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Tuesday, July 04, 2006
[I wrote this on my other blog, but after consideration, I decided it suited this blog as well. That, and the fact that I haven't posted on here in over a year. Might as well throw something up eh? =P]
Lemme rant about self-awareness for a little bit so I can stream-of-consciousness some trite out of my head.There's two things I notice about self-awareness as pertaining to myself: 1. The longer I live, the more time seems to lose meaning and blur together. 2.
Subsequently, my self-awareness seems to become comprimised as I lose
my inner dialogue in the face of tedium and a lack of general everyday
concern.This being the case, by the time I'm forty will I lose all semblance of meaning and just start living for the sake of living?What
I mean is, I already see it in persons around me. There seems to be
people who live simply by instinct and reaction. They don't appear to
have any cognitive ability to perceive that they are
alive. In addition, they certainly don't spur themselves into action
for anything more than shallow desires or needs. (A few examples of
these people that my readership might know would be Holly C., Danielle
J., or Katrina.) Now obviously these people are alive, but do
they really exist? To elaborate, they go on living because it's the
easiest and most natural thing to do. But with this time, they don't
seek out anything more nor do they even fully comprehend themselves.
They're more like automatons posessing human flesh than real people. Or
at least it would seem to me.My subsequent fear is becoming
like these people as my self-awareness dulls against the abrasive edge
of everyday life. It really is so much easier to be apathetic for all
matters that don't concern myself and to simply seek out pleasure. It
gets a lot of people through their lives. But I simply don't feel that
this would be a worthwhile use of the time given to me. Certainly there
is no guarentee that anything I do with my existence will have any
meaning beyond itself (and hence you could argue that what we do with
our time is irrelevant), but I simply cannot justify accomplishing
nothing with my life; at least not to myself.The problem of
course is maintaining and facilitating the growth of self-awareness. To
recognize myself in a rational sense, existential sense, and also a
conscious sense. Unlike the "automatons" I previously mentioned, I have
no desire to live unconsciously. I want to live beyond myself and
resonate my existence to others around me. Steve Pavlina
says that part of his life purpose is to, "awaken the great spirit in
others." I would say that my take on this is that he is making others
conscious of themselves. I don't particularly share this goal, but I
would like to live with such a level of awareness that others could not
help but take notice of themselves and re-evaluate their own level of
living.So then the question becomes how to go about doing this.
Well for one, taking introspection and re-making it a conscious process
would probably help considerably. Another idea is to simply establish a
means in my life in which I will have more time to devote to this
pursuit. A passive income network would be a considerable boon to this.
It's definately something I'll begin structuring via the business Brett
and I have been building. So, right now I have to accomplish something
in my everday existence so that I can hopefully accomplish something in
my greater existence (maybe in the future, I'll spend some time
explaining what I mean by seperating the two). And in the mean time, I
will expend more effort attempting to rise above myself and seeing
things more clearly.Whoosh, some goals and stuff. Who woulda thunk it from meez?-----The Worst
Posted at 01:18 am by TheWorst
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Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Perhaps the most frightening realization about life is that you can do virtually anything with it, but absolutely nothing is required to be done.
Posted at 11:50 am by TheWorst
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Saturday, February 05, 2005
It's unfortunate that in the swirl of everyday life I often lose my motivation as I cannot spread it over a very considerable area. Thus, my entries have been extremely limited. My apologies. I'm in the process of rectifying things, so with some luck I should be able to keep a steady stream of entries. But anyhow!
Have you ever entered into a locality that is contemporary to you and suddenly fallen in love with the area? So often do I find myself traversing through new establishments, or new residences, or just certain streets and simply being overwhelmed by the feeling of comfort, or awe, or elation of the area. I can only attribute this to atmosphere.
The vision of the sector in your eyes. You examine what is in it, you examine what is not. You see shades of light, conglomerations of color, shadows and objects. You ascertain a certain smell of the area [and of course this is especially potent in areas that serve food or beverages]. This smell you come to associate with that location. There are sounds that ring through the physicality and touch you. The sounds you then begin to interweave with the blanket of stimuli which has draped itself over your senses. As you move through this atmosphere, you collect constantly differing stimuli, but the ambience remains the same and creates your impression of this physical space.
