I think I'm finally realizing how much love surrounds me. In my grandmother's tearful prayers, I see love. In my friends' telephone conversations as I commute home from work, I see love. In my brother's ever-ready loans, I see love. In my dog's eager, ever-playful eyes, I see love. In my former manager's comments, I see love. In my solitude, when a text of well-wishing comes to the screen, I see love. In my mother's calls, no matter how many times I ignore them, I see love. In my best friend's understanding gaze, I see love.
I am just now realizing how much love surrounds me. And I am so, so grateful.
I hope that I can express my gratitude, sooner or later.
Showing posts with label musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label musings. Show all posts
Words
Words are empty, so bite your tongue. If your plans do not include your actions succeeding your words, keep them to yourself. Bite your tongue, your words are useless to me.
Deserving Love
"We accept the love we think we deserve." - Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
So what do we do if we do not believe we deserve it? Do we reject it? Run from it? Hide from it? Push it away? Or do we go along with it, hoping that one day we will wake up feeling worthy and in the mean time, pray to God that the one giving us their love doesn't give up.
Questions, questions, questions, and as always, so few answers.
So what do we do if we do not believe we deserve it? Do we reject it? Run from it? Hide from it? Push it away? Or do we go along with it, hoping that one day we will wake up feeling worthy and in the mean time, pray to God that the one giving us their love doesn't give up.
Questions, questions, questions, and as always, so few answers.
No Control
The past several weeks have been the most random and absurd weeks of my life, leading me to the conclusion that I have absolutely no control over my life. I can plan, and make lists, and run my little schemes, and think I have everything under my thumb, but in a split second, it can all completely change.
I have no control. And I'm okay with that. These past several weeks have taught me how to breathe easier and be more accepting to my circumstances, whatever they may be. I'm rolling with the punches, taking things as they come, and hoping, praying for the best. Because there's not much else I can do. And so be it.
I have no control. And I'm okay with that. These past several weeks have taught me how to breathe easier and be more accepting to my circumstances, whatever they may be. I'm rolling with the punches, taking things as they come, and hoping, praying for the best. Because there's not much else I can do. And so be it.
Culture Cravings
I have never been especially in tune with my Ukrainian heritage - as a child detesting Saturday morning Ukrainian school, resenting learning the language, pleased that my features are more "American" than Slavic - but I've noticed that, at random times, I experience what I can only call culture cravings.
Growing up, at school or in the community, I never associated myself with "the Russians" (as all Slavics were lumped under one label) because they were an embarrassment. They dressed funny, talked funny, almost always had a poor reputation of being shady, judgmental, and haughty. They looked down at Americans, refusing to accept the fact that by immigration, or for many even by birth, they themselves were Americans. They disgusted me and I didn't want to be associated with them but in rejecting these specific people and their specific flaws, I rejected the entire culture.
But now that I'm so far removed from it, I miss it. I didn't fully realize it for a while, but I would find myself actually speaking Ukrainian to my parents when they called (as opposed to English, how I usually conversate with them) or listening intently to the documentaries in history class when they interviewed Russians or Poles, wanting to catch just snippets of a familiar dialect. When Angela came to visit in the fall, it was so refreshing to watch Everything is Illuminated and laugh at the jokes, to flow between languages in a conversation (because sometimes you just need a good "аж ну" or "ти шо, з дуба впав?"), and yes, I'll admit, to actually cook vareniki. It just felt nice. It felt nice to be near something that is so familiar, something that I never would have imagined that I would find myself missing.
I call these feelings "culture cravings" because I don't know what else to label them. I'm surrounded by a predominantly white American student body, in which the average person knows a single language, and sometimes, it just gets tiring. My tongue randomly gets tied up and I want to blurt out a Ukrainian phrase but no one would understand, or I find some Slavic joke or comparison amusing but no one would get the reference. I find myself craving culture - my culture, the culture that I spent so many years rebelling against and rejecting.
I guess this is what is called growing up.
Growing up, at school or in the community, I never associated myself with "the Russians" (as all Slavics were lumped under one label) because they were an embarrassment. They dressed funny, talked funny, almost always had a poor reputation of being shady, judgmental, and haughty. They looked down at Americans, refusing to accept the fact that by immigration, or for many even by birth, they themselves were Americans. They disgusted me and I didn't want to be associated with them but in rejecting these specific people and their specific flaws, I rejected the entire culture.
