Things I Should’ve Written on Paper

Scattered reflections on connection, loss, identity, and the stories I never told out loud.

[memoir-dust]

You will never be truly "prepared enough" for what you want to do. Might as well try and see.

[memoir-dust]

Something I love about language is that it can alter reality.

If you ask someone to hand you something like "please pass me the salt," you are altering reality with just words; the salt will be within your reach only because you said a couple of words in a certain order.

It's basically a spell. You can alter a person's brain chemistry by saying nice or bad things to them. Sticks and stones can't do that so quick and flawlessly.

Language is a human privilege we sometimes take for granted.

Go tell someone you love them, or you are thankful for having them in your life, and see what happens (to you and to them).

[memoir-dust]

Love Starved

People often say they dream of being chosen, especially in matters of the heart.

However, few talk about the act of choosing.

Most settle for whoever points at them, no matter how flimsy the reason.

We hunger to be "loved", yet rarely dare even to question the nature of this "love".

Would we love them unconditionally, even if they didn't choose us first?

Would they still love us if we don't correspond as they want us to?

Is there any reason to love and be loved that's substantial at all?

[memoir-dust]

Rejection when looking for connection

Another pattern I've identified in myself is fear of rejection.

This seems to be common with other creatures. Which makes me feel a bit less alone, but not that much better about experiencing it.

Since I was really young, I remember trying to befriend humans. I would try asking new people things or just start talking with them out of the blue, since I didn't know how else to connect.

The outcome of most of my interactions was rejection. This would come in different forms.

As a young child, I met harsh rejection from my peers. They were honest and direct. If they didn't want anything to do with me or if they thought I was weird, boring, or simply felt awkward and didn't want to deal with it, they would say it. Sometimes in the most hurtful ways.

After my family showed me so much love and interest in playing with me, I couldn't understand why it was so hard with others.

As I grew older, I met soft rejection. People were more cautious about their reactions to being uncomfortable or wanting to pull away from that interaction.

That coldness and apathy were eerie. It almost made me miss harsh rejection.

At the end of the day, it's not personal; nothing is. This doesn't quite erase the hurt from those memories, but it lessens the impact rejection has on new interactions.

I can't blame them either, since I also don't have the heart to reject someone directly in a social environment in similar circumstances. I wish we could be more honest about things. I'm not sure if it would make people feel better. I don't think you can force a genuine connection either.

Now, I understand that if you want a specific "outcome," you have to do certain "things". Things that turn these interactions into performances.

I'm fond of a particular connection memory.

I went directly to a small group and said, "Hi, I'm new. Can I play with you guys?" They said yes and we played together in a pool.

That was the same day I almost slipped out of a water slide and cracked my skull open. Luckily, my foot got stuck on one of the steps and I was left hanging upside down.

I don't intend to play the victim card. I've had great friendships and interactions with people. I'm not sure if I've received more rejections than usual. It sometimes feels this way because when I try to be genuine and stop performing for them, I find rejection and its many faces peeking through again.

They say practice makes perfect. I believe it. It has reached a point where I can express and do things that my younger self would have shit his pants even thinking about it.

Even if I perceive people "reject" me, it's ok. I have to let them be themselves and me myself. I will surely find people I can connect with without needing to perform.

[memoir-dust]

I regret not being able to love you longer. I didn't know if you could love the real me.

[memoir-dust]

I want closeness, but I don't know how to stay once I have it.

[memoir-dust]

Life and Death

I can't live properly while thinking constantly about death, mine and those who are dear to me. Living in the when and how of death and not in the actual moment.

However, failing to remember death, as the one unequivocal truth at the end of the road, makes it harder to live a good life. Taking things for granted, and realising once they are gone.

A balance must be struck if we want to survive this hell on earth.

[memoir-dust]

Fish and birds

Why empathy feels impossible—and why I keep trying anyway.

A fish cannot understand the life of a bird. Each can only comprehend what they've known throughout their own lives: water or sky.

They can certainly interact with each other in various ways. However, I don't think they would be able to truly see the world through the others' eyes, to have compassion for their struggles and joys.

None of them can really help who they are, doomed from the start in different ways. That isn't necessarily a bad thing, I mean, it could be. The interpretation depends on who sees and interprets it. They were born like that, they are who they are, and do what they do. It isn't personal, but then again, if nothing felt personal, existing would be tasteless.

I've come to realize that this notion applies to all kinds of relationships, including love, friendships, family, acquaintances, and even between strangers.

I use this metaphor to try to understand why humans struggle so much to understand each other. Even if we're the same species, if we don't share the same experiences or perspectives in certain aspects of our lives, it won't be easy to understand the other's point of view.

Sure, there are simple topics: Oh, you like pineapple pizza? Hmm, well, it sounds weird to me that you would like it, considering every time I've tried it, it tastes like SHIT. But I guess we each can have different tastes and coexist. We're ordering two pizzas because neither of us is willing to eat the other's flavor. Still, I can't understand how you like that flavor, but ok. If we try hard enough, we can think: Well, maybe they like that clash of flavors, and perhaps something else I eat sounds super weird to them as well. These situations aren't absolutes; there will be people who try the pineapple pizza, try new things, or do so out of love, simply because they couldn't afford a second one. They prefer the other person to eat their favorite flavor, or simply because they are masochists and like tasting flavors they don't like. This could even be an acquired taste; most things probably are. But this is just pizza.

