WARNING: This reveals a side of myself I'm not proud of. I wrote it after a huge fight with someone I care about perhaps too much.
Ooh, self-reliance. I should be more self-reliant, but right now I'm so
angry that I don't want to be. It is so much easier just to agree with people you are with, because otherwise all that happens is that your relationship
breaks. I know that Emerson wants me to "be a nettle" to
others, but all it does is hurt. Better to be silent, even about the
things that matter, than be alone. I'm sick of being alone, or of being
afraid of being alone. Martin Luther King Jr. said that "our lives
begin to end the day we become silent about the things that matter."
I...fine, you know what, let it end. I don't care.
I'm sorry I'm so angry, although Emerson wouldn't like that I'm sorry.
It's harsh and embarrassing for you to watch me open up like this, but
honestly...it is honestly. Emerson would like me being honest. I'm in a
place right now that most people experience when they're twelve or
thirteen - you know, the horror of eighth grade (at least for girls). I'm
tired and lethargic and rebellious and feel like an idiot. Every move I
make is the wrong one, too dismissive or too intense. I've tried talking
about it to a few people, but I'm just putting it up now. I don't even
care anymore. Saying I'm broken would be cliché, but I believe there is
a crack. Hairline, right down the center of my head. I care about the
wrong things, but yes, it is me who determines what the wrong things are.
Okay, now that I've released some of my venom/poison onto you, let me
attempt to be a little more reasonable and to-the-point on this blog:
Emerson wants us "to believe [our] own thought" (132) as if a
wise man believed it. "A man should learn to detect and watch that
gleam of light which flashes across his kind from within, more than the
lustre of the firmament of bards and sages" (132). Why should we?
Honestly, we're sixteen-year-old Bishop's kids. What do we honestly know
about the world? My friend Eduardo told me that I have book smarts but am only slowly learning the street smarts. And what good are the book smarts without the street smarts? Honestly? I know I keep saying that but it's a good word. If we don't know anything about the real world (and maybe you do, but I don't, because I am practically TWO YEARS OLD) how are we supposed to apply our fabulous book smarts? Just a thought.
If Emerson was diagnosing me and/or offering a "cure", he
would tell me to go spend some time in a museum. "Great works of art
have no more affecting lesson for us than...teach[ing] us to abide by our
spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility than most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side" (132 - 133). Guess what?
I'm tired of standing alone. I'm tired of standing out. I know it sounds
cliché and stupid, and deep down I want to be different, need to be
different, to be noticed, but right now I am so tired. So tired I ache. I
don't want to stand alone, nor do I want to stand with the crowd. Damned
if I do, damned if I don't. I just want to surrender, you know, as in
give up the fight. And no, I'm not making any apologies for it. I'm done.
Period.
If I had the choice between two sides, but not the option to get out of
the fight...sheesh, I want to go with the side that has the last laugh.
That's all I want, really. The last laugh. I really don't care if
"imitation is suicide" (133), it's a suicide that's keeping me
alive. Plus, what's wrong with suicide anyway? If no one wants you there,
why should you be there? I know Emerson disagrees, but...
Emerson probably wants me to get off my sorry ass and start doing
something about my situation, "take [my]self for better, for
worse" (133). What's wrong with changing myself to fit who I want to
be? Is that self-reliant, if I am changing myself for my own
benefit/happiness? The problem is that no matter how hard I try to change
myself, it doesn't really work. I can't. Shit, I'm sorry if you don't
like this blog. But you chose to read it. You can
stop now if you like.
"Trust thyself" (133) Emerson urges me. What the fuck is there
to trust? Some sixteen-year-old who has no self-conviction of her own,
who goes wherever the wind blows, who picks opinions off the ground like
pebbles or something for a collection? Why can't I just trust people who
know more than I do? Why do I have to trust myself? I know Emerson will
frown for my saying so, but honestly, anyone who trusts my opinion on
anything is foolish. I have no opinion of my own that was not handed down to me by parent or teacher or friend or whatever. NOTHING I SAY IS MINE. I'm a stupid mime. Put words into me and I will repeat them so
eloquently, you won't breathe. Maybe I'm exaggerating, but "a man
should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across
his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and
sages" (132). I can speak, I can write, that I can do. But do I
really believe in anything I'm saying? Why do I believe in things?
