, I decided something from the conversation: The truth about the 'beloved' Confederate Flag. Growing up in the South we had to have the coolest Dixie Outfitter shirts, where the majority of the shirt's art is the rebel flag. Remember those? For a lot of us it's no more than a sign of being country, redneck, or hillbilly. I just always thought it really was history and if it offends you, you should go because that's what all the adults said. Sadly, that's what those who are offended by it do. Walk away. To African Americans, a rebel flag reads "Turn away. Trouble ahead."
The truth is the actual battle flag of the Civil War is not the rebel flag we parade on our front porches, flag poles or bumper stickers today. The flag we fly is the one used most widely by the KKK and Dixiecrats as a political symbol during the '40s and '50s.
I will no longer purchase anything with the flag, support any establishment bearing it's marks or wave that son of a bitch.
It's heartbreaking I didn't realize this until October 17, 2015 at 25 years old. Ignorance really is bliss, isn't it? The shit we tell ourselves so we don't feel guilty or so we can justify where we come from or who we are/were is pathetic. I always tell people to get off my case about how much I swear. I tell them the words are only vulgar because they've been categorized that way. Maybe so, hell, I don't know. And if the rebel flag is vulgarized enough to African Americans that they would literally walk away from a place or situation because of it, then maybe it isn't about the freedom or history of the southern states. Also, let's not forget the South was fighting to keep slavery, not freedom.
Here's the conclusion:
If you like your Civil War history and reenactments then carry on, but by all means change your flag to one of the three flags from the actual Civil War. If for nothing more than accuracy. I agree The Civil War is a huge part of our history and we should not alter the truth behind the Confederate or Union sides motives to win, but let's be accurate in which flag we defend, shall we?
Now, keep in mind the phrase: "We all have our crosses to bare." See how southerners bare the "Southern Cross," more formerly known as 'The Confederate Flag' and even more formerly as 'the rebel flag.' Now, for whites, supremacists or not. KKK members or not. Racists or not. The white majority sees the flag as that: a cross, history, pride, etc.
Some other definitions of the word 'cross' are, "contrary, unfavorable, adverse, opposite." So, I presume that's what the majority of African Americans would view the flag as. Because regardless of how much history the flag represents, let's not forget what history it remembers, honors and stands for... Especially the particular flag we display today.
Now, what was the basis of this blog you might wonder since all that Confederate Flag bullshit was months ago? The answer is Mcgraw-Hill Publishing --- Fuck you! And I don't apologize for my choice of words. I can't begin to imagine what it's like to be an African-American parent sending children to school and telling them they come from such a dark and disgusting history, and that no matter who they are now or where they come from, there is a chance people will look down upon them because of their skin color.
If you are unaware of the McGraw-Hill Publishing situation, there was a section in a textbook that referred to slaves as 'immigrants,' and 'workers.'
Are you serious?
Workers make money. Immigrants come willingly or at the least, with no other option from war or famine. When you look around and see all that this country is today you better remember who worked the land when it was unworkable and who did so in forced and unbearable conditions.
Eracism is done through acknowledgment of the past and acceptance that the future does not have to be the same. Change is the only truth; erasing history is not. As human beings we falter, but we shouldn't hide it. All we can do is say yes, we failed, but we will do our best not to again. This is what our nation should be, yet it is too prideful, broken and unforgiving.
The thing that is most infuriating is this: no one is an American. Even Native Americans are historically traced to from Asia. It was a land a bunch of lost people took. The original settlers came here to escape persecution, now look what the world has become. It's in a constant state of persecution. In a nutshell this is the majority of the world's thought process.
"You're black? Eh...
You're gay, OMG!
You murdered someone when you were 16 and you're 88 now? Wow, you shitty human you.
You did drugs? Spend 20 years in prison, druggie.
You wear a turban? TERRORIST!!!
You're Muslim? God save you, you terrorist!
You're a soldier, let me spit on you and disgrace your funeral.
You had a sex change? I'll be praying for you.
You're an immigrant? Go back to your own country!
You can't speak English? Go back to your own country!
You're different from me? I'm afraid of you and that's all it boils down to!!! "
The American Dream has been evident in people since the first settlement in Jamestown. The American Dream can be viewed and defined in a number of ways, but at the end of the day, it is desire and lust. We should all dream and drive ourselves, but why must we tear down the rest along the way?
As we grow up we find out how truly evil the world is. We can pray for it if we're religious, we can ignore it and add to the chaos, or we can nurture and take care of what is left of it. But no matter what we do, we cannot erase it, only create it.
