I suppose today I am forced to pour my problems here; My usual collection unit is closed for some reason and I can’t force it to open. It don’t know why it won’t work. I’m trying to make this poetic and I’m failing miserably. I’m seeing eloquence where it doesn’t exist and hoping for a future that will never come to pass. Maybe not never. That’s me trying to be poetic again; to stretch things that are ugly in an effort to make them beautiful, or at least appealing, to make them grand and overarching when in fact they are minuscule and would probably go unnoticed if it weren’t for my whining. Apparently my expectations are too high and I’m too sensitive, so I’m going around hating people – or people are thinking that I am – when what I actually need to do is not pay so much attention. But I was taught to pay attention. I was punished for not doing so and I’m sick of how much I write about being taught; it makes me look like some kind of thoughtless being whose only purpose is to follow orders, but that is how I was trained! I was told what to do and beaten or chastised if I dared not to follow these instructions. How can I not get upset when everyone else is disobedient and getting away with it and I never had that fortune? So now I’m trying hard. I’m trying hard to deprogram myself – to not care so much about what other people think or say, to not listen when I am told to do something that goes against what I think I should do, to stand on my own feet and listen to my own heart and live my own damn life because it is mine. Because I am the only one who hurts when I am unfulfilled from doing what I was told, from adjusting myself to the ideas of others even when I know they are misconceived. Why am I the only one who listens? Why am I the only one who follows the rules? Why am I the only one who cares? Why am I the only one asking myself these questions? Why am I the only who can’t say no? Why am I the only one who doesn’t rebel? Why am the only one who doesn’t just cut loose and live?
No. I don’t want to take your advice. I don’t want to make a life decision based on something you said, or wrote down on beautiful, brown-stained paper with artistic lines crawling all over its digital surface.
I don’t want to take your typewritten words to heart and doubt my relationship – the one you know nothing about, the one you say isn’t good enough, the one you say I’m settling for. I don’t want to think that he is a great person, because sometimes you decide to tell me that he is, that I should be grateful for him and not cast him aside because of whatever “better” I think is waiting for me around the corner. I don’t want to worry about how well we suit each other because on a particular day you point out one of his flaws – one that I already know about – and use that as reason enough for him not to be good enough. For me. Me, who can’t do half of what he can, who has no interest in even learning, and who is amazed that he can do so much, being only one person. Me, who sometimes is the one not good enough to be with (I already know that – thank you very much) because I’m not sure where we’re going (though I still want to go there).
No. I’m not a Jamaican based on the many items that are on your several lists. I am a Jamaican because I was born there and I lived there for the first seventeen years of my life without ever setting foot on foreign soil of any kind. I don’t stop being a “real Jamaican” because I don’t know that one word or that one fruit or because I’ve never had those two meals, or because I don’t know how to cook them! I also say my alphabet properly. And I don’t put the letter “h” where it doesn’t belong. I can be a Jamaican and know how to speak proper English at the same time. I am also very versed in my dialect and will not speak English because I am told to so, because I’ve been in America long enough now, or because you think I “talk bad” which is not even proper English to begin with.
This was supposed to be a rant in opposition to those wonderful memes that appear frequently on my Facebook newsfeed, but I guess I veered off there and included people who like to tell me how to be who I am.
The point is I hate seeing those things and I hate that I pay so much attention to them and who the hell wrote all those things anyway? Who the hell are they to tell me whom I should be with and whom and I shouldn’t settle for and how a “real Jamaican” speaks and how I should live my life?
And will everyone SHUT UP about who is having children and how you’re not? It’s none of your business! And I don’t care. If you don’t like it, then leave it alone. No one asked you. Don’t like the pictures, don’t comment, just keep scrolling – the way I do – or admire the baby for two seconds. Don’t share another one of those stupid memes or make a post of your own talking about it. It’s really annoying.
(Of course this is totally going to the wrong audience, so the people who are doing this and who I want to stop won’t see this post, but I’ve been wanting to say something about this for a while. It’s really been bothering me. A lot of things have been bothering me.)
I will now abruptly end here.
