Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky V

My father has father issues. As in “he has issues with his father”. But more importantly tonight, as in “he as issues as a father”. As our father.

it always seems like whenever someone gets a deeper understanding about one’s family, as things usually go when you grow up, one never digs up anything but dirt, filth, unspoken grudges, smouldering hatred, arguments, always more of them. I don’t think I’m being pessismistic. I can’t recall any good story of this kind, like people eventually finding out how very in love their parents were, or how in fact this old habit of calling mom a pointless whore was a college running joke that kept alive the memory of who they once were. That being said, I don’t know any family in which the mother is referred to as such. Maybe that’s why…

What does it mean? Why is this most sacred of institutions so doomed to always declining and eventually becoming, at best, two old friends past their ancient fights, coexisting under the same roof for the sake of their children’s image of their parents, or money restrictions, or to avoid a sense of failure, or even no reason at all, simply because they don’t know any better…?

What if it wasn’t meant to be? What if we just weren’t fit for family life on the long run, What if family was some social structure once standing to respond to necessities such as the protection of this place called home, along with that of the kids for some period of time in a much more violent world, the transmission of the parent’s wealth in a world where it wasn’t easy to start off from nothing, demographic growth control by bonding women to one man (it went that way, no offense) in a world without contraception, etc… I’m not saying family circles were a lot more fun back then, it certainly was a lot worse in terms of individual liberties and rights for about everyone but the father (then again, just my two cent, I never studied the history of family), but families served a purpose, were formed out of necessity.

Scan through the examples I gave again. Are any of those necessities anymore? The one thing that remains is the raising of children, the training of the offspring. True it is one needs parents to grow up, kind of, but true enough anyway. Now given you meant to give your kids your best possible envrionment, assuming both their parents in a loving partnership was this environment, it means at most you are recquired to stay with the same person for {age of your 1st kid at last kid’s birth + let’s say 18 years}. Past that point, if you happen to still truly want to live with the same person, write a novel, ’cause your story is amazing, alle-fuckin-gria. Now if as sadly expected you can’t stand most of what you share with him or her, take the fuck off, you don’t belong together anymore, and it’s OK. Things can only go worse, or worst case scenario, quieter, then plainer, duller… You’re not doing anyone any favour. ‘Definitly not doing yourself a favour.

Families united till the end have become the standard, the goal to reach in one’s life, and not reaching that goal a social failure. But it’s wrong, it’s not how things work best, it’s not what’s gonna make you happier, it’s not what life is about, if you care to give it some thought.

As for the “my father” part… I’m not sure anymore it’s relevant to expose how he screwed up at being one, he’s probably not worse than your mother, or his father… ‘Just some regular guy who didn’t take the time to think through what it meant to be a father, a husband, a man. So this regular guy had kids, because word had it it was pretty cool, but then he found out it wasn’t what he expected, and 28 years later, his third child was in a bar writing what you just read. And then he finished his second pint, and put down his pen.

Back on the seas we are. I’m that good, again -that- good at recruiting crew that my monkey is back on board of our canoe. Jolly Roger’s floating with awful grace and awkward resemblance with its previous peer of ours, brand new it is though, cause we’re not running the same business anymore, plillage, plunder, burn and rape, who has time for romance anymore? Yahaar fiddle dee dee, and so on and so forth…

I told her we couldn’t be together anymore, and it hurt her.

It’s hard to fully explain how clear it was to me at the moment, even harder as it’s now become shadier.

My going through so many efforts to get to her, makes the whole splitting thing so unexpected, for the both of us. It also makes it seem like I took this decision in a rush, like I’d done some stupid. Most probably I had, I was stupid to believe love would have me leap this huge gap between us, that it was fine to share so little as long as I was in love.

I was very wrong.

Love is a symptom, not a cause, it’s born from the combination of the many things you like in your other half. You can’t, shouldn’t entrust love with the sake of your relationship. You muist entertain whatever works well between the two of you, and find new stuff to replace what can’t be kept alive. When failing to find those replacements, you might find yourself in no position anymore to use the L word with conviction, and have to face what it means for your couple.

