A step in learning to be happy despite others' unhappiness?

Sometimes, I just wish I could make people happy. Not cause them to be happy. But just will them to be happy. Or at least not so sad or angry.

Before you say anything, I already know and accept that I can't control others. I can only do so much for others. Their happiness really depends on them. I just try my best to share and encourage some happy and positive vibes with them. I get that. It doesn't mean I never get to a point where I just want things to be easy. Or simple. I just want to turn off their pain. If I could, I would take on their burdens if it guaranteed that they would never feel so hurt or hopeless again. But I know that's impossible. I can't control how they feel.

Sometimes, people hurt others intentionally. Sometimes, people try to help, but they end up causing hurt instead. What ensues sometimes is retaliation or revenge. One person gets hurt; that person gets back at the person who hurt them, in some way that is equal to or greater than what was done to them. Most of the time, we hurt others because we are hurt. We don't necessarily want to hurt people just to hurt them. But we don't want to be the only ones hurting. Maybe we want to punish. Some part of us feels like we deserve to cause them just as much pain. We want them to be as unhappy as they have made us. But if we have any ounce of empathy in us, causing unhappiness doesn't create happiness. If anything, it just causes more unhappiness within us. But in the heat of the moment, or the two years that we hold onto that grudge, we feel like it's our right to make things equally painful.

But that doesn't solve or fix anything. We're just trying to add hurt and pain to the situation. We might not see or acknowledge it, but we're adding that hurt and pain to ourselves as well because we don't take the time to heal ourselves. Too busy focusing on the belief that we were hurt and someone else deserves the hurt we were given. Pain doesn't need to be added or transferred; we can just let it dissipate, can't we? We can dissolve it through better means, can't we?

We're hurt, but we won't heal ourselves. How do we heal ourselves? I don't know. But I'm pretty sure antagonizing others, hurting others, and retaliating don't have any healing properties. Nor does dwelling in our unhappiness and pain. We shouldn't let it fester, as easy as it is to just let or make the pain stay.

Sometimes, I wonder what's the point of being happy if I'm going to eventually become unhappy anyway. Sometimes, I wonder what's the point of being unhappy if I'm going to eventually become happy anyway. I figure life just likes to take me on an endless roller coaster ride. And I'll keep on riding past the point when I learn that the drops are just a part of the course. Not meant to hurt or kill me. Just meant to keep me awake and aware, maybe a little scared. And prepared for the next drop. And looking forward to the ascents, the scenic over-the-park views, the twists, the loops, and the sudden jerks. I'm trying to see this as a fun ride. At first, I usually don't. But gradually, when I get used to it, it does feel worthwhile despite the terrifying drops. Life, I mean. Roller coasters, too.

We can't control what life throws at us. But to a certain extent, we can control our reactions and make our choices. I'm trying to remember that. I'm also trying to remember that others don't think like I do. Nor do they have to, despite how much I want them to. For me personally, I'm trying to see that life isn't against me. People aren't against me, even if certain actions may indicate otherwise. Life is just a gigantic mess of chain events that lead to the current moment. I'll deal with the moment and try to be happy that I can be a small, influential dot in the gigantic mess. (That actually does kinda make me happy.)


I don't know what it is today. Nothing happened. It was just another day. I didn't really talk to anyone, only family. I'm almost done reading Ender's Game. Maybe that's affected my emotions.

Today, I just wanted people to be happy. Truly and completely happy. It's too much to ask of people who don't really know how to create their own happiness. We have such a limited understanding of our own personal happiness.

I don't even know sometimes. But I do know. Really simple things make me happy. Family, friends, just their silent presence in my vicinity or in my mind. My solitude, my imagination. All of these just seem so simple, even when they aren't.

Solving sudoku and crossword puzzles make me happy too. Jigsaw puzzles are pretty awesome. Yeah.

I just wanted to feel better.

I finally started to feel better today. Then Brother had to go and ruin my lifting mood.

At work, I was on autopilot. Didn't really talk to anyone. Though, my trainer had the new hire shadow me, so I had to talk to her for a bit. Mainly just kept to myself, trying to not think about Rahul. That failed. Had a good cry in my car during my lunch break.

I felt a lot better when I got home from work. I actually felt it.

