Yesterday, while I was having a break from working on the persistent pain in the arse - dissertation that is, I decided to listen to the first episode of The Mental Illness Happy Hour so I could close my eyes for a second. This podcast is simply about people affected by mental illnesses discussing them, and therefore giving kind of peer support for listeners. I've only listened the first one, but I really liked it, and although I didn't expect it, I realized something really important about myself. And that's what I'm going to share now.
So, right at the end of the episode they were talking about addiction and like obsessive behaviour - as in binge eating kind of thing. A lot of people, including myself, tend to crave for sweets in stressful situations, and easily result to bingeing on chocolate, ice cream, cookies, cakes, etc. every now and then. And we do it even though we are fully aware of the absolutely horrible feeling that follows the momentary high induced by all of that sugar. Obviously, there's the physiological thing with sugar giving comfort, like how you can make a baby smile by giving them a tiny bit of something sweet. It's a biological fact that we like sugar because it gives us energy and essentially keeps us alive.
And then there's also the neurochemical stuff with dopamine and addictions (yeah, you can tell that I'm an expert in this).
But what I've never come to think about before is that maybe the psychological motive for binge eating is not to do with that short sensation of pleasure that the sugar gives, but in fact, with the misery that comes after. When you've spent years and years in a relatively bad place, it becomes equivalent with safety in a very distorted way. It becomes normalcy to the extent that anything outside that particular misery makes you feel uncomfortable. One way to explain this in my case could be that I'm feeling bad about something someone else has done, and it would be perfectly reasonable for me to confront them or be angry at them but because both of those are outside my comfort zone I go to a grocery store to buy a pack chocolate biscuits and a Ben&Jerry's, go home, eat it all - and feel physically sick and disgusted about myself. This way I make my misery be about me instead of coping with the actual thing that made me upset because it's easier to hate myself than take it on someone else. When I make myself miserable at least I know what I'm going to get. And this is my ultimate form of self-directed emotional abuse.
And then this morning I managed fit a bunch of other puzzle pieces together as well. See, we're not only talking about the binge eating but any kind of addictive/obsessive behaviour, and it could be anything that appears to give a temporal distraction or sensation of pleasure, but in the longer run only makes you feel worse.
So I made a connection to the relationship with my ex. We broke up two and a half years ago but because of all kinds of not ideal circumstances, we still live in the same house. And now that I'm finally starting to see just how toxic this situation has been for me, I've started wondering how on earth did I ever think that staying so close to her, both physically and emotionally, would be wise. Like it literally makes absolutely no sense. Yeah, sometimes I wonder how someone as smart as me can be so fucking stupid. Anyway, now I'm thinking that the main reason why it has been virtually impossible and unthinkable for me to let go of her is because I've been bingeing on her company in the way that I sometimes binge on candy. It used to feel so good to be close to her that I'd do it as much as possible even though I always knew that in an hour or so, my mood would sink down faster than freaking Titanic.
You can't imagine how much realizing this changes things for me. I don't even know how exactly it works, but I just feel like this is a really big thing to finally be able to resolve. Because now I also understand why it is absolutely essential for me to keep my distance at this point.
The sad thing is that I know that this binge behaviour already started when we were dating. I can't tell why or when, but at some point I became like an addict and I needed my fix as often as possible - and yes, more often than not even then I would feel somewhat awful afterwards. I would feel awful because more than half the time I had this core feeling that I was being a burden and that my company was - if not downright unwanted, at least not needed, and that no matter how much I tried to be a good and considerate girlfriend I always managed to make my partner feel uncomfortable.
And none of that changed when we split up. I'd still spend too much time with her regardless of the fact that the same feeling of being an unwanted piece of shit, just dragging along would keep on gnawing on my mood, and mental health.
Thinking about all this produced a bit of an existential crisis in me; was our relationship ever healthy? Despite what I've always been so sure of, do I actually love her, or am I just a junkie for depressive mood?
But then I calmed down and found my reason. First of all, yes I remember a time when I wasn't feeling compulsively dependent on my now-ex. It was just over three years ago, but it was there. So no, on my part it wasn't always unhealthy. Secondly, I do believe that I have always loved her, and I still do even if I'm acting like a passive-aggressive ice queen of the land of bitter and jealous ex bitches. And in retrospect, I've been living with depression and anxiety for so many more years than they've been treated for that seeking some sense of familiarity and stability from self-loathe has now started to seem kind of understandable. I mean, after having this revelation, I'm able to look at my life in a slightly different way - and I think I've grasped something very important.
I just still don't know if this is in any way a fixable situation. Or if anyone has the will to find out.
Showing posts with label psychology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label psychology. Show all posts
2014-02-16
2013-02-26
When She Flipped The Table
This morning a couple of my Facebook friends shared an editorial column published in today's Helsingin Sanomat, which is basically the leading newspaper in Finland. The article is in Finnish but here is a link to it if you want to have a look.
In the end, the author does see some fault in the society as well; he finds the lack of psychical training in comprehensive education a serious downfall for the national mental health. Perhaps, if the art of avoiding negative thinking patterns and learning to face disappointments was an essential part of the curriculum alongside with the compulsory Maths and Geology, the amount of depression, suicides, stress and general anger might diminish.
And perhaps if I wish upon a star, my dreams will come true.
Do forgive me if you found reading the article in question an inspiring experience, and alike my two Facebook friends, felt a sudden urge to go and share it with everyone you know - because my reaction was just massively unimpressed. I don't - obviously - know anything about the personal history of the author, hence I can't put his writing into a proper context in my head. He does mention something about a big crisis and how his psychological skills were only good for making it worse for him - but then he eventually got back on the track again, by which route, we do not know. What I do know, however, is that demeaning anyone's anxiety/depression/you name it is not okay.
Because that is exactly how I interpret this piece of journalism.
I can't even begin to estimate the number of times that I've been told not to worry so much about things, people, skating, school, presentations, exams, travelling. Every single time I am reminded of my weakness, my incapability to not take everything so seriously, I feel a hundred times worse. I feel guilty and powerless - a burden to the society, my family and friends, and myself. I feel inadequate because more often than not I cannot summon the powers to remain infinitely positive when facing major obstacles. I'm not an innately pessimistic individual - on the contrary: I find sparks of happiness in the smallest of things, I always believe that things must eventually get better, and when I'm happy I try to share it with as many people as possible. But I also get stressed and anxious, I worry, I can brood for days without knowing the reason. And when you're sometimes so afraid of falling apart that you simply can't find the strength to leave the house, the last thing you need is some ignorant ass telling to take it easy. Do you not think that having such terms as melancholy, depression or anxiety in our vocabulary would be a bit pointless if getting rid of the phenomena they describe was so ridiculously simple as that?
This over-simplifying, diminishing and fundamentally naïve just-smile-and-the-world-smiles-with-you attitude harboured by the author of that article, and my ex-coach, for example, is in my opinion really offensive. I can't imagine anyone suffering from some mental disorder/illness/whatever you want to call it feeling particularly enlightened about having their faces rubbed with this kind of a reminder of how different they are from all of the normal happy people around them.
I know one person who genuinely finds the silver lining in every cloud regardless of the hardships of her family. She's a rare being, though, and on the other hand I know such a vast number of people who struggle with mental health issues that the kind of bullshit offered by the column makes me cringe violently. Ignorance is undoubtedly blissful if it makes you believe that the way to cut down annual suicide stats is to tell people to smile more often.
What it does instead when published in a respectful paper is encouraging people to shrug off any signs of prolonged unhappiness as - I don't know, stupidity, laziness, weakness (?). Do your research before claiming the authority to presume to have any kind of a solution to the problem as severe as mental health issues in fucking Finland.
Good day. Sorry for the rage.
"Everybody is responsible for their own happiness", states the title. To sum up, the author talks about how in today's world people tend to fall in negativity and blame all sorts of things for their personal misery: the corruption of society, high demands of professional life, immigration, indifferent spouse or the neverending winter . He suggests that instead of giving way to anxiety and melancholic thoughts we should all just give it a rest, appreciate the good things in life, forgive, and accept what we cannot change.
Basically what he's saying:
 |
| You have seen The Life of Brian, haven't you? |
And perhaps if I wish upon a star, my dreams will come true.
Do forgive me if you found reading the article in question an inspiring experience, and alike my two Facebook friends, felt a sudden urge to go and share it with everyone you know - because my reaction was just massively unimpressed. I don't - obviously - know anything about the personal history of the author, hence I can't put his writing into a proper context in my head. He does mention something about a big crisis and how his psychological skills were only good for making it worse for him - but then he eventually got back on the track again, by which route, we do not know. What I do know, however, is that demeaning anyone's anxiety/depression/you name it is not okay.
Because that is exactly how I interpret this piece of journalism.
I can't even begin to estimate the number of times that I've been told not to worry so much about things, people, skating, school, presentations, exams, travelling. Every single time I am reminded of my weakness, my incapability to not take everything so seriously, I feel a hundred times worse. I feel guilty and powerless - a burden to the society, my family and friends, and myself. I feel inadequate because more often than not I cannot summon the powers to remain infinitely positive when facing major obstacles. I'm not an innately pessimistic individual - on the contrary: I find sparks of happiness in the smallest of things, I always believe that things must eventually get better, and when I'm happy I try to share it with as many people as possible. But I also get stressed and anxious, I worry, I can brood for days without knowing the reason. And when you're sometimes so afraid of falling apart that you simply can't find the strength to leave the house, the last thing you need is some ignorant ass telling to take it easy. Do you not think that having such terms as melancholy, depression or anxiety in our vocabulary would be a bit pointless if getting rid of the phenomena they describe was so ridiculously simple as that?
This over-simplifying, diminishing and fundamentally naïve just-smile-and-the-world-smiles-with-you attitude harboured by the author of that article, and my ex-coach, for example, is in my opinion really offensive. I can't imagine anyone suffering from some mental disorder/illness/whatever you want to call it feeling particularly enlightened about having their faces rubbed with this kind of a reminder of how different they are from all of the normal happy people around them.
I know one person who genuinely finds the silver lining in every cloud regardless of the hardships of her family. She's a rare being, though, and on the other hand I know such a vast number of people who struggle with mental health issues that the kind of bullshit offered by the column makes me cringe violently. Ignorance is undoubtedly blissful if it makes you believe that the way to cut down annual suicide stats is to tell people to smile more often.
What it does instead when published in a respectful paper is encouraging people to shrug off any signs of prolonged unhappiness as - I don't know, stupidity, laziness, weakness (?). Do your research before claiming the authority to presume to have any kind of a solution to the problem as severe as mental health issues in fucking Finland.
Good day. Sorry for the rage.
2013-01-10
Self-Diagnosis
Today I'm going to attempt to talk about something that I find really quite hard to talk about.
Until very recently, I've never even thought that this topic had anything to do with me.
There's a lot of discussion concerning panic attacks and anxiety on certain corners of the Internet these days. Like this video for example:
And I've seen others, and read stuff, and a few of my friends have talked to me about their situations. And I've listened and understood. But I've never thought that any of that might also concern me. This is mainly because even though I easily understand what people are talking about when they are talking about anxiety, I've always felt that the anxiety that I experience is different, thus not really anxiety. I'll try to explain what I mean by that later on. Also, I've never had a full-on panic attack - not the kind I often hear being described by others. And so I tend to just shrug off my unpleasant sensations as some sort of unavoidable parts of my personality.
In the NHS website the symptoms of a panic attack are described as follows: a sensation that your heart is beating irregularly (palpitations); sweating; trembling; hot flushes; chills; shortness of breath; a choking sensation; chest pain; nausea; dizziness; feeling faint; numbness, or pins and needles; dry mouth; a need to go to the toilet; ringing in your ears; a feeling of dread, or a fear of dying; a churning stomach; a tingling sensation in fingers; shivering; shaking.
I underlined the ones that I've at times experienced together when having an episode that I don't count as a panic attack. Now, I'm not a doctor, but 13 symptoms out of 23 sounds an awful lot like a panic attack nonetheless.
Another thing about panic attacks is that they may appear out of the blue, without a clear cause; and that once you have experienced panic in situation x you may start panicking regularly every time you are faced with similar conditions.
First of all, I always know why I'm panicking. I might not admit that I know if I don't want to explain it to you, but there is always a reason, and I'm always aware of it. Secondly, my panicking doesn't seem to be attached to any specific situations like social gatherings or whatnot. I can go to a concert packed with people and have a good time, I can talk in front of my class without collapsing (I don't like it though). I can do a lot of things. Panic attacks are so often connected with agoraphobia (fear of public places) and social anxiety, neither of which I suffer from, that I don't consider myself as having anything to do with them.
Let's jump some six years back in my personal history.
I'm fifteen years old, on the ninth grade of comprehensive school and my life is devoted to synchronized skating. I'm one of the captains in my team. By this point, I've probably already gone through various medical examinations regarding the hyperventilation that I'm regularly experiencing in practices. No one has been able to shed any light on what's wrong with me, and the recurring attacks including, in addition to hyperventilation, trembling, numbness, ears ringing, faintness and fear, are seriously affecting me, and confusing the team. I'm often told to 'cut it off' or 'stop acting' by my coaches. That's not helping either.
The first doctor that I went to asked me if I was afraid of standing out and being scrutinized by my coach. I don't remember what I told her, but I do remember not liking her, hence deciding to keep to myself and not tell how I really felt. To be honest, I'm not even sure that I knew what I felt well enough to put it into words, and so I remained silent when I was ushered to asthma tests. Finally I was diagnosed with a vocal-chord dysfunction, which basically means that my breathing turns heavy and squeaky when under physical stress my vocal chords start closing around my larynx, letting less air through than I need.
There isn't a medicine for vocal-chord dysfunction, but I'm advised to go to see a psychologist.
I do that, and it helps me to get rid of hyperventilating. It doesn't, however, remove an inner nervousness that I still feel every day, but I am tired of doctors and tests so I carefully keep everything to myself.
