February means it's Black History month, and I've gotten a lot of interesting education from the commercials on TV that keep popping up to remind me. However, these commercials also reminded me of a rather unpleasant conversation I had a few months ago.
Names and identities withheld for obvious reasons, I was having a conversation with a group of people and something came up about black people. I don't remember what it was about, but I remember one individual, who very pointedly said (and I'm paraphrasing here):
"I'm not racist or anything, but I think it's pretty stupid how I get called one when I say that there should be a White History Month, or a White Person TV Channel, or whatever. I don't get how black people and asian people want to be so integrated but yet get all these special things, but I'm racist if I say my race deserves the same."
Now, to the speaker's defense, I do truly think it's more of an ignorance thing, over a racism thing. But I did try to explain the concept of well....oppression and slavery and cultural identity to the group, but I was surprised that a lot of the other people during this conversation agreed with the topic at hand.
And that's kind of when I gave up. Because well, when you hit a wall like that, there's no climbing it.
Racism is one of those subjects with me where I kind of skirt around it. Being a visual minority, I joke a lot about my race, my (lack of) cultural identity and the fact that in most social settings, I am the only non-white present. But I mean, it's not a joke. Racism is srs biz, and it still amazes me to this day how ignorant our society can really be.
My stance on the whole Black History/White History thing - Black History Month is one month out of the year where the black community celebrates prominent individuals who otherwise aren't celebrated. I don't think "White History Month" is necessary because honestly, every other month is White History month. Open up a social studies textbook, google around. All of the prominent figures in historical and current society tend to be white or from a white culture. We don't need "White Entertainment TV" (in comparison to BET) because most mainstream channels out there are "white culture" - primarily white actors with the occasional black or asian actor tossed into the sitcom mix. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with "white" television, or "white history," but I'm just saying - it's out there. You don't really need anymore. You have 95% of the networks, the commercials, the beauty products, the magazines all directed towards you - do you really need that 5%?
And also, white people were never an oppressed people, the way that well, almost every other race out there has been. Black people were enslaved, Chinese people were enslaved, Japanese people were enslaved. White people, not so much. So there is a stronger cultural unity in these once-oppressed races. Maybe not as much today as 50 years ago, but still, let them celebrate, let them be proud of their histories. There is a lot to be said about having the ability to overcome adversities, change laws, brave hatred and turn a cheek to ignorance. I don't see how that's not worthy of one month of celebration, at least.
It really irritates me when anybody whines about the privileges of Native Americans, or the influx of Chinese people in their community, or how a group of Japanese exchange students won't bother to speak anything but Japanese to each other. I'm making the assumption that a lot of these whiners and complainers have never really dealt with racism in a negative context before, and it really sucks that it would take an angry screaming racist in their face to make them end their ignorant ways.
For me, I am Chinese-Canadian. I was born in Canada, raised in Canada and share the culture of a Canadian. But my looks alone are enough to get me some of that good old racist behavior on a bad day. I've been told to go back to my own country, I've been asked if the family sponsoring me will be "keeping me in Canada for the longterm." I've had people make assumptions about my upbringing, my behaviors, my skills, sexuality and cognitive capacity based on my racial features alone. And though I do joke about it, it sucks, in it's own terrible, alienating way.
So, all I ask is that you open your eyes and open your mind. Racism is still out there. Educate those who will listen and ignore those who will not. It's a big world out there, we aren't the only ones in it - be mindful and be respectful. It's really not that hard.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Awesome Things #1
When I am feeling shitty, or just generally bored with life, I like to try to make lists of specific things that are awesome. It helps me focus on the positives, rather than the negatives.
+ Missing your alarm (shitty) but still being able to get yourself out the door with everything done and intact on time. Stressful, but I felt like freaking superwoman.
+ Looking for something in a store and they don't have any left - but you magically unearth one from beneath a pile of other things, and it's in your size (and on sale).
+ DavidsTea. Seriously. So good. And I have about 30 different varieties in my cupboard.
+ Being hit on by a stranger, and a good looking stranger at that. As uncomfortable as it makes me (and as unavailable as I very much am), it's flattering to be deemed attractive enough to approach randomly (and soberly).
