Off The Wall
After a year of keeping my distance and testing the waters, I think that I am going to dive in head first.
Into what? You ask.
Into the deep waters of the personal blog post. This might be kinda intense, though maybe not for you, but definitely for me. (I take that back. As I revise the piece prior to posting, I realize that you will see a different side of me here than maybe ever before.)
Through this year and amid the small pieces of fiction, prompts for thought, essays from class, and political posings, I have not had a great deal of emotional posts. I have hinted a few times at emotion and trauma, but not much. I haven’t shared with you the joys and bursts of anger of being an RA, the struggles of maintaining friendships, the fight to restrain myself, the loss of the foundation of my life, the extreme pleasure of maybe/possibly/I’m not quite sure feeling in love, and the ache of missing half of my heart torn from my body by breaking up “mutually.”
In fact, as I am writing this now, I don’t know if I’ll actually post it. If you are reading this, it means I have – duh… anyways.
A series of events led to this decision, and despite the fact that this progression might bore you, I’ll go on, because, hey, you’re still reading right now, right?
While talking on the phone with my best friend today, we discussed how she wanted to start her blog back up again. She wanted to share and discuss her struggle with the benefits and disadvantages of being thought of as “beautiful.” (For your information, she is gorgeous.) However, she was afraid that people would dismiss her as being catty and not knowing . . . blah, blah, blah. You get the point. (And if you are gagging right now because you believe that “catty” shit, leave my blog right now because I have no time for your hypocrisy.)
Hypocrisy. So that leads to the next point of my story. I shared her pain, though not of the same topic. I understood her through my case of “white guilt.” I hate what has happened racially, economically, and socially through the centuries to people who were deemed “not white.” I constantly fear that people will dismiss my feelings toward the subject as “white guilt,” as I am from probably almost privileged in every way, except that I am female. But I don’t hate racism and classism because I’m white and it is PC for me to say that. I hate it because it is wrong.
As we chatted about this and about blogs, she mentioned that she thought I should be more personal on my blog.
“Is there a Dr. Dorian here? Yes, I have a ton of bricks to be delivered to him.” Cue the bricks to fall from the ceiling onto Zach Braff after he signs the delivery slip. It kinda felt like that.
I had always thought I was very open on my blog. And I still think that I am, but just not with my feelings. I tried to write it off as, “I have been feeling the waters, you know, so that I don’t get stalked and kidnapped” and as “that’s not what my blog is, it’s actually meant to be a thinking blog to inspire people.” But this is only half the truth, thus a full lie.
Look at the post below this. In it, I celebrate my blog’s first anniversary. I re-posted my original post in which it states that “I am an open person” and something about people’s lives being books to be read. You want hypocrisy? I’m a living example.
Thus, you are reading this post. Now, I know this preface has been long, but I want to share a little bit more. I wanted to be personal, so here it is.
I had been thinking about that “white guilt” discussion and about a comment I made on another blogger’s post. I remembered through the years as my aspirations for the future ranged from graphic designer, to architect, to first female president (Hilary might take that one from me), to conservative political news anchor, to liberal journalist in Africa, to an English professor, to my now current idea. And through all my lofty ideas, I have always received undaunted support from my friends and family, until my latest goal.
I love Middle Eastern poetry and literature. Hafez, Rumi, and Ahmad Shamlu (a poet whose work inspired an upcoming post) now stand with Shakespeare, Alfred Lord Tennyson, and Robert Frost as my favorite poets. I am assuming that the majority of you don’t know who they are – they are masters of Persian poetry. I love how scholars are postulating that the story of Leili & Majnoon might have inspired the stories of Tristan & Isolde and Romeo & Juliet. I want to get in on that field. I feel that it is ripe for harvesting the joys of intertextuality that have been forgotten as scholarly research has focused on the Greco-Roman (read: white) influence on civilization and culture. Right now, I am thinking about pursing a comparative literature Ph.D. and studying the influence of Middle Eastern Literature on English Literature.
However, here is where that personal, emotional side comes in. So often, I feel like this ambition is doubted by my friends and family. They act like it is a passing phase. I’m only learning Farsi because my ex-boyfriend is Persian. I only listen to Arash, Cameron Cartio, and DJ Aligator right now and will go back to the kitschy (can music be kitsch AJ?) Christian alternative next month. The only reason I think Middle Eastern men are attractive is because they remind me of an old crush.