I’m going through the 108 drafts I have. I’ve deleted about three so far, some I’ve left as they are. This one I don’t know why I didn’t publish. I wrote it while I was in Jamaica in October after my mother died. It really looks fine. I don’t know why I didn’t publish it.
Let’s get writing shall we?
Firstly I stink. I’m sitting with my legs folded and I need a shower. I thought I wouldn’t be needing one for a while since I didn’t shower early yesterday.
Secondly, I’m home, except I don’t really think so anymore because my mother is not here. I found myself saying that I want to go home a few times recently and I realised that I don’t usually refer to America as home. I started to correct myself, but then I thought maybe I have to call it home now. I thought of Jamaica as home because my mother was here, and she had always been my home. Always. But now she isn’t anymore. She isn’t anything anymore, just a part of my mind. She’s a memory.
I’m listening to music that is perfect right now. Perfect for my mood, perfect for what I’m writing. Perfect in its sound.
My father should be coming today. He didn’t tell me when, which is strange. Is he not coming today? Is he coming tomorrow? Wouldn’t he have told me what time he was to get here? Damn. K bought a dress for me that doesn’t have sleeves. I didn’t ask daddy to bring anything for me. I’m going to have to buy something. I didn’t want to do that. I can just buy a cheap pair of shoes right? But he’s definitely coming today since B called. He must have spoken to him.
Today is mommy’s wake. Stupid word. She isn’t going to wake up. It’s Friday today. Her wake is going to be on the Sabbath. God probably doesn’t like that. He has many reasons to kill me. Whatever.
I think I love M. Really. He probably loves me more, but I do think I love him. How can I not? Not that I have a lot of others to compare him to, but I think he’s the one. The one? I don’t know, but I don’t want it to be anyone else. I don’t want to spend time getting to know someone else and letting someone else get to know me.
I can smell that dumb blouse M was telling me about. Damn it stinks.
I really wish people would stop asking me how my mother died though. I don’t like repeating it. I’m tired.
T told me about God last night. I thought that was really strange coming from her. She is tattooed, smokes weed, and swears. I don’t think she goes to church either. But she was telling me about nothing being too big or small for God and saying that we can’t do it by ourselves. I didn’t get it. I didn’t think God could be inside a person like that. But He is. She said He made me perfect. M said He isn’t wicked. But I can have an opinion right?
Whatever I think He’s still God.
I never got around to loving God. It was just what I was used to; following orders to avoid punishment, being obedient, listening. It’s how I was raised. Obey your elders. Obey your parents. Obey your teachers. It all came from God. I always heard about Him, how He was the only one to be feared, how He should be feared more than man. He should be feared.
When I was in primary school, children used to say things like God is going to sin you when someone did something wrong. That was our way of saying you just committed a sin, and God is going to punish you for it. Somehow we all knew that. God was going to punish us if we did something wrong.
I don’t think that’s why I started looking for Him. I wasn’t scared, or thinking about being punished for any wrong I had done. I was just lonely and lost. But it turned into that; being scared of getting Him angry, inviting His wrath upon myself. Being scared of not being able to go to heaven. That was the ultimate goal; heaven. We all needed to get here, because this earth was not our home, not in its current state. Jesus needed to come and make it new again so that we could live on it. In the meantime, we had to do all we could so that we could be with Him when that happened. We needed to stay on His side. We needed to do what He said. We needed to love Him. If we did what He said, that meant we love Him.
But that’s not it. I did what He said. But I didn’t love Him. I was just scared. It was all motivated by fear. I lived every day in fear, either of Him, or of having to disagree with people because of my choice to serve Him. I never had the peace or the joy that was promised. I’m not sure if I ever had the hope either. I wanted it. But I don’t think I ever had it. I knew it all in my head. I had all the information. But it never went further than that. Not really.
I remember being frustrated because no matter how much I prayed, or sang, God never took me as His and used me for His purpose. Why couldn’t He use me to do things like other people? And I was greedy too. I was always thankful for small things, but I would forget them easily. I would always want more. Here’s the thing though, I never prayed for big things. I was never that kind of Christian. I don’t think I believed that God would answer. I never liked when our head elder told us to test God. That didn’t make sense, because the Bible told us not to do that. But he told us to put God to the test and ask Him for things and let Him work in our lives. I thought that was too much. I only asked for small things like help on exams or for it not to rain. Or if I got into a jam and I’d start worrying I’d pray at those times; quick breathy, worried prayers, asking God to help the situation and let it not be too bad, to let it work out. He was just…help, that I needed. And a God that I feared. He was big and powerful, and I was supposed to do what He said and not make Him angry. Because if He gets angry, then it’s all over.
