I can’t give you everything I want to; but that’s okay, because you can’t give me everything I need.
Tag Archives: rant
While surfing around the lovely land of WordPress, I recently ran across an interesting post on a wonderful young lady’s blog that I loved. After mulling over it about a week, I think I have finally decided I can do this.
To just steal the quote right off Miss Docimo’s page, this “is a blog-writing challenge to break through the mist of this shiny happy pretty blogosphere and tell the real truth about your life—the things you’re afraid to tell because you think they might shatter who people think you are. I have talked about this idea often with my husband—I think the internet is a blessing and a curse—it is amazing to be able to connect with people from all over the world and inspire each other, but it can also be down-right depressing to go around to one blog after another that makes the blogger seem like they have everything all together, and success is literally raining down upon them while they take bubble baths and drink champagne in a beautiful beachfront home. Even though I realize that people are representing only part of the truth (I’m a blogger myself and tend to focus on inspiration), I often find myself feeling depressed and jealous as I make my blog rounds, and tend to avoid reading blogs when I’m in a certain mood.”
1. I’m terribly afraid of growing vain. I would much prefer struggling with insecurity issues than be blinded of my over-confidence issues. On the same note, I’m not comfortable with my body size and shape, with how thin my hair is, with my fingernails, with my lingering acne, with my hunchback, with the stank of my feet, with my awkward incoordination, and with me in general.
2. I’m afraid of people really getting to know all of me. I have no idea why I don’t like anyone knowing everything about me, but I feel it may have something to do with vulnerability.
3. I’m afraid of being held responsible for other people’s lives in my future. I think this is for obvious reasons, though.
4. I’m afraid if I tell you that I don’t have many fears, you will think I don’t care. That you will think my lack of fear of dying means I don’t understand the meaning of life. That you will think I don’t feel anything when I tell you I’m not afraid of heartbreak. That you will think I am stupid for not being afraid of heights, spiders, snakes, rats, etc. That you will think my lack of fear of failure means I haven’t ever failed. That you will think I’m fearless, when in all reality I’m not.
5. I’m more scared of meeting my significant other’s parents than sky diving. Don’t translate this as me rather jumping out of a plane than meeting his parents. It’s a little bit different than that.
6. I’m terrified of having children.
7. I’m afraid to tell you I have this drafted since Tuesday and just haven’t been able to push the publish button until today.
The difference between you and me is that I know what I am thinking. I know where I have been, and where I plan on heading. I know, most of the time, how I feel despite not being able to express it well. You, on the other hand, could have come from anywhere.
We had a long group discussion on cultural competency today, which I found to be eye-opening in a respect completely different from most people in our class. We talked about expanding our knowledge of other cultures by reading books, meeting new people, volunteering in locations that we would otherwise not go to, blah blah blah. I was shocked to find such ignorance in what my peers were saying. I do admit, though, this ignorance could be directly related to naivety. But I wouldn’t know, because I am not them.
People talked about having friends from various cultures. They shared uncomfortable moments they had during a wide array of experiences. We recognized that we should go out of our comfort zone to further our cultural diversity experiences, and we discussed the internalization that is required to truly gain from times such as these. Our class reflected that our actions are not necessarily perceived as they were intended. How could we know what you were thinking?
Yes, all of those things are true. However, I feel as though a vital piece of our discussion is missing. To know one person is to know one person. It is not knowing a culture. To immerse yourself in a new culture for a day, a week, a month, is to flip through a history book in 20 minutes. Did you learn? Undoubtedly so. If you look back at the same pages, could you learn more? Sure. Do you know that culture, that language, those customs? Not a chance.
“But,” you say, “but I had an open mind! I reflected, I didn’t judge, and I treated a person as a person. I learned. I am always learning.” Did you forget, my friend? You only know in certainty your experiences. And those experiences are interpreted in a vast number of ways by others who experienced similar, or even identical, events.
Cultural competency isn’t about seeing the differences and reacting appropriately. Cultural competency is recognizing there are not differences that separate people, but understanding that our differences bring us together, even if disguised as being conflicting ideas.
How does one teach that? How do we get a firm grasp on an idea that is so vague? An even more difficult perspective: How do we implement into our daily lives a concept that is so vague?
