So, I went to the mall today and took a look around Urban Outfitters. The things it sells are really cool, but there are just some things that irk me about it.
First off, the people who shop there shop there to look like they shop at a thrift store. Why not just shop at a thrift store? You can buy the same kinds of things for a fraction of the price. Which leads me to my next topic: people don't shop there to look like they shop at thrift stores; they shop there because they want to be associated with the title indie.
Many of the people that shop at that store are wannabe indie snobs. At least indie snobs actually know about indie things. It's like when Sarah Marshall calls out Aldous Snow in "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" about the mixed meanings of his tattoos. Aldous Snow has a modest amount of contradictory tattoos on his body, and during his fight with Sarah Sarah pointed this out. I understand Sarah when she yells, "And you know what? Let me tell you something about these tattoos, okay. That is Buddhist, that is Nordic, that is Hindu, that's just gibberish. They are completely conflicting ideologies, and that does not make you a citizen of the world, it makes you full of shit!" That is what the indie posers are... full of shit. Then again, aren't all the posers.
I'm not saying that I am the god of indie, but like with every other fad in the past people try to fit in to them. And, as for the jerk indie people that think they are better than others just because they are indie, screw them. Me liking indie music is just like my friend liking rap. It's what we like and there are no rules we have to live by simply because we like the music.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Let's Begin
I was driving back home from my SAT this morning, listening to my ipod through the stereo, when I had the urge to be sad. "Well this is odd," I thought, but I did start to entertain the idea that something was wrong. My friend's grandmother is a psychologist, and I had a talk with her last weekend that made me think about a lot of things-- maybe it was starting to hit me. I almost let out a tear. "What was that?" And so began to think. Good thing the drive home is a long one.
"Why would I be sad?" To call me stoic is an understatement. My demeanor is a paradox, really; I smile and laugh with who I could call friends and I do take school seriously, but I don't care about these things. I already know this nonchalance is a problem, but what did it have to do with my sadness? Then I fixated on the words of the song in the background. I started taking Adderall because I tend to let my mind wander-- it's probably a defense mechanism for my insecurities. Well, I wasn't really listening to the song lyrics; I was focusing on the title, "Caring is Creepy." I liked the title a great deal this morning, but something about it was eery on my way back home. And then I began to think about myself.
I was disliking myself, hating myself even, because I realized that I don't know how to feel. And then I linked this absence of caring to love, and what I want it to be: I didn't see the face of the girl I wanted to love, I just slight freckles under the eyes and on the nose, like me, and eyes that don't judge-- someone that I could just sit down with and not say a word and not feel the need to say a word. Finally, I cried. It was only a few tears, but I even surprised myself.
I have always been geared to do the job, to accomplish the goal. Make A's, do well on your tests, don't disappoint me! But, I have never really made myself happy. That's not to say I don't like my A's or accomplishing "my" goals, but I most certainly am not getting the kind of pleasure out of it that someone who loves doing those things gets. I am sad, and I do not know what it feels like to be happy.
Snap out of it. And I was watching the road again, though not really paying attention to the cars around me but to the music, again. "Slow Hands" by Interpol was now on, and I wanted to hear my favorite song from that album, "Public Pervert." I found the lyrics interesting before, so I wanted to grasp onto something familiar; I needed a totem.
"If time is my vessel then learning to love might be my way back to sea." Spontaneously, I became happy. Naturally, I wanted to be happy after being so sad, so I instinctively did what needed to be done. Instead of thinking about how hard my proposed love will be to find, I began to think about how I could go about making it happen. I don't know how to show my feelings, but I can practice it in my head, even if in my head there wasn't much showmanship anyways. I imagined being at a party on the beach with unfamiliar faces (a small private school is not the best place to re-invent oneself). I began to think, inside this imagination, about what I would do if I didn't want to be around the commotion of the party and just wanted some time to myself. What would I do, what would I do? And then I saw a girl sitting in the sand, looking out over the sea to the slightly setting sun, thinking about nothing, really; just being satisfied that she was just sitting and watching the sun set. Nothing bothered her, but nothing made her happy either, and I was drawn to her, so I went to sit next to her. "What do I say now?"
Back to reality. I had no idea what I would say; moments like that are so private that there is nothing to say, but you have to say something when you meet a person for the first time doing something like that. Let's reverse the roles.
I re-imagined being at the party on the beach with unfamiliar faces. I thought again about what I would do if I didn't want being around the commotion of the party and just wanted some time to myself. I wasn't mad at the people around me making their rehearsed, superficial small talk like I normally would have been, but I didn't feel like being in the scene. So I walked off and sat in the sand on the shore, looking out over the sea to the slightly setting sun, letting the cool water glide over my feet. Then, a girl sat next to me, looked at me and smiled, then turned to feel the sea with me, the only "real" thing there.
