Nomad

Industrialized nations are so fixated on a structure of living that includes a "home"--and not of the gushy home-is-where-your-heart-is sort, but of the physical, immobile, permanant residency. Agricultural luck and fluid trade patterns have permitted our societies to become stationary, and develop academia, traditions, and  a vast array of technology. Societies at rest tend to stay at rest, and momentum is conserved.

It is in our flourishing societies that the nomad is alienated. The homeless are outcasts, regardless of how they  resulted in their situation. A traveler's lifestyle is considered unsustainable, even reckless. It is too common for people to not only be fluent in a single language, but also understand and empathize with a single mindset.

In a society such as the above, I have found myself without a "home".

Sure, I have places I'm "staying". For the past year, in student housing at Georgia Tech. For the next week or so, at my parent's home in Texas. After that, South Korea for awhile. I'll probably hit up Thailand, China, Taiwan, Cambodia, Japan, and/or Vietnam. And then, who knows where I'll be. I'm at that stage in my life in which I'm constantly barely sure about what I'll be doing in a month.

Frequently, I've found myself feeling empty, as I have no concept of where or what "home" is. And honestly, I think I'm lusting for something that even nomadic cultures had--a group identity. I am alone, yet surrounded by people. Out of a fear of being caged, I have lost any sense of belonging. Disagreement has rendered me into solitude, or independence, contingent on your perspective.

So I'll wander, and I'll search for my own identity, and I'll learn. Perhaps I'll return to or stumble apon a someone or a group of people with whom I find home. Or maybe I won't. Independence isn't so bad.

Anecdotes from the Owner of a Closeted Identity

Kids freak me out a little bit. I enjoy admiring them from a distance, especially if they have chubby cheeks (the correlation between the amount of intensity with which I stare at a child and the chubbiness of their cheeks is exponential), yet I'm afraid to be around them, out of fear that I may adversely affect their system of values and identity. The thing about children is that they are initially pure bursts of self-defined identity, practically unadulterated by culture, upbringing, dogma, media, or any of that fun stuff that makes us who we are. As children, we are highly malleable and easily manipulated, but we are the rawest versions of ourselves. As we grow older, we become more ingrained in the many variables that shape our being, until we are shoved out into the "real world" to expose ourselves to the things from which we desire exposure and reshape our identity, often resulting in a return to something resembling our natural being.

However, those old influences--the ones that surrounded us as we gradually shifted from innocently smashing over Lego towers to cramming for our SATs--they don't change like we do. After we go through that stereotypical collegiate identity crisis (or perhaps a rebellion from cultural values in our earlier youth), we return to our old stomping grounds and find that nothing has changed. Before, we conformed to social norms and the values by which we were raised, or at least we feigned the appearance of it alarmingly well. Perhaps we conformed to preserve some silly social reputation, or perhaps we conformed out of fear for our own safety. When we face our upbringing as changed men, women, or whatever combination we call ourselves, we may face it in opposition. And that's pretty brutal. 


I suppose at this point, I'll stop speak in vague pronouns and discuss myself in particular. I change an awful lot. The person I am today is not the same person I was a year ago, and the person I was a year ago is not the same person I was the year prior to that. And that is perfectly okay. 


My high school English teacher referred me to a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson which defines much of my philosophy--or at least, the meta-aspect of how my philosophy is influenced: 


"With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day. — 'Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.' — Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood." (Self-Reliance)


The day I read Self-Reliance was the day I realized that it is not a bad thing to live a "flighty" lifestyle and to let myself be influenced by my shifting surroundings. Who I am today is just as awesome as who I was four years ago, albeit completely different women. 


However, the cultural upbringing from which I fled? It doesn't agree. To the influences of my childhood, I am a "lost sheep", a "prodigal son". I am "going through a phase". To the influences of my childhood, I am forced to hide every realization I've had over the last year--about religion, about sexuality, about morality, and about how I feel about myself. I do not want to be a part of a society that shames individuals for their identity, particularly when there is absolutely nothing wrong with the way individuals identify themselves. Here's the thing about identity: it belongs to the individual. It aligns with the moral code of the individual. And by the inherent nature of moral codes, there is nothing wrong with having a different moral code than the norm or any other individual. Because, guess what? Moral codes are defined by the individual. Sure, the individual can choose to adopt a common moral code, but that does not decrease the ownership by the individual of the system of values that person has chosen to adopt. As long as moral codes rest on differing premises (as practically all of them do), any discrepancy between them cannot be necessarily faulted--only in corrupt logic is it possible for a system of values to be corrupt. But it is up to the owner of that system of values to identify the flawed logic in the system and amend (or not amend) the moral code accordingly. Additionally, there is a difference between an opposing moral code and a lack of a moral code--the latter of which is virtually impossible to any sentient being. 


