Vulnerable to Imperfection

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."
-Philo

People just love to dwell on imperfection. They hate focusing on themselves, but they magnify the flaws and faults of everybody else and scream them to the world, drawing attention away from their own insecurities. Sure, it's okay to vent about somebody to your friends every once in a while about a certain asshole you know...but don't let your annoyance and anger turn into hatred or ignorance. Because I can guarantee to you that there's more to this person than you think.

What time seems to do a lot is change. It changes the world and the people in it. But ignorance can't be changed by time, even if the person you are disgusted with has transformed, or is in the midst of a personal transformation. That's how people dwell. You have to admit that you love to complain. Everyone does. I do. No one doesn't complain. People even complain about complaining! But can't you just try to keep up with the times? It's no use complaining about your favorite sports team's humiliating loss a few years ago, when now they're champions. And why complain about your trashy cousin who dropped out of high school and got knocked up, when now she earned her G.E.D., is raising her child in as stable a home as she can provide, and is putting her life back together?

Why complain about what a hypocritical, hating bitch I am, when I'm simply not like that anymore? Because I know I was. I know all the things I used to say that contradicted other things I said. But I've changed...and I know I have, because I see the world differently. It's sharper and I'm simply a happier person. It's nearly impossible to be a hypocrite and be happy...because hypocrisy is something one commits when they're just trying to cover up their own faults. I knew I was an intolerant scumbag, so I thought preaching about tolerance and acceptance would make up for it. People refuse to let go of that old "once a cheater, always a cheater" way of thinking. That's NOT the way things are. People CHANGE. I've CHANGED.

But it bothers me that people seem to maintain this old view of me, when they have witnessed my transformation. At least, I think they have. The thing is, I'm not really mean anymore, but when I say something nice, people jump all over it and make a reference to a mean thing I said ages ago and still accuse me of hypocrisy. Also, I think people listen more to what others have to say about me than what I have to say about myself. I hear people complain about me with my own two ears. And I see people listening. And then, I see those people repeat to others what they heard. What they're basically doing is ingraining this old image of me in their brains, and live by it. Anything good I say and do is immediately cancelled out by something bad I've said in the past. Nothing good I say and do is taken into account, but if I say one even slightly bad thing, fingers are thrown in my face and I am cornered against a wall. This is EXACTLY what I mean by devaluing people's humanity. The reason I'm even writing this blog is because I feel my own humanity being devalued. Because I need SOME credit. My life isn't a walk in the park, people, and I know ya'll's aren't either. But at least I forgive you for it.

Some people do forgive me, and I thank them. I'm glad that they bother to stick around to not only witness, but experience the changes I'm putting myself through. And I mean, it's not like it's that hard to change. It's not hard to be nice. The thing that's hard is to be optimistic when you can tell that few people actually believe in you. It's hard to demolish every ounce of hate in my veins when I'm hated for things that are irrelevant to who I am today. You can hate me yesterday, but I don't give you permission to hate me today until you actually try to understand who I am and where I'm coming from.

For instance, I was talking to somebody who I feel despises me, whom my friends and I always overhear trashing me for things I've said and done before I even became a bit self-realised. I told her about my transformation, and she didn't seem to believe me. So I told her to at least read my blog and maybe she'll soften up, but she refused to. That is exactly the problem here, folks. THAT is the problem. Because while people accuse me of being such a hypocrite, they refuse to acknowledge that I am doing something about it. That I am a different Kaytee. And that makes them the hypocrites, doesn't it? They hate me for talking about how I just want there to be tolerance and yet I don't tolerate...but the same thing is reflected in themselves.

My point is that I would appreciate it if you stopped talking about me and to me about hypocrisy, because I know those who do don't understand me at all. My friends don't accuse me of it, because they know me, and they know how hard I try to be as good a person I can be. They know that I make mistakes, but they forgive me. They don't undermine my humanity, my vulnerability to imperfection, and my longing to be the best person I can be.

