Me and the topic of love

What is love? And why did Mother Culture come up with the idea of love in the first place? Love is the meaning that we assigned to the otherwise meaningless act of procreation. Although at this point, procreation has become an interesting topic of discussion, seeing as humans are multiplying like cancer. But love. Yes, love. I can't say I really know what love feels like. I love my parents and my brothers and sisters, without a doubt, I even love water polo and learning and the world, but I can't say I've ever really loved a partner. My two month relationship Freshman year with my now really good friend was not a love relationship. Sure, we cared a lot about each other, but what we had was not true love. I've never had a relationship since. I am a virgin. Sure, I've had crushes and guys who have crushed on me, and I was even on the verge of being in a relationship with a guy who I found was not right for me at one point. The one guy I have crushed on the longest doesn't appear to feel the same way about me. Oh well, at least he also got into the university he wanted to.

So what is the point I am getting at here? Well first of all I want to repeat myself and say I don't know squat about love but I like to pretend that I do. Second, from what I do pretend to know, love is the exact antithesis of rationality. Everything that love entails is irrational; unpredictable; unexpected. But a relationship, now that is something else entirely. You may love a person with all of your heart, but you might never be able to have a good, strong relationship with them. You two may seem meant for each other, but when it comes to some matters, you could not be any more different. It's sad, but that's the way it is. Sometimes it is possible to make sacrifices and still maintain a healthy relationship. Sometimes that's not possible at all. You cannot ask a person to change who they are just because of how much you love them. Love is irrational. A relationship must not be so.

There is something else: life is unfair, and so is love. I have seen many classmates and adults in and out of relationships. Many of these people (to me at least) appear unattractive and unintelligent, which makes me wonder how in the world they are in relationships in the first place. But then I know people who have it all: intelligence, athleticism and kindness, and they are, like me, without a significant other. Why is this so? Part of me says that someone who "has it all" is intimidating. That is, it is intimidating to ask them out, for fear of rejection. Another part of me says that having it all limits your choices, so to speak, for people who are right for you. I suppose both of those are slightly positive, because hopefully in the end you'll end up with a really great partner. But at the same time, it's hard because in the meantime there is no one, and loneliness often appears to be our only companion.

Who even reads this anyways?

I'm still shaking from a decision I found out eight hours ago...

What is this decision, you ask? Well, if you didn't know, 'tis the season of college applications and acceptance, referral and denial letters. As a high school senior, I am no less excluded from this very stressful process. But earlier today, I received some of the best news of my life. I have been accepted to the school of my dreams, and one of the most prestigious (if not the most prestigious) universities in the world: Princeton University. As my friend put it earlier, "the best part is you'll have school spirit all year round without trying, well at least your hair will." I laughed a little at this, thinking to myself, "I guess it really was meant to be; even my hair preordained it!"

But don't let me fool you; I really do think this is all so surreal. I mean, did I really just get in to Princeton University??? The home of the Tigers, the orange and black? Wow, I guess I really did. Fours years (well, three-and-a-half) of hard work have finally paid off. Hours spent doing homework, finishing projects and studying for tests, as well as countless hours of training for water polo have not gone to waste. It finally seems as if I will get somewhere in life. I know I always said that it doesn't matter what college you attend; it only matters what you make of it, but it really is nice to have the ability to attend a truly great university. to be able to tell people that yes, I went there. Obviously I'm not there yet, but it is closer then ever, and I am beyond ecstatic. The best part is, I get to play the sport I love and I get to study among some of the brightest students there are. And who knows, maybe I'll meet that special someone. I still haven't been on a real first date, you know. But that's for another post.

But there is something I would like to discuss, and that is the matter of my aim to major in English (an aim which has been criticized by many). I've dreamed of being published for quite some time now. I know I am not a naturally gifted writer, and like I said in an earlier post, I certainly cannot be compared to the great classics, but nevertheless, writing and the expression of our thoughts, our ideas, our philosophies, has always fascinated me. I won't say that English has been easy for me. On the contrary, it being my second language I still have trouble from time to time with properly articulating myself. But this, in turn, has motivated me to work even harder. In fact, it's quite incredible to see how much my writing has developed over the years, even weeks. For the past two months, I have been writing in a journal each and every day. I have found it an incredible way to not only let out my emotions, but also to find myself, in a way. Of course, years from now I will look back at the entries and laugh. But that's okay, because we all need to laugh at ourselves sometimes. All laughing matters aside, writing this journal has also allowed me to see myself grow as a writer, both in terms of my writing as well as my piecing together of what means most to me.