In about three weeks, I'm heading back to my home town. Consequently, I'm ironing my habitual cussing out of my vocabulary (although cuss words are largely arbitrarily founded and their omission discredits human sexuality). I will be forced by fear to remain silent about my opinions on who I'm attracted to, if I care about who other people are attracted to, what women are or aren't allowed to do with their bodies, what constitutes marriage,   how I understand the world to operate, how I understand myself to operate, and how much I love the way I am. By the way, the fact that I am imposing this on myself is absolutely ridiculous and stupid--there is nothing fundamentally wrong about any aspect of my identity (nor is there anything fundamentally wrong about any aspect of anyone's identity). The fact that I have to feign shamefulness of who I have grown to become, or rather, who I am, is shameful in and of itself. 


Here's what I want to see happen in the world: I want people not to be criticized for their identity, but rather how they treat the identity of others. I want moral codes not to be evaluated not on their premises or conclusions, but rather, on their logic. And I want to go home, and tell everyone I love and hate exactly who I am and be just as safe and respected before and after. 

The Airplane Regimen

As a collegiate attending an out-of-state school, I travel quite a bit. Ergo, I deal with airports, airplanes, and their associated quirks relatively frequently. As an introvert, I'm fascinated and unnerved by the social aspect of air travel.

Even in terrestrial life, I'm a creature of habit. I eat practically the same thing every day, follow numerous written and unwritten regimens. In addition, nearly everything I do is thoroughly documented, whether it be on twitter, or in my own private journals--I have a constant awareness of what I'm thinking, what I'm doing, and alternate things I could be doing.

Flight only heightens this.

• I always purchase an orange juice before flight. If I'm hungry prior, I eat crappy noodles from the "Chinese" place.
• At the gate, I sit 2-3 places away from the most good-looking person of the opposite sex present. It derives from a rather ridiculous fear that the entirety of humanity will be wiped from existence, save the people on my airplane, that my flight will land in a place isolated from the rest of humanity, or some other scenario that forces the people on my flight to form a new civilization, and thus, repopulate. I do this on the first day of a new class, as well. If I have to help sustain the human race, I'm damn well going to call "dibs". (Luckily, this time, I ended up sitting next to him in-flight. He was a Forestry graduate student with a rad beard (but would have looked way better sans beard) who spun poi. In a post-apocalyptic world, we would have made beautiful, intelligent, quirky children.)
• If I have a window seat (which I prefer), the window is up until we're above the clouds, at which point, the window is down.
• I pointlessly wish to myself, "No small children, no small children, no small children..." while boarding.
• I always drink ginger ale. I actually don't like carbonated drinks. Except for ginger ale. But only on airplanes.
• I go to the bathroom immediately after getting off the plane. Even if I don't actually need to. I'll just go in, wash my hands, and leave.

These are the things that I do when faced with a dense mass of people.

Nevertheless, a Bird

I saw a moth the other day. I suppose, for a moth, it was rather average in appearance. However, moths are not average creatures. Moths tend to be well-camouflaged, yet when they are out-of-place, when they are lost, when they are without their comfort of bark and dark surfaces, moths are most noticed, and furthermore, most beautiful.

At the time, I was of the opinion that this moth was exceptionally beautiful, for it was also exceptionally out of place. I saw it in a corridor, in an entryway, in an in-between point between the dangers of the outside and the confinements of the inside. In a way, a world between woods of sorts. The moth, in what it perceived to not be a solid state of location, was absolutely alien to its environment.

As I encountered it, I said to the moth, "You are a rather beautiful moth."

The moth replied to me, "I am just the same as all of the other moths, I suppose."

"But," I said, "I do not see the other moths here. Why, may I ask, are you here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" The moth flitted from one side of the hall to the other. "I am a moth, I have wings, the door was open. And so, I flew into this hall."

