If you would have asked ten years ago where I'd find myself when I turned 28, my answer would have been something vague about job and an apartment.
Never in my wildest imagination could I imagine myself building my own self from the ground up, supported and loved by the most amazing people I have ever met.
I have always believed in the value of family, but not until I saw the movie "Lilo & Stitch" did I realize that family doesn't always have to mean blood relations. Sure, I had some vague idea that not all people in a family were related biologically, but it never occurred to me that an individual could build their own pack/family without any basis in biology or blood relations.
"Ohana means Family. Family means that no one gets left behind or forgotten."
My family consists of a varied group of people and all of them amazing and brilliant individuals.
There's my soulfriend Jackson, who will soon be a licensed Marriage and Family therapist.
There's the two people I consider my sisters - Nova and Sakuya - one who is an actress (gotcha, Nova) and the other is a university level Political Science expert (bite your tongue, Saku-chan. My blog, my view of things.)
One guy is an accomplished drummer, sound technician, and merchandise seller.
One guy is a music guru and LP expert.
Boy is a licensed Microsoft Network Architect.
If I wasn't so proud of all of them, I would feel inferior and damn jealous. As it stands, I am more than content to stand back and watch all of them reach their dreams, cheering them on for all I am worth. Matters are not helped by the fact that all of them are extremely good looking as well. Smart, funny, and gorgeous - my family is dangerous, for sure.
tisdag 18 februari 2014
söndag 16 februari 2014
Curiosity Overload
Sometimes I really hate the part of my brain that never stops looking for more knowledge. It is always driving me to find new things, new experience, meet new people, see new things. It carves a longing into my mind whenever I get stuck and it prevents me from settling down.
It feels like my mind is, and has been, forever searching for ways to quench this curiosity and I know that I am the most happy when I can find new things and learn more about the world around me.
I have dreamed about a library as the one in Beauty and the Beast or at Hogwarts for as long as I can remember. A library packed with leather bound volumes, filled with all the knowledge money could buy, and then some.
I have denied myself the pleasure of research for a very long time, mainly because I have associated research with school and grades. From now on, I will pick up a book or scan a website for the sole purpose and pleasure of, for a moment, an hour, or a day, still the desire for knowledge burning in my mind and in my chest.
Very few things are as pleasurable to me as finding connections, learning new things, or just enjoying diving headlong into wisdom and knowledge accumulated over the pass of time since the dawn of civilization.
I will no longer apologize for what I read.
I will hold my desire for knowledge and my inherent curiosity up high, and tell the world "This is me. Take it or leave it."
It feels like my mind is, and has been, forever searching for ways to quench this curiosity and I know that I am the most happy when I can find new things and learn more about the world around me.
I have dreamed about a library as the one in Beauty and the Beast or at Hogwarts for as long as I can remember. A library packed with leather bound volumes, filled with all the knowledge money could buy, and then some.
I have denied myself the pleasure of research for a very long time, mainly because I have associated research with school and grades. From now on, I will pick up a book or scan a website for the sole purpose and pleasure of, for a moment, an hour, or a day, still the desire for knowledge burning in my mind and in my chest.
Very few things are as pleasurable to me as finding connections, learning new things, or just enjoying diving headlong into wisdom and knowledge accumulated over the pass of time since the dawn of civilization.
I will no longer apologize for what I read.
I will hold my desire for knowledge and my inherent curiosity up high, and tell the world "This is me. Take it or leave it."
onsdag 12 februari 2014
All Inked Up - Part 2.
After seven years of waiting and longing, I finally got the tattoo on my shoulder done the way I wanted it to be all along. It is now perfect and amazing and so very beautiful.
For a comparison, here are Before and After photos of my shoulder. The difference is stunning.
Sadly, I couldn't get the same angle, but you can still see the difference.
I absolutely love how it turned out, but it really made me very sad that some people feel the need to point out that they think it's ugly (on women), and that it's inappropriate and wrong to get tattoos. It's almost as if these people think that I'd go and get it removed just because of their opinion of it.
On the other side, many more think it looks amazing, and really, I am going to only regard their opinion as important to me. At this moment, support for who I am and what I do, especially to my own body, is far more valuable to me than people who find it necessary to express negative thoughts about me and my body. It might seem shallow to some, but to me, it's just balancing the scales.