I don't know what you people think that I think I am, but I'm not trying to be a goddess. An angel. A hero. A Gandhi, even. I'm just trying to be a better version of myself. Understand my faults, and appreciate my accomplishments. If not, don't say a word about it, because you're only being the person you're accusing me of being.

And there you have it,

Kaytee.

This Is Not About Me

This is not about me

The person that you'll see

A monster and a villain

But to a higher degree

This is not about me
The screaming you'll hear
Ghost of presents passed
Whispers terror in your ear

This is not about me
The taste I leave on your tongue
A bittersweet reminder
Of how my presence stung

This is not about me
The odor of decaying joy
Nose crumbled in a grimace
As I watch you self-destroy

This is not about me
The calloused fingers on your skin
Which twist your pretty neck
For once I'm the evil twin.

(This is my response to the prompt for April 22.)

One Thing Can't Be Denied

One thing can't be denied, and that's the fact that I am still a teenager. Adolescence is something everyone experiences, but I really wish we could skip it. Maybe that wouldn't be such a good idea; it is now, after all, that I'm starting to get in touch with who I really am. Maybe my teen years aren't so happy, but they're only to set myself up for adulthood, which could either suck or be terrific. Or somewhere in between. But there are still so many things about my age that I can't stand. For instance, I feel that I'll never get older. Now, I don't want to be older mainly for reasons like, "Oh, I want to get married and have kids!" or "I don't want to have to go to school anymore!" (though that most definitely IS a reason) or "I just wanna look older so guys would want to fuck me and not worry about going to jail." No, I want to age because nobody seems to take me seriously. Sure, my friends do, but I want there to be more people who can relate. It isn't enough. I have a lot to say, but when I try saying it, the older people go, "Well, you're only fifteen, what do YOU know about this?" Did you ever get that? It's quite annoying.

One thing can't be denied, and that's that music just sucks these days. I know that's a subjective matter, but don't you think it all just sounds the same? Things are just so easy to group together, while older music is more debatable and difficult to place in a certain genre. Speaking of which, today I was working on a multimedia project where I make a Macromedia Flash page on a band's discography, and of course, I'm doing Queen. I was getting information for the Queen II page when I read about how, on the original LP, what are usually called the A and B sides were called "Side Black" and "Side White". The white side contained the more emotional songs, whereas the black side contained the darker and fantastical songs. Has any band recently been so creative? Okay, probably, but it still doesn't change the fact that they would be easy to categorize. Who am I to speak about music, though? I hardly listen to anything but Queen! (And jazz, and 60s rock. And Iranian pop. And classical guitar. Etc.)

One thing can't be denied, and that's that love makes a fool of people. When I'm in love, I can't help but to act all girly and giggly around my new...lover, for lack of a better word. My new object of affection, if you will. I'm not usually girly and giggly, and I just hate when I get like that. But it happens. Eventually I settle down and act like my usual tomboyish self, but while it lasts...it's gross. BUT. Falling and being in love is a great feeling. I love acting like such a child, with the butterflies and dreaminess. I love first kisses. I don't typically think or care about romance, but when the time comes when it's appropriate to think and care about, it's nice. I just wish the girl and giggle factor would leave me alone. I want the love Roy Croft speaks of when he says, "I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you."

One thing can't be denied, and sadly, it's that we devalue the humanity of others by habit. There's nothing I can do to force myself to imagine the lives the people who walk by me on the streets. Do they even mind? I mean, I know I am the exact same thing to them. I don't really mind myself. But that's because I know what I'm thinking. Do they know what I'm thinking? Do they know that no matter how hard they try, when it comes down to it, they just don't stick out? A guy with a mohawk sticks out...but in a sea of guys with mohawks, he does not. A bearded man sticks out...but in a sea of bearded men, he does not. A pregnant woman sticks out...but in a sea of pregnant women, she does not. Everyone belongs somewhere, whether they like it or not. People just make it out to be a bad thing. Who you are and what you look like automatically sticks you into a default group. Don't whine about it. Make friends with them. If you have friends like you, it's easier to have friends unlike you.

