"Don't You Forget About Me"

"Tell me your troubles and doubts.
Give me everything, inside and out...
... Will you recognize me?
Call my name or walk on by?"

B.F.F. That's what people used to call each other back in grade-school days. "Best Friends Forever" It's such a sweet and innocent idea. Even I couldn't help but give in to such a notion. But I did. I believed very strongly that such a relationship could be forged. No, I didn't believe in fairies, dragons, Santa Clause, or the perfect girl, but I believed that the friendships I created were meant to last.

Since I was quite young, I'd say 14 or 15, I'd always tried to find the best way to conduct myself morally and at the same time individually. A way to create my own identity and to step on as few toes as possible. This lead to me being blessed with a rather vast number of friends during my high-school years. And, as anyone who is at all sociable, I somehow managed to find myself in a sort of clique. I say "sort of" because it was, in a way, a clique that defied or satirized all other cliques. They were part of my inner circle and I was a part of theirs.
Aside from being one who could, more or less, chill with any group I chose, I was frequently approached for advice. I've made it a point to try and understand and relate to every one's perspective(s) as well as help them see other options invisible to them due to pride, irrationality, or other hindrances. This more mature way of thinking kept me rather busy as a number of them considered me their therapist. Many people would tell me their problems; rant to me of their boyfriend/ girlfriend troubles, their schoolwork worries, and even tension in the family. All the while, I wasn't the least bit annoyed by anyone. I considered it an honor that so much trust was being placed on me. It was certainly a wise investment of my time to study, learn, and understand how people act.
It seemed as if it would be that way forever. I knew it wouldn't, but that knowledge just kept getting pushed to the back of my mind. I was too busy enjoying the company the good people of my class. I got my first taste of true relationship dissolution in the eleventh grade. I was part of a very tight-knit group back then. We were all very happy and got along rather well for the size and considerable diversity of the people within. To make a long story short, our dissolution was very slow and painful. I found it particularly hurting due to the facts that I was not directly involved in the numerous conflicts that led to our eventual divorce and that I had to watch, from front-row seats, the bonds I'd once thought unbreakable disintegrate into nothing. I had somehow managed to maintain good relationships from our now defunct family but it was never the same.
Senior year: one by one they fell. Friendships transformed into rivalries. Lovers became haters. Though circumstances varied from instance to instance, the outcome was becoming all too common. It hurt me to see friends so quickly cast away so precious a thing as friendship. And, though in reality I understood, I was baffled as to why anyone ruin a good romantic relationship. In short, by the time I'd graduated, I was left to wonder: how long would I stay friends with those I was honored to call as such during my high-school years? One year? two years? A few months?
It's been about a year and half now and where do I stand? I don't know where exactly, but it sure feels as if I stand alone. Sure, I still care a great deal about them, but there is an unmistakable rift between me and everyone else.
Everyone seems to have found their own group. Some including others from school. Other gaining brand new friends in their universities or workplaces. I no longer have a group. I've recently admit that. I have friends from my old hangout group but that group, all though they all still get along very well (more or less), is no longer, rather CAN no longer, be considered a group.
Sure, I'm still contacted every now and then. Sometimes it's to hang out. Even rarer are the times when I'm called upon to listen to their troubles. I do cherish those times when I am called upon to do one of the things I do best: listen. This usually leads to a brief fluctuation in the amount of time devoted to me as a friend. However, as soon as they are back on their feet, They are back to their group and, though I regret nothing of the experience, I go back to being very much by myself.
So, why don't I just go and find myself a group? Well, the general consensus is that I am far more mature in my ways then many if not most of my friends. They even say that I could fair quite well if I were to date a woman ten years or more older than me (I actually wouldn't complain let alone mind). I don't fit in to the vast majority of those my own age because 1) I am not much of a clubbing/ raving type 2) I'm not much of a drinker; I'll take a glass of red wine over a couple of beers any day 3) Though I can talk and relate to many of the topics most of my peers enjoy discussing, I yearn quite strongly for more mature conversation. Conversation with deeper meaning, relative importance, and/or just plain old one-on-one personal talk. (I'll admit that, on the third note, I tend to lean the conversation in what I assume is a favorable topic such as the irrelevant humor of Will Ferrel or Family Guy. I rarely delve into more personal and important matters unless the topic is visibly present in the way the other person is presenting them self.)

