so i've been looking through my previous blog posts and i've come to realize that the overall theme thus far appears to have been written by Sad Sally. to make it up to the few of you who might actually be reading along, and to live up to the blog's name, i've decided to post something a little less intense and a little more enjoyable.
also, possibly self-incriminating...
this is a meme both of my older sisters did and tagged me in. and the prayers to keep my guilty pleasures secret begin...
Step 1: Put your music player on random.
Step 2: Post the first line from the first 25 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song.
Step 3: Post and let everyone you know guess what song and artist the lines come from.
Step 4: Strike out the songs when someone guesses correctly (No lyric hunting! That is cheating!)
1. remember the weight of the world
2. i woke up and wished that i was dead
3. so at my show on monday i was hoping someday you'd be on your way to better things
4. all around me are familiar faces
5. if you're having girl problems i feel bad for you, son
6. play this song for its first minute one, then go to the next harlot
7. what a dream i had, pressed in organdy...
8. you chat to me like we connect
9. all the pines that shiver in the park
10. all we've been given by those who came before...
11. nan, you're a window shopper
12. i can turn the greyest sky blue
13. i see you down on the frontline
14. let's go to the park, i wanna kiss you underneath the stars
15. at last, my love has come along
16. come with me, my love, to the sea
17. when i left you alone to fight your battles of long winters and hotels...
18. tengo la camisa negra
19. it's the time of the season
20. i've got a song on my mind; i've been singing it all day
21. today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you
22. slow down; lately lives are moving too fast
23. i had seven faces
24. everything that keeps me together is falling apart
25. as i walk along i wonder...
i'm tagging anyone who's bored enough to want to do all of this. so doooo it.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
If I Had Spoken Out, or Korean Moms and Dah Gays, or Never Able to Say "I Love You"
"Remember when I was little and you thought I was a lesbian?"
There are two qualities that are arguably the most important when it comes to being able to communicate with others: tact and a willingness to openly explore previously uncharted nebulae of thoughts and feelings.
Unfortunately, due to reasons that have yet to be decided by the nature vs. nurture debate, and as evidenced by the poorly masked aims of the aforementioned question, I happen to lack both.
Throughout the past 19 years there have been a number of situations in which I have found myself where I have desperately wished that my role models for self-expression were not the tight-mouthed, fly-swatter-armed Korean mother and the self-fashioned macho, army officer father; the clenching of the stomach, the uncomfortable awareness of the awkward placements and erratic motions of my limbs, and the sudden disconnect that occurs between my mind and clumsy tongue are all too familiar feelings when it comes to telling someone about something slightly less superficial than typical, arbitrary banter.
So when my mother and I were walking through the woods behind our house, and our usual, meager attempts at conversation were out-paced by very pregnant pauses, I had no choice but to finally acknowledge both my inherent and/or learned flaws as a communicator and a voice that had somehow managed to survive the sporadic, subconscious purges of unwanted and unwarranted thoughts and feelings.
Just tell her now, it said, There's no point in waiting. It's not like the clouds'll open up when it's finally time to talk about it. This kind of secret isn't the kind that gets easier to tell over time. Don't think too much. Just blurt it out.
I had just enough time to heave an anxious sigh before hurrying to catch up to my mom's step and suddenly spout, "Mommy-remember-when-I-was-little-and-you-thought-I-was-a-lesbian?"
A slight pause before the reply.
"Mhm," she said, "Because you wah such a tomboy. But I knew you would grow out ob it, because yoh granmuddah was dah same way befoh she grew out ob it, too."
Crap.
"Right. Well..." I wasn't sure how to finish, "I don't think I...grew...out of it."
Another pause.
Crap. Too vague. You'll probably have to explain it now. Crap. Why did you have to go and say something anyhow?
"What do you mean?" she said slowly.
"Well...I mean...I don't think I grew out of it."
Another unbearable pause as her face folded into an indiscernible expression. There was definitely a small curl in her lip. Was it a bemused curl? Amused? Surprised? Suspicious?
"You mean you, heh, attracted to, heh, women?"
All four. And then some.
Wait, is this a trick question?
"Well...yeah. I mean, yes. I am."
The longest, quietest half hour of my life followed.
"Well," she resumed, finally, "I guess you at that age where ees okay to experiment."
Oh, God.
My tongue now catnip, and my guts, or what remained of them, now thrown unceremoniously into my vault of unmentionable and buried feelings, I let those be the last words of the discussion. Well, the last words before the random and less-than-comforting, "What would you like foh dinnah?"
For the next several days I was led to believe that discussion pertaining to my sexuality was either complete or unimportant - neither of which was at all reassuring.
On the third day or so following my brief, albeit traumatizing coming out, my mother put those insecurities to rest.
She caught me in the hallway, just as I was about to go to bed.
"Beekie," she said, in a soft voice - the likes of which I hadn't heard since I was very little - "Sit. Le's talk. I'b had a lot on my mind dah past couple of days, so I couldn't really registah what you...said to me...dat day. So, le's talk."
I slowly turned and caught myself against the wall. With utmost focus, I managed to bend one leg, and then the other; lower myself to the ground, put one leg over the other; place my arms at my sides in a sort of practiced pose of what was to be perceived as "casual." It was hardly comfortable, and I was suddenly too aware of the strange placement of my fingers, elbows, head, feet. Everything seemed to get in the way.