Because others believe in them? Even this infatuation thing I read aloud
in class. Did I really care about the stupid guy, or was it just that I
was desperate for someone to vindicate me, and he wasn't doing that -
again, no self-reliance. I've never had it. Ever since I first began to
speak. Mother says that on my third birthday, when asked by a family
friend how old I was, I replied that I would be four next year. I've
always looked forward. I don't know why I believe that in the future I
will suddenly, magically, without reason, become self-actualized or
self-confident. I honestly don't know what I'm waiting for. Anyway, back
to Emerson.
Speaking of babies, Emerson does say that "infancy conforms to
nobody" (134) - but then what the heck is wrong with me? Probably
nothing. I believe too much in my own individuality, believe [too
fervently] my own thought" (132)...but maybe everyone does. I really
don't know. I'm tired of puzzling about it.
Sorry, Emerson. Guess I don't agree with you. Sorry, Ms. Allen. Guess
this assignment isn't really what it's supposed to be. Sorry, everyone.
This is a little intense for an English assignment. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
Can I go to sleep now? I'm tired.
Ooh, self-reliance. I should be more self-reliant, but right now I'm so
angry that I don't want to be. It is so much easier just to agree with people you are with, because otherwise all that happens is that your relationship
breaks. I know that Emerson wants me to "be a nettle" to
others, but all it does is hurt. Better to be silent, even about the
things that matter, than be alone. I'm sick of being alone, or of being
afraid of being alone. Martin Luther King Jr. said that "our lives
begin to end the day we become silent about the things that matter."
I...fine, you know what, let it end. I don't care.
I'm sorry I'm so angry, although Emerson wouldn't like that I'm sorry.
It's harsh and embarrassing for you to watch me open up like this, but
honestly...it is honestly. Emerson would like me being honest. I'm in a
place right now that most people experience when they're twelve or
thirteen - you know, the horror of eighth grade (at least for girls). I'm
tired and lethargic and rebellious and feel like an idiot. Every move I
make is the wrong one, too dismissive or too intense. I've tried talking
about it to a few people, but I'm just putting it up now. I don't even
care anymore. Saying I'm broken would be cliché, but I believe there is
a crack. Hairline, right down the center of my head. I care about the
wrong things, but yes, it is me who determines what the wrong things are.
Okay, now that I've released some of my venom/poison onto you, let me
attempt to be a little more reasonable and to-the-point on this blog:
Emerson wants us "to believe [our] own thought" (132) as if a
wise man believed it. "A man should learn to detect and watch that
gleam of light which flashes across his kind from within, more than the
lustre of the firmament of bards and sages" (132). Why should we?
Honestly, we're sixteen-year-old Bishop's kids. What do we honestly know
about the world? My friend Eduardo told me that I have book smarts but am only slowly learning the street smarts. And what good are the book smarts without the street smarts? Honestly? I know I keep saying that but it's a good word. If we don't know anything about the real world (and maybe you do, but I don't, because I am practically TWO YEARS OLD) how are we supposed to apply our fabulous book smarts? Just a thought.
If Emerson was diagnosing me and/or offering a "cure", he
would tell me to go spend some time in a museum. "Great works of art
have no more affecting lesson for us than...teach[ing] us to abide by our
spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility than most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side" (132 - 133). Guess what?
I'm tired of standing alone. I'm tired of standing out. I know it sounds
cliché and stupid, and deep down I want to be different, need to be
different, to be noticed, but right now I am so tired. So tired I ache. I
don't want to stand alone, nor do I want to stand with the crowd. Damned
if I do, damned if I don't. I just want to surrender, you know, as in
give up the fight. And no, I'm not making any apologies for it. I'm done.
