“The sense of dislocation was sharpened by the presence, in the center of town, of a single major Western-style high-rise hotel, called the Jing Ling. It was anonymously grand conference-holding, revolving-bar-and-atrium-ridden modern hotel of the sort that generally I heartily dislike but suddenly it was like an oasis to us.” -Douglas Adams in Last Chance to See

Your sense of foreigner and friend is heavily dependent on your environment.

Imagine you live in a small neighborhood and are close friends with Amy and Jenna. All three of you attend the same school, and such spend copious amounts of time together each day. At school, they are your closest friends.

On weekends, you generally tend to hang out with James and Katie. Well, your whole crowd consists of ten people but you’re closest to those two. Katie has another close friend in the group and we’ll call her Angie.

Ordinarily, you don’t consider Angie a really close friend but you probably know a bit more about her than the other seven since she’s friends with your close friend. If you run into her when you’re with Katie, the two of you stop and chat for a few minutes. Katie might even invite her along, depending on what your plans are.

Without Katie, you probably wouldn’t talk to Angie for long, you might acknowledge her with a nod and pass by. Depending on how you feel about Angie, you might not even do that (though, I must say I consider that bad manners.)

Now let’s imagine you’re in Japan and you don’t know a soul. You’re walking down the street and you run into Angie. Assuming Angie hasn’t been a complete bitch to you, you’re quite likely to treat her as a long-lost friend on that crowded street. Relative to the current environment, you and Angie go way back.

I’m even willing to bet that if Jenna, your friend from school, runs into Angie they will treat each other as if they’re good friends. When surrounded by strangers a girl you’ve met once is a buddy.

In the case of Japan, a soul who speaks English or who’s from America might be enough to qualify someone as a friend.

So, as in most things, friendship is relative.

Previously? Humble vs Doormat.

The above sonnet is Sonnet 43 by Gaspara Stampa. She was influenced by the well known poet Petrarch.

Reading this poem reminded me of a pattern I frequently observed in my female friends since high school. For some reason most of my female friends were attracted to typical “bad boys” and quickly got bored with the nice, caring men who liked them. I never fully understood the fascination of the ‘bad’ but I noticed it with enough consistency that I can be sure Gaspara wasn’t the only one who suffered from this phenomenon.

It seems the nice men have a low dangerousness quotient and are therefore less interesting to be around. They often make great friends but are rarely ever picked as a potential boyfriend. Of course, choosing the guy who makes your life more challenging becomes a major hazard in the long term. Invariably the guy cheats on you, abuses you verbally or, worse, physically or just ups and leaves. If he didn’t do any of the above, he wouldn’t qualify as the dangerous and exciting partner to have.

Almost all of my friends were acutely aware of the stupidity of their decisions, but yet they kept making the same choice over and over again, falling to pieces at the end of each one.

I remember a friend who kept turning down really wonderful guys who were interested in her. Guys who cared about who she was and what her thoughts and feelings might be. Instead she’d go for the good-looking guy who chose her for her looks and never really cared about her words. For some inexplicable reason being with this guy would make her feel good about herself. Even if the guy drank too much and trashed her place, she was dating the cool guy and that’s all that mattered.

I’ve made a few misjudgments of character in my life, held on to people for a little too long but I can easily say I never went for the type who was obviously going to break my heart. I guess the biggest reason must be cause I was never really good looking enough to be chosen by such men and also cause I’m not really any fun: I don’t drink alcohol, I don’t smoke and I rarely dance. I’d much rather spend the night reading a book. So I guess in this case, it all worked out to my advantage as I ended up with the nice men and in durable relationships.

But I still don’t understand why a person would knowingly go for someone who is obviously going to be disappointing. Isn’t that sabotaging a relationship before it even begins?

Previously? Behind.

