the difference between

the difference between you and i:

You get mad, i quietly sit beside you and listen.
i get mad, you walk away and tell me im wrong and stupid.

how wonderfully fair.

live lie

There seems to be an underlying thread of make believe in my life. A large part pretend, a good part dishonest: with myself and innumerable others. It seems as if it is so much easier to tell others what they want to hear than the truth or cruxes of matters. Why? Because they cannot accept things that don’t fit in neatly with their lives, their feelings, their views.

If I look at the past year of my life I see that I have remained silent, inert and unyielding. I spoke no words to defend me, for I knew they would fall on deaf ears. But in this silence I reached a complacent loneliness, a resigned recognition of the loss of intelligent argument and respected disagreement. I came to realize, they wouldn’t accept my variance from the norm, my deviating values and logic. And of this rejection, the snubs, rebuffs and total disregard of opinion: I was completely responsible.

The difference in culture, wasn’t a result of an education and field of experience vastly divergent from theirs, and therefore did not account for my contradictory opinions and lifestyle. But my refusal to adapt completely to their views was to blame for my waywardness. I am still to be faulted for being a flawed, stubborn individual. there is great fault, after all, in holding values dear to your heart; values instilled in you as a child; values that have served you well all your life.

Instead of voicing my arguments; tired of never going forward, I relied on silence. The deception of silence was near flawless. Silence never confirmed or denied, accepted or rejected, agreed or disagreed. Silence was my weapon, silence was my curse. My silence bought me peace from incessant nagging, but thrust the loneliness of appearing aloof and distant in the deepest reaches of my heart. Silence, though not torture, brings but small comfort. In it, there is none of my truth. It is artful, my artificial silent self. because in the silence are the lies.

moments

The way things are, the way people seem: are never true forever. The reality of every situation is its momentary validity. Everything exists in moments. Everything that seems a lie has a moment of truth. So: live for that moment, love for that moment, while that moment exists.

When that moment is gone, when the moments are gone, be glad they were there, be sad that they ended: but only for a moment.

Then realize: those moments made you better, smarter, stronger and wiser. Learn from those moments, and learn for a lifetime.

Love letters to an angry boyfriend

Dear You,

I love you. This should be abundantly clear, we've been together for two years now, almost. You stuck by me thru my party-girl phase, helped me become a more serious, conscientious individual. I stuck by you thru your temper tantrums and angry silence. but you havent changed.

you cant be patient. you cant accept or understand things as they are. if you want to change something, my dear, start by changing yourself and your attitude. nothing comes without effort. I have stood by your mood swings and your apathy; doing everything i could to try and make you see things from a different perspective. i swallowed my pride, gave up opportunities, cried a legion of tears. All for you.


in return..love me; thats all i ask of you.

Art/artificial/artifice

I am an actor. No, I haven't been in any movies, you may not have caught the several amateur theater productions I've been in, but never the less, mark my words: I am an actor.

The little foray i took in to the world of theater started in my elementary school days. And, no, I am not referring to the pre-school play about vegetables where i dressed up as some fibrous leafy green plant; but rather the fourth grade (not too far from the vegetable patch) and our class production of the classic opera "The Magic Flute."the Lyric Opera House in Chicago had started a program for school children, and, Yes, we all lip synced. I was "The Queen of the Night." Fitting, methinks, since i have always been the bad girl (since the vegetable patch, where i apparently said bad words all the time, to other tattling plants).

There, in the fourth grade, I became aware of the allure of art and the nuances of artifice within it. The costumes were wondrous, sumptuous velvet dresses and numerous feathered hats. We were far too young for falsies, foundation, rouge and the like (we got lipsticked tho) but it was a fine start. There, the performing bug bit me, and damn, did it bite hard.

After "The Magic Flute" I progressed to the role of Maria in "The Sound of Music," Yente in "The Fiddler on the Roof," Kate in "The Taming of the Shrew," Alexis in "The Khalifa" and my personal favorite: Satine in "Moulin Rouge." There were other less notable roles; but for the sake of circumspection i wont go into them. All these roles taught me about the application of artificiality, and little by little, it consumed me.

As i got older, the productions got bigger, the make up got thicker and (hopefully) the acting got better. The bigger and more fantastical the productions became, the less satisfying reality became. The excitement found on stage made it impossible for real life to compete. When actors say they get lost in roles, in the parts they play, ITS TRUE. Sometimes its more fun, sometimes its easier; to be someone other than yourself. That,  my friends, is the art of artifice.