Head Canon

Friends. Or fam(ily). These feel like two words that get overused and their meaning has grown diluted to the point of non-existent. I find myself feeling like Ted in the HIMYM pilot episode, telling Robin he loves her immediately after meeting her. That’s been a cringily accurate representation of my attitude towards (too) many people. Not romantically most times, although I guess that could be accurate too in a way. But right now I’m referring to just general openness. And trust.

Disclaimer, I really do NOT feel like writing today. I’ve gotten a few likes for my first post though, and a beautifully talented follower, so I’ll write for them today. For you.

I’ve come to feel like if I put any amount of trust whatsoever in “the world”, it will destroy me slowly and passionately and will not lose a second of sleep. Which isn’t that surprising considering it is generally asleep all the time. There hasn’t been an alarm clock yet that would not get put on “snooze” within miliseconds. But that just sounds political, and screw that, honestly.

The world will (always?) be just that: the world. Nothing less. Nothing more. A chaotic pack of people thinking they know what to do about anything. And teaching their peers what to do about everything. And teaching their children. That’s my personal favorite. Children are the future. Agreed. It makes sense then for most of us to keep them in the past. Or does it. Dunno duncare.

Well, I do care. That’s my problem, really. And I don’t really believe it’s a problem. Personally I consider it a bigger problem when someone does care as well but feels the need to put on the act that they don’t care at all. Or that they care very selectively, which does seem like a better idea. Like care about their loved ones, friends and fam. Yeah!

I mean, guys. Look. I appreciate it when someone tells me they care. Particularly when they assure me they care about me. And I really believe they do when they say that. It’s just… well, I’ll just say it, kindness costs nothing. As in, I get it that you don’t feel able to be of real support, I do. But… Okay. You know. You don’t have to be… insensitive, about that.

And see, that’s gotta cause an inner resistance in some. “Wait what? What do you mean insensitive? I’m not being insensitive, I’m telling you I can’t help you with your problems, you’re being insensitive!” Whatever works, right?

Yeah… and I don’t really have concrete examples on hand that I could bring up, least not from the most recent days. So if you’re not getting my meaning, don’t worry about it. I guess there is one conversation from a couple years ago, three or four maybe, that stuck with me for a long time. A friend – I mean that’s what I thought she was – gave a poignant reply to my opening up and confiding in her, about my struggles/fears/difficulties. I do not remember the exact phrasing, and I do not feel like looking up the convo itself (yes, it was a facebook convo, what are the odds). I do remember distinctly that the words “little bitch” were used by her to refer to me, as well as something about complaining too much.

Getting that reaction to making yourself vulnerable in front of anyone you thought of as a friend is devastating enough. The fact that I had been hopelessly (without clear OR good reason!) infatuated with her made it bad enough that much of that year I spent with crippling bladder problems which turned out to be 100% anxiety-induced. If that doesn’t prove I’m a “real boy”, I don’t know what does.

See, I just made myself vulnerable right here, I’m realizing. I would assume the best of my readers, that the confession would spark compassion and maybe even be relatable. But that’s me being Ted. I admitted to loving Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi in a fan group the other day. Used the words “it changed my life” and I was not lying. One heart-eyes emoji reaction, the others “rolling on the floor laughing” emojis. Oooh, even better, a compassionate not-to-be-confused-with-condescending lecture from a… film critic? On the Internet? In a fandom group? I think not. But yes, a lecture, about people exposing their perversions on the Internet and him having to endure the cringe it gives him. Aww, I’m sorry, baby. If it makes you feel better, you made me cringe too. And I endured it, and you can do it too. I believe in you.

Well, there goes me not wanting to write today. But yes, let’s wrap this up somehow, maybe with a nice bow and tie. And what better way to do that than come full circle: friends, fam. Yes, I love you. Obviously you can’t tell someone you’ve just met… or, actually, didn’t, cause like, you’re literally only reading my words… that you love them. But, I agree with poor hopeless Ted: it sucks that you can’t. What, is putting on the tough guy/girl act better? “You’re just gonna regret shit when you’re an old bastard” as a random fellow student once said to me while evidently trying to set me up with another fellow student who later claimed no knowledge of the incident after we did get set up. Life, right?

