As obvious and redundant as it may sound, communication is such a significant aspect of social interaction. It serves as the bridge that allows for bonding, understanding, and mutual growth among people. And yet, it feels as though communication is often not applied for these purposes.
More often than not, I sense negativity from those around me through complaints or protests. I admit, I understand it is much easier to complain; it can be fun or relieving to express distaste in the moment, especially if it is something that is weighing you down. However, while I don’t believe it is inherently wrong to complain, it feels as though people spend so much more of their time talking about the things they hate rather than the things they love. Furthermore, it can be difficult to express your passions or love when the voices around you constantly reinforce that the things you love should be hated.
Conversely, there are those who don’t communicate enough, assuming that others will understand their motivations or thought processes without the use of a straightforward explanation. But not everyone is alike and able to come to the same conclusion. Resultingly, lack of communication can lead to misunderstandings, assumptions, and unintended conflict that could’ve been avoided with direct conveying of information.
I watch the window as I sit at work. Waiting for someone to come in on this cold, wet day. Watching outside for even the shortest time, I notice so many different people. A pair of friends walk by, bags in their hands, and I wonder how long they have been friends. A langer family walks by like a flock of geese piled together to keep warm. The kids turn to peer in the windows of the shops. The lights for the holiday season make the darkness of the night brighter. I watch a cold, frail woman lug her big wagon full of everything she has, walk by without a jacket to keep her warm through the crisp winter. A man runs by frantically, looking scared, did something happen in town I think silently to myself. No, nothing happened he must have been in a rush for something I know as a couple passes happily hand in hand smiles on both faces. A little girl and her mom walk by the little girl had a toy in her hand. Admiring the toy her mom looks down admiring the girl. I sit and I wait. No one has walked by again. No one has come in my work in a while. It is probably because I work at an air-conditioned ice cream shop in this keen weather. Cars fly by the windows as I still wait for my last person to write about. Maybe it will be a young family? Maybe a large friend group? How about an old couple holding on to one another? I am unaware. I hope it isn’t one of those people who walks slowly past the window and stares in the shop not planning on walking in. It is a tall slim man. He has a headlamp on his head and is in a warm looking pile of clothes. Where is he walking to? Does he take a walk every night? Does he have a family waiting for him to start eating dinner with him? We will never know. The beauty of people watching. We won’t ever know what people are doing. Where they are going to. Why are they here? My last description because someone just walked by. A sad looking man in blue. He strolls by and it fascinates me to ponder on why this man is so sad and alone.
All I have to say to start this off is ugh people… I have no idea why, but everyone I put in my life creates issues. I can never do anything without feeling severely watched or judged. Any moment I do something I have to stop and think. Will this trigger anyone? Will anyone be mad? People in the world we live in are never satisfied. Can I be friends with this person or will someone think I am weird for that? To be honest I have no answers… And the closest I can get to the truth is you and I will always be judged. Someone will always be mad. And no one will ever be happy with the decisions that are made in life. Many people just get mad for no reason whatsoever. While others will continuously stand by and be happy because they want others to be happy as well. To be happy in this modern age we live to make others happy. Most of the time that is a lot of work. I will try my best to make the others around me happy but at some point, in time, I realize… they will never be happy with me or the decisions made. Even if it is for their benefit. People always will have something to say. And it does not matter if you asked them or not. Some people just can never mind their own business. People crave to create, hear, and see drama. Which every person can be guilty of. But at an indefinite time, does that not get old? Friends, relationships, judgment, and anger always circle back around. All of those things circle back. And that’s what life does. Life circles back. The reality of the world is no one will ever be 100% happy. No one can change my mind or my opinion. The world is imperfect. I am imperfect. And people are imperfect. So take this as my apology to all of the people in the world. I am sorry for the mistakes I have made. I am sorry for the mistakes other people have made. And I am sorry for those of you who can not see through the imperfections of life.
Friendship is the feeling between two or more people who care about each other. There are many types of friends, like mutual friends, people you know through other friends, casual people that you hang out with now and again, and best friends: the people you would do anything for.
