A reader sent me this letter (posted with her permission, of course):

Almost a year after I had managed to leave the island behind, the room, the floor, the sheets, the rape – I accidently ended up on your blog entry called “The beginning to the end” and it changed my world. It awoke feelings inside of me that I had for a years time tried to suppress and scare off so that I never again would open up to anyone, never trust anyone and therefor never end up in the same situation again. At that time, all men were a potential threath to me.

Reading and watching that very blogentry have had such a great impact on my life and will to become ‘myself’ again, to reclaim my body and to dare to move towards feeling and being ‘beautiful’ again. Your video granted me the sensation of how sincere, pure and giving love and affection truly are when it’s shared and not forced. It made me remember blocked out feelings and situations and it made me start to long for something that I had completely shut out for over a year.

I have been wanting to write you this email for quite some time, but I havent been sure of myself or if the “new” me (which is the old in fact) would survive and I didnt want to make this into a sunshine story if it really wasnt – but after many downhills, trials and tribulations, theraphy and social interaction, I am there, I am back and I am standing strong again. Nothing will ever be the same, but at least I made the right choice, for me. I have always been lifeloving in overload and even if I am only halfway there yet, it is still enough to keep me going.

I still watch that video every now and then, to remind myself that anything is possible and that you can recieve “help” from the most unexpected sources. It used to make me cry, now it makes me smile instead, isnt that beautiful? I know perfectly well that you never meant to post that entry for me, but it helped me in one of the most difficult times in my life and for that I will be forever grateful. Thank you.

Yours sincerly,
Emma

I’m at a loss for words.

Romance. It dies as we get older.

I’m not talking about love. Love lasts forever if you’re doing it right. I’m talking about the time when love is still mysterious.

Think of high-school. Over the bra, under the blouse, hoping to god your parent’s don’t walk in. When you’re exploring someone’s body with wonder. When you’re not sure how to act, how to interpret things, and you’re tearing your heart out cause you don’t know what’s going to happen next.

You lose that as you live and you learn and you grow. Confidence takes that nervousness away because you speak your mind, you share yourself, and the uncertainty is gone.

Maybe I’m just feeling old. Maybe I’m just clinging to the past in a fit of nostalgia, to the innocence of my youth when love was the only thing to worry about. Romance without practicality, boundaries, type, or class.

Maybe my more recent relationships just haven’t had that nervousness. There was always that immediate connection that leaves little room for doubt. As fiery as they were, there was no mystery.

Maybe I’m just feeling numb again.

John still comes to me with girl advice every now and then, when he’s losing sleep and he’s writing terrible, hilarious poetry. He hates the uncertainty, but I tell him to think of when he’s older and married to the same person for forty years, how much he’ll miss those feelings.

I tell him to enjoy it. To lose himself. He should be so lucky to feel so strongly about someone.

We all should at least once in our lives, before it’s too late and the romance dies.

This is Gerald, or Gerry as he prefers, an alumnus of my high-school, Upper Canada College.

Gerry was born in Germany, but being a German-Jew, he soon moved to Holland in the years leading up to the Second World War. “My father was rather prescient”, he put it. Eventually, he came to Canada. For four years, he attended UCC, graduating in 1940. I was in the class of ‘99. After a year at university, he volunteered for military service at 19.

“19?”, I asked in disbelief. With a smile on his face, he told me, “You grow up fast”.

He began as a commissioned officer for an artillery unit. Responsibility of the lives of many men under his command was something he didn’t want, but his knowledge of German, Dutch, and English moved him to a more preferable position as an interrogation officer. His superiors would send him co-ordinates of intelligence to gather, sometimes behind German lines, sometimes in a downed tank, and a private would drive him in a jeep to obtain the information.

He survived.

From left to right, his medals are:

• The 1939-1945 Star
• The France and Germany Star
• The Defence Medal
• Canadian Volunteer Service Medal
• The War Medal 1939-1945
• The Service Medal of the Order of St. John

His proudest accomplishment is the Maltese cross he wears on his chest — The Most Venerable Order of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem, presented by the Governor General herself. Even though he’s a commander of the order, second only to knights or dames, he’s extremely modest about it. The framed award presented to him lies in a pile of assorted things in his bedroom.