A man had left a Czech village to seek his fortune. Twenty-five years later, and now rich, he had returned with a wife and a child. His mother was running a hotel with his sister in the village where he’d been born. In order to surprise them, he had left his wife and child at another hotel and gone to see his mother, who didn’t recognize him when he walked in. As a joke he’d had the idea of taking a room. He had shown off his money. During the night his mother and his sister had beaten him to death with a hammer in order to rob him and had thrown his body in the river. The next morning the wife had come to the hotel and, without knowing it, gave away the traveler’s identity. The mother hanged herself. The sister threw herself down a well. I must have read that story a thousand times. on the one hand it wasn’t very likely. On the other, it was perfectly natural. Anyway, I thought the traveler pretty much deserved what he got and that you should never play games. – excerpt from Camus’s L’etranger.

Playing games is always dangerous.

At the beginning of my relationship with one of my boyfriends, I thought to surprise him for Valentine’s day. I ordered a rose through the college charity program, with the attached card reading, ‘happy valentines from a secret admirer.’ That evening I walked over to his place, quite proud of my sweet idea. He greeted me happily and we chatted for a while, but he never mentioned the rose. I finally broke down and asked him about it and he turned crimson.

He had thought it was someone else, and to not hurt me (or maybe to pursue the other person as well) he had decided in favor of not telling me about it. I, of course, got really upset and told him that he should never lie to me. He got mad thinking the entire idea had been a test to see if he’d be forthcoming or not. Which it wasn’t. I had merely tried to be exciting and sweet. Needless to say, I had failed miserably.

Since that day, I’ve been extra careful not to play games. I feel that honesty is the best policy in a relationship of any kind. If I don’t like someone what’s the point in my working so hard to make her feel otherwise? If my boyfriend is interested in seeing other women, why should we continue to date? If I feel the need to lie or make up truths to keep up a relationship, I’m afraid what we have is not a relationship.

So, with me, brutal facts are all you get. I won’t act like I like you if I don’t. When dating, I never did the ‘oh I should wait till he calls me first’ thing. If I like him, I’ll call him. If he likes me back, great, if not, oh well. I don’t have the time to waste on misunderstandings. I can’t keep track of how many days I need to wait till it’s appropriate for me to call. I can’t be bothered with thinking of good lies. I won’t act nice if you make me feel bad and I won’t act demure when I feel happy.

Life is too short to play games.

Previously? Fame and Fortune.

You’re always free to change your mind and choose a different future, or a different past. from Illusions by Richard Bach

Many years ago, I went through a Richard Bach stage. I read almost everything he wrote and devoured his thoughts. Until Jake’s parents ruined it for me, Jonathan Livingston Seagull was my favorite book.

After a while, I started to grow tired of his style and his ideas became less and less plausible. For some reason, the above quote always stuck in my mind. Obviously choosing a different future is no big whoop. Most people believe in the idea that they have the ability to change their future.

On the other hand, changing your past might require some more work. I’m not sure what exactly Richard Bach meant by that but here’s my interpretation:

What I call my past is a collection of memories my brain stores from events that I believe occurred. It’s pretty much proven that, in some cases, what we remember is an accurate version of the event and, in many cases, it’s not.

Most popular sayings tell you to forget the past and the future and concentrate on today. They claim you have no ability to change what has already occurred or what’s yet to come. But I disagree. I know that I don’t like the way I remember my past and I’ve decided I’m going to change it. Memory is selective and I’m electing to no longer remember things in their distorted way.

Almost everyone has some horror stories from their past. One kid was teased mercilessly, another beaten by bullies regularly, and yet another had to go through much more severe problems. Some of these people get hung up on their past and others move on. I don’t know how one ‘gets over’ it and the other doesn’t and I’ve always subscribed to the notion that if you’re the type who clings to the past, you can’t just ‘get over it’.

I am now changing my mind. I’ve decided to get over it. And I’m going to. Enough is enough. It’s time to stop holding on to the negative memories. It’s time to remember the good times, the kind people, the laughter. It’s time to move on and make new memories.

It’s time to let go.

Previously? Right Moment.