May the Force be with you as you live long and prosper.

There are two constants in my life that I want to take this moment to appreciate. I mean, there are many more constants in it – it’s not like I live on the front lines, down in the trenches, on an operating table. These are just the two that feel particularly relevant today.

The first is storytelling, in most if not all of its forms. Loved it since I was a little boy, tried my hand at writing my own novel at the age of 8, sucked hard at it, but kept scribbling bits and bobs throughout the years. As more of them went by, the standard sources of inspiration – books, movies, video games – were joined by an ugly thing I had never put too much faith in… by “personal experience”.

The second is music, a treasure chest whose contents I go through at my own speed and to my own liking. My so-called taste in music probably shows a lot more of my “life philosophies” than I have managed to put into prose so far – I remember telling a colleague back in high school that in my opinion “measuring” songs as better/worse has no merit, as there might not be a more subjective experience than the way each individual values their own favorite songs.

My colleague was a very “alternative” boy, one of the numerous rebels that today’s society has raised. Naturally I deemed him the right person to share these thoughts of mine with. His response went along the lines of “totally, dude, I mean everyone knows properly made house is like totally superior to all that commercial Linkin Park shit”. This was around 2013 I think, Chester’s suicide not yet visible on any horizons except (maybe) his own; even if our conversation had taken place now that he’s dead and Linkin Park’s future seems up in the air, I actually don’t think my colleague’s attitude would have been any different.

That’s not to say it should have been different just due to the fact the band lost its vocalist in such a tragic manner. He didn’t like their songs, that’s completely understandable (yes, I had to restrain myself from saying “totally”). Or maybe he was indifferent towards the song themselves, just didn’t respect the band’s decision to try to evolve their style. I wouldn’t know, I haven’t been in contact with him for years; I actually think he might have banished me from his social media, the ultimate 21st century condemnation. Or maybe I deleted him, it’s hard to keep track of some of that.

I don’t like to get hung up on any one person. Anymore, I mean. I mean, I still do it. I just don’t like it. I mean, I kinda do. Anyway, there’s more to that alternative rebel from the depths of my past. I could just stop now, having presented the side of him I arguably remember the most today. But there’s other bits I remember, like his struggle to fit in, barely noticed by most of our classmates. Or his depression, forcefully hidden, I assume at the urging of his parents whom I saw maybe once, enough to leave a very general impression. Or how deeply he loved, when he had someone in his life whom he trusted with his love.

I don’t know what sort of conclusion anyone should reach from all that. I don’t think I’ve reached a conclusion yet that would be quote unquote final, not by a long shot. I keep coming back to the annoying little thought that not many things are what they generally seem. I’ll be first to admit I’ve had gigantic trust issues most my life, dressed up in smiles and presented to the world as helping hands, which by itself might not make it ideal for me to have that particular annoying thought. I can’t help what I conclude though, I never could. I think I might as well start finding loopholes, converting my conclusions into fuel for the, um, future.

That song in Kung Fu Panda doesn’t lie, the future does look frightening, doesn’t it? It’s not just my imagination? I hoped not. It’s kind of like, ideally, imagination is the domain of hope, perception is the domain of expectation management. I don’t enjoy when these domains get mixed up. I don’t think they’ve switched places completely, not for me, not yet. Things actually look bright, for now. But I have recently been diagnosed as “potentially bipolar”, so maybe don’t take my word for… any of it? I don’t know, you decide.

Anyway, with the blah blah blah stream-of-consciousness out of the way, welcome to this little head canon I wanna try maintaining. And you are welcome here indeed. Oh, did you assume the title of the post was supposed to be me being all cocky? Nah, not tonight. Maybe some other time, likely. Tonight, you are welcome. Tomorrow, you are welcome. As long as I maintain this blog, you are welcome to read it. If at any point you are not welcome, trust me, you will know. And if, against most-but-not-all odds, we do find ourselves reaching that point, I assure you now while I’m not having an episode of being intense a.k.a. manic, it will not be your fault. Just disregard whatever proofs for it being your fault I happen to come up with at that time.

May the Force be with you as you live long and prosper.