I first met Gerry a few days ago, after finding out about him from the bi-annual newsletter published by UCC. The newsletter, called Old Times, is a way for alumni, called Old Boys, to keep track of the goings’ on at the College. There was an article about the school’s prized Victoria Cross medal collection being presented to the new Canadian War Museum here in Ottawa. These were the same medals I walked by in the front hall display case every day at school, too young to appreciate their historical significance. Gerry was one of the veterans invited to attend the presentation ceremony.

However, my interest in Gerry stemmed from a different section in the same issue of the newsletter, announcing a photo contest open to all past and present students. The contest seemed like a great project, not only as a way to practice my photographic skills, but to test myself as well. I would have to find a subject related to the school in some way. Gerry, being an Ottawa-area Old Boy, was my closest connection. Taking pictures of someone, let alone someone I had never met before, was a daunting idea, and I would have to step out of my comfort zone to do it.

After looking up his name in the phonebook and gathering up the courage, I called Gerry. He was happy to meet.

I’ll be submitting the second photo.

Things have changed.

I don’t write the same anymore, or about the same things. I’ve lost my fervent verbosity. Every time I sit at my computer, my mind blanks. Writing has become a chore. Even this entry has taken me days to think through. I find myself writing and rewriting every point, every paragraph.

In the beginning, blogging was a form of catharsis. Developing cognitively beyond my adolescence was an emotional period, filled with confusion and growing pains. The only way I could make sense of it all was to write out my thoughts, forcing myself to reflect and learn from every challenge.

It was also a useful tool in figuring myself out, as a part of my life where I could approach things with the conviction that I lacked in the rest of my life. Now that I’ve gained enough confidence, it doesn’t seem so necessary to prove myself with words anymore. It would seem that I’ve become a victim of my own self-assuredness.

I could fill this blog with entries, finding solace in the written word, when I was going through something as simple as a bad day. As time has passed, I’ve eliminated most of the things that bother me enough to turn to this medium. It was a slow and systematic process, both internal and external. My new-found serenity has left me with little rage. I’m happier now, and happiness is too hard to write.

There have been few epiphanies, and even less inspiration, in the last while. Maybe it’s because I’m in the middle of a transition. It takes a foundation of stability, something I haven’t had in months, to grow. My life hasn’t quite settled yet.

Writer’s block is a sign that I’ve stopped growing, a testament to what and how much I’ve been through.

But more importantly, it’s a sign that I’m approaching where I want to go in my life.

For Canada’s 139th, Aaron and Karen braved the rainy weather and hosted a small gathering for a barbecue. By the time I arrived, several hours early from helping Trolley in the morning, I was tired, moody, and smelling rather fresh, so I decided to leave by the time people were supposed to arrive in the afternoon. Fortunately, Pat and Jen showed up early too, bringing with them a deck of Dutch Blitz. It was a game I had never played before, but grew addicted to quickly. The fast-paced, and convivial nature of the game lightened my mood, and by the second round I was feeling jovial. There were other games too — bullet chess, Trivial Pursuit (90’s Edition, which the guys won for the first time ever), Soul Calibur 2 — all of which I partook through the rest of the evening.

I had such a good time that I ended up staying the night because I missed my last bus. In the morning, we slowly rose with coffee and greasy food, eventually playing some more Dutch Blitz before I had to leave.

It’s hard to remember a time when I was so at ease in a large group, or when I laughed so much. Maybe we’ve finally cut out the intolerable people, the ones who rub me the wrong way with their simple presence. Maybe, as a sign of my growing confidence, I’m getting more comfortable around other people.

Or maybe it’s a combination of both.

It’s been rough going the last few weeks. Every day is a conflict between doing something relaxing, doing the chores that will make me feel comfortable, or going to bed. Even now I can’t relax. I clean my mirrors of fingerprints in between sentences, or brush Dolly of excess fur as she forcefully nudges my wrists in mirth, and only continue writing when I come up with the next idea.

A sore throat and weary body had me calling in sick today (I suspect that I caught something from petting the same cat as Karen yesterday, who’s seems sick as a dog), although I ended up going in and working six hours anyway. All the extra curricular things are slowly wearing me down. There’s the two side-businesses, the new effort of learning as much as I can about my new Canon Rebel XT by photographing everything, and the blogging. I also started table tennis again, although I’m not sure how often I can attend, taking four hours out of a weekday. The one reprieve is a LAN party I’ve had planned since September that starts tomorrow, and even though it’ll be a good weekend of gaming, it’ll still mean little rest. Normally I’m planned, prepared, and practiced for a LAN, but this time it’ll all be improvised.