One thing can't be denied, and that's that world peace is simply not possible. Sure, we can want it. But we're never going to get it. No use setting yourself up for disappointment. Perfection doesn't exist. And that goes for everything, from a plastic Barbie (who can't feel, and therefore can't do anything) to human civilization. The best idea is to have an achievable yet still beneficial goal. Clean up the trash at the side of the highway. Sure, it may be a dump again a month from now. But cleaning it will keep it from turning into a wasteland. Rescue a homeless animal. Doing so won't rescue all of them, but if you set an example, more people will want to follow, and less animals will suffer. Adopt an orphaned or abandoned child. You can't afford to care for the millions of others, but at least you're making a difference in the life of one. Sitting around and weeping at the fact that you can't save everything at once helps NOBODY.

One thing can't be denied, and that's that beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. This is advice many people, especially people my age, could use. No matter what you look like, you can't make every one's eyes shine and want more of you. Because while you're over here trying to impress these people, you've already made an impression on somebody else. Appearance is completely subjective. Being called ugly shouldn't affect you at all. First of all, if somebody actually calls you ugly, you can already tell they themselves don't believe it, or they wouldn't have said it in the first place. But if they do believe it, there's another person who thinks you're gorgeous. When your friends constantly have to tell you that you aren't ugly because you're always so hung up on what strangers think you, you're only showing your friends disrespect. You aren't listening to them. You're beautiful, now get the hell over it. Ugliness does not exist. It only does in your mind's eye. Get rid of it. I've said it before and I'll say it again: you can't make every one's eyes shine. So stop whining about those whose eyes aren't shining at you because you'll be miserable all your life if you don't.

One thing can't be denied, and it's the fact that life is what you make it. Might as well embrace yourself, because if you don't, you're in for a whole lot more than bruises.

(This has been my daily writer's prompt response for this day.)

I'm Always Amazed

I hadn't written a parody to a Queen song in awhile, so I thought tonight that I should do it again. Inspiration was bountiful and I wanted to take advantage of it, so I took and altered the words to "These Are the Days Of Our Lives". However, unlike my past parodies, this one is not about Freddie: rather, it is about another boy I love, and I found the meaning of the song fit so perfectly with my situation that I just had to work with it. The thing was, it was already so matching! But I decided still to customize it and make it work even more. So now, of course, you can understand my recent feelings when it comes to love, since I most definitely will not explain it to the world in any other way ever again. 

Anyway, here it is.

I'm Always Amazed

I'd always wished I'd gone unfeeling

Luck had me in a daze - that was long ago

Thoughts were morbid and cold words stung

I was such a reject - you know ?

The days were endless, thought I was crazy, held my tongue

But there was a silver lining - a romance had begun

I seemed to have learned love innately - well I don't know

Though I'd maintained a grin - it had grown

I'm always amazed how our lives,

No matter the things we've gone through, 

Can change for the better, amend our points of view

And in this change, I'd come to find that I loved you

Though it was not a shock, I'd gotten cast aside

Wasn't I lame?

Ooh, but then things had rhyme, I had you by my side

I wasn't so ashamed

Now I've been thinking and it's hard to comprehend  

How, after all we'd been through, things just seemed to end

Sometimes it seems like lately - I just don't know

These feelings from long ago - will never go

I'm always amazed how our lives

Can change in such small spans of time

We may now be strangers but still I pray

We'll look back and we'll find - no change

I'm always amazed how our lives, yeah

Can change with the succor of few

How time has gone by but this one fact is true

When I look and I find, I still love you

I still love you

Little Girl, Cherish Yourself

A few minutes ago, I was writing a little epistle for the invitations of my 16th birthday party for the guests (even though I'm not handing them out for another month...I'm just so excited). The theme of my party is going to be "Goin' Back", and reliving childhood. I decided to include a picture of myself when I was seven, when I was the happiest and most care-free I have ever been. I went into my mom's closet where she keeps photo albums and flipped through them, one by one.

