I bought a new book today, "Fighting Spirit" the Bruce Lee biography. I don't really read biographies, I think it's boring. But 1) Bruce Lee is awesomeness incarnate, and 2) The quote on one of the first few pages struck me. It goes like this:
"If you always put limits on yourself and what you can do, physical or anything, you might as well be dead. It will spread into your work, your morality, your entire being. There are no limits, only plateaux. But you must not stay there, you must go beyond them. If it kills you, it kills you." - Bruce Lee
I've been told lately that my blog writing has become "weak." A statement which may have aggravated me in no small way several years ago. But now serves only to make me think, a little. I was also told "go and read better books." So I think Bruce Lee is a good place to start. But before I begin to delve again into the realms of philosophy of which I am sadly not all too adept, let me first continue awhile in the musings of a frightened little seventeen-year-old.
It's very easy to believe yourself or feel older than you actually are, specially in a day and age such at this. It's very easy to grow jaded because things you aim for and hope for and dream for never seem to materialize. Of course, impatience may play a part in the adding to the seemingly agonizingly long amount of time between dream and realization, but that's something for the discussion of another time. Tonight, I'll simply be me and talk about things I know of.
Let's begin, shall we? To be honest, this week hasn't been wonderful. Physically, mentally, emotionally. It's been like a great big typhoon sweeping through and picking all the pieces (broken and incomplete pieces, but pieces nonetheless) of my life and destroying the neat little piles I'd made up of them. Physically, I somehow strained my right shoulder at work on Wednesday, and it's been hurting ever since. It's still hurting now making bending over the keyboard a rather more painful experience than necessary. Mentally, I started a new job. And it's pretty much easy as cashiering jobs are apt to be. But there are certain duties I need to perform that take a certain amount of brain power and memorization. Compound onto the the mental anguish of useless band-mates and non-committed actors in Christmas productions and you get a pretty little mess.
Emotionally. Well, my emotions have always been a roller-coaster. Or at least since I turned about thirteen they have been. I was watching "Seven" yesterday. It's a Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman movie. And in it, Brad Pitt's character professes to "feed off his emotions." At the end of the movie, his wife is killed by the antagonist and her head sent to him in a box. Brad Pitt's character, "feeds off his emotions" loses his temper and empties his gun into the handcuffed and kneeling antagonist. Yeah. Pretty intense, huh? But it served to get me thinking. What would I have done in his place? Truth be told, I'd probably have done much much worse.
I've come to the realization, that I'm very bad at dealing with my emotions. Running away from and hiding them I'm very good at, but dealing with them is a different matter entirely. I remember when I was dumped three months ago, something ugly and huge and mean welled up inside of me. I was so blind with this primal emotion which was so much more than anger, or sadness. Something huge and terrible squeezing at my chest. I walked through Mid Valley not knowing where I was going, not noticing who I bumped into. I just clenched my fists over and over until my fingernails dug into my palms and made them raw. When I'm upset, I refuse to talk to anyone, I refuse to let anyone close enough to help me. I hide in my room and do things like post emo poems on my blog. Haha.
I used to wonder what it meant to have "hardened your heart." Never made any sense, cause it's like there was so much of me I wanted to give and never foresaw being different. But then, such are the dreams and hopes of children. I'm not trying to be the jaded old man, but after awhile, it just becomes easier to hide. Not let anyone in close enough to hurt you, because you simply are too afraid of the pain. Then, after awhile, even if you want to, you can't remember how to let people in anymore. And on the odd occasion that you do, you get hurt. And it becomes a vicious circle.
I realize that in many ways I'm still a child. Just because I don't give voice to my wants, just because I can pretend to accept not getting what I want, doesn't mean I want what I want any less fiercely than I did when I was ten. I cling to my airy fantasies, my melodramatic dreams with such tenacity, that having them unrealized is almost enough to break me over and over. But then again, in some ways I'm not a child anymore. Sure, my parents and elders have eaten more salt than I've eaten rice. But that doesn't mean I haven't eaten any salt. I know firsthand about commitment, and faithfulness to a person. I know that things don't come easy, that it's hard work and sacrifice until you get where you're going. I know that things don't always go our way and the only thing we can really do is suck it up and move on. But then, there's a great deal more of the child in me than there is of the man.