I went to Brother and Karina's place to eat dinner, as is my routine for most Mondays, and to share with them this calm I've found myself in today. Their landlord brought an electrician over to try to fix the outlets in their room because half of them stopped working. Karina and I sat outside on the steps with Dexter (their dog) for maybe ten minutes before we heard Brother scream, "Fuck you!" and the electrician reply with "Fuck you, motherfucker!" What followed were a string of things from both sides that vaguely sounded like "Come at me, bro!" except with much more anger and hatred.

I feared that there would be a fight right then and there. The electrician walked out of their room, yelling for Brother to come at him. Brother yelled the same things at him but at the same time telling him to get the fuck out. Eventually, the electrician left. This left Brother yelling and swearing at his landlord for "fucking up [his] house." I laugh bitterly at that because it's actually the landlord's house. The landlord could kick him out, which I think would have been a wise decision on the landlord's part a long time ago. Or maybe he's used to angry people. He offered to help clean up the mess the electrician made of the room. It wasn't that big of a mess. The electrician broke some eggs, which had fallen out of the fridge when he moved it out of the way of the outlet to test it. Brother didn't understand why things had to be moved out of the way for the electrician to reach all of the outlets. The electrician probably got impatient with Brother breathing down his neck and got sarcastic with Brother, which prompted the initial "Fuck you."

It was an explosive situation. Dexter was terrified. Well, he had been terrified when the two strange men first walked into the room. Maybe he smelled trouble before we heard it.

I feel like I've been in a relatively fragile state lately, which would explain why I started crying when I heard the yelling. I couldn't really understand why I was crying. I think a part of my brain thought, "Brother will die early because of his stupidity and anger. He could die tonight." I honestly believe that if he dies from non-natural causes, it would very likely be caused by his short fuse. He'll piss off the wrong person. That person will have a gun or a knife and come after him. Or worse, come after someone Brother cares about, like Karina or his soon-to-be daughter. I don't know why he never thinks about the consequences of anything he does. Anything could happen. We don't know anything about the electrician; what if he's a vindictive person? What if his vindictiveness makes him come back and do something worse than swear at Brother?

Does Brother not realize that much of the "bad luck" he's had in his life has been a result of his own folly? DUIs, his fault. Car accidents while under the influence, his fault. Incarceration several times, his fault. Fights, plenty of which he instigated. Enemies, some of which he created by being an asshole. His current living situation, his doing. Yet, he's so mad at everyone else in this fucking world.

After the landlord left, I had to leave. I couldn't stay. I lost my appetite. I was scared. I was angry too. When I got in my car, Karina brought out my food. I thanked her for it. I worry about her. She's pregnant, and she's still gotta deal with Brother's explosive behavior. I can't imagine the stress that it adds to her pregnancy. Is this the first thing that their daughter is going to remember from her childhood, an uncontrollably angry father?

Karina apologized for Brother's behavior. She doesn't need to apologize. But if she doesn't, who would? Who cares? Brother apologizes all the time, but he doesn't mean it. If he meant it, he'd try to change. Sure, he apologizes because later on he feels guilty for how shit went down. If he would just stop and think, if he would just learn how to control his anger, he wouldn't end up situations that make him feel guilty, and he wouldn't have to apologize all the time. If he would actually try to become the person he wants to be, he would never have to apologize for anything.

Aahhhh! I was feeling so calm earlier. So much happier than I've been the past few days. Now my body is swinging between anger, frustration, and sadness. I was so hoping to finally get some good sleep tonight; now I'm just too upset. And I know I'm going to get hungry, but I don't want to eat. But I need to eat. I just want some fucking peace in my mind.

There's a quote on a mug somewhere: "Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart."

I want that. That kind of peace. Question: How do I calm down my heart? It's been racing on and off for days.

Rest In Peace, Rahul.

Today, (technically yesterday now) after work, I found out from Shiva that a past friend from college committed suicide. I logged onto Facebook to see if there was anything else. It happened a few weeks ago. The handful of people that posted about Rahul's death all mentioned that they had a serious falling out with him years ago and regret or don't regret the events that took place between them. That's really all I know. And I probably won't hear anything else about it.

