Frozen over

He was of tin and steadfast loyalty; she was of paper and ephemeral beauty. Nobody could touch them. Passion had consumed them; fire had swallowed them whole. But nothing burns forever. In the aftermath, she was gone without a trace, save the jewel she once proudly wore, now left behind. He, on the other hand, had been so malleable, so easily deformed by love that when the last embers were finally cooled, all that could be sifted from the ashes was a cold metal heart.

- L

What is attachment but a sense of dependency? You give and take, you lean and are leaned upon -- you need and are needed.

That's all it is. There isn't much to be afraid of.

I understand that we're incredibly different people in this respect, but I sincerely doubt that desperately gripping every part of your mind and refusing to surrender control to anyone else has done anything to help you conquer your feelings.

The tin soldier may have died with a heart hardened by the painful trysts of love. But at least he had known how it felt to have his heart engulfed by the feelings of another. At least he had faced the fires and valiantly danced in them, if only to be consumed shortly after. At least he had finally broken down his cast-iron box and let in the sun's warmth.

The tin soldier died in agony. But he didn't die alone.
 
And so I ask you:
Is your frozen heart really any different from that tin soldier's metal heart?

Umbrella

I don't know why I have this tendency to patronize people. It's not as if I know any better; I just happen to have a big mouth.

I'm still doing that here, unfortunately. I don't think I categorize people into archetypes as instinctively anymore, but still -- some people just seem to fit into the molds so well. There's the good old down-to-earth guy, there's the crazy asshole, there's the quiet Asian girl, and there's the arrogant douchebag. Appearances and slight mannerisms aside, we all seem to come from a blueprint.

But on second thought, I lied. I know very well why I can be so patronizing.

I'm arrogant.

I've realized that I gravitate towards the archetype that seems lost and needs help, not necessarily because I'm a nice guy who likes helping, but because it's also a way to boost my ego. It's like how some college freshmen love helping seniors with college essays; I'm sure everyone has their own intentions for wanting to help, but there's definitely a certain kind of satisfaction from being a "superior" authority on something (even if its a false sense of authority).

"Help" may be the ends, but various are the means. I could be walking you back with my umbrella because I don't want you to get wet, or because I thought you looked lonely and wanted someone to talk to. Either way, I'm holding an umbrella above you.

That's the thing, though; regardless of what I'm doing and how you choose to interpret it, I'm still putting myself above you, intentionally or not.

Perhaps this is a better way of phrasing it:
Do you volunteer at a charity to help people? Or do you volunteer to feel good about yourself?

Just something to think about, I guess. Maybe I'm being too hard on myself.

An analysis of a person in my life

Funny how I never noticed the irony of this whole philosophizing thing.

It starts with some realization, imposed or not, then gives way to a cascade of other realizations. For you, your existential crises were as generic as they come: we really don't have a purpose in life; nothing would really change if I disappeared; everybody has to die eventually.

As you went along, you reflected on what a mindless fool you were just a few weeks ago, leading you to think that you're special in that way, somehow apart and more aware than your unenlightened counterparts. Curious and confused, you wanted to tell people about it. Wake up, guys, you tried to tell your friends as subtly as possible.

You began constructing new friendships, unearthing different modes of thought and insight. You saw how complicated their lives were, and shared in their troubles as did they for yours. Now, in the span of an hour, you were able to get to know people better than your junior year self ever could when given an entire year.

But as a consequence, somewhere along that process, it dawned on you that your friends are actually not so different from you. There was no way it was sheer coincidence that nearly everyone you chose to build a bridge towards was fully able of returning the favor.

It occurred to you then that nearly everyone of your age has their philosophical moments, and they too have thought about much the same questions as yourself. You finally learned that you are not some being of higher sentience and cognition. And for many, it is a painful lesson to swallow. But you did, knowing full well that practically everything you believed about your existence would have to be thrown out and forgotten.

At that point, you had come full circle. You had returned with no answers and an endless stream of questions  -- precisely where you began -- save for one important lesson: that you're not special.

The irony is, that was the whole point from the beginning. All along, what you really wanted was confirmation that you weren't alone in your existentialist dilemmas. That's why you felt the need to talk to all those people, and that's why you strove to make every friendship a meaningful one. You had set out to awaken the sheeple, when in truth, all you really wanted was to find people who were just as lost as you.

After all, being special means being alone.

Now when I look at you and how far you've come, it seems that you've found what you came for.

I'm happy for you.

A great man and a good man

A great man is someone who people revere and look up to.
A good man is someone that people respect because he looks them straight in the eyes.

I think I'd rather be a good man.

Attachment

I don't remember much from my first CTY experience some 5 years ago, but I do recall the director's opening words: that the friends you made there would be among the closest you would ever have.

And just like nearly every other CTYer, after the three week session, I found myself agreeing with him. Post-CTY depression was a very real thing for me; it was painful to accept that I would never see the overwhelming majority of those people ever again - people who had, by far, been the closest friends I'd ever known.

But then I went to CTY again next summer, and the summer after that, and the summer after that. And before long, I found myself questioning the nature of these friendships.

The first three or so days of every summer program, people are all trying to grab a foothold in this new society that they've suddenly found themselves in. For some, that means finding people similar to friends back home. For others, it means laboring to establish a new identity (or refining a previous identity) that allows them to try on a new persona and its accompanying social characteristics and obligations.

It doesn't matter which path you take out of social irrelevance and obsolescence. You are going to get attached. You need that foothold, and you'll grow to depend on it. Then it abruptly disappears. You pass in your room keys, you sign those t-shirts, and sooner or later, you start to miss it. You feel like a part of you has left, and you're right.

Yet this time around, I noticed that I hadn't really gotten attached at all. I didn't feel one way or the other about all these people that I would never see again. I wasn't sad, or happy, or confused. I was nothing.

My heart tells me I should be concerned.

Is it that I've forgotten how to get attached? Have I regressed to the fatalist long-term thoughts that my entire senior year was trying to remove?

Or is it that I'm afraid?

Nothing is ever a goodbye

you fell off of my address bar today.
that little gray downward arrow that I had so often pressed, only to click on your name
now bequeaths me twelve other addresses to twelve other parts of the world.

i've now seen more of what lies beyond
and it is exactly what i hoped it would be.
different, yet still familiar in all the important ways.

i don't miss you anymore.
to tell you the truth, i simply can't.
for how can i miss something that is all around me?

i saw you three weeks ago
for a week straight, specifically.
you were at work again, as usual.

a different face, a different hair style
but all the same motions and candied words
the things that i've since learned to examine more closely.

you said that you don't believe in goodbyes
that, if destiny wishes it to be so, no parting is ever permanent.
there are no goodbye's, you said. only see you later's.

but as true as your words are, you said them with the wrong reason in mind.
it isn't because destiny always brings together those who are meant to be
that nothing is ever a goodbye.

it's because you will find those same people elsewhere
in equally cute outfits, with equally beautiful faces, and just as wonderful personalities
that goodbyes don't exist.

See you later.

My goal

My goal is to be important enough for people to hate me.