I don’t know where I’m going with this but I’ve wanted to say it for a while. I think the type of person I am just worries all the time and…I’ll never have peace. I didn’t have it when I was with God and I don’t have it now. I worry too much, I always want, and I’ve noticed that I’m getting sadder and sadder each time I realize that something isn’t perfect. There is no perfect thing anywhere. And I mean among inanimate objects. Even machines don’t work the way they are supposed to. People have flaws all over. I don’t need to elaborate on that. It’s just everywhere. And I don’t know why I need it so much. I can never be happy if I keep looking for it. I didn’t even find it in God. That was the biggest disappointment of all. I was on a search for a perfect being, and I found imperfections in Him too. The church, the Bible, religion, His people. All flawed. All imperfect. Nothing going to the way it was supposed to. I can’t put my life on something that has flaws, and I’m not interested in hunting down ways to smooth out the obvious flaws that anyone with eyes can see.
I told my pastor once about the things I saw wrong in the Bible. All along I was being told by elders that the Bible never contradicts itself, and that there’s always a verse or passage in there somewhere to explain another one that seems confusing. But that was crap. It did contradict itself. I don’t go around thinking I’m a genius or anything, but I’m not stupid. That was crap. There were contradictions in there. He said that I was going to find a lot of that. I didn’t understand what he was saying. He told me that God was perfect, and had a perfect message for us, but that the messengers were flawed human beings, and because of that there were going to be some errors in the message as it passed from one to the other. But I didn’t understand that either. Why would God allow what He had to say to be twisted, to be misconstrued? That didn’t make sense. He is God. He could have prevented that. Why didn’t He?
This is too much. This is exhausting. So He gave me truth that was misinterpreted, and in that truth commands me to believe the truth that has been altered and that obviously contradicts itself? The truth that is supposed to represent Him. And Christians wonder why there people who don’t trust the Bible. There are reasons for that. They see that something is wrong with it. We are the ones closing our eyes to reason and…oh gosh, blind faith. See I can’t even think about this properly. That always comes up when I think about this. Blindly trusting God. Except He gave me something to look at that I could read and understand and study. Something that needs intelligence. But then I’m supposed to shut that intelligence off and just trust when what’s in front of me doesn’t make sense. I don’t like that. I don’t like that I’m being asked to trust something that doesn’t make logical sense to me. What He should have done was not let me come to America. Then He would have had me for a few more years and maybe by then He could have completely closed my eyes to everything outside of Him.
No offence. Really. But why is there always a Christian version of something that’s not Christian? Why do Christians feel the need to go out and baptize stuff and make it Christian? Is the world that appealing and is Christianity so lacking that there is nothing within it that can hold the attention of its members?
It’s like we’re all sitting inside a circle, keeping ourselves away from the world while longing after it in our hearts, and because we’re not supposed to long for it, we take it and redecorate it so it’s okay for us to want it and have it. We make it Christian.
I hate stuff like that. Making me have to listen and answer to non-Christians about why we had to go and do that and how it’s not right and how we shouldn’t be mixing with the world and doing what it does.
Debates have been going on about this for a while and, as in any debate, both sides have valid points. I just wish I was left out of it all, but because I have the label Christian on me, everyone who knows me thinks I’m some kind of authority on these things and that they should ask me what I think, because what I think must be so important or awesome or whatever. Meanwhile, in my head I’m just like leave me alone!
***I’m going back to work now.
I’m not six years old. That’s it. Twenty years only mean a lot when you’re talking about wedding or company anniversaries, and I’m not saying that I’m great at life or that I know what it means, or that I…or anything! But I’m not six years old. I’m not frigging six years old!
