A slight hiatus

I've been on a slight hiatus for the past few days. 

On December 25th I was pretty much out throughout most of the day over at Fernie. The day after that I was traveling back to Vancouver, while today I've been working on a new project so I can present a game to potential investors. With said game I'll hopefully be able to secure investment to open up my business within Vancouver, BC. 

I'll try to make room for this blog when I can, but for the most part I'll be working on said project. I'll post updates here if I can. Some things need to be kept confidential. 

Anyhow I hope ya'll are having a great winter solstice. While it's my third winter spend alone, It's actually been one of the best I've had yet. 

Waiting

Tiresome day, a lonely night
I watch the stars, and let out a sigh
The world's different, without you here
It's been so long, yet you feel so near
The world moves on, without your eyes

And I stand here, looking for your sight 

I seek a reminder of those lovely days

When you'd ask to explore, speak, and sway. 

The silence kills me, at day, at night 

Knowing that your voice will never be yet again a delight

You're but a ghost, who I refuse to leave

My mind seeks you, as my heart bleeds

There's only one that meets your eyes

But the chance of breaking, are not in my sight 

My heart is heavy from your demise 

Yet I refuse to let you go 

Even when my heart sinks into a new low 

Optimism?

It's no secret that I'm quite cynical on various topics revolving the human condition. That's not to say, contrary to what many will believe of me, that this is a general rule when it comes to my thoughts on humanity.

There is, for instance, the fact that our social norms, traditions, and knowledge of the universe has been increasing since the dawn of civilization.

Back in the olden days... and I mean, the OLDEN days, when we were nomadic hunter gathers with no concept of civilization in mind, our way of thinking and empathy was based on what our leaders would do. Their authority was often assigned via their brawn rather than their wisdom or intelligence. Murder often went unpunished, as were most things that are now consider criminal acts.

Sure, we were less destructive of the environment then. But that didn't stop us from driving other species into extinction, including other human species. Hell, even thinking about the latter makes me a bit cynical. We're quite a destructive force when you think about it.

Things went into overdrive once we established our first civilizations. The death toll on other living creatures increased, including other humans (via war, etc), while our fertility increased. Back then, being an intellectual or empathetic was still something to be weary about. You couldn't criticize "god", or it's speaker. Doing so would often result in death.

From there, we were expected not to hurt our fellow man within our society. The enemy was often beyond the walls of our fortress.

From there, our empathy was reserved for those in our society, and those who chose to call themselves our allies. Eventually, I'm assuming after the Industrial Revolution, our empathy was expected to be given to those of other "clans", as anyone could be a potential customer or partner.

At some point within our history, we began to be empathetic towards nature. We began to condemn the murder of animals when it was unnecessary. We began to condemn deforestation, and started to push for the rights of animals.

It is our social evolution that gives me a bit of hope for humanity. It's our success stories that bring a smile to my face.

A bridge from ashes.

Every person has their story. 

Hold on, let me correct that: 

Every person has a perception of reality which can alter their perception of the facts of their past, which, in turn, can be the story they present.

For many of us, there are other people involved in these stories, people who we can either be very attached to, people who we miss, or people whom we hate and avoid. Of course, these are not the only variables. 

To some, when these people continue to be in our lives after the span of a few years, it's difficult to get rid of them. To some, these people tend to stay, unless something overtly drastic occurs. To some, these people are valuable, and irreplaceable. 

To me, however, they are, by the most part, like water off a duck's back. Just another human, who's trying to survive, and therefore, I tend to burn bridges, even ones I've had, easily, at times over petty or unusual things. I, for quite some time, acted on the "You harm me in any way, and you're gone" philosophy. Looking back, I probably lost alot of opportunities or potential friends this way. But, then again, I probably avoided getting back stabbed. 

As a result, It's also become -quite- difficult for me to bond with people. Trust, to me, is a very rare, and valuable thing. It's not something I give freely. On the day that I'm typing this, I can only think of four people I can trust.  

This, of course, is a double edged sword. Aside the amount of loneliness I endure on a regular basis when I'm not working, exercising, or generally keeping myself occupied, the dread of solitude tends to creep up on me. Like a leach, it drains me of my energy, my IQ, and my motivation. 

This, at times, leads me to seek out the help of the few people I've grown to trust. 

While at times I feel like these people love me unconditionally, I also suspect that my exclusive attention towards them makes me overbearing, needy, and at times, irritating. It deeply troubles and worries me, as I seek to make the lives of the people I love better, not worse. 

This, at times, leads into a vicious cycle of avoidance, which leads to more solitude."I've spoken to them enough, give them space" leads to "They don't want to hear from me" leads to "They don't care", which leads to "I'm better off alone." 

Often times this leads me to disconnecting from them for a certain amount of time. Days, months, weeks, or years. 