+ Getting a basket in basketball from outside the crease.
+ Planning a road trip from Edmonton to Vegas this summer.
+ The freaking awesome weather. It has felt like spring for the last few weeks!
+ Good friends. Making new friends. I love my classmates, my Wednesday team, my co-workers, old friends, new acquaintances.
+ School feeling really easy and effortless.
+ Afternoons of doing nothing.
+ Crazy highscore in Temple Run.
+ New books. So many new books.
+ Missing your alarm (shitty) but still being able to get yourself out the door with everything done and intact on time. Stressful, but I felt like freaking superwoman.
+ Looking for something in a store and they don't have any left - but you magically unearth one from beneath a pile of other things, and it's in your size (and on sale).
+ DavidsTea. Seriously. So good. And I have about 30 different varieties in my cupboard.
+ Being hit on by a stranger, and a good looking stranger at that. As uncomfortable as it makes me (and as unavailable as I very much am), it's flattering to be deemed attractive enough to approach randomly (and soberly).
+ Getting a basket in basketball from outside the crease.
+ Planning a road trip from Edmonton to Vegas this summer.
+ The freaking awesome weather. It has felt like spring for the last few weeks!
+ Good friends. Making new friends. I love my classmates, my Wednesday team, my co-workers, old friends, new acquaintances.
+ School feeling really easy and effortless.
+ Afternoons of doing nothing.
+ Crazy highscore in Temple Run.
+ New books. So many new books.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Polar Bears
There is something about polar bears that drew me in a few years ago. The fact that such a big, strong, ferocious animal can be so deceptively adorable, their innocent white fur blending in with their surroundings. A vicious killer and a nurturing mother all in one. A ruthless hunter, a curious creature and a growing endangerment.
Polar bears, like many animals, have to adapt to live on a regular basis - they travel hundreds of kilometers every year, across frozen sea ice to the land where they can eat, breed, live. Each year, this journey is a dangerous, risky, venture. It has purpose and is necessary, and one day - the journey may not even be possible. But even then, those bears will try to change, adapt. It might kill them off, one by one. It might not.
Polar bears are not pack animals. They travel in solitary - young cubs only migrating across the sea ice in the winter with their mothers for the few early years of their lives before they separate for good. Male polar bears travel alone completely, only meeting to breed or fight. It's amazing to me, that animals that are so strong and yet struggle to feed themselves regularly don't depend on each other. Too much of a desire to fight, to lead, to dominate. Or maybe it's a precaution for safety, for survival, for security.
A lot of people don't understand my infatuation with these creatures - they don't see the beauty, the grace, the eloquence. For me, a polar bear is not just an animal. There is an undeniable symbolism in a creature that can carry so much strength and so much weakness, all at once.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
2011: My Bottom Line
I love my sister. She is one of those people who will always be one of my best friends, no matter how far apart we are, no matter how long we go without speaking. She is my family, she is a piece of me that I can't ever get rid of. And no matter what goes on, no matter what happens, nothing can change that.
I don't speak to my parents because I need the space. I need the space for me, for my own mental health, for my own happiness. A lot of people don't understand this and I don't expect them to - it's a situation that is unique to me and my relationship with them. Growing up, my parents were not the same parents to my sister, they were not the same parents as your parents, or your best friend's parents. A family dynamic is different for everyone and this is mine. I don't ask people to understand it, but I truly appreciate those who respect my choices and keep their judgements to themselves.
I don't hate anybody. 2011 was an extremely difficult year for me. I cut ties with my mother and father, I lost my sister for a majority of the year, I made major life-changing decisions. I let go of three children and a job, which I loved and learned more from than any job I've ever had. Did I overreact to some emotional situations? Of course I did. Did I say some things I regretted later? Definitely. But I can't change my past and I learned from it.
I don't hate my sister's boyfriend - I don't know him. He took the one member of my immediate family from me and influenced her to give up her life here in Edmonton for a life with him in New York. She is my little sister - in my mind, nobody will ever be good enough for her. I hope that some of you can understand that. I don't hate my parents - I'm just tired. I was tired of the fighting, of never feeling good enough, of constantly compromising my values and feelings in order to make the relationship work. I don't regret leaving my job, but leaving has made me realize how amazing that family was and how much they taught me about love, family-dynamics and myself.