Truth be told, I like it that way. I never want to be so hardened by experiences and disappointments that I could give up on hope, or dreams. So concerned about being "grown up" that I can't cry at a good movie, or laugh as hard as I want and as long as I want even if other people don't think the joke is that funny. I know, just like everyone else in the world knows, that life sucks big time. I know that you don't get what you want, that people you love may not love you back the way you wanted them to, that some people use you, and others take you for granted. But knowing these things won't stop me from hoping.
It's very easy to believe yourself or feel older than you actually are, specially in a day and age such at this. It's very easy to grow jaded because things you aim for and hope for and dream for never seem to materialize. Of course, impatience may play a part in the adding to the seemingly agonizingly long amount of time between dream and realization, but that's something for the discussion of another time. Tonight, I'll simply be me and talk about things I know of.
Let's begin, shall we? To be honest, this week hasn't been wonderful. Physically, mentally, emotionally. It's been like a great big typhoon sweeping through and picking all the pieces (broken and incomplete pieces, but pieces nonetheless) of my life and destroying the neat little piles I'd made up of them. Physically, I somehow strained my right shoulder at work on Wednesday, and it's been hurting ever since. It's still hurting now making bending over the keyboard a rather more painful experience than necessary. Mentally, I started a new job. And it's pretty much easy as cashiering jobs are apt to be. But there are certain duties I need to perform that take a certain amount of brain power and memorization. Compound onto the the mental anguish of useless band-mates and non-committed actors in Christmas productions and you get a pretty little mess.
Emotionally. Well, my emotions have always been a roller-coaster. Or at least since I turned about thirteen they have been. I was watching "Seven" yesterday. It's a Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman movie. And in it, Brad Pitt's character professes to "feed off his emotions." At the end of the movie, his wife is killed by the antagonist and her head sent to him in a box. Brad Pitt's character, "feeds off his emotions" loses his temper and empties his gun into the handcuffed and kneeling antagonist. Yeah. Pretty intense, huh? But it served to get me thinking. What would I have done in his place? Truth be told, I'd probably have done much much worse.
I've come to the realization, that I'm very bad at dealing with my emotions. Running away from and hiding them I'm very good at, but dealing with them is a different matter entirely. I remember when I was dumped three months ago, something ugly and huge and mean welled up inside of me. I was so blind with this primal emotion which was so much more than anger, or sadness. Something huge and terrible squeezing at my chest. I walked through Mid Valley not knowing where I was going, not noticing who I bumped into. I just clenched my fists over and over until my fingernails dug into my palms and made them raw. When I'm upset, I refuse to talk to anyone, I refuse to let anyone close enough to help me. I hide in my room and do things like post emo poems on my blog. Haha.
I used to wonder what it meant to have "hardened your heart." Never made any sense, cause it's like there was so much of me I wanted to give and never foresaw being different. But then, such are the dreams and hopes of children. I'm not trying to be the jaded old man, but after awhile, it just becomes easier to hide. Not let anyone in close enough to hurt you, because you simply are too afraid of the pain. Then, after awhile, even if you want to, you can't remember how to let people in anymore. And on the odd occasion that you do, you get hurt. And it becomes a vicious circle.
I realize that in many ways I'm still a child. Just because I don't give voice to my wants, just because I can pretend to accept not getting what I want, doesn't mean I want what I want any less fiercely than I did when I was ten. I cling to my airy fantasies, my melodramatic dreams with such tenacity, that having them unrealized is almost enough to break me over and over. But then again, in some ways I'm not a child anymore. Sure, my parents and elders have eaten more salt than I've eaten rice. But that doesn't mean I haven't eaten any salt. I know firsthand about commitment, and faithfulness to a person. I know that things don't come easy, that it's hard work and sacrifice until you get where you're going. I know that things don't always go our way and the only thing we can really do is suck it up and move on. But then, there's a great deal more of the child in me than there is of the man.
Truth be told, I like it that way. I never want to be so hardened by experiences and disappointments that I could give up on hope, or dreams. So concerned about being "grown up" that I can't cry at a good movie, or laugh as hard as I want and as long as I want even if other people don't think the joke is that funny. I know, just like everyone else in the world knows, that life sucks big time. I know that you don't get what you want, that people you love may not love you back the way you wanted them to, that some people use you, and others take you for granted. But knowing these things won't stop me from hoping.