But now that I'm so far removed from it, I miss it. I didn't fully realize it for a while, but I would find myself actually speaking Ukrainian to my parents when they called (as opposed to English, how I usually conversate with them) or listening intently to the documentaries in history class when they interviewed Russians or Poles, wanting to catch just snippets of a familiar dialect. When Angela came to visit in the fall, it was so refreshing to watch Everything is Illuminated and laugh at the jokes, to flow between languages in a conversation (because sometimes you just need a good "аж ну" or "ти шо, з дуба впав?"), and yes, I'll admit, to actually cook vareniki. It just felt nice. It felt nice to be near something that is so familiar, something that I never would have imagined that I would find myself missing.
I call these feelings "culture cravings" because I don't know what else to label them. I'm surrounded by a predominantly white American student body, in which the average person knows a single language, and sometimes, it just gets tiring. My tongue randomly gets tied up and I want to blurt out a Ukrainian phrase but no one would understand, or I find some Slavic joke or comparison amusing but no one would get the reference. I find myself craving culture - my culture, the culture that I spent so many years rebelling against and rejecting.
I guess this is what is called growing up.
Stuck in a Dream
I feel so stuck in this life. I want nothing more than to be sitting outside some quaint, little cafe, enjoying the warm sunshine and the cool breeze, listening to jazz. I want to be alone or with one of my few friends with whom I can talk about the real things, things that actually matter and stimulate introspection, not just the colloquial, inconsequential things that tend to domineer conversations these days.
I'm currently reading Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald and it's - good God, it's beautiful. It's as if his pen was bleeding beauty and emotion itself. It is just so bewitching and elegant and smooth - it makes me feel like I belong in a different era.
It makes me feel like an old soul, yearning to be back in the times of the roaring twenties, the jazz age, but instead I'm here. I'm here in the midst of hip hop and pop culture and societies that have lost the understanding of beauty, in regard to all things.
I feel so fed up with the world around me at times, with the attitudes and standards and beliefs that dominate our communities, all I want to do is run away. It is not like my desire to escape, but a different sort of running. The kind where I eventually find a place where true beauty, creativity, intellect, conversation, hope, and happiness reside.
Hopefully I will find this place one day, and hopefully you'll be right there with me, by my side. But I guess in the mean time, I'll be stuck in a dream.
I'm currently reading Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald and it's - good God, it's beautiful. It's as if his pen was bleeding beauty and emotion itself. It is just so bewitching and elegant and smooth - it makes me feel like I belong in a different era.
It makes me feel like an old soul, yearning to be back in the times of the roaring twenties, the jazz age, but instead I'm here. I'm here in the midst of hip hop and pop culture and societies that have lost the understanding of beauty, in regard to all things.
I feel so fed up with the world around me at times, with the attitudes and standards and beliefs that dominate our communities, all I want to do is run away. It is not like my desire to escape, but a different sort of running. The kind where I eventually find a place where true beauty, creativity, intellect, conversation, hope, and happiness reside.
Hopefully I will find this place one day, and hopefully you'll be right there with me, by my side. But I guess in the mean time, I'll be stuck in a dream.
Find Your Own Faith
When it comes to Christians, few are more aggravating than those who live as blind sheep, following some distant shepherd, trusting his or her every word, every creed, and never trying to learn things for themselves, never trying to find their own convictions. Humans were given minds with the mental capacities to consider, deduce, and decide things for themselves, and if only, if only they would actually use them. Your beliefs, your values, your praises and condemnations - all worthless if they are nothing but echos of another voice. I am not saying that you should disregard everything you have been taught, everything you have perhaps been brought up in, but please, for the love of God, at some point in your life, detach yourself from it all - and just think.
In the words of John Stuart Mill...
"He who knows only his own side of the case, knows little of that. His reasons may be good, and no one may have been able to refute them. But if he is equally unable to refute the reasons on the opposite side; if he does not so much as know what they are, he has no ground for preferring either opinion. The rational position for him would be suspension of judgment, and unless he contents himself with that, he is either led by authority, or adopts, like the generality of the world, the side to which he feels most inclination. Nor is it enough that he should hear the arguments of adversaries from his own teachers, presented as they state them, and accompanied by what they offer as refutations. That is not the way to do justice to the arguments or bring them into real contact with his own mind. He must be able to hear them from persons who actually believe them; who defend them in earnest, and do their very utmost for them. He must know them in their most plausible and persuasive form; he must feel the whole force of the difficulty which the true view of the subject has to encounter and dispose of; else he will never really possess himself of the portion of truth which meets and removes that difficulty. Ninety-nine in a hundred of what are called educated men are in this condition; even of those who can argue fluently for their opinions. Their conclusion may be true, but it might be false for anything they know: they have never thrown themselves into the mental position of those who think differently from them, and considered what such persons may have to say; and consequently they do not, in any proper sense of the word, know the doctrine which they themselves profess."