When I quit skating it was like replacing an old pair of glasses with a new, better and sharper one, and for a while I was baffled by the physical an mental freedom that I was able to enjoy. Soon enough I found new things to be stressed over, though.
It has been quite a rough Autumn at university, and the amount of stress piling up from different sources has been more notable than in years. I've been tired and tense, and very unsociable because most of the time I've been feeling so awful that it's almost as if it might poison other people as well.
Anxiety is hard to explain because even though I, for example, have certain things that I'm consciously anxious about, there's also kind of a more general level where the anxiety isn't exactly caused by any one thing that could be singled out. And at least in my case, when one reason for anxiety disappears, a new one will rise to take its place after a while.
I can't remember a time when I haven't been continuously anxious about something.
Usually my anxiety doesn't keep me from doing things, it doesn't restrict me and I've never considered that it might be something that directly affects anything in my life - it's just yet another part of my stormy emotional system.
Anxiety makes me dread really small and seemingly inconsequential things - sometimes it's asking someone a completely ordinary question; or mixing up words when I'm speaking English; or sometimes missing a bus. One of the most powerful fears that I have is disappointing someone that I particularly respect or like. It makes me really over-sensitive and paranoid about relationships: I'm terrified that I've said or done something wrong, or that I've made an idiot of myself by saying something stupid, or that no one just really gives a shit about me because why would they.
From NHS website.
The psychological symptoms of generalised anxiety disorder can include the following: restlessness, a sense of dread, feeling constantly "on edge", difficulty concentrating, irritability, impatience, being easily distracted.
Anxiety also causes physical symptoms: dizziness, drowsiness and tiredness, pins and needles, irregular heartbeat (palpitations), muscle aches and tension, dry mouth, excessive sweating, shortness of breath, stomach ache, nausea, diarrhoea, headache, excessive thirst, frequent urinating, painful or missed periods, difficulty falling or staying asleep (insomnia).
I'm experiencing more or less frequently all of the psychological, and most of the physical symptoms. There's also a lot of crying and trembling, as well as not feeling rested after an eight-hours sleep, and sometimes having nightmares.
So on what grounds am I stating that my anxiety is different and not as real as someone else's?
I guess I have this notion, because for me these feelings and sensations are kind of swingy, they come and go, and I don't feel anxious all the time. I get good days, bad days and worse days, but even when in a short period of time the amount of worse days clearly outnumbers that of the good ones I always think that it'll pass, and once I get this assignment done or that problem sorted, I'll be fine. Even now I don't see myself as needing help of any kind because I'm on a fairly good mood and I've just accomplished a couple of things that have been causing me stress. I do acknowledge that the previous semester has been hard, and the reason why I'm actually pondering this stuff is that I've had a few panic attacks which even I could identify as such, and that there have been days when I've felt psychologically incapable of meeting any other human being due to overall anxiety.
Other reasons why I find it hard to accept that there might be something going on here:
- I don't have any real reason to feel this bad, there are people who have it worse.
- I'm probably overreacting.
- Maybe I'm just subconsciously seeking attention (by sulking in my room and not talking to anyone?)
- But on Christmas Eve I wasn't the least bit anxious.
- Everyone gets stressed.
I'm contradicting myself quite a lot in this text, but maybe that just illustrates how conflicted I feel about the whole thing.
But it's gonna pass, it always has. Right?
Until very recently, I've never even thought that this topic had anything to do with me.
There's a lot of discussion concerning panic attacks and anxiety on certain corners of the Internet these days. Like this video for example:
And I've seen others, and read stuff, and a few of my friends have talked to me about their situations. And I've listened and understood. But I've never thought that any of that might also concern me. This is mainly because even though I easily understand what people are talking about when they are talking about anxiety, I've always felt that the anxiety that I experience is different, thus not really anxiety. I'll try to explain what I mean by that later on. Also, I've never had a full-on panic attack - not the kind I often hear being described by others. And so I tend to just shrug off my unpleasant sensations as some sort of unavoidable parts of my personality.
In the NHS website the symptoms of a panic attack are described as follows: a sensation that your heart is beating irregularly (palpitations); sweating; trembling; hot flushes; chills; shortness of breath; a choking sensation; chest pain; nausea; dizziness; feeling faint; numbness, or pins and needles; dry mouth; a need to go to the toilet; ringing in your ears; a feeling of dread, or a fear of dying; a churning stomach; a tingling sensation in fingers; shivering; shaking.
I underlined the ones that I've at times experienced together when having an episode that I don't count as a panic attack. Now, I'm not a doctor, but 13 symptoms out of 23 sounds an awful lot like a panic attack nonetheless.
Another thing about panic attacks is that they may appear out of the blue, without a clear cause; and that once you have experienced panic in situation x you may start panicking regularly every time you are faced with similar conditions.
First of all, I always know why I'm panicking. I might not admit that I know if I don't want to explain it to you, but there is always a reason, and I'm always aware of it. Secondly, my panicking doesn't seem to be attached to any specific situations like social gatherings or whatnot. I can go to a concert packed with people and have a good time, I can talk in front of my class without collapsing (I don't like it though). I can do a lot of things. Panic attacks are so often connected with agoraphobia (fear of public places) and social anxiety, neither of which I suffer from, that I don't consider myself as having anything to do with them.
Let's jump some six years back in my personal history.
I'm fifteen years old, on the ninth grade of comprehensive school and my life is devoted to synchronized skating. I'm one of the captains in my team. By this point, I've probably already gone through various medical examinations regarding the hyperventilation that I'm regularly experiencing in practices. No one has been able to shed any light on what's wrong with me, and the recurring attacks including, in addition to hyperventilation, trembling, numbness, ears ringing, faintness and fear, are seriously affecting me, and confusing the team. I'm often told to 'cut it off' or 'stop acting' by my coaches. That's not helping either.
The first doctor that I went to asked me if I was afraid of standing out and being scrutinized by my coach. I don't remember what I told her, but I do remember not liking her, hence deciding to keep to myself and not tell how I really felt. To be honest, I'm not even sure that I knew what I felt well enough to put it into words, and so I remained silent when I was ushered to asthma tests. Finally I was diagnosed with a vocal-chord dysfunction, which basically means that my breathing turns heavy and squeaky when under physical stress my vocal chords start closing around my larynx, letting less air through than I need.
There isn't a medicine for vocal-chord dysfunction, but I'm advised to go to see a psychologist.
I do that, and it helps me to get rid of hyperventilating. It doesn't, however, remove an inner nervousness that I still feel every day, but I am tired of doctors and tests so I carefully keep everything to myself.
When I quit skating it was like replacing an old pair of glasses with a new, better and sharper one, and for a while I was baffled by the physical an mental freedom that I was able to enjoy. Soon enough I found new things to be stressed over, though.
It has been quite a rough Autumn at university, and the amount of stress piling up from different sources has been more notable than in years. I've been tired and tense, and very unsociable because most of the time I've been feeling so awful that it's almost as if it might poison other people as well.
Anxiety is hard to explain because even though I, for example, have certain things that I'm consciously anxious about, there's also kind of a more general level where the anxiety isn't exactly caused by any one thing that could be singled out. And at least in my case, when one reason for anxiety disappears, a new one will rise to take its place after a while.
I can't remember a time when I haven't been continuously anxious about something.
Usually my anxiety doesn't keep me from doing things, it doesn't restrict me and I've never considered that it might be something that directly affects anything in my life - it's just yet another part of my stormy emotional system.
Anxiety makes me dread really small and seemingly inconsequential things - sometimes it's asking someone a completely ordinary question; or mixing up words when I'm speaking English; or sometimes missing a bus. One of the most powerful fears that I have is disappointing someone that I particularly respect or like. It makes me really over-sensitive and paranoid about relationships: I'm terrified that I've said or done something wrong, or that I've made an idiot of myself by saying something stupid, or that no one just really gives a shit about me because why would they.
From NHS website.
The psychological symptoms of generalised anxiety disorder can include the following: restlessness, a sense of dread, feeling constantly "on edge", difficulty concentrating, irritability, impatience, being easily distracted.
Anxiety also causes physical symptoms: dizziness, drowsiness and tiredness, pins and needles, irregular heartbeat (palpitations), muscle aches and tension, dry mouth, excessive sweating, shortness of breath, stomach ache, nausea, diarrhoea, headache, excessive thirst, frequent urinating, painful or missed periods, difficulty falling or staying asleep (insomnia).
I'm experiencing more or less frequently all of the psychological, and most of the physical symptoms. There's also a lot of crying and trembling, as well as not feeling rested after an eight-hours sleep, and sometimes having nightmares.
So on what grounds am I stating that my anxiety is different and not as real as someone else's?
I guess I have this notion, because for me these feelings and sensations are kind of swingy, they come and go, and I don't feel anxious all the time. I get good days, bad days and worse days, but even when in a short period of time the amount of worse days clearly outnumbers that of the good ones I always think that it'll pass, and once I get this assignment done or that problem sorted, I'll be fine. Even now I don't see myself as needing help of any kind because I'm on a fairly good mood and I've just accomplished a couple of things that have been causing me stress. I do acknowledge that the previous semester has been hard, and the reason why I'm actually pondering this stuff is that I've had a few panic attacks which even I could identify as such, and that there have been days when I've felt psychologically incapable of meeting any other human being due to overall anxiety.
Other reasons why I find it hard to accept that there might be something going on here:
- I don't have any real reason to feel this bad, there are people who have it worse.
- I'm probably overreacting.
- Maybe I'm just subconsciously seeking attention (by sulking in my room and not talking to anyone?)
- But on Christmas Eve I wasn't the least bit anxious.
- Everyone gets stressed.
I'm contradicting myself quite a lot in this text, but maybe that just illustrates how conflicted I feel about the whole thing.
But it's gonna pass, it always has. Right?
2012-12-24
How To Aquire A Self-Esteem
It's Christmas Eve and since I am Finnish, this is the day of celebration in the current holiday. So, obviously I'm here with my obscure ponderings instead of doing something celebratory. Well, I've kind of already excelled in chocolate eating and family time so today has not been a failure in Christmas scale at all.
But now, I'm not the textbook example of a stable person with a good self-esteem and a positive body-image. Actually, I'm not an example of any kind in terms of those qualities. However, I'm not exactly a suicidal basket case either. I'm kind of here and there, swinging from a high flow of doing something I'm good at, to a low of hating every atom of my being. At present, I would describe my mental state as somewhat unsteady emotionally - even on my regular mood-swing scale the current alterations are a bit extreme, mostly extending in the low end. The cause to this is a whole other subject - and one which I'm not going to get into today.
Even in the midst of this mental turmoil, I have managed to keep a part of me sort of intact. At the core, somewhere behind and under all of the disappointment, pressure, expectations, evaluations and ideas of what I should be, is that tiny part that says 'stop it' if I go too far. I wouldn't necessarily claim that I love myself because in my mind that sentiment is seamlessly joined with an overall, unconditional acceptance. To a certain point, I accept myself as I am but there are so many obstacles and barriers on the way, set by me, that 'to love' seems slightly strong an expression in this instance.
What I do have, is more like a general appreciation towards any human being. I grant you, there isn't a lot of cause to have faith in humanity; but as a unique individual, unknown to me personally, everyone is offered the same starting point which comes with a certain amount of respect towards their individuality, humanity and autonomy. That is to say, I believe that everyone who's born has the right to live, right to be free and believe in things they believe in. I think that no one can possess the moral superiority to end another human life whatever the motive for such course of action.
This core belief, one of the building blocks of my very understanding of the world, is the key to my own self-esteem: as I value any human life, I appreciate mine own. At any given moment I may be most disgusted by the failure that I feel I am, and yet recognise the incontestable value that I have as a living, breathing human being. It's not much, if you put it in context of the entire humanity with its school-kid killers, egoistic politicians and sociopathic businessmen. Because my principle of the sanctity of life covers even the scumbags of humanity - but maybe we could just lock them up.
So, I have a basis for some level of self-respect. And that's good.
Some years ago I went to a psychologist for a while due to difficulties that I had in synchronized skating that I devotedly spent my time doing back then. Generalising the ways in which genders typically interact is not a thing that I often do but having spent 10 years in the world of girl-dominated team sport I figure I am in a position to draw some conclusions. Everyone who's been an adolescent girl knows how utterly malign they can be. Being one to never quite fit in the groupwasn't easy was fucking impossible, and with that my bottomless naivety and faith in the goodwill of others (plot twist: there is no goodwill, whatsoever, amongst teenage girls). Added to that my personal tendency to perfectionism did not equal a functional combination.
After months and months of spiralling down my vicious circle I finally asked for help.
Talking to a professional made me realise a lot of things that I've only fully understood years afterwards. She made me believe that I wasn't crazy, wrong or the cause of all evil. Instead I saw that the relationship with my coach and some of my team mates was the issue. At the time though, I kind of suppressed this knowledge because trying to make use of it would have required confronting the coach and the bitches in a way that would have had an impact on our group dynamics. Which might have resulted in something good, but when you are in that world you don't question certain things. In order to maintain a team spirit and an unstoppable drive to practice constantly you refuse to see some of the shit that's going on behind the scenes. It's like some controlled, seemingly democratic micro-society that has its own rules that outsiders have no way of grasping.
Anyway, that little something, the seed of acceptance about myself regardless of the kind of feedback I would get from the people in the skating universe has stuck with me. In some level, I will always know that I am who I am, and I'm not going to change. And also that sometimes when I'm feeling unspeakably awful it is not because I am essentially wrong or bad, but because the world is. And that, I think, is what keeps me sane even when I feel completely insane and detached and miserable.
So, Merry Christmas everyone!