Wars? Race, identity discrimination? Hate crimes? Crime in general? I don't think most people try to understand the other side of a conflict in these aspects of life. It's hard to try to understand the "others". Why do they do the things they do? Kill people, steal, hate.

In some cases, it could be portrayed as a necessity, as if they had no other choice for some reason. I sometimes do things I'm not proud of, but I'm not sure if I'd ever get to that point. Again, I'm someone who lives in a bubble in my little world. Maybe if I lived somewhere else with other people, I would do those things as well. Could we say we would have the same opinions and values we have right now if we were born and raised like the people we hate?

Whenever I hear news about someone doing horrible things to other humans, either with their own hands or indirectly with bureaucracy and diplomacy, I often ask myself, Why do they do it? Do they know they are doing something considered flawed by many? I'm so sick of fucking semantics, good, bad, evil. It would be so much easier to see the world in black and white. Not caring about any scale of gray in the world. The news and most people know a man who killed a little kid. But when they film him, he doesn't seem to be in all his senses and much less articulate; he seems mentally ill. What could have happened to him to end up doing that? I'm a bit scared people will think I'm trying to sympathize with the culprit or act like a devil's advocate, rather than only caring about the victim. I don't care about any of it if I'm being honest. The next day, I will probably have forgotten their faces. If I were related to the victim or culprit, that would change, but this isn't the case. But it is like this so that I won't feel guilty. I'm curious about why he would do this, which is why I ask these questions. I could also ask why the victim fell for their lies and how they got separated from their parents, but it's always the same old story. Maybe it is the same with the "other". But I guess that side is less mainstream. My logic is that if we could understand why people do those things, we might be able to prevent them from happening. Prevent those things from ruining many lives.

With wars, it is the same. Why do those leaders decide to start pointless wars? I'm sure numerous analyses cover all the socioeconomic aspects of it. But then you could count alternatives and other options each side has to avoid conflict, and still, it doesn't happen. I don't think there is only one answer for each. It's a cluster of reasons, consequences, and decisions made by other people in the past and present. If people were to live longer, maybe we could recognize better the patterns, or perhaps we do, but it is easier to pretend they don't exist.

So, where was I going with all this? Fuck.

I guess I'm trying to explain that people can't be explained. Not completely, at least, trying to do so does not bring any satisfaction.

I hate people, too. Whenever they hurt me or the people I care about. In those moments, I do wish for their deaths or wish ill upon them. I try to understand why they would do that, but nothing I can think of will satisfy me. I can't read their minds; they might not even fully understand why they do what they do.

I'm not saying fish and birds should never interact. We are forced to do it anyway, so we should learn in this short life of ours how to interact with the "others" while maintaining peace with "ours" and "ourselves".

Being aware that I'm dealing with a different being than myself helps me be more patient and more empathetic. At least in calm moments. I will still condemn their actions or decisions if they go against my values and principles, but that will help me move on quicker.

I also wanted to discuss love, a topic I've been thinking about a lot lately. The ghosts of the people I once claimed to love still haunt me. I've hurt some, and some have hurt me. I would be a hypocrite if I blamed them for being a bird, but not me for being a fish. They did what they did, so did I.

I think I've hurt and been hurt by other fish as well. But it's weird, when you think they are fish, they turn into clouds, and then I see myself and have become a Sequoioideae. Perhaps this metaphor is becoming too abstract.

I'm not sure, but I think I will try not to categorize people for "what" they are to me. They could be fish or other animals in their own stories. I will try to deal with each as they come.

And I won't apologize for trying to understand both sides of the story. I never claim I do understand either, anyway.

[memoir-dust]

A fish cannot understand the life of a bird. Each can only comprehend what it knows — water or sky.

[memoir-dust]

My writing is a bit more chaotic and long and maybe not organized, but I will stick with it, trying to be true to myself.

[paper-wounds]

[memoir-dust]

A family member just died. We weren't related by blood, but it was like losing a grandmother. She was fine until she wasn't. I'm agnostic, but thinking about her death makes me believe there is a god. It didn't make her suffer that much. She was THE purest soul I've met. She endured so much since she was a child. So she deserved a peaceful death. I never thought it would be so soon, tho. But, then again, death doesn't wait. You always think there will be another day, death could wait for tomorrow, right? Just like it did yesterday? We tried to make up for it in he final years, giving her material things she couldn't have obtained by herself when she was younger. We also tried to interact more with her, but it proved to be complex. I have a bittersweet sensation, thinking I could have done more, showed more love, been more patient with he things she would do. It really doesn't matter; no overthinking or regret can change things. I have some memories of us laughing, and she said she felt loved. I know no divine entity will tell me I did enough for her, that these emotions and reflections will become pale with time, and I will probably have the same regrets once what is left of my real blood family dies. On her deathbed, I told her the things I was too scared to say in person, I allowed myself to cry, not really knowing what more to do. I'm not sure if she was conscious or could hear me at all...I think we do those kinds of things mainly for ourselves, to ease our minds, to have some sort of closure with the motionless pile of flesh and bones of our loved ones that remains. Now I'm writing all this. Writing, trying to squeeze all this pain and emotions. This experience might not be unique or memorable, and my expression's execution might not be even graceful or entertaining for any audience. Still, I do it, the reasons escape me. The only thing I want right now is to be able to love more, be less scared of doing so, so when they die, when I die, it will be easier not to think I could have done more, should have done better. But most of all, I don't want to forget this reasoning and determination.