Currently Reading Reading People : How to Understand People and Predict Their Behavior- -Anytime, Anyplace By JO-ELLAN DIMITRIUS, MARK C. MAZZARELLA see related

Here’s an observation.  We're all living at the edge of our lives.  Obvious.  Constantly on the edge, waiting, for the next thing.  Never ahead of ourselves, occasionally looking back, but still always on the edge.

The edge is a scary place.  Scary because we're all afraid of the things that we don't know are to come.  Scary because the things that are familiar are behind us.  Scary because the footprints we make change the landscapes we are on forever. 

Forever is such a scary word.  At least its scary for me.  The reason being for this fear is that forever is a concept that I can never imagine.  That’s why things like heaven and hell can seem so scary.  How can you have forever?

I remember what happened yesterday.  It was one of those long summer days.  The kind that seem, when you are seven years old, to last forever.  I remember the air was soft.  I was lying on my mattress in an empty room.  So close to the floor that I could smell the wood.  My cheeks lay on my pillow, my eyes soaked in the orange sunlight that came off the wall in my room.  Everything would have been clear.  But it wasn't.  Tears blurred my vision and made paths down my cheek to the growing puddle on my pillow.

Tomorrow, I remember, was to be the day my family moved back to California.  Today, I remember, was the last day that I was to live in the quiet suburban house that is no longer ours.  The edge was sharp that day.  The life that I had made in that house were soon to be footprints.  The times my brother and I had, believing the house was haunted, climbing the wood pecked sour apple tree, jumping down the stairs.  All behind me.  The friends I made, the neighbors I found, the people I loved.  All became memories.  I remember that night.  Tomorrow seemed like a long way down from the edge where I stood.

Its all a memory now.  Just like what actually happened yesterday.  A conversation I heard between an old man and a young boy.  He was thirteen.  Being snide, saucy, and sarcastic, as thirteen year olds often are.  This is what I heard.

"Look, how old are you."

"Thirteen"

"I’m 53.  I remember my 40th birthday.  That was when you came into this world.  You don't know a damn thing."

"When's your birthday."

It's easy to see what just happened.  Boisterous, proud youth comes up against aged and humbled experience.  But they're both living on the edge.  It just got me thinking.  And when I get thinking, things just get thought of.

I'm making one of the biggest steps that I've ever made.  A stride made for adults.  Am I ready to take it?  There’s the part of me that looks back to what was, and looks at what is, and doesn't want to budge.  My friends, as horrible as it sounds, may turn into my memories.  My home will no longer be my home.  Then there's the part that looks off the edge, and sees outlines of wonderful things waiting.  The freedom that I've been longing for, the challenges that I crave.  I can't stop the progression of time.  So I won't try.  But I will try to remember the steps that I have taken and am about to take.  And of course, I’ll try to be brave.

I guess I learned two new things today. 

The first is sweet.  Not the sweet that you feel on your tongue.  No, I've been able to enjoy that sensation for years.  But what I learned about today was the sweet that you feel in your heart.  Senior girls.  You ladies really know how to reach  the hearts of men.  Today was totally sweet.  Thank you girls!

The second is love.  I guess I'm getting closer to what love really is.  Not the, "I love you, lets make babies" love.  Or the, "lets cuddle love".  Not the "you're hot, I'm in love" kind of love.  Or the "Brother, Mother, Father, Sister love".  But just an all around good feeling of love.  I'm going to try to maintain this type of love.  Because, to tell you the truth, it's a lot easier to deal with than hate.  I hope you'll join me.

Happy Valentines Day everyone!

Currently Playing Live at Benaroya Hall By Pearl Jam see related

- -

Hey. So it’s February 14th. I don't see why it’s so special. I'm just sitting here on the bench. Look at everyone; you'd think it was all their first days on earth or something. What are you smiling at? Today’s not special. I don't need the stupid calendar to tell me to love someone. I can do that any time I want.

Oh, look, there she is. She's smiling today too. Valentines cards huh? I thought we were over passing out valentine cards. Well, since she's doing it, I guess its cute. She’s passing them to everyone. Oh, here she comes. Don't look straight at her damnit. Act cool. Ok, she passed me. That’s oka, that’s oka. All right. Oka. Whatever. Oka. I got to go to class.

"Hey man, wassup."

"Sup"

"You do homework?"

"Yeh, number 5 was a bitch."

"Yeh"

"You get her valentines card?"

"...

Naw. Valentines Day is hella retarded. Its a waste of time. Why wait for this one day of the year to tell someone you love them, when you can do it every other day of the year."

"Oh. Yeh, maybe that’s true..."

Yeh it is true. You ass. Who the hell are you to ask me if I got a stupid card? Go mind your own business.

So its lunch time. Same thing as yesterday huh? That’s cool, grub is grub.

"Hey man, isn't that what you ate yesterday?"

"Yeh. It’s my favorite."

"Oh, that’s cool. Hey, she told me she had something to say to you."

"Oh."

"Maybe you should go talk to her."

"Yeh. I got some homework to finish up though."

"Oh, sucks. Aight, take it easy."

"Later"

She has something to say to me? I hate talking to people to their faces. Doesn't she know that people don't need to talk in person anymore? I live on a computer screen. Doesn't she know it’s safer to talk to someone behind a computer screen? Well, I guess I should ask her what’s up. Even if she probably just needs help on homework.