I’m being tested, and even though I know that I’ll get through this, it’s still difficult. I’m forced to deal with people I’ve avoided my entire life. I’m pushing myself past the limits of anything I’ve ever gone through. To be honest, it’s a little easier than I would have imagined. The strength and confidence that I’ve gained over the last two years has helped tremendously. Knowing that things get done in their own time keeps me from being overwhelmed. If I can make it through this, I’ll be stronger than ever.

We were at the house late last night, building desks and filling drywall holes. I decided not to sleep in this morning, because I needed the time to get work done, although I also needed sleep to get it done properly. There are mailouts to complete, statement stuffers to design, bitmaps to vectorize, and countless other things for which I’m responsible. I convinced myself that I’ve (begrudgingly) gone through enough torturing days of little sleep for someone else, so it would be more appropriate if I did it for myself now.

Stepping outside, the chill of winter morning still in the air against the early light of spring, I skipped nine tracks until Claudio started singing, in his shifting, melodic voice:

Bye bye beautiful
Don’t bother to write

My lethargy turned into energy, as I thought of how things have worked out based on the decisions I made. How I could die happy right now, although I’d prefer to wait at least two weeks if given the choice.

The way I seem to have everything I deserve, and nothing that I don’t.

I choose to live and to
Grow, take and give and to
Move, learn and love and to
Cry, kill and die and to
Be paranoid and to
Lie, hate and fear and to
Do what it takes to move through.

—Tool, Forty Six & 2

Unfortunately, I’m not myself when I’m around my friends.

With them, I’m happier, more confident, extroverted. It’s usually only with them that I can test the boundaries of social conduct, because I know that they understand me, accept me, and are willing to back me all the way. Sometimes, I end up saying some pretty embarrassing things off-the-cuff, things made more embarrassing by the fact that even my friends aren’t laughing. But to find the boundary, one has to cross it at some point. And it’s such a fucking power trip to know that I’m testing myself as well, testing how far I’m willing to go, something that I can only do with the right people.

Without my friends, I recede into my shell. I require them at parties, events, social functions just so I can interact with people normally. When I do find myself in absence of their presence, I force myself to be social. I consider how I would behave if I was with them, and proceed with caution. It’s slowly getting easier for me when I’m by myself. Perhaps I’m gaining my own self-confidence when I’m not around them.

Something I that can only gain when I’m with them.

The Stepping Through The Shadow Series

• Part 1
• Part 2

Someone made me feel terrible the other day. She ignorantly belittled almost everything that I’ve worked for in my life. To have this person so insouciantly give me advice on something that I’m still trying to accomplish was completely insulting. Yet I can’t blame this person, because the comments made were in ignorance of how hard I’ve tried, how much I’ve worked, how difficult it’s been to make myself a better person.

With most other people, I couldn’t care less about their opinions. But I respected this person. I held her in the high esteem. This person was already most of what I wanted to become. And, naturally, this made her opinion important to me.

I don’t know what her background is, or how she’s come to develop as the person that I know, but I do know that mine has made things difficult on a mental level.

It takes me longer than others to get over things. I only trust half a handful of people. I’m still emotionally weak in some respects.

I’ve come a long way, and even though I still have much further to go, that doesn’t diminish the fact that I’ve succeeded thus far. Or the fact that it’s been a fucking struggle. Or the fact that I’m fucking proud of who I am now, and what I’ve already accomplished.

So what can I say, really, about these things said in passing? Nothing. All I have to keep in mind is that what I’m working towards is much easier to some than to others. That it’s me who’s in control of my amour propre.

And that, in the end, all that truly matters is self-satisfaction.

Sometimes it feels as if I’ve changed in an infinite number of directions. Every change comes as a result of some unsatisfactory characteristic of my former self. The result, hopefully a series of what I consider improvements, becomes the opposite of traits I once possessed.

Confidence is an example. It’s only now, after more than eight years of conscious work, that I’ve gained some form of confidence, of self-respect. And I appreciate it now, not only in myself but in other people as well. It was my own diffidence that drove me to become an assertive person. This isn’t to say that it’s something I’ve stopped working on. I’m not quite satisfied yet, because I’m still learning to prevent overconfidence, but other than that I think I’ve come quite far.

The same goes for quite a few other things. Having no friends has made me a better one. Being alone has made me a patient lover. Being shy has made me more outgoing. Having gone through emotional ups and downs has made me more stable.

Being weak has made me stronger.

