So I'll admit it: I jumped on the bandwagon. A little late, as usual, because I hate fads. But it became too prominent to ignore. (Just like how I boycotted Facebook at first and then gave in and fell victim to all its curses.) So I went to see it. Inception. Your own dreams hijacked by your enemies, who then begin to dream within your dream, then a stranger starts to dream within his dream within your dream, and so on. I admit, it is a concept very few people have enough imagination to think up. And I get why it blew people's minds...because the movie itself blurs the line between reality and imaginary. And you walk out of the movie theater, among the throngs of people, feeling like the top that is still spinning as the movie ends, unable to pick your head up out of the quicksand that makes you so aware of your own existence. Here I am, walking, but how do I know this is real? What would happen if I acted like I would in a dream? Why am I me, and how do these other people possibly relate to who I am? And then your head is spinning so much with self-awareness that you think your "mind is blown" by the genius of the movie. But the makers of Inception were not the first to think this idea up. It is hardly novel. Edgar Allen Poe said it poetically: "all that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." For centuries humans have wondered whether this life was really it, or whether there was a greater, more real reality waiting for us after death. (So we may need all our gold and worldly possessions on the other side, please build me a pyramid and fill it with these things.) Buddhists believe in reincarnation then nirvana, Christians in an afterlife that is everlasting. It all emphasizes something after this. If this is just a dream, then we are all waiting to die and wake up to actual reality. How terrible and wonderful would it be to have a world that was more alive than this one? Greater pain, stronger memories, sharper senses, time moving in slow motion so you could feel every second...count each rain drop as it hit the skin of your scalp. Love and hate could easily possess people into frenzies in this other world, and everyone would be more tied to their kin. Humans would be able to outline other people's thoughts with a sense they didn't know they had. I am pondering life and death, so maybe my mind is "blown". But many other things could easily have done this. Religion, Literature, Discussion, Experience. Why does it have to be a movie, perhaps the least intense version of lesson-learning reality, that makes us all realize the possibility of impossibility? Why can't we all close our eyes, journey into our dreams, and map out our own reality?
Find Queen Elizabeth in NYC where she was visiting for the first time in 34 years, hopefully get a glimpse of her robes or, even better, a chance to say “Your Majesty,” and then go to the She & Him concert at Terminal 5 (that we bought tickets for weeks ago.)
Actuality: Reality is a cold, hard b*tch. Well, in this case, reality was sweltering in the summer sun, as Katie and I decided that it was way too hot a day to try to find the queen. And, to add to it, her agenda for the 5 hours she would be spending in the wonderful city were nowhere to be found. We temporarily considered camping out at the entrance to the UN, but decided instead to indulge in all the goodness of the Queen’s native country instead. Meaning, we went to the restaurant Tea and Sympathy. This is an adorable little place in the village that I read about, which has British food, traditional teas, and, most excitingly, British people working. It is small inside, but the walls are lined with teapots and teapot memorabilia. There was an extremely adorable display of teapot-shaped salt & pepper shakers (which Katie and I decided must go in the home we share with Giff someday.) There were pictures of the Queen we neglected to stalk and her beautiful relatives. There were books and doilies. And then there were the teapots…purple-flowered, pink-patterned, yellow-quilted, green-toilled. In the shape of a globe, a cat, a mitten, Henry the VIII’s head. Traditional, extravagant, conventional, Alice In Wonderland themed. It was wonderful. We had Quiche, Peach tea, and scones with clotted cream & jam (BEST INVENTION EVERRRR). I did have a small urge to try the finger sandwiches, but there is something about cucumber and cream cheese on white bread that just doesn’t sound good enough to spend money on. And we found a guy from Liverpool with the most delightful accent, and bought a Crunchie bar from him.
