My sophomore year in college, my friend Jessica recommended a fun book called Life Colors. The book is supposed to tell you your aura color.
You take these extensive tests, which are multi-question and can be answered by “yes”, “no” or “sometimes”. At the end, you add up your replies and pick the category with the most yes’s.
My aura is blue. Hands down. I have a small dose of green, which must be why I can function in corporate America, but I am pretty much the casebook example of the overly emotional, overly maternal blue.
Do I think all this aura stuff is true? Nope.
Do I find it entertaining? Sure, I’m pretty easily amused.
Do I decide anything based on these results? Good Grief, No!
But one of the things I like about this book is that it doesn’t just list the typical characteristics of a blue. It differentiates between two states that are common in most people’s lives. Centered and in power versus being out of power. This certifies that I am not the only person who acts totally different when I feel confident then when I am drained and weak.
On a good day, I am kind, confident, a true “doer” and I kick ass. Nothing can get to me cause I rule. I will do anything in my power to help others.
On one of the many bad days, I whine. I am paranoid and worried constantly. I am insecure.
To an outsider, these dualities might give the impression that I am possessed, but they’re both me and now a published book confirms that possibility. Color me happy!
To add to my delight, Pamala adds that blues like to comfort and counsel people, they worry continuously, they cry even at happy movies, they are bad at receiving compliments, people trust them, they are great promoters of things they believe in, they desperately want to be loved, if one bad thing is said they will remember that over a million positive things, they are often overworked and overwhelmed with responsibilities they create, they are strong feelers and they must learn to love themselves.
It’s good to know that there are enough people like me to justify an entire category.
Previously? Anywhere, Anyone
I’ve always been blamed for being too nice. Too many so-called friends have stepped all over me. But I kept assuming the best of humankind. I insisted on trusting (in a non-naïve way) and giving. It’s not so easy to become my friend, but once you do, I will forever be there for you.
All my friends have told me that this attitude towards others will bring me nothing but pain. While it’s true that I get disappointed and hurt often, I also receive the advantages of having a true friend and a trustworthy companion. It’s amazing how magical a relationship becomes once both parties are non-cynical and open.
So, over the years, I’ve consistently chosen to love with all my heart over being protective and distant. When in doubt I’ve given unexpectedly. I don’t mean to say that I’m an angel. I make mistakes. I hurt people. I say stupid things. But I always try to be the best I can be and I always try to assume the best of people with whom I haven’t previously interacted.
I get bitter when hurt and I get angry, but I know that I’d still rather be me than a selfish bastard. Maybe cause I can sleep better this way. I’ve continually struggled with the idea of how I could be selfish. So have Six and Owen, I think. And somehow I’ve always come around to realize that this is the way I was built and this is the only way I can live with myself.
It all made sense when my psychology teacher started talking about Adler. Adler had this theory, which says that every human feels inferior as a child. So we, humans, compensate by striving to be the best we can be. Trying to be better than others happens when this feeling is perverted. And Adler says that if you’re selfish, then you’re neurotic.
Now, that, I like!
Previously? Shitty Manners.
If I haven’t mentioned earlier, my mom came to visit last weekend. Since I am unable to fly, she took the eleven-hour trip from Istanbul to New York. This inability to sit on a plane extends to other annoyances. For example, my back doesn’t allow me to visit a museum with her. I can’t go shopping either. All we could really do outside is eat and go to the movies. Only cause the theater is close to my house and I could return home if needed.
So we went to the movies last night. To be totally honest, it was a stupid movie, but still, I never realized how much we depend on people’s manners. The couple sitting next to me must have confused the dark setting and Jennifer Lopez’s soothing voice (or whiny as the case may be with her) for their own living room. They kept chit chattering and giggling throughout the movie. After a half hour of this maddening whispering, I turned to the guy and asked him to please stay quiet. I normally hate people who do that but it was truly unbearable.
So the couple practically ignores me and within a few minutes, I am fuming. I ask him to please shut up and he says that if I’m not happy I can move somewhere else. Which is when it hit me that there was absolutely nothing I can do. If the guy wanted to be a totally jerk and talk throughout the entire movie, I have no capacity to stop him. If this were a classroom, the teacher would act as the chaperone. In a museum, we have guards. In the library, librarians. But no one in a theater.
If the guy had turned really obnoxious, I probably could have called someone to kick him out, but there is nothing I can do unless the actions are totally out there. Before last night, I never realized how much we rely on people self-policing their manners. The only reason we don’t act rude in public is cause we think we shouldn’t. Amazing how often that is enough.
And I am really glad it is.
Oh and I passed the Japanese test that I took in November, so I rule!
