A girl who plays with boys.

I always thought of myself as a special case when I was in elementary school. I was alone and shy when I first entered kindergarten. I wore jeans and didn’t like to talk to anyone but if I had to, I’d rather to talk to a male. At home, I was heavily influenced by my brothers who always did “boyish things” like play video games and wrestle. Other than that, I didn’t really talk at home either. Whenever I spoke, I was ignored so I realized I should just save myself from embarrassment and keep myself shut. It easily became a habit to be quiet but I really wanted to speak out and tell everyone my opinions. It was hard to express my opinion in my family when the closest person to my age in my family is seven years my senior. So at school, I couldn’t speak or associate myself with others; there were no video games or wrestles after all.

When I entered Grade 1, I learnt something called recess where I met my first “friends”. Naturally, they were boys and they were all wrestling with each other. They weren’t tough at all and most were afraid of me. I could withstand a lot of physical pain from the boys and some of their older brothers, but I was emotionally weak. I felt like I belonged with those people I fought with because that was how I got along with my brothers. But as I glanced at the other girls and boys, they were playing ball games or chatting happily. I never understood how to do that or why they did. To them, I was an oddball who couldn’t do more than fight. Even though I was somewhat a tomboy, I did develop some crushes but even the slightest intimacy was never reciprocated because of my reputation and personality.

The boys later developed a code of conduct that they “must not hit girls”. At the time, I knew they were trying to be gentlemen. I tried to reason with them, telling them not to look down on me because I was a girl. It didn’t work out, because they’d just play somewhere else if I was around. Most girls would take advantage of this and not get hit, but I felt this was the only way I’d belong. I started to hate recesses because I would just stray around the playground. I spent a great deal of my recesses watching others chat and play games. Sometimes, I would play tag with the rest of my class. The game would always have one gender chasing the other; I don’t even know why. I have a feeling it’s because of the tag games we’d play during phys. ed.

The right path to take.

I know I’m not the only one that’s lost in life. I know there are many people in the world cannot afford to make their own decisions– or rather, are too afraid to make their own decisions. I am not an exception to that. Everyday, I face the pressure from others and myself. It’s inevitable, whoever you are. We’re always bombarded with choices but we never know which is the right path to take. Really, what is the right path? Is there such a thing?

At the moment, I don’t know whether I should find my first job or focus on my academic studies.

When are you ’successful’?

I used to think that being successful means you have achieved a considerable amount of your goals. When you’re proud of yourself, you have achieved success. This morning at around 3 am, I created this blog and wrote my first entry in a long time on the topic of love. When I refreshed my dashboard a few times, I was surprised to see some red font above my Comments tab. Immediately, I thought it was a bot trying to spam my Comments box so I was prepared to delete whatever the message was. I was about to click delete and I read that beautiful message. I’ve never published anything for the world to see but I was surprised to get a comment, nonetheless. I approved the comment and went to bed, unable to sleep. I thought about writing another post but I was so proud of myself, my post would end in one line: I’m so happy I can’t sleep. I suddenly remembered that I thought, in order to be proud/successful, you would have achieved a goal. But never in my wildest dreams would I get a comment. The only time I received comments was in Gr. 10, when I had a blog for school. You would receive comments back then regardless of how well you write and how brief the post was. My classmates would comment as long as they like you and if your post was less than 400 words. That’s why, that one comment is a dream that I have never dreamt, come true.

Just the other day, my father and I discussed a little about being successful. He believes that if you finish what you start, you are successful. But I know that inside, if all his children listened to him and achieved the goals set by him, he would feel ’successful’. For some people, having a high income is being successful. All of these are goals that we either set for ourselves or are set by others can make us feel ’successful’ by achieving them. However, to be successful is impossible. Success is insatiable because when you have everything, you have nothing.

