Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Chapter 18: Dear People of the World

The store was full to bursting of people with no money to spend but still I did my job. "Hi, what can I help you find today?" and "Looking for anything special today?" was pouring out of my mouth at about fifty words a minute. After assaulting everyone in the store once or twice, I would go and stand in one of the few "blind spots" so that way the cameras in the store couldn't see me and therefore the boss watching us was blind to me as well. I was exhausted. I'd woke up at 6:45 that morning to make it to the book store on time for that job. I had worked until the afternoon, gone home, done some yoga then sat down to watch a movie and let my feet rest for an hour before I had to leave for the next job.
It wasn't until about four o'clock that it really hit me. "Go talk to people, make sure they're buying stuff!" I was. Could he not see me walking and talking. I had been watching him and the assistant manager (AM) for weeks now. When it was busy, they stood behind the counter, looking busy, while my coworker and I ran around talking to people. The AM excuse was "social anxiety". Okay, so you should quit your job if you're not going to help, was my thought. I have that too though, but that doesn't stop me from trying my heart out to do my job.
After selling my third hooka and saving customers from our non-English speaking employee for the millionth time, I was fed up with it. I was tired of being taken advantage of. I always have been and it stops now.
I will no longer be quiet and do as I am told. As I was being ordered about and told to do numerous tasks and then get told I needed to do more (cause I always will...I never complain and tell people off)and that I wasn't doing well enough, I noticed this. I saw how docile and obedient I was. How they were using that to make me do their work. I looked back in my life...It had happened many times. My mother had raised me to be polite and do as I was told without complaining. She has trained me well. But no more.
After a particularly bad hour or so, I wanted to scream out in the middle of the store. Scream, shout and holler until I went mute and could not even sing. But I didn't. I let myself be ordered around.
Two customers came in that day that asked me how old I was and what I wanted to do with my life. When I told them of the Goddess Plan, they said I was incredible and smart to have such a plan. Twice it happened before I stopped to think. I realized how I had been taken advantage of my whole life long. I then asked myself, "A real lady would not take this. She wouldn't sit back and let it happen to her." But then the thought became more real. "No...a woman wouldn't let this happen to her. I AM A WOMAN!" The time for being a lady is not "all" the time. A lady need be present often times for civility. But a woman? She needs to be part of me forever. The woman--no the goddess-- in side of me was angry at being treated this way. I will not stand by and let it happen to me again. Ever. I will not drive my coworker at my other job home all the time. I will not let my boss order me into work every day I have off (which has happened for the last two weeks and many times at other jobs as well). I will stand up and stop being tread upon.

No, don't worry. I'm not choosing now to open a rebellious streak. I just do not want to be taken advantage of. So...

Dear People of the world,
I will not be taking your orders anymore. I will do as I need. Not as little as needed, but not everything you want me to do. You know how obliging I am and I will not be that way any more. You are quite capable of doing your work yourself and not relying on me or shoving people off on me that you do not want to deal with. I will not be your scapegoat any more. I cannot say this to you in any other way.
                                                                                        Best Regards,
                                                                                           A Free Woman

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Chapter 17: Finaly...

So here I am in the WCJC computer lab waiting for my next final. I do so hate final season. I stress and break out. I have the soothing sounds of MJ and "Beat It" rocking the back parts of my brain to calm me a bit. I brought my reocrder to school thinking I would sit outside and play it to sooth myself too. I was standing in line to sell my books back, scoping out a place I could play some music outside when...the butterfly showed up. I washed my hands of him and his egotisical attidude weeks ago. I was done with him. But then there are the incidents with the car and parking...
But there he was and he said hey to me. We talked about study and finals for--I kid you not--about one minute. That's all. Then I left. Why? I don't know...
I'll add more to this post later. I justed wanted to let you all know that, no I'm not dead yet. Even though it's final season...

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Chapter 16: It's the most wonderful time...

Growing up, we never had stockings over the fire. It wasn't until about 3 or 4 years ago that my mom spent the money on getting all of us 9 kids, the dog and her and dad a stocking and putting our names on them. I always felt sad that we didn't have them. Not because I was into Santa Clause or anything, but because I thought it was part a Christmas tradition we were missing out on. Apparently, we are still missing out. People keep asking me what we do for Christmas. When my reply is "Well...we...put up a tree" they look at me funny. As if I'm lying or being secretive. No. Seriously. We put up a tree.
When my second brother got into KU, we stared to put lights on the house for the first time in our lives. We only did this though because he worked at HobbyLobby and got a good discount on the lights. So that was a good step. It was soon after that we got the stockings. But Christmas wasn't always bland. In fact, I liked it a lot as a kid. I just felt that something was missing.
But to us kids, Christmas was more than a tree and snow to play in. It was the time of year mom and dad fought and yelled, got angry at us and were just generally in a bad mood. Pretty much all through December and half of January. Holidays in our house always put us kids on edge because we knew it meant angry and unreasonable parents. I know that in part we were to blame. I mean really, kids get all excited and energetic this time of year. Even in our house where Christmas was not bedazzled with lights and sweetened with pounds of candy. But as the years have gone by, things have changed.
We have lights outside now, stockings, and a good pinch of decorations inside too. We also have a nice tree with ornaments and lights. But under that tree this year? We write our names on scraps of paper, draw a name and whoever we draw we buy presents for. Then mom and dad buy us each one or two presents. We're not TOO poor, but we're not like the other families in this new neighborhood. We can't afford 5 gifts for each person...The little kids are taking it the hardest. They want many presents. They'll learn some day. But in the mean time, they'll just struggle on.