Previously? Heart.
If you read Metafilter or McSweeney’s , you might have heard about Dave Eggers’s recent clarification. I’ve read several of Dave Eggers’s works and I’m quite a fan. Since I’m not really a humor reader, I’ve always wondered why I like his work so much and while reading this clarification, I remembered why.
Here’s the sentence that goes to the core of things.
David, you wrote that without heart. There is no heart in your piece.
In the end, it all comes down to heart. People who make solid friends, good movies, novels and music all have to have heart. Cause if the passion, the burn is not there than nothing matters. If you can’t be enthused and thrilled and amazed about what you’re doing, why are you doing it? If you don’t care about your friends, why would you have them? If you’re not giving it all you have, you’re wasting your time. And ours.
Tonight, I finally watched Billy Elliot and I loved his answer to the judges from the ballet school. He said dancing makes him feel like electricity. I’ve always admired artists cause they have the balls to do the thing they truly love while the rest of us and just working so we can put food on the table. They have heart.
Another point by Eggers which is close to my heart is the following:
In your correspondence, you sound like a normal, even warm, person, who cares about truth, who enjoys books, etc. But in your journalism your persona is very different. Where does that tone come from? How can any reasonable person speak so snidely about books? Books!
I couldn’t agree more. Each time I read a book critic that totally bashes a book in the most snotty, all-knowing way, I think the exact same thing as above. How pathetic must these people’s lives be that they feel the need to bash others. If they know so much about books, they should sit and write one themselves! I guarantee their viewpoint and harsh judging criteria would change. How much bitterness and anger must these people have to do this for a living?
When I finally finish my novel, that’s all I want out of it.
I want it to have heart.
Previously? The Universe and Me.
Today was a good day.
Last few months have been days of crisis after crisis. Going to work and staring at the screen and coming back home without having gotten my scripts to work. Spending hours trying to make sense of everything that just refuses to cooperate. Not responding to email or phone calls while the do-to list keeps increasing. Some jerk stealing my credit card and using it to put expensive crafts supplies. Classes where I would love to do the homework only if my brain would cooperate.
Wednesday, I realized one of the biggest reasons of my unhappiness at work. Thursday, I got it resolved. I had a very important meeting today, which went so well it was beyond my expectations. And to top it all off, I fixed my script.
I responded to the three most outstanding and most dreaded emails I’d had since November. My friends Judy and Priscilla, whom I hadn’t seen in three years, came to New York so we got to meet and have a long chat. My Italian Literature teacher recommended several books that I’ve been looking forward to read. I got the notary signature/stamp on my affidavit due to the fraudulent charges on my credit card.
As more and more issues got resolved, I felt more energized and fixed even more stuff. Amazing how something small can set off a chain reaction.
Sometimes the universe just aligns to fit your needs and all you need to do is be thankful.
Thank You.
Previously? Silence.
My first official boyfriend and I started dating a few months before I turned sixteen. Before he came along, I’d sort of been dating my best friend but we never publicly admitted it.
So this guy, whom we’ll call James for ease of use, and I had known each other for ages. That summer we spent a lot of time together and finally became exclusive. At the time, there was no such thing as dating in Turkey, at least in my surroundings. You either were friends with someone or you were exclusive.
So James and I start seeing each other. We spend the next two years together. During this time we had many high points and a lot of hard times. I think that, overall, we had a pretty wonderful relationship. We laughed a lot. We cared for each other a lot and we fought little.
Since I was twelve years old, everyone around me has known that I planned to go to the US for college and for the rest of my life. It’s been a consistent and public goal. In the months before I left for college, James and I spoke at length about the future of our relationship. I wanted to stay together and see where it goes but he said we were to breakup. It wasn’t up for discussion.
So we separated. He took me to the airport on my last day and we kissed goodbye. We did talk on the phone during the first few weeks. After a month or two, I mentioned possibly seeing other people and he totally freaked. That was the beginning of the end. After a freaky few months, we stopped talking altogether. I started seeing someone else.
During the several trips home, I called him and tried to make up. It never worked. He was always cordial but we never spoke more than three words again.
This year, it will have been nine years since James and I broke up and we still don’t speak. It seems like such a shame that I shared two beautiful years with someone whom I loved and gave a piece of my heart to and today we’re nothing more than a “hello.”
I don’t know what, but shouldn’t it be more than that?
Previously? One Life to Live
Sunday, my mother and I went to see Sweet November. I’m not going to talk about how the trailers give away everything or about Keanu’s lack of acting ability.