(From his On Liberty - whoever said that nineteenth century political philosophy was irrelevant to everyday life? ;) )
If it is faith that you need, or want, find it for yourself.
In the words of John Stuart Mill...
"He who knows only his own side of the case, knows little of that. His reasons may be good, and no one may have been able to refute them. But if he is equally unable to refute the reasons on the opposite side; if he does not so much as know what they are, he has no ground for preferring either opinion. The rational position for him would be suspension of judgment, and unless he contents himself with that, he is either led by authority, or adopts, like the generality of the world, the side to which he feels most inclination. Nor is it enough that he should hear the arguments of adversaries from his own teachers, presented as they state them, and accompanied by what they offer as refutations. That is not the way to do justice to the arguments or bring them into real contact with his own mind. He must be able to hear them from persons who actually believe them; who defend them in earnest, and do their very utmost for them. He must know them in their most plausible and persuasive form; he must feel the whole force of the difficulty which the true view of the subject has to encounter and dispose of; else he will never really possess himself of the portion of truth which meets and removes that difficulty. Ninety-nine in a hundred of what are called educated men are in this condition; even of those who can argue fluently for their opinions. Their conclusion may be true, but it might be false for anything they know: they have never thrown themselves into the mental position of those who think differently from them, and considered what such persons may have to say; and consequently they do not, in any proper sense of the word, know the doctrine which they themselves profess."
(From his On Liberty - whoever said that nineteenth century political philosophy was irrelevant to everyday life? ;) )
If it is faith that you need, or want, find it for yourself.
Happiness
Everybody is searching for something to believe in, something to live for, and there seems to be a general consensus of what we're all trying to reach: happiness. Money, relationships, education - all worthless if when you're in bed at night, on the brink of sleep, and you're miserable.
Happiness. An abstract idea, but more so a destination; a destination that can be reached through many routes. My happiness will be different than yours, but if they happen to at some point intertwine - that's wonderful. That's wonderful and magical and beautiful. And if not, so be it. But that's not to say that we still can't walk side by side and share our lives.
Happiness. To succeed in making it a constant state of being would truly be a great accomplishment. But in the meantime, search for the little things. The little, everyday things that make your heart smile.
Get a puppy. Drink more coffee, drink more tea. Read a marvelous book. Watch your favorite movie. Write a little. Sing a lot. Give a pretty girl a flower. Give a cute boy a kiss. Go on a hike. Swing dance. Savor the sun on your skin, the wind in your hair, and welcome the rain when it falls. Ride a bike. Eat something new. Find your faith. Love yourself - your mind, your body, your soul. Stop finding fault where there is none, and change your perspective. Run. Find your passion and envelop yourself in it. Connect with a friend on a deeper level. Go someplace new. Love and let yourself be loved. Just live. Live and keep living; you're bound to find something that brings you joy.
But in your search, do not become selfish. Do not become self-absorbed and self-centered. Remember that sometimes you have to sacrifice a part of your happiness, a part of your sanity, a part of yourself for the ones that you love, to help them find a piece of their happiness. And in time, they'll do the same for you. Love and let yourself be loved.
Happiness. A daily and life-long goal for each of us.
Best of luck to you.
Happiness. An abstract idea, but more so a destination; a destination that can be reached through many routes. My happiness will be different than yours, but if they happen to at some point intertwine - that's wonderful. That's wonderful and magical and beautiful. And if not, so be it. But that's not to say that we still can't walk side by side and share our lives.
Happiness. To succeed in making it a constant state of being would truly be a great accomplishment. But in the meantime, search for the little things. The little, everyday things that make your heart smile.
Get a puppy. Drink more coffee, drink more tea. Read a marvelous book. Watch your favorite movie. Write a little. Sing a lot. Give a pretty girl a flower. Give a cute boy a kiss. Go on a hike. Swing dance. Savor the sun on your skin, the wind in your hair, and welcome the rain when it falls. Ride a bike. Eat something new. Find your faith. Love yourself - your mind, your body, your soul. Stop finding fault where there is none, and change your perspective. Run. Find your passion and envelop yourself in it. Connect with a friend on a deeper level. Go someplace new. Love and let yourself be loved. Just live. Live and keep living; you're bound to find something that brings you joy.