Now I don’t know what it was that made me so in love, nor how or why it went away, but away it went, leaving me with a dear friend I couldn’t look in the eyes and say ‘I love you’ to anymore. She asked me if I thought we’d make it to a third month and it struck me that no, I didn’t think so. Then I saw how it made her feel -really bad that is- and decided it was safer for the both of us to leave the ship now, rather than attempt to keep sailing on one with that large a hole.

On the harbor she told me our ways had to part, that she didn’t want to see me anymore, and went to some back alley from which you could hear whiskey woices croaking. I was hoping we could try and sail again, on a smaller yet nice boat, but for now it’ll stay at the boathouse, waiting for a calmer sea for us to board on…

Me and my monkey, in our beautiful canoe…

I met someone awesome.

She’s smart, funny, pretty, and nice, I think I like her and that she likes me back, we could easily become good friends, and it doesn’t seem that becoming more is totally out of the question. Fine. I mean, great! But that’s not my point today.

So this afternoon I was kind of expecting her to answer a text message I’d sent her, and she did not. It is, it should be fine by me, we don’t know each other that much, I can’t expect her to answer all of my text msgs. Up to this point, I was still at the university, doing nothing with some friends, and since not much is better than nothing I decided to head back home where I intended not to do much.

Off I was. Outside it was, and still is atm, raining, the viciously moisterising type. I stared blankly at the rain, to display my profound disdain toward it, and walked a few hundred meters, wet but unaffected.

Then it struck me.

“Maybe you should call her” “Oh no c’mon! you can’t do that” “Yeah but it’s really hard to wait, I wanna talk to her” “You can’t start harassing her yet, poor girl!” “maybe I should ask for advices to a friend” “No way! you’d sound like some cry baby emo who can’t handle himself” “OMG, this is so hard!”

Then I stopped staring at the rain which apparently wasn’t anymore affected by my spite than I was by its wetness. And I stared back at myself, in awe. “WTF? “so hard”? Nothing is hard there, what are you stupid?!” And since I knew that stupid wasn’t what I was, I also knew what I had to do:

“You have a question there, ponder the shit out of it.”

I like to do that, spot an interrogation I have and focus on it until I come up with an answer or several of them that make -perfect- sense. I like it even more that it often works. It’s great for your ego to find your own answers to meaningful/important questions you raised yourself. Try it. Try coffee flavoured chocolate too.

Here’s the question, the first one: “Why is it that whenever I find myself in a position where I might get involved with a girl I like, I try to find reasons to feel miserable?”

And the answer I found quickly, because not that deep inside of me, I knew it already. Feeling miserable is a way of setting myself as a victim in whatever I do feel miserable for. And as such (a victim) I can expect people whom I relate with in said situation to expect less of me.

I lack the self confidence to dare go through a situation ( I use this word too much, I suggest you suggest me a fitting replacement for it) I rate as “possibly tricky” without the safety net of at least hoping that people will go easy on judging me, because, well, “he’s the victim in this story”

So I fake a lot of things, or at least enhance flaws I have, to make sure I won’t be asked/expected to succeed in fields I don’t excell in. Most people I know probably think I’m the weakest guy they know, that I’m always dead tired which hopefully wasn’t too hard to “fake” lately, that I rejected all form of manliness in my way of being, that I can’t take a decision, etc… All this because if I acted naturally I’m not totally sure I wouldn’t disappoint people I like, and this idea I can’t stand.

Let’s not be caricatural though, to some extent, I do “allow” myselfto let out some uncontrolled and possibly disappointing behavior, mainly because since I’m not perfect, I can’t keep a constant monitoring of the way I “have” people judge me, and it’s certainly for the best. And then again, the monitoring rule applies only for at least “possibly tricky” type situations, and since I’m awesome, most situations* (*help me T_T) are “piece of cake” rated… yeah baby…erm…

This thing also affects the way I speak. When I mean to say something important/smart/funny, and feel unsure about the way it will come out, I make it sound partly ununderstandable/insignificant, and therefore got me the reputation of eating my words/not speaking clearly. It became even more obvious to me when I realised that when I drink a bit, alcohol that is, I speak way better, my lack of confidence being tackled by the “reduced inhibition” factor of alcohol. Of course it’s only true when I drink a bit, when ingested in sufficient amount, over “a bit” that is, alcohol does to me what it does to everyone. I stutter, I speak absolute non-sense in languages the very existence of which is highly questionnable, etc… I kiss people… too…

Yay! Question solved! I rock! I still have to deal with the issue itself, and that won’t happen today, so wait and read. I get the feeling that it won’t take too long, I feel like I’m getting old and wise enough to evolve in the right direction.