The emotionally detachment creates issues on the few occasions we meet in person,  as my lizard brain wants to be friendly and loving, but my brain tells me that I will harm them if I do so. From what I've gathered, it makes me act rude, distant, and overtly bitter.

 

Then I wonder, if I should burn those bridges, too.

Drem- First memory

I'm not a superstitious person. I rejected the concept of a deity before I was a decade old, and I never believed in anything of supernatural origin. That's not to say I can't be convinced, more so, I require physical evidence. Physical evidence that can be presented, or shown. 

That being said, before I go on, I have to point out that I believe this "ghost" is but a subconscious manifestation of what I've lost, and what I, at times, desire, but will never obtain. 

Shortly after Vanstai's death, I started going on medication due to my behavior and mood at the time. If I can recall correctly, I was on Symbyax. My grades were going down drastically, I was gaining weight, and I was having random bouts of anger. I was also sleeping way more than the usual, around 10-11 hours a day. I'd come home from school, sleep a few hours, wake up, do homework (or browse the web), and then sleep again. At some point, I started having vivid dreams. At first they were nothing to write about, the typical "I'm flying!" or "I'm losing my teeth!" dreams, but for the most part, they weren't too special. 

Until, one night, I dreamt of a thin, pale-skinned, red headed girl. 

Those who've seen me online are often to have seen the image below: 

For some strange reason, I started dreaming of her often. Someone I've never met, thought of, or seen online, at least, not to my knowledge. I found this picture on Google a few years back, when I typed in her features. I don't remember the source, and any time I try to search for the source of the image, I'm left without luck. Even uploading the image itself on Google Images yields 0 results. 

The first dream I had of her was when I was either 14 or 15. It started out with a dream of me flying outside an old looking medieval castle. It was night time, a full moon illuminated the lush forest with twilight. The castle was built on a hill, and a lake seemed to originate from the bottom of the castle. 

I looked inside a window, and saw the girl above, in a white gown, sleeping. Suddenly, water came from the shut door. She got up, and opened the door. The entire floor of the castle was flooded, but in an unrealistic fashion. The water was clear, constantly flowing, and was around two inches deep, the only ripples came from the girl's feet. The water was smooth. 

I then entered the window, I was like a ghost. I could go through walls, it seemed. She didn't seem to notice me. 

She went forward, beyond the door there was a spiral of stairs, that went downward, and upward. There didn't seem to be a ceiling, as when she looked up, the moon was peering in. The walls were like a waterfall, beneath the clear, smooth water there were stone bricks, again, of medieval fashion. Below her, she noticed the bottom of the castle was beginning to flood. She let out a sigh, and started to go up the staircase, which spiraled upwards. The girl went up the steps, ignoring the water that was trickling down them like a flowing river. I followed. 

When we reached the top, I was in awe of the beauty of the forest. A vast lake below us, surrounded by trees, large hills, and a twilight moon. It was silent, with only a hint of the wind brushing against us. 

She moved around the roof of the castle, looking for the source of the flooding. 

She eventually came upon a medium-sized rectangle on the surface of the roof. It was the source of the flooding, as water seemed to be spouting from it. Other than the water coming from the orifice,  it seemed dark, and empty. 

The girl, for some reason, decided to get in. I followed. 

Defying the laws of gravity, we fell through the water, as if something was pulling us. Strangely, the water vanished. We fell, I remember looking upwards, only to see the light slowly dimming as we fell further away from the ceiling. 

We eventually fell in a large collection of water, and it was dark. I could suddenly fly again, but the girl was struggling in the water. There was a large "Ca-Chunk", and a door opened, revealing the lake I'd seen before. She swam towards it, and once she exited the dark room, the door closed. When we looked behind, we saw how massive the castle really was. She swam away from the castle, rather than towards it. She swam for a while, until she reached a sandy beach on the other side of the castle. She looked back, as the castle began to be consumed by fog. She let out a sight, and moved towards the forest. 

We came upon a very narrow, modern road, it seemed to have been freshly paved. Street lamps illuminated the way, but strangely, as she passed them, they'd dim. 

The girl, who I decided to nickname "Drem", eventually took a turn where the road ended. A vast sea of green grass was before her, and to the horizon, a massive mountain, the moon, peering over it. 

Drem fell on her knees, and wept. I stayed stationary, and watched. The world around her was becoming darker, until only the sound of the grass brushing against her remained. 

I woke up drenched in sweat. 

This wasn't the last time I'd see Drem. I will write about her again, on a future date. 

