My Dad

An illuminating conversation with my sister this break led me into an equally interesting revelation:

My father is still smarter than I give him credit for.

Now this shouldn’t be as surprising as it is, really, but at some point we all reach that stage in our lives where we have, not begun to question our parent’s intelligence and our childish belief that they know everything, no, but that we’ve questioned it for so long we actually begin to believe we know more than our parents. I don’t mean in that teenager “I know everything and my parent’s just don’t understaaaaand meeee”. I mean in that adult “I’ve grown up and yes they know more about some things but some of their beliefs are so backwards (and sometimes prejudice) that I take their knowledge with a grain of salt”. After all, these are productive times and every generation will struggle to understand the newer. We know this, we accept this, but sometimes it comes to be that your parent surprises you.

So this holiday I discovered the beauty in a revolution. A breaking of boundaries and an acceptance of sorts.

To give some back story, I had as a child, listened to my father talk of how I could be friends with a black man but never marry one, and that homosexuality was the greatest sin a person could commit and firey hanging death was all that one who practiced such a disgusting lifestyle could deserve. It is truly a testament to my mum that I not only didn’t take these ideas to heart but I actually describe as a bisexual now.

So it was an interesting conversation to have with my dad now along the lines of “so, how’s it going? Any boyfriends? Any girlfriends?” a couple years back.

My heart froze and then decided to jump apart into itty-bitty pieces and leap around my chest in confusion as electricity sparked through my brain turning me deaf, dumb and stupid. My ears were roaring, all I could think was ‘what, what, how did he find out, who told him, how does he know?’. So of course my only response after several agonizing far-too-long seconds of pause was “N-no. Nobody.”

I don’t exactly remember much of the conversation after that. There wasn’t much, just a brief goodbye, love you, the usual but heaven forbid I actually remember the words. All I could do after I hung up the phone was sit there, frozen, thinking ‘he knows’. Followed by ‘so nonchalant... he... doesn’t care?’. An unbelievable thought for me. How could he not care after that long rant as a child. Firey death and damnation, hell and torture, drawn-and-quartered and left for the buzzards (well, okay, not quite that bad, but he did actually state they should be burned at the stake, a rather impressionable statement to make to a child of maybe five or six). My father, the most backwards, prejudiced, homophobic man I ever knew (apart from my grandfather of course and that’s likely where he got it) didn’t care.

Now this would have been enough of a revelation but this holiday I was given another. According to my sister he had said a similar thing to her a few years back and of course, being straight as a board, her reply was flippant “girls? Dad, you know I’m straight” an answer I, of course, couldn’t give.

So my dad didn’t even know, he was testing the waters and had managed to outmanoeuvre me. The tricky bastard.

Add this to the fact that I’m so used to my Facebook being clogged with everyone’s status updates I’m used to people’s updates being lost in the fifty-million other updates I get, I had actually managed to successfully forget I had my stepmother on Facebook and she only knows 77 people and gets every update I make. Which as of late has been more gay-pride of late my dad and stepmum made the, absolutely correct but damned if I thought they’d ever realize it (then again it was prolly my stepmum cause god knows my dad’s not the sharpest tool in the shed and my stepmum’s the brains of the operation, I kid I kid... kind of), assumption that I am not entirely straight.

I’m going on the presumption that my dad has figured out I’m not 100% gay though considering I’ve still gushed about guys with my sister.

So yeah. Also, I actually had a conversation about my dad about his ideas on homosexuality. My stepmum has two friends who are together and gay and dad said he was civil and whatnot. Thing is, my dad is still a proper Christian. His answer has basically defaulted to, homosexuals can live as they like but they will answer to God in the end. Thing is, he doesn’t mean this in a cruel way anymore. No, it’s more of a “I don’t know if it’s wrong or right and it’s not up to me to decide, it’s up to God, I don’t personally like it but I will tolerate it”. But then he still thinks God will judge me. My dad thinks I’ll go to hell (or his idea of hell, not mine). “No I don’t. Or I hope you don’t. You’re a beautiful person and I think God will see that. I’m just not sure. It’s what God decides and we can’t know.” A very Agnostic view actually. That we can’t know. We don’t know and we won’t know until the end comes. I must be rubbing off on him.

I know this doesn’t sound like much to some people. In fact to some it still sounds as though my dad thinks “God thinks it’s wrong” but that’s not it. I know my dad. He has actually looked at something he full-blown hated before and went, “well I don’t like it, but it’s not my business”. My dad has done what thousands of religious zealots cannot. He’s looked at homosexuality and decided he still doesn’t like it, doesn’t understand it, thinks it’s weird, but it’s God’s decision, God’s love and God’s mercy and judgement.

