Virginity And Its Upgrades

I often wonder that instead of aliens coming to earth, abducting people, probing them and then letting them go, I think they really come to earth, track down every female baby and insert a timer in them that alerts them when it's time for them to go out into the world and find some forgettable idiot to give their flower to when they are in the ages of 12 - 18. After that, hmmmm well apparently you are considered spoiled goods, only good to eat on a dare or someone wants their ego stroked that they "had that first".
When did being a virgin become a phenomenon? During outings with friends, old or new, whenever they find out a person is a virgin, the reactions are all different but when boiled down, unease is usually the dominant emotion displayed in the group. Like the person is going to throw their 'newness' on them and brand them as old news.
And the guys, lets not forget the guys. For example, I decided to step out my comfort zone once upon a time and went to one of those clubs people were always raving about with some friends. Into the chill out, the talk of sex came up and that is when I found out that apparently you are aren't cool until you've slept with a guy and forget the reason you did, except that he was cute, 'giggle giggle'. So when they all turned to me because I didn't input anything to the humorously stupid conversation, I told them I'm was a virgin, straight out, didn't really think it was such a big deal anyway at the time. I mean I was 16 for crying out loud, I couldn't even take a walk down the street before some nosey person steps out their house to take notes on where I was going, who I was going to meet and what color was my urine was that morning. Imagine if I had a boyfriend, wouldn't have lasted a day.
So after I let out that little fact, I distinctly remember all conversations in the club coming to halt. When I said what I said, it came out loud because the music was changing. It was like all the guys had super hearing and was just tuning in to scope out some chick to bang later on. I say this because the place was a sausage fest. Clubs are the most disgusting places to spend your Friday night people. When you look around all there is are 85% men, 5% women and 10% unknowns. So my admission opened up the flood gates, free drinks, hot breath on my neck on trips to the wash room, having to explain the revelation behind a girl saying the word no and how it makes no sense to ask why after she told you no.
That was just one example, I am sure there are more out there.
But what I am trying to glean form this little therapeutic rant is that, it's my body, my choice, who gave you the right to tell me I'm selfish or think that I believe I am better then you because I think giving away the goods to every Tom, Dick and Harry who calls you pretty when you are an age where your hormones are at a high, you think the world is against you and just figuring out the dynamics of a stayfree?
When you make love to someone for the first time, it's not suppose to be a blank spot in your memory because you couldn't remember, bring you heart break because you thought he was the one and he gave you the clap, feel ashamed because Shelly did and you just wanted to fit in or just because. Make it a memory you will cherish if it didn't work out with the guy but at least it was amazing and so that when you have the 'talk' with your own daughter in the future it doesn't sound like an obligation or a threat to their very survival.

Annoying Moment

Do you know that moment when you though your day couldn't get as worse than it already was and that one individual, that one person you have absolutely no patience for , calls you up out of the blue and strikes up a conversation? The worst part is really, is that they live like right next to you or somewhere within walking distance of you location. To me that's like saying, "I can handle talking to you on the phone but rather not in person."

It's funny when you look at it from a different angle when the weirdest conversation with the creepiest person in the world is over. Conversation starts off with the identification of the caller, you start to ponder if to cut off the phone and not answer when they call back, they start to jabba on about any and everything, then when they realise they are losing you over the phone they spring some un-expected development on you like their un-noticed feelings.

It's amazing how a person's feelings can change at the drop of a hat just because. Simply Amazing.

Religion: Listening to fact or opinion?

So yesterday, that article I wrote on forgiveness was something I was asked to do and I felt that that topic was something I was contemplating and turning over in my head for a while so why not put pen to paper. I feel a good deal better actually, so I am going to keep to this trend and post another piece which I think might be therapeutic for me to write about.

Various religions and why it is so important to believers of their faith to question others and their lifestyles?

Now I may be the only one who looks at it this way but then again, it might not be so. I once wrote the phrase, 'one person's fact can be another's opinion and one person's opinion can be another's facts'? Honestly, I was young when I wrote it and to this day I cant really say I truly explained what I meant at the time, but I think my teacher got it, considering I got an excellent grading for it.
Basically when you break it down, it's like saying being a vegetarian is a healthy lifestyle, can help to alleviate world hunger and give you added benefits of living a longer life, you, the meat eater should stop what you are doing because I, the vegetarian, think it is wrong and I am right because the books the scientists wrote said so.