The Story of Vanstai

It was a warm autumn afternoon, we were barely teenagers back then. The warm breeze of the southern Mexican city called Oaxaca was soothing to even the loneliest of souls.
I was with a friend, who shall remain unnamed. We were sitting under the trees outside the Temple of Saint Domingo. What we were discussing has escaped me at this point, but I recall we were speaking in English, as we so often did so.
Even back then, I was somewhat of a gloomy person. Harassed while at school, sexually frustrated elsewhere, and apathetic to most, an average troubled teenager. It's due to the following that I was surprised about what happened on that fateful autumn evening.

A Canadian girl approached us, only slighter shorter than I, with long copper blonde hair, hazel eyes and slightly tanned skin. She was a bit cross-eyed, but that only made her all the more intriguing. She was a bit shy about it so she had her hair covering her right eye, which did little to hide her slightly crooked eye.

"You speak English!", she told us. I was very surprised at her friendly behavior towards two strangers in a foreign land. I learned of where she was from as we started talking to her, when she introduced herself she said she was "Vanessa from Vancouver!" which I always found humorous. She asked that we call her "Vanstai" as a nickname. After our brief introductions, she asked me to show her around the area, as she was going to be staying around for a few months. I complied.

I showed her what I knew of the town, as I didn't go out much. She seemed to catch up pretty quick as she seemed to know more about I on certain landmarks or historical trivia. For a moment I considered that she was going to walk off due to my ignorance of the place I was currently residing in, but to my surprise she was interested in what I had to say about the city and it's history. Every now and then she'd ask me about myself, and I would do the same. She'd tell me tales of Vancouver Canada and how much she loved growing up there. I was already interested in visiting as I saw a documentary on Vancouver as a kid, which intrigued me, but at that moment I knew it was a place I HAD to visit at some point in my life. It was a day I'm yet to forget. We exchanged numbers, and went our own ways for a short while.

The next day, she gave me a call at night, which again, surprised me, as I wasn't the type to get phone calls from others. She asked me to see her the next day, at the same place we had met (Saint Domingo), to which I complied. We spend another day roaming the area, got to know each-other a bit more. I learned that she was very playful, sarcastic, and logically inclined. I recall saying something negative about my appearance, as I had bad self esteem even back then. She told me that I was thin, and therefore should be more like a stick. I was quite confused. She continued (and I paraphrase): "Sticks float. They're flexible and can be built into many things! Rocks, however, are hardened and heavy. So they sink. Don't be a rock." Looking back, I find the quote quite silly and humorous, but I found it cute none the less. At this point I started to develop feelings for Vanstai.

For the following months we would go out around Oaxaca, but I would never tell my folks or anyone about her, as I feared my local "bullies" would either attempt to hurt her or push her away from me. As we spend time together, my feelings for her grew. She would continuously push me into being more critical of the world around me by constantly questioning my beliefs and prejudices. She would do so in a very empathetic and kind way, as to prevent an angry response. She would push me out of my comfort zone, and she'd constantly debate with me. She'd always grab my hand whenever she sensed fear in me. This would make my fear instantly banish. We never really took it beyond holding hands, however. The most we ever did was a kiss on the cheek, I guess this was due to how she respected my claims that I was asexual.

We'd share music, watch movies, Japanese cartoons and the occasional documentary. I remember her being very fond of Enigma,  whom I wasn't too fond with at the time. New Age in general, was not something I was into until later in life. Her favorite was "Ask the Mountains" by Vangelis.

We would often talk about the future. I remember us talking about moving over to Vancouver, where I would set up my studio and she'd live out her dream of being a piano instructor and a journalist. We talked about traveling across the American roads, and the Canadian mountains and prairies. We spoke of going to Europe, Australia, and China. I remember falling asleep imagining the days we'd spend together, traveling. I guess, one could say, these were the happiest days of my life.

There was something off about her, though. She always seemed to be very secretive about her family, as she would refuse to talk about them, so much so that she wouldn't give me their name. While she knew I didn't want her to meet my own folks, she knew of their names, and what they were to me. She was very secretive about her life, and would often get somewhat upset if I would attempt to pry. "You are not entitled to my past." She said at one point. It took me years to understand the concept of entitlement, but now that I do, I have to say, she was right.

It wasn't until February 2004 that I found out why she was so secretive.

The past few weeks she'd been acting a bit strange. She wouldn't speak to me for days at a time, but she'd eventually call me up to go hang out or just talk on the phone. I knew not to pry, as I respected her privacy.

There was a place she always wanted to visit, called Hierve el Agua. I would always postpone our trip as I wasn't sure how'd we get there, and it was quite a ways away. Eventually I caved in, and decided to agree to go with her. It was February 20th, 2004. I remember waiting for her call to verify where we'd meet that day, but I grew worried when she never called. I waited until night time to give her a call.

I remember hearing a man's weak, trembling voice pick up the phone. It was Vansatai's father. When I asked for her, the words that came from the phone will forever echo in my mind.
"Vanessa's dead, kid. She had an aneurysm. Please don't call us again." 