2011 was a hard year. I changed a lot. I pushed myself to make those changes. Not all of them were easy. I made sacrifices, I cried myself to sleep, I made lists, I over-analyzed. I'm not looking for sympathy, I'm not looking for understanding. You don't have to like my thoughts, my opinions, the changes I made or my feelings. But now you know.
I'm just one person. I'm just human. I fuck things up, I make mistakes. I forgive, I forget. 2011 was a year of challenges, but I worked through them - for me. To make my life worthwhile again. To make myself happy. If you can't understand that - you might want to try it out yourself.
To those shoulders I cried on, to those friends who listened, to those opinions who weighed in on my problems - I am truly thankful. Thank you for your patience, for your support, for your love and acceptance. I hope I can return that love in 2012 and beyond.
I don't speak to my parents because I need the space. I need the space for me, for my own mental health, for my own happiness. A lot of people don't understand this and I don't expect them to - it's a situation that is unique to me and my relationship with them. Growing up, my parents were not the same parents to my sister, they were not the same parents as your parents, or your best friend's parents. A family dynamic is different for everyone and this is mine. I don't ask people to understand it, but I truly appreciate those who respect my choices and keep their judgements to themselves.
I don't hate anybody. 2011 was an extremely difficult year for me. I cut ties with my mother and father, I lost my sister for a majority of the year, I made major life-changing decisions. I let go of three children and a job, which I loved and learned more from than any job I've ever had. Did I overreact to some emotional situations? Of course I did. Did I say some things I regretted later? Definitely. But I can't change my past and I learned from it.
I don't hate my sister's boyfriend - I don't know him. He took the one member of my immediate family from me and influenced her to give up her life here in Edmonton for a life with him in New York. She is my little sister - in my mind, nobody will ever be good enough for her. I hope that some of you can understand that. I don't hate my parents - I'm just tired. I was tired of the fighting, of never feeling good enough, of constantly compromising my values and feelings in order to make the relationship work. I don't regret leaving my job, but leaving has made me realize how amazing that family was and how much they taught me about love, family-dynamics and myself.
2011 was a hard year. I changed a lot. I pushed myself to make those changes. Not all of them were easy. I made sacrifices, I cried myself to sleep, I made lists, I over-analyzed. I'm not looking for sympathy, I'm not looking for understanding. You don't have to like my thoughts, my opinions, the changes I made or my feelings. But now you know.
I'm just one person. I'm just human. I fuck things up, I make mistakes. I forgive, I forget. 2011 was a year of challenges, but I worked through them - for me. To make my life worthwhile again. To make myself happy. If you can't understand that - you might want to try it out yourself.
To those shoulders I cried on, to those friends who listened, to those opinions who weighed in on my problems - I am truly thankful. Thank you for your patience, for your support, for your love and acceptance. I hope I can return that love in 2012 and beyond.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Semester 1: A Summary
Well, final grades are (nearly) up and I have successfully completed my first semester studying Speech Pathology Therapy... not having exams or assignments hanging over my head is the best feeling I have experienced in awhile. School makes me into this anti-social, anxiety-ridden ball of stress, and I am glad to be free of it! Lots of people I talk to are like "oh well, enjoy it while you can, because you'll miss school when you're done." This sardonic claim always puzzles me, as I was out of school and working full time for what, six years? I won't miss it. I'm not that type of person.
In case nobody knows, I am studying Speech Pathology to become a therapist assistant, which basically means I will be carrying out therapy and doing observational/instructional work in places like schools, rehabilitation centers or early education settings. I will be working with children and adults who have speech disorders, disabilities, learning or cognitive disorders or just trouble with articulation or receptive language skills. Unlike a Speech Pathologist, I won't be able to diagnose anything, but my main work will be in the field carrying out treatment and therapy plans, which for me, is what I would much rather be doing anyhow.