I mean compared to his earlier ideas of “burn em”, holy shit, this is like him walking up to that gay couple and hugging them.

After years of agonizing, not being to tell my dad I’m bi, afraid he would find out and kick me out and hate me forever and we’ll never speak again, I have actually had a conversation with my father where he’s said to my face “I don’t get it, and I don’t understand it, and I don’t accept it, but it’s your life and your choices, I love you anyways and as for the other homosexuals, well, whatever, I won’t avidly seek them out, but I don’t hate them, God will decide their fate”.

I mean yeah, he won’t be going to Pride Days any time soon but he’s decided to take this part of my life and, while not wholeheartedly accept it, he’s gone “meh, all right, love you anyways, you’re my baby and that’s all that matters”.

That’s enough for me. :)

...

Also, he’s fine with the Agnostic bit too. Says that though he’s accepted Jesus Christ as his Lord and Saviour (yeah he’s a little preachy, I still love him to bits), it’s not for everyone and that God (or whatever) is still there for me (I think he’s mostly just happy I still have some faith).

So in the end, it’s up to God.

...

Who woulda thunk it? (Though heaven forbid I actually straight up say I'm bi. Hilariously enough we still have never had this conversation through all the revelations... I have no idea how this has happened. That's my family I suppose. Having revealing and in-depth conversations on a subject you will never actually label. *Snort*)

How Things Work (A Short Story)

If I told you it was a dark and stormy night, well, then I’d be lying.

I have a tendency to do that sometimes. I suppose all authors do. They do it to tell a good story. If you’re introducing something as mysterious, mystic, magical and other various words starting with ‘m’ it seems more important. I’m sure these other 'm' words are wonderful and all that but alliteration doesn’t always fit the bill so more words are necessary. Words such as dark, dangerous and deadly.

Alliteration is ever so much fun. Useful as well. It adds a sense of poetry to otherwise dull, dreary and mundane reading. Sometimes after alliteration has been used and people have built up expectations using two similarly starting words and one not-so-similarly-starting word is fun.

Crushing expectations. Also fun. I hope you’re writing this down. Or at the very least saving this copy for future reference. What you read here may very well save your life someday.

Or possibly not. It’s difficult to tell. Foresight is not like hindsight: in it’s very fun and well-known use in what is my modern day colloquialism but may in fact not be yours: “hindsight is 20/20”. 20/20 being a standard of perfect eyesight in this day and age, though with some people having 30/20 vision, this means their vision is better than perfect. This is impossible you would think. Not in this day and age however. In eyesight, 20/20 is majorly the norm, therefore it’s what we consider perfect but you can be better than perfect. You can, if you’re special. Since people seldom are special however, we set our standards for normal and anyone above the majority of the population is special... Well, anyone below it is special too, though for far different reasons and meanings.

This might explain most people near-crippling sense of insignificance and their ensuing near-crippling attempts to fix this through boasting and general all-around ass-ery.

Anyways, I dither. In fact, foresight is not 20/20, if we consider foresight in normal standards, foresight would be less than 1/20. Foresight is difficult, foresight is annoying and 20/20 foresight would require an absolute perfect sense of the future that would alter accordingly to the decisions you make because of such knowledge.

So yes, foresight is a difficult thing.

I appear to have dithered in a dither. How amusing. Anyways, this information may not save your life.

I have dithered in a dither in a dither and so on and so forth. Resuming my original topic:

It was not a dark and stormy night. In fact, it was bright, sun-shiny and generally all-around chipper and cheerful. Happy birds singing and squirrels happily crunch-a-crunch-crunching on nuts and berries and whatever the hell else squirrels eat. Interesting fact, flying squirrels will eat small birds. Not so cute and adorable now are they? Also, squirrels attack chipmunks. So fuck the squirrels, love the chipmunks. They’re nicer. Not that the chipmunks don’t fight back... Whatever, in the end chipmunks are smaller so at least if the chipmunk turns on you it’ll have smaller teeth with which to try and gnaw your fingers off.

Ahem, so ignoring the squirrels vs. chipmunks conundrum, it was an absolutely gorgeous day. Just perfect. You should have been out sunbathing in it instead of doing other silly things (such as reading this blathering on of pointless randomness).

...

That’s all I really had to say. Nice day and all that.

...

There’s nothing more to this story. I wonder why you’re so surprised. After all, it’s labelled as a “short” story not a “this will make sense” story or “this has a point” story...