World! Beware! Get ready to have me disappoint the moon-walking pants out of you! Soon!

…Not…now…though…hum…

I felt great, ’till yesterday, when I realised I was one bastard of a son, sort of.

BTW, do you have time right now? Because this might take long, I am here, now, about to attempt to expose two of my most majorestest issues. Yes, they’re that important. They’re issues that determined and/or will determine where I went and where I might go. No, not geographically speaking. So… grab a glass of something you like, make yourself confortable, and get to it, there’s a lot of reading ahead…

Here I go:

I suck at staying in touch, like, hard. And life puts you in positions where “staying in touch” is the only thing you have at hand to keep a friendship, or any relationship going. Bitch. I lost friends, people that touched my life, changed me, because I wasn’t able to give this phone call, send this e-mail, or simply pass by and say hello. It’s not that I don’t care, really, it’s more that I have no idea how to do it.

“Dumbass, grab the phone and just fuckin’ do it”

I know, I do, I try, but it’s not that easy to me, nothing is that easy to me, I have to think about everything, overthink, uberoverthink, because I can, and because I feel like I have the responsability to. “greater power means greater responsibilities” that kinda crap. Even crappier as I’m nothing near a genius, but I got used to think about what most people manage to just do, I don’t know how… So anyway, here I am, it’s very hard for me to do anything without thinking about its possible outcomes, good or bad, mostly when it comes to social interactions BTW, don’t think I can’t fry an egg without pondering on the meaning of life for half an hour before.

Although it’s true I can’t fry an egg, but it’s out of clumsiness… and I got the meaning of life figured out…

So… hum… oh yeah, overthinking the possible outcomes of social interactions, not being able to stay in touch. I guess in the end, it’s the possiblity of being rejected by people I haven’t seen in a while that keeps me from attempting to create contact. I do know in most cases, it’s the less plausible reaéction, seeing as they’re people that are supposed to like me, you know, friends. But still, what if I had left them with a bad impression last time? What if they had forgotten about me? Replaced me by some other friend they’d have met meanwhile? what if…

So anyway, I suck at staying in touch. And I’ve been on this tiny island for a month, away from citytownville, my hometown. And of course I haven’t given news to anyone, except for the exceptions, but they’re exceptionnal, right? Besides, you have to know that I’m the last baby bird in that nest called home. So two days ago, I got a phone call from mommy bird. “I just want news, I miss you, is that so hard to just give a phone call?” said she, and that I was both alright and sorry I replied.

Guilt kicked in. I didn’t mean to make her feel bad, I’m sorry, sorry…

Then anger took over. I don’t owe her anything. It’s not right. She doesn’t have a right to do that to me. I was fine for fuck sake, for the first time in months! I know she probably didn’t consciously mean to make me feel bad, I guess she just didn’t think about it. But it’s not ok. She has responsibilities over me, carelessness is not an option. I know it sounds unfair and unsensitive, but it’s not, she owes me…

“wow wow, where does that come from Ed? What do you mean ’she owes me’, she gave you life FFS!”

Thank you for asking, that’s the point I’ve been trying to get to. ‘Gave me life’ uh?’ Or did she? I wouldn’t dare trying to challenge the fact that my parents are indeed my biological genitors, nor that I owe them a huge part of what I am today. Yet, did they give anything? Ever wondered why do people have kids? like, really given it thoughts? The case of unwanted pregnancy is out, sorry pal, there, good boy, now scram! So, why do most parents decide to give birth?

Is it because they feel like sharing the beauty of the world with some other person? Bullshit, beyond the fact that the very existence of this beauty could be questionnable, people who are in no position to appreciate the ‘beauty of the world’ still have kids (dead-depressed people, people in countries torn apart by unspeakable wars, Hugh Jackman, etc…) Besides, if perfectly happy people felt like sharing, why not go pick those who need to be shown ‘how awesome the world is’, and share, the beauty, friggin’ happiness, mother fuckin’ allegria!!