I have wanted to get this tattoo fixed for seven years. I finally had the means to get it, so I got it. The dragon stands for my own spirit, the rose petals are for my Granny (mom's mother, who loved roses) and the clouds represent my Grandma (dad's mother, who couldn't get enough of nature and loved snow). These two women have influenced my life in many profound ways and I wanted a homage to them.
Now, some woman wants to tell me that my tribute to myself is something ugly? Some guy wants to tell me he doesn't like it? It makes me angry, to be perfectly honest. Of course, they have the right to their opinion. I would never stop anyone from expressing their views and opinions. People just have to be prepared for me strongly disagreeing with them. And do you have to say that you find tattoos ugly the day after I got it? Bad timing, girl. Bad timing.
Anyway, I am happy, un-caffinated, and I have a head ache. Now I am going to play some Atlantica and pet my new, beautiful ink.
For a comparison, here are Before and After photos of my shoulder. The difference is stunning.
Before
After
Sadly, I couldn't get the same angle, but you can still see the difference.
I absolutely love how it turned out, but it really made me very sad that some people feel the need to point out that they think it's ugly (on women), and that it's inappropriate and wrong to get tattoos. It's almost as if these people think that I'd go and get it removed just because of their opinion of it.
On the other side, many more think it looks amazing, and really, I am going to only regard their opinion as important to me. At this moment, support for who I am and what I do, especially to my own body, is far more valuable to me than people who find it necessary to express negative thoughts about me and my body. It might seem shallow to some, but to me, it's just balancing the scales.
I have wanted to get this tattoo fixed for seven years. I finally had the means to get it, so I got it. The dragon stands for my own spirit, the rose petals are for my Granny (mom's mother, who loved roses) and the clouds represent my Grandma (dad's mother, who couldn't get enough of nature and loved snow). These two women have influenced my life in many profound ways and I wanted a homage to them.
Now, some woman wants to tell me that my tribute to myself is something ugly? Some guy wants to tell me he doesn't like it? It makes me angry, to be perfectly honest. Of course, they have the right to their opinion. I would never stop anyone from expressing their views and opinions. People just have to be prepared for me strongly disagreeing with them. And do you have to say that you find tattoos ugly the day after I got it? Bad timing, girl. Bad timing.
Anyway, I am happy, un-caffinated, and I have a head ache. Now I am going to play some Atlantica and pet my new, beautiful ink.
tisdag 11 februari 2014
All Inked Up
This post will be about tattoos. It can be triggering for those with needle phobia. Just saying.
I was 19 years old when I got my first tattoo and I got its companion six months later. Some people in my close proximity thinks it was a stupid thing to do, and they nearly had a fit when I got my third tattoo when I was 21 years old.
That third one has haunted me for the past seven years, all because it turned out so flawed.
Yes, it's on my shoulder, and yes, that's a bra strap. And yes, it only has two legs. That will get fixed tomorrow, thankfully. I will add a photo of the fix-up once it's been healed.
The thing I wanted to talk about, though, is not flawed tattoos or their repair. That will be tomorrow's topic. I wanted to talk about the stigma associated with having tattoos.
Many still believe that having your skin inked somehow makes you a bad person. Someone who can't be trusted. Someone who won't take responsibility or who won't do a proper job.
From what I have seen, and from the tattooed people I have met, nothing can be further from the truth. Many of the people who choose to have their skin adorned with ink have very profound reasons for their choice. Some do it to honor individuals loved and lost. Some do it to commemorate important events in their lives, such as marriage, childbirth, and important experiences. Not one of the inked people I have met have changed their personality based on what's in/on their skin. You wouldn't judge someone for dying their hair, so why judge someone for having art imbedded in their skin? (Ok, so I know that some people do judge others for dying their hair, but I couldn't come up with a better comparison.)
The tattoo artists I have met have all been professional and gifted people, with a serious understanding of cleanliness, safety, and health. Not once have I feared an infection while under the needle. Not once have I felt unsafe or uncomfortable (and coming from someone who is living with social phobia, that's saying a lot).
As for the pain, I don't think it hurts. I can't speak for everyone in this matter, but I don't think getting a tattoo hurts.
Sure, there is some pain. After all, you have a needle piercing your skin about 100 to 140 times per second, depending on the line/shading/coloring. However, I have found that for me, the pain stops the moment the needle leaves my skin. Also, it didn't feel like a needle. It was more like a slim and very sharp blade cutting into my skin. But there is no hurt. Hurt takes away from the person and from who you are. Pain is just a sensation, the same as warmth, cold, or arousal. Pain can add to who you are the same way being warm or happy can. (I might have a weird view on things, but that should already be clear to those reading this blog.)