As I did, I thought, "Little girl, you're almost sixteen. No, you don't love Barney anymore, though you promised you always would...but you have found other loves. And you know the world for what it is. That's a good thing, I suppose - but sometimes you will wish to go back, because people take children's voices seriously. Now that you actually have something to say to the world as a whole...nobody wants to hear of it." I also reviewed documents and discovered things about myself I never really knew or remembered: I was born at 10:48 AM for instance, and made honour roll in grade school. I was baptized into the Catholic faith on December 5th, 1992, when I was only six months old. With the certificate of baptism, there was a note from, I suppose, the priests who did it. It said that I was blessed that my parents wanted to share with me their "greatest gift": their faith. I would grow to know and love Jesus Christ...God loves me...etc. etc.

And because I'm such an emotional little crybaby (without the tears), I closed my eyes and held it close, because I felt bad. It wasn't like a, "Oh boy, I was baptized, so of course God exists," sort of thing, since I still think the whole idea of God is bogus and unrealistic. I just felt bad. Because those men expected me to be like them, but I strayed from their ideal. Not that it's a bad thing (it's a very good thing). They just had no idea. I was only a baby. That's why you should only baptise people when they understand what's going on and why: if you don't, you'll face disappointment when they look back and shrug.

Once I was finished looking at all those ancient documents, I returned to my room and lay on my bed. And I thought.

Often, I write letters to my younger self. But actually looking at pictures of her, I find it astonishing that such a beautiful little girl would one day grow up and hate herself (I don't anymore, but I did) and want to blend in, and then want to stand out, and loathe it both ways. She would hate her skin, she wouldn't live in the moment, she would never experience that dreamy naivety of children again. From all that happiness would only come misery and disappointment. The typical pains of adolescence. Where was the carefree little girl now? How did her little girl spirit die? Where was it now?

The little girl was tucked away in one of the hundreds of filing cabinets in my mind, lost in all the chaos of my scattered brain. She was asleep, and took all her happiness with her.

But then, she stirred and opened an eye. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, looking around. The world was sharper than she remembered. Her body had changed and so had her surroundings. People talked to her differently. She had different interests. She was slightly more sophisticated. But she still viewed the world with the same profoundedness, living in the present and smiling at it. She pouted her lips and waggled a little finger at the monstrous misery that had consumed the mind. It was time-out for that naughty child. Time-out forever. It was the best punishment she could imagine, like peppermint ice cream, or jumping off swings, or playing Red Rover with her friends. It wasn't a punishment. It was an embrace of the self.

And now my mind, once dominated by dark thoughts and the lack of a will to live, has resurrected the little girl kept hidden so long. She's free. She's happy. She's spins and plays with her new friends every day at lunch, and laughs at silly things and tells immature jokes. And she's almost sixteen years old.

I can sense that people resent my happiness and my love for life. They both hate it since their little girl or boy is lost, and admire it because it's possible to find the child again. They glare at me and flip their hair over their shoulders, stunned at how dorky and childish I behave. But everyone knows it's better than an existence fretting in front of the mirror, social-climbing, and putting on a mask just to impress people - even though the people they want to impress feel the same way.

Where's your little girl, reader? If you can't find her, cherish yourself anyway, and life will be better.

Walk With You

Dear Freddie,

Even though I'm an atheist and I don't believe in angels or whatever, I'm still going to speak to you as if you are here, because...it keeps me sane, I suppose. It's a psychological thing. And I desperately wish it were true. Sometimes I imagine your presence in my bedroom, but then I think, "It's just me being paranoid again." That feeling gives me goosebumps and while I'd be startled at first if you appeared, I would eventually relax, and then cry, and then speak to you. Anyhow, here I am writing a letter to you as if you could read my mind (if you can, I am only slightly embarrassed, but also grateful, because you know what I'm feeling and don't underestimate me).

