I don't know if it's me

A NOTE: This post is inspired by two very separate things. One more recent is a class I had today in which a professor spoke of the term "author" and different ways a person defines himself or herself. The other one is a piece of fanfiction that I read a long time ago and that made me think of myself in terms of defining words. Vocabulary is a story in which a 16 year old boy is given a sentence to finish for homework, a sentence that goes "I am ________ ." and he is only allowed to use one word to finish it. You don't have to read it, but I do recommend it. For the longest time I tried to come up with that one word. I couldn't do it. Instead, here's my list.

I AM:

a female: I'm not saying "a girl" because I believe I outgrew it. I'm not saying "a woman" because I believe I have some serious amount of growing up to do before I can step into a woman's shoes. God help me, I'll quote Britney Spears: Not a girl, not yet a woman. I am, however, a female, which in many ways determines not only the way I look at the world, but also the way the world looks at me. I am predetermined by nature to give birth, to be a mother. I have a brain that functions in a certain way, different than a man's. Being a female sets grounds for everything that comes next.

a daughter: I've been blessed with wonderful parents, even though they didn't always do a splendid job at raising me. But I am loved. And that is a lot.

a sister: It's the best. It's the worst. We have a bond that I am almost positive would never break. But nothing can tear me to pieces easier than one well aimed sentence form my sister's mouth. She knows all of my weak spots and she knows hot to hit each and every one perfectly. And the comparison never ceases. There's no getting away from me vs. her-concept. Is she prettier than me? Is she smarter? Do they love her more? Is she more successful? And if so, am I therefore a failure? Does she makes me look like a loser? Is she better than me?

a reader: I've been a reader since I can remember. The story says I learned to read at the age of 4 and I never stopped since. To be honest, I read a lot of really bad literature. But something worthwhile sneaks in from time to time. The best thing about reading is that even from crap you get to learn something. If it's merely a single new word, so be it - it's more than I knew yesterday. Do not judge me for what I read.

a student: This should make me feel good. But it doesn't. Every time I think of being a 2nd year student at the age of 27, I cringe. What the hell have I been doing with my life and what the hell do I think I'll be doing if I ever do get my degree? I don't know. I don't know, I don't know. But it doesn't look good.

a quitter: Everything I ever started, everything I ever touched, everything I ever thought of doing, I gave up on. I gave up on friendships. I gave up on relationships (no matter how very few of those I even engaged into). I gave up on schooling. I gave up on jobs. I gave up on myself. Once my boss said to me: "I don't doubt you'll make it, you're determined enough." and I stared at him thinking: "You have no idea who I am, you don't know the first thing about me, and you couldn't be more wrong."

a Catholic: I'm not an active one. I don't go to Church, I don't pray. I believe in God but that's it. Yet, just by being born one, I have these beliefs that are ingrained into me, about heaven and hell and what is right and what is wrong (just so we're clear, I'm pretty sure I'm heading downwards). And don't even get me started on the Catholic guilt. Why is that the thing that sticks the most, is beyond me, but it's there, every step of the way.

a Croat: It's actually rather stupid to feel proud for being this nationality or that one, given that you're born one or another without any choice, but I am. I can't put my finger on it, on why I should feel proud, but every time I hear the national anthem, I tear up. Being a Croat also determines the way I see the world in a lot of way. I cannot not see it from my country's perspective. I cannot view things as an American or a Chinese. The culture I was brought up in helped building me into what I am.

a single: I am single because I have chosen not to commit to anyone. I have chosen not to give up on parts of myself to make room for someone else. I am single because I'm selfish. Or am I selfish because I can be, since I have no one to make compromises for?

a fangirl: Yes, I am. I spend more time looking at pictures of this or that actor, watching films and shows that they're on, than doing anything that involves my family or is in any way benefitial for me. I can't explain why it is so important to me. But it's what I do and it makes me happy. And is for the most part a secret to the real world.

an online persona: More of them, actually. Each of you know some side of me that I let be seen. It allows me to be free in many ways. I can read what I want online. I can say what I want online - there will always be people who agree with me. I can spill my emotions to the screen and it's cathartic and it helps in dealing with the world. It also makes it harder because there's no delete button in the real world. And it's messing with my mind. A lot.

And how do you define me? Seriously, I want to know. What is your word for me?

Call the clowns and listen closely Part II

Now with the actual clown.