Period.
If I had the choice between two sides, but not the option to get out of
the fight...sheesh, I want to go with the side that has the last laugh.
That's all I want, really. The last laugh. I really don't care if
"imitation is suicide" (133), it's a suicide that's keeping me
alive. Plus, what's wrong with suicide anyway? If no one wants you there,
why should you be there? I know Emerson disagrees, but...
Emerson probably wants me to get off my sorry ass and start doing
something about my situation, "take [my]self for better, for
worse" (133). What's wrong with changing myself to fit who I want to
be? Is that self-reliant, if I am changing myself for my own
benefit/happiness? The problem is that no matter how hard I try to change
myself, it doesn't really work. I can't. Shit, I'm sorry if you don't
like this blog. But you chose to read it. You can
stop now if you like.
"Trust thyself" (133) Emerson urges me. What the fuck is there
to trust? Some sixteen-year-old who has no self-conviction of her own,
who goes wherever the wind blows, who picks opinions off the ground like
pebbles or something for a collection? Why can't I just trust people who
know more than I do? Why do I have to trust myself? I know Emerson will
frown for my saying so, but honestly, anyone who trusts my opinion on
anything is foolish. I have no opinion of my own that was not handed down to me by parent or teacher or friend or whatever. NOTHING I SAY IS MINE. I'm a stupid mime. Put words into me and I will repeat them so
eloquently, you won't breathe. Maybe I'm exaggerating, but "a man
should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across
his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and
sages" (132). I can speak, I can write, that I can do. But do I
really believe in anything I'm saying? Why do I believe in things?
Because others believe in them? Even this infatuation thing I read aloud
in class. Did I really care about the stupid guy, or was it just that I
was desperate for someone to vindicate me, and he wasn't doing that -
again, no self-reliance. I've never had it. Ever since I first began to
speak. Mother says that on my third birthday, when asked by a family
friend how old I was, I replied that I would be four next year. I've
always looked forward. I don't know why I believe that in the future I
will suddenly, magically, without reason, become self-actualized or
self-confident. I honestly don't know what I'm waiting for. Anyway, back
to Emerson.
Speaking of babies, Emerson does say that "infancy conforms to
nobody" (134) - but then what the heck is wrong with me? Probably
nothing. I believe too much in my own individuality, believe [too
fervently] my own thought" (132)...but maybe everyone does. I really
don't know. I'm tired of puzzling about it.
Sorry, Emerson. Guess I don't agree with you. Sorry, Ms. Allen. Guess
this assignment isn't really what it's supposed to be. Sorry, everyone.
This is a little intense for an English assignment. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
Can I go to sleep now? I'm tired.
2 comments:
WOW KARINA. That was an intense entry, to say the least. I admire your willingness to share that side of yourself with everyone; I'm sure it took some guts to write this. I can certainly sympathize with your emotions; I too have been in fights with people that i care about more than i should. I've learned that if that type of situation ever comes up for me, intense physical activity (gymnastics) helps calm me down, and it seems like writing may serve the same purpose for you.
This side of you seems to be very pessimistic. It might just be the mood you were in, but if not you should try to cheer yourself up. Listen to some happy music, reflect on the good times you've had in the past, or do something creative. Thats what I do when I'm sad.
I like the quotes you used and how you managed to criticize just about every one of them. I like how although you didn't write the entry that most people wrote, you still demonstrated self-reliance by refusing to conform with Emerson's ideaology. The apoligies at the end were unneccessary. We should be thanking you for writing such a riviting blog.
This entry was probably the most honest one I've read thus far. I understand your frustration because I know, and I'm pretty sure everyone else knows too, that it is always easier to follow the crowd than to really be yourself. I think that sometimes we are even influenced by others without ever knowing it. But with most things in life, the right thing to do is never the easy thing to do. Maybe that's why we feel so accomplished when we DO do the right things. And even if you aren't confident in yourself, I am confident in you. So keep your chin up, life is good :)
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