She sat down, too, on the opposite wall, considering me with the kind of wary eyes that usually preceded a trying line of questioning.
Several moments passed. Finally, she sighed wearily and began asking me the most relentless and prying questions I'd ever been posed.
The first few were straightforward, mainly about when, where, and how "this" happened. The next had a lot to do with previous boyfriends and conversations we'd had that had led her to believe wholeheartedly in my straightness and put her worries about my being gay to rest. She then asked questions that had a lot more to do with her own limited understanding of gayness in general than to my own identity.
"So what you gonna do when you hab uh job? You can't tell dah uh-duh people in your oh-piss about it, right? So you can't date when you grow up because colleague might find out?"
What year does she think we're living in?
"I think times are changing, Mommy. And even if my coworkers aren't tolerant, I think I can defend myself if I have to."
A deep sigh.
As the interrogation carried on, it was obvious to me that every word my mother managed to form, and every question she managed to craft, all resulted from probably one of the greatest internal struggles of her life.
It was exhausting sitting there, listening to and answering her questions. But more draining was having to witness her battle with the problem I had thrown at her feet.
Growing up, my mother was never one to display anything other than strength and power. Any sign of tears or sadness was quickly masked with bouts of screaming and anger, and if we cried we were instructed to stop. The only time I could remember her breaking down, however brief, was when her father died. I was four.
But now, fifteen years later, here she was; the unwavering symbol of strength and self-control in my life, with quiet tears in her eyes and subtle cracks in her voice, displaying anything but strength and self-control.
"What ah we going to do?" she sobbed, "What ah we going to do?"
"I don't know," I returned, "I don't know. What...what do you mean?"
I was so sure that she was going to fulfill every fear that had kept me locked in that closet for so long.
She'll probably oust me now. Just tell me to leave, get out, not come back until I'm happily married to a doctor who has it all, including a penis, and have popped out five kids.
"You - you wanna staht looking like uh man now?"
Wait...
"No, Mommy..." I didn't know if it was okay to laugh, "I'm not transgendered, I don't think...I'm...gay."
She sighed again. Was it relief?
I wasn't sure if this was the point in the conversation where she would suddenly spring up and embrace me, letting me know it'll all be okay and that she was just testing me.
If that's her biggest worry, I thought, I'm in pretty good shape.
Unfortunately, my fashion sense was not the depths of my mother's concern. After another long silence, we returned to far more personal questions, one of which continues to trouble me even months afterward.
"So what was it like?" she asked, "How did it feel, how much did it hurt, to have feelings for someone and know that you could never tell them you loved them? That they, she, could never know?"
Up until this point, I had managed to maintain my composure when faced with even the most ignorant and troublesome questions. Not a tear was shed on my part and, apart from the occasional hand and feet fidgets, I had managed to keep the obviousness of my discomfort and internal conflict to a bare minimum.
But when she asked this question, I could feel the wall I had so carefully built around myself begin to crumble. I didn't answer right away - I took a moment to try to regain my composure before opening my mouth. But when I did manage to open my mouth to speak, no words came out. Instead, the air around me was suddenly filled with loud, strained sobs - the likes of which had never been heard before.
The tears fell, a little at first, but eventually I felt like I could drown in them. I couldn't stop shaking, or crying, or sobbing. It just kept coming out, tearing its way out of me like a poorly tamed and contained bird. It couldn't be stopped, and I wasn't sure if I wanted it to stop.
Here it was - the unnamed, faceless monster that had haunted me my entire life. The thing that had caused me so much anguish and fear. The source, and in some ways consequence, of my self-hatred. The one thing that turned the key in that closet door.
There it was, the ghost I had lacked the sense, or desire, to fully acknowledge and come to terms with, so simply identified and so plainly worded that the lock encasing all of my previously restrained emotions was shattered and I was left with no choice but to let them come ripping out.
I went on sobbing for several minutes, while my mother watched. She didn't say a word, nor did she make any attempt to come comfort me. I could feel her eyes on me, scrutinizing my every move, and try as I might to control myself just enough to continue the conversation, I couldn't help but keep going.
Finally, my breathing began to even out, and the tear-flow stagnated. I wasn't sure of what I was feeling. I was lighter somehow, awakened to a new sense of myself. My body was slumped, either by exhaustion or release. I couldn't look at my mother. I didn't want to know what she thought of my spasmodic emotional spell.
When I chanced a glance upward, though, it wasn't disgust I saw in her eyes, or hatred; it was pity - a glint of compassion I didn't know those eyes were capable of. Did she know what I was feeling?
"It hurt, a lot. But...I'm growing," was all I managed to say. Anymore and I was sure I'd start sobbing again. She might start sobbing again.
The conversation ended not too long afterward with a somewhat stiff and embarrassed, "Good night."
The truth is, unrequited love isn't a foreign concept to me, nor is it something from which I think I, or anyone, can ever truly recover.
But love, even the unrequited kind, isn't something that's meant to be caged or tucked away. It isn't bestial, or wrong, or labeled. It isn't slight, or meant to be slighted.