I've written many other letters to you, but I still gripped for dear life the slippery notion that you are actually here. But now I know you aren't. But you know what? I think I'm okay with that. Because while you are experiencing non-existence, the world still experiences you. You are a legend, and I feel that it is my duty to make sure you stay that way. Hopefully generations beyond mine will continue to keep your musical spirit alive. I hope that in one hundred years, the distant echo of your voice will whisper in the minds of techies who have radios installed in their heads.

Last night, as I lay down to bed, everything was very sharp - visually and mentally. Colours stood out and my mind was completely in the moment. And, of course, I was talking to myself. I have no idea what it was. Was it meditation? Was it insanity? Or was it a very powerful consciousness? The sensation was liberating for a few minutes, but then I started creeping myself out, so I turned my head into my pillow, closed my eyes, and shut off my brain.

Now, I want to experience it again. I'm not sure what it's like to be stoned, but I'm almost positive that what happened was the polar opposite of being high. Reality seemed so lucid, and my senses were on high alert. I realised that during most of waking hours, though I am fully awake, my mind is a still a blur of activity and motion. Stillness and serenity doesn't fit into my daily schedule.

I am a creature of the night, don't you think? That's when emotions are soaring, and when I am most likely to open up even the things I don't speak of in daylight (you should know that I am very outspoken, and can rarely keep one of my own secrets). At night, the secrets I do have are boiling at the surface, and I analyse them. Night is when I trust my mind. It is when I don't judge myself, and I forgive myself, and I worry about other people's well being. During the day, I admit, I am self-centered. Not conceited, not narcissistic - just self-centered. But when sun sets and I take off my shades, that is when I am most vulnerable and compassionate.

For instance, I have a friend; I can be pretty harsh about him when I speak of him to my other friends, and I'm often irritated at him. Except now I feel sympathy, because I realise that, of course, he is only human! And I sense that he isn't very, well, emotionally stable, so I feel bad for contributing to his torment, because he's always putting himself down. I also feel like a back-stabber. He tells me all sorts of secrets and I feel like I know him very well, and so shouldn't I be aware of his humanity? Shouldn't I defend him more than I harass him? So what if he acts a bit ridiculous and immature at times? It just bothers me that I seem to have such a hard time getting along with him, when he confides in me and when he has good intentions.

I think I should apologise, and clear up with my other friend that, I understand her dislike for him, but I'm not going to take sides anymore. I don't want to devalue his humanity. Because if I devalue his humanity, I will get in the habit of devaluing the humanity of others, and become a bitter person. It shouldn't be hard; he's a friend. It's much more difficult to accept the humanity of people who hate people like me. So if I can't even train myself to love my friends, however annoying they are, how can I love my enemies?

Have you noticed, Freddie, that this seems to be my theme in life right now? Realising the vulnerability of individuals? Some are pigs, some are stolid, some are quivering masses of doubt; but we're all worth the same amount, right?

I should walk the walk. And you know that I'm going to walk it with you.

Love you always,

Kaytee.

I Can't Disprove God

But who gives a fuck? I think I'm absolutely sure that there is not a god or gods. Because I was once a Christian and was raised in a Christian family, I will still resume my habit of talking about superior powers as if it were a singular male...whatever.

What makes me think I need to disprove God anyway? Obviously, he does not exist. I am an evolutionist, I am an ex-Christian atheist (though the ex-Christian thing is kind of bullshit; ever since I even began to comprehend religious crap, which was probably around 6th grade, I have not been "Christian". I probably never was. I believed in God like I believed in Santa Clause - it was merely a childhood fantasy that I grew out of), and I have never seen proof of this god's existence. And I'm not looking for proof, because I know there isn't any.