So. what do I do? Do I wait until my peers have grown up and finally start acting my age (I'm not saying they are immature and definitely not saying they are inferior to me. If anything, I am vastly inferior to them.)? Do I try to fit in with crowds? Do I try dating woman much older than me (Again, I really don't mind)? The only thing I do know is I don't want to be alone anymore.


P.S. Have you seen the trailer for the new Star Trek movie? OH MY GAAAAAAAWD!!! CAN'T HARDLY WAIT!

"You're Nobody Till Somebody Loves You"

"You may be king, you may possess the world and its gold,
But gold won't bring you happiness when you're growing old."

Since last month, right around Christmas time, one topic has constantly come up over and over again. Both relatives and co-workers alike have joined forces to incessantly remind me that I am single. Barely a day has gone by when someone hasn't said something along the lines of "So, do you have a girlfriend?" or "Hey, how many girlfriends do you have?". Then I tell them I'm still flying solo and the wave of disappointment is almost always visible on their faces.
I'm glad they don't ask why; my reasoning is a tad bit lengthy. Not necessarily because I'm long-winded and almost enjoy going into detail (which is no surprise to anyone reading these posts) but because, when presented with the bare facts, it seems rather illogical. However, if one can survive my lengthy explanation, even the wisest of Vulcans would have to say that my reasoning is quite logical... unfortunately.

I was born a hopeless romantic. I think I skipped the phase in my youth where I'm supposed to want to bang every girl that'll show enough skin. In fact, I can't recall ever being the guy to say "Yo, that girl over there is fiiiiiiiiine" or something. I always thought that was rude and wasn't the way to go about finding someone compatible.
My way of showing initial affection bared a stark difference to what the modern male flirt holds in his arsenal. I thought standing up for a girl and showing her kindness and doting upon her were a part of showing a girl that you care. Instead, I've found that in order to get a date with girls my age, I need to tease them to the point of vexation (which apparently does not occur if the girl reciprocates the same feelings toward the male) and I need to have a body like Fabio.
My character also causes problems in the pursuit of romance. Firstly, though I can fit in easily with just about anyone or any group, I do not easily fit into one single niche; my taste in just about everything is very eclectic. For example: I dig Metal music but would probably not get along with a metal-head girl because I also like Frank Sinatra and Duran Duran and Green Day. Or I can't go out with a die-hard Star Wars fan because, aside from being a die-hard Star Wars fan myself, I am also a die-hard fan of Star TREK... and to Jedis and Trekkies alike, this is unacceptable.
Secondly: According to just about everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) I am much more mature than most people my age. So much so that, in fact, many of my friend believe I would make a fine couple with a woman in her late twenties to mid-thirties. Not that I'm complaining. I couldn't really care less how old a woman was as long as I find her attractive on the inside (though attractive on the outside would be a big plus).
Anyways, it seems as if I’ve always been doomed to fail. I’ve found that my chances of getting anything off the ground are extremely low. Not to mention, if anything actually DOES start to work out for me, it always ends terribly (Well, I don’t know if I can use “always” for only two situations… but they both ended real shitty) However, this still leaves much unsaid as to why I’m retiring from the game of Love.
I suppose my "decision" to go it alone can be traced back to about spring 2006. Having finally found enough courage to put myself out there again after long period of shyness, I was shot down in a burning flame. I would have been very happy (Okay, so not “very happy” but more satisfied) with a simple lie like “I don’t think it’d work out.” But no! It had to be taken to extremes and words had to be said! Words like “You’re the greatest and the nicest any guy has been to me. I just don’t want to hurt you.” I could understand her situation… enough to not be mad at all at being shot down. Still, I couldn’t help but feel like a worth turd complete with corn kernels.
Then the summer rolled around and Love came knocking again. I wasn’t looking for it (I never really “look” for it) but it found me. We hadn't known each other for very long but it felt as if I’d known her my whole life. Within an hour of our chance meeting, we were laughing and talking as if we’d been friends forever. It didn’t take long until I had that feeling. You know, the one that people always talk about? The one they all say “When the right person comes along, you can feel it.”. I felt it, as sure as I live and breath I knew I was in love with her. That’s not to say that everything between us was always smooth sailing (No way!) but as much as I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t a good idea, I kept coming to the same conclusion: I’m in Love with her.
When she passed away I was barely able to keep myself together. If a few of my friends hadn’t been there for me, I don’t where I’d be.
I knew that one day I’d Love again. But Love was the last thing on my mind for a while. Every time I thought about Love I would be reminded of her. But, then again, like I said, Love comes finding me when I’m not looking.
What if you had just lost someone you loved more dearly than you’ve ever loved anyone before? What if you thought you’d never love again? What if, against all odds, you actually found yourself liking or even loving someone again after the ordeal? What if a girl told you “Why can’t I find a guy just like you?”, hmm? You’d be flattered, right? Especially if you had begun to develop feelings toward her. Maybe, but not after putting yourself, once again, on the line and getting turned down. I should know... because that's what happened to me.