This last semester, I conquered Intro Psychology, Educational Assistant: Roles/Responsibilities, Speech Language and Literacy Development, Interpersonal Skills and Intro to Human Language. My highest mark was an A+ (in Human Language, thank you Journalism background) and my lowest was a miraculous A- (both in Psychology and Speech Development.... how I got a mark like that in Psychology is a mystery that not even Freud could figure out). For not working nearly as hard as I had planned to during this semester (getting a job halfway through somewhat threw a wrench in my ability to prioritize schoolwork over sleep), I feel I did extremely well grade-wise and am actually looking forward to next semester. In January, I start Communication Disorders, Human Development and Learning Through Play, a whopping 3 classes (I was exempt from taking English, thank you again, Journalism). Though LTP is a relatively light course and will be easy marks, Comm Disorders and Human Dev are both health-sciences based curriculum, so they will be a lot more difficult, albeit I am looking forward to them immensely.
Things I have learned about myself in the past four months: My study abilities have not changed since highschool. I crammed the nights before exams but lacked the discipline to study ahead of time. For each exam, I likely studied a total of four hours per test. I just suck, immensely, at studying. Everything I got out of my classes, I learned in class or through assignments. I thought that I would get out of this habit after highschool but apparently, it's ingrained. I really like Linguistics. This is my fall-back/back-up plan if I ever plan on going back into school for something else... studying language from a descriptivist standpoint, rather than the structured-grammarian prescriptivist point of view (Journalism) is much more interesting, all though I don't know what kind of job a BA Major in Linguistics would get you. I hate people. Not all people - the girls in my program are wonderful and (for the most part) my profs were pretty decent. Being being in school being surrounded by a general crowd of people at all times has made me much less tolerant of: stupidity, bad hygiene and young naivety. My laptop weighs a ton. D bought me an HP Envy around six months before the start of school but I learned halfway through my semester that it weighs a TON (around 7 pounds, this is what I get for getting a loaded model). I ended up purchasing a netbook in late November, which weighs a little less than 2 pounds and is much better for cramming amongst textbooks.
All in all, it was a successful semester. I started the year feeling unsure about making friends (I am 7 years older than some of the girls in my program) but of course, like all "new kid" situations for everyone, that went away. I feel like I'm in the right place, that I'm studying something I can potentially be very good at and will enjoy as a career.
3 more semesters, two practicums and many more months of not-sleeping to come. Bring it!!! Merry Christmas everyone :)
In case nobody knows, I am studying Speech Pathology to become a therapist assistant, which basically means I will be carrying out therapy and doing observational/instructional work in places like schools, rehabilitation centers or early education settings. I will be working with children and adults who have speech disorders, disabilities, learning or cognitive disorders or just trouble with articulation or receptive language skills. Unlike a Speech Pathologist, I won't be able to diagnose anything, but my main work will be in the field carrying out treatment and therapy plans, which for me, is what I would much rather be doing anyhow.
This last semester, I conquered Intro Psychology, Educational Assistant: Roles/Responsibilities, Speech Language and Literacy Development, Interpersonal Skills and Intro to Human Language. My highest mark was an A+ (in Human Language, thank you Journalism background) and my lowest was a miraculous A- (both in Psychology and Speech Development.... how I got a mark like that in Psychology is a mystery that not even Freud could figure out). For not working nearly as hard as I had planned to during this semester (getting a job halfway through somewhat threw a wrench in my ability to prioritize schoolwork over sleep), I feel I did extremely well grade-wise and am actually looking forward to next semester. In January, I start Communication Disorders, Human Development and Learning Through Play, a whopping 3 classes (I was exempt from taking English, thank you again, Journalism). Though LTP is a relatively light course and will be easy marks, Comm Disorders and Human Dev are both health-sciences based curriculum, so they will be a lot more difficult, albeit I am looking forward to them immensely.