The answer: We don’t. Even if we grapple with the idea of becoming culturally competent, we inadvertently become selfishly wrapped into our own comfortable experiences that are so commonplace we expect other people to think similarly, to act similarly, and to react similarly. Adding to that notion, in my experiences, I have been told to fight for what is right. I have been told to fight for what I believe in. I have been told not to let anyone change who I am, because I am perfect the way I am. I don’t know about you, but I find this is to be a cesspool breeding ground for ignorance and hate. If I fight for what is right, I may be fighting with the Taliban. I may be fighting for the red, white, and blue. If I fight for what I believe in, I may implement laws pertaining to eugenics in hopes of destroying entire races. I may fight for keeping individuals of color off buses. I may be fighting for gay marriage. I may be fighting in the name of Muhammad. If I am perfect the way I am, and have no flaws to change, I am not looking at what others do well.
While you may argue that my examples are extreme, I may agree. I may even be trying to prove a point. Where is the line drawn separating extreme from not extreme? Would you draw the same line as I would? If I were on the other side of the line, where would I have to stand for you to become defensive or even intervene in some way? Is there a point where you stood that I would consider using my constitutional right to free speech or bear arms or my god given right to shun you and wish you to hell? Is there a point where we might drop both you would drop your defense and offense simultaneously? Maybe, but I am me and you are you. You could have come from anywhere.
Have you heard me? Have you heard me at all?
Have you changed? Have you changed at all?
I know I am not the only one to do this, but may be one of the only to readily admit I do this quite frequently. I love to people watch. It isn’t creepy, I promise. I consider it research, you know, for when I get to be a doctor and have to interact with all kinds of people. But in doing this, I seem to find myself quite frequently saying, “There is no way in HECK that you would EVER find me doing that.” Which is, of course, a lie. Most of the actions I say that to, I already do. Then I become all self conscious and feel like I have to change my whole life.
You see, I’m not really someone who is really comfortable with who I am most of the time anyway. My mother always called me a “floater,” which obviously means that I am someone who fits in with multiple social groups, and has difficulty becoming attached to one single group. (Here I grew up thinking a floater was one of those annoying clear-ish things floating around in your eye. Glad my mother was able to correct me before I got into the real world.) I always thought this wasn’t too much of a terrible thing. That is, until it comes time to plan a party. “I’m not coming because so-and-so will be there!” Yeesh. Recently, though, I have started to become concerned that it is in the “Terrible Thing” category.
Again, I’m one of these “floaters” (for lack of a better term) in med school. I study with different little groups, but don’t have a solid core group. Yay for getting to know people, but boo for feeling like I never have a home base, a comfort zone. This leaves me feeling awkward around everyone, like a third wheel for each group given that I only dedicate part of my time to but because they are around each other all the time, they all know each other so well. And feeling awkward around everyone makes me feel like I don’t fit in anywhere. Which, naturally, leads to feeling alone.
In case I was being all coy about the point, I have been feeling alone a lot lately. I really hope I am creating this scenario in my head. Wait a second, that makes me sound crazy. Let me rephrase. I really hope that I am, in my insecure self, imagining that I am being alone less often that I actually am. And now I just sound paranoid. Excellent.
Don’t get me wrong, people that know me call me a confident, strong young woman. That, for the most part, is because I am very good at covering all the annoyances, pain, insecurities, and whatever else I deem as weak. I leave them in a box at home under my bed.
Now I have come to a point in my life where that box eerily keeps finding its way from under the bed to on top of the bed as if some paranormal activity movie is being filmed in my room. Sometimes I even find it sitting at my desk when I get to school. It is in my locker, on the bus, and even in restaurants. No matter how many nights I bring it home and put it back under the bed, it keeps mysteriously showing up. And I am really sick of seeing that stupid box.
I wonder if anyone else can see me carrying this box around? Is it as big and obvious as it is to me? If it is obvious, is there anyone that wants to look in it with me? Is there even anything in the box at all? Is there anything in there that someone is willing to take out, to look at and inspect? Will they be just as scared of what is in there as me? Will what is in there make better friends or push the ones I have away? Will I be able to find the perfect dumpster again, one where I can just throw the box away and hardly remember I had to store it? Or will I be alone?
Now, what I actually do when I people watch is wonder what boxes they leave at home under the bed or why they decided they had to carry it along with them shopping that day. Then I close my eyes and cross my fingers that my box isn’t as large and heavy as some of the others I see being carried around by others.