If you’ve seen the movie trailers, you know that Charlize Theron’s character asks Keanu’s character to live with him for one month so she can let him out of the “box” he lives in. She lives a more liberated life and wants to help him achieve the same. Charlize is lovely. People love her, she’s kind, she never works (at least not during the movie) and she does whatever she feels like. As the trailers showed, Charlize’s character is sick. Very sick.
Which, of course, led me to think, how come we only let go when we’ve got no hope of living? Maybe it is just in the movies. But when I think of my life and the people surrounding me, I can’t see one example of someone who truly does what he or she wants to be doing. Most of my acquaintances work too hard, too many hours in a job they don’t like.
When I tell people that I work part-time the first thing most of them say is, “Oh I wish I had that deal.” But they can. Of course they can. At least most of them. But they’re too scared to ask. Just like I’m too scared to go off and live on a farm.
It seems the rewards are only valuable when the risks are not so high. If I know I’m only going to live fie more years, I’d live my life totally differently. I wouldn’t work so hard, I’d probably still program but mostly for myself. I’d stop trying to lose weight. I’d call my friends more often and spend more time getting to know them. I wouldn’t let any criticism get to me. I would travel to Antarctica and pet the penguins. (Well, they wouldn’t bite me if they knew I was going to die, would they?) I would go skydiving.
What would you do if you only had a few years left?
Previously? Blah.
For some inexplicable reason I seem to be overcome with a mood best described by the word “blah.”
I don’t feel motivated to do anything. A few weeks ago, I was playing around with a new design and came up with something different for this page, but I haven’t had the time, or more correctly the motivation, to implement it across all my pages.
The last few weeks at work have been almost counterproductive. Going to work has become more frustrating than not. I sit in front of the computer and stare at the screen. I’ve been working on the same 3-page perl script and three sql queries for the last month. Concentration simply refuses to cooperate. If by some major luck, something starts making sense long enough for me to realize what direction to take it in, my nerves decide to react forcefully, making me stand up, therefore, knocking out any productivity I dared have.
In a strange twist of luck, I am still coherent during my classes, but I crash every minute in between. I fall asleep in the subway on the way to classes, I plop myself on the couch the second I enter my house. The TiVo and I have gotten real close. I seem to be stuck on Canto XXV of The Inferno for over ten days, now. And the deadline to finish was today. My library books are sitting on a shelf, waiting for their due date. I haven’t even picked up my saxophone in the last five days.
My mother’s here from Istanbul for the week and I can’t walk around with her. The freezing weather makes it ideal for us to take long tours of The Met or Guggenheim but my nervous system has its own ideas of what I should and should not be doing. I’m just tired, worn out and unable to think straight.
In case the writings here have lately been sporadic and lacking in intensity, now you know why. (If you think the writings here have always lacked that umph, my page is prolly not your cup of tea, anyhow.)
Previously? Vive La Difference
I’ve never understood people who hate different people. Whether it be a differing skin color, religious background, sexual preference or dressing up in an odd fashion.
Why is it that some people get angry when they see gay men? How is that so threatening? Why does it bother you if a guy decides to dress up like a girl? My very first gay friend ever was a guy named Brad. Freshman year in college. Kinda late, I know, but people don’t come out all that easily in Turkey. Or they didn’t in my environment when I lived there.
Maybe I remember it differently, but I don’t recall being mad at Brad, ever. He was a kind, giving and caring person. He had just told his parents and they had not reacted well. Actually quite badly. Enough such that he ended up having to drop out of college to save money so he could afford to go back in college.
I just don’t understand the hostility. Does it come from a fear that if such people exist you might accidentally become one? How little fun would life be if we all looked the same and we all thought the same. Yet, even as a child we tend to feel the need to make fun of others. Little kids love to gang up against an unusual looking little boy or a girl with a funny name.
One of the reasons I love New York is that one rarely feels like a freak here. There are so many varieties of people and everyone’s so busy living their own lives that, they don’t have the time to stare at others. Or they don’t care.
I love that.
Just live and let live, I think. As long as you’re not affecting my life, who am I to tell you how to live yours?
Previously? Blondes Have More Fun.
Just in case it wasn’t enough that I’ve been on my back with severe back pain and have tingling sensations on my left leg where I also seem to be entertaining a minor loss of feeling, the powers that be decided that I should also have a cold.
It seems I have swallowed not one, but three porcupines. I am alternating between shivering and sweating. At least there’s the side benefit of the weight I lose each time I make the trip between the couch and the heater.
So I did what every reasonable woman would, I dyed my hair.
I am officially blonde.
I could tell you the entire tale of how I was orange just before that, but I won’t. Be thankful.