Someone I care a great deal about told me this, once: "Believing in the most unrealistic things, no matter how painful, is what makes you...you. Don't stop being you. Never ever."
Another person told me today: "I'm proud of you. If you can be rejected that many times and still do what you do, you're not stupid."
I was upset. I was hurting, and tired, jaded and weak. And truth be told, I think I still am somewhere inside. But where it counts, I'm simply me. True, I've lost sight of exactly who that is these days, but that doesn't stop me from being me. I love with all the fierceness of a brushfire, I hope and dream with the intensity of burning stars. And what I know is that, no matter how many times I'm used, taken for granted, put down, and rejected. No matter how much pain I'm in, or how jaded I feel or how disappointed, I will always believe in people. I'll always hold to my ideals.
I've been told I become too attached to people, that I give my heart away too easily, set it too highly on things and by doing so I simply set myself up for a world of hurt. And I have to agree, I do do that. Again and again, as if I'm stupid. But I know I won't stop caring for people. I won't stop looking after them, listening to their troubles, carrying their burdens. I won't stop loving them no matter how hurt I get.
I've been told I become too attached to people, that I give my heart away too easily, set it too highly on things and by doing so I simply set myself up for a world of hurt. And I have to agree, I do do that. Again and again, as if I'm stupid. But I know I won't stop caring for people. I won't stop looking after them, listening to their troubles, carrying their burdens. I won't stop loving them no matter how hurt I get.
Because:
"I cannot do everything,
but I can do something,
and so because I cannot do everything,
I will not hesitate to do the something I can do."
I can't love everyone. I can't rescue everyone. I can't even rescue myself. I can't care for everyone or protect everyone. But I can love some, I can protect and care for some. And so, because I can care for those few, I will not hesitate to pour my all into that pursuit. I firmly believe that when you pour your heart out to people you never lose. In the long run anyway. In the short run they break you, and hurt you, use you and hurt you. But the whole point is trying to see the big picture. I may not be good enough, but I know I'm good and that's all I can be.
And I always answered me. Or that I don't need looking after because I can do it on my own. But I lied. I was always looking for someone, always longing for someone to see that I needed looking after. And I thought I'd found her. Three times before, and a fourth time recently. Truthfully, I don't think I've let go of them all. The two most recent are still fresh and raw and hurt with a vengeance. I wanted to cry all day today.
But I've been working too hard at it, I think. Trying so hard to get someone to love me, trying to get her to love me, whoever she happens to be at the time, that I forgot to look after myself. So I suppose I'll be smart, and push aside the need for awhile and focus on me. It's like throwing a rock to hit lamppost and missing. Then getting annoyed and throwing it, not caring whether you hit it or not and getting it dead center.
So, I hope someone out there is looking for me. I hope that I'll meet that person someday and finally I won't have to worry about it anymore. I also hope she finds me soon. But in the meantime, the best thing I can do is look out for myself.
It's about me now, finally,
Jared
A good friend of mine always asks me: "You're always trying to be the hero. Always trying to save everyone, protect everyone, look after everyone. Well, who looks after you?"
And I always answered me. Or that I don't need looking after because I can do it on my own. But I lied. I was always looking for someone, always longing for someone to see that I needed looking after. And I thought I'd found her. Three times before, and a fourth time recently. Truthfully, I don't think I've let go of them all. The two most recent are still fresh and raw and hurt with a vengeance. I wanted to cry all day today.
But I've been working too hard at it, I think. Trying so hard to get someone to love me, trying to get her to love me, whoever she happens to be at the time, that I forgot to look after myself. So I suppose I'll be smart, and push aside the need for awhile and focus on me. It's like throwing a rock to hit lamppost and missing. Then getting annoyed and throwing it, not caring whether you hit it or not and getting it dead center.
So, I hope someone out there is looking for me. I hope that I'll meet that person someday and finally I won't have to worry about it anymore. I also hope she finds me soon. But in the meantime, the best thing I can do is look out for myself.
It's selfish, but Daphne said to me: "I know you care and really want to look after everyone, just don't forget to look after yourself, okay? It's okay to be selfish sometimes."
It's about me now, finally,
Jared
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