I’ve always been really bad at letting go.
I’m not sure which specific childhood experience has spawned this personality trait, but I’ve had it pretty much for as long as I can remember. When I was little, I used to be one of those girls who hung on to her mother’s skirt and cried a lot. As I grew up, I yearned for a close friend, one who understood my way of thinking. Having starved for any friend at all, each time anyone became remotely interested in being my friend, I would stifle the life out of them. Guilt trips, paranoia, “why didn’t s/he call me?”, “how come they didn’t invite me along? Don’t they like me anymore?” All of these were a constant part of my daily life.
The behavior wasn’t aimed at only humans. Even our dog, Pepsi, knew I needed more hugs than a normal kid. And if you’re suffocating a dog (in the figurative sense) you seriously need help. (then again, you’d need even more help if you’re actually physically hurting the dog, if you ask me)
For the longest time, while I was acutely aware of this flaw, I didn’t think I’d ever learn to get over it. Each boyfriend had to suffer through my jealousy and my need to be called at all times. I’ve always believed that jealousy stems from lack of self-confidence. If you feel good about who you are, you tend to bug other people less. Even though I knew the actual reasons, I kept telling myself that all this suffocating was cause I cared so much.
Knowing I was so bad at letting go always made me worry about having children. I was sure that my kids would grow up to despise me and run away the minute they legally could. The same insecurities also caused me to hang around when I shouldn’t have in many cases. Holding on to a relationship which was physically and emotionally abusive or a friendship that reduced my already low self-image.
I don’t know if my self-confidence has improved (not substantially) or if I care less (not really, in most cases) but, for some reason, I’ve stopped holding on so tight. I don’t feel the need to have my friends call me every day. I don’t hold people to their words when they casually say “I’ll call you later.” I don’t need constant attention anymore.
I don’t mean to say that I am 100 percent cured. I still care, in some cases, way more than I should. I still have long-lasting moments of self doubt which cause me to snap at my boyfriend. But I’ve recently realized that I’ve loosened up a little, which means there is a chance I can totally get rid of this trait, eventually.
Maybe I can have kids, after all.
Previously? Blame Game.
Let’s play the blame game!
Two of the most important people in my life seem to have the same problem; they desperately need to blame someone when something doesn’t go the way they wanted it to.
If they have an argument with their loved one, we need to spent the next few hours discussing whose fault it was. If they lose a game, it was because they were tired or had so much on their mind. If they fail a course, it was the bad organization of the class instruction or the teacher’s lack of ability in making the class interesting.
Not only is it never their own fault but it’s also crucial to know who’s fault it really is.
While I can easily admit to saying “Well, if you hadn’t done this that way, we would have never been here to begin with,” in the heat of an argument, in most other cases, I try hard to concentrate hard on fixing the situation instead of struggling to figure out where the blame falls.
The issue that seems to fascinate me is how blaming others makes the person feel good. If I stopped talking to a friend because of something that’s her fault, doesn’t that still mean I lost my friend? If I fail a class, don’t I still have to retake it? I guess I must be more into the result than the process itself, since the result is the same no matter who’s to blame.
How does putting the blame on something or someone else make the person feel better? I think people just use it as an excuse, so they can have a defense when asked why the situation went badly. “I was all ready to finish the work but so and so didn’t give me the numbers I needed to plug into the formula!” Just saved your ass from the boss’s yelling. Even if I still don’t think it’s a good idea, I can at least understand why people blame others to save their own necks in a work related (or similar school related) situation.
But in a case where it’s about failing a class or fighting with a girlfriend or missing a personal goal, I really don’t see any benefit or reason to worry about placing blame. I just feel like saying, “Fine, it’s my fault, let’s just worry about fixing it now, ok?”
Anyone know what motivates people to blame someone or something else?
Previously? Gimme Space!
Heather’s link to what she wants made me think about my first few months in the United States.