“What about the natural order of things Ed? People are meant to have kids.”

Well, some don’t, does that make them any less natural?

“Kind of… I mean, I don’t know…”

No it fuckin’ doesn’t! If one can do something, then it’s natural, whatever might happen on this planet is fuckin’ natural, from rats banging one another, to nuclear warfare/winters/whatever, from Hugh Jackman to nanotechnologic brain-controlling devices plugged into some dolphin’s ass!! Humpf… sorry for yelling at ya, I got a bit over-excited… My point is, nothing, no one, and none of what us humans would ever do, could and won’t ever be out of the natural order of things, including erasing this entire system from the universe, and… Hugh Jackman… too… Pretending otherwise is putting us in another league than other species, I know it does make sense from most religions’ point of view (we got souls, they don’t…), but not from mine, sorry Ruppert, I know you’re a friend of buddy christ, and I won’t talk you out of it, but you have to understand that this blog is that of the most atheisticestest mother fucker you could possibly run into on this planet. I hope we’re still ok… So anyway, from my point of view, there is a natural order of things in this universe, but it doesn’t require you to procreate, nor to live in trees and be friends with birds, it doesn’t even require you to be nice to koala bears (although I require you to, I fuckin’ order you to, don’t fuck with koala bears >_<). It regulates itself no matter what, and allows you to do whatever might damn well please you, not having kids is part of it.

One more thing and I’ll get back to my main point: everything I just said doesn’t mean it’s cool to go postal on your annoying neighbour’s kids, or go rape a baboon. There is, on a lower scale, the human order of things which you have to follow if you want to avoid getting yelled at, getting your ass kicked, or be sent to jail, where you might well end up being raped like a baboon… Anyway, the human order of things doesn’t mind either that you might not give birth to the next generation of wannabé fucked-up baboon rapists, nor do the baboons…

Yay! back to my main point! n_n I’ll skip the next 2 or 3 possible fake reasons explaining why people have kids… no? I guess I could sum them up quickly… what do you think? ‘K, here I go:

-Because my parents expect me to.

You have parental issues, be a man, or a woman, deal with them, you don’t have to involve a child to make your mother stop yelling at you.

-Because it will strenghten the bond between me and my other half.

Alright… That’s part of the double sentimental lock technique in couple wrestling: You feel unsure about your couple’s future, so you make sure that when all “good” reasons for the two of you to stay together will be gone (loving, or even just remotely liking each other, having common interests etc…) your counterpart will be leashed to your ankle by 1. a wedding ring 2. a child who calls you “mummy and diddy” (yes, he might have pronounciation disorders…). Or the other way around (2 then 1). But what’s the point? wouldn’t it be better at the said breaking point to accept the obvious and go your separate ways? Yes it would…

-If everyone stopped procreating, the human specie would go extinguished!

So… tell me, why is it important for the human specie to keep on existing?

“because it’s the way things ought to be! it’s the natural order of… hum… ok you got me…”

I damn sure did get you! Besides, if our entire population had made up its mind and decided to stop procreating, it wouldn’t be the same as some cute turtle specie disappearing because they keep choking on plastic bags in touristic areas. It would be deliberate and accepted. Actually, I think it could even ben fun: every human on this planet ok with the idée of ending the specie after they’re gone, it would me the fuckin hugest party ever for like 90 years, nothing to lose, nothing to plan. Chaos, but in my opinion, a good one, sharing this ideal would help everyone to relate to one another… I could devellop more but that’s not my point. Anyway, extinguishing the specie, not the saddest idea that crossed my mind lately. I could argue too that protecting a specie is a silly idea, as a specie is nothing but a human-invented concept meant to make it easier to speak of each and every individual composing it put together. So, wanting to protect each and every individuals etc, could make sense, but in the discussed case, it would be a conscious decision of each and every of them… I feel like there’s more to say about that point, do not hesitate, readers, to put it to the test of your critics…

hum now… one more fake reason to justify procreation… hum… ‘voices told me to!’

yeah… right…

Anyway, what I’ve been trying to get to for pages now, is that the only real reason why people have babies, is that they feel like it, Darwin made us so, “we feel like having children”. We don’t have to.

