Physical Pain, Emotional Pain
Just as I realize that I’m going to be just fine, my back pain becomes so much worse. Maybe it’s the workaholism I’ve taken to this quarter, or maybe it’s some sort of sadistic chi mechanism that always balances out my pains, but it seems so uncanny that it’d ramp up so much when I finally feel like I won’t drown once I’m in the real world. Luckily, I have ibuprofen and driving to campus as my crutches.
I’ve realized that I don’t need certain things to be happy. Not that I’ve found some other substitute for it. I think I’ve come to a point in my life that when I would think “what if I won’t be happy,” I can think instead “I’ll make happiness myself.” I don’t think I’ll ever drop to a point of desperation like I did last quarter or any of the times the years before. Not Dave Karofsky desperation. Not drink-till-I-die, attention seeking desperation. Not blind-faith desperation. I’m just fine.
I am the best person for me to hold on to.
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
Dark Rains, Brighter Rainbows
In backwards order, here are the two big things that happened in the past month that I can remember off the top of my head.
February 7th, 2012: the day that the California Supreme Court ruling of Perry v. Brown (aka Prop 8 in the courts) was upheld in the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals (good for gay marriage). The day that a friend (more of an acquaintance to me, and more of a friend to people I don’t speak kindly about) revealed via Facebook message that he knows my sexual orientation. I never told him myself, and I’m inclined to believe that the Christian leaders of my former fellowship who have been speculating about me for the past few months have told him at some point.
Despite an outpouring of the generally anticipated anti-gay-marriage rhetoric from people I once considered warmly acquaintances (though it’s been shown to me time and time again that those same people are generally the homophobic ones), I’m actually not that mad.
Maybe I’ve already spent all of my anger last quarter, but I think that I’ve just gotten used to the fact that Christians, friends or not, will put their faith and beliefs in front of actual human beings. I don’t personally agree with doing that, but I can see how someone with faith would put their faith before others. I felt the pain from that when I considered myself Christian, and I felt the pain this day as well. And I can imagine how much it sucks to be lumped in a group of people who can’t see past your actions and behavior and see that you’re an actual person underneath your sins and sinful nature. Judgmental people are taxing to deal with.
February 2nd, 2012: the day that I got the rainbow bracelet that Marissa ordered for me from the Rainbow Delegation. The day that I put it on and have worn it (most of the time) ever since.
It’s so interesting to see how others’ perceptions of me change once I add a single accessory to my repertoire of clothes. Since I started wearing the bracelet, it feels like everyone that I encounter considers me to be more approachable. Though one of my friends says that it’s all in my head, it’s a nice thought to entertain: that people see me as more approachable because of my sexual orientation, rather than as an abomination, as I’ve felt so much before.
If I were a character in a book and the bracelet had to symbolize something, it would be security. Even though I think I put myself at slightly higher risk at being the victim of a hate crime (moreso than just the rainbow ribbons I had already), I’m so much more confirmed in who I am, with a constant reminder of life’s largest curveball for me. I used to be scared or question why I have so few things that define me, but now I know that this is a part of me, an identifier, a choice to embrace the aspects of my life that I’ve never chosen.
It also gives me security in that it protects me from the chance that someone will react negatively to finding out that I’m gay. I think that it erases the preconceived notion that I’m straight (the cultural default) and gives whoever I’m talking to buffer time so that they aren’t completely shocked and have some contingency plan when I do come out to them.
Thinking about what I’ve been doing this past month, I don’t think I have depression, even though two years ago I’d be severely depressed from everything that’s happened. It’s clear to me that I’m the most comfortable with myself than I’ve ever been this past month, and I hope that I can continue to grow to be more comfortable with who I am in the future.
Firsts
This past weekend I’ve had so many new experiences in such a compact amount of time. I haven’t had the chance to sit down, slow down, and just take time to think about everything that’s happened. Even now, I’m having trouble arranging my thoughts and putting my feelings into words. I’ll list everything and then fill it all in eventually (to be edited).