Were you expecting more?
Well as I mentioned earlier, crushing expectations is fun.
Enjoy.




P.S. Actually, this story does have a point. It shows how a mere mentioning of the weather can spawn a conversation. A relatively pointless and useless conversation, but a conversation all the same. So it’s really not that difficult. Set whatever you’re doing down, get up and strike up a random conversation.

After all, all conversations are generally random until you get to know a person and can have intelligent conversations. So go talk to someone, blather on about something pointless and maybe at the end, you’ll have derived some meaning from it.

Just like I did. This point I mentioned was completely unintentional at the time of writing and was only noticed afterwards.

So I suppose there still really isn’t a moral or point. With this realization however, comes another, that maybe all that analysing and work you put in to making books and poetry have a theme, a meaning, a reason, maybe it’s all nonsense. Maybe it’s just all drivel and drabbling and babbling on (not alliteration but I gave you a rhyme). Maybe it’s just like this. There was no point, until there was one. Until one was made up.

Go make up your own points. Nothing actually has to have a reason. Nothing has to have a meaning. Stop over-thinking. Just write.

Go on.

Do it.

I dare you.






P.P.S. Can also be relabelled as "What the fuck am I on, why can't I write actual stories and not blather on and make no fucking sense, what the fuck is wrong with me, I'm pretty sure this is what happens when you don't sleep enough and decide to try and write something short and pointless at stupid-o-clock in the morning when you have to be up and you're honestly bat-shit crazy, off your fucking rocker, off the deep end and this proves it you very weird, very disturbed woman (A Short Story)".

Introspection

I haven't posted in far too long, so I'm basically posting the strange little stories that come to me when I'm half-asleep/half-awake. These are all saved under 'Introspection' but I felt maybe I should've given them titles? At least something to break them up. But titles weren't really appropriate for all of them, so...

Also, I don't pretend to be an English major. So I don't expect this to make sense in the way of poetry writing, or in the way of actual storyline. If some don't make sense, well, they're part poetry, they're not *supposed* to.


I have dreams sometimes
Dreams where my words flow like rivers and meld like melted chocolate
Dreams where what I want to say, need to say, have to say, are said and are said in such perfect prose that the world kneels in awe at my collaboration of consonants
Vowels may exist, they may not
Egyptians didn't need them after all, and they live forever through history
Words float and drift like prismic bubbles and they never ever pop, each one perfect and necessary and *there*
Each reaches the ears of the masses and passes through the brain and melts on the tongue like crystallized honey
Every single syllable a medley of textures, of harmony and of flavour so beautiful the world weeps
Salty tang of tears that feed my muse and sometimes turn my words to sorrow, unending, yet still...
Everything
My words are perfect, flawless, unending and *there*, no stuttering or stammering, no sharp halts of dissonant screeching like freight trains crashing in the night
No real life
Just sheer utter perfection
I have dreams sometimes


I stand in a river, rocks under my feet, molecules between my toes
Phosphorescent moonlight spills sparkling rays upon me,
I am made a backdrop on the water
For moments I am an inverted angel, archangel, nothing but shadows
Surrounded by light. The only connection to it and me the ripples that merge us two for brief moments

I stand on a mountain, higher than the highest heights and I wonder if I fall, should nothing break my fall, will I reach the ground?
Splatter into individual molecules, or will velocity and resistance simply
Vaporize me?

I stand in a golden field and am reminded of you
Bright hair, shining of sunlight molecules and starlight gleaming
Long as unending oceans, eyes as dark and giving as the soil beneath my feet

You are beauty and you are perfect
And you are my first stirring of love between two young girls
Though many years before a recognition of what it was; never admitted to you of course
I do not presume to presume, but I do fervently believe of feelings unmutualized

My fingers thread through honeysuckle dew and wheat
Remind me of early happier times of childhood play where my fingers ran through your hair instead
Simple silly messy braids of my making
But I would continue all day if I could have

Start, stop, undo, begin anew, brushing every snarl and tangle created by my hands
I never could touch your perfection and not spoil it
But could not help myself either
For again and again I begged to touch, to tease, to love

There is no shame till years and wisdom and others shame
Created my own complex feelings of terror
Emotional overload unexperienced before
That swamps the simple unhindered childish love and bogs it in despair and restraint

I long for that childhood
That time of innocence

But we've aged, boundaries upon boundaries between us
Still terror, still fervently belived unmutualism
I will never admit, never confess
My childhood friend lost through time
Lost sooner if in confession

So silence
Silence
To give me time to revel
Now time to deny
No possibilities
No hope

In my dreams, I find you again, you and courage unknown,
And for hazy sunlit perfect moments, I run fingers through honeysuckle-shining wheat
And drown in kind soil and am content

If only. If only.