Let me say one thing about the past 12 or 13 Christmases though. When we moved to Leavenworth, we started to cut down our own trees from the side of the road. That was the one great tradition we had. On a Sunday, when dad could help us, we would go out to the tree we had picked and cut it down. There were many adventures in that tradition over the years. The tree would be about 12 or 15 feet high and always touch our ceiling. Our trees, be them the only great tradition and memory I have, were awesome. Tall and smelly and wide. We loved out trees.

So now for a new Christmas in a new state and new life. God help us.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Chapter 15: I Forgot 13!

I just saw my mistake and realized I had no Chapter 13. Teehee! Oh, well!
Really I just wanted to come and talk to myself since I have no much new to report. Except for the @$$-faced jerk incident. I'm debating whether or not to post that conversation here or not. My sweet friend, on whom's facebook it took place was kind enough to delete it, but not before I copy and pasted it. I do that. To remember hurts done to me, I suppose. Silly, isn't it? Well, it was an awful exchange about censorship and plays that ended with him telling me "go and off" myself. It was ugly. It really hurt and I cried all night. I tried to find comfort in my friends, but the man I turned to said I was "letting" it hurt me...not what I wanted to hear at the time. So I got more upset and left the online world.
I felt a bit immature, but really I was hurting badly.
Speaking of not having people to talk to! I've decided to revel in my movies and TV shows again. I think I said something similar in my last post, but whatever! I watched Lost Boys last night and it was great. I really love that movie. And I chatted with...Luke...for a few minutes. It was okay. He was as distant and unresponsive as ever. He taught me so much about myself. So much that I will hold onto.
I quoted Europe today for my facebook status. I said "I've gone through changes, I've gone through pain. But that's not enough reason for me to go insane..." I love Rock the Night. Fun song! And that's how I feel right now. I have gone through so many changes and through SO much pain...but still...
So right now I should be doing my homework and studying...I have two tests on Tuesday. And I forgot that this Thursday was Thanksgiving. I should do something fun. For myself. That'd be good for me. Wonder what I should do. Teehee, I'm half excited now. I make myself excited more and more these days. I think that's because I spend so much time in my own head. Oh, well!
My best friend and her boyfriend are getting along well, I hear. I'm so happy for her. I get the feeling he's going to be in her life for quite some time so I'm denouncing my normal hostile attitudes toward him and just supporting her. I am jealous...of them both! I want someone to tell me I'm pretty and touch me. I long for touch.
Right! Off to study! Two tests tomorrow! Hahaha, Beat It just came on to my Pandora. Love it! I'm rockin' on! Happy? No. Rockin' it any way? YES!!

Thursday, November 18, 2010

If Only to Hold

So here is a new post only a day or two after my last one. Unfortunately, it's nothing big. Just something I jotted down this afternoon and wanted to share. I wanted it to rhyme AND be really dramatic, but that wasn't working. So I just went with rhyming. I may write another one about the same thing and make it have more feeling and no rhymes so that way my point comes across. Either way, please enjoy!

"If Only to Hold"

Take a moment with me please and close your eyes…
Unbury your darker emotions and let them rise…
Bid farewell to all light and joy with a kiss…
Now imagine with me, if you can, only this:

You long for his touch, his gentle caress,
If only you burned for far less.
To have him touch you and smell your hair,
To give you his love and undying care.
You want his eyes to see only your heart,
This beating, living thing that is falling apart.
You are on fire, your mind is burning,
You are drowning, your soul is yearning.
A word from him to you would calm the storm,
Release your wounds, your heart would warm.
As the rain falls and skies blacken to gray,
What price would you pay to have him for a day?
Would you take him and set him away in glass,
Or would put him in a frame made of blunt brass?
I know you better than that, my sweet wounded one,
Take him and love him until you come undone,
Make him your world, you would,
If only…if only you could…
What you want of him is simple and small,
Yet you cannot bring yourself to ask at all.
You know not what he would say,
And yet you go on and delay!
I see it now, you’d rather die,
This heart is breaking, desiring to fly.
A treasure like this is too much to ask,
Go on now, put on that shiny mask,
Hide away, leave his presence and flee,
Blind yourself so you can no longer see.
But still you yearn and burn for his affection,
You will never forget his perfect complexion.
Never forget how he made you mourn,
In your heart he ever planted a thorn.
Please, listen well,
Do not succumb to this torture hell,
The desire will not leave you like a dove,
This could mean ‘tis True Love…

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Chapter 14: Life in the South in Short