If you're a writer, the most constant advice you'll hear is write. That writing is the only way to become better. That and reading. Keep a journal, chronicle everything. I quit writing regularly in a paper diary/journal when I was about 15. Every year I pick up a new one and try again. I've burned some full of memories of old lovers and juvenile antics and dreams. I've kept some. The ones that remain have gaps sometimes months long. For years I've often tried to play catch up, but I've officially put that aside.
The second most common piece of advice I've found is if you hesitate to write it out, you're in fact, not a writer. (I also don't completely support that theory, but it's a real pusher.)
My roommate and I were discussing my blogging habits and she said she's tried but could never find where to not cross the personal line. I told her there really is no such line and told her it took me a while to crossover, but once I did, I never came back. The trick is, as Hemingway said, "All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." When you choose to write you share it all. If you keep anything inside, maybe there is a part that'll never reach the audience or mind it was intended for.
It took me years to realize I'm not writing solely for myself. I write what I want, yes, but I still mull over the mind of my audience.
I quit journaling because I quit focusing on myself. Also, because since I've crossed the personal line, there isn't much need. I don't need to write down the latest string of men in my life, my travel experiences, drunken nights out, horror stories and so forth because most likely I'll write it in a blog. If not, I'll have the memory elsewhere.
What I needed was to write publicly. There are other people who need to hear about it. Everyone reacts differently to situations, events, moments, et cetera. People need to know they're not alone. People need to know they're not the only ones who react. People, in general, just need to hear it sometimes.
I don't write about my life and journeys as repentance or bragging. I write because someone has to. The brain is a myriad of running thoughts, possibilities, ideas, and opportunities. For me, I write honestly because someone somewhere needs it and I can only hope it reaches them. I'm an in-betweener on life's motivational food chain.
Here's what I mean...
We as humans always need others. We need someone stronger to push us, but we need to be stronger than another so we have someone to push, too.
We need someone positively optimistic to bring us up, but we need the downers to encourage not to surrender.
We need someone with gumption to motivate us, yet we need the more idle below us to help us realize our own endeavors are wasting.
We need the fearless to inspire us and yet, we need to be courageous in the eyes of others so we move them.
It's all an endless cycle you see.
As I've said before, I write random tidbits on my phone and other places, and eventually piece together something to post. Originally this was two separate blogs, but I found the way to tie it in. Accompanying something personal in the later half, obviously.
I wrote this last week because my washing machine broke and all I knew to do was call my dad. Because although the machine and all accompanying instructions are Chinese, Daddy would've known what to tell me to look for.
For my parents:
Busted with fake IDs. Caught making out in a car by the cops. Runnin from the cops. Breaking curfew. Sneaking out of the house. Sneaking in the house. Smoking pot. Drinking a lot. Starting a bar fight. Ending a bar fight. Making out with someone ugly cause your beer goggles are on. Being that girl. Being that guy...
These are all common mistakes, events, choices or whatever verb you choose that allow us to learn. Or maybe we never learn from them. Point is, we can look back on all these incidents and identify a laugh or smile with them. We were happy. Even if only for a moment. Some of us do these things at 13. Some at 18 and others until we are 30. We all find adulthood in our own time. When we're ready. When the world is ready.
I'm 25, going on 26 years old. I'm leaving my life abroad to come home to nothing. Nothing except my parent's open doors and my usual ambitious attitude, of course. I'll have no car, no job and no prospects of either. It's unfortunate my parents raised a writer and a wanderer who can't see past six months of life. However, I really lucked out with the two of them. They'll ask too many questions and drive me crazy asking what I'm doing and where I'm going and why, but I'm looking forward to 21 questions.
My mom recently posted she had no guidebook to raising my brother and me except The Bible. Well, I don't have anything other than their lifetime of guidance. And I may know nothing about parenting but I've got a novel on being a daughter.
I know when I'm being selfish. I now know when I was being selfish. I know when I overlook them too often. I know when they don't hound me with messages because they want me to message them. And they know I will... especially when I need them.
But this isn't really what I want to write about.
What I'm going to say, in a not so delicate way, is this...
I vow to never make you spend your final years in a place surrounded with strangers. A place full of dementia, Alzheimer's and loneliness. Even if you can't remember me, I'll always remember you. When I was in diapers unable to use the bathroom properly, you never gave up on me, so I promise never to give up on you, either.