"Are you much happier here than you were outside?" I asked the moth.

The moth responded, "There were many predators outside. I was very afraid."

"Is that what you want from life, moth? Freedom from predators?"

"I suppose that would be nice, yes."

I nodded, and bid the moth farewell, only to return after a period of time. For me, a rather brief period; for the moth, quite a long disparity of time.

The moth, when I returned, was resting on the wall, wings weathered and permitting of little flight.

"Hello, moth," I said.

The moth had little capacity to respond.

"Are you happy here, moth?"

"There are predators here as well," replied the moth.

"Of course there are. There are predators everywhere."

The moth let out a sigh that was quite significant for a moth. "I am not happy."

"Would you like to go outside, moth?"

"I want to escape," said the moth.

"Do you feel as if you will find escape outside?"

"Perhaps," was the moth's reply.

And so I carried the moth outside, setting it on a bench. And in front of my eyes, the moth was eaten by a bird. A very pretty bird, but nevertheless, a bird.

Preserving Emotion

Lately, I've been really happy. As you may notice by my use of the word "happy", this is more of an informal than the usual material on the blog. No prose, nor poetry, nor essays.

No, my friend, this post is so that I never forget how supremely happy I am at this moment. My memory may be depriving every previous happy moment of my life of its glory, but I really do think I can honestly say that this is the happiest moment of my life. However, years or months or weeks or days from now, I won't be able to recall my exact state of happiness. Consider this a virtual Stonehenge of my emotional state.

The thing about this moment of happiness is that it was unprovoked. It was not triggered by a single substantial even. Instead, an accumulation of "little things"** accounts for my joy. I can't even list every little reason why I feel like hugging every thing that moves. But I can definitely try.

1. I spent hours doing nothing in the dining hall on Saturday with one of my best friends in the entire world. She's wonderful. She's probably the most substantiating catalyst for my happiness.
2. I can say I have multiple best friends. I usually tend to fixate on one person, but I have several people who are incredibly near to me.
3. I got my nook back. Honestly, I'm not a big fan of the piece of crap, but I use a friend's server to download the New York Times every day. And then, I feel less apathetic than I did whilst living in the ironic bubble of higher education. And also, I get awesome conversation every time I get the paper. And by awesome conversation, I mean exposure to current memes.
4. I went to the mall with three friends. And we freaked out about cable-knit sweaters. Sweaters are beautiful vestiges. And I got gloves. From the men's section. I feel rebellious when I wear items sold in the men's section.
5. Saturday night, about 15-20 people from my dorm watched Zombieland together. It's such a wonderful movie. And then, we went outside and bearhugged. Not around our thighs, mind you. And when it was too cold, we came back inside, and played "Would You Rather". And then we shared secretzzzz.
6. I went to sleep. Naked. Because my roommate wasn't there. I mean, I love my roommate to death. But nakedness is wonderful.
7. I skyped with my little brother. My brother is my favorite person in the world, no question.
8. I skyped with my best friend from home. Who is evidently crocheting me something. But I really don't care because I just love talking to her and spending time with her.
9. I got paid $80. That's like 20-30 meals. Or ~32 MARTA rides. Or 3-4 concerts. Or half of a textbook.
10. I had intellectually-stimulating conversation about the value of life. My intellect was stimulated.

I really do not want to forget exactly how I feel right now. I just want to package my emotions in a bottle and seal it tightly so that when I want to feel this happy, the fizz won't fall flat. I also want to dance.

Oh. Also, I love you. Unless you're one of the three people in the world that I hate with a burning passion. But, I mean, statistically, it's unlikely that you are. So I probably love you. Consider this a virtual hug.

** Pardon my ripping off Zombieland.

Reflecting Pool

Airplane, 10/14/11

In the pool of diversity

I looked at my reflection

and saw

how shallow I was.

But first

I saw the child on a leash

all the women I swore to myself

were less attractive

the girl with the rainbow-hued hair

and her boyfriend in camouflage

the woman whose eyes didn't quite align.

I saw the man--

if you would even call it that--

wit the skin melting off his face,

one arm a prosthetic hook

and the other, severed knobs.

I saw his hair--straw, false, doll-like

eyes that had deteriorated into salmon-colored beads.