The oranges on our trees in the back yard are bright yellow against the darkening green leaves and stand out like thousands of blazing suns in a dark galaxy. They remind me of how my life is. Dark and ever growing, with small spurts of brightness every step or so. Sometimes fewer times than that, but I am so joyous when those times come. However rare they are.
That is life in Texas. Down here in the South! It's getting colder now as does my outlook on life. I've mentioned Camp 4 in my other journals, so I fell I should fill you in...whoever you are. Camp 4 is what I called my pubescent years. Wink. I was 14 at the time...maybe younger. I was always angry, hated my parents, wanted to kill my siblings, had 2 or 3 friends and was just getting into the "dark child" phase. I'm still there, all gothed up, I just know what it means now. Any way, during this time in my life I was prone to spasms of horrid and terrible anger. Whenever an eruption occurred, I would stomp up to my room and stay there pouting for HOURS! I would write hate-poetry and even swear! So that's Camp 4. We've all been there. That's why we all relate to the angsty book character so well. Smile. You just need to know Camp 4 so that you can know this: I am not there right now. I know I'm not. I'm just going through some stuff. What am I going through you may ask? Well...that's why I write this, right? So I will can whine and complain and someday...be remembered. I hope.
So where am I then? I am in Texas, nearing the end of a semester I rushed into far too quickly, rouging it with two jobs, studying every day for hours, trying to get in exercise and, of course, my dancing. Doesn't sound so bad, does it? "Welcome to the real world!" everyone always says. Oh, trust me, I know the real world and I'm only half way there, so thanks for the mindless and rude welcome. But that doesn't stop what I'm going through being tough for me NOW.
Ok, so I'm not going to beat around the bush any more. I want to write about him. My White Butterfly. You will soon see that poem posted here! He is glorious and beautiful. Much better than that jerk I thought I was in love with. Enough said. Someday I may feel the need to explain myself further, but it will just horrify you. Trust me when I say this though, I have learned so much through that wretched relationship. And I thank God almost everyday that it is over.
So about this Butterfly. I've been seeing him in school every Tuesday and Thursday for a brief 5 minutes at the most. Most of that time though, is me gazing at him from a far. Yes, we have spoken and one time Anna and I did hang out with him and his friends for an hour at a Chinese restaurant, but that's it. I did sit next to him in church once and walk him out to his car, but that is it. For the whole semester. I talk to his best friend more often, but that's because I feel better doing that. You know what I mean. But this Butterfly is perfect in every way the other guy wans't. This Butterfly even dances! I pray about him often, but not often enough I fear...
I have been distant to the Great Spirit. And I know He wants me back so badly. I need to get in touch with Him again before the semester is out. Oh! And my vow is over. I made a vow when I was 18 to stay single until I was 21. Thank the stars I didn't ever really go out with the jerk! So now I want to see what He does about the Butterfly now that I am single AND my vow is over.
I am afraid I must end here for today. Constantine calls me! I will write sooner and more often though. Now that I have time. Sort of. Smile!

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

A Poem

I wrote this about the man I love and do not wish to post it on something so public as my facebook. But I want it up and I want it read. Please enjoy it's melancholy lines.

Words written in red living ink never fade,
Never forgotten.
Feelings that creep in are paralyzing and dark,
They are fatal.
Sitting so far away and watching the live ones,
I see them move.
I wait and watch, too much time on my hands,
Mind going insane.
All I can do is lay down and wish that were me,
Living with others.
Seeing them glow and play I scream to go too,
But my place is here.
I cannot leave, must only watch, be the one
The gods cursed.
The worst torture is him, the one I love with fire,
He is free to live.
But he is mine, I want him all for myself and short nights,
Of sweet words.
He comes to my window and whispers in my ear,
But that is all.
No touch does he give, no caress of love does he offer,
He is there but gone.
With promises of love and rescue on his lips he goes,
Into the world.
By his side a woman I do not know, but no affection,
Still I have to wonder.
What happened to the promises of loyalty and love?
He has forgotten me.
I watch them go, he waved again at me telling with his eyes,
He will be back for me.
My foolish heart aches as I scream and wale at the moon,
Days passing in grief.
Then when the sun rises, I see him there on the hill,
He comes to me.
He says sweet words and give promises of love,
He loves not the other woman.
Again he leaves, only this time with his band of men,
And promises me love.
I wait again for days and nights, wringing my hands,
I want my love.
In the dark of the night and by the light of the moon,
He comes.
Words of love, vows of loyalty and once again,
He is gone.
Alas, foolish heart cannot let him go, hope stays,
In this heart and so I wait day, by day, by day.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Chapter 12: Falling Up

Life goes on, as the saying goes and I know this very well now. Not that my life is horrible right now because it’s not. Far from it. I just have things on my mind. Things that are always on my mind with intense pressure.
What about this guy that I like? It’s not just ‘like’ any more. But my parents know nothing of it. They know I know the guy and that I worked with him for a year. They know so little. I think maybe that’s why they don’t trust me. I have done nothing to lose their trust, but they do not know me and I think that is why they do not trust me. So they will not trust me about guys either. But what do I know about this guy? Nearly everything except one thing that I have to know: What is his relationship with God? I asked him last night if he ever prayed and he said yes. In a note to me earlier he said he knows God has a plan. It sounds like he trusts God, but how far does that have an impact on his life? I need a man who will push me to love God and support me when I say “it’s a God thing”. I need a man to lead me in our relationship with God.
I want to talk to him about all off this, but I want to wait and do it until we are face to face, which may be a while because he lives back in Kansas. And I am here in Texas. Far, far away.
After the conversation we had last night, I am sure he loves me and I love him. We just haven’t said it yet. We have said everything you can say without using those three words though. He asked me out on a date. Yes, while we are hundreds of miles apart, he asked me on a date. I said, yes, but that I had to tell my parents. I’m hoping (though I know it will never happen) that they will say, “well, have him talk to us and then we’ll see” because I know he can do it. But what is really going to happen is this:
MOM: Who is he?
ME: A guy I worked with at the writing center.
MOM: Is he a Christian?
ME: He was raised catholic, but we’ve talked about God a little. I want to more when we see each other.
MOM: No way! Are you stupid? Your father is going to kill you!
And that’s when I die…