But now, I'm not the textbook example of a stable person with a good self-esteem and a positive body-image. Actually, I'm not an example of any kind in terms of those qualities. However, I'm not exactly a suicidal basket case either. I'm kind of here and there, swinging from a high flow of doing something I'm good at, to a low of hating every atom of my being. At present, I would describe my mental state as somewhat unsteady emotionally - even on my regular mood-swing scale the current alterations are a bit extreme, mostly extending in the low end. The cause to this is a whole other subject - and one which I'm not going to get into today.
Even in the midst of this mental turmoil, I have managed to keep a part of me sort of intact. At the core, somewhere behind and under all of the disappointment, pressure, expectations, evaluations and ideas of what I should be, is that tiny part that says 'stop it' if I go too far. I wouldn't necessarily claim that I love myself because in my mind that sentiment is seamlessly joined with an overall, unconditional acceptance. To a certain point, I accept myself as I am but there are so many obstacles and barriers on the way, set by me, that 'to love' seems slightly strong an expression in this instance.
What I do have, is more like a general appreciation towards any human being. I grant you, there isn't a lot of cause to have faith in humanity; but as a unique individual, unknown to me personally, everyone is offered the same starting point which comes with a certain amount of respect towards their individuality, humanity and autonomy. That is to say, I believe that everyone who's born has the right to live, right to be free and believe in things they believe in. I think that no one can possess the moral superiority to end another human life whatever the motive for such course of action.
This core belief, one of the building blocks of my very understanding of the world, is the key to my own self-esteem: as I value any human life, I appreciate mine own. At any given moment I may be most disgusted by the failure that I feel I am, and yet recognise the incontestable value that I have as a living, breathing human being. It's not much, if you put it in context of the entire humanity with its school-kid killers, egoistic politicians and sociopathic businessmen. Because my principle of the sanctity of life covers even the scumbags of humanity - but maybe we could just lock them up.
So, I have a basis for some level of self-respect. And that's good.
Some years ago I went to a psychologist for a while due to difficulties that I had in synchronized skating that I devotedly spent my time doing back then. Generalising the ways in which genders typically interact is not a thing that I often do but having spent 10 years in the world of girl-dominated team sport I figure I am in a position to draw some conclusions. Everyone who's been an adolescent girl knows how utterly malign they can be. Being one to never quite fit in the group
After months and months of spiralling down my vicious circle I finally asked for help.
Talking to a professional made me realise a lot of things that I've only fully understood years afterwards. She made me believe that I wasn't crazy, wrong or the cause of all evil. Instead I saw that the relationship with my coach and some of my team mates was the issue. At the time though, I kind of suppressed this knowledge because trying to make use of it would have required confronting the coach and the bitches in a way that would have had an impact on our group dynamics. Which might have resulted in something good, but when you are in that world you don't question certain things. In order to maintain a team spirit and an unstoppable drive to practice constantly you refuse to see some of the shit that's going on behind the scenes. It's like some controlled, seemingly democratic micro-society that has its own rules that outsiders have no way of grasping.
Anyway, that little something, the seed of acceptance about myself regardless of the kind of feedback I would get from the people in the skating universe has stuck with me. In some level, I will always know that I am who I am, and I'm not going to change. And also that sometimes when I'm feeling unspeakably awful it is not because I am essentially wrong or bad, but because the world is. And that, I think, is what keeps me sane even when I feel completely insane and detached and miserable.
So, Merry Christmas everyone!
2012-07-03
Lazy Brain
No, it's not going to be fine. Change is never fine. They say it is, but it's not.
- words of wisdom uttered by Sheldon Cooper of Big Bang Theory
Ever felt like Sheldon here?
Although it is impossible to foresee how any series of events will affect the current situation we tend to have a strong gut feeling about the most likely outcome. I don't know about everyone else but at least in my case, if that gut feeling isn't clearly flashing green for go, changing the present tends to become a no. If I don't have enough knowledge to conclude what certain actions will do to the current state of events, I assume that it is better to remain where I am rather than risk it.
However, making decisions is necessary in the everyday life: we have to choose between cereal, toast and porridge at breakfast, and what clothes to put on. To take a bus, a car, a bike or a walk to work? To pay with cash or card? Credit or debit? What to have for dinner?
No one can know if opting for a take-away coffee instead of having one at home has serious consequences for the rest of your - or someone else's - life. It might; it might not. The butterfly effect describes how all of the big things are made of series of little things. Obviously it is quite impossible to profoundly ponder over every action we take in the daily life. Time doesn't wait for us, and today's hectic society demands efficiency and swiftness.
Some things, though, we can and should think through thoroughly. Big, life-altering decisions are sometimes terrifying especially if we are left to make them on our own. To be honest, they are pretty scary even if there is someone to give their judgement on the situation - according to my experience anyway. The worst of all, in my opinion, are situations where remaining passive - not doing anything about anything is a conscious decision in itself, as opposed to being active and doing something; usually the only thing available. You can't escape the decision because passivity becomes a statement as well.
And there we go.
Decisions often lead to changes, and change - while possibly good - is unpredictable and therefore a liability.
And why is unpredictable decidedly bad?
I love psychology and brains and stuff, thus a summer holiday means loads of time to read more into the subject. In one of my brain books that I've been carrying home from the library I learned that basically our brain objects change. It is perhaps not groundbreaking news to anyone but an interesting thing to think about anyway. The brain aims for homeostasis: that is, it likes stability.
In terms of change, there are two sides in this coin. First of all, change shakes - sometimes more, sometimes less - the prevalent mental state and brain archive of an individual, thus disrupting the homeostasis. Not good, the brain thinks. On the other hand, our brain has an infinite ability to adjust, so whilst being a natural reaction, reluctance towards decision-making and changing things is merely a sign of laziness on the side of our brain: it opposes getting more work to do. And more work would inevitably follow any action rearranging the present order.
So technically, I guess, we ought to ignore our fears and insecurities about changes, and just go on with them.
Ha.
As if.
I can stare at the insides of my closet for ages because I cannot make up my mind as to what to wear - beginning from underwear in the worst days. At times, I even find getting the day started an extremely overpowering challenge since I'm having a hard time deciding in which order I should perform the day's tasks. Not to mention the real hard things that would definitely have dramatic alterations in the current state of affairs.
And now, I suppose my plane is about to land.
So I should probably switch off the laptop and be done with this silly obscurity.
2012-02-16
Midnight Ramblings of the Self
You know when I do the thing that I promise to write about something and then I don't? Well, yeah, as if someone was really looking forward to hearing about my tea collection. But anyway.
Okay, I am going to tell you about the most recent finished photography project that I was extremely excited about when I get the pictures on a digital form. That will happen, I guarantee.
But now I would like to offer you some introspection because it's 1:15 and I'm supposed to be sleeping.
I don't really enjoy thinking about what I was doing a year ago as there are things that kind of hurt when touched upon. However looking back with a load of hindsight is one of the annoying things that I find myself doing quite often. So yeah, I don't recall now what exactly I have been babbling over here but I was in a situation where I didn't have a job, I'd finished my upper secondary education and there was no certainty of a place in university for the following year. I had awfully little to do, which in a long run drove me near the brink of falling into depression - I felt utterly useless, unworthy and wasteful (which I still do sometimes, just not in the same scale as then), and I really had to push myself to not spend days staring at walls. Emotionally I was a mess, and the only thing that gave me at least some feel of safety and tangibility was clinging on people that I felt comfortable with and that I trusted.
Back then being alone was the worst of the curses since being alone always meant silence, and nothing was scarier than being alone in silence with my thoughts. Having a company was a way to escape that terrifying experience of nothingness and emptiness that used to haunt me from time to time.
I've always been pretty into psychology. Especially personality and all kinds of theories around it fascinate me to certain lengths: I love completing the kind of personality tests you come across in the wonderful world of Internet even though I realise how narrow their calculated results are. Nevertheless, the bipolar division into extroverts and introverts is continuously something thought-provoking for me. My former psychology teacher gave a rather simplistic but in my opinion very enlightening description for extroverts and introverts. Basically she just explained that for extroverted people socialising and being around other living human beings is an energising and empowering experience, whereas introverts gain strength and "refuel" by spending time in solitude. Obviously between two extremities there's a whole prism of other colours thus labeling anyone either extroverted or introverted is much less simple than one might think.
I've never been able to sort myself out in terms of this system. On one side I really love hanging out with my friends and spending hours and hours talking with them, I also like the idea of having a someone, with whom to share one's everyday life and to whom to turn when feeling blue - because I don't think it would be good for me to live alone. On the other hand though, I dislike being thrown in the middle of people I don't know properly, I don't enjoy parties too much (unless tea and cupcakes are involved) and I am socially awkward in general. I guess I've always been a little more introvert than an extrovert but quite near the middle point of the two.
Of course human consciousness and intelligent existence and everything is loads and loads more complex than the flat introvert-extrovert dichotomy (a fancy word that I learned when writing an essay during Christmas holiday) but for some reason I find it a crucial question for at least myself - and to be honest, it really helps to understand and emphatise other people whose heads may have been programmed in a slightly different way than yours.
But my great introspection then.
As I said, around this time last year I seemed to be ridiculously dependent on other people - well, I didn't seem, I was. Now a life-altering plot-twist: seems that at this point, I'm not as socially dependent any more. How did I come to this exclusive conclusion?
Just today after approximately five hours in the university library I went back home and spent also the rest of the evening alone without feeling any kind of uneasiness or anxiety about my own existence. And it's not just a one-shot occurrence these days, it appears, but I'm actually starting to get by without constant company without falling apart every other day.
I think that this is quite marvellous.
Although I do fall apart every other week minimum, so there we go.
And I do need at least a little human interaction daily.
But I'm still doing far better than I thought I would at this point of time and space.
You see, I sincerely believed that I was going to be a pathetic codependent idiot for the rest of my life, which I probably will but on a smaller scale.
Now, goodnight.
Okay, I am going to tell you about the most recent finished photography project that I was extremely excited about when I get the pictures on a digital form. That will happen, I guarantee.
But now I would like to offer you some introspection because it's 1:15 and I'm supposed to be sleeping.
I don't really enjoy thinking about what I was doing a year ago as there are things that kind of hurt when touched upon. However looking back with a load of hindsight is one of the annoying things that I find myself doing quite often. So yeah, I don't recall now what exactly I have been babbling over here but I was in a situation where I didn't have a job, I'd finished my upper secondary education and there was no certainty of a place in university for the following year. I had awfully little to do, which in a long run drove me near the brink of falling into depression - I felt utterly useless, unworthy and wasteful (which I still do sometimes, just not in the same scale as then), and I really had to push myself to not spend days staring at walls. Emotionally I was a mess, and the only thing that gave me at least some feel of safety and tangibility was clinging on people that I felt comfortable with and that I trusted.
Back then being alone was the worst of the curses since being alone always meant silence, and nothing was scarier than being alone in silence with my thoughts. Having a company was a way to escape that terrifying experience of nothingness and emptiness that used to haunt me from time to time.
I've always been pretty into psychology. Especially personality and all kinds of theories around it fascinate me to certain lengths: I love completing the kind of personality tests you come across in the wonderful world of Internet even though I realise how narrow their calculated results are. Nevertheless, the bipolar division into extroverts and introverts is continuously something thought-provoking for me. My former psychology teacher gave a rather simplistic but in my opinion very enlightening description for extroverts and introverts. Basically she just explained that for extroverted people socialising and being around other living human beings is an energising and empowering experience, whereas introverts gain strength and "refuel" by spending time in solitude. Obviously between two extremities there's a whole prism of other colours thus labeling anyone either extroverted or introverted is much less simple than one might think.
I've never been able to sort myself out in terms of this system. On one side I really love hanging out with my friends and spending hours and hours talking with them, I also like the idea of having a someone, with whom to share one's everyday life and to whom to turn when feeling blue - because I don't think it would be good for me to live alone. On the other hand though, I dislike being thrown in the middle of people I don't know properly, I don't enjoy parties too much (unless tea and cupcakes are involved) and I am socially awkward in general. I guess I've always been a little more introvert than an extrovert but quite near the middle point of the two.
Of course human consciousness and intelligent existence and everything is loads and loads more complex than the flat introvert-extrovert dichotomy (a fancy word that I learned when writing an essay during Christmas holiday) but for some reason I find it a crucial question for at least myself - and to be honest, it really helps to understand and emphatise other people whose heads may have been programmed in a slightly different way than yours.
But my great introspection then.
As I said, around this time last year I seemed to be ridiculously dependent on other people - well, I didn't seem, I was. Now a life-altering plot-twist: seems that at this point, I'm not as socially dependent any more. How did I come to this exclusive conclusion?
Just today after approximately five hours in the university library I went back home and spent also the rest of the evening alone without feeling any kind of uneasiness or anxiety about my own existence. And it's not just a one-shot occurrence these days, it appears, but I'm actually starting to get by without constant company without falling apart every other day.
I think that this is quite marvellous.
Although I do fall apart every other week minimum, so there we go.
And I do need at least a little human interaction daily.
But I'm still doing far better than I thought I would at this point of time and space.
You see, I sincerely believed that I was going to be a pathetic codependent idiot for the rest of my life, which I probably will but on a smaller scale.
Now, goodnight.
2011-10-28
Struggling Artist
"What is reality?", they asked us in our first assignment in the university.
Now I have five days to get my project together and to be honest I am more or less confused about how I'm going to present my work in a understandable and organised fashion. Fortunately I have chosen my eight final pictures which I've printed just today. I even have a vague idea of how to arrange them.
So here we are, with four more or less matching pairs.
Obviously you can't really grasp what's in these photographs because the pictures above are merely crappy iPhone photos of my workprints but that's all I've got at this point. I will try to get the final pieces scanned and uploaded on my Flickr account when I have time and will to do it. For now, we'll have to live with these pieces of lousiness.
What I'd like to do is to attempt to clarify, for you dear lovelies - and myself - what this project of doom is all about.