Regrets and Beliefs

I find myself with regrets on a fairly frequent basis. I'm sure most people do. However, I would like to state something.

If you truly believe what you say, don't regret saying it.

If you truly believe what you've done is right, don't regret doing it.

If you truly, honestly and whole-heartedly believe in something and then later discover new information, something that makes you think differently, something that makes you change your mind. Guess what? You're allowed.

Don't regret changing your mind. Everyone does.

Don't regret saying you'll do something and then later discover you don't have the time. Everyone is busy.

Don't regret speaking your mind. Even if it leads to an argument, it means that you're making people think about their feelings.

Accept that sometimes you will never be able to change someone's mind. People will not always hear you and the lightbulb will not always flick on.

Accept that people will not always say "I understand now! And I accept your opinion."

Accept that people will not always accept your opinion.

Accept that you will not always accept someone else's opinion. However, try to do so.

If someone will not accept you, then let them go. No matter how good a friend is, they aren't worth the effort if they won't take you as you are.

If someone makes you feel bad about yourself for your opinion, let them go. Not everyone is as good a person as you think they are.

Accept that people are different. Due to beliefs, opinions, preconceived notions, past history, whatever... No one will ever think the same way as you do and therefore will never completely understand you unless they've experienced the same things you have. Sometimes, they will have experienced these things, but handled them differently. It happens. Everyone deals with things differently.

Accept that someone will know what you're talking about but still might not understand.

Accept that people may dislike you or even hate you for who you are. You can't change the world. You can try your damndest but there will likely always be someone who believes you aren't good enough.

Believe you're good enough.

Believe in yourself. Always. Don't doubt yourself. Or doubt, but do so knowing that this doubt is because of a new insight, or a different opinion, not just because someone says "you're wrong".

When the world says your wrong, sometimes they instead, will be wrong.

Accept that sometime you will be wrong. Though don't regret being wrong. People are wrong all the time. If you believe something and someone says you're wrong and proves it? Then accept this and move on.

Fight for what you believe in but accept defeat graciously.

Accept yourself. Believe in yourself. Accept *and* believe in yourself. You are your own special unique self. Don't change because someone tells you too. Change because change means growth.

Accept that all these things are a helluva lot easier said than done.

Not everyone will believe in you. Some will belittle you because you are different. Revel in this difference and *believe in yourself*.

You know yourself the best after all. Who better to accept all of you then the one who knows you best?

*Believe in yourself*!

And try your absolute best not to regret.

...Accept sometimes that you will regret but still try. You'd be surprised what you can do if you will only try.

Listening to: 'Confidence' - Elvis

Being Poor (Or Not, But It Doesn't Matter Anyways)

So a friend of mine linked this on her facebook: Being Poor And it got me thinking, I'm pretty damn lucky.

Not that I'm not already aware of this, but a reminder is always a good thing. So let me elaborate:

People in this article were commenting some of their own experiences with being poor, my friend being one of them.

Now I have to admit, I don't think I've ever been truly poor, but it got me thinking, and I have a few additions, even if they aren't nearly as bad as some others.

Being not-quite-so-poor is hoping you can find a plastic bag in your house so that when you go to the food bank, you don't have to use the paper ones and have your friends tell you "You don't need to use the food bank! It's for people that need it! You have a job. You use the food bank? Why?" yet again and making you feel ashamed and embarrassed, like you're taking food from other people's mouths that must be more needy than you.

Though I will admit: Being not-quite-so-poor is a friend who maxes her credit card on things she doesn't need and then says you have so much money just because you were able to get groceries.

The problem with just skimming the edge of poor is that people make you feel horribly guilty when you use a service for the needy just so that maybe this month you can buy a decent set of shoes, or hairbrush, or just even some ice cream. Because then you feel as though, well, if I can afford to splurge on this I can't be that bad. Why am I still using the service? I'm stealing from other people! Even though you've eaten cheap pasta all this week.

So, if you're wondering why I still use a food bank? Here's my reason.

Being not-quite-so-poor is knowing you have money but feeling horrible any time you spend any of it, because you didn't have money before and now you owe your *step*father your entire residence fee. And wishing you could pay him back... You just can't now and it make you want to cry (scratch that, actually makes you cry) because he's one of the best things that's happened to your family and you can't find the words to thank him (you really can't), or the money to repay him (and knowing that even if you could find the money, he likely wouldn't accept it, seeing as he's already refused it once).