“oh c’mon! Is that it? You could have just said it in the first place!”

technically yes, I could have, but I had to make it very clear, that it is ONLY on the parents shoulder’s that rest the resposibility of the birth of their child, and hence, every possible thing that the said child might do, say, run into, undergo, -insert here a limitless list of verbs describing events of someone’s life- in his life, everything up until the time he has a child himself, therefore kind of retro-actively supporting the decision of his parents to give birth, thereby losing the moral upper-hand he had over his genitors.

“Do you mean that if your kid’s an ass, you’re still responsible for everything bad he does?”

I mean that if he’s a fuckin mass murderer, you, parents, are the ones moralty condemns.

“That’s extreme…”

That’s flawless. Think about it: you can never know what your infant will turn out to be, healthy, good-looking, smart, or a disabled asthmatic fuck-faced moronic brat. As for what he will become, I’m not saying parents can’t do their best to bring up their offspring into well educated, dynamic, whatever, citizens. I’m saying, sometimes, the best parents’ best isn’t enough, I’m saying no one is strong enough to arm-wrestle life, some might want to believe they are, and in the end, most people manage to be alright, do alright with their children, and have them do the same for the next generation, it’s been that way for most people I know, including me. But still, you can’t deny that, as tiny as they might be if you manage to be in, or create a safe life environment for you and mini-you, odds that things might go horribly wrong still are. Admitting that, you admit that whenever someone decides to have a child, he gambles with the world’s randomness, and even though chances are good he might hit the jackpot, it’s still gambling…

“So what? You can’t take a little risk? Life is about taking risks man! If you risk nothing, you gain nothing!”

Dood, my third name is Risk, my second one Turkish delight for that matter, and the first one… well… Ed. But when one decides to play that game, one puts the risks on someone else’s (potential) life. The risks you take yourself are your own damn business, making someone else take risks for your own satisfaction is not right, it’s fuckin criminal…

To sum it all up, having children is making a bet no one should allow oneself to make. Since everybody does, they at least should act in consequence and accept whatever their babies might be. I’m not saying parents should give up educating and taking care of their kids (”well I did what you said, I just left him be” “but he was a new born FFS!” “yeah, I know, he died, that’s weird…” “Oo”). Educate the hell out of your kids! As long as your children are too young and immature to know better, you’re the boss, you need to give that child direction, tracks for him to start off in life. Once the track’s set though, let the train go, and accept that when it’s reached some other train station, he might want to head for some other town that the one you had planned for him in the first place, or even become a boat, or Hugh Jackman, shit happens. Once you child has reached a point where he does know better, you owe him to acknowledge it and stand back to give him space to devellop on his own. Besides, you have to admit that they’re aspects of one’s character that are beyond the reach of the best possible education, you have to let them be, not blindly try harder to get to them, you gambled man, you can’t blame what you got for not being what you expected… And if the consequences of such things happen to be bad for your little guy, help him deal with them… ‘nothing else you can or should do.

“Dood… I just realized, does all that mean you won’t have children yourself?”

I’m afraid so… I’m fuckin’ scared to death so… That’s what I meant when I said it was a life shaping issue to me, not just the rant of a pissed off teenager at his mommy. The worst part is, ever since I thought about all this, I also realised how much I wanted to become a father… let’s just say… much. I guess I could, allow myself to make a mistake once, even a huge one. But there are very few things that I want as much as becoming a father one day, and staying true to what I believe is one of them, actually, the only one I can think of on par with having a child. There are solutions to that little situation of mine, such as accepting to be mad at myself for picking one of those two things, hence dooming the other one to oblivion and nothingness, or adoption, which raises other problems, or brainwashing myself into forgetting one of the Two, or eating bananas, lots of them, which wouldn’t solve anything, but would certainly help numb the pain…

Anyway, I’m too young to torture myself with that crap yet, the time where I’ll have to make a choice will come soon enough. Although in a way, I suppose that having already done the thinking leaves memore time to assess the best possible choice, and since I mean not to deal with that choice lightly, time is welcome.

