An edit featuring my favorite dynamic duo from Warehouse 13. (I love Pete and Myka by the way, but Steve and ever enthusiastic computer hacker Claudia are epic as well).
Thursday, March 20, 2014
[to friendcist people]
I lived my whole life thus far thinking I didn't have a best friend. The only best friend I ever had was gone, and now, there was no one to confide with. Not like it matters as to whether you have a 'best friend'. You have friends, and that ought to be enough. Calling only one friend among all of your friends a best friend probably makes some people feel left out. But honestly, there is no better best friend than your sibling.
Some people seem to have rules about this. 'Do you have a best friend?' 'Does my sibling count?' 'No, they don't count!'
Well, take this into consideration; what is a best friend? Someone you can depend on. You can call them practically any name and they won't take it too personally. You can get angry with them, but be on perfectly good terms only minutes later. You can love several things together, or argue over something stupid you disagree on. You can tell them practically anything. They won't rat on you. You can do almost anything together. You comfort, tease and help each other.
Well guess what, friendcist, I looked through people I know, and my sibling fits all those qualities. And hey, there are the people who declare their best friend like a sibling, as if that would make much of a difference. In my opinion, your best friend is your sibling, or your sibling is your best friend. And honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. If I don't get married, I'm going to bunk in with my sibling. Be a couple of bachelors or whatever.
You don't always get siblings this close. Maybe it comes with being homeschooled. It's pretty intimate when you do have close siblings. One of the more intimate things in the world. You were there when they were born, or the other way around… Either way, you've been with each other for practically all your lives. You ought to be there when it ends.
We're back from Frasers Hill.
Anyway, here's a random journal thing I wrote. I was planning to write something for each day, but I was distracted by A) watching kids, B) story writing, and C) photography moments…
We got up the mountain alright. I normally get car sickness, and also I go a little stir crazy when in the car for too long, but the music occupied me pretty well. We were a little delayed in arriving due to the fact that rain made some trees collapse over the road.
All the guys who were in cars who were stopped because of the barrier were getting out and trying to help clear it, since no mountain clearance guys were said to be coming down with chainsaws. That, of course meant my dad was going to help.
Raewyn and I really wanted to help clear it, but we weren't allowed cause we were GIRLS. No, I'm just kidding. We weren't allowed to help because our dad said not to. All the same, she and I helped clear some of the disconnected branches. We tried cutting off some branches with Rae's pocket knife, but it wasn't nearly sharp enough, and we only (sort of) succeed in hacking off one branch.
The men were actually doing pretty good for only having their own two hands and one pair of garden shears (total). Finally, a mountain clearance guy came down with a chainsaw, and another guy later came with a machete. Things were pretty well cleared off after that.
It was raining a little when we got to the bungalow, which we are going to be staying in with two other families. I played in the rain a little, until the Neblet family, who have four kids (two boys, seven-and-a-half and six, and two girls, four and one-and-a-half), arrived.
There are now eight kids here, counting the only two teenagers, Myrddin and I. So, yeah, while the adults have meetings, I gotta be the big sister and baby sitter to seven kids.
For the past ten minutes, I've mostly been keeping an eye on Pete Neblet, the six year old. While Raewyn (nine years old, my youngest, overenthusiastic sister), Zeke Neblet (the seven year old, rather controlling kid, one aspect of being the oldest kid in his family), Judah (eleven, my younger brother, who mostly goes with the flow, but gets highly frustrated when he doesn't do something right or can't get his way while playing), and Pete can do a lot of damage all together, Pete is probably in a class on his own.
He's basically Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes in real life, complete with the blond hair. Pete spent the first ten minutes trying to spy on people because he 'wanted to stay out of sight'. I tried keeping an eye on him, which actually wasn't hard even when he ran away whenever I looked away, since he still has to work on 'being silent' and also he wears a bright orange shirt. Pete talked about how he liked being alone sometimes, he liked doing pranks, he liked 'spying', he liked 'staying out of sight', and about the different ways one could stay out of sight (which included taking off one of your shoes and leaving false tracks in case you were being followed).