So, first of all I'm going to claim that most of humans think that primarily what they see is real. Very simply when someone squeaks how they've met Johnny Depp in person, you demand a visual evidence of such an event. 'Pics or didn't happen', is the spirit. This leads us to consider photography's special status in our lives - its role ever since the early 1800's: a truthful representation of reality. Photographs' visual accuracy incomparable to any other form of recording kept its reputation strictly scientific and apart from art for decades.
Even today when photography serves everyone in some way in communication, art, science, criminal investigation, personal fun or just about anything else you can think of, and it is publicly known that anything is possible with photo-manipulation and how nothing gets published without retouching, certain amount of reliance and credibility is still associated with photographic images.
But you and I know that what we see in photos is not always true.
Let's consider photographs from the aspect of how they are actually born.
Here is a schematic of a classical pinhole camera.
Now somewhere in distance there is an elephant. Light comes from the sun, certain wavelengths reflect back from the elephant's skin creating a sensation of seeing colours and shapes. When rays of light go through your camera's lens the information they contain turns upside down and creates a negative of the subject in a light-sensitive material: film. How cool is that.
As you cleverly noticed, a camera works much in the same manner as your pretty little eyes do.
Although there is a one crucial difference.
Whilst us humans have been equipped with a pair of magnificent eyes the combined visual information of which makes us capable of perceiving things like distance, space and speed - three-dimensionality that is, a camera has but a lens and a flat surface onto which to project the image therefore flattening the target two-dimensional. Obviously we can still deduct the missing third dimension - depth, from images based on lights and shades, our knowledge of proportion of things and a number of other qualities which I'm not going to begin analysing at this point. Mostly no one even thinks about this stuff: that in pictures there are only two dimensions, because our brain being the clever machine it is makes things seem normal to us. Sometimes though, it happens that a photograph comes out looking very unreal and bizarre when, for instance, people have street lamps growing on top of their heads or a such.
Here is an example of my own, form the garden of Palace of Versailles in Paris.
These kind of surrealistic scenes caused by distorted proportions started to fascinated me because of the equal presence of real and unreal in them.
My primary idea was to start photographing whatever I found to be interesting when seen through a transparent surface. In practice this means that I wandered around the city looking for dirty, broken, wet, embossed and in other ways not clean and clear glass windows and taking pictures through them. At an early point I noticed reflections that I hadn't taken in account at first. Luck was on my side for once and instead of rainy and grey autumn weather we had plenty of sunny days throughout the project.
Sunshine = loads of very distinct reflections = good for me
And here we go back to my first argument: that of people tend to take for granted that what they can see is real. I aimed at creating photographs so abstract and fantastic that the spectator is forced to stop and think what in fact is on front of him or her. I wanted to question first of all that everything we see is real (if you look out the window in the dark you'll see your own reflection outside but still you know that there's no clone of yours there, right?) and second of all photography's truthfulness in representing reality (if you see a reflection in a window you'll know it's a reflection but when it's in a photograph it becomes more obscure, thus confusing what is real and what is not).
I looked at Plato's Cave Allegory for reference but to be honest I don't really have much to say about it as it kind of touches on my topic here but it's not exactly where I want to go.
Anyhow, here's an awarded video presentation of it if you're interested or have no clue of what I'm talking about.
Moving on.
Another point that I want to draw your attention to is how subjective the notion of reality is. Our perception of everything that surrounds us in this world is based on five traditional senses: sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch, five additional senses: balance, pain, temperature, acceleration, sense of time and possibly some other stuff as well. As living organisms we are similar to each other: DNA, genes, genome - you know the story. We have certain kind of structure as a species. Despite that the teeny tiny variations in each and everyone's genome affect our abilities and appearances in a way that gives everyone a unique viewpoint on the world. I'm talking about physical differences between individuals: height, eyesight, possible disabilities.
In addition we all have developed/are developing a worldview of our own. Everybody has values, hopes, fears, expectations, beliefs etc. that bias our experiences and conclusions of our environment.
I rambled on about these in one of my previous posts already so I'll spare you a bit.
If it was possible to determine a numerical value for each factor that has a subjective and personally dependent impact on how we understand reality no one would end up in an identical result with anyone else. Or like in Photoshop you can add layer after layer on top an image and each layer changes something and sometimes you can't even tell which layer is doing what and how did you create this and this effect in the first place - assuming that your Photoshop skills are as basic as mine.
I don't know if any of my clumsy metaphors work but I trust that you bright little geniuses get what I'm trying to mumble here.
Layer is one of our key-words in terms of this project of awesomeness.
In my lousy Photoshop metaphor I was trying to sort of visualise how I see the construction of each individual's subjective experience of reality. Our mental capacity combined with our physical abilities forms a chunk of layers through which we observe the world. In my pictures there are also distracting elements modifying what we see. Sometimes we can't even tell if we are looking through a surface or merely a reflection - or both at the same time. The reality in these images is abstracted and distorted, and the variety of shapes and the slight juxtaposition between the pairs empathises the fragmentation and diversity of truths in our time of post-modernity.
Seeing may be believing but what if you're not sure of what you see?
p.s. Couldn't be bothered to read through this and check for any kinds of mistakes so yeah.
Now I have five days to get my project together and to be honest I am more or less confused about how I'm going to present my work in a understandable and organised fashion. Fortunately I have chosen my eight final pictures which I've printed just today. I even have a vague idea of how to arrange them.
 |
| Don't ask why these two are a pair. |
 |
| Why are you strangely blue, my love? |
 |
| Too dark. And BLUE. wtf? |
 |
| Don't mind the weird light stripe there. The curse of glossy paper. |
Obviously you can't really grasp what's in these photographs because the pictures above are merely crappy iPhone photos of my workprints but that's all I've got at this point. I will try to get the final pieces scanned and uploaded on my Flickr account when I have time and will to do it. For now, we'll have to live with these pieces of lousiness.
What I'd like to do is to attempt to clarify, for you dear lovelies - and myself - what this project of doom is all about.
So, first of all I'm going to claim that most of humans think that primarily what they see is real. Very simply when someone squeaks how they've met Johnny Depp in person, you demand a visual evidence of such an event. 'Pics or didn't happen', is the spirit. This leads us to consider photography's special status in our lives - its role ever since the early 1800's: a truthful representation of reality. Photographs' visual accuracy incomparable to any other form of recording kept its reputation strictly scientific and apart from art for decades.
Even today when photography serves everyone in some way in communication, art, science, criminal investigation, personal fun or just about anything else you can think of, and it is publicly known that anything is possible with photo-manipulation and how nothing gets published without retouching, certain amount of reliance and credibility is still associated with photographic images.
But you and I know that what we see in photos is not always true.
Let's consider photographs from the aspect of how they are actually born.
Now somewhere in distance there is an elephant. Light comes from the sun, certain wavelengths reflect back from the elephant's skin creating a sensation of seeing colours and shapes. When rays of light go through your camera's lens the information they contain turns upside down and creates a negative of the subject in a light-sensitive material: film. How cool is that.
As you cleverly noticed, a camera works much in the same manner as your pretty little eyes do.
Although there is a one crucial difference.
Whilst us humans have been equipped with a pair of magnificent eyes the combined visual information of which makes us capable of perceiving things like distance, space and speed - three-dimensionality that is, a camera has but a lens and a flat surface onto which to project the image therefore flattening the target two-dimensional. Obviously we can still deduct the missing third dimension - depth, from images based on lights and shades, our knowledge of proportion of things and a number of other qualities which I'm not going to begin analysing at this point. Mostly no one even thinks about this stuff: that in pictures there are only two dimensions, because our brain being the clever machine it is makes things seem normal to us. Sometimes though, it happens that a photograph comes out looking very unreal and bizarre when, for instance, people have street lamps growing on top of their heads or a such.
 |
| "Under my umbrellah, -ellah, -ellah..." |
Here is an example of my own, form the garden of Palace of Versailles in Paris.
These kind of surrealistic scenes caused by distorted proportions started to fascinated me because of the equal presence of real and unreal in them.
My primary idea was to start photographing whatever I found to be interesting when seen through a transparent surface. In practice this means that I wandered around the city looking for dirty, broken, wet, embossed and in other ways not clean and clear glass windows and taking pictures through them. At an early point I noticed reflections that I hadn't taken in account at first. Luck was on my side for once and instead of rainy and grey autumn weather we had plenty of sunny days throughout the project.
Sunshine = loads of very distinct reflections = good for me
And here we go back to my first argument: that of people tend to take for granted that what they can see is real. I aimed at creating photographs so abstract and fantastic that the spectator is forced to stop and think what in fact is on front of him or her. I wanted to question first of all that everything we see is real (if you look out the window in the dark you'll see your own reflection outside but still you know that there's no clone of yours there, right?) and second of all photography's truthfulness in representing reality (if you see a reflection in a window you'll know it's a reflection but when it's in a photograph it becomes more obscure, thus confusing what is real and what is not).
I looked at Plato's Cave Allegory for reference but to be honest I don't really have much to say about it as it kind of touches on my topic here but it's not exactly where I want to go.
Anyhow, here's an awarded video presentation of it if you're interested or have no clue of what I'm talking about.
Moving on.
Another point that I want to draw your attention to is how subjective the notion of reality is. Our perception of everything that surrounds us in this world is based on five traditional senses: sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch, five additional senses: balance, pain, temperature, acceleration, sense of time and possibly some other stuff as well. As living organisms we are similar to each other: DNA, genes, genome - you know the story. We have certain kind of structure as a species. Despite that the teeny tiny variations in each and everyone's genome affect our abilities and appearances in a way that gives everyone a unique viewpoint on the world. I'm talking about physical differences between individuals: height, eyesight, possible disabilities.
In addition we all have developed/are developing a worldview of our own. Everybody has values, hopes, fears, expectations, beliefs etc. that bias our experiences and conclusions of our environment.
I rambled on about these in one of my previous posts already so I'll spare you a bit.
If it was possible to determine a numerical value for each factor that has a subjective and personally dependent impact on how we understand reality no one would end up in an identical result with anyone else. Or like in Photoshop you can add layer after layer on top an image and each layer changes something and sometimes you can't even tell which layer is doing what and how did you create this and this effect in the first place - assuming that your Photoshop skills are as basic as mine.
I don't know if any of my clumsy metaphors work but I trust that you bright little geniuses get what I'm trying to mumble here.
Layer is one of our key-words in terms of this project of awesomeness.
In my lousy Photoshop metaphor I was trying to sort of visualise how I see the construction of each individual's subjective experience of reality. Our mental capacity combined with our physical abilities forms a chunk of layers through which we observe the world. In my pictures there are also distracting elements modifying what we see. Sometimes we can't even tell if we are looking through a surface or merely a reflection - or both at the same time. The reality in these images is abstracted and distorted, and the variety of shapes and the slight juxtaposition between the pairs empathises the fragmentation and diversity of truths in our time of post-modernity.
Seeing may be believing but what if you're not sure of what you see?
p.s. Couldn't be bothered to read through this and check for any kinds of mistakes so yeah.
2011-08-20
Wear it like a crown
"Let them see that their words can cut you and you’ll never be
free of the mockery. If they want to give you a name take it make it
your own. Then they can’t hurt you with it anymore."
-Tyrion Lannister, A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin
As intelligent as the human race should be compared to the rest of the animal kingdom it still, for some reason, clings on the laws of wilderness by turning against the weak and the divergent of its own kind in order to nurse the illusion of superiority. Being distinctively different from the average seems to give anyone a permission to express their opinion publicly. Black skin, Down syndrome, two men holding hands, dwarfism, cross-dressing, wearing a burkha – as long as you stand out from the crowd you are a possible target for both direct judgment and silent disapproval mostly expressed by varying combinations of freezing looks, forced smiles and nose-wrinkling. Reasons for prejudices are as many as their harbourers and I’m not going to focus on elaborating those just now. The way I see it is that all of us have something to hide and to possibly be used against us, the unfortunate are those whose something can’t be put out of sight. Or perhaps they are the fortunate living without a fear of their secret coming to light for it is already there.
Either way you can’t avoid facing other people.
Well, you can but the lifestyle of a hermit doesn’t suit the most of us.
Of course you can always decide to become a lonely guru, move on top of some nice mountain and give highly cryptic advice to the occasional tourists who are lost from their paths – literally and figuratively speaking.
Anyway, back to the actual point. I’m talking about secrets and guarding them like I had some pretty rotten skeletons in my own cupboard. Not really the case. To be honest I’m the worst at keeping things secret (that is my own things, I would never gossip about things someone else had confined to me). And secrets aren’t even the topic that I’m supposed be discussing today. Finding an inclusive term to connect all of the aspects I’m trying to talk about is just next to impossible. The not-really-weaknesses-nor-flaws-but-yet-somehow-sort-of-sensitive-features-that-may-expose-us-to-discrimination-or-unwanted-not-necessarily-negative-attention, you know, things that interest other people needlessly much and that label us whether we wanted or not. Making sense much?
I'll make an example of myself.
Like everyone knows, I’m gay, I have a girlfriend, life is rainbows and unicorns (and sometimes thunderstorms). I’m lucky to be surrounded by open-minded, artsy and loving people whose reactions to my relationship I never needed to worry about. I was really nervous about coming out to my parents but in the end that went rather smoothly as well. But then there’s the world and all those other little humans whose attitudes and opinions could be anything. I say that I don’t need anyone to tell me how they accept me being a lesbian, how they are totally okay with it. My sexual orientation has nothing to do with anyone else’s acceptance or disapproval, nor has my human dignity. The other side of the coin is that I, like so many others, would very much appreciate feeling valuable and generally accepted despite being ‘different’. With new acquaintances – and old friends who just suddenly emerge out of nowhere - I’m often afraid of the possible judgement when I mention my girlfriend, especially if they otherwise seem amiable and interesting. The more involved I get with people the bigger grows my fear.