I am going to pray like mad about it! I want this to work out. More than anything, I want this to work out. I feel as though God has set this up for me. I don’t know why, but I do. So there are my concerns and fears. My hope is that he and I see each other and can get to talk and know each other better. That’s what dating is, right? You don’t date a guy because you “know” he is “the one”. You cannot possibly know that. So that’s what I want to do. All my brothers did. And I will too. I want to do something based on my own decision. Because of all this emotion, I’m falling apart little by little. But with God and him in the mix, I’m elevated and flying to the heights. I’m falling up…

Monday, July 12, 2010

Chapter 11: A Long Expected Disapointment

I’m sorry this is not the long, catch-up chapter I promised, but it’s what’s on my mind and that’s what matters.
My journey to womanhood continues to not be what I expected or wanted. Just now, my mother called me immature and said I needed to grow up. This came about because I was upset about not being able to play Xbox live with my best guy friends. The kids have always hogged the xbox and made it near impossible for me to ever got on and play. I have yet to play with my friends and I wanted to tomorrow at 2 when they are both off work. That’s the problem is that we have to coordinate schedules.
I told the children that at 2 pm tomorrow I was going to get on and play with my friends. They explode into “you can’t do that” and “ you can’t just take over” and other various yellings.
I got mildly angry at them, shouted just once then left it alone. I went to talk to mom about it and got hardly emotional. I am trying to be honest here. She gets angry at me for that and says I need to grow up…and stop trying to be a “big person around here.” Oh, my dear mother! Is that not a contradiction?
She is impossible to live with. She wants me to be one thing, so long as she can still squish me underneath her. I am not allowed to really be what she wants. Because in reality, what she wants is for me to be submissive, quiet and obedient.
I’m sorry, but that is not going to happen.
I will not go quietly.
I will not be trod upon.
I am a woman.
I will be 21 years old in less than 5 months and I will then be an adult. I have to make money to get out of this house, with respect. I do not want to run, I want to leave in silence and be gone. Only then, when I am free from “her house” as she constantly reminds me, will I be a woman. So this blog is not how I thought it would be. It is still my journey to woman hood and I plan on writing more often now. Maybe even another entry today. I am still on my journey, I just now see where it may end. Obviously, my belief is that one never stops growing and learning, but to be the first level of woman is to be free. Be independent. Not stupid and crazy and superficial…independent. Free to make the right choices.
This will be all for now. Thank you if you have been reading I will write more now that I am backon my path.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Chapter 10: Late and moving on

This will be short, and I am sorry for the long laps. If I had any readers they have long ago died of old age, no doubt. I'm sorry.
We are moving to Texas in a few days...more like two weeks. I will be workong on a mast post while at home (no internet there) to post in a series to catch you all up. It will be long, depsressing and angry no doubt as well. For a time I lost sight of my gaol: To become a beautiful strong woman, but then I thought about how long it's been since I updated this and that caught me back onto my journey. I am about to take another journey over space and earth now and I look forward to that. I am changed more now than I was even two months ago and I cannot wait to share it. Yes, the typos and grammer in this post are horrid, but that's because I have a only a few moments within to comunicate this.
So I am much changed and I will write all about it over the next few days as journal entries and then share them with you. I have so much to say, so much has happened. Please pray for me and my travels and my kumpania as I go about my journeis. Thank you!

Monday, March 22, 2010

Chapter 9: Going to High School and Finding Clothes

I may not have mentioned it, but I was home schooled all my life. Just so you know, not all homeschoolers are those strange hokey people who you make fun of. We make fun of the stereotypical public schooler as well. And now that I am enrolled in a teaching class, I have to go to a high school and observe and take notes on specific things and write out journals on our assigned subject to observe.
This sounded fun and easy at first, but then I realized that my schedule was insane and messy! I was so used to having a neat and orderly schedule, but with the move coming up, I thought I should only take three classes and they could be whenever because I would drop them. WRONG!! We are not moving until May. We found a house in an adorable neighborhood and I am trying not to let the feelings form the last chapter seep into this one. So let’s blow that away.
Alright. So I have one class at 8 o’clock then two hours break before my next class (which is when I write these lovely entries that no one reads). Then after my insane sociology class (yes, you know the one) I have work or nothing till my Acting II class. Tuesdays and Thursdays I work from 11 to 5. I am swamped and scattered! So How was I to find the time to drive to a high school and observe. It may seem obvious to you, but know that the teachers are not available at all times I have breaks. They have planning periods and one of my Music teachers is only available in the afternoons!
But O’Dell gave me patients and the cool head to figure it out and I have! I just hope now that my professor doesn’t get on my case because I’m seeing three teachers at once.