When I was in church (I don’t know why I say was as if I don’t still go almost every week) I heard that true happiness is in God. Or something like that. Happiness can’t be found outside of God. I remember thinking in the shower one time that I didn’t find that with God. I wasn’t happy. I was still just scared. I’m not happy now either. I was in a constant state of worry with him and now I’m not much better, not much worse.
I finished watching the latest episode of Angel Eyes, a drama now being aired, and I hated that I had to wait for the new ones to come out. Apart from that drama I’m watching two awesome reality shows that are also currently being aired and that, therefore, don’t have all episodes released. I hate the wait in between, but I think it’s good because it stops me from living like a dead person because of the lack of sleep that comes with watching a drama one episode after another.
I have about five loads of laundry to fold and I hate that I have to. I hate that I have to do a lot of things. I wish I could just stay in bed for as long as I wanted to. I even hate that I need to eat because I need to leave my room to get food and there’s nothing I want to eat anyway; nothing that’s here. I hate my bladder too. It’s always been weak. I always need to pee very often and it’s just annoying. I don’t want to go to the bathroom so frequently.
Anyway, after the episode was over I wanted to watch something else, but I knew I had the laundry to take care of. I need to finish it before the weekend is over. But I don’t want to. I hate this childish mentally of mine, which isn’t really childish, I just hate that I’m growing up. And that’s childish isn’t it? I always wished that Never Land was real, or I thought it would be nice if it was, if there really was a place where children could remain children forever. That thought was in my head one day this week. I had never had it before, but it didn’t seem strange to me.
Still straying from my point, which is exactly why this is going into the Ramblings category. I joined Instagram this week I think and I followed a few accounts that post pictures of Lee Hong Ki; my latest idol crush. I don’t think they’re called celebrities in Korea. I hear the word idol a lot. And I’m following his account too. Anyway my home page, or feed, or whatever it’s called in Instagram, is full of his pictures and I don’t know how one person can be so cute and lovable, but I’m not going to immerse myself in K-pop because of him, or anyone else. I’m not that kind of person. I’ve never chased after celebrities. I’ve never gotten pictures of them or known when their birthdays were, or anything else like that. I’m not that huge a fan of anyone. And it wouldn’t make sense because I wouldn’t get what I want from doing that.
Before I began writing this I went to the kitchen to get an oreo ice-cream cake thing that I had last night. There was one left. It was gone. I came back into my room thinking about the k-pop thing and saying to myself that getting into it wasn’t going to make me happy so I shouldn’t bother. I’ve known that all along. Is that why I don’t go after anything? Maybe that’s a part of it. The other part is that I want to be great right away. I don’t have the patience to work from the bottom up little by little. I want to be really good at something right now. Maybe that’s why I think my life is wasted; because I’m not really good at anything right now. Oh and I keep looking at what others have done. I don’t know why I keep comparing myself to other people. And why I had to grow up on television and in this society and subconsciously decide that they are both right about what’s beautiful and what’s not (and of course I’m not).
Anyway what I thought when I came back from the kitchen was that happiness will never be found here, in this life. And then I had like a well thanks God for putting me here kind of thought. And then I thought briefly about the happy Christians that exist, happy to be living doing the will of God, looking forward to heaven. Well they are happy.
It’s like I’m living in this great darkness where spots of light appear randomly. When they appear I smile and dance in them, but they eventually disappear, and I live off of the memory of them until another light appears. Until another light appears, I can do nothing but remain in the darkness. And I seem to be okay with that as much as I’m not. Does that make sense? I read in someone’s blog post once that depressed people like it, and I thought to myself one time – well more than once – that maybe I like it. Maybe I like being like this.
There isn’t anything special about me. I’ve never thought so. In school when once we were made to say aloud “I am special”, I didn’t want to at first. I don’t think I believed it. I just went along with it and I ended up smiling because I thought it was a nice idea; to be special. When I was with my mother, she told me I was beautiful. I didn’t believe her. I didn’t think she was lying, but I knew she thought I was beautiful because she gave birth to me. I couldn’t take her word for it. One time, after I washed my hair, I came out of the bathroom with my hair wrapped in a towel. She said I looked like one of those African princess, that I was her beautiful African daughter. I thought she was being silly, that I looked nothing like an African princess, and that I just had a towel on my hair because it was wet. I told her that. She said that I was still beautiful.
