Only Human

There are days like today when perhaps I'm sick and can't deal with it and it would be a pretty okay day if not for that feeling.

It's that feeling of not wanting to. Not wanting to do what I must, not wanting to be in school, not wanting to - dare I say it - learn.

Sometimes I wonder: what would happen if I stopped trying? What would happen if I stopped wanting to know everything? What would happen if I devoted myself to things that matter less to society but often more to me?

I don't know, honestly.

There was a time when I didn't need it. There was a time when I learned because it was in the books I read, because I didn't feel obligated. Now, somehow, it's become something I need to do.

Now, it eclipses me sometimes. And I will look at myself, look at what I'm doing, look at what I'm studying. And no matter how much I try to suppress the thought, it crops up anyway: Why do I even care?

I don't know. I don't know.

It's days like these when I physically cannot do my homework. But that's not the worst part. The worst is that I don't care that I can't. It doesn't matter to me.

It doesn't matter.

This scares my American self, terrifies the hell out of her. What is she if not her information? What is she if not a learning machine?

I'm tired, so very tired. Not in terms of lack of sleep necessarily, because that's normal. I'm tired because I have not rested in so long.

I have not deigned to let myself try to write a story. I don't dare. Because my studious self has learned to stay away from things at which she is less than satisfactory. I have not devoured a book in a long time. I have not painted anything in ages. I have not sat down to make something merely for myself (rather than because it will take me somewhere).

I'm not very sick, but I can't do it. I can't go to school tomorrow. It's an odd feeling. I've liked going to school all this year. It's been a good year, really it has. And today it's like I hit a wall. I don't know.

I need a day off in which to make music. Make art. Read for ages. Cut a speech piece. Do homework, but very little.

I think everyone is supposed to feel this way once in a while. But for a time this afternoon I didn't know what was happening to me. Why was I not doing homework at five thirty? Why did I have no inclination to work at eight? Why not?

Because I'm human. I'm only human. Narcissistic and haughty and ridiculous as this one of my selves is.

Human is all I am.

On "Normal" and "Mainstream" and all that crap

As my middle school music teacher would say, "Pardon my French."

This post has been in my brain for a while, ever since a friend of mine said she "turned into a hipster when she wasn't looking" and I saw something later on that day that said, "Normal girls just dream about perfect dresses and getting married."

Really? But what makes that "normal?"

Then today someone said "You're very hipster, Shira." And I kind of furrowed my brows and thought about that. Personally I don't think I am. But I wouldn't know, because I perceive myself as a much more whole person than other humans do.

This post was supposed to be about my problem with hipsters. Then I realized that was a very hipster thing to say and I would create a spiral of liesssss.

But lies are a part of the writer's life. And I kindasorta want to be a writer. So I'm gonna just go for it.

The general definition of a hipster (as much as they strain against it) is that they don't do what's cool, are not "mainstream," have a problem with people who are mainstream, dislike not being the first to know about things, are irritatingly intellectual (or at least think they are), and despise current times. And my response to this is: EVERYONE is a hipster. At least a little bit.

Because who really does love it when someone else has done what they've just thought of? Who doesn't love being the first to know about something cool? Who doesn't want to feel intelligent and knowledgable? Who doesn't think the world is thoroughly screwed-up and worries that it might have been better in the past? I don't think anyone does.

Another point on this is that "mainstream" is poorly defined. What makes something "mainstream?" The fact that it goes out to millions of people? Or the fact that the stereotypical member of the "mainstream" group likes it? And what are "mainstream" people? I heard someone say "Ugg boots and North Faces" but isn't that a form of horrid generalization? I think both Ugg boots and North Faces are wonderful in their time. And I've been defined as a "hipster."

I try just to do what I like and think what I want to think, regardless of people who might have done it or thought it before me. I believe that there are things to be done for social necessity. I believe in trying not to hate people. Especially not hating on people who may or may not have a lot in common with you.

This train of thought has also come out of trying to lower my judgment of people. I judge way too much for my own good (and others') and generally my judgments are relatively wrong. The simple judgment of others leads to stereotyping of "normal" and "mainstream" and "hipsters." And I don't think that's a valid reason for disliking something, someone, or some idea.

Personally, I'm trying not to be averted to someone just because they've got good grades, or if they smile all the time, or if they dress a certain way, or if they look a certain way (yes. I think, despite the fact that I try and push it back, I am still a little racist and still mentally insult people's looks), or if they're part of the theater crowd, or if they're overly hyperactive, or if they are perceived as "hipsters."

Because really, all the labels? They're just more barriers to tear down.

BUA

I just went to visit BUA. And right now I am so confused.

Not only did about half the students there tell me I should have applied, two of the teachers did, and the rest seemed to like me fairly well.

And you know what else? I really want to apply. But I also don't. But I do, but I don't.

I don't because I love my friends and community and speech team. I do want to go because, well, because it's BUA.

But the thing is, they usually admit only people coming for freshman and sophomore year. And I missed that chance. And I'm worried now that I missed my chance at everything else, because I don't have time to do all the things I want to do. I live for knowing, for being among the educated, for having a reason to be superior. Why did I not realize back in the fall that this was my best chance?

Don't get me wrong - if nothing else, I'm glad I went and saw the place. It's going to give me motivation in my independent studies.

But I am so, so confused. And I'm worried that I've missed my chance at everything I've wanted, and that I'll never get one like this again.

Marathon 2013

I don't understand what just happened. Explosions at the Boston Marathon's finish line. The area is in havoc. Nobody knows anything for sure.

My friend Yinuo posted about this on her blog, but I think I need to talk about it too.

Boston is one of my homes. I love it dearly, and the Marathon is of course an important part of our city. To have something like this happen - I just don't know what I'm supposed to think.