On the next subject, I told my parents about wanting to change out my wardrobe. I have nothing but black t-shirts and Tripp pants in my draws. There is nothing wrong with that, but I want a change now to go with my change in life (my journey to being a lady). So I want a more bohemian and hippie look. Yes, a more gypsy look. More Urban. When I told my mom, “I want to change my wardrobe out,” she said, “Ok, that sounds interesting.”
“Yeah, but I’ll have to make most of the cloths I want.”
She stopped and just stared ahead (we were driving home from Texas). “What do you mean? You know you need to relax with this stuff and try to remember that you need to look classy as well as stylish.”
Here is where I went into a speech about what stylish meant to me and she didn’t understand. She thought that I was going to make all my cloths belly dancing costumes!! She thought I was silly enough to want to do that! Oh, the mind of mothers! I told her I want to look stylish and classy, but not mainstream stylish; not TRENDY. Once I explained to her that I was not going to walk around school with hip scarves and jungle belts on, she relaxed a little more.

Honestly…Belly dancing is my life and the ways of the Rom are important to me, but I cannot spoil the mystique of those cloths by wearing them every day. I have to come up with my own fashion and make it work in the colors and designs I like.
So this step is: trying to get nicer, classier cloths and let go of the teenage punk phase. Not my Gothic subculture and lifestyle, never that! But to present myself to the world as a serious person. I love my gothness and the scene. But I also love my tribal/urban ideas. So that is this step too: Balance the two and make it work!!

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Chapter 8: Whirlpool of Insanity

My life is once again spinning out of control. And yet in the midst of it all, I am trying to remain the lady that I want to be; but more and more I see myself slipping and becoming just another hateful older sister/first daughter.
I try to please my parents and keep failing. We went to look at colleges today (since we are spending out Spring Break in Texas) and it was a disaster. The school was closed and somehow that was my fault. My father told me that I should have looked at the website to see if it was open. I had checked previously and it all it had was “hours of operation”. My mother also took the opportunity to tell me that I need a plan for school. So I told her about my plan. The one I had before we were moving Texas. Somewhere during this talk, she let slip that she “always has to be there to help me” and other things were said that implied I was a stupid girl.
On this note, my younger sister treated me like an ill-educated person as well. She thinks she knows everything about bodily functions and health and what is good for you and how much exercise you have. She was complaining of blotation (which she does frequently) and saying how she has not been able to relieve herself in days.
She never eats protein.
I looked it up and saw that you have to balance your protein intake with your fiber intake and liquid or you will get constipated. This is what has happened to her. She never eats much protein because she thinks it will make her fat. I told her (before she told me she had not been able to go in days) that she was not constipated. She always says she is constipated. And that is when she went on and on about how I don’t know what constipation is. Which I do.
I did not want to you this blog as a place to complain, but that is all I have to write about at this time. Against my will we went on this Texas trip. I would have much rather stayed at home and danced (which I have not done in WEEKS) or rented movies or drawn or any other manner of things.
On that note, I have no worked out (the little that I do…) in weeks also. Since before I got streph throat. My work out consists of 30 crunches and 30 to 40 leg lifts to strengthen my lower abs. Then I do (sometimes, if I have time) sideways leg lifts for my hips (got to have strong hips for those movements!) and then stretching and sometimes pelvic thrust while lying on my back. That is my work out. I try and do it every night since it is SO LIGHT. I shall do it once more when we get back to Kansas. And school. Actually, I do not think that I have done my work out since the semester started. That’s bad! Especially for a 5’ 4” girl who weighs 140 pounds! But I cannot lose too much weight or I will lose my belly dancer shape which I treasure. It is the shape of a woman.
I am not going to sugar coat it anymore. I hate the skinny girls. Not because they are skinny and I am not, but because I pity them. They have a distorted point of view. It is unhealthy. They are desecrating the temple that is their body. It’s not good for the soul or spirit or the girl.
Very well, I shall leave off here and be back next time with a more light-hearted time and more about dance and the life of a lady. Or the life of becoming a lady. That’s what this is: My times and Trials on the Quest to Womanhood!

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Chapter Seven: Is a New Path Ever Needed?

I have to wonder about my life right now. We’re still in the midst of moving to Texas and I am still going to school. Work is piling up with homework, observations (have to be done for my teaching class), scholarship duties, class, and work. Mostly it’s the observations that are scaring me the most. I can’t get a hold of my teachers to organize meetings so I’m falling behind in handing in homework, which is not ok with me. I need to email my teacher and tell her that. I hate being behind.
Life at home is fine. Mostly because I’m never at home. I’m school from sun up to sun down every day save Saturday and Sunday and those days go by too fast. At least this Friday I’m getting a small break (after all the work is done of course). Elhira and I are going to see the new “Alice” movie by Tim Burton. I know he will do a fabulous job on the movie. Some people say he ruins kids books like that (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory) but really, if people had read those books, they would see that he actually does a very good job. Those books are disturbing…and awesome!!
So trying to maintain my lady-like behavior and my belly dancer grace in the midst of all of this is insane. I did my hair in tons of tiny braids and braided in yarn and various charms here and there to give myself a “tribal” look and feel. And it has done wonders for me. I feel better and prettier and like I have something to show the world. I also bought Almond oil and alovera (spelling!?) for my skin and already my thighs and buttocks feel better. I have the worlds nappiest bumps and what not on my fore arms and other said places and this skin treatment is so good. I recommend it. Just apply the oil and alo to the places you have thirsty skin and within a week or two (always after a shower!) you should see results. I put the oil in my hair sometimes too because I have dry poofy hair.
Alright, enough lady-talk! I just felt the need to update since I have not in the longest time and being a lady is a 24/hour chore. Thanks for reading. I promise to write far more interesting things later!!!