Don't mind doing it for the kids

I may have corrupted young innocent Anja today. In the Curator's class. She was bored, okay? So I gave her a couple of, y'know, love stories with an edge. Which, as you know, is a euphemism for gay porn in Kris. And I'd feel bad, really, I would, but when she went all "OMG WHAT IS THIS?!" on me and I tried to take it away, she got all clingy and wouldn't let go of the paper. And then when the class ended and she wasn't finished with the second story and asked me to bring it again the next time, I let her have it. She wanted it, okay? So I'm actually nice and a good friend. Yeah.

And it's a shame what we've become. And it's a place I cannot go, anymore.

Yet there you are, pressing your thumb into the wound. Yeah, just like evil!Sam. Whatever, I know I have no life so all my metaphors and similes are about Supernatural. Pathetic, I know. Anyway. What the fuck, AJ? Seriously, what the fuck? Oh right, yeah, I'm the joke, right? Fine, whatever, ha ha. But I left, didn't I? I haven't said a word in, what, forever, so why not let me be? Probably cuz you haven't even noticed. Which kinda brings me back to the why part. And what does that even mean? Seriously, what? Oh ha ha, lame country, or what? You wanted to me to speak up? Well here I am, speaking up. Because, well, you had me there. I'm completely confused.
I don't get it. But it upsets me. Upsets me a lot. Because, goddammit, this is my entire life. It's all I have. YOU, people, these sentences... It's all I have. And I end up having a little less every day.

When I came here there was more.
Now I've come back to destroy,
And I've got nothing left,
And it's a shame what we've become,
When we hurt the ones we love,
And it's a place I can not go,
Anymore.

When we collide we lose ourselves.
When we collide we break in two,
And as we push and we shove and we hurt the ones we love,
It's a hard mistake.
When we collide,
We break.

As I dream about movies they won't make of me when I'm dead...

...I cannot be anything but grateful. Why? Because the last two weeks have been the weeks of bad, awful and worse movies for me. What the hell is going on with the movie industry? OK, OK, there must be good movies out there, I just managed to miss them all somehow. But anyway. Reviews.

The Women
I cannot fucking believe I paid money to see that. First of all, what the hell was that movie even about? No, really. Except for, like, a lot of women running around and yapping to each other. The message of the movie is not that behind every successful women there are her friends. Nuh-uh. I'm not even sure there is a message, but here's what I got out of the pile of crap this was: when your husband cheats on you, don't divorce him! No, you go and change yourself. After all, it must be your fault that he cheated, so you better go and work on improving yourself, mmkay? You go out, let his mistress humiliate you in public, then decide you have to beat her at this game, because clearly, your husband is a catch, and then when you're someone completely different and he's intrigued and wants you back (most likely till he meets someone new again), you go and take him back right away, beacuse, OH NO!, he might change his mind. SERIOUSLY.

The Christmas Cottage
Starring Jared Padalecki of the Gilmore Girls and Supernatural, Oscar winners Marcia Gay Harden and Peter O'Toole, and a bunch of anonymous people. OK, fine, I saw it for Jared and thank God he's as hot as he is because I don't remember a movie as boring as this one. I don't even know what that is about. So he paints and his mother has debts and his old neighbour looks as if he's about to drop dead any second now and there's a Christmas pageant to be held. Believe it or not, this summary of mine makes more sense than the movie itself. Two hours of my life I'll never get back.

Ten Inch Hero
Starring Jensen Ackles of Supernatural, Danneel Elta Harris of One Tree Hill, Clea DuVall of Heroes and some other things, Sean Patrick Flannery who was the young Indiana Jones, hello!, and a bunch of anonymous people, one of which is One Tree Hill's Peyton's creepy fake brother Derek. Anyway. All of these people are, like, outcasts. They're different. Jensen is very original because he wears this mohawk in different colours every day and that's, you know, alternative. Elta is a whore. A slut, if you will. Clea has this online life but she's not pretty so she's shy and stuff. Sean Patrick Flannery... well, he's got a nice torso there. Anyway, they're all weird and stuff, but then they all completely change their personalities and become regular sheep and that's when they find true loves and eternal happiness and, I dunno, reach nirvana or something. See, the point is that none of us really wants to stand out. No, what we really need to be happy and feel like we belong or some shit like that, is to be exactly like everyone else. So go out there and be conformists. Because Ten Inch Hero told you to.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants
Starring Rory Gilmore of Gilmore Girls, Ugly Betty of Ugly Betty, Joan of Arcadia of Joan of Arcadia and some generic blonde, you know the type, dime a dozen. So this one... this one's really something. They buy these pants, okay, and the pants are magical. The pants, and we're talking one pair here, fit all of them. I'm sensing they actually used four different pairs, but that just me. Naturally, it's summer and they all go to different parts of world and then they each wear pants for a week and then pass them on. Sounds ew, right? Especially because there's a rule that pants mustn't be washed at all. Luckily, no one got their period unexpectedly while wearing them. So there are dead parents, and dead kids, and first loves, and Greek islands, and Mexico, and tennis, and videogames, and OH MY GOD, WHY DID I WATCH THAT?!!!