It sets us apart from every other creature on the planet. It forms the foundations of the most basic needs and wants in life. It's why we have faith, and why we wake up in the morning. It exists in all of us, driving us forward, moving us through each day, guiding us through every obstacle.
It's meant to inspire good in everyone and to unite us against the common enemies of ignorance, intolerance, and hatred.
It can't be divided by labels, or contained by fear. It's too big and too loud, and doing so can be too painful and destructive for any one person to experience alone.
Having lived with that pain, the kind that comes with loving someone and knowing, deep down, that she can never know about it, I know that no one should ever have to feel that way. That to go against the very thing that makes us human is not only unnatural, but also perhaps the most exhausting, pointless path anyone can take.
So when society tries to tell me that my love is wrong and that I should control it, repress it, or be ashamed of it, or that it's a different, unnatural kind of love, I know deep down that they are wrong and driven by the hatred that stems from ignorance and fear.
And, someday, when I die and have to face the judgment of God for my sins, I take comfort in knowing that my biggest potential flaw will be loving someone, rather than blindly spreading hatred throughout the world.
There's only one kind of love.
There are two qualities that are arguably the most important when it comes to being able to communicate with others: tact and a willingness to openly explore previously uncharted nebulae of thoughts and feelings.
Unfortunately, due to reasons that have yet to be decided by the nature vs. nurture debate, and as evidenced by the poorly masked aims of the aforementioned question, I happen to lack both.
Throughout the past 19 years there have been a number of situations in which I have found myself where I have desperately wished that my role models for self-expression were not the tight-mouthed, fly-swatter-armed Korean mother and the self-fashioned macho, army officer father; the clenching of the stomach, the uncomfortable awareness of the awkward placements and erratic motions of my limbs, and the sudden disconnect that occurs between my mind and clumsy tongue are all too familiar feelings when it comes to telling someone about something slightly less superficial than typical, arbitrary banter.
So when my mother and I were walking through the woods behind our house, and our usual, meager attempts at conversation were out-paced by very pregnant pauses, I had no choice but to finally acknowledge both my inherent and/or learned flaws as a communicator and a voice that had somehow managed to survive the sporadic, subconscious purges of unwanted and unwarranted thoughts and feelings.
Just tell her now, it said, There's no point in waiting. It's not like the clouds'll open up when it's finally time to talk about it. This kind of secret isn't the kind that gets easier to tell over time. Don't think too much. Just blurt it out.
I had just enough time to heave an anxious sigh before hurrying to catch up to my mom's step and suddenly spout, "Mommy-remember-when-I-was-little-and-you-thought-I-was-a-lesbian?"
A slight pause before the reply.
"Mhm," she said, "Because you wah such a tomboy. But I knew you would grow out ob it, because yoh granmuddah was dah same way befoh she grew out ob it, too."
Crap.
"Right. Well..." I wasn't sure how to finish, "I don't think I...grew...out of it."
Another pause.
Crap. Too vague. You'll probably have to explain it now. Crap. Why did you have to go and say something anyhow?
"What do you mean?" she said slowly.
"Well...I mean...I don't think I grew out of it."
Another unbearable pause as her face folded into an indiscernible expression. There was definitely a small curl in her lip. Was it a bemused curl? Amused? Surprised? Suspicious?
"You mean you, heh, attracted to, heh, women?"
All four. And then some.
Wait, is this a trick question?
"Well...yeah. I mean, yes. I am."
The longest, quietest half hour of my life followed.
"Well," she resumed, finally, "I guess you at that age where ees okay to experiment."
Oh, God.
My tongue now catnip, and my guts, or what remained of them, now thrown unceremoniously into my vault of unmentionable and buried feelings, I let those be the last words of the discussion. Well, the last words before the random and less-than-comforting, "What would you like foh dinnah?"
For the next several days I was led to believe that discussion pertaining to my sexuality was either complete or unimportant - neither of which was at all reassuring.
On the third day or so following my brief, albeit traumatizing coming out, my mother put those insecurities to rest.
She caught me in the hallway, just as I was about to go to bed.
"Beekie," she said, in a soft voice - the likes of which I hadn't heard since I was very little - "Sit. Le's talk. I'b had a lot on my mind dah past couple of days, so I couldn't really registah what you...said to me...dat day. So, le's talk."
I slowly turned and caught myself against the wall. With utmost focus, I managed to bend one leg, and then the other; lower myself to the ground, put one leg over the other; place my arms at my sides in a sort of practiced pose of what was to be perceived as "casual." It was hardly comfortable, and I was suddenly too aware of the strange placement of my fingers, elbows, head, feet. Everything seemed to get in the way.
She sat down, too, on the opposite wall, considering me with the kind of wary eyes that usually preceded a trying line of questioning.
Several moments passed. Finally, she sighed wearily and began asking me the most relentless and prying questions I'd ever been posed.
The first few were straightforward, mainly about when, where, and how "this" happened. The next had a lot to do with previous boyfriends and conversations we'd had that had led her to believe wholeheartedly in my straightness and put her worries about my being gay to rest. She then asked questions that had a lot more to do with her own limited understanding of gayness in general than to my own identity.
"So what you gonna do when you hab uh job? You can't tell dah uh-duh people in your oh-piss about it, right? So you can't date when you grow up because colleague might find out?"
What year does she think we're living in?
