There are things that happen to people early in there lives. However, there are those of us who have waited for the same things for a long, long time, and somehow we have wanted it to be special, to be memorable, to evoke warmth when you go back to it in your mind.
Everybody remembers their first kiss.
My first kiss was not actually with a guy. It was with a girl, a good friend, at a frat party. My first kiss with a guy was also at a frat party. But it wasn't special, or beautiful. The party was lame, and the guy was far from my idea of attractiveness (which is a statement only about my ideas of beauty). I let him kiss me not because of him, but because of the expectation that as a person of a certain age I should have gone through it. I guess I was also curious and impatient. And of course, none of this rationalization was happening in my head then. I was just like, "oh well, what the heck".
The hours after that and before I eventually convinced myself to sleep, I had a feeling of dumbness and emptiness. I couldn't stop thinking - "this is not how it was supposed to happen". I know many people won't understand this and will say "what's the big fuckin' deal, it's just a kiss". To which I would answer - yes, but you probably didn't wait 10 years for yours.
So, ladies and gentlemen, now I'm in a juncture where my rational skills can't take me past a certain point of understanding. So I'm asking you - does it have to be special? Am I simply not getting the meaning of things?
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Sunday, February 3, 2008
More Ramblings, on Transience of People
So apparently reading about Kantian ethics triggers a philosophical mood in me, or whatever :)
Up until recently I hadn't really bothered myself with ontological questions, such as life and death, but as of late I have been thinking a lot about such things. This is tangentially related to the graduation issue, about which I wrote the previous post.
As I was trying to figure out how to cope with the separation from the people who currently are my closest friends, I was thinking like this - you are going to meet new people, and make new close friends, and you will still have the degree of closeness and intimacy that you usually need. The argument seemed solid, considering that I faced a similar situation when I left Bulgaria for the States, and eventually made close friendships in the new environment.
However, this, and some other issues, made me think that the connections we create with other people are very temporary, very ephemeral. For a person like myself, moving out of your comfort zone and starting a life somewhere else is not an uncommon routine, nor will it be any less common in the near future - I'm moving over to Seattle, but after the first few months I'm moving over to Vancouver, where I'm staying between 5 months and a year, and then back to Seattle. Eventually (?) I'm returning to Bulgaria. So how many times is the above cycle of making new friends is going to repeat itself? Is it even worth it becoming emotionally attached to people, if you are going to have to say good-bye not too long after you've met?
When I talk to others I usually say that there are different kinds of friends - broadly speaking, those whose friendship lasts long and all the rest. I also say that a person is really lucky if he has friends that he may not see for a really long time, but once they are together it is obvious that the friendly feelings haven't diminished, and things can be continued from where they stopped. I am blessed with such friendships both in Bulgaria and in the US, so by my own criteria, I'm really lucky.
But somehow that doesn't solve it for me. What about the time of separation? What about missing all those people you've become emotionally attached to? What if you know you won't be able to see each other for a really long period of time? How do you cross the line, on one side of which you are together and everything you have is tangible, visible, concrete, and on the other side of which there is separation? I mean, I know how, but I'm asking - how do you do it in your mind and your heart so that it doesn't feel like something is being torn away from you?
To make things worse (or better?), I started thinking about mortality. I was in Dirt Cowboy one afternoon and I was looking outside thinking - "suppose Dartmouth is still here in 500 years. Probably few things will be the same - definitely the people will be different, and there will be no memory of me, or most of the people I know. The fashions and trends will be different - it will seem funny to these future Dartmouth students what things we found important 500 years ago - the shiny cars, the brand clothes, the attitudes." This made me think that most of what we worry about in life or find important, is often something temporary that matters only now, and won't always matter. The choice of car or house, the amount of money we have, the clothes we wear, the people we aspire to, the body image that we crave - all these things are, in essence, inconsequential. A car that's fashionable today will be outdated in a few years. Same with clothes. Houses grow old and are torn down. Famous people die and are replaced by new famous people. And even the perfect body ages and deviates, bit by bit, from the current idea of "perfection". So what's left that matters? What will be there as long as there is a human civilization? Moreover, how do we make sense of this realizing how short life is and how little time we have with those we consider "close"?
The answer to the first two questions I was able to give is - people. People are really what matters on this world. Granted, people also change, and some die while others are born, but they are sort of the persistent theme of the last few millennia, the "glue" that gives history and culture their continuous character, and I believe that would be so until there are people. One other obvious thing that has always been there and will always be there, and in fact hasn't changed, is God. Those who know me also know I'm a Christian, so I believe in God and indeed, if you think about it, He is the only real constant left after all temporary, mutable things are taken out of the picture. One of the reasons why people are, actually, the important thing on earth is that they carry a part of God in them, as they were modeled in His semblance. As to the last question, I think of it more as a call to action - we should appreciate every single moment with the people around us, because we i) don't know how much time we have left on earth, and ii) we move a lot and proximity is not something that can always last for too long, so we need to enjoy each other's company while we can.