Outwards I’m this (irritating) “out and proud” kind of person who has lesbian earrings, a gay umbrella and a canvas bag screaming FUCK YOU in rainbow-coloured letters. I don’t mind holding hands or kissing in public even though someone might cast disapproving looks upon my direction. Being public is my way to protect both myself and my relationship from haters. This is the part where you realise how the quote in the beginning is connected to me. The proud feminist lesbian (without a buzz cut though) is my shield against bigmouthed homophobes who say I’m wrong, bad and dirty. That gay rights advocate can take any amount of disrespect, then give the finger and laugh scornfully. She’s above everyone who wants to shun her and she’s so proud.
None of this is really important for it is only surface. What matters is the love that I feel for this special someone of mine. Behind this shield I am safe and my love is protected and no one can touch me. To be honest I don’t even feel pride for loving a woman instead of a man because I don’t think it’s something to be proud of. I’m proud when I finish something big or achieve something I’ve been striving for. I’m proud if I overcome a fear or if a friend succeeds in something that matters to them. But I really don’t know how to feel genuine pride of being in love. It’s love, plain and simple, and I didn’t have to do anything to make it happen, it just is.
I’m getting slightly poetic and more than slightly melodramatic and I’m not even going to apologise because I'm also tired and it's 3 Am.
Just to avoid misunderstandings: I still think that Pride is a perfectly fitting name for the gay rights movement and I love to be a part of it.
Another great example of the matter I’m trying to mull over is Slutwalk which is putting on practice exactly what the quote somewhere far above proposes: taking the abusive name ‘slut’ and making it it’s own symbol leaving the mockers like fish on dry land. This kind of seemingly careless ‘fuck everyone’ -attitude works at least for me splendidly. To raise your voice and provoke is sometimes the only effective way of aiding your cause and gaining public attention to it.
We can’t just ask for respect, we need to demand it.
Nevertheless, I sincerely do understand that people are scared and concerned of something in themselves and may feel that the skies fall crashing down if they let it out. As I told you, I’ve had it easy but many might not. If the environment is reluctant and pressuring being different - whichever way it is defined - is tough and not always even worth the trouble.
But if there’s a chance to not hide then why live on your tiptoes?
Those who turn their backs on you were most likely to walk away at some point anyway.
-Tyrion Lannister, A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin
As intelligent as the human race should be compared to the rest of the animal kingdom it still, for some reason, clings on the laws of wilderness by turning against the weak and the divergent of its own kind in order to nurse the illusion of superiority. Being distinctively different from the average seems to give anyone a permission to express their opinion publicly. Black skin, Down syndrome, two men holding hands, dwarfism, cross-dressing, wearing a burkha – as long as you stand out from the crowd you are a possible target for both direct judgment and silent disapproval mostly expressed by varying combinations of freezing looks, forced smiles and nose-wrinkling. Reasons for prejudices are as many as their harbourers and I’m not going to focus on elaborating those just now. The way I see it is that all of us have something to hide and to possibly be used against us, the unfortunate are those whose something can’t be put out of sight. Or perhaps they are the fortunate living without a fear of their secret coming to light for it is already there.
Either way you can’t avoid facing other people.
Well, you can but the lifestyle of a hermit doesn’t suit the most of us.
Of course you can always decide to become a lonely guru, move on top of some nice mountain and give highly cryptic advice to the occasional tourists who are lost from their paths – literally and figuratively speaking.
Anyway, back to the actual point. I’m talking about secrets and guarding them like I had some pretty rotten skeletons in my own cupboard. Not really the case. To be honest I’m the worst at keeping things secret (that is my own things, I would never gossip about things someone else had confined to me). And secrets aren’t even the topic that I’m supposed be discussing today. Finding an inclusive term to connect all of the aspects I’m trying to talk about is just next to impossible. The not-really-weaknesses-nor-flaws-but-yet-somehow-sort-of-sensitive-features-that-may-expose-us-to-discrimination-or-unwanted-not-necessarily-negative-attention, you know, things that interest other people needlessly much and that label us whether we wanted or not. Making sense much?
I'll make an example of myself.
Like everyone knows, I’m gay, I have a girlfriend, life is rainbows and unicorns (and sometimes thunderstorms). I’m lucky to be surrounded by open-minded, artsy and loving people whose reactions to my relationship I never needed to worry about. I was really nervous about coming out to my parents but in the end that went rather smoothly as well. But then there’s the world and all those other little humans whose attitudes and opinions could be anything. I say that I don’t need anyone to tell me how they accept me being a lesbian, how they are totally okay with it. My sexual orientation has nothing to do with anyone else’s acceptance or disapproval, nor has my human dignity. The other side of the coin is that I, like so many others, would very much appreciate feeling valuable and generally accepted despite being ‘different’. With new acquaintances – and old friends who just suddenly emerge out of nowhere - I’m often afraid of the possible judgement when I mention my girlfriend, especially if they otherwise seem amiable and interesting. The more involved I get with people the bigger grows my fear.
Outwards I’m this (irritating) “out and proud” kind of person who has lesbian earrings, a gay umbrella and a canvas bag screaming FUCK YOU in rainbow-coloured letters. I don’t mind holding hands or kissing in public even though someone might cast disapproving looks upon my direction. Being public is my way to protect both myself and my relationship from haters. This is the part where you realise how the quote in the beginning is connected to me. The proud feminist lesbian (without a buzz cut though) is my shield against bigmouthed homophobes who say I’m wrong, bad and dirty. That gay rights advocate can take any amount of disrespect, then give the finger and laugh scornfully. She’s above everyone who wants to shun her and she’s so proud.
None of this is really important for it is only surface. What matters is the love that I feel for this special someone of mine. Behind this shield I am safe and my love is protected and no one can touch me. To be honest I don’t even feel pride for loving a woman instead of a man because I don’t think it’s something to be proud of. I’m proud when I finish something big or achieve something I’ve been striving for. I’m proud if I overcome a fear or if a friend succeeds in something that matters to them. But I really don’t know how to feel genuine pride of being in love. It’s love, plain and simple, and I didn’t have to do anything to make it happen, it just is.
I’m getting slightly poetic and more than slightly melodramatic and I’m not even going to apologise because I'm also tired and it's 3 Am.
Just to avoid misunderstandings: I still think that Pride is a perfectly fitting name for the gay rights movement and I love to be a part of it.
Another great example of the matter I’m trying to mull over is Slutwalk which is putting on practice exactly what the quote somewhere far above proposes: taking the abusive name ‘slut’ and making it it’s own symbol leaving the mockers like fish on dry land. This kind of seemingly careless ‘fuck everyone’ -attitude works at least for me splendidly. To raise your voice and provoke is sometimes the only effective way of aiding your cause and gaining public attention to it.
We can’t just ask for respect, we need to demand it.
Nevertheless, I sincerely do understand that people are scared and concerned of something in themselves and may feel that the skies fall crashing down if they let it out. As I told you, I’ve had it easy but many might not. If the environment is reluctant and pressuring being different - whichever way it is defined - is tough and not always even worth the trouble.
But if there’s a chance to not hide then why live on your tiptoes?
Those who turn their backs on you were most likely to walk away at some point anyway.
2011-07-27
Not analysing this was never an option
First of all, even though this is my personal diary-blog-thingy I could still at least try to hold on to some level of quality, which, in the previous entry, I certainly didn't. Thus, sorry about that and I might possibly try to get rid of the grammatical errors and suchlike later if I'm inspired.
Today I'm going to study something external to my mind (now you should cheer a lot since this is so rare). Films are nice, especially those with complex characters and interesting relationships. X-Men: First Class is of the kind. No, I'm not joking. While it is a story of 'superheroes' saving the world and being extremely cool with their superpowers, the more interesting part is the chemistry between the main characters, Charles and Erik. The homoerotic subtext is really quite obvious in this film and even the actors themselves admit it. However it's not my only point of interest this time; merely a part that has its own place and importance.
And do forgive me but I'm going to babble on expecting that you know what I'm talking about. I have seen the movie twice and some of you might not have seen it at all but I'm not going to describe the scenes I'm referring to or anything so either you'll just have to keep up or skip this post entirely.
Being a prequel for the four previous X-Men films, First Class shows us how it all began. We get to see glimpses of both Charles' and Erik's childhoods, which proves to be pretty much essential when trying to understand why an how they became the persons we already know from X-Men, X2 and The Last Stand -films. At this point I have to point out how tremendous job these two younger actors, James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender have done when filling the boots of their characters' older versions, Sir Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian McKellen (I mean, c'mon, they're both sirs!). Both of the characters' spirit has been well preserved and personal growth into their older selves is believable. I'm not familiar with acting or making films or anything but I suppose it can't be easy knowing how your character will be like in 10, 30, 50 years when you still should make it your own: not copying nor changing anything vital.
And I am rambling too much. So let's begin.
It is said that opposites attract one another. With Charles and Erik this certainly seems to be the case, for they differ from each other in almost every way imaginable. Still, throughout the X-Men saga they are continuously drawn together (I haven't read the comics but according to my reliable sources this statement is more or less correct) regardless of their differences and disagreements. Starting from the very beginning, Charles and Erik had very unlike childhoods. While Charles lived in a huge, beautiful mansion without any substantial shortcomings, was Erik, being a Jew during Nazi-Germany, sent to a concentration camp where first separated from his mother and then made to watch how she was shot before his eyes, in addition suggesting that it was his fault. Two people's life-stories couldn't have been more dissimilar. Another rather intriguing detail in the boys' early years is what kind of relationship they had with their mothers (of fathers we know nothing). As mentioned, Erik lost his mother young and in probably the most horrifying way possible. The little we see them together clearly points at an extremely tight bond between the two. Charles, on his part, seems to have been quite a lonely and independent child with a rather indifferent mother and a house full of servants. Now, my pseudo-psychologising mind has concluded that this has led to Charles' diligent drive to help and look after others. When possibly having been declined and left uncared for as a kid, he has become determined not to repeat this mistake by unconditionally offering a hand to anyone in need.
Charles' most characteristic quality is his everlasting faith in goodness in people. He rarely accepts that someone is out of his reach and hopeless to be helped. His forgiveness and patience are remarkable, for even after many years of occasionally clashing with Erik in an ideal level he never gives up on him. Charles strictly believes that there's still something good and pure in Erik that can be saved even when he's been locked up in a fairly well-guarded cell and but bitterly mocks Charles' naïvety. Not only does Professor X have a firm trust in his fellow mutants, but also in ordinary humans with whom he hopes to be able to coexist and cooperate peacefully. Again, even when multiply being attacked and mistrusted by the society Charles never turns against it always believing that problems can be solved. Having seen so much evil and fear, yet remaining uncorrupted and idealistic he really is an extraordinary character.
Whilst Charles would happily see the mutants as a part of the rest of humanity, is Erik almost as confident that the world hates everything unusual, which is why the mutants should join their forces, take care of each other and frankly show how superior they are next to tiny humans. As it is, Erik's outlook on the world has been stained since his childhood by being despised and isolated from the society by Nazis. He spends great many years hunting down the people responsible for his sufferings, killing them with his metal-bending superpower, one by one. I believe it is rightful to claim that after his mother's death Erik has deliberately stayed outside social circles and avoided getting involved with people - otherwise than threatening or eliminating them that is. When Charles then selflessly and completely out of the blue grabs him from the water, intrudes his mind and saves him he's compelled to reconsider and see that he's not alone.
What strikes me probably the most is how drastically Erik's bearing changes around Charles and not to mention how quickly the two of them seem to gain each other's trust. Before befriending Charles Erik's manner is tense and aversive and being oriented to only one goal: revenging the murder of his mother, his interaction with other people is straightforward and cold which is quite obvious since most of his human relations have ended as soon as they started - in the other party's extermination. However, with Charles Erik's whole posture and body-language change: he's clearly more relaxed and comfortable, in addition his pressure and stress seem to diminish at some amount. Of course Charles' telepathic abilities play a great role in evolving this relationship for he can access Erik's mind and actually feel what he feels and share his memories. What I find remarkable is how unquestionably Erik lets Charles inside his mind from the very beginning, for yes, with his friends Charles usually has the courtesy of asking for a permission before looking inside people's thoughts. Later though, when the two decide to go their separate ways Erik starts to wear a certain sort of helmet to prevent Charles from using his power on him.
It is also said that that when falling in love people change a bit. At least I started seeing rainbows and heart-shaped leaves, puddles and clouds everywhere. Even abandoning my slash-fangirl glasses and observing Charles and Erik's relationship as objectively and sanely as I possibly can, the romantic subtext is there all over the place; not only in this newest film in which they are young but also in the previous ones. It is clear that they are closer than average mutant pals, and that they both are very devoted to preserve this relationship despite their incompatible ambitions. No matter how you looked at it, you can't ignore that there is something deeper than friendship going on. I don't particularly enjoy labelling or embracing rigid gender roles but I have to point out how atypical for a two men's friendship the one of Charles and Erik's is. They don't hide their emotions - no, they actually cry together for a beautiful memory of Erik's - or weaknesses from each other; on the contrary, as I already mentioned, Erik willingly lets Charles see and feel what his mind has to hold. They have tremendous trust in one another, they back up one another and there's perceivable naturalness in their interaction - all this despite the fact that they are complete opposites in nature. Later on when they end up fighting on conflicting sides they hold back their own allies if it seems that the other's life is in grave danger. They never truly give up on each other and neither has any desire to sacrifice the other for the greater good.
If this isn't love, I don't know what is.
An utterly heartbreaking scene is the one in which these two end up parting ways. Once again I'll have to delve into Erik's character to make my point because the change in him is really that distinct. By the way, it's not that there wasn't any noticeable change in Charles when having met Erik. It's not as obvious for Charles' nature is more sociable and positive anyway. Besides, being more impulsive and unpredictable it's easier to observe this relationship through Erik than Charles who can be very composed and serene.