"I think times are changing, Mommy. And even if my coworkers aren't tolerant, I think I can defend myself if I have to."
A deep sigh.
As the interrogation carried on, it was obvious to me that every word my mother managed to form, and every question she managed to craft, all resulted from probably one of the greatest internal struggles of her life.
It was exhausting sitting there, listening to and answering her questions. But more draining was having to witness her battle with the problem I had thrown at her feet.
Growing up, my mother was never one to display anything other than strength and power. Any sign of tears or sadness was quickly masked with bouts of screaming and anger, and if we cried we were instructed to stop. The only time I could remember her breaking down, however brief, was when her father died. I was four.
But now, fifteen years later, here she was; the unwavering symbol of strength and self-control in my life, with quiet tears in her eyes and subtle cracks in her voice, displaying anything but strength and self-control.
"What ah we going to do?" she sobbed, "What ah we going to do?"
"I don't know," I returned, "I don't know. What...what do you mean?"
I was so sure that she was going to fulfill every fear that had kept me locked in that closet for so long.
She'll probably oust me now. Just tell me to leave, get out, not come back until I'm happily married to a doctor who has it all, including a penis, and have popped out five kids.
"You - you wanna staht looking like uh man now?"
Wait...
"No, Mommy..." I didn't know if it was okay to laugh, "I'm not transgendered, I don't think...I'm...gay."
She sighed again. Was it relief?
I wasn't sure if this was the point in the conversation where she would suddenly spring up and embrace me, letting me know it'll all be okay and that she was just testing me.
If that's her biggest worry, I thought, I'm in pretty good shape.
Unfortunately, my fashion sense was not the depths of my mother's concern. After another long silence, we returned to far more personal questions, one of which continues to trouble me even months afterward.
"So what was it like?" she asked, "How did it feel, how much did it hurt, to have feelings for someone and know that you could never tell them you loved them? That they, she, could never know?"
Up until this point, I had managed to maintain my composure when faced with even the most ignorant and troublesome questions. Not a tear was shed on my part and, apart from the occasional hand and feet fidgets, I had managed to keep the obviousness of my discomfort and internal conflict to a bare minimum.
But when she asked this question, I could feel the wall I had so carefully built around myself begin to crumble. I didn't answer right away - I took a moment to try to regain my composure before opening my mouth. But when I did manage to open my mouth to speak, no words came out. Instead, the air around me was suddenly filled with loud, strained sobs - the likes of which had never been heard before.
The tears fell, a little at first, but eventually I felt like I could drown in them. I couldn't stop shaking, or crying, or sobbing. It just kept coming out, tearing its way out of me like a poorly tamed and contained bird. It couldn't be stopped, and I wasn't sure if I wanted it to stop.
Here it was - the unnamed, faceless monster that had haunted me my entire life. The thing that had caused me so much anguish and fear. The source, and in some ways consequence, of my self-hatred. The one thing that turned the key in that closet door.
There it was, the ghost I had lacked the sense, or desire, to fully acknowledge and come to terms with, so simply identified and so plainly worded that the lock encasing all of my previously restrained emotions was shattered and I was left with no choice but to let them come ripping out.
I went on sobbing for several minutes, while my mother watched. She didn't say a word, nor did she make any attempt to come comfort me. I could feel her eyes on me, scrutinizing my every move, and try as I might to control myself just enough to continue the conversation, I couldn't help but keep going.
Finally, my breathing began to even out, and the tear-flow stagnated. I wasn't sure of what I was feeling. I was lighter somehow, awakened to a new sense of myself. My body was slumped, either by exhaustion or release. I couldn't look at my mother. I didn't want to know what she thought of my spasmodic emotional spell.
When I chanced a glance upward, though, it wasn't disgust I saw in her eyes, or hatred; it was pity - a glint of compassion I didn't know those eyes were capable of. Did she know what I was feeling?
"It hurt, a lot. But...I'm growing," was all I managed to say. Anymore and I was sure I'd start sobbing again. She might start sobbing again.
The conversation ended not too long afterward with a somewhat stiff and embarrassed, "Good night."
The truth is, unrequited love isn't a foreign concept to me, nor is it something from which I think I, or anyone, can ever truly recover.
But love, even the unrequited kind, isn't something that's meant to be caged or tucked away. It isn't bestial, or wrong, or labeled. It isn't slight, or meant to be slighted.
It sets us apart from every other creature on the planet. It forms the foundations of the most basic needs and wants in life. It's why we have faith, and why we wake up in the morning. It exists in all of us, driving us forward, moving us through each day, guiding us through every obstacle.
It's meant to inspire good in everyone and to unite us against the common enemies of ignorance, intolerance, and hatred.
It can't be divided by labels, or contained by fear. It's too big and too loud, and doing so can be too painful and destructive for any one person to experience alone.
Having lived with that pain, the kind that comes with loving someone and knowing, deep down, that she can never know about it, I know that no one should ever have to feel that way. That to go against the very thing that makes us human is not only unnatural, but also perhaps the most exhausting, pointless path anyone can take.
So when society tries to tell me that my love is wrong and that I should control it, repress it, or be ashamed of it, or that it's a different, unnatural kind of love, I know deep down that they are wrong and driven by the hatred that stems from ignorance and fear.