For some reason, I didn’t have many culture shocks. Even though Turkey is over 99percent white and over 99percent Muslim, I didn’t seem to have a severe issue with the differences. I did, on the other hand, have some embarrassing moments.
On my first day in Pittsburgh, my parents and I went to open a bank account. While my mother waited, Dad and I sat with the lady from Mellon Bank, talking about my different account options. In the middle of our exchange, some random guy, who was opening his own account, walks up to me and says, “I hear you’re new in town, so am I. Here’s my number. Call me and we can hang out.” Right in front of my father and the Mellon Bank woman. The lady from the bank looks at me and smiles. “I see you’re making some friends already.”
Cause I am a total weirdo, I did call the guy the next night. During the phone call, he must have used the word cool at least a zillion times. Up until that moment, the word cool meant something between warm and cold to me. It took me several months to acquire the colloquialisms they never teach you when you learn English. Most of my friends can tell quite entertaining (or embarrassing, as the case may be for me) stories from those days.
Back to my point. One of the only culture shock moments I had was in relation to the words on that T-shirt. Personal space. I come from a country where guys and girls all kiss each other hello. I mean guys kiss guys and girls kiss girls and girls kiss guys and vice versa. Not on the lips, mind you, but on the cheek. On both cheeks. I walk hand in hard with many of my friends. I hug them, I tell my close friends how much I love them. It’s not a sexual thing, it’s cultural, I guess. When I came here for college, I was totally shocked by what people consider a personal question. And by how much people resent your being ‘in their space’. For the longest time I couldn’t figure out what that space even is. It seemed to be an invisible barrier I was unable to see.
In the past few years, I’ve worked hard at recognizing the barrier, but I still have no idea why people need to have it so badly.
Previously? Mind Your Manners!
“She came to our house for dinner and didn’t even send a thank-you card. How rude!”
That’s an actual quote from a friend.
I was raised with proper manners. My parents taught me to never go to someone’s house empty-handed and to always send a thank-you note afterwards. Even when I visit my sister’s home, I bring presents for my nephews each time, though mom doesn’t have to twist my arm about that one.
While I try my best to be well behaved, I get totally peeved when I hear words like the ones above. When did nice gestures become expected requirements? I thought sending a card made you thoughtful but not sending one shouldn’t automatically make you rude. Cause if it does, then the cards are no longer a token of appreciation, they’re a formality or worse, a requirement.
I hate doing things just cause ‘it’s the way things are done’. When my sister got married, as I spent shaking the hands of many practical strangers who couldn’t care less about actually celebrating my sister’s happiness, I told my mom that she should expect a call from me the day after I get married. If I were ever to get married in Turkey, there is a long list of people we’d have to invite ‘just cause it wouldn’t be right otherwise’. As the British like to say, ‘that’s bollocks.’
I am not fond of people with expectations. They’re just setting themselves up to be disappointed. I’m not fond of people who judge others by what they forgot to do. I’m not fond of people who keep track. “I called last so now it’s her turn to call.” Huh? What grade are we in? I’m not fond of fake smiles and doing things cause I have to.
I shouldn’t have to do anything. I should be able to smile, care, do my best and people should appreciate that. I believe that to be true of everyone. If you’re trying too hard to fit in, maybe you shouldn’t.
I decided long ago that I only live once and I want to make sure that I live the way I want to, not how others want me to. I want only the people who are my closest friends on my wedding day. I want to do (at least attempt to do) anything and everything I’ve dreamed of.
I always try hard not to hurt anyone around me. I screw up sometimes, but never on purpose. I always try to give and be the best that I can. I think that’s all anyone can ever ask of me.
Previously? birdie’s eyelids, big ears, and pottery.