A comfortable place to myself is one that retains a good atmosphere. A coffee shop, for example, is one of my more favoured hauntings because of the aura it seems to emit. The intoxicating aroma of freshly ground coffee beans; the soft brown colors of the decorum; the cold dark metal, soft light wood and commodiuous soft leather patterns that create the furnishing; the bright open windows which allow streams of light to enter inwards on seemingly heavenly rays. All this while I simply sit and enjoy a cup of my favourite beverage and just ruminate on whatever happens to be on my mind. It feels as though I am privy to be contained within another world which is only open to a select few, while the rest of the world continues onwards from outside the walls that enclose me. I can watch them at my leisure, or I can simply enjoy my surroundings. It is the atmosphere that encompasses me, the impression that retains in my mind eternally.
Atmosphere is what defines an area in my mind. It is what places locale highly or lowly on your ontological heirarchy of spaces. Everyone has places that they prefer to others. It comes with what a region is associated with. And what defines that association is always atmosphere. Consider your favourite dwelling and define why it retains your patronage. There is almost certainly a feeling of contentment that you enjoy when occupying this property. Something strong will exist in a few, or all, of the senses that offers you serenity or zeal. There is something special about that area that places it above others. Furthermore, transit from area to area could thus be viewed as a constant traversing of overlapping atmospheres. And when one finds an area of which they find particularly enthralling, then certainly one will be sure to remember it and why it was so engaging.
And, perhaps with a more complete knowledge of what defines atmosphere in our minds, we can recreate the desirable qualities of our preferred atmospheres and incorporate it into our more frequent, but perhaps less riveting, areas of occupancy. Just a thought.
Posted at 03:32 pm by TheWorst
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Friday, January 21, 2005
An excerpt from Neon Genesis Evangelion.
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[Phone Rings]
Katsuragi: Yawn. Hel-lo? Oh, it's you Ritsuko.
Akagi: Good morning. How are you getting along with your new boyfriend?
Katsuragi: Boyfriend? Huh? Oh, you mean Shinji.
Katsuragi: Well, he transferred into school 2 weeks ago, but nothing ever changes. No one ever calls him
Akagi: Calls him?
Katsuragi: Well, since I figured he'd need one, I gave him a cell phone a while back.
Katsuragi: I don't think he's ever used it though, or received any calls.
Katsuragi: I'm not sure, but I don't think Shinji has any friends.
Akagi: Well, I suppose that Shinji's not the sort who makes friends easily.
Akagi: Do you know the fable of the "Hedgehog's dilemna?"
Katsuragi: Hedgehog? Those animals with spiney hair?
Akagi: You see, even though a hedgehog may wish to get close to another hedgehog, the closer they get, the more they injure each other with their spines.
Akagi: It's the same with humans.
Akagi: Shinji is probably afraid of pain and has become a coward in his heart.
Katsuragi: Well, he'll eventually learn that to grow up, means finding a distance where you can avoid hurting each other too much.
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And often, even when we grow up, we rush headlong into our own sorties at the expense of others.
Posted at 12:59 pm by TheWorst
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Tuesday, January 18, 2005
At one time or another, everyone will inevitably complain about something. It's indigenous to us really. It's part of the human condition and is always innate whenever an occurrence does not go our way. This is the same as an infant crying when he/she is hungry, the same way a small child whines in your local super market when he/she does not recieve the toy that has been requested. Even as adults or young adults, we continue this process in a more disingenuous manner. We feel as though we are cheated from something that we deserve, or that we desire. This also functions in the reverse as well. Should we feel that we are forced to contend with something against our will or unmerited, we will likely bewail to that extent. Most anytime when one is persuaded into adding supplementary obligations to their occupation, or should we recieve a bill that we feel is exorbitantly over-priced, or even when a friend of ours behaves, what we consider, unfairly towards us; we feel that the actions against us, that we must henceforth attend to, are grievous or unwarranted. In consequence, we often feel the need to denounce the culpablility of these transpirations.
There is a minute problem that lies within this operandi, however. It comes when one places the question of legitimacy towards those who are remonstrating. Certainly it is not unfair for one to challenge the candor of the problem. What is dangerous is when we inflate the relative importance of our problem. Let us take Live Journals as a general example. How many melodramatic adolescents, on their Livejournals, have written in regards to the pain that surrounds their lives? How miserable it is to be kept from going to that party because of poor grades; how cruel that their girlfriend/boyfriend cheated on them; how terrible it is to be unpopular because someone told a rumor about them? Granted, these things are painful at the time. But, it is also prudent to remember that these things are temporal and fade greatly in little time. Too often however, we, as people of this modern society, will experience problems that we allow to consume an overwhelming amount of our waking thought, and frequently over relatively insignificant happenings. We become entirely encapsulated in our own narcissism that we ignore incidents that might be able to better scale how immaterial our dilemnas are. Or, should we be aware of what else is occuring with others, then it is also plausible that we might contradict ourselves by saying something to the extent of, "Wow, that Asian catastrophe was awful. I feel so sorry for everyone who died. On another note, I wonder if I'll be able to afford that new moniter I want and still pay my electric bill. Oh how I hate expenses!"