I used to pray a lot asking Jesus to come quickly and take the good people with him. It wasn’t fair to them that He was taking so long and making them suffer waiting for him. The church secretary said that the reason Jesus hasn’t come yet was that He was waiting for us to get ready for Him, for me to get ready for Him. I didn’t think that was fair. Why make those who are ready wait just because of me? What’s so special about me that He has to wait for me? Don’t do that. Many people have died already. People are still dying. There are people ready and waiting right now. Why wait for me? Don’t wait for me. Take those who are ready. The other night I told Him again. Don’t wait for me. I’m not that special.
He’s still not here.
It’s Saturday night, and I paused my drama because it was dragging, or I lost interest.
I just finished a cup of cereal and I was just about to look up a movie I watched a while ago that I’ve been thinking about watching again. I want water because the cereal was sweet but there isn’t a bottle close enough to me that I won’t have to get up to reach.
The commencement ceremony for my college is coming up at the end of the month but I won’t be attending because it’s going to be held on a Saturday. Oh and it’s Friday night. My mistake. Tomorrow will be Saturday.
My father bought me a sewing kit this week. I think it was Tuesday. Yes. It was Tuesday. There was a rip on one of my dresses and I wanted to sew it up. Doing that made me want to take up embroidery. It was surprisingly very relaxing. I hadn’t expected that.
I decided to let my nails grow for the time being but they’re very soft and break easily so I bought some nail hardener for them. Hardener my butt. I wiped off the remnants of it earlier in order to put on a fresh coat and my nails are just as soft as they were before. I’ve always noticed this. Anytime I grow my nails and apply nail hardener it never works, but I still do it because I like seeing my nails shiny.
I’m currently reading a book about a cereal killer and it’s really interesting. I read it sometimes on the train. I think I bought it two weeks ago.
“But you as the older one should know better…”
I hated hearing this when I was younger. Like my feelings couldn’t get hurt because “you are the bigger one and she’s your little sister”. So what? I can’t get mad. I can’t hit her back? Why exactly should I allow her to mouth off to me and ignore me when I tell her to do something? I am the bigger one right? Yes, and I should take care of her and look out for her, but do nothing when she hurts me, which she does because she can and she always gets away with it.
* * *
Just now my father did something that I’m not finished thinking about yet. He and my younger sister do not have the best relationship in the world and hell has to freeze over before that child picks up the phone to call him. Well she called him. Just now he asked me when last I spoke to her, and told me that she left a voice-mail for him to call her back. I told him I didn’t know what it was about. He told me I should call her and ask what it is. … … … Well why doesn’t he call her back and find out? Wasn’t he the one who kept talking about how she never called him? I don’t want to be some kind of go-between for the two of them. And he’s the adult! What’s the deal? Just call the girl.
But then I remembered. He has feelings too. I can’t read his mind, so I don’t know specifically what they are, but he does have them, and they may have been hurt. Him being a grown up doesn’t mean he knows what to do about that.
* * *
As a grown up, there are things people should know and ways they should behave. But as people, there are things that go on inside of us, memories that we haven’t forgotten, feelings that have been hurt, dreams that have had to be discarded, hope that has been lost. All these things and more make us up and play a part in the decisions we make.
Grown up doesn’t mean perfect and it doesn’t mean full of knowledge and wisdom. Maybe more knowledge and wisdom than a younger person, but that doesn’t necessarily make it a lot. Grown up doesn’t mean one knows what to do. It doesn’t mean one has the answers.
* * *
I don’t even know what to call myself right now. I’m legally an adult but I depend on my parents. Though I’d love to be on my own because I just can’t be bothered, I don’t even think about that as something that will happen in the near future. No way. I’m not ready to abuse my health working to pay bills and buy food.
While I don’t consider myself a child, I’m not comfortable with the word “woman” in reference to myself. I don’t think I like the word “adult” either. “Grown up” also doesn’t fit.
When I was younger I wanted long life. Now I don’t want to grow anymore, and would very much like to go back a few years.
I don’t know when I will grow up. I hate that I have to.
I just wish we all realized that everyone has feelings, even those older than ourselves, and just the way that they can hurt us, we can hurt them.