Monday, February 15, 2010

Chapter Six: Allegory

In the last chapter, I discussed how dancing solo is easier and more to my style. Sadly, the romani way is to travel in packs together, but it does not seem as though I will be able to do that. Not because I do not wish too, but because there are no packs to travel with other than my immediate kumpania, who I love. But this does not help me with dance.
Yes, I have had time to think of this over the ridiculous holiday that was yesterday. The Holiday of red and hearts and flowers. A happy time no doubt for someone who has a special person to share it with. I am not begging for a man, however, I simply stating what nearly every person is thinking on this White Day.
When dancing alone (mostly raqs sharqi for me) I find myself free and able to do whatever I want. If I want to dance fast, I do. If I want to move slowly and sensually I do. I so adore ballroom dance, but that requires something I do not have; a partner. Though this is the main point, let me elaborate on another similar subject for a moment.
Dance comes from many traditions and lifestyles. I have spoken in brief about the lifestyles I lead: gothic, romani, and lady-like manners. All of these aid in creating a better me. I know more about ballroom dance than the average person because I studied it for almost 5 years. So hear me when I say what I saw at Louis’ Dance Studio that night was appalling. First, all of the Swingsters are ugly men who, and my best friend agreed with me, are only swing dancing because it’s the only way to touch a pretty girl. Yes, they are very talented but I have to wonder why, in a world of American opportunity they chose to be dancers.
So that’s point one. Secondly, the music they mostly dance to is what they call East Caoast, but really is simply rock music. Excuse my vulgarity here, but they freakin danced to that “boots with fur” song! That is not ball room music. That is my second point; they have lost the true meaning and soul behind that dance. It is a dance of elegance and passion, not sluttyness and lust. But that is all that dance has turned into these days. It is lust. Ballroom used to be a dance of respect between a man and woman. The man would lead and the woman was brave enough to let him lead and he took her on an adventure. It was an allegory for life. It still is, but all modern standards though. It had just evolved into something grotesque. Sex, lust, and dirt passion.
Belly dance has met with these people as well and it will take many of us purist dancers to bring it back to the light. Like ballroom is about a journey between a man and a woman, belly dance can be that as well, or simply a celebration of the voluptuous woman. A praise for the goddess in us all. It is not bawdy and sexual, it is beautiful and sensual. It is pure. It is feminine. We, as female dancers must never dance before an all male audience and we must offer ourselves as something to be bought; no sex for sale. We are strong, beautiful, independent women, who do not yet have a man to take us on our journeys. And that may never be your future. Or maybe you are a belly dancer and you have one man who you love for whom you can dance. Stick to that man and love him with all of your strong feminine passion.
All of my other posts seem ridiculous compared to this one. I am still trying to figure out what this blog is for. So if you are reading, then thank you.
Until the dust settles from your journey, may O’Dell bless you and keep you.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Chapter Five: Dancing Solo

Aysu was standing in the back of the room like she had years ago. The dance studio was a live with music, flashing lights and the beat of the East Coast Swing was familiar and it called to her muscle’s memory. Elhira had asked her to come and dance. It had been years since Aysu stood in the room, the large dance floor lined with mirrors was so familiar. But it wasn’t the same without her brothers there. Once, she and her older brothers had come here every weekend and they were good dancers. She danced for about four years in this style. She had once been good.
But now, here she stood not even remembering the basic step. “Once on the floor, I’ll remember,” she told her best friend Elhira. “Muscles have memory, you know.” She had been so excited about coming and dancing all night and now here she was. No one to dance with. No one good, any way. So she went and began to dance the familiar steps with one of Elhira’s friends. He was just fine. He wasn’t amazingly good, but he knew some stuff.
After almost an hour of beating about the room and bordly dancing with Elhira’s friend,s he stood back and watched, remembering the nights she had stood just like this. Only never for this long. She had three brothers to dance with and now they had all moved on. She was bored, longed to dance like times of old and had no one to do it with.
Finally, she spotted a boy from her acting class who had been something of a stalker a year ago. But she was desperate. She knew he was a great dancer…and so did he. She asked him to dance and they did. It was amazing. He was not attractive at all, but his movements were elaborate and strong; he knew what he was doing and knew that she could follow along. It was like old times as she flew across the dance floor, her arms twisting and her legs stylishly bending and kicking. Her body came a love again.
But it was too short lived. The song ended and she was back to standing and watching. It was like being her old 14 to 18 year old self again’ moody, depressed and hanging back. It was awful. Then Anika, her sister, came up and said, “Let’s go out and belly dance! No one is asking me to dance.”
“Sure,” Aysu thought. “You’ve dance more than me, skinny thing.”
Aysu really did love her sister, but after battling her anorexia for 3 or more years had made Anika something of a given enemy. She was thin and fragile but insisted on dieting all the time and working out. Belly dancing was one way she did this and that angered Aysu.
“Fine,” Aysu said outloud. “But only for a few seconds.” She really didn’t feel like showing her raqs sharqi to hand full of West Coasters on the dance floor. But that didn’t last. Aysu and Anika hit the floor and didn’t stop undulating and swimming through the air until the song ended.
Aysu came off the floor thinking, “This is why I belly dance. I can do it alone.”
Sad, but true. That’s the way it was. Belly dancing was beautiful and feminine and passionate; and you could do it alone. You depended on no one. It was freeing.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Chapter Four: Hypocrite!