I am so looking forward to watching Burn After Reading. My brain could certainly use some resuscitating.

Call the clowns and listen closely

You'd think that watching an episode of Supernatural in which a teddy bear comes alive, gets depressed and blows its brains... uh, head stuffing out would be on the top of the creepy in one day. You'd be wrong.

In the middle of the city sat an elderly man, dressed in a old-fashioned suit of dubious cleanliness. He also wore a hat and a red, curly wig. You could see his stubble around the edges of his cardboard clown mask.
He was playing an accordion. The song he was playing was "Jingle Bells".

And I did not have my camera with me.

Once, when I was little

You know how bread always falls buttered side down? Same goes for bread with Nutella.

I hated kindergarten. From the get-go. Or at least I think so. I went to kindergarten since I was a baby till I started school (which is at the age of 7 in Croatia).

There were so many things I hated about it. Getting up while it was still dark outside to a freezing house, having mother dress me while I was still more or less (more more than less) asleep, being dropped off at that place. The food. God, I hated the food. The skin on the warm milk. *stomach heaves momentarily* String beans. I honest to God vomited once we had those. Strawberry pudding. The ugliest shade of pink and its jelly-like consistence. *shudder*

And then there were the naps. Stupid unwanted naps we had to take after lunch at noon till 3pm when parents would start coming to pick the kids up. I don't remember ever actually sleeping, I would toss and turn and wait for the time to drag its ass by. The happiest day was when I had to go to the dentist and Mom picked me up right after lunch. Oh yeah, the dentist topped napping in kindergarten so easily it wasn't even funny. I remember one time when one of the "nice" kindergarten ladies pulled me up by the arm to turn me to the other side so I'd stop chatting to a friend. It hurt like a motherfucker!

We weren't allowed to play whenever we wanted to. It was fucking kindergarten and sometimes we couldn't play. Or, we could play but only with the toys they'd give us. Sometimes we weren't allowed to play with all the toys. When they'd give us dolls, it was like a holiday. I guess it didn't really help that I was kind of antisocial even back then. I just wanted to read, not socialise, y'know? I learnt how to read when I was 4 and I don't remember this, but my Mom told me that I was the one who'd read the subtitles to the other kids when we would watch foreign kid shows. I'm thinking being the nerd did wonders for my kindergarten rep.

But then I was also really good at learning poems by heart. Reading helped, I guess. So I'd make my Mom really proud when we had our little pageants. I was the small chubby girl with resonating voice who'd never EVER miss a line. I was always the smart one, you know?

Big deal when I couldn't draw to save my life. Creative potential? Zero. Stick figures were as good as it would get. I couldn't run. Always the last one to reach the mark. Couldn't climb. I don't even know if I was too afraid of falling down or simply of heights.

When I was bigger I used to walk home alone. It was terrifying. And it never got easier because I had to go through this part of the village where Gypsies live. And they were wild and mean. Messing with little girls was what they did for fun. They were just adding to the trauma. Funny how my Mom told me much later she was just as scared when she'd walk home from kindergarten when she was a little girl. She knew and she still put me through it.

I had my first crush when I was in kidergarten. Could've been 4 or 5, I don't really know anymore. His name was Marko and he was a true gingerhead. Freckles and all. A lot of the girls had a crush on him. And then... one day... we ended up taking a nap in the neighbouring beds. I don't know how it happened. I don't know who reached out to whom. I just know we held hands through the entire nap time. Just this once. It was the best kindergarten day ever.

The next time a boy held my hand I was 23.