I remember the day I went to pick out my budgie. The man at the bird store told me that only the males had the potential to speak. When I asked him which one was a male, he said that these were all babies and that I wouldn’t be able to tell for many months. He also said that by then I’d be so in love with the bird that it wouldn’t matter. So I picked the little parakeet according to his color. As opposed to the common yellow/green ones, mine was originally white and lilac. In the four years I’ve owed what I later found out to be a male bird, his colors went from pale purple to a soft blue with darker patches around his cheeks. He’s also developed a small yellow section on his head. My favorite part is his eyelids. They match the baby blue color of his back and they make me smile each time I catch a glimpse.
Even though he’s a male, my birdie can’t speak any words but I sure do love him like crazy.
As a little kid, I had huge ears that stuck out through my thin, straight hair. (We call them ladle ears in Turkish, but Jake says there is no English saying for someone with big ears that stick out.) Each time we were in the bathroom together, getting ready for school, my sister would tease me and say that I shouldn’t put my hair up cause it made my ears stick out even more. Over the years, my ears stayed the same size while the rest of my body grew. My hair also got thicker and wavier. I’m quite sure, my ears don’t stick out as much anymore, but I still don’t wear my hair in a ponytail.
Since I need help relaxing and since I thought it would be tons of fun, I decided to take pottery classes. Saturday morning was my first session. I put so much effort into holding the clay properly that my fingers made strong imprints on the clay, prolonging the process called ‘centering’ which is when you need to smoothen out the clay’s outer surface. My teacher kept teasing me and asking me where all my frustration came from and whether we could do something to get rid of it. I figured telling him that that’s why I took pottery to begin with would be futile.
Previously? Friendship.
They say it’s hard to find a bad-day friend. One you go to when you’re miserable day after day. One who holds your hand throughout the difficult times and one who offers the shoulder on which you can lean. As we’ve established before, they are considered to often be right. As we’ve also established, I often tend to disagree with them.
While I agree that hard day friends are more difficult to find than friends who ask you how you’re doing but don’t even bother to listen to your response, they aren’t the most precious kind of friends.
So who is?
I think that the best friends are the ones with whom you can share your good days. I mean your really good days.
“Misery loves company.” So the saying goes. I believe this one to be mostly true. When you’re really sad, having another sad friend gives you the opportunity to commiserate and bitch and moan till the wee hours of the morning.
Even if your friend were not miserable, most close friends would easily take a large chuck of time out of their day and calm you down, give you advice, or just listen to you. They will tell you that all will be okay, they will sit there for many hours and hold your hand. They will do anything they can. Cause everyone’s has bad days, most people know what to do when someone else is having one. Some of them might be scared to do the right thing and ignore you mainly from sheer discomfort of being unable to utter the magic words.
Now let’s take a day when you have amazing news. It could be something social like your boyfriend just proposed to you. You’re bubbling up with excitement and you want to share. You pick up the phone to call your best friend Terry. Just as you’re on the last digit, you stop. Terry just broke up with her boyfriend (or not to be that extreme let’s say Sheryl has been trying to find a boyfriend, or she just had a fight with her boyfriend.) Can you still call her? Will she be able to share your joy?
What if an agent just accepted your novel? Or you got promoted? Or you won the lottery?
When I have friends who I know will celebrate the great news with me, I know I’ve got a good friend.
Previously? La-la Land.
What’s wrong with me?
You mean more than the usual?
Ha ha. Seriously, I think I’m losing my mind.
I’m sure you’re exaggerating. You seem to be of sound mind to me.
Yeah? I came to work on Wednesday and within ten minutes I couldn’t remember whether I took my medication or not. I sat there, staring at the bottle, hoping it would tell me if I’d already swallowed one.
That’s perfectly normal. People forget things all the time.
The same thing happened on Thursday morning.
Hmm.
Also, I seem to be crying a lot.
You always cry a lot. You cry at Goldie Hawn movies, for goodness sake!
Yes, but I don’t usually cry at work. Yesterday, I broke down and wept three times at work.
It’s just the medication, I’m sure it’s making you edgy.
I spend most of the night staring at the darkness and watching the clock. During the few hours that I pass out, I have vivid nightmares that haunt me even after I wake up.