My initial reaction was shock, obviously. My brain refused to process it. My face started making that awkward smile that creeps up when my brain wants to be in disbelief. And when I couldn't fight it anymore, the sadness and tears came. The remorse too. But the remorse came slowly. Shiva even advised me about that before it ever occurred to me that I felt remorse. Even though I felt shock, I wasn't surprised. I don't think anyone was really surprised to hear the news.

We knew he was dealing with a lot of issues. We knew he was depressed. We knew he was angry. Many of us wrote him off as hateful and abrasive. He started ignoring us, cutting us off from his life. We didn't fight to stay in his life. I hadn't held a conversation with him for at least two years.

He was a good friend to me during the period that we still considered each other friends. He listened, and he gave me advice and pep talks. I did the same for him. We had fun together. He once told me that I was a good person, a good friend, someone who deserved the life she was granted. That meant a hell of a lot to me because he never really seemed to trust or believe in anybody.

This is where the remorse comes in: I should have tried harder with Rahul to be his friend. I knew he did listen to me at one point, for a while. But when he started cutting everyone I knew out of his life, I didn't bother to try to be there for him. I wrote him off too, based off of what everyone else said about the things he did to people. I didn't approve of the things he did, but he never did any of that to me. Now, I wonder if I could have at least made a tiny, positive difference in his life, if I had tried just a little bit.

A part of me just thought or maybe hoped that, one of these days, our paths would cross again, and we could pick up where we left off. And now he's left us, so that chance meeting isn't going to happen in this lifetime.

I know I'll eventually reconcile the remorse, but the weight of knowing that he's not here, that he felt so alone, feels like it's pressing down on me, reminding me that I could have done better. But I know Shiva and Vivi are right: We aren't the people we were when we knew him. We didn't know enough to help him then. If we had the knowledge and experiences we have today, we may have been able to help him and support him. We have to accept that the people we were then weren't ready or able to handle the issues that came up. Now, we can learn from it and hopefully be ready and able.

Sometimes, I just wish I was perfect. Perfect at reading people, interacting with them, helping them, making their lives better or at least much more bearable. But the best I can do is to try. I hope that it's enough.


In lighter news, I logged onto Facebook for the first time in about a year. I've been meaning to log in the past three weeks but just forgot or didn't feel like it. Rahul's death gave me a reason to log in. I stayed on and looked around. Read a few messages that I've missed. Looked at the friend requests. Looked at photos I've been tagged in. Kat uploaded three photos of me with my first fauxhawk haha. I miss that fauxhawk.

Last thing I did on Facebook was to send a long message to Tina, apologizing for how immaturely I handled our issues and ended our friendship and hoping for new bridges. One of the main reasons I've wanted to get onto Facebook was to contact her. I feel like I've taken enough time to grow up and learn how to better deal with conflict and negative emotions. I suppose some people would say it's better to leave burnt bridges alone, but I'm not that kind of person. I'm too hopeful for that. I've improved myself over the past year, and I'm in a relatively better place. No better time to build a new bridge.

Tina seems to be doing better too from what I can see on her Facebook. Her old one was deleted, I guess, and she created a new one. She seems to be in a relationship. I'm hoping we've both grown enough to be able to be friends again. Of course, I won't hold it against her if she chooses to not accept my offer. I understand when people move on. I just don't want to lose any opportunities.


Anyway, yeah, this is all I can really remember from this day. I'm glad it's the weekend and I don't have any plans. I can stay home, process things, and move along.

Life goes on, yeah? And we go on with it.

Short shorts and skirts.

I used to wear short shorts and skirts. I also used to wear dresses.

I last wore a dress when I was probably in the fourth grade. (I technically didn't wear a dress to junior or senior prom. Thank goodness for amazing friends.) I last wore a skirt around the same time, maybe a little bit sooner than that; it was probably a school uniform skirt. I last wore short shorts when I was sixteen; though, I'm pretty sure none of my high school friends had ever seen me wear them...

People have asked me why I'm such a tomboy or why I don't wear "girly" clothes more often. I've always said that I've felt most comfortable in baggier, "guy" clothes, which is true. I do have an affinity to clothes that don't cling to my body or reveal too much skin. I like being low-key. Plus, I've always felt awkward in my body. Don't get me wrong; I like my body for sure. Just sometimes, I don't want to feel like I'm focusing so much on my body or the femininity of it. So yeah, less feminine clothing makes me feel like it's just easier to be me and not draw attention to anything that doesn't need attention.