Dave Eggers has a great section on trust in his new appendix. It’s about halfway down the first page. He ends his little story with these words. The point is that trust is usually rewarded, even though trust is sometimes violated, horribly. Trust is fun. It is fun to trust strangers. It is fun to risk what you can reasonably risk – like, your car, or your reputation – on the trust of people you know only through something ephemeral shared, something like taste in books or cartoons, or having watched people suffer.

I couldn’t have put it better. I’ve always been trusting. For the longest time, I expected nothing less than kindness and good intentions. I spent my whole childhood being made fun of and singled out. Karen the weird one. Karen the ugly one. Karen the bookworm. I never fit in. I was blessed with conniving and cruel friends who took every opportunity to talk behind my back and make fun of me to my face. Yet I still didn’t lose my trust in the humankind.

I grew bitter and private. But finally I met people who appreciated me more and more. I came to the States and found people that even understood me. It became easier to trust people.

The thing is, if you don’t trust people, you’re not even giving them a chance. Assuming that people will disappoint you and let you down will only invite such people into your life. I think that when you give them the opportunity, people love to surprise you. Most people are too scared to trust. It’s too hard and too painful.

I believe we’re all born trusting and that somehow something happens that changes our mind about what the core of a person is. We become mistrusting, we become cynical, we become afraid. But you can’t run away from people. You can’t spend your life alone. You can’t give in to fear. This is your life and you need to take control and live as you please. Trust, in the right hands, has magical outcomes. Giving up on trust is like giving up on the humankind.

You might as well give up on life.

Start small. Risk things you can afford to. Let people amaze you.

Previously? Fighting.

Goody Links
The ever evolving Sign Language. [ via Swallowing Tacks ] I thought this was a real neat article showing how fascinating ASL is and how it keeps improving itself to adhere to the times. Since sign language is quite conceptual, it makes perfect sense.

Steven Champeon of a jaundiced eye quotes from Justice Steven’s dissent. You can read the entire opinion here.

If you ever thought there was such a thing as private email, think again. Yum or not, it probably wasn’t meant to be distributed. [ via MetaFilter ]

This Time Magazine cover made my day! Even if it’s a total fake. [ via CamWorld ]

Thoughts
I write fiction.

You might not be able to tell from the quality (or lack thereof) of these posts but I do write fiction. I’m currently in the process of writing a novel.

This morning, at my physical therapist’s, I realized two things. One, I’m in the wrong profession for getting juicy tidbits of other people’s lives. Two, it’s amazing what people are willing to tell a physical therapist.

There seem to be quite a few people to whom we don’t mind telling intricate stories about our life. Besides the physical therapist, there is the hairdresser, manicurist, dietician, personal trainer, dry cleaner, masseur… Most of these people are consistently in your life but for only small periods at a time.

This morning as I lay in a curtained-away table with a small electrical rod massaging my lower back, this guy in the section next to mine started talking in detail about his job to his therapist. Two interesting facts: I could hear every word and he worked in the same company as I did. As this person started divulging more and more information about his job, I felt like getting up and telling him that I was sure he didn’t want me to know this information. Last week the same thing happened to me with another therapy patient talking all about her life, but she didn’t work in my firm so it was less relevant.

The morning’s session got me thinking about how we tend to share information with people whom we barely know. I can recall many manicure sessions where another client would talk about her bitchy mother or how she was a week away from quitting but was just waiting to receive her yearend bonus. Amazing how much we’re willing to share when we think there is no way the information can be repeated to someone in our work or personal environment.

I was thinking how this therapist must have millions of little stories in his head from all the patients he sees. Considering the fact that he has three appointments an hour and works a twelve-hour day, he’s got a minimum of 35 stories every day. Even if over half of his patients are totally silent and half of the rest are boring, we end up with at least 8 stories a day. I guarantee that’s more than what I hear as a computer programmer.

Methinks it’s definitely time for a career change. Any recommendations?

Previously?