I think that what I am trying to say is don't judge people based on what they look like. You might miss out on some really great friends.
I was 19 years old when I got my first tattoo and I got its companion six months later. Some people in my close proximity thinks it was a stupid thing to do, and they nearly had a fit when I got my third tattoo when I was 21 years old.
That third one has haunted me for the past seven years, all because it turned out so flawed.
The thing I wanted to talk about, though, is not flawed tattoos or their repair. That will be tomorrow's topic. I wanted to talk about the stigma associated with having tattoos.
Many still believe that having your skin inked somehow makes you a bad person. Someone who can't be trusted. Someone who won't take responsibility or who won't do a proper job.
From what I have seen, and from the tattooed people I have met, nothing can be further from the truth. Many of the people who choose to have their skin adorned with ink have very profound reasons for their choice. Some do it to honor individuals loved and lost. Some do it to commemorate important events in their lives, such as marriage, childbirth, and important experiences. Not one of the inked people I have met have changed their personality based on what's in/on their skin. You wouldn't judge someone for dying their hair, so why judge someone for having art imbedded in their skin? (Ok, so I know that some people do judge others for dying their hair, but I couldn't come up with a better comparison.)
The tattoo artists I have met have all been professional and gifted people, with a serious understanding of cleanliness, safety, and health. Not once have I feared an infection while under the needle. Not once have I felt unsafe or uncomfortable (and coming from someone who is living with social phobia, that's saying a lot).
As for the pain, I don't think it hurts. I can't speak for everyone in this matter, but I don't think getting a tattoo hurts.
Sure, there is some pain. After all, you have a needle piercing your skin about 100 to 140 times per second, depending on the line/shading/coloring. However, I have found that for me, the pain stops the moment the needle leaves my skin. Also, it didn't feel like a needle. It was more like a slim and very sharp blade cutting into my skin. But there is no hurt. Hurt takes away from the person and from who you are. Pain is just a sensation, the same as warmth, cold, or arousal. Pain can add to who you are the same way being warm or happy can. (I might have a weird view on things, but that should already be clear to those reading this blog.)
I think that what I am trying to say is don't judge people based on what they look like. You might miss out on some really great friends.
fredag 7 februari 2014
My Hair Is A Must
Earlier today I read this really good article about the impact women with short hair can have on their immediate surroundings and society at large. It made me think and also made me realize something rather important.
I really miss my dark brown semi-pixie cut.
For the last three years, around the Spring Equinox, I have cut my hair short and dyed it in a color I like. Then, for the only reasons that I am lazy and broke, I've let in grow out, until it reaches my shoulders, which normally takes about a year.
I think it's time to cut it short, and this time, I'll keep it short.
I don't care enough about trends and such to pay hundreds of dollars each year to visit hair studios/salons. As long as it doesn't look like I took a lawn mover to my hair, I'm good, so this time I'm going to try to fix it myself.
Some might argue that long hair looks better than short hair on women. To that, I have only this to say:
All women are different. Some look better with long hair, some look better with short hair. The only important thing is how the woman feel about it. If she likes her hair long, let her have it long. If she likes it better short, then let her wear it short. As for me, I like my hair short, for several reasons. (yay list)
1. I look good in short hair.
2. I feel good in short hair.
3. Short hair is easy to maintain.
4. When I wear my hair long, I have to use several tricks to make it not look like a angora rabbit saved from an oil drum. It's just too much work.
5. Bed head works brilliantly with short hair ;)
Later today, I'm getting my pixie cut back, and this time, I'm going to try and keep it.
I really miss my dark brown semi-pixie cut.
For the last three years, around the Spring Equinox, I have cut my hair short and dyed it in a color I like. Then, for the only reasons that I am lazy and broke, I've let in grow out, until it reaches my shoulders, which normally takes about a year.
I think it's time to cut it short, and this time, I'll keep it short.
I don't care enough about trends and such to pay hundreds of dollars each year to visit hair studios/salons. As long as it doesn't look like I took a lawn mover to my hair, I'm good, so this time I'm going to try to fix it myself.
