Thoughts I am Thinking

This post is more for my own records than anyone else. That being said, if you choose to read it, I ask that you read the following two paragraphs first.

After writing this post, I was not sure if I would post it or not. I debated with myself, and finally gave it to my sister to get her opinion. Her suggestion was adding a happy ending, so people would not think (basically) I was about to kill myself.

My solution is this Disclaimer: This post is by no means my cry for help, or anything similar. It is me, recognizing for once, that I have suffered with depression for a long time. I have no suicide intentions or ideations. I do not equate myself with psychopaths. These are thoughts, and nothing more. I feel 100% safe.

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Where to begin…

When I write the pages of my life story, where will I begin? Shouldn’t every story have a dramatic start and a happy ending? Or perhaps a happy and innocent beginning with a tragic ending. It’s hard to pinpoint a starting point in my own life story. I do not remember my birth, and the details of my early childhood seem so foreign to me now, I can’t start there. But where then? At the onset of adolescence? After finishing High school? After starting my current job? None of my options leap out of the page at me. I suppose I will just start with:

Who am I?

That question seems so cliché. It’s been done and overdone millions of times. Adding my own query to the pool does not even ripple the water. But it is a valid question. I tell people all the time that you cannot get anywhere without first knowing where you started and who you are. How hypocritical that I really can’t answer those questions for myself.

I know who I want to be, or who I think I want to be, but there is much to be desired when reality meets dream. I wish I were successful and driven, an icon to strugglers everywhere. I wish I were in control. Not just of my surroundings and my personal space, but my emotions. Right now, it seems like I am constantly on the brink of another exploding session. I pity the targets that are hit constantly with my rage, but it is just that. Years of pent-up rage.

Lots of stuff has happened to me over the years. Some of it is clear as day to me, but most of it is more like mud. The memories surface sporadically, and usually when they do, I wish they hadn’t. It’s much easier to have the memories be skeletons in my closet, because I can shut the door and ignore them. It is another monster altogether to be confronted by said skeleton. It rocks the foundations of my world. It shakes everything I had known to be true.

I found a poem I wrote when I was 18. I think it was right before I went to Hawaii, to escape the hell that was home at the time. It shocked even me. I had completely forgotten the entire incident. I had forgotten how lonely and forgotten I felt. I had forgotten the utter sadness that drove me to run away, thousands of miles to the island of Hawaii. Not even my therapy baby could save me from the fate I was heading into. I had to get away from the hurt.

The hurt of that incident is one of those memories that was like mud to me now. I move on from and forget things, which is a good survival mechanism on one hand, but a bad idea for someone trying to function as a human being. Emotions are not bad things. They are the one thing that humanizes the entire human race; the one tie we all share. The truly monstrous people you read/hear about are people who lack basic emotional response—the sociopaths who do horrific things without remorse and without emotion. Those are the ultimate monsters of our world; they look like us, but they lack that basic connection with others.

Michael Meyers from Halloween, is the best example. He has haunted our nightmares for over 30 years. The reason he makes a consistently good villain is because he never cares. He kills and slaughters people without second thought, and for sure without remorse. He stares at people he is killing; confused about the situation, but unable to make the emotional connection required for true remorse. He is the embodiment of monster.

I have learned (or been conditioned) to turn the emotional response off in stressful situations; it is better for me to never deal with a problem than to confront the fact that a problem exists. Thinking back on so many things in my life, I wonder how many other situations in my life have been smoothed over with the magical putty that is my mind. I literally feel like someone took a big spatula and smoothed over all the bumpy spots; all I am left with is a smooth finish. It is disconcerting; to look back on your life and remember only an eerie smoothness. Not memories, or happenings, but just a smooth surface, like an undisturbed pond. Literally a picture in my mind where I know memories should be.

It is only because I know there should be more there, that I am even aware of this sensation. I have fleeting memories of bad things, and they never meet up with that glassy surface. It is an uncomfortable feeling, like you have forgotten something important; like you know there is more to the story, but you are not sure you want to know at this point. I am truly scared about what I might find out if I ever go digging further into my memory. But, I figure it’s got to be better than the fallout from these anger attacks.

Open Water

Water fascinates me. I adore playing in water, whether it is a chilly lake or the ocean. A day (or even a few hours) playing in water cannot be beat. There is nothing I would rather do with my time. I have always loved swimming and playing in the water. I am not sure what the allure is, but I love it. Since I was super little, I have loved playing in the water. Not much except my size has changed.

Water also scares the life out of me. Since I was at least 12, I have had a fear of open water. I do not like what I cannot see below me; I have an irrational fear of it. I grew up hearing stories of my Dad and his adventures on the high seas, and I was always scared of sharks in the water. I even panic in pools and lakes, certain that there is a shark below me, biding its time until it eats me.

I know these fears are irrational, and I have known for a long time that they are not normal, but I have never said it out loud. Uttering those words somehow lets the Universe know that I am in on this big conspiracy. I am not sure why speaking my fear scared me for so long, but I somehow thought that the sharks circling below me were being lenient on me because I was unaware of their presence.