There is one thing that ties all of the things Aysu was trying to live together. She was trying to live "in the world and not of it", the good life of the cultures she loved (the philosophies of belly dancers), a follower of O'Dell and the gothic lifestyle. That one thing was this "Do not be a hypocrite."
Aysu had so many brothers and sisters growing up and she still had many that she had to be a good example for. She always tried in her own power to be "good" and to "do the right thing" so that the little ones might learn from her. But as you know, that was already difficult.
So some of the rules of wanting to be a real belly dancer (other than knowing the history, studying the roots and knowing the differences of the dances) is to be a lady. To be polite and to know that you really are beautiful and strong. So be a lady.
One of the gothic philosophies is to be honest and accept as much as you can. Alright, so honest might seem easy and maybe it was. Once Aysu started on that path (not that she was dishonest and a liar before) she found she liked it well. Being honest made you sweeter, nicer and made people more comfortable around you and you more comfortable around other people. The harder part for people was the accepting bit. Aysu tried it and found that not judging people and keeping meaner thoughts in her head and not through her mouth was nice as well. She stopped gossiping and simply accepted people. Now some may think that this clashes with O'Dell's teaching to spread the Word, but it doesn't. Once people see that you are not "out to attack and convert them" they are at ease in your presence and will accept you as well. Then you're life will be the Witness. So accepting people is better then judging them.
Finally, the Teachings of O'Dell tell us over and over again not to be a hypocrite. Some of you are reading this and thinking, "yes, only for O'Dell's followers though." Or you may be thinking that you have never been a hypocrite in you're life...you are completely mistaken if you think that.
Everyone has said something is stupid then gone and done it. Or you have told your friends that that TV show is not worth your time and you don't like it and neither should they. Then you finally get to know the show and there you are every Friday, watching it. The worst case is telling people (even your kids) not to lie or cheat or steal. No doubt a parent has had to "tell tales" in the work place or at school. It is the hardest thing to avoid.
In Aysu's sociology class, the teacher showed what a hypocrite he and other psychologist were. It was actually an interesting class and they were discussing "symbolic interactionism." Aysu read the definitions and the talk began.
"So SI really goes back to critical constructionism," she said to her group partners. "Because critical constructionism is the people with money being the people with power who therefore influence the social interactionsim."
The teacher had to agree but then said, "Of course some critical constructionists will disagree with that because..." The rest of what he said faded out as Aysu's thoughts were activated. The teacher had labeled a group of people. "Critical constructionists". So the whole philosophy of not being in groups and having a socialist network really didn't matter? Weren't Sociologists supposed to be more open minded? No groups? Marxists. They all really had names and profiling was supposed to bad. He said so earlier in the class!
So there it is. Hypocrisy is everywhere you look. The biggest is in the media. But that is another post and will be written another time.

Friday, January 29, 2010

Chapter three: Life in the Malestrom

The days were passing slowly and events seemed to have to some sort of a snail-like crawl. Normally, this drives a person insane, but Aysu knew that it meant she was to observe something. And there was much to observe.

Since the family was moving far away, she had to go with them because her father would not allow her to live on her own.

"I'm old enough!" Aysu used to say in her arguments with her parents. "I have a job, and I'm 20 years old!"

It was no use. Her father would say that he could not leave her in a place unprotected. Aysu stilled argued. Finally, it came down to logic.

"How much money to you make a month?" Father had asked.

"About $400," she said, knowing at once what was coming next.

"It will take you nearly $1500 to live alone," Father coaxed. "Per month. That's car, phone, apartment and food and other essentials."

Of course he was right. But that didn't make it any better or easier. So after many weeks of anger, frustration and home searching, Aysu spent a night in prayer to O'Dell.

She lit her candles and placed them around the oriental rugs on her bedroom floor. Then she put her bible and incense burner in the center turned down the lights then sat in the middle of it all. she closed her eyes and asked for peace of mind and calmness of spirit before she opened the Holy Book to a chapter. The first thing she read was an order from O'Dell to one of his followers to "go south".

That was all it took. It was real. She had asked and in that moment O'Dell answered. There was mo arguing about it. But then, something more extraordinary happened. In the depths of her stomach, something erupted and she felt excited. Something told her that something...or someone...was waiting for her in the southern land. She knew she had to go. She must go, take the journey, and find that something....someone.

And if only it was that easy. She had a plan to fulfil at the academy she attended. She had auditioned for the theatre there and had won enough money to take a few classes. She had been at the academy for years and was ready to graduate. This was the last semester she was to be there. And she would have to leave before that happened. Naturally, this made her angry, but she remembered that O'Dell had a plan. So she just took 3 classes and began to bide her time, still working in the Writing Center of the academy.

But it got worse. She auditioned for one of the plays and got a role in the Japanese play (perfect for a girl wanting to expand beyond the shallow thoughts of American Society). She thought it all would work out, but then the director told her that the play would tour in May...