The bottom line is that we, too frequently, forget everything well and good in our lives and focus tirelessly on what is wrong with our lives. This has been said many a time, and I'll repeat for emphasis. If you are not starving, terminally ill, being abused, being tortured, residing in poverty, or anything along those lines, then, while you might have a right to complain, it would be agreeable to remember that your contravenes with life are likely to be incomparable to some of the horrors you have the potential to experience. Thus, I ask[and would attempt to resolve likewise to myself] that before you, once again, explode off into a tangent on the miseries of your own life, to reflect as to whether or not you have the legitimacy to say so. While we are not much of a collectivist society and tend to think of ourselves primarily, even something so simple as remembering the plights of others would certainly advance the state of our equitableness with everyday interactions.
And here I am complaining about complainers. Point well eroded Chris!
Posted at 03:17 pm by TheWorst
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Friday, January 14, 2005
My name is Chris. I live, and have always lived, in Canada. I consider Canada to be one of the most excellent places to reside in all the world. Though, admittedly, I only have second-hand knowledge to found that belief. I have anglo-germanic roots but I don't allot them a great deal of regard. I stand at 5'11, though most of my relations always mistake me for shorter, as I tend to slouch. I hate looking into the eyes of others. I'm very thin, with a slight build that is offset by my clever choice of casual but relatively trendy clothing. My hair is brown, streaked through with blonde. My face is thin with a relatively strong jawline which is always shadowed by a few days' worth of stubble. I'm a lazy fellow though.
I've never had siblings and my parents divorced when I was eight. It was always relatively easy to play my parents against one another for my personal gain. I rue this now, but as a child of oppurtunity, it was a facile way to profit for minimal exertion. Perhaps unsurprisingly, my relationship with each of my parents is strained and loathsome. In all earnest, they're not people I would associate with freely had I not the blood relation. I expect that I'll have moved from my mother's home by the end of February at the latest.
I work at a grocery store bakery. I don't recieve very considerable wages, but I'm still settling a foundation while I attend University. I'm majoring in Journalism, though I suspect it may not be my most prudent career path, given my lack of work ethic and further lack of truly strong convictions. I don't play any instruments, don't pursue any serious hobbies, don't socialize all that frequently. I read every now and again, but mostly I entertain myself with media. It's easier to drown out thoughts of everyday life.
I value intelligence very highly in people, despite the fact that I expend no effort to improve my own. Nonetheless, others still inform me that I am intelligent, but that's simply them perceiving what I wish them to percieve. Yes, I'm very duplicitous. I'm honest, but also very manipulative and circumspect when my own interests are involved. Naturally, I fraternize well with most anyone, though I'm preferably an introvert. Diffident, really. It's easier to abstain from deep interpersonal relations because it ensures that I won't meet with pain later. Though, I sometimes debate if misery wouldn't be worthwhile for just a little extended pleasure. Then I discard the thought and turn the Television back on.
Philosophy is certainly something that I love. Depending on the author and the subject, Philosophy often seems to be one of the more relevant choices of reading material in my life. I tend to ask an abundance of questions about everything and anything. In truth, I enjoy observing the world around me, but I would much sooner understand it. This is perhaps one of the few goals I have set for myself to work towards. I'm unsure as to the plausibility of understanding even the majority of universal workings. So, inevitably I will revise my position to be more agreeable.
I was once entangled in the arms of a girl. As her gentle hands effortlessly worked at the buttons of my shirt, I leaned close to her face. Before her eyelids fell like stage curtains to meet my enusing convergance, I saw my reflection in her eyes. I saw through the mask that decieved her so easily. And I was fearful at that moment, moreso than any other time in my life. With the immediately clarity of realizing that I did not love this girl, I recoiled and ran. I only saw her once following then. With that memory always vivid, I've since feared the validity of any inkling of love that I contrive.
To make a long story short, I exist as simply another University student with allusions of abdicating from superficiality, but find myself constantly distracted by my own everyday existance. But to be human is to be forever in contradiction. I wish to better myself, but make no actions to do so. I wish to be liked, but do not make the effort to like others. I long to love, but I fear it. I desire all things good while perpetuating nothing good. I am good at everything, talented at nothing.