I stood there, with what could only be described as shock. It had to be a joke. So I called again. I was told to stop calling.
For a few moments, I thought it was a sick joke. But still, something hit me. Something broke within the very essence of my soul. Something within me died that day.
I had a mental breakdown, and I didn't sleep. I played "Ask the Mountains" again, and again, hoping that what I had heard was but a sick, twisted joke.
After a week I tried to call again, to which her father finally allowed me to come see them to make sure.
When I got to them, it was confirmed. Vanstai was dead. She was being sent back to Vancouver where she was going to be buried. After talking to her parents about who I was, we said our goodbyes, and since then, I haven't seen them.

My mind became a haze ever since. I gave up on school, and my dreams of having a studio. I gave up on Vancouver, and I gave up on myself. I stopped speaking to my friends. I became extremely attached to a friend online, as she was the closest that thing to remind me of Vanstai that I had, which only caused a divide between us.

I became emotionally numb.

Ten years after her death, I came to Vancouver. I searched for her grave, and I searched for her family, but I never yielded any results. To this day, I havent had the same ability to love. To this day, I'm yet to feel the same warmth. To this day, I hear her voice. To this day, I dream of her. To this day, I'm searching for her.

Beware the fear-based premise

There are three Modes of Persuasion. To summarize them, there is an appeal to Authority (Ethos), appeal to logic (Logos), and appeal to Emotion (Pathos).

The latter of which, I've always been weary of. 

For what part of the brain is easier to manipulate and dupe, then our emotional lizard brain?

There is of course, a variable in all things. If someone tells me that if I do a slight deed that doesn't harm anything else, and in return I get a cookie, I would comply, as the results of my actions would have a larger benefit than the action itself. 

I don't see an issue with following a pathos-based approach when it comes to appealing to happiness or joy so long that happiness doesn't stem from the expense of something else.

I do however, take issue of appealing to fear. The only acceptable variable, in my eyes, at least, is if our sense of fear stems from a fixed element or environment. Meaning, if it stems from something we cannot change, or have little to no power to do so. Someone can tell me to beware of lions, as they're man-eaters. This is all I need to hear in order to stay safe. 

One of the many other variables, is one that stems from a desire to manipulate and control others around us. An appeal to Pathos that can be twisted and manipulated to the point of blind submission. Entire civilizations have been build under this premise, and, oddly enough, they tend to be the ones with the highest amount of violence and misery. 

This mode of persuasion isn't limited to social policy and societal establishments. It's something we all see on a daily basis. As stated, it's an appeal to fear that creates blind submission. This fear isn't limited to a fear of death, loss, or physical pain. In our modern society, many times it comes in the fear of being ostracized, or the fear of being alone. Now consider, how many aspects of our life are dictated by our fear of ostracization or solitude. Consider the control this fear has over our lives. Consider how they have control over your life. 

Consider, how, without knowing it, you could be manipulated to do something that is mortally wrong, due to your blind devotion to fear. Consider the danger of the hive mind. 

But then, you may ask, if this is a fixed environment. To which I answer, no. It is but a social construct that can be easily torn down by simply refusing to assimilate. A fear of ostracization and solitude that can be counteracted by simply being your true self. An individual that attracts like-minded individuals. Individuals who accept you, for you. The price of our blind devotion is lower than the price of our social and fear-free freedom. 

And so I ask you, why do you assimilate?

Let's break some bones.

It is well known that the human mind and body must endure hardship in order to improve and expand our horizons. This is something all of us are familiar with.
Although, most of us will only be willing to endure the hardships if they are obligatory to our survival. From that, an issue may stem.

The issue of course, is that of conformity, as conformity is not necessarily synonymous with happiness. A lack of happiness can create a lack of creativity and motivation, which results in poor performance and/quality of our work.

Many of us assume that our conformity keeps us safe. That we cannot be harmed, and that it's more beneficial to play it safe. We couldn't be more mistaken. While in comfort we may feel like the world cannot harm us, but we forget that our happiness decays as we sit inside and wait until all things feel right. A wise friend recently told me, that things will never be completely alright. And this is a reality we all face.

So it becomes an ultimatum of sorts. We can live safely, but unhappy, or we can risk our safety in favor of the thrills and the lows we will get out in the open. The latter of which I believe brings us happiness, and therefore contributes to our creativity and productivity.

We have all made many mistakes. We've all said things we've regretted, but we've also refrained from saying things we now regret repressing. Mistakes are obligatory for growth. This is the reality we must face. The humiliation is usually something we inflict on ourselves.

We need to fear not how many times we 're hurt, or the what if's of lost opportunities. We can only fear for what we'll weep about when we realize all the growth we could of accomplished by making those mistakes.

I'm tired of weeping. I've been broken before. It's now time for me to break again.