This might seem a bit melancholy, too far in the future or just plain odd (and a bit blunt), but the thought just occurred to me. I understand people can't always afford the care they'd like for their families as they age. I also realize I'm not a nurse, doctor or caregiver. What I do know is I can bust my ass to afford those things as best I can. I also know many people become too consumed in their adult lives and selfish ambitions and forget how they even came to success. As I've mentioned in a previous blog, we often put our parents on the back burner.
A No. 1 interview question to highly successful people is often, "What motivates/inspires you?"
Well, I don't have an Emmy, a publishing contract or a TV series, but I consider myself to be successful in what it is that I desire, and who other to credit than my folks.
Seriously! I'll always know who it was putting $40 in the bank when I over drafted my account. Who gave me an extra $20 when I was going to meet friends or an extra $100 when I traveled. I remember who always had a full tank of gas and never said anything when I brought it home on E. I'll remember being 25 and coming home unemployed, homeless and car less and the ones who sheltered, fed and drove me.
As you've lived your life ensuring my brother and I always had what we needed and what we've wanted, I promise to make you my goal in life.
I recently read an article called "All the ways I promise to love you." It was beautifully written by a woman writing to her future husband.
As I wrote this, I realized it was a way to tell my family how I promise to love them now when I don't always remember to show it in the future.
So, mom and dad, here are my promises:
1. I promise to keep you in my life.
I promise not to forget you when I get married and start my own family, even if that's on another continent.
I promise to die with mounds of debt in travel expenses before making excuses not to be home for a holiday over something as small as money.
That being said, I promise to never miss another Christmas.
I promise to include you in everything and every decision.
I promise to talk to you when I'm scared, lonely or confused.
2. I promise to always need you.
I promise to call when I have a question about a recipe or hardware.
When I'm sinking, I promise to ask for help and never be prideful.
When I have children of my own, I promise to acknowledge your opinions and listen to your advice, although I may not always take it.
3. I promise to be like you.
I promise to give tough love and support my children through their craziest phases of life and most adventurous proposals and ideas just as you've always supported mine (and Bubba's).
I promise to love my spouse in the way you've always loved each other.
I promise to make home always feel like the safest and most welcoming place in the universe just as you've always done.
I promise to read to my children before bed.
I promise to hold family gatherings often, and including the extend members.
4. I promise to simply love you.
When you (inevitably) start losing your mind, I promise to laugh with you and not get angry when you do something moronic.
I promise to worry like hell and cry like the baby I am when you fall ill or have some medical test done.
If you want to stubbornly drive at 90 years old, I promise to ride shotgun.
If you want to fish on the lake at 80, I promise to prioritize my weekends.
If you want my children to take a photo with the damn Fouke Monster silhouette in Texarkana, I promise to pull the car over, too. :)
5. I promise to make you proud.
I can't promise I'll ever be the princess in fancy dresses and shoes that most mothers envision for their little girls. And Daddy, I can't promise I'll stop making terribly ignorant life choices that leave me lost and/or broken. But, I promise to always be strong and independent, yet sympathetic. I promise to be opinionated and open-minded, yet polite. I promise to be adventurous and happy, yet safe. I promise to always try, even if I only learn to fly on the way down. I promise to be myself, because regardless of who that is, that's who I was meant to be.
See, here's the deal. When you live abroad your parents, at the end of the day, are all you've got. You learn how much you need them. Yes, even at 25, 28 and 30 years old. When we have our own careers, our own houses and our own children they're still a vital part of us and who we are becoming still.
Living away from my parents made me realize what I already knew: I'm incredibly lucky to not come from a damaged home, ill parents, or worse. I've always known, but the distance has intensified the admiration I have for my parents. They have two jobs in this life. First, whatever one pays the bills and mortgage. Secondly, putting up with their offspring for as long as both shall live. We test their sanity, their spousal choice, their grace and their tempers, but they stay... Forever.
They say not to make promises you can't keep, but I'm not. Remember these written promises, mom and dad, so you'll always know, even when I forget to show you and I'm acting spoiled, just how much I love you.
And above all of these promises... I promise to see you in 66 days. :)
You all know me fairly well at this point. You know I do what I want, and you're aware I advocate the same to my peers as best I can.
Since I'm a bit of a nomad and a free spirit people come to me when they feel down. I love this and I'm pleased they choose me, but I'm just me. I only have wisdom to share through my story. Because our stories are really all that we have, aren't they? You should never ask advice on a matter from someone who has never experienced it, yet, you should never ask advice on a matter from someone who has because they are most likely two things: ignorant or jaded.