Right now nobody knows who did it and why. I heard that one bomb went off at the JFK Library, and I hear that another one was found at Riverside Station, which is three train stops from my house, but I don't know if anything is true. The train (or as we call it, the T) is, of course, down at the moment. Facebook is exploding, and I'm honestly terrified. Not really for myself but for other people and how close it is to me. I am not invincible, and no one I know is invincible. It takes something like this to realize that.

The worst part of this is not the injured or the dead, although both are absolutely terrible. No, the worst is that nobody knows anything for sure and nobody knows where more bombs might be found. Everybody is terrified because nothing is certain.

And another thing - it seems so horrifically planned. There are enough bombs that no one knows if there are more, and they are in strategic places. Whoever did this must have spent ages thinking about it. The fact that there is someone who will target this area and be so focused on it is truly frightening.

It seems so surreal. It's something that seems like it would never happen here - and now it has. And I don't know what I'm supposed to think anymore.

Remember

Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day in Israel, or Yom Ha'sho'a.

Last year, I was of course in Israel. I was there for the siren, the two minutes of statewide silence. It's jarring, really. There was an entire performance, with sad songs and everything. We all had to wear white shirts that day. It was...well, it made an impact. It's impossible to imagine the individual people, so all we can think of is the numbers. Numbers crawling barefoot through the snow, silent in the forests, praying before a fatal shot. The blood of numbers staining the soil. Even the faces are impossible to find. They are only numbers now.

Today is also my great-grandmother Gertrude's birthday. She was killed at Auschwitz. I have seen only one picture of her, and I'm fairly sure it's the only one that still exists. She is smiling in the photograph, and I can see hints of my mother in her. What really saddens me, though, is that the only part of her I know is the fact that she was killed. I remember once sitting at a café and my mother telling me about the Nazis for the first time, and how they killed people, like my grandmother, in machines. She told me about Anne Frank, pointing to a house across the street with an attic window, and saying that Anne Frank lived there for a long time, being very, very quiet. I did not understand, really. I remember also seeing the one picture of Gertrude and asking who she was. My mother said she was her grandmother, and that she never met her.

That is all I know. I will never hear stories about her laugh, or about her cooking, or about her dislike of receiving gifts. I will never know whether she was a reader, or an artist, or if she liked music or dance. I will never know if she's anything like me. What was she like when she was young? How did she live?

Today is the first time I ever imagined her death. It never struck me before. How did she die? Was she shot or sent to the gas chambers? It's a twisted thought, but what else could I know? Did she cry? Did she give up hope? Did she pray?

Does she hear me wonder?

Books and Fate

I have finished the second book of the night. I intend to start a third.

The second book in question happens to be The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom. It was good, but it took warming up to. I don't know if it was too close to me, too overdone, or too much of anything.

Right now I'm not sure if this voracious reading is entertainment or escape.

The thing is, The Five People You Meet in Heaven is more or less a book about fate. About how you are always affecting others and lives are always entwined with one another.

And I think, now:

If my parents had not come to school here, I would not be writing in English. I might not even exist. Was it fate?

If we hadn't moved when I was five, I might have gone to my friend's current school and thus met her and possibly all my other friends. Was it fate?

If I hadn't known so many of the people I do, I would not be this person. I could be someone far different. Were all of my encounters fate?

Fate has played a massive role in my life, I think. Fate and chance. My life sometimes feels as if it's on an edge, or a dartboard. Something random. I don't understand it.

I don't get how some people I meet seem to be like fictional characters. I don't grasp how I can have two languages and almost two lives. I don't see how I - me! - got the chance to be this way.

Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve it.

Christopher Aiff, Augustus Waters, and the Great Wide World of Happiness

There's this channel on YouTube called SoulPancake. It's a wonderful channel really, but they have so much content all the time that I don't always watch all of it. However, I decided to go and catch up on some things.

SoulPancake has a lot of different "sub-shows." One of them is My Last Days, which seems to be about people with terminal diseases, mainly different kinds of cancer. And this is when, Ladies and Gentlemen, I present unto you all: Christopher Aiff.

Christopher has Osteosarcoma in his leg, just like Augustus from TFiOS. He doesn't (seem to) have a prosthesis, but he does have a scar. And he is one of the most inspiring people I've ever met.

You should watch the video, but basically, he was going through chemotherapy and just before the final treatment, he decided he didn't want to do it anymore. His family supported his decision, and at the time this video was filmed, he had six months and two days left to live.

What I really love about Christopher is 1. his charisma and 2. his happiness with the situation. Honestly, one of the best quotes from the video is:

"The decision to be positive is not one that disregards or belittles the sadness that exists. It is rather a conscious choice to focus on the good and to cultivate happiness...for happiness is not a limited resource."

Maybe "happiness" isn't quite the right word. He says himself that he would still be grateful for more time if the world were willing to allow it. But he does not moan or mope. In fact, he says -

"...when we devote our energy and time to trivial matters and choose to stress over things that ultimately are insignificant, from that point we perpetuate our own sadness, and we lose sight of the things that really make us happy, and rationalize our way out of doing amazing things."

The dying are often the most content with their situation, simply because they must be. I am quite sure that I don't realize how much I have. I am, when I try to see it, among the more fortunate people on this earth.

Ultimately, Christopher says:

"I want to be remembered as someone who did their best."

And who am I to want for more? I want so much. I focus on how I'm not good enough, and maybe sometimes that's a good thing. I live through my learning, yes. But I don't only live through toil. I live through music and art and writing and so many other things too. It is true that I am not dying, but then again everyone is dying. We are all dying, as Hazel took care to tell us. But that doesn't mean we're not living.