We then made the decision to find the apartment building shown in Friends, since my phone GPS said it was only 1.3 miles away, and we are devotees of the show. So we set off on quite an adventure. (Let me give a little history of Tara/Katie travels. You may not know Katie; she is a great human, but only an tolerable navigator. And I am the world’s worst map-reader, and my grandma-like memory doesn’t help. Then, when you put us together, we somehow get worse instead of better, always distracted by something lacey or someone cute. One time we set off for Brookhaven and ended up in Cold Spring Harbor. We have gotten lost at least 4 times coming home from Roosevelt Field Mall. One time we spent an hour trying to find a Taco Bell, our mouths watering with the thought of a Crunchwrap Supreme. We somehow managed to get lost trying to find the Pirates ride in Disneyworld, ending up in Toon Town. We so often have to call my dad for directions and help that he has taken to, every time he sees us, asking “Which one of you is Lewis and which one of you is Clark?”) This day was no different from the others. I attempted to follow the directions on my talking Droid phone, but ended up walking up and down Bleeker enough times for people on the street to begin to recognize us. A scruffy, scrawny guy passing on a bike hollered at us, as I puzzled at the street signs, “It would be easier to just ask someone for directions…” in an ominous manner that reminded me strangely of the smoking caterpillar from Alice’s tales.
But we were determined. Or, at least, I was being annoyingly dogmatic and dragging an exhausted Katie behind me. We were both dripping in sweat, with sore feet, and our hair frizzed more with each block. We considered asking a dumpy group of girls that seemed to be equally confused and trailing us if they were looking for the Friends apartment too, until we realized they spoke no English. After discovering a few used clothes stores, a great record shop, at least 5 places we must return to another day to eat, and one desperate stop for water, we found the place. It was unassuming and indistinctive and would have been unexciting if it weren’t for the triumph I felt at our success in finding it. Then we saw the group of girl tourists, going through the same burst of excitement we were. Actually, they seemed to have already gone through it, and were moving on to picture-taking and gawking. Yes, these non-English-speaking non-New Yorker tourists found the destination before we did. How humiliating.
But we took down our hair, shook out the sweaty locks, and posed for pictures anyway, like the troopers we are. So, we may possibly be the worst navigators on this side of the Atlantic. Yet whenever we get lost, we manage to find something wonderful. This time, many wonderful places, and a passerby who I swear to God was Ty Pennington from Extreme Home Makeover.
Daily Randomisms
Daily Excitement: On this city trip, after buying my Metro ticket in the subway, I clumsily dropped a handful of change. It went rolling across the dirty floor between tons of feet, all rushing to catch whichever train. Katie was already through the gate into the subway track, so I considered ditching the 50-something-cents on the ground for someone else to find. But, surprisingly, people began to stoop down, helping me to pick up my lost marbles— I mean— coins. At least four people handed me change before hurrying off. This one old man was stooped over, determined to help me get every last penny, even while his wife screeched over his head, “WE ‘AVE TO GOOOOO, MARTY, WE’RE GAWNA MISS OUR TRAIN!!!!” I admit, I had kind of lost faith in people’s goodness, and this situation temporarily remedied that.
Daily Annoyance: This heat. Seriously, I am melting here.
Daily Quote(s):
(upon entering the Landing pool)
“This water is soooo splashy! Did you add extra splashes to it, Miss Tara?”
-Thomas, 4-yrs-old, whom I teach swimming lessons to
(during “Ice Cream Scoops” drill, in which I make the kids at swimming lessons pretend the pool is a giant tub of their favorite flavor of ice cream and their hands are the spoons)
“Scoop the Spongebob ice creeeeeeam!! Uh-oh! Peepee on the ice cream!”
-a child which will remain unnamed
Trivia: One of JFK’s many woman, an actress by the name of Angie Dickinson, said her affair with him “was the best 20 seconds of my life.”
I will always be the kind of person who goes in the water at the beach. As much as I want to be able to lie languorously on a towel, taking in the sun with eyes closed, sipping a Pina Colada— some people’s true paradise— I cannot. The water pulls me to it, until I am so antsy to feel its cool rush that I cannot sit still. And I am drawn to people who feel the same way (oh, how I love my swimmers, still best friends after all this time), so I am seldom in the water alone. This is a good thing, because I am partially scared to be the only one out there. Maybe it is Shark Week’s fault, or maybe it is just somewhat frightening to be alone when you have water up to your chin and you can’t see your toes. But when someone else is with me, I completely forget this fear and fully embrace the rhythmic movement of the ocean. I remember when I was younger, after a full day at Robert Moses, lying in my bed at night and still being able to feel that motion cradling me to sleep. Not unlike when you really like someone and the relationship is new (the “honeymoon” phase, as some call it), and you can still feel their limbs tangled in your own.
