I have many instances like this (I suppose I'm not as clever as suspected), however, one rings clearer than the rest: I remember writing to my dad about two years ago; I had mailed him a picture of the family beagle - so rightly named "Flash", but we called her "Flashy" - and I told him to keep the picture. I told him with a little air of cleverness, that I expected the picture back sometime, and that it was a promise I'd see him again. Well, a week from now, my dad will be transferred to the state prison, and no doubt, the picture of Flashy has already been mailed back to me. I thought I was clever about it, but that just shows how naive I was, and probably still am. A person should always keep an ounce of hope, even if the density of sin's gold is too much for them to handle - but, there is always a time where you just have to give up and accept whatever situation falls your way.
I'm not one for giving up easily - actually, I grudge more than I should admit - but I honestly thought that my dad would soon be free from the crimes he committed; yet, I believe that showed how selfish I was because I wanted to cheat fate.
In a poem I read in English class titled "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night", written by Dylan Thomas, a man is trying to convince his father to stay alive, despite him dying and on his death-bed.
[Here, I shall "cleverly" insert a stanza] :
"And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
At first I found this poem great: a poem of perseverance, a poem of empowerment and the utter undeniable humanly lust to live. I admired this poem for its reluctance of aggression towards death, or in my case, giving up. However, leave it to my tediously verbose teacher Mr. BadDragon to ruin a moment. Normally at times like that I wish to get shot in the face (the very antithesis of what I'm trying to say, ha).
He asked us, "What is this poem saying?"
So, naturally, us being teenagers, these vessels of rebellious life that we so rightly are, all figured, "Hey, it's about staying alive, to keep the fight."
No. Wrong. Zip. It was a nice idea, but wrong sentiment.
BadDragon gave his views of the poem - Dylan Thomas, the writer of the poem, sounded completely selfish and wholly egocentric revolving the situation of his dying father. Thomas didn't want his father to die; he wanted this old, decrepit man to stay with him until the younger one was ready - it was not a matter of the old man being afraid of death, but rather the son fearing the loss of his father. In many of these posts, I've said that acceptance comes hand-in-hand with time, and that time moves either slower or faster for others than it does for you. The one thing I like about my English class is that every time we have a discussion about something we've read or gone over, I can always apply it to life. This is probably why I greatly respect my teacher, despite a horrid dislike for him every time he talks/rants/rambles/tangents off on a political whim.
I can say I've learned nothing about English in his class, but I can truly say that I've learned a lot about my own life though his class about English.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Today I discovered something great - my father gets released from prison 35 years from now. By that time he'll be 72 years old; I'll be two months away from my 53rd birthday. It hurts to think about it, it hurts even worse to type it out and know that it's set in stone, but by this very action I step closer to acceptance; each step causes me to reevaluate my life, how I act, how I will act, and if I'll really "grow up" or not. 53 is a big number. I can only hope I'll have graduated from college, achieved a personally (versus financially) high-status career, have kids, a nice house - the whole nine yards by the time I have reached such a ripe age. I hardly feel 17, I hardly feel that I'm on the brink of 18. So how will I feel when I'm 20, 30, 40? I can't accept it - the curse of growing old.
Will I reach that edge of glory, and courageously be able to jump off the ledge by then?
My last post was about Lady Gaga. And I know it seemed like a mindless rant, but I have learned so much about myself by listening to her music. Maybe some of you empathize with how I feel - once you find that one artist, or that one song, you just know. I'm a very emotional person, and it's quite a hassle with some things. I'm sentimental, and I lean more towards thinking with my heart, with my feelings, than with my mind and rationality. To me, my heart is my rationality, my discretion. Lady Gaga makes me feel normal in the world of abnormalities; through her words I can feel that I am not alone, that somewhere else someone is going through the same pain, or even the same happiness. I am filled with so much love that sometimes it hurts, and the worse thing for someone like me is to feel betrayed of that love. And, I suppose that is why I love Lady Gaga, and why I look up to her. With every song she has, I can relate myself to it.
[I realize that could be interpreted wrongly, but come on, gimme a break here. No, I'm not bi (well I don't think I am, anyway...that's for another post, not now), so I don't have a "poker face" (my face doesn't work that way in general). No, I don't take my bikini top off when I'm with my summer boy (if I had either, ha). I'm not flooded by paparazzi, nor do I kill my boyfriends (yet again, if I had any).]
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| ^Not to sound like a beezy, but this concert was bad-ass.^ |
"Happy in the club with a bottle of red wine,
Stars in our eyes cause we're having a good time,
Heyy, hey-yeah...
So happy I could die."
She said in interviews about that album (which wasn't an official full studio album, but more of a..."novella", in a nice little sense) that that song means that even though you have that one pick-me-up, you still end up falling back down to earth, to reality; it's your choice if the hangover the next day screws you over or not. What really makes this album stand out is the fact that her next album, Born This Way, is the liberation from the Fame and The Fame Mons†er. It's all about self-preservation and empowerment (much unlike that damned English poem, haha).
"Rejoice and love yourself today, cuz baby - you were born this way."
If I wanted to be simple and to the point, I could have just posted the lyrics to Gaga's "Born this Way". We are all the Subway Kid, and we all just need to rejoice the realities of the truth - we are all lovely, and we are all perfect, despite some personal monsters. I am perfect, for I am me, and I wouldn't want to change it any other way. I don't want to change my name, I don't want to be taller, I don't need to dye my hair or adjust my personality (however, losing a few pounds would be healthy, yay for Seventeen magazine!)
I accept who I am - both my positive points, and my negative points.
The bad situations in life parallel the good, however the good ones are avenged sevenfold. I am great because I have lived through the bad and reached the good; hell, and there is more good to come. Tying the poem by Dylan Thomas and the songs by Gaga, I feel that we all have to live through the pains of life, grow from them, and realize that there is a time to let go. There are times in life when we all need to walk away from home and bask in the world around us - learn something new.
Lady Gaga said that anyone can achieve "the fame". But, in her opinion, "the fame" isn't in Hollywood, or Billboard's Top 100. It's inside of you. I respect her greatly for that, and, despite the probable fact that I may never meet her in person, I have met her in that enigmatic spiritual sense. Besides, we are both just people - normal, fallible human beings, just trying to survive.
I haven't reached the edge of glory just yet. But, I'm working on it.
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