But back to the point.
When having ended his arch-enemy and been forced to face the fact that his and Charles' journey has come to its end Erik still tries to convince Charles and maybe himself too that they should stand side by side against the world. It's evident that getting to know this man has moved something inside him. Charles and other mutants have taught Erik that he doesn't have to do everything by himself; in fact one of the first words Charles says to Erik is : "You're not alone." He learns to trust others and to belong somewhere at least a little. Nevertheless the old scars haven't healed properly and Erik's resistance to create a world side by side with humans who fear and despise him and his kind is the crucial problem that draws him away him from Charles. For a split moment the roles turn upside-down and while Erik endeavours to believe that they can share the future, usually so optimistic and inexhaustible Charles is the one to speak out the hurtful truth: we don't want the same things. Watching how he who's known to be a cynic and a sceptic to an extreme tries his utmost to hold on to the one thing that is precious and good in his life is nothing but painful.
I don't know if I'm just repeating the same things again and again but I was totally awestruck by the immense quality of X-Men: First Class. Charles and Erik's relationship was already fascinating in those previous films I'd seen but this really raised it on a whole new level of exceptional beauty. It is apparent that they love each other, whether it is romantic or not remains debatable. There are plenty of suggestive little details that can be interpreted as homoerotic but in the end that's not what matters. For me the characters' complexity and wholeness and the dynamics between them weighs a whole lot more.
So, go go go watch that movie!
Today I'm going to study something external to my mind (now you should cheer a lot since this is so rare). Films are nice, especially those with complex characters and interesting relationships. X-Men: First Class is of the kind. No, I'm not joking. While it is a story of 'superheroes' saving the world and being extremely cool with their superpowers, the more interesting part is the chemistry between the main characters, Charles and Erik. The homoerotic subtext is really quite obvious in this film and even the actors themselves admit it. However it's not my only point of interest this time; merely a part that has its own place and importance.
And do forgive me but I'm going to babble on expecting that you know what I'm talking about. I have seen the movie twice and some of you might not have seen it at all but I'm not going to describe the scenes I'm referring to or anything so either you'll just have to keep up or skip this post entirely.
Being a prequel for the four previous X-Men films, First Class shows us how it all began. We get to see glimpses of both Charles' and Erik's childhoods, which proves to be pretty much essential when trying to understand why an how they became the persons we already know from X-Men, X2 and The Last Stand -films. At this point I have to point out how tremendous job these two younger actors, James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender have done when filling the boots of their characters' older versions, Sir Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian McKellen (I mean, c'mon, they're both sirs!). Both of the characters' spirit has been well preserved and personal growth into their older selves is believable. I'm not familiar with acting or making films or anything but I suppose it can't be easy knowing how your character will be like in 10, 30, 50 years when you still should make it your own: not copying nor changing anything vital.
And I am rambling too much. So let's begin.
 |
| Chales and Erik in yellow spandex. |
It is said that opposites attract one another. With Charles and Erik this certainly seems to be the case, for they differ from each other in almost every way imaginable. Still, throughout the X-Men saga they are continuously drawn together (I haven't read the comics but according to my reliable sources this statement is more or less correct) regardless of their differences and disagreements. Starting from the very beginning, Charles and Erik had very unlike childhoods. While Charles lived in a huge, beautiful mansion without any substantial shortcomings, was Erik, being a Jew during Nazi-Germany, sent to a concentration camp where first separated from his mother and then made to watch how she was shot before his eyes, in addition suggesting that it was his fault. Two people's life-stories couldn't have been more dissimilar. Another rather intriguing detail in the boys' early years is what kind of relationship they had with their mothers (of fathers we know nothing). As mentioned, Erik lost his mother young and in probably the most horrifying way possible. The little we see them together clearly points at an extremely tight bond between the two. Charles, on his part, seems to have been quite a lonely and independent child with a rather indifferent mother and a house full of servants. Now, my pseudo-psychologising mind has concluded that this has led to Charles' diligent drive to help and look after others. When possibly having been declined and left uncared for as a kid, he has become determined not to repeat this mistake by unconditionally offering a hand to anyone in need.
Charles' most characteristic quality is his everlasting faith in goodness in people. He rarely accepts that someone is out of his reach and hopeless to be helped. His forgiveness and patience are remarkable, for even after many years of occasionally clashing with Erik in an ideal level he never gives up on him. Charles strictly believes that there's still something good and pure in Erik that can be saved even when he's been locked up in a fairly well-guarded cell and but bitterly mocks Charles' naïvety. Not only does Professor X have a firm trust in his fellow mutants, but also in ordinary humans with whom he hopes to be able to coexist and cooperate peacefully. Again, even when multiply being attacked and mistrusted by the society Charles never turns against it always believing that problems can be solved. Having seen so much evil and fear, yet remaining uncorrupted and idealistic he really is an extraordinary character.
Whilst Charles would happily see the mutants as a part of the rest of humanity, is Erik almost as confident that the world hates everything unusual, which is why the mutants should join their forces, take care of each other and frankly show how superior they are next to tiny humans. As it is, Erik's outlook on the world has been stained since his childhood by being despised and isolated from the society by Nazis. He spends great many years hunting down the people responsible for his sufferings, killing them with his metal-bending superpower, one by one. I believe it is rightful to claim that after his mother's death Erik has deliberately stayed outside social circles and avoided getting involved with people - otherwise than threatening or eliminating them that is. When Charles then selflessly and completely out of the blue grabs him from the water, intrudes his mind and saves him he's compelled to reconsider and see that he's not alone.
What strikes me probably the most is how drastically Erik's bearing changes around Charles and not to mention how quickly the two of them seem to gain each other's trust. Before befriending Charles Erik's manner is tense and aversive and being oriented to only one goal: revenging the murder of his mother, his interaction with other people is straightforward and cold which is quite obvious since most of his human relations have ended as soon as they started - in the other party's extermination. However, with Charles Erik's whole posture and body-language change: he's clearly more relaxed and comfortable, in addition his pressure and stress seem to diminish at some amount. Of course Charles' telepathic abilities play a great role in evolving this relationship for he can access Erik's mind and actually feel what he feels and share his memories. What I find remarkable is how unquestionably Erik lets Charles inside his mind from the very beginning, for yes, with his friends Charles usually has the courtesy of asking for a permission before looking inside people's thoughts. Later though, when the two decide to go their separate ways Erik starts to wear a certain sort of helmet to prevent Charles from using his power on him.
It is also said that that when falling in love people change a bit. At least I started seeing rainbows and heart-shaped leaves, puddles and clouds everywhere. Even abandoning my slash-fangirl glasses and observing Charles and Erik's relationship as objectively and sanely as I possibly can, the romantic subtext is there all over the place; not only in this newest film in which they are young but also in the previous ones. It is clear that they are closer than average mutant pals, and that they both are very devoted to preserve this relationship despite their incompatible ambitions. No matter how you looked at it, you can't ignore that there is something deeper than friendship going on. I don't particularly enjoy labelling or embracing rigid gender roles but I have to point out how atypical for a two men's friendship the one of Charles and Erik's is. They don't hide their emotions - no, they actually cry together for a beautiful memory of Erik's - or weaknesses from each other; on the contrary, as I already mentioned, Erik willingly lets Charles see and feel what his mind has to hold. They have tremendous trust in one another, they back up one another and there's perceivable naturalness in their interaction - all this despite the fact that they are complete opposites in nature. Later on when they end up fighting on conflicting sides they hold back their own allies if it seems that the other's life is in grave danger. They never truly give up on each other and neither has any desire to sacrifice the other for the greater good.
If this isn't love, I don't know what is.
 | |
| They are so heterosexual. |
But back to the point.
When having ended his arch-enemy and been forced to face the fact that his and Charles' journey has come to its end Erik still tries to convince Charles and maybe himself too that they should stand side by side against the world. It's evident that getting to know this man has moved something inside him. Charles and other mutants have taught Erik that he doesn't have to do everything by himself; in fact one of the first words Charles says to Erik is : "You're not alone." He learns to trust others and to belong somewhere at least a little. Nevertheless the old scars haven't healed properly and Erik's resistance to create a world side by side with humans who fear and despise him and his kind is the crucial problem that draws him away him from Charles. For a split moment the roles turn upside-down and while Erik endeavours to believe that they can share the future, usually so optimistic and inexhaustible Charles is the one to speak out the hurtful truth: we don't want the same things. Watching how he who's known to be a cynic and a sceptic to an extreme tries his utmost to hold on to the one thing that is precious and good in his life is nothing but painful.
I don't know if I'm just repeating the same things again and again but I was totally awestruck by the immense quality of X-Men: First Class. Charles and Erik's relationship was already fascinating in those previous films I'd seen but this really raised it on a whole new level of exceptional beauty. It is apparent that they love each other, whether it is romantic or not remains debatable. There are plenty of suggestive little details that can be interpreted as homoerotic but in the end that's not what matters. For me the characters' complexity and wholeness and the dynamics between them weighs a whole lot more.
So, go go go watch that movie!
2011-07-19
Jumpsuits and colours and a short attention span
Have I already mentioned my Black Widow costume at some point? If not, let's clarify that last week, after returning home from London I've been 120% occupied with stitching together my first ever cosplay costume for last weekend's Finnish Animecon.
The one thing about Black Widow that I have told you is that from the moment Scarlett Johansson appeared in Iron Man 2 as the character in question my interest towards my own sex became evident, no matter how impossibly simple and ridiculous it sounds.
Anyway, how did I get the idea of starting to cosplay at the mature age of 20 (I had my birthday last Friday, hooray) in the first place? Since cosplay is originally a part of Japanese pop culture, let it be known that I don't read manga, watch anime or even play video games. My feeble knowledge and rare experiences of those have been purely brought upon by my friends (and certainly not least by my girlfriend--). It's not that I had something against that culture - I've just never really given myself a chance to delve into it properly, which is in fact more of a positive than a negative state of affairs considering my limitless ability to get totally hooked on basically anything and everything. I'm already a sports-whore, tea-whore, BBC-whore, Nightwish-whore, art-whore, part-time book-whore and so forth - you get the idea - and therefore feel no need to develop other addictions to top that. I will strictly refuse any siren call derived from video games, even though I frequently find myself in the middle of a very compelling hype over Assassin's Creed.
And once again I've lost myself in this incoherent babble when I was supposed to focus on entirely different things.
The point where I was and still am aiming at is how insecure I first felt about dressing up in a skin-tight jumpsuit especially when it would inevitably lead me to compare myself with Scarlett Johansson who, in my eyes, is the most gorgeous human being on Earth.
Me and my body have had a stormy relationship for the better part of my life. Regardless of having always lead a sporty lifestyle and thus been of a normal weight, I've never been comfortable in my own skin. It's obviously hopeless trying to pinpoint the exact moment in my timeline when I became conscious about my body's proportions, but I do have an obscure memory of comparing my appearance to that of my friend's as a nine-year-old. The first time I decided I should loose weight was at the age of 11 and ever since I've struggled with variable body issues. Through my teenage years, especially during the first ones, I honestly thought I was fat, which draw me at the edge of an eating disorder. In a sense, I never crossed the line but it was almost like the disease was lurking in the shadows, waiting whether or not it would have a chance to take over me.
I read probably every translated novel concerning eating disorders that I could find in the library hence I'd gathered quite a lot of information around the subject. For years I convinced others and myself that I couldn't possibly fall ill for I knew better, thanks to those books. Only recently have I began pondering did reading about that stuff actually do any good in the end. A distorted mind can easily turn information absorbed from a novel into an applicable form to be put into practise in one's own life. On the other hand, I also became highly aware of my issues and was frightened of someone else noticing. I feared so much that my mother would see what was going on that I never managed to cause much harm to myself. I couldn't fast for remarkably long periods, nor be in total control of what ended up on my plate since my mother was mostly the one preparing my food. Around other people I'd whine about my huge ice-skater thighs and how my stomach was never flat enough but suchlike behaviour being so common amongst girls, I don't think anyone got a hint of the seriousness of the situation.
In addition to the fear of people seeing how sick I was, another thing that kept me from starving my body was skating. As young as I was when my problems expanded, I still realised the importance of proper nutrition when training and competing. I never skipped meals if I had skating scheduled. But then again, exercising goes easily overboard and that happened to me at times, as well. I'd let myself eat as long as I'd been sweating long enough. Even on vacations I'd do extra workouts to deserve the food my system needed and craved for. I was never even close to a perfect skater but I was always striving for a perfect body. An apt example of my distorted body image is the way how I absolutely loathed wearing pants of any kind because of my thigh muscles. I only wore skirts and dresses because through them no one could really make out the shape and size of my thighs. Being obliged to put on a piece of clothing including legs used to make me feel ill at ease in my melodramatic self-consciousness.
By revealing the tremendously fascinating chronicles of my body image issues I wanted to empathise how wide a leap I was required to take to be mentally able to publicly wear such a tight and, in its plainness sort of revealing outfit as my cosplay costume was. Without even a hint of exaggeration, I felt completely and utterly amazed every single time I looked in the mirror with that costume on (and let me tell you, I totally had to check that my eyes weren't lying by using every window or other reflecting material I passed by as a mirror) because despite that I recognise the fact about how tiny and pretty I am, it is not often that I actually feel particularly good-looking.
I can without notable difficulties look in the mirror and be satisfied about my choice of clothes, hairdo, accessories and make-up whereas feeling beautiful as a whole has been quite a rarity. Many people who feel insecure about their looks prefer baggy clothes not drawing attention to them while others, like myself, hide under layers of bright colours and variable shapes. Decorating myself was a way to distract people, including myself from seeing my shape and to occupy them with what I was wearing instead.
You must at a complete loss with my excessive and unsystematic mix-use of past-tones and present. The excuse is that time is a big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff (Doctor Who strikes back) and even I'm unsure of the current situation. If I claimed that these things only were and have been I'd be a liar since they simply intensify and diminish in irregular cycles (exactly in line with my other personal stupidities).