That is me defined by me.
Posted at 12:43 am by TheWorst
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Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Perusing through a particularly amusing view of a little place called Sedgefield, I went ahead and complied with Andy's referal to a BBC article on "grumpy old men." I was taken aback as I scrolled through the listing of comments in the article and saw one that distinctly promulgated itself amongst the others.
Despite all the benefits [and] improvements [of modern day life], people seem more spiritually and socially barren than ever. So we can talk to people anywhere in the world, we just don't seem to have anything worthwhile to say. The boom of expectation that has come with increased affluence has brought with it a poverty in the human experience.
Chris Green, UK
Now this comment struck me substantially with a few notions. Incidentally, it's no secret I'm virtually amorous to anything that incites me into contemplation. And that is precisely what occured. Subsequently, I ruminated a bit over the definitude of Mr. Green's thoughts. And, lacking any tenable ideas for updates, I thought it would, perhaps, be agreeable to share my musings with the blogdrive public via an entry. [Read: I am lazy and pulling material out of anywhere that I can find it!] Wonderful. But I'm abberating.
It would appear that there is a significant amount of truth in this assessment when one considers how easy it is to become lost in the perpetual tedium of the everyday. Whereas in earlier times and even until fairly recently, the chief function of life was simply to exist. That is, most activities that occupied a person were directly related to their own welfare. While this remains veridical to some degree, it is nowhere near that of the level that it once was. We, the more affluent partition of the world, simply work to sustain our lifestyle. Our work pays the bills. No longer do we find ourselves digging wells, growing our own crops, raising our own cattle, and so on. For the most part, we are somewhat of professionals selling our time and labour for money with which to live on. Thus, it could be argued that we are somewhat disconnected with our own existence.
Spiritually, our society really has become substantially barren. A great deal of modern sociologists and philosophers have noticed how superlatively we concern ourself with materialism. Less and less do we find time to ask questions about the world we inhabit. Everything is simply told to us and we acknowledge it, accept it, and subsequently move onwards with our lives. This is inimitably paradoxical, because when one truly considers it, mankind knows very little about itself. I will concede that there are a great deal of religious followers still prevalent today, but I submit that a substantial portion do not even understand what they believe in, or even why they choose to follow their religion past social norms and oppurtunities. And, even then, the religions of the world are all somewhat based in either the surreal or, if not, they will cede that they do not know the answers, but only methods on how one might obtain them. But very few take the oppurtunity to find answers for themselves anyhow. It is far easier to concern oneself with the flow of the society than to detach from said society and just take time to ponder.
I'd love to blather on further, but unfortunately the toll of the everyday is strenuous and sapping all my primary abilities to write. So, I'll end here, deal with current events [like the spiritually inept person I am] and hopefully write more another day. Hurray?!
Posted at 10:52 pm by TheWorst
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Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Music.
Important.
Indulgent.
Individualist.
This is certainly not a neoteric concept. Music is one of the foremost fundamental faculties that we as homo sapiens have progressed. We've ameliorated from tribal drums and rythymic hymns into that of daedal and elaborate arrangements of instrumental processsions. Regardless of your personal preferences, you cannot deny the artistry of virtually all forms of music. The cool, smooth and extemporized beats of jazz; the solid, dynamic, and powerful ballads of rock or metal; the sheer immensity and precision of classical; or just the striking and enamouring flow of techno or electronica. Still yet, I'm leaving out a significant portion of musical exquisiteness. The priorly mentioned is just a selection of my personal predilections. I'm most assuredly not a follower of rap, nor one of the ever-changing concept of "pop." But again, I point out that this is my predisposition, not a judgment of the music in general.
Music is immensly personal by nature. Preferences vary extensively with only such mild differences as region, or race, or even just sex. These withstanding, there is still not a true set of determining factors that might verify what the musical preferences of an individual are. I'm a simple caucasian, suburban-living, University student. I enjoy anywhere from Metallica to Bach. A friend of mine is yet another caucasian, suburban-living, University student. He, conversely, enjoys Bach but finds that Metallica can be easily replaced by OSTs from various video game soundtracks and remixes. Preference is all-encompassing in music and it is never truly incorrect. I will, however, say that there is music prevalent that promotes hate, violence, sexism, et al. This, I feel, is intolerable. I understand that there is no preset capacity for the use of music, but it seems, at least to me, that there should be some level of responsibility for the content within it. But then, the essence of the music is likely to vary as much as that of those who create it. And in that regard, it is the composition of the artists that reflects in the music. Depending on your perspicacity, the value of this will plausibly remain inconsistent.
