The Social Ineptress

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I want to be able to listen to people as if they are the only person in existence. I want to be able to listen to opinions different to mine and give them due consideration. I want to be well informed about the world around me. I want to be able to study a little every day and be the student I know I can be and reach my academic potential. I want to be loved and seen, really seen for who I am and accepted regardless. I want to live and travel and broaden my mind. I want to read… about everything! And oh god, I want to understand and see, really see things. I want to find joy in life. I want to fill this black hole inside me. I want to love and enjoy people, observe them and help them. I want to pursue my inquisitiveness. Remain curious. I want to love the person that I am. I no longer what to be disappointed in myself. 

365 Post Challenge: a retraction

Let me just acknowledge the elephant in the blog and admit that I, like politicians, am not averse to reneging on publicly declared promises. Anybody who knows me can tell you that I like making impossibly (for me, anyway) grandiose declarations to delude myself into feeling temporarily better for that week, day, hour or whatever unit of time a particular doomed enterprise supposedly requires. 

I keep choosing to live in a hideous cycle of generating fantastical dreams - or maybe ‘delusions’ is a more apt description - which are inevitably crushed by the reality of me. The 365 post challenge is an excellent a case in point. 

The awful truth is, I hate the reality of me. I prefer the now routine derision and disappointment in myself following the burial of a ludicrous dream because I know that facing the reality is going to be much worse. But I can’t keep going on like this can I? 

On headphones, public transport and being cool

I’m sure you’ve seen these people before, you know, the ones with the large headphones in either electric colours, sedate black or pure white? They can usually be found at your closest form of public transport, looking (in my opinion) intimidatingly cool and exuding an aura of music-all-knowingness. 

If you saw me on the other hand, you would find a constantly fidgeting commuter with a tendency to dart puzzlingly intense stares at those in her immediate vicinity. Constantly fidgeting because all the ear phones I’ve owned have never seen fit to carry out their job description and stay in my ear. And the puzzlingly intense staring because I’m paranoid that people can hear what I’m trying to listen to and are silently judging me. Especially the savvy, headphone wearing music gods. 

All this idol worship came crashing down however when I bought a pair of headphones after firing the current earphones in my employ. You see, because I no longer had to order my earphones back to their stations every other minute and no one could possibly hear what I’m listening to unless I set the volume ear splittingly loud, I (remarkably) exhibited the same outward traits as the music gods; the classic brooding stare out the bus window while being insulated within an invisible but undeniable bubble of cool. Inside this bubble though, I was silently singing along to a selection of Disney’s greatest hits I had playing. I am 20. 

Now I can’t look upon my fellow headphone-wearers with my previously felt awe and envy. I keep picturing them all secretly listening to The Gospel Truth (Hercules) or I’ll Make a Man Out of You (Mulan) or For a Moment (Little Mermaid II) or One Jump Ahead (Aladdin) or…

Why is there suffering?

So I was at Mass this evening when the priest tried to tackle the above question. I guess I could say I was riveted by his homily, intrigued as to how he will answer it. But in reality? I was, as ever, practicing my I’m-really-bored-and-want-this-to-end-but-I’m-trying-not-to-show-it face. Now I’m usually pretty adept at keeping the face in place, but then he said something which not only caused my face to drop, but also contort into shocked incredulity. Apparently suffering originally came into the world because of the sins of our ‘former parents’, i.e. a throwback to the concept of original sin.

Good God, really?! To be honest, I don’t actually understand the point of the question. I feel that people aren’t really asking for the immediate reasons behind suffering (for which answers usually exist, tragic randomness probably being the hardest to accept) so much as asking if there is some preordained plan for which suffering forms a defining and therefore essential chapter. And this is what I feel is so… well, narcissistic or naive. Is it really so hard to accept that painful things happen without there being some prize at the end for going through it?

Does it really make sense to explain away suffering, which may be due to geopolitical, economic and cultural reasons, personal agency or even tragic randomness*, by some grand plan that God has for you? I can understand how this grand plan concept gives a sense of security and comfort, but I feel this is akin to sticking your head in the sand and avoiding the root causes of suffering. It seems too trivial and an all encompassing answer for a question which has many, many faces and requires just as many answers.

*These are just a few that my uninformed and ranty mind has thought of, I’m sure there sadly more, many more. 

3/365

Home

My home is the 454 bus route I take to work and uni. This hour long journey where I stare out the window, lulled by the familiar urban scenery.

Home is the cultural centre bus stop from where I cross the bridge to the city, walking towards the panorama of light that is Brisbane city’s modest skyline.

Home is South Bank cinemas, where I vicariously live through the stories I see on screen.

Home is my cousin’s (and/or best friend) house, where I find peace, friendship and reassurance.

Home is our TV room where my sister and I watch an eye straining amount of movies in the quest to join the hallowed ranks of movie buffs. 

Home is a library, any library, where I can always seek and find comfort.

Finally, home is my room where shades of grey prevail. 

2/365

365 post challenge

A while (or is it awhile?) ago, I posted a humble yet ambitious list of things I wanted to become or accomplish. Since then, a little and a lot has happened. A lot in the sense that I’m no longer in a turbulent whirlpool of anxiety, disillusionment and self reproach topped off with a fear of failure. My head space has cleared enough so that instead of fighting to keep my head above water, I can swim forward and be reasonably optimistic that I might actually generate some momentum.

‘The destination?’ You ask. Well, that’s where the ‘little’ comes in. You see, when my mind sometimes drifts in this direction (does the use of ‘direction’ interfere with my metaphor?) I like to tell myself that the fog up ahead keeps visibility to a minimum and that I can only be sure of the path immediately in front of me. Of course, I know deep down that all I need to do is flash my torch light (the handy one on my mobile) in front as I go to get a clearer picture. But, well, you know what they say about ignorance and bliss. 

I’m rambling I know, but I do have a point. 

The point: One of the things on the list was to ‘be consistent’. I wrote it first because it was the most important to me (the others are in no particular order).

You see, I can do things, sometimes I do them well enough to live off the glory for as long as I can stretch it, but I never do anything consistently. It is as if whatever I had previously accomplished was a fluke, a few aberrations in a life of mediocrity. Simply put, this inconsistency makes me feel like a fraud. 

Seriously, if you graphed my academic record thus far, it would look like a highly irregular electrocardiogram (heart beat graph) of a person who then dies. 

So, thus, hence, therefore. Whatever. In order to learn this skill, I propose to myself a(n original) post a day challenge. As anyone with even a cursory glance at my tumblr can attest, this will be… different. 

1/365

I love sleep. Sleep is an easy escape from everything that you’ve always wanted to run away from. Sleep helps you rest and recover and doesn’t force you to think about anything. Sleep may be for the weak. But it sure is hell something greater than reality sometimes.

(Source: cocolocomoccho)

A moment in a shopping centre.

You sit in one of many comfy blue couches and sink into its leather embrace staring all the while at the people bustling around before, below and above you. You marvel at the constant motion and feel exhausted at the sight. Each person is in their own world, with their own problems, walking to where they need to be; oblivious to others doing the same. It’s the physical symphony of industry and consumerism. 

Picking out a book,The Great Gatsby, you start reading it. Marveling at the notions of illusion and reality put forward by Scott Fitzgerald you remark in your head: ‘this is so relevant!’ Then remember why it is and refrain from that mental path.

You look at the clock, it has only been eight minutes but decide to go home anyway. Bag packed, you join the motion of people that you were staring at, becoming one of them. Losing all individuality and going to where you need to be, in your own world, with your own problems. Oblivious.