In which I find things not to be as bad as perviously thought
I guess survived is a little dramatic, it makes it sound as though there was some epic struggle in which I was forced to give my all in order to make it through to the next day.
Okay, so I’m not going to lie…some days felt like that. The first week I honestly wanted to find my own personal emocorner and make it my permanent lodgings. There were so many people in and out of that house, all bringing with them various hyperactive offspring that needed nothing more than an overdose of Ritalin and a lifelong time-out. One thing I learned from my sojourn in the south was that I truly dislike children. However, I believe I knew that from time I myself was a child.
A rather curious thing happened though, I found myself tolerating the boyfriend. Admittedly, we do have a lot in common such as music, movies, and a love for all things Potter and Red vs Blue. I began to realize that if this was the one that my best friend ended up marrying, I would not so reluctantly trek half way across the country and don an undoubtedly uncomfortable dress, fulfill my duty as maid of honor, and suffer through a reception devoid of alcohol. After spending time simply talking to the man, I understood that there was a possibility we could become friends. I, who never goes out of my way to make friends found myself thinking adding another, would not be so bad.
Of course, there were those awkward times that I felt like some callous intruder. Forcing my way into something that I had no right to, it was like I was a solitary cloud, whose presence was most unwelcomed in the otherwise clear sky.
A lot of times I felt like I was straddling between slipping seamlessly into the life that they had decided to live and standing out like a giant amongst Hobbits.
I have, in pervious posts admitted without a thought to my pride as a human being that I was extremely jealous of my best friend.
I still am, to an extent. Now it is more like a detached jealously. I no longer envy her life, just a life with purpose. I guess I have matured a little, to the point where I can narrow down my immature thoughts. I can now pinpoint what it is I saw so attractive about her life. It wasn’t the boyfriend, the job, the graduation, or the massive amounts of friends. It was more like the sense of belonging and worth that I envied so much.
But in my defense, is it not instinct to want to be useful? Do we as humans not strive to have a sense of belonging? I like to think so. Sometimes I feel like I have so much potential but no tools. What is the use of potential without any tools? It is like being faced with a vast ocean and no boat, and the instructions to build a boat are in ancient Greek. It would be pretty awesome to be able to read and understand ancient Greek though, yet I highly doubt I could ever find anyone to teach me.
I am getting off topic, which is no surprise as I tend to spend most of my life off topic.
No, what I really wanted to discuss was what I reading at the moment.
You see, I have just discovered the works of the brilliant author Mishima Yukio (Yukio Mishima if you want to do it the Western way.) I previously read his seven short stories from a book called Acts of Worship. I was hooked, on the first story Fountains in the Rain. But my favorite short story of all was the one simply entitled Sword. The ending was so abrupt, and it left me staring at that final punctuation mark in part horror and awe. I have now begun embarking on Mishima’s first book in The Sea of Fertility tetralogy Spring Snow. I have already fallen in love. I think that is why I shall never find any one, any human to love because my heart is so full of love for authors and words that there is no room for anyone else.
There is a particular part towards the beginning of Spring Snow that I really enjoyed. I could spend hours hailing what a master of imagery Mishima is, but I’ll show you instead.
“He (Matsugae) wanted to be like a pennant, dependant on each gusting wind. The only thing valid to him was to live for the emotions- gratuitous and unstable, dying only to quicken again, dwindling and flaring without direction or purpose.”
Of course there are plenty of other passages I could have copied here, but this one struck me the most. Something about the imagery of a person as a pennant really called out to me.
Sometimes I think I myself can be considered a pennant. At times I stretch out towards the sky with gale force winds giving me the power I need. Other times I flutter listlessly, devoid of a breeze that could send me sailing. And there are even times when I am utterly still, with no wind to carry me on.
Mishima does for me what few authors can do; he gives me glimpses of another world. All authors create other worlds in hopes of transporting their readers. But many times I am all too aware that I am reading a book, my nagging conscience criticizes plot and many times lack of. Then there is the case of plenty of plot, it’s just generic and stale (Twilight).
Mishima makes me feel like I am a ghost silently observing the going-on’s in a distant, rather untouchable household.
Well, I have exhausted all that I have wished to say this time, and so my invisible readers I shall draw to a close once more.