I am also "secretly" afraid of ghosts. It's a paralizing fear. One that I only overcome through self-talk or a lot of effort. I feel the same way about vocalizing my fear of ghosts; you just don't do it. Somehow, the ghosts leave me alone if I don't know they are there. However, saying out loud that I know they are there, or I am scared of them, means they will somehow become very angry. Angry ghosts = horror movie setup. Everyone knows that the fat girl is either a) non-existant in the horror movie, or b) dies early.

I cannot allow myself to be in either category. Thus, I live with my paralizing, irrational fears, safely tucked into my mind. No one I encounter is any the wiser until now. I guess my secret is out. I suppose I will have to be weary of ghosts in my mom's house, and watch out for those sharks next time I float the river.

I sing you to me, redone

Well, I found this among some papers I had written when I was 16. I haven't changed any of the wording, and I am actually pretty impressed with how well it was written. If it seems familiar, it is likely because it is very similar to my thoughts on the movie Australia, though I have to admit, I expressed my thoughts much better when I was 16 than my previous post. :)

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The best of both worlds

That is how most people look at being biracial. I tend to agree--by being partially raised in two different cultures, AKA worlds, I can take the best that each has to offfer & create a better combined culture.

However, this system is largely flawed, for it may be able to create a better, more well-rounded person, but from my own experience, one must still choose which of those two worlds to live in. For, you cannot inhabit them both at once. The simple answer for this dilema would be 'follow your heart' or 'just be true to yourself.' But the answer is not so simple if you consider that by having the benefit of being raised in two cultures, neither of them will ever be without flaw in the minds of those involved.

I was greatly blessed to grow up 1/2 Tongan and 1/2 white, because I was able to take the good parts from both the American culture and the Tongan culture and combine them in my self. The trouble comes when I contemplate the huge choices in my life...I must choose one of the two worlds to make my primary home, yet in my mind, they are both flawed. Am I thus cursed to wander aimlessly; serching for something that does not exist?

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Well, I still stand by my 16 year old thoughts. There is not a perfect culture; one without flaw. The difference is that I no longer feel like I need a perfect culture. The imperfections that I see in both cultures are no longer enormous obstacles that I have to overcome. Neither will ever be perfect; I just have the unique opportunity to be able to see both for what they are, and still choose the best aspects for my own personal life.

Baby sisters are the best

This is a repost from October 21, 2008 Original Post Today is my baby sister's birthday, so this is for her! (who also made all the simple prettyness on my blog!)

I Love you, Pen!

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Chicken, rice, and corn from a can

Disclaimer: this post is dedicated to my baby sister, Pene. It just might get cheesy or sad or personal. If you don't want to hear about it, I suggest you move along.

Usually, I say that I cannot remember life without my sister. I'm here to tell you it's a big, fat lie. But not a horrible one, I don't think. I have exactly one memory from before she was born.

My earliest memory is from when I was about 2 years old (plus some 5 or so months) It was the night my baby sister was born, and actually the only memory I have without her in it.

I have a vivid mental picture of our house in Salt Lake; it's night time, and we are eating dinner. You guessed what's for dinner; chicken, rice, and corn from a can. Nothing too fancy. Just fried chicken, sticky rice, and corn. I don't remember much beyond that, except that my older siblings were there, and I colored a picture. I also remember a man there, who I'm assuming was probably my cousin Tui, who I guess babysat us a lot.

After that, pretty much all my memories involve my sister. We were always "the little girls" and did pretty much everything together. Whether it was bullying the girl next door into letting us play (she had THE coolest toys) and then fervently denying it to our mom, or trying to convince a neighborhood kid that we could get him deported to Canada, we were quite the pair. We fought constantly with each other, but I knew she always had my back.

When I think of how a good sister should be, I usually think of a Jane Austen book. The sisters in her books were usually pretty close to perfect, and always totally devoted to each other. My sister has always been the Jane Austen sister, and I'm so grateful to have her in my life!

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Focus

I know that I am biased because I am their Auntie, but I just think these kids are so adorable (it's ok that I am often grateful I can return them!) I love this picture; they are so little, but they look SO grown up at the same time.

This picture captures their personalities so well; the Princess is the center of those boys' universe and she knows it. (lets be honest, we are all guilty of revolving around her) She has a horrible need to know EVERYTHING, so it's no shocker that she is not looking at the camera, but off to the side, probably at what her Uncle is doing. She is a big girl, and don't try to tell her otherwise. She can do everything the boys do, and will not tolerate people doing things for her. She is strong-willed, stubborn, and loving. She cannot be bothered to do things on your timeframe, hers is much better. My mini-me in more ways than one.

The Monkey on the left can be perfectly content just doing his own thing, and is easily distracted. He looks like he is ready to pounce, leaping off into some imaginary adventure that only he sees, or maybe just off to talk to a bug before getting scared and running back. Luckily for the rest of us, he is always willing to tell you about his adventures, and test out new words. He is curious about emotions, asking you how you feel and why you feel that way, or straight up telling you how he feels ("I'm ANGRY!") He notices things that no one else does, and is so thoughtful. He is the social butterfly his mom always was, and set to be just as happy and fun as she is.