You just need to calm down and have some fun.
You’re joking right? I can’t sit for longer than fifteen minutes before my leg feels like millions of needles are pricking it. As soon as my back touches anything, it’s like someone is rubbing sandpaper against my skin.
You can still lie in bed and read. You claim you love reading so much, here’s your chance to do tons of it.
I can’t concentrate at all. My mind is all but mush. I can’t do my work, I can’t read more than a page of anything.
Watch TV then. Play video games.
I’m considering going back home.
Good idea, maybe you can lie down a bit and put some heat on your back.
No, I mean home home.
You mean Turkey home?
Yep.
Okay, I didn’t realize things were this severe. I think it’s time to go see someone. Preferably a professional.
That’s what I’ve been telling you all along.
Previously? Weird
Last night, as I lay in bed after having pushed the “post and publish” button in blogger, I wondered why my post was so preachy. I don’t know if they all are but last night’s certainly sounded real close to it. The fact is, I am real touchy when it comes to issues like making fun of people.
When I was little, I had the misfortune of having a set of so-called friends who were all equally boring and beautiful. They all believed that the brand of your dress or shirt was much more important than the book you’re reading. Actually I don’t think they read at all. The thing is since they were all alike and I was the only one different, I ended up being made fun of. A lot.
Even though I was six then and I am twenty-six now, many of my self-doubts (and I have more than the usual amount) can be traced back to those days. While my mind can easily differentiate between their priorities and mine, deep down where most childhood memories are stored, I have a lot of anger for people who make fun of others. Even after all these years and many good friends later, when I see those people from my childhood, I cringe and go back to being the book reading, coke-bottle-bottom glass wearing, ugly girl.
Those people were one of the biggest reasons I decided to move to the United States. Even when I was twelve, I knew that I would always be judged as weird and eccentric in my home surroundings. Even though they love me and are terribly proud of me, I think my own parents think I am a little weird.
The thing is, America did what I thought it would do for me. I made it okay for me to be weird and it showed me that everyone is weird, in their own way. Well, at least in New York they are. (Please don’t be offended if you live in New York, I’ve come to realize that weird is not such a bad thing after all. It might even be awesome.) So now I am more secure (most days), I have friends who accept and even like me the way I am.
But the little girl who was teased mercilessly still lives somewhere in me and each time I hear someone bash someone else for liking a popular teen pop singer, or for having a web page that doesn’t measure up, or watching TV or anything else, I feel like kicking and yelling. I feel like standing up to those people like I should have so many years ago. Children especially, but people in general, have no idea how strongly their words might affect someone else. I just don’t understand the kind of pleasure one gets from putting someone else down.
I hope this explains things a bit better.
Previously? Variety is the name of the game.
They say it takes all kinds to make the world go around. I don’t know who they are but they always know what they’re talking about, don’t they?
I have two major points, both relating to the same idea and I’ll try to be quick since it’s already late and I need to sleep real soon if my back is to ever heal.
People always told me that a good marriage is based on shared likes and dislikes. I have never been married but I’ve had several long-term relationships and I couldn’t disagree more. I’ve always been fascinated by men who are my total opposites. Never much of a drinker, I’ve petty much completely given up drinking in the last nine years and all my boyfriends have been drinkers. (Actually two of them were alcoholics but that’s another story for another time) I’m both shy and outgoing, both at inconvenient times, but my favorite thing to do would be to curl up with a book. I tend to go out with men who are socially liked and active. I don’t mean to imply that I get attracted to my opposites, cause I don’t. There are many attributes my boyfriends and I share. (This entire theory goes for friendships, too. Actually, even more so.) The thing is I like to meet people who are different than I am. I like to hang out with people who have different perspectives on a certain issue than I might. I like to be around people whose passions differ widely from mine. If I only hung out with people who thought and acted just like I did, how much fun would life be? It’s only through conversations with people who avidly disagree with me that I learn to stretch my mind. I like people who challenge me. Not to imply that I like someone who has opposite beliefs to mine but has nothing to back his or her beliefs up. But if the person has a point and he or she is intelligent and coherent enough about it, I’m fascinated and thrilled to converse. I love the fact that my boyfriends and friends have opened me up to new thoughts, new hobbies and sometimes even new worlds.