This all leads me to what I started with: my love hiatus. Now, you may say it’s silly, but you’ll no doubt find it logical. My reason for refraining from getting into any sort of relationship is as follows: Twice, I have been told how good and sweet I am (God, I hate hearing that!) and in both cases I have not been classified as boyfriend material. One must conclude that, assuming 100% is absolutely everything a girl needs and wants when being courted, then who I am cannot equal more than 49%. (all figuratively speaking, of course) Since this is so, I have concluded that I can’t have a relationship with anyone because, if I were to ask them out, I would be asking them to settle for something less than what they could have (50% or more). And if they were to approach me, seeing that I would not be one to make the first move, I would have to turn them down because, if I do care, I shouldn’t allow them to settle for someone like me; If I truly care, I feel that they should be with someone that can be so much more fulfilling than I could ever be.
Make sense now? Good. Stop asking if I have a girlfriend now.

"Have You Ever Seen the Rain"

"Yesterday, and days before,
Sun is cold and rain is hard,
I know; Been that way for all my time."

One of my highest ranking pet-peeves, ranking among cowboy hats, guys wearing pink shirts and Micheal Buble, is the improper use of words in the English language. I'm sure that would expand to other languages as well if only I were fluent in them but, alas, I am not. One such example of this misuse of words, and an example I take very seriously, is the common use of the word "depressed".
It seems "depressed" has gone the way of the word "mad". "Mad" correctly refers to insanity that usually results in violent and/or irrational actions. Some of these actions could also be the result of someone being angry. It was only a matter of time before the word began to be misused to the point its original definition is less common than its use as a synonym for "angry".
Now, just in case you were wondering "what do you know about being depressed?", your answer lies below.