But I'm gonna reveal a little secret: While I do feel somewhat awkward thinking about wearing skirts, short shorts, and such, I really, really miss wearing them. Like, so much. Haha is anyone surprised? And i think the awkwardness comes more from the fact that I haven't worn any of these things in so long, so the idea seems foreign to me.

Mother always likes to remind me that she used to dress me up in dresses and skirts all the time when I was a child. We have pictures, and some of my memories of childhood are relatively still intact. So yes, I remember that she did do that, and I also remember that I loved my dresses and skirts as much as I loved my pants and cargo shorts, along with the hand-me-downs from Brother. (I still occasionally get hand-me-downs from him.) Yeah, I ran around with the boys a lot, making pants and boys' shorts the ideal forms of clothing to wear for all that roughhousing. But I liked everything I wore when I was younger. I didn't hate anything I owned. I especially loved my three pairs of denim short shorts from Old Navy haha.

So why did I gradually stop wearing "feminine" clothing? As far as I can remember, it was always because of something that someone else did and which I didn't know how to stop. I stopped wearing skirts and dresses because boys I didn't know would stand under the monkey bars to look up. Adding to that, boys I didn't know learned that sticks can easily lift up the backs of skirts and dresses. I stopped wearing short shorts because a man twice my age tried to kiss me.

My family only knows about the monkey bars experiences I had. I never bothered to tell them about the boys with the sticks because Mother's reaction to the monkey bars stories was to laugh and to say that kids will be kids. That's still her reaction to these anecdotes. I'm pretty sure many parents have that same reaction. For the most part, I don't really care about the monkey bars stories because I got past it. Boys will be boys, and I generally didn't remember those experiences after a while. Oh, and I definitely did not tell my family about the man who tried to kiss me when I was sixteen. No way.

I blogged about it on my LiveJournal instead. I just read the entry. I'm shaking my head at it and asking myself, "Why didn't I say something back then? Why didn't I shove him away and yell? Why didn't I do anything to protect myself?" I know I'm lucky that all he tried to do was grope and kiss me. So much worse could have happened, but I was lucky. But Mother was just about two rooms away. Why didn't I call for her? Why didn't I tell her right after it happened? What was I thinking? Well, first, I don't know why, but I thought it was some kind of joke that the man was trying to pull on me. It didn't really click. Or maybe it did, and I didn't want it to click because it was scary and I didn't know how to handle it. Then I just felt shock that it had happened to me at all. Then I couldn't tell Mother because I was afraid she would get mad at me for letting it happen, for not knowing better, for not knowing how to fight back. A secondary thought was she would never be able to trust me being around anyone again because anyone could manipulate me. (Sorry, this was somewhat of a tangent.)

I couldn't comfortably wear short shorts or anything super feminine after this particular experience because I had been wearing a pair of my favorite short shorts and a tight girls' shirt when it happened. I suppose I engrained in myself that it was the clothes I wore that brought this on me. And if I continued to wear the clothes, the situations would get worse and worse, it would all be my fault, and I wouldn't be able to protect myself.

I wonder now if I decide to wear feminine clothing, and I got the kind of attention that I don't want, would I be able to feel comfortable in what I'm wearing and to get myself safely out of that situation? Honestly, I don't think so. I think I would still be that scared, naive, easily manipulated little girl who couldn't react except to tilt her head down. I've tried my best to keep myself out of those situations by dressing down and not accentuating my feminine qualities. I chose to avoid rather than to confront my fear.

I guess I never really got past any of it.

I genuinely don't care much about fashion, but I know I like wearing different styles of clothing when the mood strikes. It's just difficult to consider all the possible options because I'm terrified of the attention I could get. I have no intention of or desire for getting that attention; I just want to wear the clothes.

Why can't I wear what I like to wear without fearing that it will be seen as an invitation to my body for someone else?

I should just face my fears head on, yeah? I'm not always that brave. Sometimes, I have that moment where I feel like I can take on any challenge, but it passes so quickly that I don't jump on it. Damn, it's just clothes, but a part of me is very terrified. But I know, one day, I will wear some short shorts or a skirt, and I won't be terrified. That day just isn't today. Or tomorrow.