Where was I?
The irritating shortness of my attention span added to the impossible broadness of this topic make it somewhat challenging to keep this chunk of disorganised thoughts from exploding.
Let's try again.
Why is any of this remarkable then?
This past year (I fail to apprehend years the way they're put in our calendar) has taught me a lot about things that don't equal the end of the world (ignoring the fact that I've managed to develop almost equalling number of other possible causes for such an event). In plain English, I'm more relaxed than I used to be, at least when it comes to eating and my appearance. For instance, under no circumstances could I have enjoyed a slice of pizza or a chocolate bar without a considerable amount of distress, say two years ago, whereas now I'm actually dreaming of travelling around Italy from restaurant to another. But let's not be pretentious. Whenever some unexpected occurrence prevents me from carrying through the exercises I've planned to do I immediately get unreasonably stressed and moody. I need to have my sports for otherwise everything might come crashing down. Also, I have this bad habit of overeating when I'm in a certain kind of stress, which makes me absolutely loathe myself afterwards.
I don't expect to ever get completely rid of these struggles, albeit they seem to have eased a little lately.
Nevertheless, there's an infallible medicine for any anxiety whatsoever: dancing, for when moving with music I always feel comfortable and, in a way invincible. Even now when I haven't got any dance classes running I occasionally create routines in my mind. Through dance I've found some respect and love towards my physics and simply being forced to see my reflection in those wall-sized mirrors during dance classes accustomed me to observing myself in teeny-tiny clothes amongst other dancers (the bodies of whom I sincerely envied).
I don't know if I've truly taken a step ahead and further away from the devastating lack of self-respect or is this just an unexpectedly serene phase in this chaotic and stormy emotional life of mine.
Whatever it were, it's unspeakably pleasant to feel this way for a change.
The one thing about Black Widow that I have told you is that from the moment Scarlett Johansson appeared in Iron Man 2 as the character in question my interest towards my own sex became evident, no matter how impossibly simple and ridiculous it sounds.
And once again I've lost myself in this incoherent babble when I was supposed to focus on entirely different things.
The point where I was and still am aiming at is how insecure I first felt about dressing up in a skin-tight jumpsuit especially when it would inevitably lead me to compare myself with Scarlett Johansson who, in my eyes, is the most gorgeous human being on Earth.
Me and my body have had a stormy relationship for the better part of my life. Regardless of having always lead a sporty lifestyle and thus been of a normal weight, I've never been comfortable in my own skin. It's obviously hopeless trying to pinpoint the exact moment in my timeline when I became conscious about my body's proportions, but I do have an obscure memory of comparing my appearance to that of my friend's as a nine-year-old. The first time I decided I should loose weight was at the age of 11 and ever since I've struggled with variable body issues. Through my teenage years, especially during the first ones, I honestly thought I was fat, which draw me at the edge of an eating disorder. In a sense, I never crossed the line but it was almost like the disease was lurking in the shadows, waiting whether or not it would have a chance to take over me.
I read probably every translated novel concerning eating disorders that I could find in the library hence I'd gathered quite a lot of information around the subject. For years I convinced others and myself that I couldn't possibly fall ill for I knew better, thanks to those books. Only recently have I began pondering did reading about that stuff actually do any good in the end. A distorted mind can easily turn information absorbed from a novel into an applicable form to be put into practise in one's own life. On the other hand, I also became highly aware of my issues and was frightened of someone else noticing. I feared so much that my mother would see what was going on that I never managed to cause much harm to myself. I couldn't fast for remarkably long periods, nor be in total control of what ended up on my plate since my mother was mostly the one preparing my food. Around other people I'd whine about my huge ice-skater thighs and how my stomach was never flat enough but suchlike behaviour being so common amongst girls, I don't think anyone got a hint of the seriousness of the situation.
In addition to the fear of people seeing how sick I was, another thing that kept me from starving my body was skating. As young as I was when my problems expanded, I still realised the importance of proper nutrition when training and competing. I never skipped meals if I had skating scheduled. But then again, exercising goes easily overboard and that happened to me at times, as well. I'd let myself eat as long as I'd been sweating long enough. Even on vacations I'd do extra workouts to deserve the food my system needed and craved for. I was never even close to a perfect skater but I was always striving for a perfect body. An apt example of my distorted body image is the way how I absolutely loathed wearing pants of any kind because of my thigh muscles. I only wore skirts and dresses because through them no one could really make out the shape and size of my thighs. Being obliged to put on a piece of clothing including legs used to make me feel ill at ease in my melodramatic self-consciousness.
By revealing the tremendously fascinating chronicles of my body image issues I wanted to empathise how wide a leap I was required to take to be mentally able to publicly wear such a tight and, in its plainness sort of revealing outfit as my cosplay costume was. Without even a hint of exaggeration, I felt completely and utterly amazed every single time I looked in the mirror with that costume on (and let me tell you, I totally had to check that my eyes weren't lying by using every window or other reflecting material I passed by as a mirror) because despite that I recognise the fact about how tiny and pretty I am, it is not often that I actually feel particularly good-looking.
I can without notable difficulties look in the mirror and be satisfied about my choice of clothes, hairdo, accessories and make-up whereas feeling beautiful as a whole has been quite a rarity. Many people who feel insecure about their looks prefer baggy clothes not drawing attention to them while others, like myself, hide under layers of bright colours and variable shapes. Decorating myself was a way to distract people, including myself from seeing my shape and to occupy them with what I was wearing instead.
You must at a complete loss with my excessive and unsystematic mix-use of past-tones and present. The excuse is that time is a big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff (Doctor Who strikes back) and even I'm unsure of the current situation. If I claimed that these things only were and have been I'd be a liar since they simply intensify and diminish in irregular cycles (exactly in line with my other personal stupidities).
Where was I?
The irritating shortness of my attention span added to the impossible broadness of this topic make it somewhat challenging to keep this chunk of disorganised thoughts from exploding.
Have a picture.
 | |
| Oh, I can add captions now. How cool is that. I'm trying to gain back a sufficient amount of concentration to continue. |
Let's try again.
Why is any of this remarkable then?
This past year (I fail to apprehend years the way they're put in our calendar) has taught me a lot about things that don't equal the end of the world (ignoring the fact that I've managed to develop almost equalling number of other possible causes for such an event). In plain English, I'm more relaxed than I used to be, at least when it comes to eating and my appearance. For instance, under no circumstances could I have enjoyed a slice of pizza or a chocolate bar without a considerable amount of distress, say two years ago, whereas now I'm actually dreaming of travelling around Italy from restaurant to another. But let's not be pretentious. Whenever some unexpected occurrence prevents me from carrying through the exercises I've planned to do I immediately get unreasonably stressed and moody. I need to have my sports for otherwise everything might come crashing down. Also, I have this bad habit of overeating when I'm in a certain kind of stress, which makes me absolutely loathe myself afterwards.
I don't expect to ever get completely rid of these struggles, albeit they seem to have eased a little lately.
Nevertheless, there's an infallible medicine for any anxiety whatsoever: dancing, for when moving with music I always feel comfortable and, in a way invincible. Even now when I haven't got any dance classes running I occasionally create routines in my mind. Through dance I've found some respect and love towards my physics and simply being forced to see my reflection in those wall-sized mirrors during dance classes accustomed me to observing myself in teeny-tiny clothes amongst other dancers (the bodies of whom I sincerely envied).
I don't know if I've truly taken a step ahead and further away from the devastating lack of self-respect or is this just an unexpectedly serene phase in this chaotic and stormy emotional life of mine.
Whatever it were, it's unspeakably pleasant to feel this way for a change.
2011-03-27
Overemotional and proud of it.
I had some idea of what to talk about today but now all I can hear inside my mind is the 1990's hit Mmmbop, which is kind of distracting, given that I'm also tired and disoriented after last night's partying.
I'm currently reading this novel -well, a memoir actually, Eat, Pray, Love written by Elizabeth Gilbert. It's about the author's journey from America to Italy, India and Indonesia. Elizabeth is 32 years old when she leaves her unhappy marriage behind and starts a journey around the world to fight the depression and find a balance between bodily pleasure and spiritual devotion.
In the India part, in which I am at the moment, she's aiming to create a connection with God by doing yoga and meditating. It's not exactly her own goal (not yet, at least), but she tells about the turiya state which is the fourth level of human consciousness, while the other three are waking, dreaming and a deep dreamless sleep. Turiya is portrayed to be the link between all the other levels of consciousness. It is always present and witnesses the other levels. For example, when you wake up it's due to turiya that you can remember what you were dreaming about. Regardless of the presence of this state of witness-consciousness, it's not easy to reach it, to get in that state. Here's how being in turiya is described to be:
One who is living in from within turiya is not affected by the swinging moods of the mind, fearful of time or harmed by loss. "Pure, clean, void, tranquil, breathless, selfless, endless, undecaying, steadfast, eternal, unborn, independent, he abides in his own greatness", say the Upanishads, the ancient Yogic scriptures, describing anyone who has reached the turiya state.
Sounds fancy, doesn't it? Imagine living in such peace of mind, free from anxiety and doubts and just fervently calm about everything whatsoever.
The thing is, though, that not only would I be incapable of that amount peacefulness with this messed up mind of mine, but also unwilling to live in a constant bliss.
Melancholy that makes me weep for hours without any particular reason, anxiety that deters me from sleeping, uncertainty that makes me doubt that I'm not good enough for anyone to love, anger that requires but the tiniest spark to burst into flames - they are all me. I cry, yell, snap - and hyperventilate. I let the darkest thoughts haunt me and I harbour my angst. Sometimes, quite often to be honest, I wish I could stop myself from thinking - or at least, to be able to think objectively. Perhaps I'll learn that some day, but till then I have to get along with these emotions that are often times so powerful that it feels like they could break me.
The other side of this coin of exhausting feelings is obviously the positive side.
I'm not content, but blissfully happy.
I'm not interested, but fascinated.
I'm not glad, but thrilled.
I frequently smile dopily, cry of happiness or affection and split my sides with laughter. I want to share the most beautiful, amazing and exciting things with the entire world and I want everyone to feel like I do. When I'm in a really good mood I radiate happiness so intensively you can almost see little beams shining thorough my eyes. In those moments everything is plain beautiful and nothing hurts. It's these overwhelming moments of happiness that makes life worth it.
That's why I don't want to give away my darker side either: because worse than feeling pain is feeling nothing, being numb.
I'm currently reading this novel -well, a memoir actually, Eat, Pray, Love written by Elizabeth Gilbert. It's about the author's journey from America to Italy, India and Indonesia. Elizabeth is 32 years old when she leaves her unhappy marriage behind and starts a journey around the world to fight the depression and find a balance between bodily pleasure and spiritual devotion.
In the India part, in which I am at the moment, she's aiming to create a connection with God by doing yoga and meditating. It's not exactly her own goal (not yet, at least), but she tells about the turiya state which is the fourth level of human consciousness, while the other three are waking, dreaming and a deep dreamless sleep. Turiya is portrayed to be the link between all the other levels of consciousness. It is always present and witnesses the other levels. For example, when you wake up it's due to turiya that you can remember what you were dreaming about. Regardless of the presence of this state of witness-consciousness, it's not easy to reach it, to get in that state. Here's how being in turiya is described to be:
One who is living in from within turiya is not affected by the swinging moods of the mind, fearful of time or harmed by loss. "Pure, clean, void, tranquil, breathless, selfless, endless, undecaying, steadfast, eternal, unborn, independent, he abides in his own greatness", say the Upanishads, the ancient Yogic scriptures, describing anyone who has reached the turiya state.
Sounds fancy, doesn't it? Imagine living in such peace of mind, free from anxiety and doubts and just fervently calm about everything whatsoever.
The thing is, though, that not only would I be incapable of that amount peacefulness with this messed up mind of mine, but also unwilling to live in a constant bliss.
Melancholy that makes me weep for hours without any particular reason, anxiety that deters me from sleeping, uncertainty that makes me doubt that I'm not good enough for anyone to love, anger that requires but the tiniest spark to burst into flames - they are all me. I cry, yell, snap - and hyperventilate. I let the darkest thoughts haunt me and I harbour my angst. Sometimes, quite often to be honest, I wish I could stop myself from thinking - or at least, to be able to think objectively. Perhaps I'll learn that some day, but till then I have to get along with these emotions that are often times so powerful that it feels like they could break me.
The other side of this coin of exhausting feelings is obviously the positive side.
I'm not content, but blissfully happy.
I'm not interested, but fascinated.
I'm not glad, but thrilled.
I frequently smile dopily, cry of happiness or affection and split my sides with laughter. I want to share the most beautiful, amazing and exciting things with the entire world and I want everyone to feel like I do. When I'm in a really good mood I radiate happiness so intensively you can almost see little beams shining thorough my eyes. In those moments everything is plain beautiful and nothing hurts. It's these overwhelming moments of happiness that makes life worth it.
That's why I don't want to give away my darker side either: because worse than feeling pain is feeling nothing, being numb.
2010-05-23
Pride And Prejudice
It's sad that the majority of human kind is so narrow-minded. I don't know people from different cultures in person though, but it seems to me that every society has its own prejudices and assumptions. It is the way that human mind functions: we observe the things around us and our brain absorbs new information and connects it with our previous knowledge. Then, when in a new situation, we use our schema -composed of the previous experiences- to conclude what would be the correct thing to do. If we didn't suppose anything every day would be full of surprises. Say I wanted to buy an ice cream. I'd bought one the day before and now I'd want another. So I'd find an ice cream kiosk but I wouldn't know what to do if I couldn't be sure that buying an ice cream is basically the same thing every time. Without my schema I couldn't know even if I remembered how it was to buy that ice cream earlier.