Some friendships are not physical ones, for instance, an ibf (internet best friend). These are friends that you met online that you have an instant connection with. You call them and talk about all your problems, but they are not there in person. Sometimes these are the best kinds of friends.
Most times best friends think each other are jerks to begin with. They think poorly of each other, but that soon changes. They start hanging out with each other more and become best friends. They laugh with you and make fun of you in a loving way.
Overall, friends are the best and you should keep them around.
It’s strange how people can change without even being aware of it.
Take me, for example.
image via Pinterest.com
I used to have so much more to say but now I just have so much more to think.
There was never a conscious decision.
I never told myself, “Today’s the day I’m gonna grow up!”
I think it just happens gradually, it takes lots of time.
I think part of getting older is becoming more self-aware and learning new things about yourself.
I started to notice that things were changing when I discovered that my parents opinions aren’t always the same as mine; when I realized that even though it’s difficult sometimes, I am allowed to think for myself.
I started to see that someone’s bad decision shouldn’t define who they are as a person.
My friends tell me that I’m different than I used to be.
“It’s not a bad thing, or a good thing. It’s just a thing, you know?”
But I believe there is a lot of good that can come from change. I think that being different than I was before means that I’ve learned a lot and that I’ve started to become who I’m supposed to be – who I want to be.
A couple of days ago it was announced that the release date for the live action Mulan was pushed back yet again to Spring of 2020.
Photo Credit: weibo.com
Meanwhile other movies have been pushed up and newly announced, now I can’t say what is going on behind the scenes at Disney or what is going on with any part of the Mulan-in-the-making, however I can say that from where I’m sitting I’m angry.
I’m not angry at production, corporate, actors, etc. I am a general type of angry that I will have to wait two more years to see my favorite Disney “princess” back on the big screen (admittedly, I watch the cartoon version almost monthly {life is stressful}).
Photo Credit: ew.com
Why, Disney, why? I understand the importance of Avengers: Infinity War but I want to see an Asian-woman-led movie. Which I will get courtesy of Constance Wu in Crazy Rich Asians (GO CONSTANCE!), but it’s not Mulan.
My heart hurts and child-me feels a little bit like I was offered matcha ice cream only to find out it was a heaping scoop of wasabi, but oh well. I guess I’ll have to wait two more years to see Liu Yifei (who I will, until further notice, imagine is me) kicking some major Hun a*s and saving China.
Statistically speaking, how likely is it that anyone will ever find their soulmate?
Sure, it’s probably possible, but just how possible? There are what, like, seven billion people on the planet? Most of which are living in completely different parts of the world and who you will most likely never meet.
So really, is it feasible that somehow you and your “soulmate” would end up in the same place at the same time, and then go on to fall in love forever? Is that even a thing?
Is there really a way that two people could be destined for only each other?
Maybe this seems like a pessimistic outlook on things, but I like to think of it as an abstractly optimistic approach.
Think about it this way: if there are billions of people in the world, the chances of finding your one perfect person are extremely small. But that also goes to show that the chances of finding someone to fall in love with are just as large.
Love and relationships are all about compatibility, right? So, seeing just how many humans there are, there could be thousands of people out there who are potentially compatible with you.
So, even if it seems hopeless, there really are plenty of fish in the sea. Seven billion fish, to be exact.
But hey, what do I know? This is coming from somehow who looks forward to the day after Valentine’s day because of the discounted chocolate prices.
Frank abruptly walked headlong into a grimy wall. His mind wishing for the beautiful side of the city had tried to take a right turn, but he was on a rounded road. He tapped his pocket again, for comfort, to remind himself of his dreams, to remind himself what the city had promised him, what the city had baited him with. He pulled the postcard out of his pocket. It was lined and greasy, the creases were chipped, he could barely make out the beauty he had once found so heart achingly perfect. He was too late. His toes had hit the steps of a factory.