Something tells me that none of my conclusions are surprising, and I'm wondering what's been clouding my vision, and by extension the vision of what appears to be a large fraction of people today.
Up until recently I hadn't really bothered myself with ontological questions, such as life and death, but as of late I have been thinking a lot about such things. This is tangentially related to the graduation issue, about which I wrote the previous post.
As I was trying to figure out how to cope with the separation from the people who currently are my closest friends, I was thinking like this - you are going to meet new people, and make new close friends, and you will still have the degree of closeness and intimacy that you usually need. The argument seemed solid, considering that I faced a similar situation when I left Bulgaria for the States, and eventually made close friendships in the new environment.
However, this, and some other issues, made me think that the connections we create with other people are very temporary, very ephemeral. For a person like myself, moving out of your comfort zone and starting a life somewhere else is not an uncommon routine, nor will it be any less common in the near future - I'm moving over to Seattle, but after the first few months I'm moving over to Vancouver, where I'm staying between 5 months and a year, and then back to Seattle. Eventually (?) I'm returning to Bulgaria. So how many times is the above cycle of making new friends is going to repeat itself? Is it even worth it becoming emotionally attached to people, if you are going to have to say good-bye not too long after you've met?
When I talk to others I usually say that there are different kinds of friends - broadly speaking, those whose friendship lasts long and all the rest. I also say that a person is really lucky if he has friends that he may not see for a really long time, but once they are together it is obvious that the friendly feelings haven't diminished, and things can be continued from where they stopped. I am blessed with such friendships both in Bulgaria and in the US, so by my own criteria, I'm really lucky.
But somehow that doesn't solve it for me. What about the time of separation? What about missing all those people you've become emotionally attached to? What if you know you won't be able to see each other for a really long period of time? How do you cross the line, on one side of which you are together and everything you have is tangible, visible, concrete, and on the other side of which there is separation? I mean, I know how, but I'm asking - how do you do it in your mind and your heart so that it doesn't feel like something is being torn away from you?
To make things worse (or better?), I started thinking about mortality. I was in Dirt Cowboy one afternoon and I was looking outside thinking - "suppose Dartmouth is still here in 500 years. Probably few things will be the same - definitely the people will be different, and there will be no memory of me, or most of the people I know. The fashions and trends will be different - it will seem funny to these future Dartmouth students what things we found important 500 years ago - the shiny cars, the brand clothes, the attitudes." This made me think that most of what we worry about in life or find important, is often something temporary that matters only now, and won't always matter. The choice of car or house, the amount of money we have, the clothes we wear, the people we aspire to, the body image that we crave - all these things are, in essence, inconsequential. A car that's fashionable today will be outdated in a few years. Same with clothes. Houses grow old and are torn down. Famous people die and are replaced by new famous people. And even the perfect body ages and deviates, bit by bit, from the current idea of "perfection". So what's left that matters? What will be there as long as there is a human civilization? Moreover, how do we make sense of this realizing how short life is and how little time we have with those we consider "close"?
The answer to the first two questions I was able to give is - people. People are really what matters on this world. Granted, people also change, and some die while others are born, but they are sort of the persistent theme of the last few millennia, the "glue" that gives history and culture their continuous character, and I believe that would be so until there are people. One other obvious thing that has always been there and will always be there, and in fact hasn't changed, is God. Those who know me also know I'm a Christian, so I believe in God and indeed, if you think about it, He is the only real constant left after all temporary, mutable things are taken out of the picture. One of the reasons why people are, actually, the important thing on earth is that they carry a part of God in them, as they were modeled in His semblance. As to the last question, I think of it more as a call to action - we should appreciate every single moment with the people around us, because we i) don't know how much time we have left on earth, and ii) we move a lot and proximity is not something that can always last for too long, so we need to enjoy each other's company while we can.
Something tells me that none of my conclusions are surprising, and I'm wondering what's been clouding my vision, and by extension the vision of what appears to be a large fraction of people today.
Ramblings After a Busy Weekend
Haha, never thought I would do the whole blog thing again, but here ya go :)
It just seems I've been getting introspective again, and I got tired of writing Facebook notes to spill out what's on my mind, so I guess this is a better medium (?).
It looks like I'm graduating from Dartmouth in June this year. The thought at once excites and frightens me. It's exciting because I'm moving over to Seattle and starting a new life, and a life really on my own. The fresh start thing seems to work pretty well for me, considering what coming to Dartmouth meant for my life. On the other hand, the thought that I am leaving this place left me in a sort of existential vacuum, that I was only able to fill after taking the time to really talk to myself, and try to grow more mature in the process. But here are some of the intermediate stages of that journey.