I’ve lately been getting into discussions where I generally show a strong sense of confidence in my convictions. The role of distance in a relationship related to the level of commitment, as a subject perhaps, or instructions in becoming a more sociable person, as another. I’ve been answering questions of life, love, and happiness almost as if I know the answers. Yet I can’t figure out where these opinions are coming from, or even where I’m getting the strength of my beliefs.

Have I gained so much strength so as to affect my thinking? Have I become blinded by overconfidence? Or do I consider my experiences to be sufficient enough to give advice when people ask me? This may possibly be the case even though I generally don’t like to give advice, since I only speak when I feel that I have a sufficient understanding of the subject.

The truth is that I don’t know where my assuredness is coming from. In the last few weeks I’ve felt an odd sense of wisdom, and my certitude seems to be coming from this feeling. Perhaps an overflow of emotions has caused me to feel this way, and everything I’m feeling now is temporary. The most important thing I try to keep in mind is the fact that I may be wrong in almost anything I believe. I need to keep an open mind. Yet lately I feel as if I do know much more about the way things work, the way life goes, the way the world turns.

I think of what I do know now, and try to remind myself that there is still a great deal I don’t know. I simply have a strong trust in my judgements, decisions, and convictions made with the limited amount of information one always has in foresight. I’ve lately become more certain about my life, and the direction I want it want to take. I certainly know what I want, but I try to remain flexible.

In the last two months I’ve learned more than I have in year before that, and the sudden surge of confidence I’ve gained in my opinions seems to be related to this. I realize that I’ve learned a great deal through the course of my life.

But I have much more to learn as well.

Sometimes I see the same movie twice with a large gap of time between viewings, and I understand the characters, thoughts, emotions, and actions very differently each time.

A few days ago, I came to the realization that I’ve been a different person in every relationship through my eight year dating period. Not all of me has changed, but there are a few aspects which I believe would be important in such a bond.

I’ve gained more maturity and more confidence. I’ve gained a fair amount of intelligence (though I still feel like I have infinitely more to learn). I’ve changed career goals, relationship goals, and happiness goals. I’m more outgoing, more tolerant, more secure, less pretentious (I hope), less arrogant, and less ignorant. I’ve changed my opinions on children, abortion, and religion. I’ve even changed my actions based on these shifting beliefs.

Although I view most of these changes as being good things, they may put strain on a relationship nonetheless. After all, change is change, and unless a relationship is strong and flexible enough, it cannot endure such stress. It’s a little scary to think that I may be bringing extra strain into a relationship, simply by being myself.

At one point in my inexperienced youth, after having changed a fair deal already, I believed that I wouldn’t change any more. Now I realize how stupidly oblivious a comment that was, and am of the belief that I’ll never stop changing.

The most important thing to keep in mind through all of this is whether the change is for the better, and as Tom has helped me realize, relationships (friendships or otherwise) should form around this idea.

Whether or not a relationship will work out in the end is not based on one person, but the foundation and dynamic of two people.

In the last month I have felt the best and worst about myself in my life.

I had an intense interview with my Big Brother caseworker, Stephanie, today. It lasted for three hours, and the questions ranged from whether I had firearms in my apartment, to what my relationship with my parents is like, to what I dislike about people. It’s quite a long process, and candidates are very stringently chosen. I first had to fill out an application form, fill out a police report form, and give them three references. They then send my references a questionnaire each, then interview me. They also need to interview Pita, to make sure that my apartment is a suitable environment for a little brother to spend time in. Stephanie told me that they have to reject quite a few candidates, based on the grounds of immaturity, improper lifestyle, or even health issues, for example. After all, both the organization and the big brother are responsible for the safety of the child.

It’s odd that this will be such a test of my responsibility. I always believed that I would be the one to dictate what I was ready for. After all, after months of consideration, I did decided to adopt a cat, even when I held back while people were encouraging me to. I don’t believe that there would be any other reason for being declined as a candidate. My suitability as a big brother will be determined by a board of people, and it will be the greatest test of my maturity to date. It will be quite objective, of course, since I have no part in the decision making.

So why am I not nervous? Could it be that I am finally gaining some confidence? I did ad-lib the interview, and I feel that I answered the questions very well. Perhaps I simply realize that I answered everything to the best of my ability, and that I can’t change the outcome when it arrives. Or simply that, although this would be a great experience for me, it’s not the end of the world if it doesn’t work out.

I think I can opt for all three.