That’s it. I succesfully exposed two of the things that most bother me about myself. I can now, and certainly should put an end to this entry, which BTW has reached 9 or so hand-written pages. Thank you for reading if you did, nothing if you didn’t, for obvious reasons. Do not hesitate to comment if you feel like it… the usual. Oh! and thanks to Kaffi Barinn for giving me an awesome place to crash and write, and tasty cafe lattes to drink, if you ever happen to go in Reykjavik, Iceland, go there!

No Hugh Jackmans were harmed in the writting of this entry.

Erm… ok… you can go now….

I’m on a plane. And I’m done with her. ‘About time. I’ve been waiting for four hours in a noisy airport to catch this flight. And about 5 months to feel ready to let go. Never would I have survived this afternoon if it was not for Yepiyep’s company, we caught the same plane, we’re heading to the same place. She and I took different ways long ago, but ever since our routes had parted, I had been, consciously or not, trying not to get too far from Hers. Yepiyep is sleeping. I’m fully fuckin’ awake, at fuckin’ last. It’s a three hours flight to my sister’s place, she’s been living there for over a year now, I think she kinda fell in love with this tiny country a while ago, and ever since, she’s been coming back to it anytime she could. No chance of me coming back, fuck no. It seems like a nice place that island, plus I’m gonna work there, earn fuckin’ money, for the first time of my short yet relatively scarred existence. Her whereabout is just too fuckin’ hard to reach, and not that much of a nice place to stay at, ‘could have been, like, the nicest fuckin’ place in the universe, ‘could have, too bad. I got other things to do with my young and so full of potential life. like become a man for example, it’s not on my schedule yet though, or learn how to play bass, this’ll have to wait till I can afford one, or fall in love, again, if I ever happened to meet someone who, well, was to have me reach the so-called state. Things. Life.

I’ve opened my eyes, I’ve walked out the door, the clouds came tumbling down.

Bye bye. Good bye, I’ve tried. you know the rest… 

I’ve landed.

PS: I wrote that last night on a scrap of paper in the plane, hence the “I’m on a plane”. And sorry for saying fuck so much.

‘Owned’ said once a man, talking about me being in love, and he was right, but he didn’t know to what extent at the time…

I love Her, She doesn’t love me back, and that’s the end of it, check mate, I’ve had my king knocked down by this mighty queen, and all of his army with him. I might as well have kept playing guild wars, defeat is way easier to deal with in that game. And fuck! ‘the hell with the game comparison, for once this was no game, there was, there is something true about what I feel, say, scream and punch, I felt ready to devote my life to this other life I had ran into a few times ago, I still do. But She said no, that’s not the way She wants me, we started as friends, and friends we shall remain for this is Her will.

I don’t want to sound too offensive or sarcastic, ’cause that’s not the way I feel about Her, I’m just letting a bit of frustration out. She’s an amazing young lady, with almost all the qualities a man, err, lessay, a man like me to avoid becoming caricatural, could wish for, with the right amount of flaws in her character for her to be the, my, perfect woman. And beside her qualities, we had a kind of relationship that I really loved, I definitly was able to enjoy silent stares as those mentionned by mia wallace in pulp fiction, I feel confident, and strong and even handsome when I’m anywhere near Her, not to mention sex, indecently awesome, but err, kids might read this so…

I have to admit I had changed a bit lately, because I was in love and that She wasn’t there, and that I felt dead depressed about this. It did affect our chatting relationship, which was more important for the two of us than you’d think. It probably played a role in Her decision to get back to our previous sort of relationship. The other thing is that She doesn’t want to get involved in a love relationship for now, or at all, and that all I could speak about for a month is that I was dead in love and how much I missed Her, which I couldn’t help because that was also all I could think of for this period of time. The other element I’m thinking about to explain it all, is rooted to this inability of mine to be jealous. I do feel jealous, I mean, sometimes, a little bit, but not enough not to have said and meant what I told Her. Because I want Her to be happy, I told Her not to stop seeing this guy she had been flirting with for a while in liverpool, and encouraged Her to meet some other guy she had met over the net. Eventually, when realising, or stating to Herself that She was not in love with me, she faced this not-so-hard-to-make choice: the awesome liverpudlian guitar man she might be able to see any time, or the geek living over-sea, drowning in his own tears of despaired young man in love? I can’t and won’t blame Her for not being dumb and picking the first one. Besides, the man, the liverpudlian guitar-playing one, really is awesome, good looking, smart, funny, mature etc. I know that, I met him.