And I don't know what happens next. But, the idea of such happiness made me smile. I thought a little about how I should have reacted after that; somehow text her using the phone number I never asked for, what our intimate moments would be like. But, I was, for a few minutes, happy.
I had an epiphany today; I realized that I am sad because I don't think anything is "real." Because I don't think anything is "real," I don't care about the outcomes, because "it never really important anyway." I need to learn how to recognize when something is real so that I can then care about it. And right now, what's most important is that I need to recognize that my need for happiness is what is most important. I know that in my current state love is a long shot, but I need to have goals (again with the paradoxes), right? Once I learn how to care about my happiness I will be able to learn how to love. But, I now know that if I learn to care about making myself happy I will be a better person, and if I learn to love, well then I'll be the happiest person I can be. So, if time is my vessel, then learning to love might be my way back to sea.
"Why would I be sad?" To call me stoic is an understatement. My demeanor is a paradox, really; I smile and laugh with who I could call friends and I do take school seriously, but I don't care about these things. I already know this nonchalance is a problem, but what did it have to do with my sadness? Then I fixated on the words of the song in the background. I started taking Adderall because I tend to let my mind wander-- it's probably a defense mechanism for my insecurities. Well, I wasn't really listening to the song lyrics; I was focusing on the title, "Caring is Creepy." I liked the title a great deal this morning, but something about it was eery on my way back home. And then I began to think about myself.
I was disliking myself, hating myself even, because I realized that I don't know how to feel. And then I linked this absence of caring to love, and what I want it to be: I didn't see the face of the girl I wanted to love, I just slight freckles under the eyes and on the nose, like me, and eyes that don't judge-- someone that I could just sit down with and not say a word and not feel the need to say a word. Finally, I cried. It was only a few tears, but I even surprised myself.
I have always been geared to do the job, to accomplish the goal. Make A's, do well on your tests, don't disappoint me! But, I have never really made myself happy. That's not to say I don't like my A's or accomplishing "my" goals, but I most certainly am not getting the kind of pleasure out of it that someone who loves doing those things gets. I am sad, and I do not know what it feels like to be happy.
Snap out of it. And I was watching the road again, though not really paying attention to the cars around me but to the music, again. "Slow Hands" by Interpol was now on, and I wanted to hear my favorite song from that album, "Public Pervert." I found the lyrics interesting before, so I wanted to grasp onto something familiar; I needed a totem.
"If time is my vessel then learning to love might be my way back to sea." Spontaneously, I became happy. Naturally, I wanted to be happy after being so sad, so I instinctively did what needed to be done. Instead of thinking about how hard my proposed love will be to find, I began to think about how I could go about making it happen. I don't know how to show my feelings, but I can practice it in my head, even if in my head there wasn't much showmanship anyways. I imagined being at a party on the beach with unfamiliar faces (a small private school is not the best place to re-invent oneself). I began to think, inside this imagination, about what I would do if I didn't want to be around the commotion of the party and just wanted some time to myself. What would I do, what would I do? And then I saw a girl sitting in the sand, looking out over the sea to the slightly setting sun, thinking about nothing, really; just being satisfied that she was just sitting and watching the sun set. Nothing bothered her, but nothing made her happy either, and I was drawn to her, so I went to sit next to her. "What do I say now?"
Back to reality. I had no idea what I would say; moments like that are so private that there is nothing to say, but you have to say something when you meet a person for the first time doing something like that. Let's reverse the roles.
I re-imagined being at the party on the beach with unfamiliar faces. I thought again about what I would do if I didn't want being around the commotion of the party and just wanted some time to myself. I wasn't mad at the people around me making their rehearsed, superficial small talk like I normally would have been, but I didn't feel like being in the scene. So I walked off and sat in the sand on the shore, looking out over the sea to the slightly setting sun, letting the cool water glide over my feet. Then, a girl sat next to me, looked at me and smiled, then turned to feel the sea with me, the only "real" thing there.
And I don't know what happens next. But, the idea of such happiness made me smile. I thought a little about how I should have reacted after that; somehow text her using the phone number I never asked for, what our intimate moments would be like. But, I was, for a few minutes, happy.
I had an epiphany today; I realized that I am sad because I don't think anything is "real." Because I don't think anything is "real," I don't care about the outcomes, because "it never really important anyway." I need to learn how to recognize when something is real so that I can then care about it. And right now, what's most important is that I need to recognize that my need for happiness is what is most important. I know that in my current state love is a long shot, but I need to have goals (again with the paradoxes), right? Once I learn how to care about my happiness I will be able to learn how to love. But, I now know that if I learn to care about making myself happy I will be a better person, and if I learn to love, well then I'll be the happiest person I can be. So, if time is my vessel, then learning to love might be my way back to sea.
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