Recently, on this idyllic beach in Aruba, my family ventured into the turquoise water multiple times. (And by “ventured” I mean sauntered out into the still water that was clear and warm as a bathtub.) At one point, we were all floating on our backs, holding hands in a chain. Yes, I am aware of how trite and corny this scene sounds. And yet, I couldn’t help savoring every swell of the water we rode together in this fashion. We finally let go, and I mayyyy have looked around hastily to see if anyone had been watching this shameless display of familial affection. But no one seemed to care, everyone in his/her own relaxing world (and maybe a bit too comfortable, for I saw multiple cracks slipping out of bathing suits that I had no desire to view.) So I let the white sand ooze between my toes as I swam back to shore.
The question is: where does this aquatic love stem from? I joke to people that it is because I am a Pisces, the fish sign (though I do not believe in astrology much at all.) This is also the reasoning I cite for not liking seafood: I cannot eat my own kind. People never think this is too funny, but it amuses me, so I continue to say it. Fellow swimmers have told me that our love of the water has some kind of scientific origin: as fetuses (feti would’ve been such a better plural of that word) we spent all our time in the amniotic sack (in liquid) before we enter this oxygen-filled world. So when we are in water, we are comforted, because we feel again as if we are in our mother’s womb. (I think I am getting this description right. However, I apologize for any wrong facts; for when people start to talk science, my brain often begins to think in poetry or a British accent…) There is, of course, the people that go in the water simply because it cools them off. Some do it for exercise and some because they are just influenced by others to go in. But I have come to think that maybe what we are drawn to so much is the consistency. The weightlessness it gives us, the way it holds our bodies and carries them, beyond our control.
As a society, we are rather obsessed with weight. As terrible as America’s obesity is, I am kind of tired of hearing about it. People (more so girls than guys) are constantly picking out their weight, a feature they want to change, or worrying about what they put in their mouth, because they know it will affect this infamous weight. I am not saying I am any different. I hate that it is something we must worry about.
There is also the emotional stress on us that so often feels like a physical weight. Our stressors seem to make our shoulders slouchier (is that a word?), our head heavier. So what would be better than something that takes our weight away? A substance so great, that it subtracts our unwanted baggage, leaving us to be, simply: our thoughts with a ghost of a body?
Daily Randomisms:
·Daily Excitement: Ging’ Binges (Ging’ pronounced like the first syllable of Ginger). This is when one hangs out with many red headed people at a time. Ex.) I was so excited when I was introduced to the term “Ging’ Binge”, because, at the time, I was hanging out with Kevin, Katie, and Michelle, so I was definitely on a Ging’ Binge.
·Daily Annoyance: Current Pop Culture. A few days ago I was in a record shop in Huntington, and was looking through the splendid collection of albums, wishing turntables were the norm. And I hear some middle-aged man come in and ask for a Jonas Brothers CD. Seriously. Among Houses of the Holy, some Bob Dylan, Arcade Fire, Revolver, Janis Joplin, The Joshua Tree, — he expected to find the JONAS BROTHERS??? You have no idea how close I was to breaking the Bob Marley and the Wailers album in my hand when the shop clerk said “Yes, they should be in the back left corner…”!!!!!!!!! Those Jonas Bros were there, tainting the beautiful array of music that I was looking through! I asked the guy working there about this, and he said, though it is sad, they have to carry that kind of stuff. “I wish we could only carry Bob Marley, though,” he said, as I paid. “Seriously, who doesn’t like Bob Marley?” he continued. That was an easy question to answer for me: “People who don’t have a soul!” He agreed.
But then I got to thinking (what’s new?) that maybe I shouldn’t judge. Should people be allowed to make severe music mistakes? After all, they may redeem themselves once they hear what else is out there. I mean, this may come as a shock to those who know me, but the first time I heard Led Zeppelin, I was opposed to them. (In my defense, I was young, and obviously very misguided by N’Sync’s annoying vibes.) And soon I realized how wrong I had been. Maybe the Jonas Bro-lovers will grow up to like Ricky Martin and Nickleback and be a disappointment. Or maybe, just maybe, they will hear “Bridge Over Troubled Waters” and fall in love with music, as it is supposed to be.