I was first introduced to the word "depressed" through television. It was on a cartoon I used to watch in elementary school. Being one who enjoyed expanding their vocabulary, I quickly adopted it as a synonym for "unhappy" or "sad".
I was in the third grade when I'd used the word to describe how I was feeling that day. My teacher took note of this and, I suppose as a precaution, had me speak to one of the school administrators (Actually, I don't exactly know who she was. I'd seen her around before but never actually learned what it was she did.). She asked my a serious of questions which determined that I wasn't depressed. I was told not to use it so openly but not why. After that, I considered the word "depressed" a sort of taboo that I couldn't use unless I knew what it was. And after that discussion with Ms. She-whose-name-I-shall-never-remember I was very hesitant to ask about it. Besides, it was just one word. I was interested in expanding my vocabulary but so much that I'd go to great lengths to research it (especially in the third grade).
As I entered high-school, "depression" became a more common word. I'm sure there wasn't a week that went by when someone somewhere in school wasn't telling everyone how depressed they were. I 'd come to understand by then that it was just a dramatic and exaggerated way of saying that one was down in the dumps.
And yet, I began to wonder. A frequent enough topic on the news was the growing number of depressed teens. I knew that they must've been referring to the actual definition of "depression". By this time I'd achieved a better understanding of what depression was: The way I saw it, depression was a sickness; a type of brain malfunction that may or may not have been triggered by a saddening event or events. In any case, I thought "Meh, whatever! I'll bet no one at school is REALLY depressed."
It wasn't until senior year that I really understood what depression really was. I'd been going through great deal of rough patches with my parents the following year, coping with the idea of graduating grade school and entering real life, and rejection, regret and heartbreak. What I felt from all these was indescribable at the time. I was always tired, when before I'd have no problems waking early and paying attention in class. I began to eat excessively as if I were a bottomless pit or a Yoshi. Among other things, the thing stood out most to me was this ever-present melancholy that would sometimes give way to undeniable sadness. Even when I was making the effort to enjoy myself (and often enough, I was making an effort) I could feel the looming gloom hovering above my head.
I was doing everything I could to keep myself occupied with things I enjoyed doing. My friends and I were drama and sketch buffs and performed at 3 separate events that year, one of which was completely produced by us. I did really good job of staving off these feeling during the day, but every night it always the feelings always came back.
The idea had dawned on me that I was genuinely depressed, but for a long while, denied it. However, the mere idea of having depression sparked enough interest in the topic to research it quite extensively. The more I learned about it, the more I realized how serious this sickness was... this sickness I had.
I never told anyone about it back then. Eventually, I got through it though. I really have to thank my friends for getting me out of that rut. They don't know it but they were a vital reason I was able to recover from it all.
That and because of a one-in-a-million, fluke chance meeting I had while on vacation in the summer of 2006... that would also largely lead to my second and current bout of depression.

While going through my first bout, I'd hear people say "*Sigh* I'm so depressed." and think that it was an insensitive and ignorant use of the word. But as time has gone by, as I've gained more experience, as I've grown and matured, I've come to realize that depression, like countless other things in life, is something you have to go through to truly grasp. So, go ahead. Use the word (or any word for that matter) in whatever manner you wish. I just hope you never truly have to see the rain.

"Love and Marriage"

"This I tell you, brother,
You can't have one without the other."

While at work today, I couldn't help but overhear a group of people talking. It was all mindless bantering until the topic of "marriage" came up. I listened as they compared track records of how many times they'd been married and how long they've stayed married. To my dismay, it seemed that people were just as proud of how many marriages as they were of how many years they'd remained wed. I can clearly understand the pride one may take in the longevity of one's marriage but to boast about how many husbands or wives one has "gone through" I find, frankly, disturbing.
I consider myself a forward-thinking individual, but I am quite traditional when it comes to the topic of romance (that's not to say I'm not open-minded in said area). Marriage, I feel is a sacred institution. One that should not be taken lightly. Does that make me retarded? I mean, it seems today that, with the ever-rising divorce rates and the glamorization of extra-marital relationships, marriage has lost the integrity that was once the reason it was so grand. What's worse is that the so much of the world embraces this new way of marriage with open arms.
However, this doesn't mean all hope is lost.

I have an uncle and an aunt who recently renewed their vows after 25 years together. To me, 25 years is a huge landmark and no doubt they thought so too. However, I admit I had my doubts as to how happy they were. I mean, 25 years: the silver anniversary. Sounds like a decent enough reason to throw a party. But were they celebrating 25 years of marriage or 25 years of being in love? My doubts were laid to rest that night at the reception dinner.
The reception took place in a humble little hall across from the church the ceremony took place. Even after the decorations (a handful of balloons and some streamers here and there) were set in place, the large room seemed rather quaint in good way. This caused me to wonder further just how much this meant to my aunt and uncle. I knew that I shouldn't be judging the strength of their relationship from their quaint decorations int the humble hall. I knew there was only one way to find out.
The tables were set on the aging hardwood floor for about 60+ people with a large enough area for people to dance after their meal if they wished. I (unbeknown to me until a few hours before the event) was to be the DJ for the majority of the night. I didn't mind. If any of my other cousins were given the task they'd have played a bunch of hip hop music; not exactly the first choice of my aunt and uncle.
I had a perfect view of the dance floor. I'd finished meal quickly and took my place on the raised platform where the sound system and laptop containing the music was. After it seemed like everyone had just about had their fill, I gathered the attention of the room and invited the couple of the evening to the dance floor for their bride/ groom dance. from the looks of their faces when I said this, they had not planned on dancing in front of everyone, but, with some light pressure from the room full of family and friends, they gladly took the floor. This was what I was waiting for. This was what I was waiting to see. I through on The Carpenters' "We've Only just Begun" and sat back.
I had to add my aunt and uncle to the list of heroes I've met. As I watched them dance amid the tacky decor and antique furnishings, the scene seemed more beautiful then it had been up until then. Every step, every twirl, every smile told me that these two loved each other just as much now as they did 25 years ago. I glanced at my grandmother, swelling with pride, as she watched them dance about the floor. I'm no mind-reader, but I think she may have seen what I saw in them that night too.