That brings me to the next point which is that I’m back from a week long trip to Her place in Liverpool, as a friend. I was really happy to spend time with her, that’s all I was asking for, I mean, after I accepted to forget about our love affair, and I got to do that, so yes, good news, that’s what I mean. I succeeded in not being too lover-ish, she succeeded in not getting upset when I failed. We’re friends, that’s great, I mean, honestly, I’m really glad about that, like, dead-fuckin-über glad. The “bad” part of it is that I’m more in love than ever, and that I’m not going to see Her before a very long time. The good part of that bad part is that I really gave up the idea of us being together and stuff, and that now I believe in a thing called love, so I’m really looking forward to the time when I’ll be able to “forget”Her and only consider ourselves as friends, and to meet other people, girls I mean, err…see what I mean…>__>

One final note, She’s probably going to read that entry sooner or later, and I suppose She might feel a bit ill at ease reading that so I apologize in advance, it had to be written, I had to tell the ruppert and sergei about all this, they have the right to know…

I love You, hag…

Never been in a fight man, I mean, not for real. Of course I’ve kicked a few kids when I was one myself, and of course I exchanged slaps with people my age in primary school, but not even that much, and ever since, I never really fought anyone physically, not with the intention to take him out for good.

That doesn’t mean that I’m not a violent person, I just put too much thought in any thing I do, and I would never throw myself in a fight without considering every other possible reaction to a situation in which I might have had the opportunity to kick someone’s ass, or/and get mine kicked in the process. Apparently I always found more peaceful alternatives, since, as mentionned in the last paragraph, my ass is still unkicked and my kicks never had to reach any asses.

So I wondered why, and I kind of answered that question in a previous entry, mainly because I was taught as a kid not to get in fights, because it was bad, and that it stuck with me until now, and because, that’s the part which I talked about in a previous entry, go check by yourself, now that I’m able to reckon what’s really good or bad, I try not to use my sword anyway, because I don’t want to draw the attention of those who have bigger, sharper swords. I’m not saying that I’m not a good fighter, I have no idea actually, but I get the impression that I wouldn’t suck too bad at brawling, that my sword could withstand that at least of the regular guy. But I’m not hot headed, so I keep my agressivity for later, as though I was saving something precious.

Lately I’ve been thinking of giving it a try, get in a fight, for some random reason, just to see how it feels,  and check if my fighting abilities are what I expect them to be. I don’t know if I’m gonna do it, I’m just thinking that it could be profitable, for my self-esteem, and my self-confidence. Not that I need any of both to raise or anything, I’m pretty happy with myself, and for a few years now, I haven’t felt threatened no matter how dark the back alley might have been, I feel like any monster that might pop out the shade, I can handle, these are fears that are punchable enough for me to feel confident about facing them…

And always avoiding fights is probably as silly as always resorting to them to solve problems, sometimes you have to put your pen away and cross funking iron with some people, because those who think with their swords won’t really be affected by your pen, no matter how efficient it might be. So if you wanna leave a message to this kind of person, it’d rather be painful, cuts and bruises, leave the ink alone…

There was a part I wanted to add about my fantasm of wanting to protect people, going to war against evil and stuff, the real one, not the beared one with hidden WMD’s, but it’s almost 4 in the funking morning, and I’m not quite sure I could go through more than a few sentences now, before it starts to become hard to understand. It’ll wait, just like the entries about love, life, being a teenager, and 48 other very interesting subjects…

I’m in love btw…

Oh boy, I was wrong, I had no idea, no funkin idea, who was I to dismiss love from the “me” equation the way I did, like I knew better than all these men and women who gave out their lives, made out new ones, lived through funkin hard ones, to feel it, for one more second, each second. And how I suddenly understand them, me, the skeptical me, now that it struck me like a hammer, no, like a hundred hammers, or just one, but an un-funkin-believably big one, the kind of hammer that you wouldn’t use to fix a door or something, cause it would crush the entire neighbourhood. Somehow love managed to hit me with that particular hammer, without crushing my bones and flesh to death, I just got shattered and kind of reformed in a way that really fits me. I wouldn’t say it’s a new me, I’m still the same person, but a part of my understanding of this world, particularly that of human feelings, got reorganised. Because boy, I’m in love, for real, without a doubt.