So I cooled off and decided to be less judgmental, and, hopefully, less annoyed.
·Trivia: Lyndon B. Johnson, in reference to JFK’s stud reputation, said, “I’ve had more women by accident than he’s had on purpose.” Obviously LBJ was a little envious of his Kennedy predecessor. Maybe he didn’t know that sometimes its quality, not quantity; in the words of JFK: “I’m never through with a woman until I’ve had her three ways.” Lovely.
You have your normal traffic obstructions: construction done idiotically during rush hour, that pedestrian that you have to yield to, an incident that causes rubbernecking (because so many people out there are just SO morbidly curious), stand-still traffic that seems to happen for no reason, people who don’t know how to drive in the rain. But then, occasionally, as a break to your weary road-sore eyes, you will get an amusing obstacle that makes you slam your foot on the breaks. And it is such a wonderful sight, you forget to be mad.
A week or two ago, my mom and I were driving up Middle Country Rd. past the Smith Haven Mall, and were passing Applebees when we saw people stopped and gawking at something. We quickly stopped the car, to see a mother duck and six baby ducklings crossing the double yellow line right past our car. The honking and streaming traffic soon confused them, and the mother about-faced and quacked to her babies (“Oh, my darlings! How could I have led you to this danger! This path is one filled with angry beasts on wheels!). As the went to return the way they’d come, people who thought they could finally drive almost squished them into the hot tar. People have no patience. I waited until the ducks were safe in the Applebee’s parking lot (safe-ish?) before driving away, and ignored the man in the car next to me screaming, “Oh, sorry to ruin your stroll out in the park!! I’ll eat you for breakfast next time!!!!” For once, I sympathized with birds.
Katie was driving me home the other day and we were turning by the Bull when we see this bald-headed guy in a purple PT Cruiser blocking three lanes of traffic to make a left from the right side of the road into the parking lot of the Oasis (our towns Gentleman’s Club…or whatever the nice name for a sleazy naked ladies joint is. Because, seriously, what gentleman would actually go there??). After succeeding in crossing the road after 5 full minutes of being perpendicular to traffic, he got out of his car proudly, like “Hey Smithtown! Yes, I did just interrupt your evening commute home so I could go inside and see girls young enough to be my granddaughter strip for me! I am proud to be a horny old man!!”
(Feel free to post any similar stories you have on comments! Especially if you’re Giff and you saw an old man lying in the road a few nights ago!)
Project Film Frenzy update:
· Dirty Harry (fantastic, minus the annoying music; Harry Callahan is a BAMF!!!)
· Easy Rider (kind of slow, really thought this movie would be better than it was considering it defined a generation of counter-culture…but Peter Fonda was good, the soundtrack was great, and the ending was powerful)
· Woody Allen’s Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex* but were afraid to ask (pretty funny stuff!)
Daily Randomisms
Daily Annoyance: Those stupid pop-up chats that come up when I am trying to watch the Office on tvlinks.com!! No, I am not that guy you dated in high school, Lelaine12x! I am sorry that you just broke up with your boyfriend but, frankly, I do not care! Because guess what? You’re not real!!!!!
Seriously, who clicks on those things? They make me ashamed to be a human.
Daily Excitement: I bought a LIFE magazine from March 15th (my birthday, aka the Ides of March, aka the Day Julius Caesar was murdered by his best friends, aka the day the Romanovs were killed) 1959 in a used book shop!! And it has Fidel Castro on the cover (all young, before he took office violently, when he was just a revolutionist.) Can’t wait to read the sexist 50s advertisements!
Possible Future Occupation: Reading Teacher/ Literary Tutor…boring? I am not sure, but I love to read, and help others to enjoy it, too!
Trivia: Lewis Caroll, the author of Alice in Wonderland, died a virgin. (This may have something to do with the fact that he was famously not interested with anyone who was not a 10-year-old girl.)