You know, never mind the fact that I loved hearing Farsi spoken before I even knew my ex-boyfriend existed, that I want to be a linguistics double major, and that I will be learning Japanese in the fall and Arabic next summer. Never mind that I already loved techno/pop, that Cameron Cartio sings in at least two other languages, and that it has been much more than a month. And NEVER mind the fact that I think Middle Eastern women are also always beautiful and that, as for the men, I find all that hair down-right sexy!
The truth is, who knows what will come of my life and I don’t give you any promises. But maybe I’ll share my feelings with you while I am searching.
So, whew! I think that this was my first “rant” on my blog. Summary: doubt hurts and life is not only “rainbows and butterflies” and sometimes the “compromise that moves us along” hurts like hell. But hey . . . life goes on – Zendagi migzara. And that is the title of my next post.
Into what? You ask.
Into the deep waters of the personal blog post. This might be kinda intense, though maybe not for you, but definitely for me. (I take that back. As I revise the piece prior to posting, I realize that you will see a different side of me here than maybe ever before.)
Through this year and amid the small pieces of fiction, prompts for thought, essays from class, and political posings, I have not had a great deal of emotional posts. I have hinted a few times at emotion and trauma, but not much. I haven’t shared with you the joys and bursts of anger of being an RA, the struggles of maintaining friendships, the fight to restrain myself, the loss of the foundation of my life, the extreme pleasure of maybe/possibly/I’m not quite sure feeling in love, and the ache of missing half of my heart torn from my body by breaking up “mutually.”
In fact, as I am writing this now, I don’t know if I’ll actually post it. If you are reading this, it means I have – duh… anyways.
A series of events led to this decision, and despite the fact that this progression might bore you, I’ll go on, because, hey, you’re still reading right now, right?
While talking on the phone with my best friend today, we discussed how she wanted to start her blog back up again. She wanted to share and discuss her struggle with the benefits and disadvantages of being thought of as “beautiful.” (For your information, she is gorgeous.) However, she was afraid that people would dismiss her as being catty and not knowing . . . blah, blah, blah. You get the point. (And if you are gagging right now because you believe that “catty” shit, leave my blog right now because I have no time for your hypocrisy.)
Hypocrisy. So that leads to the next point of my story. I shared her pain, though not of the same topic. I understood her through my case of “white guilt.” I hate what has happened racially, economically, and socially through the centuries to people who were deemed “not white.” I constantly fear that people will dismiss my feelings toward the subject as “white guilt,” as I am from probably almost privileged in every way, except that I am female. But I don’t hate racism and classism because I’m white and it is PC for me to say that. I hate it because it is wrong.
As we chatted about this and about blogs, she mentioned that she thought I should be more personal on my blog.
“Is there a Dr. Dorian here? Yes, I have a ton of bricks to be delivered to him.” Cue the bricks to fall from the ceiling onto Zach Braff after he signs the delivery slip. It kinda felt like that.
I had always thought I was very open on my blog. And I still think that I am, but just not with my feelings. I tried to write it off as, “I have been feeling the waters, you know, so that I don’t get stalked and kidnapped” and as “that’s not what my blog is, it’s actually meant to be a thinking blog to inspire people.” But this is only half the truth, thus a full lie.
Look at the post below this. In it, I celebrate my blog’s first anniversary. I re-posted my original post in which it states that “I am an open person” and something about people’s lives being books to be read. You want hypocrisy? I’m a living example.
Thus, you are reading this post. Now, I know this preface has been long, but I want to share a little bit more. I wanted to be personal, so here it is.
I had been thinking about that “white guilt” discussion and about a comment I made on another blogger’s post. I remembered through the years as my aspirations for the future ranged from graphic designer, to architect, to first female president (Hilary might take that one from me), to conservative political news anchor, to liberal journalist in Africa, to an English professor, to my now current idea. And through all my lofty ideas, I have always received undaunted support from my friends and family, until my latest goal.