Nonetheless, I've yet to meet a person who did not proclaim to finding abundant pleasure in at least some minor genres of melody. Music is an ardent part of ourselves. What we listen to defines much of what we believe, what we care about, and generally what we enjoy. Should we be artists ourselves, then the music we produce is an even more valid form of expression. But even to those who are simply faithful audiences, music expresses much about ourselves. It affirms what we find joy in. It whispers what we find saddness in. It divulges what we find an affinity with. Be assured, it is relatively impossible to deny the physical, emotional and psychological impact that music has on us every day. It represents time-frames, values, events, proclamations, ideals, dissertations, and an amaranthine scope of concepts. Music has become an inescapable medium for an infinitely varied form of messages, contexts, and ideas. And really, wouldn't life just be boring without it?
I'd envisage so.
Posted at 02:30 pm by TheWorst
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Monday, January 03, 2005
Recently, I reread an old short story that I had not been able to appropriate a copy of for some time; The Mysterious Stranger, by Mark Twain. I've never a steady reader of any of his books, as I found them rather desultory and interminable. However, this book, which I chanced upon years ago during a high school lunch hour, completely erradicated my bias against Mark Twain. A brief summary of the book follows. The tale is set in a small village in 16th century Austria, where three boys one day meet a young man different from themselves: "he had new and good clothes on, and was handsome and had a winning face and a pleasant voice, and was easy and graceful and unembarassed, not slouchy and awkward and diffident, like other boys."
The mysterious stranger starts to do small but amazing tricks for them- causing water to turn to ice; conjuring grapes and bread out of air; even makes birds that can fly out of clay. At last one boy, the story's narrator, works up the courage to ask the stranger who he is:
"An angel" he said, quite simply, and set another bird free and clapped his hands and made it fly away.
Anyone who knows me well will testify to my love for religious mythology. [I consider most all religion to be markedly elaborate fabrication, though delightful reading material and often containing poignant messages towards life.] As such, I'm drawn to works that include religions as themes or allusions. This a substantial portion of why I canonize the anime/manga Neon Genesis Evangelion. But this work, The Mysterious Stranger is enthralling and contains a great deal of themes to consider well after the book is done. It also exemplifies more than a few philisophical ideas, which delights me to no end.
There was one part of the tale I especially enjoyed that I will remark on. The angel, at a later part in the story, reveals that his name is Satan, though as he explains to the admissably intimidated boys, he is only named after the Fallen One. He goes on to say,
"We others are still ignorant of sin; we are not able to commit it; we are without blemish, and we shall abide in that estate always ... We cannot do wrong; neither have we any disposition to do it, for we do not know what it is."
The boys react with terror, but also are thrilled to interact with this angel. And throughout the story, I shared their zealousness as I read about this angel. His words frequently conjured up solicitous and fervant ideas on how our definitions and conceptualizations are defined by opposing elements on some obscure but immense metaphysical scale. As I believe I commented on one of Adam's entries, "How does one know joy without misery?" In the case of The Mysterious Stranger, how does one know good without evil? The angel, however, appears to know all of good without knowing evil, and in a way that is far beyond our capacity.
"An angel's love is sublime, adorable, divine, beyond the imagination of man- infinitely beyond it! But it is limited to his own august order. If it fell upon one of your race for only an instant, it would consume its object to ashes. No, we cannot love men but we can be harmlessly indifferent to them; we can also like them, sometimes."
This concept is interesting to myself, as I have always felt that the classical philosophy of definition through antithetical experience was fundamental to our definitions of ideas and beliefs. The work forced me initially to discard my predeteremined values so that I might better delve into the complexity of ideas within.
The Mysterious Stranger is full of the surreal and gives reality a sense of impalpability. It assures that the primary focus is placed upon the themes, the dialogue, and coerces the reader to look past his/her own ideals to examine those of the work, and thusly reevalutate his/her own. It ends on a precipitous note and is considerably existential. I won't spoil the actual plot for you, assuming you have yet to read it, but it is superb, and does a fantasic job of assessing the worth and truth in empirical knowledge. This last work by Twain reveals a darker side that is not seen in his earlier authorings. A note of caution, if you are somewhat conservative in your ideological scope, you may not enjoy this book. I've heard reviews of this book vary as far from "sick," "blasphemous," and "twisted" to "brilliant," "complex," and "stirring."
