Monday, May 28, 2012

la liberté

Leave it up to a veteran on Memorial Day to put things into perspective. In so many words, he has reminded me that we, as American citizens, don't fight for our everyday life or have the need or desire to start a revolution and make big changes because those before us already have. We, as a country, are free. And instead of wishing I could be more like fictional characters in a story book, I should be happy and relieved that I don't face such dangers and impositions. I am proud of my cousin for having risked his life to go make others' more free. I am proud of my great grandpa who fought in WWII and is still well and working because he can be and chooses to be. Perhaps I am even envious of them because they did something I don't think I could ever do. Not only did they prove to be the epitome of physical and emotional strength but they fought for a cause that they felt, neigh knew, was important. They lived far away from home with little to no communication with their family and they succeeded in their mission and they, now, live each breath of their life with pride and with honor and with respect.
Thank you to our soldiers- past, present and future. Words can never express my gratitude.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

faux feux

*Inspired by thoughts of comparison between our current, real, present lives in America and the fictional lives of those horrendous people from the Capitol in, you guessed it, Catching Fire (the second book of the Hunger Games trilogy). This isn't a story and it doesn't deserve much thought. Just a throw-up of thoughts. A need to convince myself that I may not do much or mean much as I exist but at least I am not wealthy and glutinous and at least I don't demand others' lives to entertain my own. It can also serve as a subtle reminder that I may not make much of an impact. And also that that should be okay because I am only human. And that's all I ever will be anyway.*
I sit around and I think. I am no longer a body, empowered. I am a soul, sitting. I can eat but that just makes me queasy. I can cook but that will just feed those here with me. I can sleep but all I do anyway is wake up with a headache. I don't want to be queasy. I want my head to stop hurting. I try and think of my purpose. What am I doing? Where am I going? What can I do?
In this modern world, things are as easy as sleeping at eating. And you have to work, usually for the man, to eat and sleep (at least comfortably). But that is all. Those are our struggles. We have nothing to overcome but boredom. We don't have anything to revolt against. Except for, maybe, our revolting selves. There is nothing demanding our attention except for, maybe, in places far enough away to lack the need for immediate attention. So we're removed from it. Enough so that we often don't even understand or acknowledge that maybe there is somewhere out there that needs us or could, at the very least, use us.
Instead we sit here, useless. Futile. We are satisfied enough being ugly. We are selfish and dull. And yet, we're looked up to. And we are proud. You know, to be American. To be the privileged elite.
Even if we can prove to make a difference in our lifetimes, what will that mean? Near or far. We can teach kids to deal with death, to be strong and confident individuals, to stand their ground but, in the end, we're just people and they're just people. We can support a struggling nation and provide them with stability but in the end they are just a nation of people and we are just a nation of people. And, in the end, we will die and they will die. And until then we will just be people and they will just be people. We will simply exist. And then we won't anymore.
Maybe, past our physical existence, we will survive in stories of history. But then, we will just be words. We may be immoral but even as our words reach those that may exist in the future, they will still be humans. Just as we were humans. And they will dye. I saw a quote the other day, "Our purpose in life is to give life purpose." I guess I just still don't understand. It's just life. Until it's death and eventually it ceases to exist.
We are a nation of decency, above all else. And a generation of tolerance. We are not evil. We just are. And that's decent. That's tolerable. We sit around and argue about freedoms and who has the rights to do what and who we should be but it doesn't really matter anyway because we're not under someone else's direct control. And we are not, our selves, in full control either. No one wants to have that responsibility even if they could. We simply are. We exist. And we accept that. And we will continue to do so until we don't. And then we won't. And that's all. That's that.

Thursday, May 17, 2012

ne lire pas

*Spoiler Alert* If you haven't already read the Hunger Games (and still might do so eventually)- don't read this post yet. It kinda sorta gives away a little bit of the plot. Ish.

It's been a long time since I remember feeling inadequate. Every once in a while, I get the mid-life crisis, don't know where I'm going with myself, feeling but I seem to be able to off put that feeling by reassuring myself of what all I have. I know I have family and friends that I love and that love me and I have an easy life and I'm blessed to be healthy and everything. I know. And usually, I am happy being single so much so that I don't even look at it as me being single, just me being happy. With myself. Without needing someone else.
But thanks to the Hunger Games, I feel the tides changing. I feel that feeling I felt back in high school when I watched Tristan and Isolde. I was in a funk for weeks just wishing I could live in a time like that or be a part of a life like that. Of a love like that. I was pissed at the world for being able to create such beauty on screen and even more pissed that it couldn't be recreated in real life.
Love doesn't tear nations apart. Love doesn't conquer all.
The Hunger Games doesn't even create that intensely deep of a passion, of a true true-love story but it describes that feeling so well. The feeling of being safe and comforted in someone else's arm, of wanting to be noticed. The pain of having to consider living without the other.  Sooner or later, I am going to quit watching these kinds of movies and reading these kinds of books. It's not interesting in a way that keeps me eager and willing to learn more. It's not compelling or motivating for me to seek change because I am certain it is impossible. It's like trying to seek magic. I know it doesn't exist but still this idea seems so much more tangible.
It's like love is my carrot and I'm just the bunny aimlessly chasing after it, never willing to accept that it will forever stay, as it always has been, just slightly beyond my reach. It's depressing. It's the media's way of shoving it in our faces that we will never compete with fiction. Whether that was their goal or not. And I hate it.