Daily Quote: Harry Callahan: “I know what you're thinking. "Did he fire six shots or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”
Ever since I saw Toy Story 3, I have been longing to take out my American Girl Dolls. I can hear them scratching at the insides of their trunks, begging for me to come and do their hair, I swear it! And somehow the universe knew this, because today an 8-year-old American Girl Doll fanatic showed up at my door. She was the daughter of a work associate of my mom’s, and I was told to entertain her. She seemed shy at first, but I should not have been fooled. The second I took out the dolls, it was like her voice box had been switched on. As she tugged on the beautiful hair of my Felicity doll, she would say ridiculously precocious things like “You know what’s weird? So many things are made in China. It’s not good” or “You know what’s strange? Sneakers were invented in 1892” or “Hey, did you know World War II started in 1944?” I usually like smart, interesting children, but, selfish as the kid in me can be, I wanted to play dolls. After she stripped all my dolls naked, she said, “You know what’s weird, Tara? The dolls don’t have butts!”
Needless to say, I did not get to set my dolls up for a Victorian tea party today. But I did get to get my hostess fix later on.
In honor of the fact that we planned to watch Driving Miss Daisy, I planned a Southern-style dessert for Kristin Emily, Katie, and Lissie’s friends. I squeezed lemons and blended strawberries to make Strawberry Lemonade, which I thought came out well for my first time making homemade lemonade! (As you can tell, I have little faith in my own domesticity. This comes from growing up thinking feminism is the only way, hence anything done in the kitchen is anti-feminist. I am not sure where I got this idea from, but I sure wish I never had it. Maybe then I could cook well!) I then attempted to make use of our excess watermelon, in making Watermelon Lemonade. This was far from successful, coming out as a pulpy, bitter mess. But I served it anyway…along with Key Lime Pie, Brownies, and cherries.
This all reminds me, I have watched two other movies to add to Project Film Frenzy:
·Being John Malkovitch (strange…I think I liked it…but it is hard to say)
·Driving Miss Daisy (which just further confirmed that Morgan Freeman is my hero…and strangely had little plot but was still fantastic, as Katie, Giff, and I agree)
Daily Randomisms
Daily Excitement: The Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows trailer came out today, which made me already feel the anticipation to see the next movie. However, as many of you know, they are putting out this last movie in two parts, and I am very afraid that the first part will be nothing but a lead-up to the final part. Most of the things shown in the trailer seem to be from the second half of the book, which makes me wonder what they will show in the first part of the movie at all…Harry sitting in a tent in the woods?
Daily Annoyance: Birds. For some people it’s spiders, for some it’s rodents; but for me, it’s birds. Ever since that seagull at Robert Moses Beach swooped down and stole the hot dog right from the bun in my hand I’ve hated those bastards. (And then the guy at the concession stand would not believe me, or give me a new lunch. I was only 12.) I’ve never even seen Alfred Hitchcock’s movie about those flying creatures, for fear it will make it worse. But, unfortunately, I have had quite a few run-ins with them lately: Lissie feeding swans from her dinner plate (shown in picture), my dad kicking sand at pigeons and throwing bread at gulls until they swarm us in the ocean, a rather annoying little bird who kept flying around my hair like I was a cartoon character who just bumped his head.
But, by far the best was the bird that had been annoying my dad as he sat outside with my mom. In trying to get rid of it, he fed it a Wasabi pea, hoping it would hate the spicy thing and leave, or, even better, explode and die like the pea was a Pop rock. (I really don’t wish death upon birds; PETA do not come after me, please.) But, instead, it enjoyed the pea and came closer, looking for more food. My mom went to get a drink, and when she came back the plate of Wasabi peas was on the ground, broken, with spilled peas around it. My mom looked at my Dad accusingly but he answered sheepishly “The bird did it!” and who knows if this is true. Finally, my mom had the idea to take her straw and spit Seltzer-water in the bird’s face, which did the trick and it flew off. She was so filled with pride at defeating the bird that she told Lissie and I this whole story, while grinning largely like a kid who just won a goldfish at a fair. (Yes, this is what my family talks about at dinner.)
Trivia: “Lady Gaga is inappropriate! She shows almost all of her boobies!”
-the 8-year-old I played with today…(she followed this statement with silence and then a question: “What does inappropriate mean?”)