On the whole, I quite enjoyed this book and have correspondingly devoted an entire entry to it. Why? Mostly because this reading was very pleasant. And also because I'm lazy, without ideas, and wanted to post something. So, perhaps I've convinced you enough that you'll read this short story now. I assure you, it will give you something to think about in some way or another.
Unlike this entry! Heh.
Posted at 02:35 am by TheWorst
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Friday, December 31, 2004
Ballad to a Departed Friend
"Ganbatte ne! [hang in there eh]," I said to her, trying to be encouraging and reassuring at once.
Ali nodded, smiled and replied that she'd do her best to retain her sanity. Everyone there, Ali, Chandra, Alan and myself, joinlty enjoyed a light-hearted chuckle. After a few more ardent words amongst our assemblage, we waved good bye as Ali went off to her Grandmother's apartment, where her uncle would be waiting for her. We showed ourselves out of the complex and caught one last glimpse of her as they drove away. That was the last we would see of her, looking somewhat somber as the bright red 4x4 Ford sped away through the compacted snow, leaving a slight tread behind to deliniate their path.
Ali moved away on Sunday, leaving behind her hometown, her friends and her memories. She left to begin truly shaping her life. Onwards she went to a new job. Onwards she went to a new home. And, truthfully, I'm extremely thrilled that she took the chance given to her. It will be exceedingly efficacious for her. Still, it will certainly be difficult not having Ali around in person.
Ali and I are good friends, and we have been for nearly five years. We met in high school through mutual friends and it took little time at all for us to contrive a good friendship. Both of us share a love for intellectual dialogue, for fine literature, for philosophy, for Japanese culture and for bad-ass movies and actors. She was animated, dynamic and warm. A fiery redhead with a body that seemed too small to contain the depth of her personality. I was reserved by comparison, though still buoyant and personable. All things considered, we got along strikingly well.
Frequent were the times we'd get together over drinks at Zack's Coffee House and simply sit around for hours to discuss what we were doing with our lives, or we might have merely play cards and enjoy the friendly competition, or we might even just gab about completely random things and insult the banal people who we shared a mutual distaste for. Too often people around us would make the mistake of assuming that we were dating. So commonplace was this occurence, in fact, that whenever we were asked the question "Are you two dating?" our eye-rolling and subsequent laughter was virtually synchronized. Both of us would later discuss the amusement found in the assumptions of others and the even greater comedy found that no one found it believable that a male and female could be simply close friends.
I guess we should have anticipated it. We do understand each other quite well. Both of us can, proximally and for the most part, surmise whatever is on the other's mind at any given time. Many times we would find ourselves finishing each other's sentences or forecasting the reaction and/or reply of the other. And it is warranted, given how long we have known each other. Still, the friendship I have enjoyed with Ali has been irreplacable and paramount among all the friend's I've had. If I may travel along somewhat of a cliched path, we have seen each other through a great deal; new friends, short-term relationships, family trials and all the general dealings with life. Our friendship has been held steadfastly with the most minimal of wavering. To say that Ali is like family would be acute aside from the distate I have for my actual family. Despite this, I'd say she is certainly akin to that of a close sister.
But of course, with her moving away to a city five hours of driving away, the durability of our concord will exstensively be tested by distance. Certainly we are free to remain connected via msn, by phone and the like. Still, all of these are still something of a superficial connection compared to the communion enjoyed in person. Zack's will feel empty without her vibrancy, intelligence, and general prescence. Even day to day life around town will feel rather listless without the knowledge that I can call her anytime and just hang out or chat. However, I feel comfort in understanding that she has left so that she can do what is most prudent for her. We both realized that, while our friendship is superb, stressing it would be a necessary evil so that we might both ordain greater focus to building foundations for our individual lives. Let's face it after all, she's twenty and I'm nineteen and, up until this point, neither of us had really made headway towards gaining independance in any concievable fashion. With oppurtunity, in terms of a new job and a new home, arising, there was no way she could allow the chance to dissipate. So, knowing mutually that this was for the best, we said our good-byes, smiled, agreed to keep in touch and she was on her way.
Indeed, we do intend to keep in touch, but I hold no delusions that the coming commitments and engagements of everyday life will not distract us from this. It's not really something that can be prevented, only eased by the assurance that we'll continue to remain strong friends whatever happens. She knows it and I know it. And one day in the future, our paths will cross again and we'll be able to pick up, in earnest, where we left off last Sunday.
And that, I must say, is the fortitude of friendship.
Posted at 12:12 am by TheWorst
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