The beginnings of a new blog post

Nevermind the fact that I’ve basically abandoned this thing. I want to talk about something else.

Everyone’s different when it comes to making themselves happy. How far will people go to achieve their own happiness? Some will seek out an entourage to constantly feed them self-esteem. Some will suffice with a few close friends. Some prefer to be alone, reading or solving a world catastrophe or putting together a puzzle. Some will steal, some will kill, some will simply run away from problems. Some will get a job and some will beg. Yet in all my years until now, I thought everyone had good intentions from their own point of view. Everything people did could be justified if you consider that person’s well-being at the time. And it doesn’t make it better, it just explains things.

And then I met others whose intentions justify nothing. Funny it took so long to see, and I blame it on being so sheltered (and selective) back home. The fact is, these others have little to nothing that can sustain their happiness. It’s really a sad predicament – I don’t know where I’d be if I was still searching, still wondering every night what is it that I want, that which will eliminate weeks of brooding. I’d probably be one of them. Because you see, the only way these people can ever feel good about themselves is if everyone around them feels a little worse. In the extreme case, they thrive on criticism, putting people down and yet pretending to be above all the nuisance. The funny thing is, they need people around them because otherwise, there wouldn’t be anyone left to put down. This forces friendliness out of them, but it’s a fake friendliness that’s easy to spot almost right on. Have you ever bonded with a stranger over mutual hate? Doesn’t it feel good to know there’s someone else out there who shares the same antagonistic feelings? But imagine this was your life. That the strongest bonds of friendship you have are rooted in negativity and mocking, and when the object of negativity no longer pertains, you have absolutely nothing left to make you happy.

It’s no wonder these people have so much to criticize about the world. It’s jealousy, in the purest form. Jealousy that others can sustain themselves just fine, can laugh so hard about something other than making fun of those surrounding them. These people are really only laughing at themselves. You feel sorry for them, try to help them, but it’s futile when you suspect they secretly (very secretly) thrive on your misery.

In a way, we’re all like them. We are selfish and want the best for ourselves, and if that means someone will lose, that’s a sacrifice we will take. But what differentiates them from everyone else is that aside from their bashing, they have nothing else to hold on to. I meet these people now and then, and every time it gets a little easier to distinguish fake from honest. A true complement from a backhanded one.

I didn’t know how long it would have taken me to say this, but I believe I’ve found my happiness. I’m sure people around me will come and go, but I know exactly where to turn in my moments of sadness and helplessness. Where, and to whom. No amount of mocking or criticism can even begin to hold a candle to the joy, the security, and the relief that my own happiness can bring. I’m not saying there aren’t bad times – if life was this good constantly, it would be totally unfair – but they don’t seem to matter when I consider the long run. Everything is lost in the promise of permanence. Of course, nothing is permanent, I believe I’ve mentioned that several times in the past few years. That is, nothing is permanent except change. And to be able to grow, change, and mature next to someone is a hell of a lot better than doing it while trying to push everyone away.

In this turbulence, I found my constant. I only hope you’ll find yours as well. Continue reading >>

On garlands and candy canes

I bought my first Christmas tree in Brooklyn, New York on a cold November afternoon.

That's not to say this is my first tree ever, simply the first that I picked out and purchased myself. I don't want to say "paid for" because I used the credit card linked to my mother's bank account, but that's another story. Point is - I hauled my ass to Brooklyn armed with gloves, a purse (into which I would end up stuffing the fake snow I stole from the Target display trees), and a really really big Bed, Bath, and Beyond bag to hide the illegalities entailed in my holiday mission.

Something was clearly off when I ended up with the disabled shopping cart. It was the only one I could find stranded on the second floor of Target, and God forbid I cross over to the other side of the store down the escalator and get myself a normal one. No: I found this little guy left for vultures in isle 6, surrounded by Christmas decorations galore. The moment I tried to move him, the right front wheel rolled but did not turn, whirling the cart to its right smack into the artificial candy canes. Hmm, I thought. Either this is nothing more than a disabled shopping cart, or some higher power is trying to tell me to buy those spiffy-looking candy canes. If you know me at all, I always go with the option that's more fun. What this meant was the next 40 minutes of me pushing and shoving and adjusting the wheel every few seconds and crashing into a lot of customers. They understood, though. Christmas brings out the mercantilist bit(ch) in all of us.