There are many people who don’t have goals but can still feel successful. As always, I am in no position to tell anyone what success or any other word means. If you want my unprofessional opinion, I believe success is achieved when you have done/earned/experienced something you have never done/earned/experienced before. The less people who have done/earned/experienced it, the better because it shows that you’re outstanding. You don’t achieve success when someone congratulates you. You don’t fail because people are disappointed in your decisions or results. If you’re really aiming for the top, that’s fine but remember that there’s no method of measurement for success. Everyone has success in them, it’s if they can realize it.

Why do we care what ‘love’ means?

I was inspired to write this after reading a note on my acquaintance’s facebook. Unfortunately, this is my excuse for creating another blog but at least I think it’s reasonable. In her note, she defined what love was and how grateful she was to have received what she believed was love. In anything that seemed difficult to do, such as letting go of someone you admire the most, is…love.  If you are willing to sacrifice everything for a person, that is what she thinks is love. I can’t help it but to ask, why does she think that is love? In a different context, I’ve seen many definitions of love in the Japanese drama, Last Friends, I had just finished. Someone might think letting go or giving up means you no longer love them. Or if you are unable to become their lover, you can no longer love them. However, there are people who continue to love even after they had been rejected or separated. There are even people who see love in the form of abuse, for all we know. In the drama, the normal reaction from others to abuse was “That’s not love. If s/he loved you, s/he wouldn’t hurt you no matter what you did.” How are we so sure that it isn’t love? In addition, suicide can also become a form of love, as shown in the drama. Some people find that a total act of devotion and love, but some people find it cowardly and foolish. Note: I wouldn’t want to spoil it for anyone who plans to watch it but even if you don’t plan to, I strongly recommend it.

As I tread along, I remember that the definition of love has been written within the Bible. I quickly quote this from a site I’ve found on Google (You gotta love Google),

“Love is patient; love is kind
and envies no one.
Love is never boastful, nor conceited, nor rude;
never selfish, not quick to take offense.
There is nothing love cannot face;
there is no limit to its faith,
its hope, and endurance.
In a word, there are three things
that last forever: faith, hope, and love;
but the greatest of them all is love.”

It doesn’t tell me the exact verses or anything, unfortunately. Anyway, I found it here.

Although it sounds quite vague, the definition of love here is applied generally. As a Roman Catholic, I was taught that we are to love everyone. Therefore, I have come to the conclusion that the above is applied to everyone. These definitions of love are somewhat ideal and achievable to only a few people who are able to resist from temptation. I admit, that I am currently unable to achieve love as defined above. Moreover, I haven’t accepted it as the definition of intimate love between two people. In fact, I have just realized that if this is truly love-then there is currently only love between my parents and me. Actually, I’m very confused so I’m not sure. Then again, I don’t really care what love is. I love, so I love. I live, so I live.

Then again, it does bother me a lot when people go defining words however they like and have millions of replies, acknowledging her for her new perceptions. Those people already have their own definition of love and are being influenced by others’ definitions. Per se, Dictionary.com has twenty-seven results for the word love. Alright, so only fourteen are classified as love as the noun. And most sound repetitive, still vague, and possibly has nothing to do with intimate love (such as in context of tennis). To put it briefly, it sounds like a love is something you enjoy. For some people, they might enjoy the company of their friends, so they love their friends. For some others, they might enjoy the body of some, so they love them. As for me, I could enjoy the company and companionship of somebody, so I love them. Interesting, I have come to my own definition of love. It’s extremely simple and since other people have lengthy definitions of love, I’m feeling unsure too.

The fact is, we all have different ideas of what love is, based on experiences-mine or your’s. The definition of love is something that could be debated on a large-scale. Love is everywhere and in everything yet it’s nowhere but in nothing. We may not say we love everyone around you but once you lose something, your world falls apart and you realize that you really did love them. In that sense, I believe you may not have enjoyed everything about them but there is always something you can enjoy of anything. In my case, there are a few people I dislike and would have a hard time saying that I truly love them. Even if we’re two worlds apart and our paths have rarely crossed if ever, I love at least one thing about them.

Most important part of the whole post: Basically, I have just contributed nothing to your brain or mind or anything that tried to consume my words. Like everyone else, I’m unconfidently saying what I think love is. Why does it matter?