Let me make this perfectly clear.
I am not like you. I do not think the same way that you do. Never. Ever. EVER. Ever believe that you understand, or assume that you know, how I’m feeling or what I’m thinking just because you are, or have ever been, in the same situation.
To believe that you understand, is arrogant. To assume that you know, is an insult.
You’re usually wrong anyway.
I swear I’m missing some underwear.
For the longest time, I had enough boxers to get me through the week at least, but now I find myself having to do laundry before Saturday comes around. I can’t imagine anyone actually taking them, although every time I lose an article of clothing, I always suspect the most recent ex-girlfriend first. This isn’t for any specific reason (in fact, I’m pretty sure none of them have ever actually taken anything), and is probably just a paranoia cultivated through group hug confessions.
That, and knowing how important smell can be to someone. Ashley, in particular, used to take my undershirts on a regular basis. She’d tell me to wear them for days (good thing Asian people don’t sweat), and we’d have a rotation thing going on where I’d give her a new (used) shirt when I couldn’t see her for a while. She told me that she’d fall asleep clutching them, although the smell would never last longer than a week.
Michele was different. She didn’t have any natural scent, and told me that my shirts would never stop smelling like me. I suspect that she had a much sharper olfactory sense.
Sam I could smell through the pages of a book she once gave me: a copy of Flowers For Algernon by Daniel Keyes. She picked it up at a book sale, and read it in one day. By the end she was crying, and thought I would enjoy it. Every time I turned the page, it was like she was sitting in front of me again, coffee smell on her breath.
Louise was different still. She had a great scent that was a little sweet, under the Cool Water by Davidoff she would frequently wear. She didn’t seem to care for my natural body smell as much as the artificial “male” scents, such as the Gillette series of products. Jacky once told me that she was using a stick of the same sport antiperspirant that her ex used because it reminded her of him. When I actually saw the stick, even already knowing that it was a stick of “guy antiperspirant”, I was still surprised at how male oriented the marketing was, with high contrast fluorescent stripes and bold fonts. It looked a little odd when she put it on, holding the stick with her dainty hands.
I find that most girls are like this; they prefer the manufactured smells of an aftershave, body wash, or even deodorant. Instead, Ashley taught me to appreciate an eau de natural. I remember walking up to her house, after not seeing her for a month, and being able to smell her from outside the door. I would miss her even more just standing there, almost as if this made her ethereal presence tangible. Ever since, I’ve believed that the scents we produce are more important than the ones we put on. They’re unique to one person, and never go away.
Unlike my underwear.
I used to seethe, stew, and marinate. If I was in a bad mood, I wanted to stay in a bad mood because, somehow, I would want to make it worth it. I figure that if something is bad enough to make me sour, I shouldn’t be easily taken out of that frame of mind. It’s the same with forgiveness. I’m slow to anger, but once I’m there, I’m extremely slow to forgive, for the exact same reason.
For years, I would listen to music to help me wallow in these emotions. It would cradle me, fuel me until the emotion burned out. Listening this way, with a surge of sentiment, would let me feel the notes, and I would savour every second, minute, and eventual hour of it.
Lately, though, I hear music differently. It inspires me. It moves me. It helps me out of an emotion, instead of into one. And it feels like this change is a reflection of how much my life is changing now, how I’m beginning to see the entire world around me in such a profoundly different way.
As if everything that’s past is prologue to this.
it’s difficult to be upright and perverse, emotional and intellectual, impenetrable and vulnerable, without sacrificing the integrity and value of all of them.
—corus aquilo
This is the first time that a comment has been so good, it spawned another entry (although I fail to see how being a well-rounded individual has anything to do with personal identity, so I cut that part out).
In P.E. during high school, I learned that there’s no such thing as the perfect athlete. If someone builds up their speed, they lose endurance. If someone works on their strength, they lose flexibility. To be a perfect athlete is impossible, because there’s a very strict physical limitation involved.
To be well rounded in a much more general sense, to be a modern day (non-pedagogically relevant) Renaissance Man, on the other hand, is only limited by the mind. This means that many qualities do not oppose each other the way physical qualities do. One can be cerebral, intellectual, yet emotional at the same time. One can be firm and opinionated about recycling, yet open-minded about god and religion, all at once. One can appreciate fucking hard and fucking gently, because one does not take away from the other.
The key to this is a separation of self from bias. One has to be able to appreciate anything from any other point of view. To do this requires an almost purely subjective mindset, tearing oneself away of ones own bias. Only then can one improve in any aspect. The hardest thing, as noted by corus aquilo, is keeping the integrity and value of both, because appreciation, not enjoyment, is the true measure of being rounded. They may go hand-in-hand, as appreciation often leads to enjoyment, but it’s the basis of such that becomes important. There’s a fine line between those who enjoy a box of Kraft Dinner as much as 20 oz. New York steak, and those who can appreciate the two. The former is considered a person with no taste, the latter can be considered a cosmopolite.
The Olympic decathlon record holder often holds the title of “the Worlds Greatest Athlete”. It’s the only objective test of all around athletic ability, measured in speed, spring, strength, and stamina. To be a better person in the general sense, is to be a rounded in much the same manner. The measure is anything from conversational skills, to generosity, to golf handicap, to patience, to academic achievements.
The only objective test is life.
For over a decade, my life has been a struggle towards becoming a better person. I’m not sure why I started to live this way, although I suspect that it was the result of a confused childhood, growing up with an almost completely unrestrained guidance. There was no sense of morality, perspective, and most importantly, purpose. I started feeling out my own worldview without being consciously aware of it at the time, and the result of all of this was a collective yearning for self-improvement as an effort to define myself and the things around me.
A few years ago, I realized that self-improvement is the highest form of living, that the best someone can do for him or herself is to be a better person. No other belief has become as important in my life. It sets learning as the greatest good, no matter what the means. Pain, loneliness, and hardship become beneficial. For years, my struggle for self-improvement was almost tangibly manifested. I could understand exactly the parts of myself that I wanted to change and make better, so I would slowly turn my life in that direction. As much as all of this helped me, it was still a struggle.
But even past this “useful” worldview or attitude is a more abstract goal (I refrain from using the word “positive”, because I feel that my understanding is more of what I consider a simple subjective realism, than the connotation of bias associated with “positive”). Whereas a polymath is someone with a relatively academic breadth of knowledge, I try to be rounded in a more general sense. This means an understanding and appreciation of anything, from humour, to wine, to music, to conversation, to narcotics, to relationships.
Simply put, I strive to be a better person in as many aspects as possible. I strive to be a dynamic person, who will never stop learning. I want to be able to have a conversation with any person I meet, no matter how different his walk of life is from mine. I want people I’ve known for years to be surprised by something I may do or say tomorrow, such as Trolley with my orgasm theories, or Pita with my growing securities. I want to be equally intellectually and emotionally powerful. To not have any weaknesses. To never stop improving.
To be truly universal.