To fully understand my way of thinking, you have to look at the world through my eyes. If something isn't explained to me properly, I don't pursue it. If something is of importance to you but I have to stop what I am doing to pretend it is of importance to me, instant rejection because the fact that you came to me with such a thing in the first place is just disrespectful. All in all, I am a selfish person, but the good kind of selfish.

So if you are a Baptiste, roman catholic or even Adventist, I have no problem with that. Everyone is entitled to their views, opinions and beliefs. But when you start to leave and encroach on my space and demand I follow you because 'it is right', then you just broke every code of ethics you said you were or are living by.

I am a practical person, so my way of deducing things are if not unconventional. I am not going to quote anything from the hundreds of bibles there seems to be out there in this century, but I can use anything as an example. "Jack and Jill went up a hill to fetch a pail of water." Say that phrase was in the bible. Simple enough, to the practical mind, they just went for water, but to the Baptiste's mind, they went to pick flowers and pray, to the Roman Catholics mind, they went to get water to scrub down the house because the water at the top of the mountain is the freshest there is. Now the Adventist would deduce that the neighbour was sick so the children took it upon them selves to help out by re-filling the containers for them because it is the prerogative of the child to help the elder or anyone in need of free labour. (Yet again, this is my opinion from my observations)

When all three of these 'teachings clash' at one point, it is a war field. Competitions start, insults fly, and I have seen a few fist fights in my day. My question really is, if the bible or the teaching of Jesus or God is the same thing, why is it everyone wants to turn it, spin it, twist it into something that sounds new and something they came up with and could explain better?

Reality Check Moment

Do you remember that one period in your life, where you are sitting somewhere, patiently waiting for the one person who had literally held you very future in their hands, to look you in the eyes and say the words you were dying to hear, only to turn around and announce total and utter bullshit? Crumbling your very foundation with which you have built your life? Well let me tell you, it ain't no 'sticks and stones' non sense you can brush off and go about your life, no no no, it's worst than a 'fuck me' moment, a 'holy shit' generation and a 'sweet Jezebel' forever and ever. It's like you are at a magic show and a midget jumps out from behind mystery door number three and says the secrets of the world and ends it with "JESUS is Chinese so how's that for conformity!"

Forgiving Someone You Owe Your Life To

For years I thought I was going to die, better yet take my own life. I can say that clearly now because at the time I believed it was my only way of quieting the voices and staying sane. When I was a child and being bullied I believed it was only temporary, considering my bullies were the same age as me and highly unlikely of going up a standard, becoming a distant memory in time to come. That got me through the days in school, but at home was a different matter. When you are the only girl child in a set of three boys, getting your parents attention is hard because keeping up with them is a challenge so the girl is looked upon to be the "good" one, the "quiet" one, the one who "obeys". Nothing is wrong with that mind you, but when you stay quiet for too long, you start to develop a taking to it, which then leads to you becoming invisible. 

My mother wasn't and isn't the nurturing type, and probably never will be, but that doesn't mean she didn't cover all her bases as "Mother". I was never hungry, never dirty and never missed school unless someone was dead or dieing. But what about the other things? The listening, advice giving and the general love a mother is supposed to show her child? I sometimes felt like she was punishing me for something with stares when I made a joke, the brush offs when I try to hold her hand when we went out and the the all round non-existent conversations we had.  But all that changed the day she left my father.

Not for the better mind you, she just became less robotic and more animated and vindictive, which assume was always her true self. I was only 8 years old but I could've told you she was unhappy with my father. I mean, he isn't a talker, he lives off facial expressions and threats. My mother grew up in an environment where family was everything, my father grew up on the streets where his motto was basically a 50 cent song phrase "live free or die trying". So when we moved in with her mother and siblings in the country, I think part of me died that night. The part where sympathy and love goes hand in hand in situations where it is called for.

I learned a new word that week, CRUELTY. The bullying I went through in school was mild to what went on in that house. Everything but sexual abuse was dished out, not for some of the creatures in the area's lack of trying.  This is where I actually add in a 'thank you' to those girls who believed they had the right to torment me at lunch time, if it wasn't for them I probably wouldn't be here today. I learned a lot of coping mechanisms through those girls, mainly the ones of diversion and invisibility. Distract the idiots with something shiny and make yourself scarce. The reason I say this is because through all that the one person who was to make sure such things didn't even happen, not even in my dreams sought her new found happiness and freedom at the bottom of a rum bottle. Nothing, and I mean nothing can make a person hate the sight and smell of alcohol for years than cleaning it up after your mother empties the contents of her stomach onto you. 