And the point of this unnecessarily long description was to demonstrate how our prejudices develop.
Obviously it's a good thing we can rely on our previous experiences in practical, every-day situations but when it comes to relations with other people we should recognize our presuppositions and try no to let them bias us. It's often really hard to, firstly admit one's own prejudices and secondly to ignore them.
The word 'prejudice' sounds very negative to me but not every prejudice is offensive on purpose. They're just so deep in our culture that most of the time we don't even realise them.
One of the most irritating deep-rooted presuppositions is heterosexuality.
I'm certain that no-one means to offend the sexual minorities by supposing that everyone is straight. Well, maybe someone does but not everyone. Anyhow, I find it a little annoying when for example my relatives ask if I have a boyfriend yet. To be honest, I'd find it annoying even if they asked whether I had a girlfriend instead because I think my non-existing relationships are none of their business but that is not relevant now. Actually here's another extremely frustrating presupposition: everyone's after a relationship. As if being a single was just a temporary state before finding a partner and starting a family. Once again, I'm not saying I'll never want a house of my own with kids and a dog in it. It just feels really, very, extremely surreal right now.
Nonetheless, I'm quite positive that prejudices can be changed. I have recently came to notice that something in my own thinking has changed. When studying in probably the entire country's official lesbian school you see so many gay couples and get to know people who accept themselves the way they are. You learn it's not such a big deal really.
What I'm saying is that in my mind there's not such a clear supposition about peoples sexuality than there used to be. Practically, if any of my friends or even my sister or cousin told me they were gay I wouldn't be shocked. At most surprised, depending on who it was.
Or actually, I wouldn't be even surprised. Try me.
By the way, this is not me coming out of closet since I think I never was there. At this point when I'm most certainly non-looking for a relationship, I find it rather irrelevant to shout out whether I fancy boys and/or girls anyway.
And once again I'm too idle to read this whole text through whereupon there might be more or less incomprehensibilities and impossible word combinations there.
And the point of this unnecessarily long description was to demonstrate how our prejudices develop.
Obviously it's a good thing we can rely on our previous experiences in practical, every-day situations but when it comes to relations with other people we should recognize our presuppositions and try no to let them bias us. It's often really hard to, firstly admit one's own prejudices and secondly to ignore them.
The word 'prejudice' sounds very negative to me but not every prejudice is offensive on purpose. They're just so deep in our culture that most of the time we don't even realise them.
One of the most irritating deep-rooted presuppositions is heterosexuality.
I'm certain that no-one means to offend the sexual minorities by supposing that everyone is straight. Well, maybe someone does but not everyone. Anyhow, I find it a little annoying when for example my relatives ask if I have a boyfriend yet. To be honest, I'd find it annoying even if they asked whether I had a girlfriend instead because I think my non-existing relationships are none of their business but that is not relevant now. Actually here's another extremely frustrating presupposition: everyone's after a relationship. As if being a single was just a temporary state before finding a partner and starting a family. Once again, I'm not saying I'll never want a house of my own with kids and a dog in it. It just feels really, very, extremely surreal right now.
Nonetheless, I'm quite positive that prejudices can be changed. I have recently came to notice that something in my own thinking has changed. When studying in probably the entire country's official lesbian school you see so many gay couples and get to know people who accept themselves the way they are. You learn it's not such a big deal really.
What I'm saying is that in my mind there's not such a clear supposition about peoples sexuality than there used to be. Practically, if any of my friends or even my sister or cousin told me they were gay I wouldn't be shocked. At most surprised, depending on who it was.
Or actually, I wouldn't be even surprised. Try me.
By the way, this is not me coming out of closet since I think I never was there. At this point when I'm most certainly non-looking for a relationship, I find it rather irrelevant to shout out whether I fancy boys and/or girls anyway.
And once again I'm too idle to read this whole text through whereupon there might be more or less incomprehensibilities and impossible word combinations there.
2010-05-09
With Mind And Body
I've been thinking (oh, no! not again... I should stop thinking or starting these writings with that line) about my sport addiction. Now that I can decide myself what sports to do I've begun to ponder what makes some sports more enjoyable than others. I think that at least in my case there always seems to be a certain level of spirituality in every exercise I take. In fact, when I started to think over this subject I remembered a term, familiar from psychology classes: the flow experience. In Wikipedia flow is described to be "the mental state of operation in which a person in an activity is fully immersed in a feeling of energized focus, full involvement, and success in the process of the activity". In this state of mind we're one hundred percent engaged to whatever we're doing and we usually feel invincible and unable to fail. I believe this powerful feeling creates a positive circle. When we feel we're good at something we do it with courage and relaxation. This usually makes us succeed since we don't try too hard and sweat about it. Now, when we notice how well we're doing we feel even better and it goes on until the flow. So flow is achievable as long as we believe in ourselves and enjoy. It's quite clear that after having the flow experience we're eager to feel it again and therefore we choose to do the same thing over and over again in order to find the flow.
And now that I wrote it down it seems crystal clear. It's not really surprising that people want to spend their time doing things they feel they're good at, things that bring them happiness.
We all search the flow.
But I like giving things silly names and so I'll name my sport-flow a sportgasm. I have already a musical orgasm and a fangasm which have been named by other people.
Okay, it seems I'm once again reaching the point where I loose control over my thoughts and this text becomes even more obscure than it was in the beginning because my fingers are three hundred times slower than my mind and I forget to finish my sentences before they are three rows long. But let's try to ignore it.
Where was I?
Right, the spiritual aspect of sport. My favourite sports are dance; especially modern dance, yoga, pilates, jogging and snowboarding.
With snowboarding the thrill is to overcome my fear for heights and losing control over the speed. It's balancing between the excitement and the real fear.
Jogging gives me space and time to let my mind wonder. I don't need to concentrate on anything other than running in the right direction and not stamping on dog shit. It's releasing and sort of regenerative. Jogging is easy and nice and when activating my body I also activate my mind. A bunch of great and not-so-great ideas can pop up in my mind during one hour's jogging exercise. Whether I put them into practice is another thing.
Then pilates. It depends on the day's mood how spiritual that thing is to me. Actually, I think the fun of pilates is more in finding the control over some muscles that aren't in sight. It's gratifying to find for example contact with pelvis muscles and to be able to deliver the movement from there instead of using all the big muscles in legs, torso and arms. It requires a lot of concentration and persistence to learn how to use the core muscles and you're never too good at it.
Originally yoga was developed to make people content by learning to let go of thinking and worrying. It was in the beginning all about meditation and the physicality came only after that. Thus it would be weird no to think yoga as a combination of body and mind. Yoga is different from other sports in many ways. It's not really a sport but a physical-mental activity or something. There's no goal in it. You don't do it for anyone else but you, nor does it matter how do yo look like, how elegant your poses are. The only thing that matters is the moment that you live. If you stumble or fall it's fine. There's no rush. All you have to do is to listen to your body, respect it and keep the connection between body and mind as strong as you can. And after every exercise you just let go of it, forget it. It's already past and there's no point in clinging on it.
I could write an essay about this matter and it would sound like complete freaky flower-child guff so I'll just stop here and spare whoever is possibly reading this.
My re-found, long lost love, dancing, is a perfect combination of all the elements I value the most in sports. It's physically challenging, the strength is in the core muscles while the limbs should feel detached to the body. When the muscles learn the choreography you can focus on your mind and create the connection with the body. Then there's emotion, which arises from the music and completes the experience. And one can never be good enough. There's always something to learn more and to improve. It's also social: there's a teacher and other dancers in the room. You get help, critic and compliment. You can learn from others' mistakes as well as your own ones. An now I'm only thinking of modern dance.
It's a little different if you dance in a club. There it's just the music and the feeling. There it doesn't matter whether your moves are graceful or generally considered beautiful because in truth everyone is beautiful when dancing as long as they enjoy it themselves an let the music and the feeling guide them.
I could write an essay about that one too.
It's so much easier to write about these things because when I try to speak of them it more often than not sounds like ... well, freaky flower-child guff.
So, everyone get up, dance, blow pink soap bubbles, chant 'om' and think hippie!
And now that I wrote it down it seems crystal clear. It's not really surprising that people want to spend their time doing things they feel they're good at, things that bring them happiness.
We all search the flow.
But I like giving things silly names and so I'll name my sport-flow a sportgasm. I have already a musical orgasm and a fangasm which have been named by other people.
Okay, it seems I'm once again reaching the point where I loose control over my thoughts and this text becomes even more obscure than it was in the beginning because my fingers are three hundred times slower than my mind and I forget to finish my sentences before they are three rows long. But let's try to ignore it.
Where was I?
Right, the spiritual aspect of sport. My favourite sports are dance; especially modern dance, yoga, pilates, jogging and snowboarding.
With snowboarding the thrill is to overcome my fear for heights and losing control over the speed. It's balancing between the excitement and the real fear.
Jogging gives me space and time to let my mind wonder. I don't need to concentrate on anything other than running in the right direction and not stamping on dog shit. It's releasing and sort of regenerative. Jogging is easy and nice and when activating my body I also activate my mind. A bunch of great and not-so-great ideas can pop up in my mind during one hour's jogging exercise. Whether I put them into practice is another thing.
Then pilates. It depends on the day's mood how spiritual that thing is to me. Actually, I think the fun of pilates is more in finding the control over some muscles that aren't in sight. It's gratifying to find for example contact with pelvis muscles and to be able to deliver the movement from there instead of using all the big muscles in legs, torso and arms. It requires a lot of concentration and persistence to learn how to use the core muscles and you're never too good at it.
Originally yoga was developed to make people content by learning to let go of thinking and worrying. It was in the beginning all about meditation and the physicality came only after that. Thus it would be weird no to think yoga as a combination of body and mind. Yoga is different from other sports in many ways. It's not really a sport but a physical-mental activity or something. There's no goal in it. You don't do it for anyone else but you, nor does it matter how do yo look like, how elegant your poses are. The only thing that matters is the moment that you live. If you stumble or fall it's fine. There's no rush. All you have to do is to listen to your body, respect it and keep the connection between body and mind as strong as you can. And after every exercise you just let go of it, forget it. It's already past and there's no point in clinging on it.
I could write an essay about this matter and it would sound like complete freaky flower-child guff so I'll just stop here and spare whoever is possibly reading this.
My re-found, long lost love, dancing, is a perfect combination of all the elements I value the most in sports. It's physically challenging, the strength is in the core muscles while the limbs should feel detached to the body. When the muscles learn the choreography you can focus on your mind and create the connection with the body. Then there's emotion, which arises from the music and completes the experience. And one can never be good enough. There's always something to learn more and to improve. It's also social: there's a teacher and other dancers in the room. You get help, critic and compliment. You can learn from others' mistakes as well as your own ones. An now I'm only thinking of modern dance.
It's a little different if you dance in a club. There it's just the music and the feeling. There it doesn't matter whether your moves are graceful or generally considered beautiful because in truth everyone is beautiful when dancing as long as they enjoy it themselves an let the music and the feeling guide them.
I could write an essay about that one too.
It's so much easier to write about these things because when I try to speak of them it more often than not sounds like ... well, freaky flower-child guff.
So, everyone get up, dance, blow pink soap bubbles, chant 'om' and think hippie!
2010-04-27
Uninteresting psychology class stuff
Today I'll reveal my personality.
And by that I mean I'll tell you the result of a personality test we did at psychology class. The test contained 210 yes-no-questions and was made to define whether the test subject was extrovert or introvert through seven different characteristics.
According to the test I'm slightly more introvert. And now I'll explain the characteristics.
First, 1/7 of the questions was to find out whether I was active or passive. Result: active. How surprising. I think in this part no further explanation is needed so I'll move on.
Next, am I sociable or unsociable? It seems that I'm just a tiny bit more sociable, which I agree.
Then, do I take risks or am I cautious? Again, a little bit more cautious. So far so good.
Impulsive or discreet? Discreet. Erm... me?
Oh, it was so funny to see two of my friends' reactions when I told them about this result. One was like 'well, maybe you're discreet in some situations' and the other just laughed. Someone listening to our conversation pointed out that 'impulsive' means that you can bristle up suddenly and snap or yell at people etc. My friend just grinned and said 'yeah, exactly'. So, very well then. I am exceedingly discreet and never loose my temper.
The next one was between expressive and reserved. This one went quite right and affirmed that I was expressive which means that I show my feelings outwards.
The last two described me as considerate and responsible. Another big surprise.
I think the result is pretty much what I am. Though that impulsive-discreet-part makes me smile a little. I must have answered something weird or understood the questions wrong.
But obviously this test is the absolute truth, as we know.
And by that I mean I'll tell you the result of a personality test we did at psychology class. The test contained 210 yes-no-questions and was made to define whether the test subject was extrovert or introvert through seven different characteristics.
According to the test I'm slightly more introvert. And now I'll explain the characteristics.
First, 1/7 of the questions was to find out whether I was active or passive. Result: active. How surprising. I think in this part no further explanation is needed so I'll move on.
Next, am I sociable or unsociable? It seems that I'm just a tiny bit more sociable, which I agree.
Then, do I take risks or am I cautious? Again, a little bit more cautious. So far so good.
Impulsive or discreet? Discreet. Erm... me?
Oh, it was so funny to see two of my friends' reactions when I told them about this result. One was like 'well, maybe you're discreet in some situations' and the other just laughed. Someone listening to our conversation pointed out that 'impulsive' means that you can bristle up suddenly and snap or yell at people etc. My friend just grinned and said 'yeah, exactly'. So, very well then. I am exceedingly discreet and never loose my temper.
The next one was between expressive and reserved. This one went quite right and affirmed that I was expressive which means that I show my feelings outwards.
The last two described me as considerate and responsible. Another big surprise.
I think the result is pretty much what I am. Though that impulsive-discreet-part makes me smile a little. I must have answered something weird or understood the questions wrong.
But obviously this test is the absolute truth, as we know.
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