I knock absolutely no-one for being on OSAP, but you don't have to tell me how lucky I am that my family helps me. I'm well aware of this already. I'm not ungrateful. And sometimes it would be nice that those on OSAP would remember that my family's help has a limit, just like the government's. So maybe I have a bit of spare cash now, but I have it with the knowledge that my family sacrifices for me, I sacrifice for me.

Just because I'm not on OSAP doesn't mean I have any more (or less really) money than those that are. And this means that while I have money in my bank account, I will still use the food bank, because a few dollars saved here, will be more to give back later.

Also, you don't have to be on OSAP to use the food bank. For that matter, I owe you no explanation if I use the food bank and you have no right to say I shouldn't use it and make me feel guilty. I went through guilt-trips all of last year (and still do occasionally) for using a service that is meant to help me and make me feel better.

Maybe I have a job, maybe I don't. Maybe I have two jobs. Maybe more. It doesn't really matter. Because I've seen a few people on OSAP with the mindset of "I don't have to pay it back now so I can buy whatever I want". And I've also seen more than a few people who are well-aware that this is government money and that they have to pay it back. Anything I receive from my parents is the same.

Just because I'm not on OSAP and my family is helping me doesn't mean I don't understand what it is to look at your bank account, at how much you're spending, and put away the healthy food. Put back the good-quality meat and grab the cheaper not-so-good/okay/bad meat. Not buy fresh veggies and fruit because frozen is cheaper and just as good right now. To thank god your sister bought you a bicycle so that your hour and a half/two hours walks are now shortened exponentially (the time taken off dependent on how fast you peddle and how long before your lungs fill with phlegm because maybe you *could* afford a puffer or allergy meds, but no, you can't, you can't waste your money when you can do without so that you can pay them back).

Ignore the fact that I'm sure my mum would smack me if she knew I was skimping on things I could use (but I can live without, therefore I do). I can't do it. I can't spend money that I know I have if it means there's a little extra next time to help with the cost of school next year and they won't have to pay as much. I feel guilty.

I sometimes wish I had gone on OSAP. Loans and all, I believe the depletion of guilt might actually help.

So if you see someone you think is "so well off" carrying one of those large brown paper bags? The ones you know come from the food bank? Or carrying clothes not from Zellers in a Zellers bag (from salvation army)? Or just in general see someone buying something cheap? Don't judge. It's not up to you to decide how this person should live, you don't know how much (or how little) they have. The person you see out for dinner every couple of weeks may be eating ramen noodles (because kraft dinner is too expensive) every other night just so they can splurge on that meal (and then feel horribly guilty about it to the point where they stay up all night feeling sick for spending money on something so stupid as good food).

And if you are like me, on that fine line of well-off and poor? Don't ever, ever feel guilty for utilizing services meant for the poor. Everyone has their needs and if using the food bank means getting good shoes (that will last longer) this month? Then do it. Don't be ashamed to admit that you need a little help this month, this week, today. Don't let anyone ever tell you you don't need these services. You know exactly what you do and do not need. If you passed your midterms and decide to get bread at the food bank so you can get some ice cream today? Then that's okay.

Very often we forget, that just because we're a little better off than the next person, that we still need help sometimes too.

Something I've Realized:

In our society full of freaking everything; out of every commercial or advertisement that promises a dependable, flawless product, the most reliable thing I will likely ever own? Is tweezers.

I've had mine for years, they have always done their job and the chances of them breaking in the near or even far-distant future is even *less* than slim-to-nil chances.

Is it odd that the most reliable thing in my life is tweezers? Not really. Everything you buy nowadays, you buy with the presumption that it will be broken sometime in the near future. Maybe a few days, a few weeks, months, years, but eventually, you expect it to break. However, when was the last time you broke a set of tweezers?

I'm not saying it doesn't happen, I'm sure it does, but short of doing it intentionally, I have never heard of someone breaking a set of tweezers.

Strange how in this world, the most unbreakable thing I can think of are tweezers.


Odd thought: Why are they called a set or pair of tweezers? Same with scissors. Or pants. Generally, something that comes in pairs can be used separately, but none of these can (well, maybe you can still use the scissors to cut stuff, but it'd be pretty damn inconvenient).


Listening to: 'Santa Claus No Sora' - Aria the Animation

I've never watched this show but the song is damn pretty.

Falling In Fall

Falling in Fall
Sweet sacchrine Kisses
Like spun Sugar
Like spiders Webs
Of glistening Silk
Glitters in the Morning
Love shines like a Firefly Flickering
Falling in Fall