Things I have learned about myself in the past four months: My study abilities have not changed since highschool. I crammed the nights before exams but lacked the discipline to study ahead of time. For each exam, I likely studied a total of four hours per test. I just suck, immensely, at studying. Everything I got out of my classes, I learned in class or through assignments. I thought that I would get out of this habit after highschool but apparently, it's ingrained. I really like Linguistics. This is my fall-back/back-up plan if I ever plan on going back into school for something else... studying language from a descriptivist standpoint, rather than the structured-grammarian prescriptivist point of view (Journalism) is much more interesting, all though I don't know what kind of job a BA Major in Linguistics would get you. I hate people. Not all people - the girls in my program are wonderful and (for the most part) my profs were pretty decent. Being being in school being surrounded by a general crowd of people at all times has made me much less tolerant of: stupidity, bad hygiene and young naivety. My laptop weighs a ton. D bought me an HP Envy around six months before the start of school but I learned halfway through my semester that it weighs a TON (around 7 pounds, this is what I get for getting a loaded model). I ended up purchasing a netbook in late November, which weighs a little less than 2 pounds and is much better for cramming amongst textbooks.
All in all, it was a successful semester. I started the year feeling unsure about making friends (I am 7 years older than some of the girls in my program) but of course, like all "new kid" situations for everyone, that went away. I feel like I'm in the right place, that I'm studying something I can potentially be very good at and will enjoy as a career.
3 more semesters, two practicums and many more months of not-sleeping to come. Bring it!!! Merry Christmas everyone :)
Sunday, November 27, 2011
My Favorite Teacher
One thing you might know about me if you know me at all, is that I'm a fairly extroverted person. I love being around other people, talking with others, making people laugh. I strive on making connections with people. I don't mind being the center of attention in certain situations. I'm not afraid of interactions, rejections, meeting new people.
But one thing you might not know about me is that I wasn't always like that. In fact, I used to be shy. Painfully shy. I used to be the kind of kid who would get sent home with report cards, encouraging me to interact with other children, to ask questions in class, to actually speak out loud once in awhile.
During my elementary school years, I had little to no interest in making friends. Sure, I had some, but if they weren't the kind of friends who were going to take charge and initiate something, I wasn't going to risk my neck out on the playground. I was the type of kid who would sit under a tree reading during recess. Even when I was young - six or seven, I would stand outside the classroom door during lunch hour, just waiting for the bell to ring. The idea of interacting with anybody terrified me. So, I stayed quiet. All the time. I know it puzzled a lot of my teachers - I'm fairly certain now that they probably thought I had some sort of social delay problem. But in all due honesty, I just didn't understand the other kids. The kids on the playground who were so loud, and so rough, and so messy. I was the type of kid who didn't like to get dirty, who didn't move fast enough, who didn't have the conviction to smack a tetherball around a post or roll around on the grassy hills.
So what changed? Now, as an adult, I am the type of girl who is throwing elbows in basketball games, who will climb under and over all the playground equipment with a five-year-old, who will be the first to jump twenty feet off a cliff into icy cold water.
I think a lot of people would speculate that it was just the natural path of growing up. But looking back, there is one moment that I can pinpoint where a change began in my life. And that moment was in seventh grade - when my teacher, Mr Johnston, decided to punish one of the most outgoing girls in my class for talking to much. That day, she was talking too much during class, so he moved her desk up to the front of the room, next to mine. "Maybe Sarah can teach you a thing or two," he said with a a friendly nudge. Mr Johnston was that kind of teacher - he was cool, he had rules, but he did everything with purpose. Little did I know, he had more purpose that day than I had realized.
Her name was Nikki, and she was everything I wasn't at that age - pretty, loud, talkative and overflowing with confidence. I remember slinking down in my chair as she moved up to sit next to me. I wasn't interesting or entertaining and I would probably bore her to death. She would probably hate me - what else is new? I was used to kids not liking me just because I wasn't loud or vivacious or exciting. But somehow, within a few days, Nikki and I started getting along - and all of a sudden, we were friends.
Somehow, in the course of what felt like a few days - I became a whole different person. I remember my parents couldn't stand Nikki - they couldn't stand her free nature, her lack of household rules, her calls during dinner time. I was a straight A student, a devoted flutist, an avid reader. I was forever spending weekends and evenings locked in my bedroom with a book and my cassette player. But I loved my new friendship with Nikki. And even moreso, I loved the person she made me into. She was daring, and I became daring. She was confident, and I became confident. She pulled me into her group of friends and before I knew it, at the end of that school year, I successfully ran for Class Representative. I won the school public speaking award. That shy girl who was terrified of speaking in class, who was terrified of speaking, was somehow gone. I started the next academic school year in high school - running for student council, playing on the volleyball team, trying out for the school musical. And as I got older, and my friendship with Nikki carried on, that shy, terrified, introverted girl I once was somehow disappeared.