My first thought:

not human

alien

dangerous, soulless.

And as I secretly prayed

to the god I don't have

that I would not be forced into contact with that man,

I realized

I am the one who is

not human

Shit Just Got Real

Fuck. Bitch. Shit. Tits. Cunt.**

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about cuss words and the role they play in our lives--how they came to be, the morality of them, their role in humanity. From my thoughts, I've come to a few conclusions.

1. They are almost always monosyllabic. Other than combinations, the only two cuss words I can think of with more than one syllable are "nigger" and "bastard". The simple harshness and tendency to focus around "ih" (as in: "bitch", "shit", "tits", "piss") and "uh" (as in: "fuck", "cunt") with fricative, non-voiced consonants are most likely the causes for certain words being labeled as cuss words, as opposed to their alternatives. Take for example, "cunt". It just sounds more cut-throat than "vagina". Similarly, "shit" is more harsh than "feces" or "poop", and "tits" is much more derogatory than "breasts". Which leads me to conclude that:
2. The value of a cuss word is not in its meaning, but its phonetics. "Shit" means the exact same thing as "dung". So why is one taboo? Why is one more derogatory than the other? Why do we have a double-standard for language? Honestly, I'm not an expert on etymology--I can't explain to you how denotation and connotation formed around certain forms of human expression. However, I can tell you:
3. It is connotation that is taboo, not denotation. "Shit" is fricative. "Shit" is insulting. "Shit" is bleeped out on radio and television. "Shit" does not have the same connotation as "poop", in spite of their mutual definition. Don't get me wrong, an underlying taboo definition needs to exist in order for something to be labeled as a cuss word. Although phonetically, "pick" would be a wonderful insult, it is not and never will be because it does not mean anything with the potential to insult. Similarly, "shunt", although it sounds like a cuss word, will never be anything other than a mechanism for turning or thrusting aside. Because cuss words are inherently based on connotation, and not all cuss words have a denotation that is "bad", I analyzed my personal moral code and system of ethics and concluded that:
4. Not all cuss words are "bad". I've been doing a lot of analysis on my moral code--where I derive my system of ethics. After an immense amount of thought, I realize that my morality is contingent on survival, justice, and the pursuit of things that make me happy. As long as it is not an infringement on those three tenants, I see no reason why I should exclude a word from my language. The point of using a cuss word in diction is to make a point, to draw attention to an idea, and to offend. There are points that I need to make, ideas that need to be attended to, and very rarely, people that are so offensive to my happiness and justice that they need to receive offense. However, it should be noted that:
5. Some cuss words are "bad". Some cuss words do infringe on justice. Namely, cuss words that discriminate on a group of people based on things outside their control. "Fag" and "nigger" are absolutely unacceptable. Under no circumstances, except perhaps in quotation as I use them in this blog post would I ever use either of those words because race, gender, and sexuality are not causes for insult. It. Is. Not. Just. That said,
6. Censorship creates cuss words. Censorship gives a connotation to the denotation and separates humanity from animals. Language, and the exclusion of it, represents each individual's ethical complex, whether it be based in aspects of society, religion, survival, or in some place the individual cannot identify.
7. Human expression is humanity. In depriving people of their media of expression, people are deprived of the very thing that makes them human. If you deprive a cuss word of its denotation, you deprive words of their expression. They only convey a small part of the entire idea. In 1984, how were the masses controlled? Through control of language in Newspeak's simplification. Yes, cuss words are harsh. They are insulting. They are absolutely offensive. But without the potential to be harsh, insulting, or offensive, we would not have the potential to be human.
8. Language is incredibly beautiful and diverse. There are many more ways to dish out an insult or make a point than using conventional cuss words. "Impudent stumpet". "Where will thou find a cavern dark enough to mask thy monstrous visage?" Biting your thumb. Cuss words, for the most part, are beautiful and defining. But as far as insults go, your options aren't limited. Take a cue from Shakespeare if you're stumped.

I really appreciate you taking the time to read this, and I'm interested in your thoughts on profanity, so leave them in the comments. Also, I fucking love you.

**Sorry if you just read that, Mom and Dad... I haven't gone off the deep end, I'm just making a moral statement. And I promise that outside this blog post, I'm much more likely to use a Shakespearean insult than a modern cuss word.