I have had a writer’s block lately. Let me expand on this: this little writers block is more like four stairs. I am standing at the bottom of these four stairs looking at them as though they are Mount Everest or at least Pikes Peak or something. And I am far from being in shape.
As a side note, I did make a New Year’s Resolution to make myself get in better shape. I, Kristin, am going to run 300 whole miles this year. But I happen to be two miles behind schedule right now and am dreading the run this afternoon…
My solution for this writer’s block? Write down my thoughts on certain (interesting) topics for the day. Gosh, I sure am a problem solver. Cheers to day one.
You want to know my thoughts on this idea? No? Oh. Well, pull up your big girl panties, wipe your tears and do what I say, “Read on.” You remember from my New Year post? Hitler, I am. Speaking of which!
Hilarious until you realize that Hitler spoke German. “Gas die Juden” sounds nothing like “glas saft.” I suppose it could, though, if you were deaf, and in that case, everything would sound just about the same.
My thoughts are that you will enjoy these posts. I also expect that I will be less than prompt at getting these brilliant thoughts up on time. I also expect that they will be far less brilliant than I what I think they are. Be sure to boo me off the stage if that is the case. I can take a hint! Most of the time, anyways.
On the plus side, I am in the process of having a better blog page designed. I’d lie and say I’m cool enough for hiring out to upgrade my blog, but in all reality, I’m lucky my sister went into graphic design. I think I’m going to walk away and leave this as the cliffhanger it is.
Since when did being socially awkward become socially acceptable?? And why on this lovely green earth wasn’t it all cool-like when I was growing up? I would have been the freaking coolest person in my class. I suppose my definition of socially acceptable has changed now, but what I see is this:
Socially awkward penguin running around the internets and acting all popular and shiz. Most of the stuff on here I practiced on a daily basis before it was cool. You should see my face right now: it is dead serious.
Glee. For real, when did something that is targeting the “geeky” kids get to be something that would get more than a few hundred people to watch? And “Big Bang Theory,” anyone? I’m pretty sure that the last thing that was targeted at this group of dorks was comic books. Yeah. COMIC BOOKS. What?? No cringing or stiffled giggles? Oh yeah, that’s right. Sorry for my forgetfulness. *The Dark Knight, Ironman, The Incredible Hulk, Spiderman, X-men, etc.* It became cool.
I won’t need to mention Harry Potter (magic), Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, and Star Trek. (You see what I did right there? Sneeky, I am.)
And those hipster glasses? Yeah, I got made fun of for having to wear something close to those things in elementary. Now people that don’t even have to be blind to be awesome. Whoa. Finally people are catching on that four eyes are better than two.
Maybe the nerdiness is brought to be a cool thing by Hollywood. Will Farrell, John C. Reilly, Micheal Cera, John Heder, Jonah Hill, Seth Rogan… This list has significantly grown from the amount of odd-ball actors that were around, oh I don’t know, ten years ago. Hollywood and their schemes; they are always scheming. They have this elaborate plan to show us that you don’t have to be beautiful and skinny and stupid to be famous. Blasphemy! Everyone knows that if you aren’t drop dead gorgeous and skinny, you can’t be famous! There is no ugly in Hollywood! Hollywood is where dreams are made! … Isn’t that amusing. It has gotten to be that anyone’s dreams can come true. Screw med school, imma be famous! Everyone knows I’m about as awkward, I mean cool, as they come.
I’d love it if I had time to find a ton of comics that have been dedicated to science geeks, but off the top of my head I know of xkcd, phdcomics, Dr. McNinja, and spiked math. All hilarious and genius by the way. All super geeky as well. Shocker, given the nature of this post. But unfortunately, I am limited on my time. I’m to busy being awesome and stuff.
I think am I quickly realizing that sarcasm isn’t translated well on paper unless you (inclusive) are an amazing writer. “Oh well,” as Katy Perry would say.
Since I know kids and their evil scheming, malicious, rabid behaviours, I know they still make fun of their peers, but for what? ((Being a hipster?)) I’m not joking though, I have no idea what there is to make fun of if everything I was made fun of for is now cool.
This is by far not the conclusion of this discussion. Unfortunately though,
I have to get to studying and cadaver lab and eating like a fatty. I have to get back to being all cool and being my really, really ridiculously good looking self.