Let me tell you a little about Project Film Frenzy. It is mainly compromised of my favorite people, sitting around and watching movies with me. Holy Cross is a bloody difficult school, and I needed a break now that summer had come and I did not start work for a few weeks. (Katie and I started this project about a month ago.) My idea of a break: watching movies and making jewelry, eating blueberries with cool whip and drinking 99-cent Arizona green teas, with my best friends. So that’s what I did. I decided, after careful consideration on how to attack all the wonderful movies I still need to see, to take on the Smithtown Library DVD collection. I have taken out many of their movies before, since they have a much more of the oldies I like than Blockbuster does (did you know that Blockbuster doesn’t even have The Breakfast Club?!). But there are still more I need to watch, so I am alphabetically taking out 7 movies at a time that I have yet to see/ really want to watch again. Here is what I have tackled so far:
·African Queen (Humphrey Bogart at his youngest, and least handsome)*
·Age of Innocence (based on the novel by Edith Wharton…good, but frustrating, as tragedies are)
·Aladdin (have obviously seen it a million times but I had to watch it again, to pay tribute to most of my childhood years in which I actually thought I WAS Jasmine…found it incredibly funny this time, especially how Jafar, (who Alli, Zach and I used to call “Jafart” when we played Aladdin when we were little) always called Aladdin “Prince Abooboo”)*
·Alice in Wonderland (both versions)
·Amelia (which wasn’t terrific but it revived my fascination with Amelia Earhart…SHE JUST DISAPPEARED!!!!!!)
·Anna Karenina (with Greta Garbo, based on the novel by Tolstoy that I have never been able to get through…but Garbo was great with her frequent head-back movements, and Katie loved this one most I think, partially because it brought us our new favorite word: “INSUPPORTABLE”)
·Apollo 13
·Bonnie & Clyde (Did you know Warren Beatty got 40% of the profits from that movie?? Craziness! Like he needed anything else when he’d already slept with half of Hollywood)*
·Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (Robert Redford and Paul Newman are such a good pair…Kate joined us for this one, of which we are extremely lucky, and I miss her greatly)
·Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (based on Tennessee Williams’ play…this was soooo good, definitely my favorite, Elizabeth Taylor was beautiful and Paul Newman was hotter than James Dean and Marlon Brando (circa A Streetcar Named Desire, not in his cotton-mouthed Godfather days…) combined!)*
·Choke (based on the Chuck Palahniuk book, which we rented to satisfy our beloved Giff who we have put through far too many movies that were not her type. She takes it like a champ, though!!)
·Ciderhouse Rules
·The Constant Gardener
·Diner
·Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (the version with Ingrid Bergman…Katie fell asleep in utter exhaustion but I enjoyed it)
*= You need to go rent this movie…immediately!!!
I will keep this blog updated with our progress; hopefully we can get through the alphabet by the time the summer is over!
Daily Randomisms:
Daily Excitement: British-ness. This is always an excitement for me. The monarchies, the scones, the literature, the accents. Don’t forget the idea for round tables, The Who, high society snobbery, and Churchill’s attitude. So much goodness has come out of that little rainy island.
Daily Annoyance: Thong Bathing Suit Bottoms on Family Beaches. I mean, really, is that necessary? Very few people want to see that. And then to rub oil all over your bottom and almost give the crotchety old man sitting behind you a seizure?? More unnecessary. So, lady-that-I-saw-on-the-beach, and all others sporting this form of nudity, please put your arses away. For the good of your countrymen (and countrywomen, of course.)
Possible Future Occupation: Writer for the NY Times Travel Section. I may have decided this was a good job for me because I was reading the Sunday Times and there was an article on Harry Potter World in Universal Studios. And the author of the article got to go to the park early with his family to write about it. And this might have made me so envious that I decided being a Travel writer is the only way to satisfy my wanderlust.
Trivia!: In his army days, JFK’s nickname among his peers was “Shafty.”
And I’m Still Laughing About: Menu item 19 at the Italian restaurant we ate at in Aruba read “Broccoli Rape.” I’m guessing it is supposed to say Broccoli Rabe (the disgusting broccoli-spinach combination). We asked the Spanish-speaking waiter how long they’ve had their menus, (and after being thoroughly confused about what “menu” meant, and going to ask another waiter, who then had to ask the hostess, causing a ruckus at our table) they said about 3 years. So we figured it best not to tell them of their written mistake, and let the rape remain…even though it sounds like a title of a Veggie Tales gone horribly, sickeningly wrong.
I am not sure how to start a blog, but here goes...