I would often think that if I were to be lucky (or rich) enough for a girl to accept my proposal of marriage, it would eventually dissolve. Not because I want it to; I am very much willing to dedicate my entire life to my wife and possible children. I think that's how it would end because it seems to be the norm of the day. That night at my aunt and uncle's reception dinner helped revitalize the hope that if some girl happens to allow herself to love me in such a way to rival my love for her, were we to marry, it would be forever. That, to me, would be something truly worth ringing one's own bell for.
I don't make promises very often because I take promises, oaths, and vows very seriously. So if I'm lucky enough to stand at the altar with a woman I love I would truly mean it when I'd say:
I take you to be my lawfully wedded wife...
To have and to hold, from this day forward,
For better or for worse, for richer, for poorer,
In sickness and in health...
To Love and to cherish
'Till death do us part.

"Living on a Prayer"

"We've gotta hold on, ready or not,
You live for the fight when it's all that you've got."

On New Year's day, just after the we'd said good-bye to 2007, I couldn't help but feel like 2008 felt just like the last year (which isn't the greatest feeling...). I was very wrong to think that '08 would be similar to '07.

2007 wasn't exactly my best year, I'll admit. It seems as though everything from the past tw0 years has been slowly but surely spiraling down and I'm finding it difficult to keep my head over water. Just as 2006 was a major year for me learning and developing my own ideas about life, the universe, and everything in it, 2007 forced me to place myself under the microscope; learning more about who was and gaining a deeper self-awareness and applying it to my awareness of my surroundings. One major aspect of learning about myself was learning where I fit in my world and, especially in the latter quarter of the year, it has been taking a major negaive toll on me: Projects went unfinished, social life began to deteriorate, my creative flame grew (and continues to grow) ever dimmer.
But perhaps the most stark impact last year had on me was my health. Twice during the year my health "sank to a personal low". In September, I began my third bout and have been dealing with it ever since. It's the worst case I've ever had before and it's really got me worried (and i don't worry about myself very often). There are a ton of things contributing to my lack of good health and it would take a long time to go through them all (mostly because I can be rather long-winded). Perhaps, I will cover them in future posts.
Maybe the reason the new year felt so similar before was because I hadn't fully gotten into it yet and, quite frankly, I think I should have stayed in 2007. Within 6 days, I was promoted to assistant manager, which heaped on a lot more stress, lost a lot of personal belongings, and found myself caught in the middle of one of the biggest family feuds in my experience. So far, none of these have helped my health. Now, I may not be a soothsayer on anything, but I can tell that some serious matters are going to come to a head this year.

I'm not a praying person. The last time I said a prayer was Tuesday, September 19th, 2006. But last night was probably the closest I've been to praying since. I don't know who I was praying to. Maybe I was just talking to myself or maybe the furniture or just to who or whatever would listen. Maybe I was praying to God. As I lay in my room that night, eyes puffy from no longer being able to dam the salty sea it contained, I pleaded to the darkness: "I don't want to die... But I don't want to live this way. Please, let me get through this."
That was last night. I'm still here. So far, so good, I suppose.