I can tell you all about my struggles. Starting from the bottom and clawing my way out of the grave I dug. But your struggle is yours and mine is mine. Maybe we can help each other in some small way, but really we are our only help. We have to listen to ourselves before we can listen to another. People can tell you advice and what you need to change all day long, but unless it's what you want to hear it's no more than wasted breaths and energy, right?
For example,
-You hate your job? Then quit.
-You don't love him anymore? Leave.
-You don't want to go to college? Don't.
-You don't want to. DON'T.
But it's never that simple is it. My own parents know better than to tell me too much because they know I'm stubborn and only try harder to make it happen in order to prove a point. Sometimes if we advise too much, we push in the wrong direction.
Recently I've been studying on Buddhism, meditation, enlightenment, and so forth. It's really got my brain wandering (yes, more than usual). If I could summarize Buddhism in one word it would be, 'peace.' The idea is essentially that shit happens, wipe it off, accept it and proceed all the while being kind, humble and honest.
I have found that I'm often too eager, too optimistic and too forward to accommodate some of my friend's needs and expectations. Meaning, I've had what I hope to be my biggest struggle in life, (not the last, but the worst) and I've vowed to always run to greener pastures rather than be petty or wallow when it gets tough. Therefore, as I said, I can't be sad with you, only give you my sympathies. I cannot guide you through your struggles, only hold your hand.
I give and offer and supply advice, sometimes on matters I don't know about or understand myself. It's just my obligation as a friend to give support and say what people need to hear, right? But is that really my responsibility?
I spend a large amount of my time finding my own answers and positivity through meditations, reading, writing or whatever. I do all that just so I can send it to someone else when they need it? When did I become the supplier of positivity to my peers?
I'm not angry, but maybe a little frustrated. I work hard to find a way to be optimistic and not let the hard world fuck with my soul and mindfulness. Then I just divert that energy to someone not myself. I have the right to preserve that hard earned energy for myself, don't I?
In all this I've realized we are not really looking for answers or help when we go to someone without intent of maintaining or taking action to the advice given to us. We are simply in need of someone to talk to, vent to or bitch to. We simply just want someone to know we are in pain because to keep it inside is too much and talking it out to ourselves is considered crazy.
I wrote all of this after a frustrating day. I wasn't going to turn it to a blog, until I found the message in it all.
We all give advice and we all ask for it. There is no right or wrong to it, I simply felt selfish last week. Don't ask for answers you're not going to use. At the least let the idea rattle your brain. And don't ask me to lie to you; if you ask my advice, it's going to be the truth, painful or not.
All that being said, of course I should share my positivity. We all should. We're allowed to be selfish and it's ok to be. However, the rule of life is to give without expectation of receiving. So, yes, I should give my positivity back to the world that gave it to me. Whether or not it listens or takes is out of my control.
Also, my positivity doesn't come from my searching alone. It comes from those around me who love me enough to listen to me vent, bitch and ponder. We all have motivators.
Last week, I went on holiday with my best friend. We climbed Mt. Emei for 23 miles and 12 hours. Ninety-five percent of the hike was stairs. After hour seven the first day I was convinced my body could go no further. G pushed me, though. He pushed me all the way to the monastery we stopped to sleep in at hour nine. He made sure I rested every 10 minutes, drank water, ate some fruit and also that we didn't stop long enough for me to get cold. He just kept saying, "You're doing great. We're almost there. You're amazing. We're past the point of pain, just push." I of course was cursing him the whole way. This will sound dramatic, but I swear to God I'da never reached the Golden Summit without him. And not once did he get frustrated or aggravated at my weakness, he used what little energy he had to make sure I pushed my limits and made it to safety. So on day two, when he was exhausted from day one, I sucked it up and pushed his ass through the freezing cold, much shorter hike of four hours to the top. His giving of positivity was 100% selfless. So you see, there are many ways to share our positive energy. And we shouldn't exert it to those undeserving, but we should give the opportunity for all. I'm no longer struggling in life, but I sure as hell remember the ones who got me through it.
The phrase, 'Smile, because you never know who's having a bad day' isn't an exaggeration. And be kind because you never know what a difference it can make. I'm no motivational speaker, and I'm damn sure not Little Miss Sunshine, but I do keep my eyes and ears open for moments to bask in or share positivity.
This blog may be a bunch of rambling nonsense to most of you, but I hope I was able to make a semblance of a point here.