After I had my fun picking out the canes, ornaments, garlands, and a wreath, I kicked the cart's bad side into the isle with the trees. Only this was no isle - the entire back corner of the second floor looked like a forest out of Elf. I had never seen so many fake trees so close together at the same time; my little cart could barely maneuver past the plastic branches and the tangles of Christmas lights. It was beautiful, but it wasn't quite right - they were all too big or too skinny or too fake-looking. I realized you can say the same thing about women. Maybe I'll write a poem about how women are like Christmas trees in the 21st century.

And there it was. If I were in a cheesy movie where angels bellowed their "AAAAAH"s and the object in front of me was illuminated in mysterious light, this would be the scene. Just over four feet in a natural shade of green, it looked at me from a stand that was about as high as my dresser. I would put the tree on the dresser. The turn of events couldn't be more perfect if I had a normal cart or if having a Christmas tree in the dorms was legal. This was my baby, prelit and pre-packaged. Sixty dollars for something that will probably last for the duration of my college years? I didn't even think twice.

I asked the nice men in green hats and nametags where they sold the fake snow that was so neatly displayed among the branches, and they threw me a "we don't sell that here". How was I to have a tree without snow? The Russian in me didn't hesitate too long. The purse was small, but if I packed the rolls of snow like sardines, no one would suspect a thing. Besides, would they really care if I took one itty-bitty fraction of the blanket of cotton that covered the ugly tree stands?

After paying up at the cash register, I pondered on how I was going to get the five-foot long box past my dorm's security guard. It wouldn't have been bad if the box didn't say CHRISTMAS TREE and had photos of the goods plastered on all four sides. This is where the BedBath bag came in. I wrapped one half in the shitty wrapping they gave me in Target, left room for the handle, and covered the other side with the plastic bag on top of the shitty wrapping. I was buying a lamp, I swear. The handle cut the skin on my fingers; this is where the gloves came in. At least two men stopped me on the way from Target to the subway with "You need any help, honey?" No thanks, go molest the Victoria's Secret across the street. Brooklyn never fails to substantiate its stereotypes.

As I rolled along the Brooklyn Bridge in a lonely subway car, I considered why I'd go through all this trouble for a holiday which I don't even celebrate, during which I won't even be here. The tree and the candy canes and the colorful lights lift my mood like no other, sure. But what was it about Christmas that made me so incredibly happy for no apparent reason?

I want to say I don't know. I want to say I don't have any particular expectations that the holiday spirit will instill itself into everyone and make them nicer, more forgiving, more optimistic. I want to say that I'm not hoping the $200 worth of decorations in my room will somehow make magic happen and turn the implausible into reality. I want to say I don't wish things were different. But I can't lie to myself, now can I?
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First step to happiness

Trust is tricky because you can't really love without trust. Even after my mother catches me lying to her, the next day she still takes my word for where I'm going that night (though with more suspicion) because she loves me unconditionally. A love without trust is tainted, and an honest relationship of any kind is impossible.

I rarely believe in successful relationships after one of the partners has cheated. The other tries to overcome the past because "I'm still in love", but except in rare cases where the trust is fully regained after a certain period of time, there will always be a slight sense of discomfort regardless of how benevolent both people's intentions are. I'm not criticizing - I've been cheated on in the past, and though I broke it off, I always gave another chance. But I'm also not denying that it won't be the same. Every time I see him messaging a girl he's messed with in the past, I flinch. Every time he stays out past midnight, it takes a big effort to drive away the slight paranoia that won't let me fall asleep. Why bother, if it's such a big stress case? Because "I'm still in love". But after weeks of the same scenario I can honestly say that it sucks.

A relationship is successful if it continues to make you happy, and true happiness is a long-term sort of contentness. An emotional roller coaster of tears and ecstasy is all fun when you're, like, 15, but after a while you want something that brings you security. What I'm doing is about as antonymic of security as milk and Campari, and yet I stay. And here's a fun fact: I've been crying every night for the past week. Every damn night - about moving away, my parents' scandals, getting yelled at at the post office (yeah... seriously), being the emotional baggage girl in college, and how I'm losing this fight. I feel like I'm shooting myself in the foot when I tell him my insecurities, but that's wrong, because someone who truly cares about you won't love you less for your insecurities. Those nights, I feel helpless and can't think of a single step to take in the positive direction.

Then there are times like now, when I think I know what that step has to be. It is to trust, no matter how badly you want to keep your guard up. Either trust, or leave. I don't have much experience in love, but I think in the long term, it's better to be the person who puts themselves out there and gets hurt rather than the one who always lives in suspicion. Because pretending to be happy is about as helpful to you as knowing that tulips come from Turkey.
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