Just like I disagree with the hang-out-only-with-people-like-you people, I also agree with those who say that the web is full of crap. Who are you to judge what’s crap and what’s not? Even if you are qualified in recognizing good design or correct grammar, just because a page is not designed or written up to your standards doesn’t mean it doesn’t deserve to exist. If you don’t like a page, don’t visit it. If you like it, recommend it to others whom you think might also like it. I think people only judge others to feel good. If you and someone else agree that a page is crap, you two must be cool, right? I just think that the neat thing about the web (and New York and America in my opinion) is that there are a million different kinds of people who use it and they each express themselves in their own way. I think each of those pages has a valid existence and I’m glad each person has a place to share his or her thoughts/feelings/opinions publicly if they so choose. Even if I might totally disagree with that person or find their expression distasteful, that’s my opinion and I have a right to have one. I’m not saying don’t have opinions, I’m just saying use your energy to concentrate on improving/building/living your life and leave others alone and let them do whatever they want to without bashing them publicly and making them feel not-good-enough and scaring them away from ever expressing themselves again.
So it wasn’t short. But I promise both points are related in that all sorts of people exist in the world with their own likes and dislikes and that’s what makes this world a great place.
I might be influenced by my own childhood experiences, but I think that the world and the web is big enough for all of us and next time you see someone with a differing opinion to yours, maybe you should listen before you judge.
You might learn something.
Previously? Secrets.
I’m really bad at keeping secrets.
No, not the kind a friend whispers in your ear and asks you not to repeat. Actually, I’m pretty good at keeping those.
I’ve kept a diary since I was eleven years old and until college the little book with its tiny lock was the only one who knew my crushes, my thoughts and my insecurities. My friends would complain that they told me their entire life story and I never shared a word. They were right and I felt bad, especially for my really close friends. But the words refused to come out. During those times, when a friend informed me of her most recent crush she didn’t even need to ask me not to repeat it.
I’ve always believed that people are bad at keeping secrets. Most people inherently feel the need to share. So when they have new information, they bubble with the excitement and will burst unless they do something about it. I used to write it in my diary and poof! It was out of my system.
As I grew older and stopped carrying ten-pound notebooks with a broken lock, I started to open up more and more. I still felt morally uncomfortable sharing other people’s secrets, but mine became less important. (As for my needs-to-be-out-of-your-system theory, I, at some point, decided that whatever my friend chose to tell me was between us and deserved utmost respect. If she or he chose to share it with others, it was her or his choice but I refused to repeat it, even if it bubbled up. Hmm, that says so much about the validity of my theory, eh?)
Anyhow going to back to my secrets and my point, I decided opening up wasn’t such a bad idea. Most importantly if I ever did something that was relevant to another person; I became totally unable to hold on to that information. This often applies to my boyfriends (meaning the category in general, not that I currently have more than one), but is not limited to them.
My mother used to tell me that everything doesn’t need to be public. Some things are better not spoken. I disagree. I must, cause I can never follow that advice. I can never hide anything from my boyfriend. Even if I have a crush on some other guy or I’m about to have dinner with an ex. I keep telling myself that it’s no big deal and if I tell him, he’ll think it is and that I shouldn’t tell him and then the moment he walks into the room, I blurt it all out.
The truth is that I think it’s a big deal when I choose not to tell him (assuming I’d do such a thing). If I feel the need to keep it from him, I must have a reason. Do I secretly hope something will happen between this guy and me? Am I still hung over the ex? The only reason I’d choose not to share the event with my boyfriend is if I believe I’m doing something wrong. I just think that there is no point in playing games. If either one of us is going to cheat then what’s the point of continuing our relationship? Obviously it’s lost whatever it had.