I still wonder to this day if it was really her, or if I became who I am because it's just who I was destined to be. If Mr Johnston hadn't stuck her next to me in class that day, would I ever have found the confidence to pursue the things I wanted, to stand up for what I believed in front of others, to fearlessly pursue relationships, dreams, ambitions? Deep inside, I know that shy girl still exists - she's the one who keeps me at home on Sunday nights with a book and a cup of tea. She's the one who helps me stay up until the late hours of the morning, writing or day dreaming or listening to music. But I know she's thankful, for all those changes, back when I was twelve years old. I am who I am, and I appreciate it. But I do have to wonder if Mr Johnston had this plan in mind. If maybe, he had never intended for my shy, quiet nature to rub off on Nikki. If maybe, he knew that her confidence and her happiness would ultimately rub off on me. Because at the end of the school term, the two of us were likely the most talkative and disruptive pair in the room. But our desks still remained together. He never moved us apart. And for that, I am thankful. And I think that shy girl within me is a little thankful, too.
But one thing you might not know about me is that I wasn't always like that. In fact, I used to be shy. Painfully shy. I used to be the kind of kid who would get sent home with report cards, encouraging me to interact with other children, to ask questions in class, to actually speak out loud once in awhile.
During my elementary school years, I had little to no interest in making friends. Sure, I had some, but if they weren't the kind of friends who were going to take charge and initiate something, I wasn't going to risk my neck out on the playground. I was the type of kid who would sit under a tree reading during recess. Even when I was young - six or seven, I would stand outside the classroom door during lunch hour, just waiting for the bell to ring. The idea of interacting with anybody terrified me. So, I stayed quiet. All the time. I know it puzzled a lot of my teachers - I'm fairly certain now that they probably thought I had some sort of social delay problem. But in all due honesty, I just didn't understand the other kids. The kids on the playground who were so loud, and so rough, and so messy. I was the type of kid who didn't like to get dirty, who didn't move fast enough, who didn't have the conviction to smack a tetherball around a post or roll around on the grassy hills.
So what changed? Now, as an adult, I am the type of girl who is throwing elbows in basketball games, who will climb under and over all the playground equipment with a five-year-old, who will be the first to jump twenty feet off a cliff into icy cold water.
I think a lot of people would speculate that it was just the natural path of growing up. But looking back, there is one moment that I can pinpoint where a change began in my life. And that moment was in seventh grade - when my teacher, Mr Johnston, decided to punish one of the most outgoing girls in my class for talking to much. That day, she was talking too much during class, so he moved her desk up to the front of the room, next to mine. "Maybe Sarah can teach you a thing or two," he said with a a friendly nudge. Mr Johnston was that kind of teacher - he was cool, he had rules, but he did everything with purpose. Little did I know, he had more purpose that day than I had realized.
Her name was Nikki, and she was everything I wasn't at that age - pretty, loud, talkative and overflowing with confidence. I remember slinking down in my chair as she moved up to sit next to me. I wasn't interesting or entertaining and I would probably bore her to death. She would probably hate me - what else is new? I was used to kids not liking me just because I wasn't loud or vivacious or exciting. But somehow, within a few days, Nikki and I started getting along - and all of a sudden, we were friends.
Somehow, in the course of what felt like a few days - I became a whole different person. I remember my parents couldn't stand Nikki - they couldn't stand her free nature, her lack of household rules, her calls during dinner time. I was a straight A student, a devoted flutist, an avid reader. I was forever spending weekends and evenings locked in my bedroom with a book and my cassette player. But I loved my new friendship with Nikki. And even moreso, I loved the person she made me into. She was daring, and I became daring. She was confident, and I became confident. She pulled me into her group of friends and before I knew it, at the end of that school year, I successfully ran for Class Representative. I won the school public speaking award. That shy girl who was terrified of speaking in class, who was terrified of speaking, was somehow gone. I started the next academic school year in high school - running for student council, playing on the volleyball team, trying out for the school musical. And as I got older, and my friendship with Nikki carried on, that shy, terrified, introverted girl I once was somehow disappeared.