And, someday, when I die and have to face the judgment of God for my sins, I take comfort in knowing that my biggest potential flaw will be loving someone, rather than blindly spreading hatred throughout the world.
There's only one kind of love.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
thanks and samples
the responses to my last blog have been overwhelmingly positive, and i'm not even sure if i can do justice to the amount of happiness, relief, and overall love i'm feeling right now. all i can say is that i am so grateful to have such an unbelievably amazing group of friends/support system. it really means a lot to me.
i know i don't say this often enough, but underneath this tough, formidable, intimidating exterior that is Vickie Toro beats the heart of a softy who loves her friends and sometimes gets the wild urge to pull all of them into a big bear hug/cornucopia of love.
...
so anyways, at the end of the last blog i promised to write a way more entertaining blog - so i'm here to deliver.
first, because i haven't done this in awhile, some "new" music you should look into:
Flock - Bell X1
this actually came out in 2006, which means i was definitely late on the Bell X1 train. however, later's better than never. admittedly, some of the songs (namely Eve, the Apple of My Eye) pay tribute to basically every cheesy, lovey-dovey melody ever composed, and the lyrics are hardly nuanced, but that doesn't take away from the fact that they're way catchy. moreover, songs like Like I Love You (yes, they did a Justin Timberlake cover) and Bad Skin Day pop out of nowhere with something a tad different. though, all this rave might just be me defending my secret love for somewhat cheesey music. sue me.
In Rainbows - Radiohead
i was never really into Radiohead before i heard this album. i just didn't get it. but there was something definitely new and interesting about songs like Weird Fishes/Arpeggi and Nude. i don't get it, but i like it, and you might, too.
So Tonight That I Might See - Mazzy Star
again, i was late. Mazzy Star actually primarily played in the 80s, and this album in particular came out in 1993. however, that doesn't take away from how great it is. it's definitely more mellow than most of the bands i've listed thus far (except for maybe Kings of Convenience and the like). the funny thing is, as Olivia likes to point out every now and then, i'm not a big fan of people who sing with something i call "lazy voices." Mazzy Star's lead, Hope Sandoval, is definitely an exception to this rule. instead of feeling annoyed, as i normally do when i listen to "lazy voices," i was, in a way, captivated. one guitar (usually), maybe a stringed instrument, and Hope's voice are undeniably haunting.
and that's it for music.
now on to some samples.
for those of you who don't know, i'm taking a screenwriting class this semester. every week we're given a prompt to write about and i've decided to take just a couple of them and post them up for more feedback. feel free to be completely honest.
the flower scene - an eager teen meets his crush's very Christian father
breaking up - someone tries to break up with someone else who can't let go
so yeah. go ahead and read them, criticize them, tear them apart, burn them, etc. - any feedback is good feedback.
and that's really about it for tonight, kids. i'll try to be more consistent about blogging. until next time!
i know i don't say this often enough, but underneath this tough, formidable, intimidating exterior that is Vickie Toro beats the heart of a softy who loves her friends and sometimes gets the wild urge to pull all of them into a big bear hug/cornucopia of love.
...
so anyways, at the end of the last blog i promised to write a way more entertaining blog - so i'm here to deliver.
first, because i haven't done this in awhile, some "new" music you should look into:
Flock - Bell X1
this actually came out in 2006, which means i was definitely late on the Bell X1 train. however, later's better than never. admittedly, some of the songs (namely Eve, the Apple of My Eye) pay tribute to basically every cheesy, lovey-dovey melody ever composed, and the lyrics are hardly nuanced, but that doesn't take away from the fact that they're way catchy. moreover, songs like Like I Love You (yes, they did a Justin Timberlake cover) and Bad Skin Day pop out of nowhere with something a tad different. though, all this rave might just be me defending my secret love for somewhat cheesey music. sue me.
In Rainbows - Radiohead
i was never really into Radiohead before i heard this album. i just didn't get it. but there was something definitely new and interesting about songs like Weird Fishes/Arpeggi and Nude. i don't get it, but i like it, and you might, too.
So Tonight That I Might See - Mazzy Star
again, i was late. Mazzy Star actually primarily played in the 80s, and this album in particular came out in 1993. however, that doesn't take away from how great it is. it's definitely more mellow than most of the bands i've listed thus far (except for maybe Kings of Convenience and the like). the funny thing is, as Olivia likes to point out every now and then, i'm not a big fan of people who sing with something i call "lazy voices." Mazzy Star's lead, Hope Sandoval, is definitely an exception to this rule. instead of feeling annoyed, as i normally do when i listen to "lazy voices," i was, in a way, captivated. one guitar (usually), maybe a stringed instrument, and Hope's voice are undeniably haunting.
and that's it for music.
now on to some samples.
for those of you who don't know, i'm taking a screenwriting class this semester. every week we're given a prompt to write about and i've decided to take just a couple of them and post them up for more feedback. feel free to be completely honest.
the flower scene - an eager teen meets his crush's very Christian father
breaking up - someone tries to break up with someone else who can't let go
so yeah. go ahead and read them, criticize them, tear them apart, burn them, etc. - any feedback is good feedback.
and that's really about it for tonight, kids. i'll try to be more consistent about blogging. until next time!