1. I guess I can't really explain it well even to my close friends at Dartmouth. This place has meant a lot for me, and changed my life in many, many ways. When I look back at the person I used to be, and the person I am now, it's always staggering because we are hardly similar anymore. I used to be judgmental of people. I was the moral standard, and the epitome of goodness, and everyone else was worse to a varying degree. Once people made a mistake, I wrote them off completely. Now that I have met tons of people and done tons of stupid shit, it's never my instinctive response to judge others, but rather try to understand them and see things through their eyes. I used to be a closeted, scared, shy, secretive, idealistic gay boy who kept everything to himself. After coming to Dartmouth, I opened myself to people and allowed myself to be human in front of others, i.e. have good moments AND bad moments; I stopped hiding my sexuality from myself and everyone else, stopped feeling bad about various aspects of myself; started actually liking the person I am. For everyone who's had body/confidence/interpersonal issues, you realize that's no small deal.
I also learned a lot. In my major - computer science. In the other fields I feel passionate about - music, linguistics and Spanish. I learned a lot about myself that I didn't know before - how many hours I need to sleep to be functional, how much pressure I can endure and still do a good job with what I'm doing, how different people can be, how I relate to all these different people, how to anticipate emotional lows and use friends' support to get myself out of them, how to feel good about myself and like my life, and so much more. I sang in a classical choir. I sang in a gospel choir. I went to Hawaii, and Switzerland and Italy with these choirs. I met people from everywhere. I worked in a copy center, two libraries, and Microsoft; I was a Spanish Teacher Assistant, and I taught my native language in a Miniversity class. I worked on projects in networking, AI, OS, interactive art, wireless data research, and whatnot. I fell in and out of love. I lived.
But probably the most important part is - I made close friends. Friends that I can not see for months and still have the same connection with once we are together. It was hard enough when some of them graduated over the past three years. It also made all of our, though rare, reunions quite an event, at least in my eyes. I now have a group of close friends, and graduation inevitably makes me think about the time we will not be together every day, and we will not be able to just go get dinner in EBA's or late Saturday brunch at Lou's, or just watch a movie and make fun of the actors/ourselves/the world at large. I kid you not, it's painful to think of this.
However, I found ways to reconcile the feelings of obvious and impending loss with my world view, and now, updated and readjusted, I'm waiting for what's coming my way. More of this later, though, because I have an exam to read for.
It just seems I've been getting introspective again, and I got tired of writing Facebook notes to spill out what's on my mind, so I guess this is a better medium (?).
It looks like I'm graduating from Dartmouth in June this year. The thought at once excites and frightens me. It's exciting because I'm moving over to Seattle and starting a new life, and a life really on my own. The fresh start thing seems to work pretty well for me, considering what coming to Dartmouth meant for my life. On the other hand, the thought that I am leaving this place left me in a sort of existential vacuum, that I was only able to fill after taking the time to really talk to myself, and try to grow more mature in the process. But here are some of the intermediate stages of that journey.
1. I guess I can't really explain it well even to my close friends at Dartmouth. This place has meant a lot for me, and changed my life in many, many ways. When I look back at the person I used to be, and the person I am now, it's always staggering because we are hardly similar anymore. I used to be judgmental of people. I was the moral standard, and the epitome of goodness, and everyone else was worse to a varying degree. Once people made a mistake, I wrote them off completely. Now that I have met tons of people and done tons of stupid shit, it's never my instinctive response to judge others, but rather try to understand them and see things through their eyes. I used to be a closeted, scared, shy, secretive, idealistic gay boy who kept everything to himself. After coming to Dartmouth, I opened myself to people and allowed myself to be human in front of others, i.e. have good moments AND bad moments; I stopped hiding my sexuality from myself and everyone else, stopped feeling bad about various aspects of myself; started actually liking the person I am. For everyone who's had body/confidence/interpersonal issues, you realize that's no small deal.
I also learned a lot. In my major - computer science. In the other fields I feel passionate about - music, linguistics and Spanish. I learned a lot about myself that I didn't know before - how many hours I need to sleep to be functional, how much pressure I can endure and still do a good job with what I'm doing, how different people can be, how I relate to all these different people, how to anticipate emotional lows and use friends' support to get myself out of them, how to feel good about myself and like my life, and so much more. I sang in a classical choir. I sang in a gospel choir. I went to Hawaii, and Switzerland and Italy with these choirs. I met people from everywhere. I worked in a copy center, two libraries, and Microsoft; I was a Spanish Teacher Assistant, and I taught my native language in a Miniversity class. I worked on projects in networking, AI, OS, interactive art, wireless data research, and whatnot. I fell in and out of love. I lived.
But probably the most important part is - I made close friends. Friends that I can not see for months and still have the same connection with once we are together. It was hard enough when some of them graduated over the past three years. It also made all of our, though rare, reunions quite an event, at least in my eyes. I now have a group of close friends, and graduation inevitably makes me think about the time we will not be together every day, and we will not be able to just go get dinner in EBA's or late Saturday brunch at Lou's, or just watch a movie and make fun of the actors/ourselves/the world at large. I kid you not, it's painful to think of this.
However, I found ways to reconcile the feelings of obvious and impending loss with my world view, and now, updated and readjusted, I'm waiting for what's coming my way. More of this later, though, because I have an exam to read for.
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