And at the moment, what means most to me is living a fulfilling life. Part of that, for me, means not only living up to my dreams but also helping the world become more informed about an issue that I have been growing more passionate about every day: the Earth. See my earlier entry for more on how I feel about this. Hopefully more entries will follow.

So goodbye for now, my non-existing-fellow-cyber-exploring-bloggers-and-friends.

The Earth

I feel an urgent need to post something today...

First off, I apologize for never continuing the story that I began a while ago. If you must know, in my mind's eye the fin was a friendly dolphin, but feel free to use your imagination to come up with any ending that seems fit. If you must, kill me off, but I really would prefer to hold on to my life for the time being.

Which brings me to the gist of my post, actually. What do I want to do with my life? If you haven't already noticed, I love to write. I want to be a writer. I know that my writing is neither mind-blowing nor worthy of being compared to some of the classics, like Steinbeck, Dickens, even the more modern Rohinton Mistry (we are reading A Fine Balance in English at the moment), but I love attempting to sort out my thoughts, I love to create fictional worlds with fictional characters, and I love to adopt a persona; my ideal self, I suppose you could say. But lately, my passion for this Earth has grown (no pun intended). It all started when I read Ishmael, which was given to me for my last birthday by my good friend Dave.

Reading Ishmael was, as they say, a life-changing event. I will not give you a summary here, because I will in no way do it any justice. All I will say is that if you have any ounce of respect for the very entity that gives you life, in all respects, then you would order yourself a copy of this book, this beacon of hope for the human race.

My first response to it went as follows:

I'm starting to believe that China may have the right idea in mind, that China (while it is snootily aware of it) may be ahead of the rest of the human race. We are facing extinction, and it is coming sooner than we think. All of these warnings about the end of the world (in the form of movies, books, and religious crazy talk) may not be so crazy after all. Humans, prepare yourself, because the end may be near. What does China have to do with this? With some exceptions, Chinese law dictates that families can only have one child. All politics and ethics aside (having a boy versus having a girl), the law may actually be helping to curb the already exponentially expanding human population. New medicine and technology allows for longer, healthier lives, resulting in more people on the planet. More than that, however, is that humanity is not allowing natural selection take place. A natural law that is meant to regulate all of the animals on this Earth, including humans, who think they are above this law; after all, we are humans, and the world was made for us. God created life so that we could come and conquer it, did He not? But natural selection is not just a law that you can vote to change. Sooner or later we will be punished for breaking it.

I don't believe the world will end in a "zombie apocalypse," but I do believe that is doomed to end for us unless we can step up and do something about it. However, I have trouble even playing with the thought of the human race admitting its mistakes, stubborn as it is. Science is trying to dominate the world, and I don't think it will give up the chase any time soon. I didn't realize it before Ishmael, but everything we do in the "name of science" is an attempt at controlling "our" surroundings. But are they even ours to control? Of course not. Yet, just one look around you and you know that it is exactly what we have been doing. From being able to split atoms to landing on the moon; from genetically modifying food to inventing plastic. Moreover, while the human race seems to be becoming more politically democratic, liberal and free-minded, it is a tyrant. It is a tyrant of the world, of the universe, of other animals, and even of itself.

For now, I must leave it at that. But don't you worry, I will be back. If anything, I will attempt to convince the one or two people that actually read anything I write...

Chapter 7: The Day I Got Lost at Sea

As I kept growing, both physically and mentally, so did my world as I knew it. But with each new day, I felt myself growing smaller and smaller in the shadow of the unknown. Just look at the ocean: serene and majestic, comforting and soothing. But beyond these qualities, it is the most surreal thing that we, as humans, can come in contact with. It makes us realize that the world is not ours to control. I witnessed this on the day I got lost at sea.

The sun shone behind me, warming my back as I gazed out into the ocean, nothing to see but water stretching for miles and miles in every direction. If I had not been as young as I was, I would have rendered the sight beautiful and breathtaking. But I was a mere child, bored with the long trek at sea, wondering when the next stop would be.