E & C
It was inspiring to see a gay relationship be treated as so organic and…normal. Walking around the subtle homophobia in SLO (or rather, my former associates and current living arrangements) and reading horror stories about homophobia made it easy for me to forget that not everyone will treat me negatively for their prejudices against labels that define me. What they have, I want to eventually have: a loving relationship, and one that can be shared with friends without judgment.
The City
Going from SLO to Westwood was a culture shock. The slow SLO life is boring and one-day-at-a-time. The LA life is fast and exciting and breathless. The Friday evening was a bit rough and I was definitely out of my zone, but by the end of Friday night I was a bit too tired to be dragged along by the rush. Saturday shopping was intense and fast-paced; I’m not sure if I’ll get used to the idea of clothes shopping (from multiple stores), especially since it takes me so long to find something I like, and then finally try it on. Saturday night board/card games was fun, almost reminiscent of high school youth group (and mayyyyyybe CCF), except people here were happy and we slept in the same room afterwards. It helped that the weather was warm enough to take a much needed walk-and-slow-down afterwards. By Sunday my mind was definitely used to the LA pace, my shoes were breaking in, and I had gotten used to the soreness in my legs. After my date, I just walked around Westwood and then had a drink at Starbucks. It was an odd pace of slowness, but it helped to collect myself. I have to say that I probably had more fun this weekend than I had all quarter/summer long, despite it being a different type of fun and at a much quicker pace.
To do: go exploring in SF more (alone? independent?), considering how I live 35 minutes and $5 away.
Clothes & Style Changes
Learning ways to change my clothing style and how I look to others (or be changed at the consensual behest of others) has affected my outlook on life. Instead of being stuck as someone who I don’t like (I’ve got a lot of self-loathing to go around), I can dress myself differently and imagine that I’m a person that someone else might desire. And that actually happened at the club, and I was asked out on a date. This changes everything!
First Nightclub Experience
I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this one. On one hand, I can see why people enjoy this and I do like the loud music to some degree. On the other hand, I can’t see myself enjoying dancing so much. I just can’t lose myself in something so fleeting and evanescent. But at the same time it’s somewhere where there are potential mates, and what am I if I pay no homage to my carnal instincts?
The first two-thirds of the experience was standard, indubitable awkwardness. But then when Amber pulled me aside and told me that Kevin thought I was cute, and that he wanted to dance with me, I was happy inside. When he asked for my number at the end, I was happy again. Even though the music was quite loud, the alcohol smell was distinct, and the heat was almost unbearable, it wasn’t a bad experience. I’m not one for losing myself in the music, but I don’t mind it if others can.
First Date
Of all the things that could happen / that I was expecting to happen, I’d never have thought that my first date would happen this weekend. I originally thought it would have just been a maybe-boring weekend, with me being awkward at the night club (did anyone really have any doubt I would?). However, how could I say no when the (first) opportunity was presented to me?
The date wasn’t really anything special. It was nice, but it was…I don’t know, standard? It sort of felt like I was a freshman meeting up with a senior or just me meeting up with any other person-that-I-don’t-really-know, to put it into a familiar experience (even though we’re the same age). In other words, there was no spark. We got along, but I don’t think either of us had any doubts we’d be more than friends.
I’m not sure how I feel about dating right now. On one hand, it’s supposed to be fun and exciting and new. But on the other hand, I can easily see the awkwardness that arises between me and someone I don’t know. I think if I were to go out on a date that I enjoyed, it would have to be with someone that I’ve already overcome that awkwardness barrier, where either one of us can be shy or awkward, but it’s okay since the other person knows that once we get home it’s not going to be like that.
Parking Ticket
This was my first car-related failure (other than failing the first driving test I took). It’s probably a bad thing, but I’m surprisingly indifferent to it. It wasn’t unfair, because the sign clearly said when I shouldn’t park there, but it completely slipped my mind. Maybe part of being indifferent is that I discovered it the afternoon after the nightclub experience? I’ll definitely pay more attention to signs from now on. I do feel like I have more experience as a driver now, though. Pulling up back home, I’m definitely a lot more comfortable with my car than I was at the beginning of the school year.
Friendship
The questions I ask myself now:
Am I angry at the fact that:
- the loyalty I have for my Christian friends cannot ever be reciprocated due to their beliefs?