Little Mohawk on the right looks like he is pondering some great mystery of life, and is on the verge of understanding. "Auntie Latu? Why is ____" he will ask. The questions he comes up with usually shock me for a while. I have to gather my thoughts and figure out how to answer most times, and my answers usually don't sate his curiosity. But he is patient, the perfect big brother. He is coming up to that threshold of "big kid"ness. He wants so badly to be a big kid and grow up, but he's still such a sweetheart. If you need someone to feel your pain, he is your man.

So often of late, I have felt blank. Not the blank of a canvas, prepped for paint, but a different kind of blank. It seems like these kids have been the only part of my life that is in focus. The further the eye gets from them, the more blurry everything else becomes.

These kids represent the exact center of my culture; family. When I have that part of my life in focus, a lot of other stuff seems to fall into place. It is when I try to distance myself or be selfish, that things start to go wrong. It's a great thing for me that I have these kids in my life to remind me what is important, and more importantly, what is not.

They are Happiness. In every sense of the word.

Bucket List

I was looking at a family crest I did for my mom's class a few years ago. It was just a simple drawing in black ink, on white paper. When explaining my crest, I talked about how the white represented peace and the black represented hardship and trials.

The black by no means dominated the page, but the way the eyes were drawn to it, you would think so. I spent a few minutes examining the black lines, scrutinizing them. Until I realize that the page was completely dominated by white-by a huge majority. But, the eye has a hard time focusing on the white (the peace), of the page when the black stands out so well. I think it is a good analogy for life.

Most peoples' lives are peaceful and enjoyable, with small splotches of trial thrown in. You must have both pieces, the peace and the trials, to make a succesful life. Otherwise, it is just a page of white or a page of black. It is when the peace and the trials fit together well that the picture becomes visible. But it is so easy for the eye to be drawn to the trials in your own life, and make no further effort to find the peace.

No single situation is pure peace or pure trial, no matter how solid the line may look. There are shades of grey everywhere, and those shades of grey are where I want to live my life. They are the points where peace is reconcilled with trial, because you need one to fully experience the other. With no reference point, the greatest joy in your entire life is merely just another day, floating on by.

Well, when I was cleaning out some of the junk I have stored at my parents house, I ran across a bucket list I made when I was 14. I am 23, so the 10-year mark is approaching for that list. I completely forgot making that list, so it was quite shocking to realize that I have done quite a few of those things in the past 9 years.

I wanted to see the Mississippi River, the river that dwarfs all others and makes every other river I have ever seen look like a quaint little creek. Done. A few times :)

I wanted to see the Atlantic Ocean. Done (side note: It is colder, uglier, and just all-around second rate to the Pacific.)

I wanted to go to the Land Down Under. Done (urban legend or not, I REALLY did see water drain the opposite way while there)

I wanted to go to Nauvoo, the City Beautiful. Done (while there, I found out I had ancestors who lived/owned land there. I for sure visited!)

I wanted to buy a Durango. Done.

There were lots more I have yet to do, but here are a few of my highlights: I want to kiss the Blarney stone and walk the Giants Causeway. I want to swim in the English Channel, Visit Neuwanschtein Castle, see me some real Shetland Ponies. I want to take pictures in Times Square, see the Statue of Liberty, visit the city of Brotherly Love, see Niagara falls, walk the Mall in DC, visit the Smithsonian.

I don't remember making the list, but I remember thinking more recently about the things I wanted to do before I die. It seemed like some huge, impossible task. Looking back at the last 9 years I realize that it was not that hard to accomplish most of those things. In fact, it was effortless. I was not thinking about checking items off my list or having awesome experiences. I was just living life, and those things just happened.

I realized that I need to focus more on the parts of my life that fall in the shades of grey, and less on the black, gloomy parts. It takes more effort, but the bottom line is this: The more I focus on on the parts that are at least partly white, the more I realize my life is shaping up to be AMAZING!

The post I should have posted

Well, it's a day late and a dollar short, but here is something more like I should have posted on Father's Day.

Well, this is my Daddy through the years. He will give anyone the shirt off his back without hesitation. It's a trait that drives me crazy, because if I am around, it usually ends up inconveniencing me. However, I think it is a trait that most of us could use more of. The things I want to say about this man are too personal for me to share here, but I want my Daddy to know that I love him and I am so very grateful for his presence in my life.

My Grandpa is one of a kind. Literally. He is the only Grandfather I have, and honestly, I have never wanted that to change. I stole this pic from my sister's blog, mostly because I think it really captures my Grandpa. On the outside, he can be a bit gruff, especially if you make him angry, but you soon realize he's just fiercely protective of his grandkids. He is truly one of the hardest workers I have ever encountered. He taught me that any job worth doing is worth doing well, and it's stuck with me. When I need advice on life, money, spirituality, or anything else, he is my go-to guy. Life would be a whole lot different without the influence of my Grandpa. I don't want to even imagine it.