So, until next time my nonexistent audience
Signed,
The capricious InkMask aka ginxkira
Choosing plot over popularity since 1990
Okay, so I’m not going to lie…some days felt like that. The first week I honestly wanted to find my own personal emocorner and make it my permanent lodgings. There were so many people in and out of that house, all bringing with them various hyperactive offspring that needed nothing more than an overdose of Ritalin and a lifelong time-out. One thing I learned from my sojourn in the south was that I truly dislike children. However, I believe I knew that from time I myself was a child.
A rather curious thing happened though, I found myself tolerating the boyfriend. Admittedly, we do have a lot in common such as music, movies, and a love for all things Potter and Red vs Blue. I began to realize that if this was the one that my best friend ended up marrying, I would not so reluctantly trek half way across the country and don an undoubtedly uncomfortable dress, fulfill my duty as maid of honor, and suffer through a reception devoid of alcohol. After spending time simply talking to the man, I understood that there was a possibility we could become friends. I, who never goes out of my way to make friends found myself thinking adding another, would not be so bad.
Of course, there were those awkward times that I felt like some callous intruder. Forcing my way into something that I had no right to, it was like I was a solitary cloud, whose presence was most unwelcomed in the otherwise clear sky.
A lot of times I felt like I was straddling between slipping seamlessly into the life that they had decided to live and standing out like a giant amongst Hobbits.
I have, in pervious posts admitted without a thought to my pride as a human being that I was extremely jealous of my best friend.
I still am, to an extent. Now it is more like a detached jealously. I no longer envy her life, just a life with purpose. I guess I have matured a little, to the point where I can narrow down my immature thoughts. I can now pinpoint what it is I saw so attractive about her life. It wasn’t the boyfriend, the job, the graduation, or the massive amounts of friends. It was more like the sense of belonging and worth that I envied so much.
But in my defense, is it not instinct to want to be useful? Do we as humans not strive to have a sense of belonging? I like to think so. Sometimes I feel like I have so much potential but no tools. What is the use of potential without any tools? It is like being faced with a vast ocean and no boat, and the instructions to build a boat are in ancient Greek. It would be pretty awesome to be able to read and understand ancient Greek though, yet I highly doubt I could ever find anyone to teach me.
I am getting off topic, which is no surprise as I tend to spend most of my life off topic.
No, what I really wanted to discuss was what I reading at the moment.
You see, I have just discovered the works of the brilliant author Mishima Yukio (Yukio Mishima if you want to do it the Western way.) I previously read his seven short stories from a book called Acts of Worship. I was hooked, on the first story Fountains in the Rain. But my favorite short story of all was the one simply entitled Sword. The ending was so abrupt, and it left me staring at that final punctuation mark in part horror and awe. I have now begun embarking on Mishima’s first book in The Sea of Fertility tetralogy Spring Snow. I have already fallen in love. I think that is why I shall never find any one, any human to love because my heart is so full of love for authors and words that there is no room for anyone else.
There is a particular part towards the beginning of Spring Snow that I really enjoyed. I could spend hours hailing what a master of imagery Mishima is, but I’ll show you instead.
“He (Matsugae) wanted to be like a pennant, dependant on each gusting wind. The only thing valid to him was to live for the emotions- gratuitous and unstable, dying only to quicken again, dwindling and flaring without direction or purpose.”
Of course there are plenty of other passages I could have copied here, but this one struck me the most. Something about the imagery of a person as a pennant really called out to me.
Sometimes I think I myself can be considered a pennant. At times I stretch out towards the sky with gale force winds giving me the power I need. Other times I flutter listlessly, devoid of a breeze that could send me sailing. And there are even times when I am utterly still, with no wind to carry me on.
Mishima does for me what few authors can do; he gives me glimpses of another world. All authors create other worlds in hopes of transporting their readers. But many times I am all too aware that I am reading a book, my nagging conscience criticizes plot and many times lack of. Then there is the case of plenty of plot, it’s just generic and stale (Twilight).
Mishima makes me feel like I am a ghost silently observing the going-on’s in a distant, rather untouchable household.
Well, I have exhausted all that I have wished to say this time, and so my invisible readers I shall draw to a close once more.
So, until next time my nonexistent audience
Signed,
The capricious InkMask aka ginxkira
Choosing plot over popularity since 1990