- all of my Christian friendships will result in their attendance at my future wedding to be sad for me?
- the “friendships” I do have with them are only to rope me into their religion?
- they complain and complain, but instead of leaving, they just continue to go and find more things to complain about?
These past two weeks have finally opened up my eyes to how I’ve been deceived all along. Being backstabbed and thrown away by the fellowship hurt me deeply.
But at the same time, it’s liberating to release my expectations of my Christian friends (expectations were the motif of this past month) and begin treating them how they’ve always treated me.
Breaking Free
It’s so difficult to look at other people who have made their own life choices and not try to do any of the following:
- feel superior or reason my perceived superiority in any way,
- talk them out of their choice, or
- judge them or break/put them down for their choice.
I have a lot of trouble respecting people. I get angry when I can’t rationalize why something is, or why people do or follow certain things. I see people partway or in noway passionate about what they’ve dedicated their lives to, and it just makes me angry that they’re just at a standstill, partway to an ideal but currently in a swamp.
I see the future of their lives: desolate, desperate, deprived of life. I see one going to church every Sunday yet feeling the silent judgment of his congregations’ eyes and the pedantic prose laced with venom that seeps from their holy mouths. I see another being crushed by trying to follow the unfairly impossible rules and then put back together with the deranged idea of divine forgiveness; like a vase being broken and glued back together so many times with the promise of becoming a perfect vase. I see another going through all the motions of the religion while never outwardly expressing any reason, any happiness, any notion of why he would go through all of it, only to live the rest of his life on the weekends taking part in menial adventures in hopes of salvaging what’s left of his freedom.
And yet they continue on their path. Their path is their own, I realize, but as a friend I want them to help reach their goals. Christianity looks golden, but why do Christians and their lives look so tainted? Even the “ideal” (that is, the Sunday Christian lifestyle) looks to me like hidden sadness. The other “ideal” (that is, the come-home-to-someone-you love lifestyle) looks to me like it’s achievable without religion.
I understand that Christianity is partly the idea of a universally prevalent problem of sin, but sometimes I think what if one could look at a so-called “depraved” situation and think, “You know, maybe it isn’t so bad if I can find the right people to get through it with. I love those people.” And they become a united family that can hold each other and weather every storm. Maybe Babel’s citizens loved each other before God confounded their language.
At some point, I’ve got to realize that although it was not me who shackled myself to whatever past biases and assumptions keep me down, it’s my fault for keeping those shackles on. Not to berate myself, but it’s my life whose reigns I can control, and I haven’t been doing so (and I probably won’t until I graduate).
What if I could make everyone rethink their reasons for following the traditions of their parents? What if I could make people learn that they can change their lives for the better?
What if I could convince myself of that?
Ramblings about God’s Plan
I wrote this during the post right before this one, but I couldn’t find anywhere to fit it.
———-
Isn’t is so convenient that “God’s plan” coincides with the materialistic consumerism on this side of the globe? I’d assume that God’s plan would be something so much more meaningful, for example that most if not all Christians would become ascetic-like missionaries/nomads with socialist ideals (as during Jesus’s time) and run around helping and loving people, like the good Samaritan, who paused his own life and travel for at least a day to help a complete stranger who might have a completely different set of beliefs. It feels so contrived that most Christians want to be in a stable, high-paying job with a nuclear family so they can “reach out” to the non-Christians who have stable, high-paying jobs and their own nuclear families, which is such a niche of a market that I cannot believe that God would send most of his American followers to live that life. In all honesty, it just seems like most Christians choose to live the life they want, and fine-tune the unimportant parts to God’s will, waiting until they break God’s commands to beg for forgiveness, over and over again.
I think it’s about now that I’m realizing that Christian or not, I don’t want to do the 9-5, 5 days / 40 hours a week life. Half of me wants to say that I’d do it to sustain a family: I imagine that a stable income is the price a person would sell their soul, if it meant maintaining a living. I think if I really did have a family or a potential family or a significant other to devote my life to, I would bear the 9-5 life for them. I’d hate it, but they’d make it worth everything. As a Christian, I wouldn’t believe that God’s plan for me is to sell my soul to the devil. The other half of me says that that lifestyle is horrible, but not only that: I wouldn’t have the people to make it worth it.