Which brings me to the subject of miracles. I do not believe in them, they are bullshit, let's leave it at that...okay, let's not, I still want to discuss it. People, whenever something "miraculous" happens, it's not because some god made it happen. We live in a fucking big universe (for us), and here, many things are bound to happen. It's called probability. For instance, if a baby destined to die so young survived with hardly any medical problems to deal with its entire life, that's not a miracle: it had to happen at some point or another. Either way, people would declare it a miracle, despite that fact. That's the way things work. If you have a bag with one hundred red marbles and one blue marble, and you continuously picked out marbles and replaced them, at least once you would pick the blue marble.

So what pisses me off is that some people experience beneficial probability and assume it's because God is behind it. Well, it doesn't piss me off, it just annoys me. For instance, one day I visited the religion forum on Myspace, and one topic was, "I was an atheist, and now I believe in god." The story went something like this: once upon a time, a guy lost his watch and so searched his entire house for it, thus missing the bus. These facts combined spoiled his day, and he was in an awfully bad mood. However, when he arrived home from wherever he was (I suppose he caught another bus), he turned on the news and discovered that the bus he would have taken had he not lost his watch had crashed. As he heard this, he found his watch. And so of course, a miracle! God must exist! The reasoning behind his bogus logic is faulty beyond belief, and okay, it does more than annoy. I AM pissed. Because while he was celebrating, he didn't realise that other people's lives had been endangered, and that people missing their buses is quite common, as are car accidents. But when it just so happens that HE is the one whose life had been spared, God suddenly exists. I don't think so. It is self-centered and typically human. Other people died, but he didn't, so God is real and God is great. Babies die all the time due to health conditions, but yours didn't, so God is real and God is great. Thousands of people died on September 11th, 2001, because of the fall of the Twin Towers, but you called in sick that day because you just didn't feel like going to work, so, of course, God is real and God is great. And God just loves you doesn't he? Never mind the deaths and sufferings of everyone else out there that this great god of yours is not taking care of. The point is, he took care of you, and you is all who matters.

Get real. You are an accident to existence, as am I and everybody else. We were put here by sheer chance. Your life was saved by sheer chance. Miracles happen less often than they do, and that's because they are merely the results of probability. If they happened all the time, they wouldn't be miracles. On the contrary, if God really is behind it, that should give you all the reason to NOT want to have faith in him. Have you realised what a miracle IS? By the definition of dictionary.com, "an effect or extraordinary event in the physical world that surpasses all known human or natural powers and is ascribed to a supernatural cause." So what is "all known"? Why is it an "extraordinary event"? Is human distress and death and tyranny and despair "all known"? Are "extraordinary events" things that relieve this grief? And finally, does it happen by God? If this god of yours is so real, so great, and so loving, how come miracles don't happen all the time? Why aren't we used to this sort of thing? Why does god pick and choose from all his "children"? Why does God perform abortions on innocent little fetuses that haven't even been given the chance to sin (pro-lifers, ever wonder what a miscarriage was?)? Is it because God is actually a huge despotic bastard who is a replica of humanity's selfish and power-hungry nature? Or is it all CHANCE? Is it all ACCIDENTAL?

GOD DOES NOT EXIST. I am more certain than ever before. There is no superhero in the sky who created you for a reason (whatever sick reasons they may be). No supernatural being loves you. How terrible the truth is. Thing is, I am completely FINE with it. I'm fine with the fact that I'm not so deprived of love and affection that I look to an invisible man for it. I'm fine with the fact that I'm here by chance, that I probably wouldn't be here because of it, but all that is bogus, because I am here, and if I wasn't, the person in my place would be saying the exact same thing. I'm fine with the fact that I know how to use common sense to live my life, and am therefore so happy with who I am that I find it hard to hate even President Bush anymore (because I DON'T hate him! I disagree with everything he stands for, but how can I hate him when life is so good? He's only human, after all, and so am I). I'm fine with the fact that I don't constantly deprive myself of simple pleasures because I fear I will go to some fiery pit for the rest of eternity for it. If I'm wrong, too bad for me. But I'm pretty sure I'm not. I guess that's what they all say.

By this point, I have probably lost the respect of many people. But at least I'm not kidding myself.

And there you have it (for now),

Kaytee.