I love Middle Eastern poetry and literature. Hafez, Rumi, and Ahmad Shamlu (a poet whose work inspired an upcoming post) now stand with Shakespeare, Alfred Lord Tennyson, and Robert Frost as my favorite poets. I am assuming that the majority of you don’t know who they are – they are masters of Persian poetry. I love how scholars are postulating that the story of Leili & Majnoon might have inspired the stories of Tristan & Isolde and Romeo & Juliet. I want to get in on that field. I feel that it is ripe for harvesting the joys of intertextuality that have been forgotten as scholarly research has focused on the Greco-Roman (read: white) influence on civilization and culture. Right now, I am thinking about pursing a comparative literature Ph.D. and studying the influence of Middle Eastern Literature on English Literature.
However, here is where that personal, emotional side comes in. So often, I feel like this ambition is doubted by my friends and family. They act like it is a passing phase. I’m only learning Farsi because my ex-boyfriend is Persian. I only listen to Arash, Cameron Cartio, and DJ Aligator right now and will go back to the kitschy (can music be kitsch AJ?) Christian alternative next month. The only reason I think Middle Eastern men are attractive is because they remind me of an old crush.
You know, never mind the fact that I loved hearing Farsi spoken before I even knew my ex-boyfriend existed, that I want to be a linguistics double major, and that I will be learning Japanese in the fall and Arabic next summer. Never mind that I already loved techno/pop, that Cameron Cartio sings in at least two other languages, and that it has been much more than a month. And NEVER mind the fact that I think Middle Eastern women are also always beautiful and that, as for the men, I find all that hair down-right sexy!
The truth is, who knows what will come of my life and I don’t give you any promises. But maybe I’ll share my feelings with you while I am searching.
So, whew! I think that this was my first “rant” on my blog. Summary: doubt hurts and life is not only “rainbows and butterflies” and sometimes the “compromise that moves us along” hurts like hell. But hey . . . life goes on – Zendagi migzara. And that is the title of my next post.
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Leave a comment...
posted by bellevoce | 2:23 PM
8 Comments:
Just giving you folks a heads up: my blog is not going to turn into a diary. I will still have my occasions of poetry, constant of politics, encouragement towards change, anger at American apathy, and my favorite book reviews still as subjects of the majority of my posts. But from time to time, you will hear about just me...
Also, I do feel that I have gained much more support over time. I think that I chose this torrent of thoughts and feelings in order to prep you all for the upcoming series of posts.
This is good. Language, as it developed, obviously brought us much more than the ability to do business; we get to share our journey in a way that explains what's happening inside. This sharing is more than nice--it's necessary; it changes lives, and lives change the world.
So, I appreciate your bold move, and I as nearly a stranger; I'm sure your good friends appreciate it even more. Thank you for being willing to change the world by simply using your voice.
Yay! You have a blog too! And quite a beautiful one!
Thank you for the comment!
Wow, Courtney :) that comment was just what I needed. Truth be told, as I thought about the post today on my way back from work, I decided to take it off before anyone commented. Your comment though has lifted my spirits about the post and I will keep it up. Hey, I promised myself and everyone else out there - thanks for the reminder!
"Can music be kitschy AJ?"
Would you be offended if I said ::bleep:: yes?
I'm looking forward to your future posts. This post made your blog jump a whole lot of notches on my "How often do I want to read this blog?" list. I'll be back soon.
AJ
<><
oooooo, AJ, I feel quite complimented, thanks!
***
I would like to take the time to thank a fellow blogger, Orhan Kahn, who partly inspired me to work up the courage for this post. Should he read this, I wish him the best of luck in his search and I hope that he shall be back again soon.
“May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.” - Irish blessing
I’m not quite sure feeling in love, and the ache of missing half of my heart torn from my body by breaking up “mutually.”
You and I share a very recent pain. So glad you opened up in this way. You're a gem. Love your way.
As for Middle Easterners and attraction, its all fine and dandy until you find that hair on the womens ;)
I will try my best to stop by more often. Keep up the 'openness'.
I think you just had a breakthrough...Of course, Its difficult for me not to be personal on my blogs...so maybe you were smart for holding out as lond as you did...I wouldn't call it a diary though, for you are not recounting the events of the day, but rather the effect life is taking on you as an individual, and I think it could be beneficial to people, and just as relevant as any political statement you might make.
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