… … …*long awkward silence* … … … Uhmmmm… *walks away*
Do you really want to know why I am generally considered a tomboy? It’s because I generally despise girls. Keep in mind I say generally, please, and also consider that I was born female with all sorts of female parts and female hormones that classify me as one of them at least some of the time. That isn’t the point at all, though. You see, these girl antics are enough to drive everyone mad.
My number one pet peeve in the whole wide world is drunk girls at a party. They run around, shrieking and crying and making drama out of abso-fricken-lutely nothing. “OMG!!!!!!!! THATTTT GURRLLLL IS SOOOOOO WEARING A SHIRRRRT THAAAAT IIIII HAAAAVE. I’ll neverrrrr wear thaaaaat agaiiiinnnn.” Really?! They made hundreds, likely thousands, of that exact same shirt. I would bet everything I own that at least one person somewhere has to own that exact same shirt as you. Stop crying about it already. “OH EMMM GEE. SHE’S TOTALLYYYYYY FLIRTING WITH HEHHHMMMM. *SLANK.” You’re drunk, obviously, because they are talking. You know, like people do at a party. You’re just jealous that it isn’t you he is talking to. So, stop crying about it already. This list is infinitely long, but I’m pretty sure you all get the picture that I pictionary-style drew for you.
Another reason why girls annoy me to no end is because they wear high heels/sandals everywhere, even though they know it is 20 degrees below zero or they know they will be having to walk long distances. In these situations, DO NOT complain about how cold your feet are or how bad your feet hurt. I am not going to feel the least bit sorry for you. Also, don’t tell a man that he has no idea how bad heels hurt. He was wise and never wore them because he had a good idea of how bad they hurt/suck.
Then there are the girls who explode for no particular reason. My ex “wife” (aka roommate) no longer has any contact with me because I complained to a mutual friend about her… erhmm, loud behaviours… when I was attempting to sleep in between two double shifts. (That’s two 16 hour days in a row, separated by 6 hours if I was released on time, people!) It turns out that he said something who said something to someone else, and, whelp, news got back to her. I would rather have faced an earthquake or mudslide or something as compared to the repercussions on that one. I understand her being mad, but holy Hannah, this was an illogical mess of me being blamed for everything being wrong in her life when it came to men, friends, and trust.
Oh, and my favorite: You know when girls secretly plan out the demise of another “friend’s” social or emotional demise? Yeah, that one. This whole time any guy that watched “Mean Girls” thought it was dramatization. I’m here to inform you the movie isn’t really that far off at all from what happens in real life. That is why I never ever partake in rumor spreading. I may be lying a little when I say that, but just a tiny, little bit.
Although I can go on about this topic just as long as most guys can, I’ll stop after this last one. It drives me crazy when girls over analyze every single thing a guy does.
Girl: “OMG, he just looked at me and smiled. Does that mean he likes me?”
Me: “No, it means that you spilled something down your shirt and he is doing all he can to not laugh in your face right now.”
Girl: “OMG! He didn’t even kiss me on our first date! What’s wrong with him??”
Me: “Uhmmm, my guess is that there isn’t anything wrong with him…”
Girl: “You totally like him, don’t you?? I knew it! You’ve always had a thing for him. *Slank!”
Me: *Facepalm* “No, girl, I don’t like him. There probably just isn’t anything wrong with him.” Thought bubble saying, “For real, you’re dumb. I can see why he didn’t kiss you.”
Girl: “He told me I looked pretty today! Should I ask him out? Maybe I should just kiss him? Oh no! I probably already blew it!! THE WORLD IS GOING TO END!”
Me: “No. The answer to all of that is just no.”
Girl: “Whaaaaaat? I don’t get it!”
There you have it. Those are just a very few reasons why most of my friends are guys. It’s a lovely life! There isn’t back stabbing or life-long hatred the intensity of the sun and depth of a black hole. Fights are done in 30 seconds, a “Dude, not cool,” and/or a few punches if necessary, and drunken outings are chill events where the game can be watched without shrill cries interrupting every play. The best part: if we decide to go out and do something, we put shoes on and leave without having to change our outfit, put on make-up, do our hair, and whatever else takes up the hour in the bathroom. Put it this way: drama is virtually non-existent, the way it should be.
*Likely not the exact term used. But for terms of being G-rated, slank is the perfect combination of two general words that equally fit this situation. It’s my word of choice.