She was supposed to move to the South before April. And now she didn't know what to do. She had thought of many options:

1) Stay. find a place to live till after May. But then she would be there for the rest of the semester, which she had not planned on. So she did not take the last class she needed to graduate. So now if she stayed, it would be frustrating to know she could have graduated, but didn't.

2) Move to working on costumes or makeup for the first play. Then she could still leave earlier in the year.

3) Just wait it out...

This last option was at first, appealing but the more she thought about it, the more it sounded less like good old Romani honesty. So she went with #2. And now all she could do was hope for the best and pray to O'Dell to be merciful. To let her life be a little easier now. Let the director know that the plays really did mean something and that she truly was sorry for being a burden.

All she could do was hope...

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Chapter Two: Aysu Decides to Watch

Asysu had, at one point been looking forward to her “Social Problems” class but now she was not so sure. She was excited because she had wanted to be foster parent later in life and thought that the class would help her prepare for whatever troubles the kids might bring with them. But all this teacher wanted to do was talk about himself. He talked for 25 minutes about his websites and always ended his name with Ph.D. as if the students already didn’t know.
She tried to remember to remove some of her biases long enough to learn something, but that learning never came. They spoke for the last few minutes of the class on what it meant to be non-objective. Aysu was listening with an open mind until the teacher said something about followers of O’Dell never being able to be un-biased.
This remark was something that Aysu could not ignore. The rebel in her said, “If you say not to pray to O’Dell then I will pray all the harder. If you say that worshipers of O’Dell are less than those that worship others or none at all, then I will worship all the louder!”
Aysu knew that countering with such anger was not the way to attack the situation, so she wrote her thoughts down and closed her notebook leaving the class in a state of forced calm.
She spent a fairly uneventful day at school. Her car was in the shop so her mother drove to her to class. Bu the plumber had decided to come to the house so Mother was going to be late. While waiting, Aysu did what most college people did—she surfed the internet.
First, she spent time looking up her favorite thing and the source of her intended transformation: Arabic things and raqs sharqi. That led to other searches such as Egypt. That is when it happened. She found a video claiming that ancient Egyptians were actually black people. It claimed that the most awesome ancient civilization was a black community. She had no problem with this at first, accept that she thought she knew differently.
The teachings of O’Dell said to accept all people and she normally did; she just didn’t talk to people very often (but this shall be written about later). So, rather than judge the one who posted the information, she began to look it up. She found all of the old arguments about “kemet” and the fact that Egypt is in Africa and the look of the sphinx…she spent hours searching and reading.
In the end, she decided that Egyptians were darker skinned people much like the Arabs and Persians. She let it be too. She did not want to be in the middle of a debate like that. It was not that she was giving up it was simply that she chose to believe something about it and came to that decision.
Later that night, she retrieved her car from the shop and was very happy to have it back. She then checked on her ferret, Cain, to makes sure the healing was going well. A few days earlier, she had discovered that Cain’s collar was too tight and had fused to his skin causing a bad wound when she removed it. After all of this an uneventful dinner, she went to her room and watched “Repo!”.
The thoughts she got form the movie were rather profound, she thought.
The future portrayed in this movie may be a little farfetched, but somehow, she didn’t see it all as wrong. The fact that humans could be so brutally interested in their own appearance so much as to take body parts from others is not far from what they do already, surely. Man is desperate to not look old and then to not die. Everything in this world (set in New York or San Francisco?) revolves around the company that can “save your life”. If you can’t keep up your payments for the new body parts then a Repo Man comes and repossess them. Yes…he rips you open and takes what was not paid for.
This may shock you, but along with wanting to live the Old Ways, Aysu also was something of a goth who had been there and back. She had been all of the way to the darkest end and the poser side. Then back to understanding what goth was really about. This is lessons to be written about later as well if you wish.
So the movie was not shocking in the gore of it, but the people in it. Truly shocking, but not too unrealistic.
With this and the people claiming Egyptians as black, it is all the more clear the vanity and pride of man. Truly the fall of man is his want to be all that he can be…maybe not such a great thing after all? Aysu wondered this and said as she laid in bed that night, “Maybe I’ll look into it. Man cannot be so mysterious.”
And so, she began her look at man and herself.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Chapter One: A Lifestyle

The way you live and the culture in which you live is called a lifestyle. You can adopt that which you live in or create a new one that best suites you. When you live a certain place, say somewhere strange or tribal compared to what you may consider "normal", you can then become adapted to the ways of that place. This is a term known as "going native".
You most likely live in America. Notice the lack of you and your people "going native". Why is this? It was because of the lifestyle that was brought over from Europe that was considered more advanced. Europe had to cauterize and teach the natives. Because of that, a culture and a lifestyle and a people were nearly destroyed.
Of course, America wouldn't be where it is to day with it's beautifully enhanced learning and technology without the removal savage killing it had several hundred years ago. Of course then America had to fight it's mother country, gain freedom, then fight itself before it finally settled down.
This was the beginning of a lifestyle and a culture that many people now live in. Most sociologist believe that most of the world is adopting an "American" lifestyle. However, some prefer to live apart from that lifestyle. Consider it being "in America but not of it". Yes, that is a scripture reference.
So what about other lifestyles and philosophies? That is what this story is about. This is the story of "Mirella Aysu Asenoth"--a gypsy trying to find who she is in the world and trying to find her place and purpose in it. Sound familiar? It's probably your life you will be reading...