Part One: The Outer Shell
It will occur again…and numerous times after that. I will lose my identity. The days will get thicker and slower. I will retreat to that placating spot in my head. This place disconnects me from everyone, and so my outer manner will become harsh when people try to infringe upon my spot. You can blame this breakdown on stress, lack of space, or insomnia, but the veracity of the situation is…I have lost myself once more.
So my wandering soul leads me to the distinct smell of a library, rich with age and continuity. I will pick up a book, and fill myself with the pages, until I am part of its course. My own thoughts will be that of the story’s, and my short breaks, whether to consume a bowl of cereal absentmindedly or to grab a glass of water in my slippers, will be lived by a different me. I will be inhaled by the words, by their flow and by the figures that etch themselves into my memory.
Recently I was shown how severe this book affinity is:
Novel world: A character is found dead in the woods, right after teatime.
Real world: Engrossed in the story, I suddenly clasp my hands over the page in horror. My friend, observing me doing this, gets confused and taps me until I surface. Surface. Surface from those letters weaved into sentiments.
“What are you doing?” She squints at me strangely, worrying. I look up quickly.
“Dead body!! It’s Charlie!” My voice tells her, as my eyes itch to return to the page.
“Well it’s not like you can see it there. You are acting like you are covering your eyes in a gory movie scene.”
And it is probably better that she doesn’t comprehend. Because I know. Every fiber in my body knows, every miniscule part of me crunches and cringes at the terrible scenes, and relaxes and extends at the content ones. Though I am leaving my own reality, I am connecting my body to my disarray of thoughts. I can feel the trembling of their joining together. I continue to feel it…as the book is gripped in my hands, so tight, my nails make marks on the fragile paper shell of the story.
I can sense myself loosening as I reach the last few pages and my eyes race over the words. Though the adventure is over, I am excited to be done and return to an identity I now feel so instinctively: my own. As I place the worn book down, I feel exhausted and accomplished and full.
Words are bodies, tiny life-forms, craving identity just as badly as our centers crave identity. But sometimes an author, a significant genius, can string those beings together and give them more vivacity than truth itself. Only certain individuals will be able to revive the story. But those readers who can…it will save them. When they are clasping for definitions or anything steady at all, the book will draw them in and piece them together before they know they are taken by it. In this way, I am in my element when I am reading. I stream through words as though they are aqueous; they generate in me a power to trace the ink-scrawls back to myself. Again.
Part Two: The Middle Layer
I am sure many people see the inner workings of my moods, since I often speak my mind. I am aware of my greatest insecurities. Many people are not, I have gathered. I used to ask people I was close to what theirs were, and most of them said they couldn’t think of any, even if they had previously answered the “Are you insecure?” question with a “Yes”. Either these people are not in tune with themselves enough to admit the insecurities, or they are just afraid of what telling someone else will do to them. It sometimes feels that if I just say them aloud they will seem callow, and evaporate in the mist. When I was younger I would imagine them just disappearing one day. But they don’t. One’s largest insecurities…the ones that tug at the pit of our stomachs as we try to ignore them…are terrible.
I know that I am very fortunate with the life I have been given. Handed to me, since I was young, was everything I needed to survive very comfortably. Plus more. My family cares about me more than I could ever explain, and I know for this I am genuinely luckier than many people. And yet…there is a very large part of me that is not content. One day, I finally confessed this to someone, and they did not look at me in horror, but they replied, with a rather simple expression:
“Maybe what you have in your life…all the things that you think make you so lucky…are not what makes a person happy.”
I had someone whose opinion I respect greatly read this for me. But he took a long time, then made a slightly pained face.
“I don’t know,” he said. “You have to work on its readability.”
I like honesty and reality. But what I need is a trait that I can identify with. It may never be the amazing writer, but I just want to find it. I do not want reassurance. I don’t feel that I fit into the masses of kids that surround me. I do not mind this usually, but if I had a concrete identity, it would be easier.
Part Three: The Stable Core
I am Tara Elizabeth.
My life has not been unordinary, but I value it greatly.
I have been in love. I believe in it strongly.
I have been broken, but it seems foolish now.
I make wishes: on stars, on birthday candles, at 11:11, while tossing coins into fountains. It is always, without fail, the same wish…
I wish to be happy for the majority of my existence.
I am ever-changing, and that is what makes me who I am.