I’m not sure what’s the middle ground here. Pascal’s wager would work out nicely if I weren’t such a short-sighted person.
The Future Me
I’m sitting with him at the top of a hill, far from civilization with nothing to look at but the incredible stars and the moon and the magnificent view of the city below. It’s warm out tonight, but the cool breeze is a comfort, not a nuisance. With his arm around me, I look at him and wonder: how did I ever get to this place? I think about the many times how I lamented over what I have no control over: the one characteristic of mine that blocked me from continuing along the path I was on. This was a common thought in the past, but this time, it’s an imperfection that led me to what has eluded me my entire life: happiness.
It all seems so trivial now. No — not trivial, but it seems like it happened so long ago. My head rests on his shoulder, my eyes no longer looking at the view, but at the problems of the past, the torment of times immemorial. They had treated me harshly, but how much of a rock must be chipped to turn into a sculpture? Today I’m a different person than I was all those years ago.
We’ve battled oppression, suffered judgment from our closest friends and families, and wandered the impenetrable fog of the knowledge we had grown up with, but we became better and smarter from it all.
Where will we go next? There’s only the whole world for us to explore now.
Startup of a new era
It is up to me to make what I want of this world, to be the change that I want to see. And today/tonight, I make this decision: I will become a programmer, and I won’t resent it or lose myself for doing it. It feels weird to be making the decision to become a programmer, as it’s pretty much what I’ve been doing for the past three (or five, including high school courses [or eight, including middle school messing around]) years. Programming isn’t too bad: it was fun to program for around 26 hours straight through with my project partner (and continue working on a lab after our project was finished and demo’d), or to finally see that my (yes, my, as my partner did literally less than ten percent of the project) compiler passes all required benchmarks.
But the truth of the matter is that I hate the industry. I hate the way the world works in that way. I hate the American/cultural indoctrination. That is, the process of going to college and then getting a job, getting married to a girl and having kids, going to church on Sundays and being someone else on other days. I hate that people are actually happy and adjusted to working a job from 9 to 5, doing little to nothing to make a change or to become someone great or even to make themselves happy, yet I accept that fact of life. This is my worst fear: to become a trapped sheep in the herd of industry, just one more enslaved taxpayer in a slave-driver’s plantation of an economy.
I’m not gifted to do other things that are great — I can’t become a great doctor, as I can barely stand biology, I”m not compassionate enough to become a social worker, or smart enough to become a scientist/mathematician, or healthy enough to become an athlete, or Christian enough to become a missionary. I don’t have the right gender to become a house-wife, or the right race to become a movie star. But I do know that I have a gift for at least one thing: programming. I will pompously and shamelessly admit that I am one of the best in my classes when it comes to programming.
Maybe that’s the deep-seated reason that I hate the industry. Maybe I actually hate that despite me understanding concepts quickly and getting straight A’s in all of my programming courses, earning the top grade in every course, that my classmates can get internships and jobs and relationships and lead fulfilling lives. Maybe I resent the fact that the world doesn’t reward people for how smart or how good they are, but by luck and by the social intercourse that happens during interviews. It doesn’t boil down to the fact that I have to hold their hands so that they don’t fail their projects, but to the fact that they can pretend to know what they’re talking about, and that they can make small talk with the interviewer.
But I do know that getting a 9 to 5 industry job in this world is against all of what I want in this world. It would restrict my expression, both in time and in production (though interestingly not my wealth), and make me work with those that I resent for being in the same place as me, but not being as smart as me. Instead, I want to work for something that I personally find interesting and exciting. I want to pull 26 hour all nighters with people I respect, working on something I like, that people can also like and appreciate. I won’t judge myself by the internships that I don’t have, or by the paycheck I receive, but I’ll judge myself for what I do and what I’ve done. This is my new ideology: that I’m not me for what I have, but for what my hands and mind can create.
(And to think that I would gladly regress to a sheep and sell my soul to the 9 to 5 industry if I had one person to devote my life to chills me to the bone.)
Decision
This week and on, I’ll tell more and more people, so that I’ll be forced to take a step sooner in either direction.