As the hairdresser dried my hair, I kept staring at the image reflecting back from the mirror. A few encounters with scissors and several hours of sitting with my head covered in aluminum and Ta Da! I’m a brand new person.
Suddenly everything seems possible. Of course I’ll use the conditioner on my hair. I’ll get a facial. I’ll start taking care of my skin. I’ll even get a manicure. I’ll put make-up on every morning like a good blonde. I’ll even blow-dry my hair.
Suddenly all is possible.
And, as Heather said earlier this week, I’m fine.
Really.
Previously? Chocolate.
Jake and I went to see Chocolat last night. I’d read the book during Christmas and knew it would make a good Valentine movie.
When I saw Shine a few years ago I thought the very same thing that I thought last night. It’s a shame parents feel the need to impose their choices onto their children. Both extremes of this need bother me. One, as the case was last night, is when the mother feels uncomfortable and decides it’s time to move on regardless of the child’s feelings about the matter. The other, which is sometimes more severe in my opinion, is when the parents live vicariously through their children. Take a mother who wanted to be a ballerina as a child but somehow never got to fulfill that dream, and you can be sure she’s making her kid take ballet classes.
I just hope that when I have children, I will be more considerate of their feelings. I know there are times when things are unavoidable and I know that most parents don’t consciously hurt their children, but I just hope that I will be more aware. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I work hard at not having regrets. I really hope I can raise my kids by paying attention to their own personalities and wants and needs.
The other interesting detail I noticed in the movie was a major change they added into the screenplay version. The Count, who is the mayor of the town in the movie, is the parish priest in the novel. In the book, he’s the only character associated with the church (directly that is, all the other characters do go to church). In the movie version, there is a young parish priest and, if I’m not mistaken the Count helps him out but is not the religious figure himself (the Count is quite religious, but he’s not the priest in the movie). Without giving away too much of the story I’ll say that this young priest is totally different in personality that the Count.
The reason this made such a strong impact on me is that when I read the book, I got a very negative impression of the church and religion in general. Since the Count was the only one (actually in the book, his father plays a much bigger role in this matter as well) who represented the church, his negative personality and anger reflected upon religion, in a way making religious people seem close-minded and hateful. In the movie version, the young priest’s existence took away the relationship between negative personality and religion. I assume the distinction was made consciously and, even though I’m not particularly religious, I applaud the change. I can’t be sure if the writer has anything against the church itself, but I’m confident that some readers could have easily interpreted her book that way.
I don’t appreciate sweeping generalizations of any kind. To say all gypsies are bad is the same as saying all conservative people are narrow-minded. Until you meet every single person in a “category” you can not make judgements a group of people. Every single human being is different and should be given credit as such.
All that from a movie about Chocolate.
Previously? Damn Sheep.
Why can’t I be one of those people who can live on four hours of sleep a night?
I spent most of last weekend putting my sister’s present together, which meant that I got very little sleep. Specifically, on Saturday night I slept around four hours and I had six hours or more on Friday, Sunday and last night. Even with all that balanced sleep surrounding one night of not so great sleep, I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering all weekend and all day yesterday. I dozed off several times during my architecture class.
Though, in my defense, the teacher is a really soft-spoken, slow moving woman who turns off the lights to show slides in a warm room. All those coupled with the 7:30pm class time should be enough to put any normal human to sleep. I spent the last four days like a zombie, walking from class to class. The funny thing is, I am awake and aware during most of my classes, but any free moment is like a permission to crash.
The final jolt came when I fell asleep during my volunteer job today. I mean, I really slept. Can’t even be sure I didn’t snore. (Thankfully my officemates are deaf and prolly didn’t hear my snorts.) I was knocked out for only 20 minutes or so and I woke up on my own, but it was quite embarrassing, to say the least. (As an even funnier side note, my boss, John, had changed the screen saver on the computer to say “Karen, Wake up!” which was totally appropriate today!)
After that sleeping episode, I had to go through two more classes and neither was in English. Pure torture.
People tell me to stop taking so many classes or doing so many things, but that’s not the point. I don’t want to stop doing a million things; I want a body that can support the active mind I have. I want to be able to sleep three to four hours a night, so I can have more time to study and read. I hate that I need sleep so badly.
My neuroscience teacher says that you can actually go insane from lack of sleep. Hmm I wonder who thought that was a good design decision?
Previously? Paranoid.
|
projects for twenty twenty-six
projects for twenty twenty-five
projects for twenty twenty-four
projects for twenty twenty-three
projects for twenty twenty-two
projects for twenty twenty-one
projects for twenty nineteen
projects for twenty eighteen
projects from twenty seventeen
monthly projects from previous years
some of my previous projects
|