Thursday, March 6, 2008
coming out, among other things
so from the title, as well as from various obscure hints i've littered throughout previous posts, i'm pretty sure you know what this is about.
i've recently made the decision to be way more open about my sexuality - which is hilarious, especially if you know me, because most of my friends think i'm a-sexual.
unfortunately, i'm not a-sexual. in fact, i'm gay. i use "unfortunately" because, if anything, i think telling people that i'm not attracted to anyone is a heck of a lot easier than telling them i'm gay. such is the world in which we live.
for some of you who might be reading this, this might come as a surprise - whether or not that surprise is pleasant isn't my concern.
in fact, i'm not going to use this blog to defend myself or homosexuality, because a.) it won't accomplish anything and b.) i don't want to bore you. this blog, as its name suggests, is for me.
what i will say is that it wasn't a choice for me. i can't remember a time when i didn't have these feelings. my first crush was on a female classmate in pre-school who, after seeing me accidentally screw up an arts and crafts project, came over and cheered me up.
i didn't know that what i was feeling had a label, and i definitely didn't know that general society frowned upon said label. all i knew was that i liked her and there was nothing i could do about it.
it wasn't until a few years and a few other girl-crushes later that i learned the name for my "condition." my sister Olivia had overheard our parents arguing over my sexuality - i was 7 and my mom had told my dad that she was sure i was gay. my dad denied it and said i was just a tomboy. in analyzing Olivia's account of the discussion, i came to the conclusion that my feelings towards other girls were wrong and i should change. so over the next almost-decade-long period of my life i tried everything to not only repress these feelings, but to overcome them completely.
the result? eight years of unbearable exhaustion stemming from unhappiness and self-hatred.
i tried dating boys to convince myself to be attracted to them. as much as i may have really cared about them, i couldn't bring myself to harbor any feelings beyond those of friendship.
i followed in my dad's footsteps and declared myself an outright conservative, reading conservative literature that degraded homosexuality and anything that deviated from the norm. and though i tried to take them to heart, knowing that my efforts at dating boys were failing only inspired more self-hatred.
finally, i read the Bible, thinking that if anyone could "save" me, it would be God. i was looking for any passage that would blatantly tell me that homosexuality is wrong. i was looking for whatever message Westboro Church members had found - that "God hates f**s." ironically enough, even though there are a few mentions of the wrongness of homosexuality, i never found any words of hatred or intolerance. what i found were words that inspire self-acceptance and love. ultimately, the purpose of the Bible isn't to set down laws by which individuals must abide. instead, i found that the Bible's purpose, or God's purpose, is to inspire individuals to love wholly and unconditionally, regardless of any insignificant qualities or imperfections others might possess. and, perhaps most importantly, in order to be able to love others, one must be able to love and accept oneself.
a few months after reading the Bible (when i was 15), i came out for the very first time to my sister Olivia. and it was probably the greatest relief i'd ever experienced. a couple of months after that, i came out to my other sister Annie.
so you might be wondering why i've chosen to come clean about this now. well, i guess the real question is why didn't i do it earlier? it was mostly fear. and this feeling that coming out and saying it could possibly make it finite, and for the longest time, even after coming out to my sisters, the idea of cementing my sexuality in point-blank fact was intimidating. if anything, i was worried about what my friends would say and how they would feel. i was worried about how they would think of and treat me.
but now, after coming out to several other people, i've come to realize that i have truly amazing, supportive, non-judgmental friends. also, that i shouldn't worry about what others think - that i should never have to compromise who i am for the sake of who others think i should be.
so now i'm out. but no worries, i won't be one of those scary, tattooed, mullet-and-tapered-jeans-wearing lesbians. i'm still the same old sometimes-ridiculous, usually-nerdy, mom-impersonating vickie, and i hope you will be able to see and acknowledge that.
if you're surprised by any of this and have questions, i'm completely open to answering anything you want to ask. unless you're asking me to defend myself. in which case, it's a lost cause. for you, i mean.
if you've known all along because i told you, thank you so much for arming me with the confidence to be myself. i love you so much.
next time i promise i'll write a way more entertaining blog.
PS
my parents don't know yet, and i'm planning on telling them over summer break, so if those of you who know my parents, or whose parents know my parents, could keep it on the DL, that'd be great - i mean, i know it's a lot to ask, but i just think this is the kind of thing my parents should find out from me. thanks!
i've recently made the decision to be way more open about my sexuality - which is hilarious, especially if you know me, because most of my friends think i'm a-sexual.
unfortunately, i'm not a-sexual. in fact, i'm gay. i use "unfortunately" because, if anything, i think telling people that i'm not attracted to anyone is a heck of a lot easier than telling them i'm gay. such is the world in which we live.
for some of you who might be reading this, this might come as a surprise - whether or not that surprise is pleasant isn't my concern.
in fact, i'm not going to use this blog to defend myself or homosexuality, because a.) it won't accomplish anything and b.) i don't want to bore you. this blog, as its name suggests, is for me.
what i will say is that it wasn't a choice for me. i can't remember a time when i didn't have these feelings. my first crush was on a female classmate in pre-school who, after seeing me accidentally screw up an arts and crafts project, came over and cheered me up.
i didn't know that what i was feeling had a label, and i definitely didn't know that general society frowned upon said label. all i knew was that i liked her and there was nothing i could do about it.