I still wonder to this day if it was really her, or if I became who I am because it's just who I was destined to be. If Mr Johnston hadn't stuck her next to me in class that day, would I ever have found the confidence to pursue the things I wanted, to stand up for what I believed in front of others, to fearlessly pursue relationships, dreams, ambitions? Deep inside, I know that shy girl still exists - she's the one who keeps me at home on Sunday nights with a book and a cup of tea. She's the one who helps me stay up until the late hours of the morning, writing or day dreaming or listening to music. But I know she's thankful, for all those changes, back when I was twelve years old. I am who I am, and I appreciate it. But I do have to wonder if Mr Johnston had this plan in mind. If maybe, he had never intended for my shy, quiet nature to rub off on Nikki. If maybe, he knew that her confidence and her happiness would ultimately rub off on me. Because at the end of the school term, the two of us were likely the most talkative and disruptive pair in the room. But our desks still remained together. He never moved us apart. And for that, I am thankful. And I think that shy girl within me is a little thankful, too.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Fighting for Nothing
...it isn't about being angry, or bitter. It isn't about ignoring, or eliminating, or forgetting. It's not about seeking a reaction, or an improvement, or an explanation, or an apology.
This distance is about me, and the things I need, the choices I have to make to be happy. It's about how when we were a family - our relationship was never, not ever, a good one. We were never healthy, we were never happy. There were times when we were fighting, or recovering from fighting, and there were times when we weren't. But that's not what it should be like, that's not what love feels like, that's not what family means.
So please don't - don't feed me these backhanded apologies that are actually apologizing for nothing. "I'm sorry you feel that way." 25 years of those words, like salt in wound, everytime. Please stop the guilt trips, the offers of family dinner like we are some godforsaken family on a sitcom television show. Please stop dismissing my feelings, my interpretations - you don't have to understand them, but for once in my life, I'm not going to let you brush them away as if they are just a phase. Feeling like this is not a phase. Kissing a wound doesn't make it all better - but luckily my wounds are all now scars.
I've heard it all - about how ignorant I'm being and how I need to drop my pride. About how I'll regret this in the future. But quite honestly, I'm not interested in the uninformed opinions. I'm not interested in the commentary. My pride is one thing - but what about my self respect? What about my own happiness, my mental health, my emotional stability? And tell me, how can I possibly regret letting go of something that has hurt me so much? Sometimes, the right thing isn't always the easy thing. And no, this hasn't been easy. But for me, it was the right choice.
I accept this, I take responsibility. I'm not actively trying to ignore to hurt you. I'm not instigating a problem. I'm removing myself from one. Because I'm done. I'm done fighting for nothing. Please understand.
I've picked my battles.
I don't pick this one anymore.
So please don't - don't feed me these backhanded apologies that are actually apologizing for nothing. "I'm sorry you feel that way." 25 years of those words, like salt in wound, everytime. Please stop the guilt trips, the offers of family dinner like we are some godforsaken family on a sitcom television show. Please stop dismissing my feelings, my interpretations - you don't have to understand them, but for once in my life, I'm not going to let you brush them away as if they are just a phase. Feeling like this is not a phase. Kissing a wound doesn't make it all better - but luckily my wounds are all now scars.
I've heard it all - about how ignorant I'm being and how I need to drop my pride. About how I'll regret this in the future. But quite honestly, I'm not interested in the uninformed opinions. I'm not interested in the commentary. My pride is one thing - but what about my self respect? What about my own happiness, my mental health, my emotional stability? And tell me, how can I possibly regret letting go of something that has hurt me so much? Sometimes, the right thing isn't always the easy thing. And no, this hasn't been easy. But for me, it was the right choice.
I accept this, I take responsibility. I'm not actively trying to ignore to hurt you. I'm not instigating a problem. I'm removing myself from one. Because I'm done. I'm done fighting for nothing. Please understand.
I've picked my battles.
I don't pick this one anymore.
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