Nothing changed over the years, I just got better at living on my own and living in my head. I figured out I had a love for writing on a day that was probably supposed to be my last. It was after school at a friends house, we were doing homework and doodling when my aunts passed by and saw me. Considering we were only 10 and thought Pokemon was the coolest shit ever, when they told my mother where they saw me you could've sworn I was taking off my uniform piece by piece and swinging around on a pole in the yard for my friend's entertainment. Sadly to say, that's not what first sparked the hatred in my heart for my mother, it was the fact that she believed them and to show her utter devotion to her family she practically slave whipped me with branches from a Tamberand tree. It was painful, and I had had enough. 

Around that time I had an obsession with lists. I had a list for everything, so I would be in order the day my father decided to come for me and take me away. FYI, he didn't. So I got a pencil and a copy book page, sat down and started to make a list of reasons why I should end my life. The list was long, trust me, a person could hold in so many sobs and tears.
Through the listing though, my mind started to wander after I ran out of salted water, I started to analyse the why's, the how's and the when's. The when's turned out to be "when will I stop crying? When will I go numb? When will I be able to leave this place?" That evening, that list turned into a three page essay on what I was going to do in my future and how I was going to do it.

When I finally lifted my pencil from paper, I felt so good, it was the first time I noticed my surroundings, the first time I felt free... My hand is shaking just remembering and typing about it. Yes, writing saved my life, it may sound stupid to you but people have lost their lives for less. I continued that pattern whenever something bothered me or someone. When I couldn't understand something I would break it down with words, when I had that flutter in my chest when a cute boy talked to me I all but scribbled away an entire book, when my dreams were so life like and detailed the words just poured out of me, but when my mother got a stroke my writing became a waste of time...

This is where I realised, my mother stopped being my mother a long time ago and became an obstacle I had to overcome. When I saw her on the hospital bed the tears came, normal reaction, right? How long did I cry? Honestly, about 5 mins, then I just sat there and stared at nothing in particular. In a moment where I was supposed to be sad and confused, I was so calm I scared myself. All that planning, all that studying, flushed down the drain because I was suddenly given the role as daughter and her, mother. It was hell, no not hell, the infamous PURGATORY.

She yelled, cried and was all round disrespectful. Saying things like "useless" and "a waste of time" whenever my brothers and I didn't do what she wanted, so she would call up her family members and have them do it, but when you invite cockroaches into your home, why expect them to act human? They emptied that kitchen so fast I was amazed. So when they realised they have played their part as helpful family member long enough and left her to the dogs, her entire demeanor changed. She suddenly wanted to be my friend.

But I had no heart to tell her that ship has sailed, women like her have no backbone of their own to stand on, the validation of others is what keeps them alive. So when she realised playing on the sick card, and my non-existent love and sympathy wasn't enough to keep me in that house, she called my father. 
I would have told him to shove it when he told me to stay because she is the woman who gave me life yadda yadda, but he was in my grand plan, my list I made that fateful day to be-rid myself of those people. He was the one who was going to get me to that imaginary place in my head where I am standing on a mountain in a power suite, my degree in my arms and the wind in my hair. So I sucked it up and I became the person she wanted, everyone wanted. Talkative, funny and helpful. 

The day I got the opportunity to leave was and is the best day of my life. I sped out of there so fast no one knew I was gone for months. To this day she has yet to say a simple sorry, a simple thank you or even a simple I love you, would do good with helping douse this inferno in my heart. But she is ever the victim, the one who got wronged.

Because of her, connecting to people on an emotional level is basically a dream, I have seen and heard so much that the problems of others almost always seem stupid and a waste of time to me. I cant handle crying women or girls, I break out in hives. Whiny people, men in particular make me so angry its like their very being is a nuisance. I'm so un-emotional, people automatically tell me their problems on the bus like I have a neon sign on my forehead saying 'therapeutic robot'. 

So, who so ever is reading this, especially the professor who told me to write from the heart and maybe I would find the root of my animosity and set it free, so my writing would have more debt rather than being flaky and blase, I ask you, how do you forgive the very person who killed your humanity?