it wasn't until a few years and a few other girl-crushes later that i learned the name for my "condition." my sister Olivia had overheard our parents arguing over my sexuality - i was 7 and my mom had told my dad that she was sure i was gay. my dad denied it and said i was just a tomboy. in analyzing Olivia's account of the discussion, i came to the conclusion that my feelings towards other girls were wrong and i should change. so over the next almost-decade-long period of my life i tried everything to not only repress these feelings, but to overcome them completely.
the result? eight years of unbearable exhaustion stemming from unhappiness and self-hatred.
i tried dating boys to convince myself to be attracted to them. as much as i may have really cared about them, i couldn't bring myself to harbor any feelings beyond those of friendship.
i followed in my dad's footsteps and declared myself an outright conservative, reading conservative literature that degraded homosexuality and anything that deviated from the norm. and though i tried to take them to heart, knowing that my efforts at dating boys were failing only inspired more self-hatred.
finally, i read the Bible, thinking that if anyone could "save" me, it would be God. i was looking for any passage that would blatantly tell me that homosexuality is wrong. i was looking for whatever message Westboro Church members had found - that "God hates f**s." ironically enough, even though there are a few mentions of the wrongness of homosexuality, i never found any words of hatred or intolerance. what i found were words that inspire self-acceptance and love. ultimately, the purpose of the Bible isn't to set down laws by which individuals must abide. instead, i found that the Bible's purpose, or God's purpose, is to inspire individuals to love wholly and unconditionally, regardless of any insignificant qualities or imperfections others might possess. and, perhaps most importantly, in order to be able to love others, one must be able to love and accept oneself.
a few months after reading the Bible (when i was 15), i came out for the very first time to my sister Olivia. and it was probably the greatest relief i'd ever experienced. a couple of months after that, i came out to my other sister Annie.
so you might be wondering why i've chosen to come clean about this now. well, i guess the real question is why didn't i do it earlier? it was mostly fear. and this feeling that coming out and saying it could possibly make it finite, and for the longest time, even after coming out to my sisters, the idea of cementing my sexuality in point-blank fact was intimidating. if anything, i was worried about what my friends would say and how they would feel. i was worried about how they would think of and treat me.
but now, after coming out to several other people, i've come to realize that i have truly amazing, supportive, non-judgmental friends. also, that i shouldn't worry about what others think - that i should never have to compromise who i am for the sake of who others think i should be.
so now i'm out. but no worries, i won't be one of those scary, tattooed, mullet-and-tapered-jeans-wearing lesbians. i'm still the same old sometimes-ridiculous, usually-nerdy, mom-impersonating vickie, and i hope you will be able to see and acknowledge that.
if you're surprised by any of this and have questions, i'm completely open to answering anything you want to ask. unless you're asking me to defend myself. in which case, it's a lost cause. for you, i mean.
if you've known all along because i told you, thank you so much for arming me with the confidence to be myself. i love you so much.
next time i promise i'll write a way more entertaining blog.
PS
my parents don't know yet, and i'm planning on telling them over summer break, so if those of you who know my parents, or whose parents know my parents, could keep it on the DL, that'd be great - i mean, i know it's a lot to ask, but i just think this is the kind of thing my parents should find out from me. thanks!
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
reliable unreliability
i'd hate to say, "i told ya so," but hey, it's been over a month since my last post and i only remembered to post this time because my sister called me and asked, "what the heck happened to your blog?"
so not a lot has happened in the past month or so, except i think i might be getting closer to reaching a decision about my future.
crazy? just a little bit.
but i've been enjoying my screenwriting class a lot, and i've been getting a lot of positive feedback, so it looks like screenwriting is a definite possibility.
also, i managed to scrape an LOL on my last paper for a class called Variations of Love and Literature - story of my life: getting LOLed when attempting to discuss love.
oh, and lastly, my parents randomly gave me permission to take a 10 hour road trip to tennessee for the Bonnaroo Festival. i'm pretty sure it's that test parents give their kids, hoping they'll screw up so that they can use it as reason to deny permission for anything in the future. and i'm pretty sure it'll work.
i can't really believe i'm basically in the final stretch of my first year of college. i also can't believe it's been almost a year since i've been in high school. i'm getting so old. sometimes i also kind of wish i could fastforward about 20 years. maybe to a time where i'm, like, married with a couple of kids with a mortgage and a few oscars on the mantlepiece.
or maybe i'll be in a shack with lots of cats and nothing to show for my fruitless efforts to become a writer except for heaps of aged, yellow paper i have to start using as toilet paper because of my poverty and my fear of going into town and meeting people.
either way, at least i'll have a better idea of how i'm going to end up. this whole "ignorance is bliss" thing is kind of bull shit. so's this whole "follow your dreams."
honestly, the last dream i had was one where i was being chased by faceless people demanding cupcakes.
and i'm pretty sure i'm not going to be a baker.
so that's about it. feel caught up? good.
so long for now.