So here I am sitting on the bench. There she is. I better go talk to her. See what’s up. I hope my hair doesn't look funny. Oka, here I go. Going. Walking there. Oka. Smile. Smile. Damnit, thats a fake smile. Oka. Whatever, it doesn't matter. Ask her why she wants to talk to me. Oka. Don't ask her, just walk by. That’s cool too I guess. Don't want to be late for class.

So. Valentines day is almost over. Lets see, what books do I need. Math, check. Econ, check. Physics... I don't feel like doing physics. Mmm what else-

"Hey"

"Hello"

Holy crap.

"Whatsup?"

"Umm, I forgot to give you this. Happy Valentines Day."

"Oh, thanks. I didn't even know you were handing out cards."

"Yeh, I always like to."

"Don't you think we're a little old for cards?"

"Maybe. But that doesn't mean we can't do it anymore."

"Yeh."

Say something else. Mmm. Oka, this is awkward. She’s just standing there.

"Allright, sorry I forgot to give it to you earlier. I got to go. See you tomorrow."

"Uhh, bye."

Damn.

Yes! She didn't forget me. Oh, it’s a Peanuts card. Wonder what she wrote.

- Hi there. Thanks so much for helping me on my homework this year. Happy Valentines Day!-

Nice. It says, "will you be my valentine". Yeh.. I know that’s just what the card print out says. But maybe she picked it just for me? eHh Heh..

Valentines Day. Not bad. I guess sometimes we just need to be given a reason to say I love you.

Currently Playing Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness By The Smashing Pumpkins see related

"Yes, a man in tears.  Has not a man eyes?  Has not a man hands, limbs, senses, opinions, passions?  Is he not nourished by the same food as a woman, wounded by the same weapons, warmed and chilled by the same winter and summer?  If you prick us, do we not bleed?  If you tickle us, do we not laugh?  If you poison us, do we not die?  Why should a man suffer in silence or a soldier hide his tears?  Because it's not manly?  Why isn't it manly?"

            - Excerpt from "The Father" by August Strindberg

I had a dream last night that left me thinking all the way till now.  It wasn't the most amazing dream, or the sexiest dream I've ever had.  In fact, the dream was pretty regular all the way through. It was regular, except for two things, the fact that I do recall it was in living color, and that the dream left me feeling more human than I have felt in years.  What left me with that feeling was the fact that in my dream, I had been crying.

First, let me tell you what happened in this dream.  I was in my bathroom washing my hands at the sink.  Two of my friends, Frank and Jesse, were in my room playing with my guitar.  As I watched Frank handle my guitar, he dropped it, then he picked it up as if nothing happened, and then dropped it again.  This ticked me off quite a bit, because in my mind, I thought he did it maliciously, but I didn't say anything.  As I went back into my room, I began to play a song.  But as I remember it, no sound came out of my instrument as I played, no matter how hard I strummed.  I was going deaf.  And at that point, something in me burst, and I began to cry in my dream.  When I awoke my eyes where dry, yet I found my stress level to be lower than I have ever experienced in years.  Do you remember when you were five years old and nothing seemed to bother you?  The only comparison I can make to the feeling my dream left me is to that of how I felt at the age of five.  I was purged of negative emotion, leaving behind in my heart a calmness that I had longed for ever since I was of age to reminisce about being carefree.  As always, dreams fade off as you stretch yourself, and they disperse as the cold water from the sink splashes your face.  After I got up, the dream was over, the feeling seemed distant and I had to get ready for school.

My day went on; school sludged by, all the way till Bible class.  The Bible class discussion somehow wound up on the topic of men crying.  A question came up from the teacher that asked the boys in the class whether they cried or not.  Not surprisingly, no one raised his hand.  Obviously, this got me thinking about my dream again.

When was the last time I cried?  Honestly, I can't remember.  However, as I thought about it, the memories that kept recurring in my mind were of the times when I was in grade school and used to cry all the time when my dad left the country to go on foreign assignments.  It almost makes me sad thinking about it now, how much I cared and how hurt I was that he had to leave.  Yet, as I ruminated over the issue, my mind came to the conclusion that crying when you want to, no, crying when you need to, keeps the soul healthy.

But why is it that men have a hard time crying?  What social fabric dries our eyes so that we cannot even do what is healthy?  I hate it, if I cried in public, I'd feel like a loser, a wuss, pansy, a sissy, wimp, or weak, with the list of words going on for hours.  How is it that when women cry, they become creatures to comfort and feel compassion for, yet when men do the same, they become vulnerable and weaker members of their kind?  The feeling I get when thinking about this makes me feel like a piece of stone; cold and unfeeling, hard and unmoving.  But that’s not how I want to feel.  I want to feel like I'm five years old and the things that bother me can gush out leaving me empty of hurt and full of content.

Then again, who doesn't want to feel like they felt when they felt it was good?  Who am I to stage a fight against a culture which enforces "manly" behavior?  Maybe I'll find some answers soon.  I might learn to cry again, or maybe I'll learn to cope.  Possibly I'll forget I ever had these thoughts and I'd be blissfully ignorant of what I was missing; only being able to remember what I once felt.