Some might argue that long hair looks better than short hair on women. To that, I have only this to say:
All women are different. Some look better with long hair, some look better with short hair. The only important thing is how the woman feel about it. If she likes her hair long, let her have it long. If she likes it better short, then let her wear it short. As for me, I like my hair short, for several reasons. (yay list)
1. I look good in short hair.
2. I feel good in short hair.
3. Short hair is easy to maintain.
4. When I wear my hair long, I have to use several tricks to make it not look like a angora rabbit saved from an oil drum. It's just too much work.
5. Bed head works brilliantly with short hair ;)
Later today, I'm getting my pixie cut back, and this time, I'm going to try and keep it.
lördag 1 februari 2014
Almost A Grown-Up
Last Friday another one of the tweeds working at the Employment Agency came by the place where I'm doing the whole workplace rehabilitation thing, and once again, he was droning on and on about information he had just copied off of the home page. He even got annoyed and pulled a guilt card on the group when someone (legasp) dared to question what he was doing there. Guilt cards are ridiculous in children. For a man pushing 60, it's beyond laughable.
What struck me, though, was the fact that I really didn't care. Sure, I was building up a nice and fuzzy little panic attack, ready to launch at a seconds notice, all because I felt very alone and extremely trapped, but the man himself didn't do anything for or against my mood at the time. I just didn't care. Had this been about a year ago, I would have been so angry and frustrated, lashing out against the unfair treatment, the un-payed labor, and the fact that people who get welfare through the employment agency are prohibited from leaving the country, even on holiday.
Later that day, I was going over this mysterious thing in my head, and it came to me that maybe this is how post-puberty emotions are supposed to work. I am sure that my emotional development came to a halt when I was around 13-14 years old and that's why my mood has been so much like a very messed up see-saw. It has taken me around six months and two different psycho pharmacological treatments to get to this point, but it feels like my emotions are finally at a point you might find in a 24-25 year old. Which means that I still have a few years of catching up to do, but it's a lot better than the warped roller coaster that was my emotions only a few months ago.
The flip side is that I feel very alone at the work place. Everyone there, with very few exceptions, seem to think that it's society's fault that they are unemployed. They get angry and frustrated at the drop of a hat, and all they do all day is complain. Having seen what I have seen when it comes to human suffering and poverty, I am extremely glad that I am living in a country that has a working welfare system. I am so very glad that I don't have to fear being evicted. I don't have to fear starvation or freezing or not being able to get my medication.
I am unemployed, but I know it's not society's fault. Right now, it's mainly my illness' fault. No one wants to hire a sick person. The positive thing is that I've entered a program for disabled youth at the employment agency, so my chances of getting a job multiplied by a lot in just one go.
I guess what I am trying to convey is that, while I am far from well, my emotions are finally in a state of balance and harmony, which on one hand feels amazing and calm, on the other hand makes me, again, feel like the odd one out.
What struck me, though, was the fact that I really didn't care. Sure, I was building up a nice and fuzzy little panic attack, ready to launch at a seconds notice, all because I felt very alone and extremely trapped, but the man himself didn't do anything for or against my mood at the time. I just didn't care. Had this been about a year ago, I would have been so angry and frustrated, lashing out against the unfair treatment, the un-payed labor, and the fact that people who get welfare through the employment agency are prohibited from leaving the country, even on holiday.
Later that day, I was going over this mysterious thing in my head, and it came to me that maybe this is how post-puberty emotions are supposed to work. I am sure that my emotional development came to a halt when I was around 13-14 years old and that's why my mood has been so much like a very messed up see-saw. It has taken me around six months and two different psycho pharmacological treatments to get to this point, but it feels like my emotions are finally at a point you might find in a 24-25 year old. Which means that I still have a few years of catching up to do, but it's a lot better than the warped roller coaster that was my emotions only a few months ago.
The flip side is that I feel very alone at the work place. Everyone there, with very few exceptions, seem to think that it's society's fault that they are unemployed. They get angry and frustrated at the drop of a hat, and all they do all day is complain. Having seen what I have seen when it comes to human suffering and poverty, I am extremely glad that I am living in a country that has a working welfare system. I am so very glad that I don't have to fear being evicted. I don't have to fear starvation or freezing or not being able to get my medication.
I am unemployed, but I know it's not society's fault. Right now, it's mainly my illness' fault. No one wants to hire a sick person. The positive thing is that I've entered a program for disabled youth at the employment agency, so my chances of getting a job multiplied by a lot in just one go.
I guess what I am trying to convey is that, while I am far from well, my emotions are finally in a state of balance and harmony, which on one hand feels amazing and calm, on the other hand makes me, again, feel like the odd one out.
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