I first got to meet Her at the birthday party of one of our common friends this summer, and at the time, as for the next few months, I just knew Her as being this hot chick with whom I had got dead drunk one night. Months passed, as mentionned in the previous sentence, and then for some random reason I decided to add Her as a msn contact, I guess it was cause I was kinda bored at the time and that I supposed it would have felt kinda nice to fantasize about her while chatting a bit. The thing is, we didn’t manage to chat a bit, it got big, impressive, powerful, from the first second. Her mind really seemed like a hell of a match to mine, and I’m gonna have to show off a bit there, cause I have to say that I don’t get to meet people who give me that impression very often. So the chatting thing kept on going for a few weeks, a month maybe, and at some point I realized that She was all I could think of, I was really obsessed by Her online nickname, and everything it represented, I felt like I had found the perfect friend. Cause at the time, I really didn’t want to think about becoming more than friends, first She had a boyfriend, and then I didn’t want to put at risk our friendship because of some uncontrolled sexual pulsions.

We didn’t get to meet IRL before the christmas holydays, because She’s in Liverpool for this whole year, but anyway, we did meet, it was on the 27th of december, and by the 30th, we weren’t just friends anymore. She left the city where I live on the 6th of january, at 07:12 am, I was in love for a few days already at that moment, I had accepted it despite my previous convictions, and ever since I’ve been feeling kinda weird, I miss Her as hell, it’s un-funkin-bearable, not to be able to see Her, hold Her, kiss Her, do…other things with Her, not hearing Her voice, not feeling Her cold hands in mines, nor the softness of Her skin, not smelling Her hair when we hug, and so on…

Next stop for us, the 13th of february, I’ll be in Liverpool for 12 days, that means we’ll have to survive the 31 days that separate us from that tuesday morning, at the John Lennon Airport, together again. And that we’ll have to enjoy these 259 hours as much as we possibly can, I’m sure we will.

I’ll tell you more about what love is to me now, if inspiration comes, for now, I gotta catch some sleep.

 I just wrote the following text to answer this questions on Yahoo! answers: How can one be happy. And since I like what I just wrote, I’ll paste it here, and hand it to you, the thing is, it’s in french, so err, sorry to Sergei and Ruppert, I’ll translate it later, just for you n_n, to the rest of you who understand french, enjoy…

Allez, parce que c’est vous, je vous livre l’immense secret du sens de la vie.

Il n’y en a pas, nous existons à cause d’un obscur concours de circonstances qui aurait pu mener a bien d’autres choses que la terre, et l’univers, tel que nous les connaissons.

Quel rapport me direz vous ? Et bien maintenant que vous savez que vous n’avez pas de raisons d’etre sur cette terre, vous devez, ou du moins devriez, vous demander pourquoi vous y restez.
C’est simple, vous êtes ici tel un junky qui vit sa vie pourraxe en attendant son prochain fix, vous êtes accros.
A quoi ? Au Bonheur, sous toutes ses déclinaisons: plaisir, satisfaction, joie, confort, loukoums, etc…

La sélection naturelle nous a fait ainsi, nous vivons dans l’espoir que “demain sera un jour meilleur”, et nous nous accrochons a cette vie sans but parce que l’espoir subsiste toujours que vous ferez l’expérience de plus, ou de nouvelles périodes de Bonheur.

Une “bonne” vie, c’est une vie ou les périodes de Bonheur sont soit fréquente, soit intense, soit les deux. Une mauvaise vie l’inverse, facile a retenir :p

Pour être heureux, il faut donc identifier ce qui déclenche chez vous ce Bonheur, et faire en sorte d’y avoir accès le plus souvent possible, et de la manière la plus intense possible.

Attention cependant, comme pour toute drogue, nous nous accoutumons a l’usage d’une source particulière de Bonheur si on l’utilise trop souvent, et alors il faut augmenter les doses jusqu’a ce que ça ne soit plus possible, et que ça ne vous fasse plus d’effet. Diversifiez vos sources donc, et, quitte a vous frustrer, faites en usage avec parcimonie.

Voila, vous savez tout, soyez heureux maintenant…