This habit has been enhanced by a remarkably understanding man who is my current boyfriend. Honesty has made our relationship solid and lasting.
Now when I feel the urge to lie, I ask myself what that says about my relationship with the other person.
In my case, that there isn’t much of a relationship to begin with.
Previously? Nitpicking.
I used to think that the little things mattered most. A card during anniversaries, a phone call on my birthday, flowers on Valentine’s day, stuff like that. I figured that shows how strongly the person really feels about you. I mean if someone takes the time to remember special memories, that person must love you, right?
Well, my ex boyfriend was all that and more when it came to little gestures. On one of the Valentine’s Days during the time we dated in college, he got three of the kids on his dorm to wear suits and sing to me, on their knees, “You Lost That Loving Feeling.” He gave me roses on our anniversary each month, as many roses as the months we’d been dating. When he graduated and got accepted to a graduate school far away, he made a small audio chip in a heart-shaped candy box. Each time I pressed the button, I could hear his voice, telling me how much he loved me and how badly he missed me. It might be corny, but it was also sweet. He was romantic and he remembered every special date.
Sounds lovely, doesn’t it?
Until you look at the other side of the coin.
The same guy had an alcohol problem and used to abuse me verbally and physically when he drank. We went to a few Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, but it never worked. He had too much anger. He wasn’t willing to give up the drinking. It’s hard enough to give up when you feel ready. It’s impossible when you do it for someone else. For a long time, I made excuses and said that it was my fault for pushing him and making him mad. But we won’t talk about that. Not now.
Anyhow, my point is that since I had that experience, I’ve reconsidered my priorities. Sure it’s nice to get flowers on my birthday or for no reason at all, but it’s crucial to stay on top of the big things first. Now, when I hear my friends talking about how the guy might not open the door for her or how he didn’t get the most romantic present for their anniversary, I hope that they will never have to worry about having real problems.
I know that if you’re mostly a reasonable person, while reading this you’ll be telling yourself, “Dork, of course I know that it’s most important to be with a guy who doesn’t abuse you.” But how often do you keep that in perspective?
We only get picky when we have the luxury to do so.
Previously? Chicken.
My aunt called me today and we were talking about her husband’s son, David. He’s a kid from her husband’s previous marriage. An actor and a real nice kid. This guy works for a few months and once he’s got some money saved, he and his girlfriend go traveling around the world. They travel till their money runs out and then they do it all over again.
My aunt’s son, not a step but her own son, just quit a secure job where he held a solid title. He quit so that he and two friends could start their own company.
I said, “Good for them, this is the best time for them to take risks. They have no dependants, no obligations to anyone but their own selves.”
The thing is, I totally believe what I said. Assuming all goes well, I’ll most likely be trying to start a family in a few years. Few being two or three at this point, not five or ten. If I had any say, I would like to have my first kid by the time I’m thirty. This means I have about three years or so to play. This thought process is one of the reasons I decided to go part-time, but sometimes even that’s not enough.
Tonight Jake and I were talking about how nice it would be for us to spend two months in Burgaz. In the summer, my family lives on that tiny island which sits on the Marmara Sea. If you look at the pictures on the link you can easily see that this place is like a small piece of heaven. The island is so small that you can tour the entire circumference in about three hours, on foot. No cars are allowed on it, we only have horse carriages. The neat thing is, we already have a home on this island. It would be so nice if we could just escape to Burgaz for two months and read our books, swim, lie under the sun, and sleep.
Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? Except, we won’t be able to go. Cause we’re not the type to just drop everything and leave. We both have quite secure jobs. My job is truly awesome in many ways and I don’t think I want to take the risk of losing it. We have a nice home, a little bird, and weekly obligations.
I can sit here and keep making excuses, but I think it all comes down to the same thing. We’re too chicken.
Previously? Nice!
|
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
|