But in your search, do not become selfish. Do not become self-absorbed and self-centered. Remember that sometimes you have to sacrifice a part of your happiness, a part of your sanity, a part of yourself for the ones that you love, to help them find a piece of their happiness. And in time, they'll do the same for you. Love and let yourself be loved.
Happiness. A daily and life-long goal for each of us.
Best of luck to you.
safe
Your words, they sounds so sweet
telling me terrible tales of truth
inviting me to believe, to partake
and I do.
Oh your honey-stricken words,
I could get lost in their smooth sounding songs, in your sighs
speak to me stranger, lover, friend -
I'm hanging on to every breath you breathe.
Take me, move me with your tales
even if they're not true
especially if they're not true
spin me those soft soothing whispers, surrender your mind and your musings
and don't fret darling
they're safe with me, beside me
we're safe here.
telling me terrible tales of truth
inviting me to believe, to partake
and I do.
Oh your honey-stricken words,
I could get lost in their smooth sounding songs, in your sighs
speak to me stranger, lover, friend -
I'm hanging on to every breath you breathe.
Take me, move me with your tales
even if they're not true
especially if they're not true
spin me those soft soothing whispers, surrender your mind and your musings
and don't fret darling
they're safe with me, beside me
we're safe here.
Late-Night Early-Morning Questionings of a Scrambled Mind
What is life? What is this existence that we so dearly hang on to? What does living, truly living look like? What is death? What goes through one's mind right before they pass over? What is the passing?
What is love? What is hate? Why do we hate, when they deserve love? Why do we love, when they deserve hate? What does loving your neighbor as yourself look like? What does loving your enemy really mean? Why does love make one do crazy things? How is it possible for love to change a person?
What is laughter? Why do we laugh? Why do we cry? What is crying, really? What is sadness? What is happiness? Why do both cause our eyes to leak? What is the difference between happiness and joy? What are emotions, anyway? Why does one thing make Jack feel this, but Jill feel that?
Why do you always want what you can't have? Why are people drawn to things that are bad for them? Why do we remember what we wish to forget, but forget what we need to remember? How are people so alike, yet so vastly different? Why do my questions differ from yours? Why are there so many questions, but so few answers?
Why am I not asleep?
What is love? What is hate? Why do we hate, when they deserve love? Why do we love, when they deserve hate? What does loving your neighbor as yourself look like? What does loving your enemy really mean? Why does love make one do crazy things? How is it possible for love to change a person?
What is laughter? Why do we laugh? Why do we cry? What is crying, really? What is sadness? What is happiness? Why do both cause our eyes to leak? What is the difference between happiness and joy? What are emotions, anyway? Why does one thing make Jack feel this, but Jill feel that?
Why do you always want what you can't have? Why are people drawn to things that are bad for them? Why do we remember what we wish to forget, but forget what we need to remember? How are people so alike, yet so vastly different? Why do my questions differ from yours? Why are there so many questions, but so few answers?
Why am I not asleep?
Real Talk
What happened to the art of conversation? Real, true conversation. To being completely open and honest with a person, to verbalizing all that you're feeling, even if that means allowing yourself to be vulnerable? What is everyone so scared of these days? Why are we so scared of being deep, so scared of being "politically incorrect," so scared that we might offend another by simply being honest, so we resort to superficial, insignificant chatter? And from the other side, why are we so ready to jump on someone if they so much as say a single word that rubs us the wrong way? Why can't we just give them the chance to get what they need to get out, and then take things from there? Why are we so scared of honesty?
Because we are well aware of the fact that honesty, that the truth is not always appealing. We are so comfortable with things always being sugar-coated; we don't know how to deal with the hard stuff, the real stuff. And that is our short-coming. We fear things that shouldn't be feared, things that could be building us up, bringing us closer, as opposed to tearing us apart. But we're too scared to let that happen. Because that would mean bringing down our defenses and being vulnerable. And God forbid that ever happens.
I hope that one day we will grow out of this need for comfortability and learn to be real with one another. Maybe then we'll finally start getting somewhere.
Because we are well aware of the fact that honesty, that the truth is not always appealing. We are so comfortable with things always being sugar-coated; we don't know how to deal with the hard stuff, the real stuff. And that is our short-coming. We fear things that shouldn't be feared, things that could be building us up, bringing us closer, as opposed to tearing us apart. But we're too scared to let that happen. Because that would mean bringing down our defenses and being vulnerable. And God forbid that ever happens.
I hope that one day we will grow out of this need for comfortability and learn to be real with one another. Maybe then we'll finally start getting somewhere.
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