My father stood beside me, eyes closed and body relaxed. The ocean breeze rustled what hair he had left and he smiled contently. My mother was in the cabin, seasick and crabby. She did not appreciate the ocean quite as much as my father did. As we stood there, I saw land off in the distance. "Father," I asked, "how long will it take us to reach land?"

He opened his eyes and looked at me, "who knows," he said, "maybe an hour? Maybe less?"

An hour was better than two, I decided, and looked back across the ocean. My father left to go join my mother back inside.

Just then, a dolphin jumped out of the water, not more than a couple feet away from the boat. Finally, something exciting! I leaned over the railing as another dolphin jumped up, even closer than the first. I reached as far as I could. One jumped up, just out of reach, so I leaned over the railing until my feet were no longer touching the ground. This time, when the dolphin jumped up, I was able to touch its skin. It was rough, not at all what I had expected. But the momentum of the dolphin pulled me forward and, as I struggled to gain some balance, I toppled into the water.

I suppose that because I was not very heavy, I did not make a very large splash, because no one came rushing to the side of the boat to see what happened. Not even my parents.

As I came up for air, the first thing that came to my mind was that the water was so dark. I could barely even see my feet, let alone the bottom. How was I ever supposed to know if a shark was coming up from below to eat me? Meanwhile the boat kept steadily moving forward, kept steadily moving away from me.

Then, everything was quiet. It was as if the world around me stopped; no more boats, no more talking, no more splashing. But the shadows below danced as if to the beat of a drum, and told me the world was still alive. Alive and dangerous.

From the corner of my eye, I saw what looked like a fin. When I turned my head, it was gone. In that moment, the water seemed to grow ten times colder and a hundred times more ominous.

TO BE CONTINUED...

*dislaimer: this is not a real event, but the life lessons are

Chapter 6: Development Of a New Language

Less than two years after that fateful first day of school, I had all but learnt how to fluently speak English. But despite my objections, I was still forced to go to ELD (English Language Development) several times each month. In the beginning I dreaded each session, but I began to grow accustomed to them, and to my astonishment, they helped me tremendously.

At one of the first sessions I remember being shown images and being told to say the English words for them. What sticks with me most, to this day, is the image of a strawberry. On the card, the strawberry was bright red and covered in little seeds, presumably orange. It seemed so juicy and sweet, and my mouth watered at the thought of eating it.

Of course I immediately recognized what it was, I mean, I love strawberries! In fact, back in Belgium, when strawberries were in season, we would visit a nearby strawberry farm to pick them ourselves. “Alleen de beste,” my mother would tell me. And I would listen, taking great care to pick the best to take home. Looking at the image held up in front of me, the Flemish word for a strawberry coursed through my head: aardbei, aardbei, aardbei. But I could not think of the English word for it, even though I recalled having heard it only recently. I began to grow anxious; my heart fluttered and my face flushed bright red, just like the image of that strawberry.

The teacher smiled encouragingly; “It’s all right,” she told me.

I replied, in my broken English, “Wait, I think I can remember it.” As I looked at the strawberry, I racked my brain for the word. Aardbei, aardbei, aardbei. I pushed at the walls of my memory, combing through the list of words that I knew and remembered. English and Flemish jumbled together and I could no longer think straight. Aardbei, aardbei, aardbei. After what seemed like minutes, I gave up. It seemed that my best efforts were not enough, and I sighed with obvious disappointment. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember.” I said.

“That’s all right,” she said. “It’s a strawberry.”

A strawberry! Hoe kon ik dat niet weten? I felt so ashamed of myself, as if I had let down everyone that had been working so hard to teach me English; the ELD teacher, my class teacher, and my parents. It seems so silly now, but I almost cried because of it. I remember just being able to keep the tears back, while my face was still red with embarrassment.

The teacher, hoping to make me feel better, quickly held up another card, and in turn I gave her the word. We repeated this for several minutes more until it was time to go back to class. “Good job today,” she told me as I got up to leave. I smiled, but did not feel pleased. The image of the strawberry remained in my head, and words flew through my head at the speed of light. Aardbei; aardbei; aardbei.

Chapter 5: A Change of Setting

I remember the first day of school, just days after having made the flight from Belgium to California, my new home and a pivotal change of setting. It would be weeks before all of our possessions (except several suitcases with clothes and the like) would complete the trip overseas.I only knew a handful of English words and phrases; not nearly enough for me to understand a conversation. “Hello, my name is Helena,” was the longest sentence I could say, albeit in a thick European accent.