PS
i voted for obama. and you should, too.
so not a lot has happened in the past month or so, except i think i might be getting closer to reaching a decision about my future.
crazy? just a little bit.
but i've been enjoying my screenwriting class a lot, and i've been getting a lot of positive feedback, so it looks like screenwriting is a definite possibility.
also, i managed to scrape an LOL on my last paper for a class called Variations of Love and Literature - story of my life: getting LOLed when attempting to discuss love.
oh, and lastly, my parents randomly gave me permission to take a 10 hour road trip to tennessee for the Bonnaroo Festival. i'm pretty sure it's that test parents give their kids, hoping they'll screw up so that they can use it as reason to deny permission for anything in the future. and i'm pretty sure it'll work.
i can't really believe i'm basically in the final stretch of my first year of college. i also can't believe it's been almost a year since i've been in high school. i'm getting so old. sometimes i also kind of wish i could fastforward about 20 years. maybe to a time where i'm, like, married with a couple of kids with a mortgage and a few oscars on the mantlepiece.
or maybe i'll be in a shack with lots of cats and nothing to show for my fruitless efforts to become a writer except for heaps of aged, yellow paper i have to start using as toilet paper because of my poverty and my fear of going into town and meeting people.
either way, at least i'll have a better idea of how i'm going to end up. this whole "ignorance is bliss" thing is kind of bull shit. so's this whole "follow your dreams."
honestly, the last dream i had was one where i was being chased by faceless people demanding cupcakes.
and i'm pretty sure i'm not going to be a baker.
so that's about it. feel caught up? good.
so long for now.
PS
i voted for obama. and you should, too.
Monday, January 14, 2008
post-winter break catch-up
okay, so i know i haven't blogged in about a month, but given the few/no comments i'm pretty sure you haven't noticed. or cared. which means i'm in this for myself now. a lone blogger. so just a bit of catch-up news so i can pretend someone is actually reading this and cares:
1. i was totally sad when Ellen Page lost to Julie Christie at the Critics' Choice Awards, but as Juno won for best screenplay and comedy i was appeased.
2. if you remember from one of my previous posts, where i predicted the outcome of the Golden Globes, you'll know that i got 9 right. what can i say? i know how to call 'em.
3. i got a pretty good haul on Christmas. a bath robe that is completely devoid of over-the-top-femininity (which i can only take to mean that my mom has given up on trying to extract my inherent tomboyishness); matching pajamas that make me look/feel like i'm about 5 years old (you know, those pajamas that are all loose and stretchy until you get to the ankles and wrists where it's tight and a different color); a t-shirt with my all-time favorite motivational quote from one of our generation's greatest thinkers ("Model through it," Tyra Banks); and an acoustic guitar (this was pretty much the highlight of my Christmas, as i'd been begging to learn to play a second instrument since i was about 10)
once i unwrapped the guitar, Olivia turned to me and went, "Oh, God. You're gonna be one of those college students?"
4. the majority of my Christmas break was spent lazing about, catching up on my America's Next Top Model, taking care of Wheezy (our mini-schnauzer who's a total spaz - whenever he starts acting weird, my mom likes to remind me that dogs often take on the behavior of their owner. thanks, mom), and occasionally going out and about to explore the many fine endeavors available in Woodbridge, VA. which includes a bowling alley, a mall, a movie theatre, laser tag, and...that's about it...
so basically my break was uneventful, however i was a little sad about having to come back to school and think. and learn. but that also means procrastination, which is good news for you because it means that my posts will be more frequent.
but yeah. not much more to report. i might be back later this week to vent about my first week back at school. in the meantime, you should see the movie Juno, because i'll probably start making several obscure references to it. so go procure a hasty date with the cheese to your macaroni.
1. i was totally sad when Ellen Page lost to Julie Christie at the Critics' Choice Awards, but as Juno won for best screenplay and comedy i was appeased.
2. if you remember from one of my previous posts, where i predicted the outcome of the Golden Globes, you'll know that i got 9 right. what can i say? i know how to call 'em.
3. i got a pretty good haul on Christmas. a bath robe that is completely devoid of over-the-top-femininity (which i can only take to mean that my mom has given up on trying to extract my inherent tomboyishness); matching pajamas that make me look/feel like i'm about 5 years old (you know, those pajamas that are all loose and stretchy until you get to the ankles and wrists where it's tight and a different color); a t-shirt with my all-time favorite motivational quote from one of our generation's greatest thinkers ("Model through it," Tyra Banks); and an acoustic guitar (this was pretty much the highlight of my Christmas, as i'd been begging to learn to play a second instrument since i was about 10)
once i unwrapped the guitar, Olivia turned to me and went, "Oh, God. You're gonna be one of those college students?"
4. the majority of my Christmas break was spent lazing about, catching up on my America's Next Top Model, taking care of Wheezy (our mini-schnauzer who's a total spaz - whenever he starts acting weird, my mom likes to remind me that dogs often take on the behavior of their owner. thanks, mom), and occasionally going out and about to explore the many fine endeavors available in Woodbridge, VA. which includes a bowling alley, a mall, a movie theatre, laser tag, and...that's about it...
so basically my break was uneventful, however i was a little sad about having to come back to school and think. and learn. but that also means procrastination, which is good news for you because it means that my posts will be more frequent.
but yeah. not much more to report. i might be back later this week to vent about my first week back at school. in the meantime, you should see the movie Juno, because i'll probably start making several obscure references to it. so go procure a hasty date with the cheese to your macaroni.
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