I recently came to realize that I've become a rather serious person. This sounds ridiculous, but I was sipping on my cup of tea at a tea salon this past Saturday, when the thought suddenly came to me: I think I'm someone who prefers to communicate in something more abstract and indirect than speech.I was with a friend at the tea salon, and we were on the topic of how we interact with strangers and how acquaintances progress to being friends. Not that I'm selective when it comes to friends; I'm not so egotistic that I have a checklist--I actually think it's quite easy to be counted as one of my friends. Having said that though, I have very clear definitions in my mind of who is a friend and what that means to me. Maybe this is an example of my overly serious personality, but I always feel that there are responsibilities in being someone's friend.
At the tea salon, my friend was saying how she is the type of person who would be quiet on first impression, but the more she gets to know someone, the more she talks to them--which, I think, is perfectly normal. But it occurred to me as she said that, that I was the complete opposite. The less I know someone, the more I feel obliged to talk, to be entertaining, to seem pleasant. Not that I'm too unpleasant otherwise (or am I?), but in complete honestly, I'm also often a depressing existentialist who has trouble seeing things in life as anything but mundane and futile. But despite being so, nevertheless I do try hard to appreciate life in the world that I was born in and to be thankful, and the closest of my friends understand this. So it's like lighting a candle to conserve energy instead of having to turn on all the lights; the candle may cast shadows, but the important thing is, there is still light amidst the dark and that's all I really need for now.
Basically, my realization is that, by nature, I am a person of few spoken words who constantly drifts between being deep in thought to focusing back on the real world. Writing is different because it's a private sphere; they are my thoughts and they don't have to connect if I don't want them to (versus a conversation where one topic usually leads logically into the next). There are many things I feel and think about that I will never be able to put into words, much less within the constrictions of speech and conversation. Perhaps this is another reason why I like literature, because it is one of the only ways, in my opinion, in which another person's thoughts can infiltrate into mine, and an exchange of thought can take place but only privately within my own mind, where I'm free to go at whatever pace I like and turn certain thoughts over again and again.
Being of few words doesn't mean I don't enjoy company, however; I value friendship immensely and am always, always grateful for having people with me. I just feel especially comfortable around people who respect the abstract side of me, friends that I can be with and not have to spend extra effort in entertaining them with meaningless chatter. I enjoy days of lying in the sun on a grassy field, reading a book at a cafe for hours, sitting on a bench and watching people pass by--quiet activities, time spent in silence. I also enjoy a slow conversation while sipping on tea on a cold Saturday afternoon, taking a walk around town with a friend, going on a hike in the mountains and having a picnic, listening to stories and to other people's thoughts if they're willing to share them with me.
I guess there isn't really a point to this entry. I was simply reflecting on the energetic child I used to be, but now that time has molded me into someone else, I guess I have just been feeling a deep sense of loss for that in addition to the loss of my mother. In regards to losing my mom, the pain is still fresh and comes in waves, sometimes overwhelming and other times subtle enough to ignore. It just so happens that there were a few things I encountered over the past couple of days that reminded me so much of my mom and of my childhood. I silently grieve for those in my mind, and walk on.
I am trying to remember why I decided to blog about friendship and memories of my mom and how they were connected (see what I mean?). I think it was because I always think that I should keep my unhappiness to myself, because it would be a burden to other people around me. Personally, I feel especially distressed whenever someone else is sad, so I most definitely don't want the reverse to happen. It's very tiring to worry for someone else, and I don't feel that anyone else should ever have to do that on my behalf. I want to share other people's distress, but I don't want to share mine. While this sounds awfully selfless of me, I can assure you that it isn't. Basically, I like all negative feelings to be under my control, and the only way I can do that is if they're contained within myself. I feel the most secure this way.
I have no idea where I'm going with this. But let's just say that, in the end, I'm glad that there are people who continue to uphold my faith in humanity with their goodness and kindness towards me. And I want to pass that on. Having grown up a bit more, I want to love the world not blindly as I did when I was a child, but from having experienced more ugly sides of life, love the world and its people in their flawed states.
I want to be able to take a deep breath every morning, and embrace the world.
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