With a hug goodbye and an encouraging, “het zal allemaal wel oké zijn,” from my mother, I entered the classroom. The first thing I noticed was the wooden spoon dolls hung up on the walls across the room. One, I remember, was meant to resemble a Spanish dancer: a purple pleated skirt and white blouse conveyed as much. I realize now that this doll was most likely made by a child’s parent or parents, because it was one of the better ones in the room. But what was more significant was the fact that this doll was an outsider too. That comforted me more than the friendly smile the teacher gave me when she saw me standing in the doorway.

“Welcome,” she said as she came over to take my hand. She was wearing a long black skirt and a white top; her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She seemed nice enough. “Class,” she said facing the rest of the students, “I would like you to meet our new classmate, Helena. She just moved here from Europe so please make her feel welcome.” 

She led me to one of the scattered tables and sat me down at an empty seat. A boy with sandy brown hair sat to my left and a chubby Asian girl to my right. The girl smiled at me, and, seeing that I had no pencils with me, gave me one of hers to use for the rest of class. She was to be my first school friend.

Several days after my first, the teacher asked me if I had an atlas at home, or if I needed to borrow one. Our class was to complete a geography assignment and apparently everyone else already had one. 

“An atlas?” I asked. It was a word I had never heard before, and I could not imagine what it could possibly be. For all I knew, it was an orange, or a bird.

“Yes,” the teacher said. She tried to explain; “A book, with, uh, pictures of the world, pictures of different countries.”

A book? Een boek! I thought. Ik heb er zo één! I smiled and nodded my head. The teacher seemed relieved. Although some of the students looked at me quizzically, I couldn’t help smiling; I had understood what the teacher had said! It wasn’t until much later that I realized what she had actually asked me for, but by then I was too shy and embarrassed to tell her.

Chapter 4: Water, Water Everywhere

I can't remember the first time I went swimming. Not remembering is like trying to reach out in an abyss into which I have already fallen. As far as I know, I have always loved the water and, in the sanctuary of my mind, I like to imagine that I was reveling in the water's magnificence the first time I entered it.

Ironically, my mother is and always has been afraid of the water. Perhaps fear is too strong of a word, but certainly she has a strong aversion to anything wet. But it is this dislike that, I believe, fueled her desire to have her children learn how to swim. If anything, her children would grow up without a phobia of the water. My first lesson, she tells me, was learning how to stay afloat (on my back, of course). She recalls my excitement, saying that I would not want to get out the water: "you were like a fish; the water was your home away from home," she says with a smile.

As she sits in front of me, I notice just how beautiful my mother is. She may not be a swimmer, but she is far from inactive. At an older age than she cares to admit, my mother is more fit than anyone I know. Just the other day, she completed a 100k race, or 63 miles. That's almost two-and-a-half marathons, more than many people will run in their life time. Straight as a ruler, she sits with her muscular arms relaxed beside her. Her faded red hair and light blue eyes are reminiscent of her youth, and remind me more than anything of myself.

For me, learning how to stay afloat in the water was only the beginning. At the time, I had become convinced that swimming was one of the most important skills that one should attain, and I took it upon myself to teach others. My victim was my younger brother, Ben, who was barely a year old at the time. He was a pudgy little boy with light brown tufts of hair. He had just begun to walk and talk and was now about to learn how to swim.

He was by the edge of the pool with our mother, as was I, ready for the day's lesson. Impatient as I was and often still am, I wanted to hurry things along- I mean, why couldn't he just swim already? A push was all it took to send him down into the depths of the shallow end of the pool. There, that would teach him. Unfortunately, my mother and the instructor were not quite so pleased as I was. Whereas I believed I had successfully taught my brother how to survive in the water, they believed I was trying to hurt him. Almost immediately, they managed to rescue the flailing, sputtering little boy by fishing him out of the water. Tears poured out of his little blue eyes even as my mother wrapped him in a towel to try and comfort him. The lesson for the day was canceled and that, more than anything, angered me. I was confounded when I was told I could not swim that day. It was punishment, my mother had explained. I was to never do anything like it ever again. Even though I still believed swimming was an essential skill, I promised to never push anyone in the water.