Walls and Other Things

Hello blogger,
It's been a while. Two months to be exact. And in our short time apart, I've drawn a few conclusions and learned a lot about myself.

• First and foremost, I avoid confrontation. It's in my nature to take things easy and adapt to new situations. This is something I love and hate about myself. For one, I'm able to let go of the trivial and trite drama, and focus on what I think really matters. But at the same time, I feel like I only let go of things on the surface, never reaching a complete internal resolution. And so, the passions and the emotions remain idle, boiling under a facade (or illusion?) of acceptance. This could last days, weeks, months, and even years and I'm not okay with that. 
• I'm afraid of being idle. When my schedule is not filled with plans and tasks, I find myself spending way too much time thinking. And as more time passes, thinking turns into over-thinking which later turns into over-analyzing. 
• My biggest fear occurs when you combine both the former and the latter--when idleness pushes me to confront my deepest and darkest feelings. The product of this combination? Silly little blog posts like this! 
• I strive for an "idgaf" attitude when in reality, I do indeed give a fuck. I'm not numb and I'm not indifferent, but I'd rather present a lie than appear vulnerable.
• In such pursuits, I've started listening to Ribbed Music for the Numb Generation. It's sounds like something you would find in a burlesque club or a forever 21. Regardless, it's upbeat, unattached and exactly what I need right now. 

xoxo, 

Karen 

Searching for someone who can do the following:

attract me. 

distract me. 

inspire me. 

desire me. 

RomCom Blues

I've said this before and I'll say it again. If my life were a romantic comedy, I'd have a supporting role at best. Or maybe a lengthy cameo appearance. But alas, nothing more.

Generally, I find it oh so trivial to complain about my encounters with love (or lack thereof). I know I am young and I know I have an entire life ahead of me. I know that high school is not an indication of my future. I know that my selection of boys is limited not only by personal preference but also by geography/exposure. And even though I "know" all of this, I cannot whole-heartedly accept it. I guess you could say I've longed for that quintessential high school relationship. Or even something simpler... a "thing" for lack of a better word. The entire concept of mutual attraction is something so foreign to me, so out of this galaxy. You can call me overly dramatic, but I refuse to be labeled as a "forever alone" teenage blogger. That is not the intention of this post.

Simply put, I am writing out of frustration. The feelings I harbor toy with my thoughts and play with my emotions. How can so much heartache spur from nothing?

The Fault of The Feeling

Every English essay this year has called upon the philosopher living within the walls of my cranium. It's definitely strays from the conventional curriculum. Unlike previous years, I've been forced to contemplate topics such as truth, perception, reality, and illusion in the context of my reading. While last night's essay was a struggle to push through, I turned out some pretty deep shit (for lack of a better phrase). Here are a few snippets:

• As human beings, we are slaves to our mental states and the subsequent biological reactions. Our emotions not only dictate how we act but also how we perceive. The greatest fallacy in our condition rests in the tendency to substitute our feelings for reason and logic. And too often, we allow ourselves to be consumed by this substitution.
• ...
  sacrifices truth and reason for the essence of intimacy and passion.  
• Blanche is confined by her circumstances only because she feels confined by her circumstances. Instead of actively seeking socioeconomic successes, she puts on a show for herself and for her peers. Blanche’s inability to overcome her trauma and heartache highlights the fatal flaw of emotion—when we cannot cope, we cannot live.

I really wish I wrote more this year. Maybe I'll add that to my growing list of New Years Resolutions.

Beyond invisible Boundaries

I learned to dance when I was fifteen. 

In an attempt to avoid the stresses and heartache of high school, my friends and I accepted an invitation to a local hip-hop workshop. They were excited, enthusiastic and I tried my best to mirror their energy. But this was a façade and I was cowering with fear. Unlike them, I had neither the experience nor the swag to carry out an urban routine. In fact, I was terrified of crowds and dreaded being the center of attention.

So when the day of the workshop came, I covered my long and lanky limbs with oversized sweatpants and an extra large sweatshirt. It was a warm autumn morning in a crowded, unconditioned room and my outfit defied all logic. Yet, I refused to remove an ounce of clothing. I was comfortable in my back left corner and away from most of the dancers. Everyone's eyes were so intently focused on the choreographer that no one even noticed me butchering the routine. When he would perform a move, the class would respond, and then I would respond with a twenty second delay. To my own demies, the class was fast paced and the clock was unmoving.

As I counted down the minutes, I grew more eager to leave. My excitement, however, was shattered when the choreographer announced it was time to audition for Nerdz Dance Crew. Since when was this a tryout? Is everyone required to perform? What have I gotten myself into? These questions echoed in my head and before I knew it, I was being sectioned off into a group. With unease, I joined Group Three, a band of beginning dancers who all found comfort in the back left corner. Just my luck! 

When we were given the chance to go over the routine, the members of Group Three all agreed to not audition. So, as the choreographer invited our group to the stage, no one responded. His unanswered calls prompted the other groups to chant, “Group three! Group three! Group three!” I looked over my shoulder and noticed that even my friends had jumped on that bandwagon. Traitors.

Mortified, I searched the crowd for the infamous Group Three. Our eyes acknowledged our defeat and we retreated to the dance floor. Interestingly enough, we all gravitated toward the back of the room leaving an awkward gap between us and the choreographer.  So when the music dropped, there was no one to hide behind. I became a performer (and a really rotten one, at best).

My movements were uncoordinated and my frame? Contorted. But the audience still responded; they still clapped, hollered, and cheered. And at this crossroads between hardship and humiliation, I learned to do the same. I learned to take things easy and even laugh at myself. I learned to shed my excessively baggy sweats and conquer center stage—to not blend in with the crowd, but to capture its attention. Although I never learned how to dance, I learned to dance. 

Karen's Communist Manifesto

In the days leading up to the dreaded November 1st deadline, I've been more consumed with my past. I know this is a time where I should really be focusing on my future, but the entire college application process has forced me to acknowledge who I am and who I was.

Lately, I've been thinking more and more about about the thirteen years I spent living in Summerfield. I was young and my days were simple. During the summer, I would gather the neighborhood kids and we'd construct entire cities and towns. Out of our imaginations spewed our own little chalkzone. Only now am I realizing that these towns were in fact communist regimes controlled by me, myself, and I. Being significantly older than the other kiddies, I spearheaded the entire "town construction", delegating where everyone lived, where they worked, and what they produced/sold. My reign extended into the winter months when the weather brought a mountain of snow to the cul-de-sac inner circle. When this would happen, I'd call the kiddies and we'd construct another town.

The process was never ending until I grew up and my "kiddies" followed suit.

(counter)productivity

I haven't done anything productive in the past two days. I could even argue that my mini marathons of Honey Boo-Boo, Breaking Amish, and America's Next Top Model are counterproductive to my development as a human-being. It's this sort of mindless television that weakens the sharpness of our minds and our acuity. But the thing is, I feel like watching TV keeps me sane.

Even when I was little, I hated showing weakness and emotion. If something irritated me and made me want to cry, I would only do so in the comfort of isolation. Usually I'd escape to my closet, and let it all out there. After about thirty seconds of gross uncontrollable emotion, I'd begin to seek ways of suppressing all those feels. This involved me flipping through the channels and finding something to capture my attention. Watching TV let me pause all the little things that caused me stress and heartache, and enter the world of Lizzie Mcguire or That's so Raven. So when these programs came to a close, the emotions would fade and I'd be able to tackle my problems rationally.

The point is, I'm not sure if I'm subconsciously turning to TV because I'm having issues with life. I guess I'll figure it out this week and get back to you.