Pete is very independent, very stubborn, and rather bold. When my dad told him not to step out of the gate, because otherwise he would fall down the hill and 'crack his melon open', Pete replied with, "Prove that."
Pete's dad, Uncle Sandy, had to help out with some more serious words, telling Pete to come back into the bungalow. Pete finally did. I didn't hear much of what my dad was saying to Pete afterwards (something about responsibility I think), but I definitely remember what I heard.
Pete said something about '[his] brother' and my dad replied saying that Zeke was probably a good example. Suddenly, he turned to me and said, "Ask Nadi. She'll tell you how hard it is to be the responsible one."
Thanks, dad. Anyway, Pete was later ranting about how he was going to get back at Zeke for throwing water balloons at him. "I'll follow THAT example!" Pete is seriously never boring.
It's raining now, but I'm not allowed to go play in the rain. I know, that sounds immature, but rain tends to do that to you, actually. Anyway, mom says not to play in the rain cause I only brought a limited amount of clothes. (FINE…) Aaand, I have no idea where the kids are. I better go look for them.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
[because I can't really just let my ideas drop]
I used to think I didn't have insecurities. That I wasn't easily put down. That I wasn't like most people. And I'm not, really. I didn't, and I don't, worry about how I look. I didn't care if people thought I was weird. I didn't give a dang about being popular or anything. It was a thing I was proud of, acting how I wanted, and not how other people expected. Going against cliques and 'normal' society.
But I was wrong. I do have a insecurity. I need — I want — approval. I work hard at what I do. Writing mostly. Whether its for work, for pleasure, or just a little factoid that I found interesting, I always want it to be accepted. Some people might say that I don't work well with criticism. Maybe so. But criticism I can work past. Forgive and forget. I can't hold a grudge.
But perhaps I'm wrong again. I think what I really want is… acceptance. I like being the way I am. I wouldn't have it any other way. But it still hurts when someone calls you strange, or a freak. Being with people who accept me the way I am is a thing I treasure. But if even one person shows a sign of dissing me, its like being stabbed in the heart.
The thing is, approval and acceptance are sometimes the same thing. In a group or team, I try to put in my hand. Helping, having fun, working, I like doing these things with people, and I like it when they accept my play in things. They approve of it. But my fear of not being accepted sometimes makes me look at things the wrong way; maybe my sense of humor, or sense of what is interesting, or sense of strategy is put in the wrong place. And so when it is rejected, perhaps the person has no distinct disapproval, they are just saying, gently, that here and now is not the right place for my sense of whatever.
But often, it doesn't feel that way for me. Whether the person's intentions were spiteful or meant to be gentle, it feels like a punch to the stomach for me, almost literally. I can't think about it without feeling sick. I can't look the person in the eye, can't talk to them, can't bring up the same joke, fact or idea ever, ever again.
I can't hold a grudge. I've said that before, and it's true. It's not that I do not want to hold a grudge, I can't. And also I don't want to. I trust people easily. I can give them a second chance. I can't stay angry, and I don't get angry at people for turning down my ideas. I stay on friendly terms with them. And yet the punch to the stomach doesn't go away for a good, long time.
I have yet to find the difference with some of my rejected jokes, ideas or facts. For some, I pretty much just yell 'So what? You are not me, you don't know what I find interesting, and my opinion is allowed to be made public without you shoving in!' Some, I just drop. Forget about it. No punch at all. And yet for some, there is the punch. The feeling of rejection. I don't know why. Maybe because the rejection is thrown in my face without reason, so suddenly. But this happens to me often, and most of them are waved away, or backhanded. I just don't know.
This is why I have thought for so long that I didn't have an insecurity. But that is impossible, in some ways. Everyone has insecurities. Outgoing, friendly, responsible, gentle, angry, gruff, stern, rule-abiding, happy, carefree… No matter what you are, what qualities you have, you have an insecurity, somewhere in there.
It's not really something to be proud of, but at least you're human in that way. Insecurities can be overcome, you know. Mine is just a trivial thing, and I think one day my mind will take that to heart, and I won't care too much any more.