Amelia slowly stepped out of the elevator. The sounds of the crowds reached her first, then the bright flashes of cameras. Her new world was set to be bright. She was designed for the city. The city was designed for her. She stepped out the doors, the cameras followed her, she turned to the monoliths, she understood: Harborside knew the world and the world knew Harborside, within Harborside was the world. She turned to the sea, there laid the cradle of life, status, money; it flooded into her the meaning of value, the true meaning: money.
Photo Credit: http://funguerilla.com/
As she walked the city doors opened to her. She was Amelia, the city was hers. She would never be lost to the crowd, the city would never bowl over her, time would not forget her, Frank was already fading.
She wandered the city all day, the crowd only grew around her, but as she strayed closer and closer to the borders of her postcard the crowds grew restless. Space seemed to shift. Where she walked she owned, the postcard was empty space with blank people, but where she walked new hope, new futures sprang up like daisies in her wake. But as she neared the last corner, the last wide boulevard, her daisies seemed to fight for sunlight. Her unique ownership was being pushed back by the ownership of the many, the workers no longer singular but one full moving entity, lost to the mindless grind of the crowd, the fingers became a hand.
She had reached the end of the immunization ring, the end of the filigree border on the postcard of Harborside and standing on the other side of the glass was Frank.
Before Amelia, who was the crux of the city, eyes of the future, was Frank, whose hands bled from his first shifts in the factories, who was beginning to smudge around the edges.
Before Frank, the disenchanted dreamer, a man of ideals and cities past, was Amelia, a small mechanical girl with holographic eyes and the entire modern world and future in her circuit board chest.
Amelia was city-made and city-grown. From where she lived the city was just a writhing mass, gridded like a chessboard, and full of monotony. Her circuits were overstimulated. She was surrounded by wires, cords, and progress. She was living modernity and on clear days she could almost feel like a part of the masses, she could almost feel like she interacted with them. Almost.
Frank wandered the city, cataloguing every face and type like a child seeing the world for the first time, walking a new language, but the people seemed to pass by him – no, look through him, like he didn’t matter. In truth, he began to think, do they really matter to me? But as he took another sharp corner, his mind clipped the edge of the building and then lodging was on his mind. He was in the right district given the signs hanging above doors and out from awnings, but he soon found he barely had enough money to stay the week out. How strange that what had had so much value previously in his life was so empty and useless in exchange here in Harborside.
Amelia was coming down from the clouds about to face the world for the first time, naive and one of the richest and rarest people in the city, but equally mysterious. Her mind had yet to grasp value; everything to her was bought and categorized away into an advanced filing system of uses.
Photo Credit: ashleyhooper3d.wordpress.com
The sky filtered into her windows, if she reached out, the clouds almost reached back, but who cared about clouds when she was going down to the ground.
From Amelia’s window far above Harborside its postcard appearance was breathtaking, heart-stopping from the aerial view, perfectly aligned like an OCD wet dream – but beyond the picture perfect Harborside was its dark truth, its fingers, its slums. Where the roads wended their way around makeshift homes, bodies being consumed by the cobbles of the city. The roads staggered like a drunk artist’s footsteps. The slums belied truth, the reality of the city for the majority. The true artists, the ultimate image of life, a slow burn out. The truth was, the city moved too quickly for anyone – even the top Moguls and Traders – to live contentedly, too fast for them to not eventually blend into the tapestry of time, of the city.
But while Amelia’s elevator sunk level by level, Frank’s feet were dragging him from job to job, ebbing closer and closer to that blight, the narrow streets, the moss, the dark sky, the forgotten, the true heart of the city. The cost of living had drained Frank, his week was up. Once a private person, he now broadcasted all he could, he needed all the help he could get. He dreamed of the past. When he was well off in the country, people tipped their hat to him, they knew his name, they cared. He dreamed of a city long past, just emerging from the harbor, crawling onto land like a new life form, full of opportunity and riches. His feet were carrying him further from the monoliths of global life. From the masses that thrived on standing out from the crowd, from the masses who had found what they sought, or at least the veneer of what they dreamed.
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