Tag: College

Tales from the university.

  • ‘ALMOND BLOSSOM’: HOW MEANING & CONTEXT ENHANCES BEAUTY

    When Vincent van Gogh began developing as an artist, he most commonly painted three things: figures, landscapes, and still lifes. They mostly consisted of nature, like spanning countrysides or expansive skies, or the hardships of peasants, whom he found immense fascination with and sought to be around despite hailing from a higher class. [1] When he wasn’t capturing the working class in his artworks or learning from professionals, he often whisked himself away to experience the solitude of nature, where he spent hours developing the skill and confidence that would refine his style into his bold use of color and distinct, swirling brushstrokes that often make the scenes he capture feel surreal and dreamy.

    Amidst his vast collection of outdoor subjects, Almond Blossom doesn’t look a bit out of place. Its beauty is apparent on first glance: long, twisting teal branches carrying copious amounts of bluish-tinted white flowers, all splayed over a background boasting an overwhelming amount of blue. It’s a serene scene that blends in well with the other paintings of almond blossoms, of which many exist by his hand, although something about this is particularly thoughtful and loving.

    Van Gogh wasn’t painting in a vacuum. Everything about this painting, from its inception and reason for being, to its color, to its subject, all captured the emotions he felt to reflect a feeling of love. While meaning can rarely be immediately discerned from a first glance, van Gogh’s Almond Blossom serves as a perfect example for  how context can influence a canvas and enhance its visual and figurative beauty through meaning, which can in turn deepen and contribute to the understanding a viewer has regarding an artwork and the artist.

    Before discussing the painting, though, it’s best to establish the circumstances of van Gogh’s life at this time. When he first came to Arles, a city in the Provence region of France, in February 1888, it was initially meant to be a short stay; he not only longed for the vibrant colors and warmth the bustling city of Paris couldn’t grant him, but to also recoup his physical strength. [2] Once both of those clauses were satisfied, he’d eventually pack up and head to Marseille. However, it was once he arrived that he was taken aback by the overwhelming beauty of Arles and decided to stay put, absorbing and acting on the inspiration the atmosphere gave him.  

    Indeed, while the region did wonders for his art, and led to the creation of what is now recognized as some of the best artworks of the 19th century, the region was also home to the peak of his suffering. This was a turbulent time where his physical health declined, and his mental state rapidly worsened, as well. By December 1888, he suffered his first mental breakdown and lobbed off part of his left ear, and by February 1889, a second breakdown, after which he only stayed in Arles a few months longer until he committed himself voluntarily to an asylum in Saint-Rémy in May 1889. This was also after his dream of the Yellow House, a place where fellow artists could commune together and create art in order to stave off loneliness, was extinguished once he and the only other artist there had a physical altercation. [3]

    These two breakdowns were just the first indicator of a lifelong mood disorder, which rapidly worsened in the upcoming months and was most likely agitated by his ailing health. While the specific condition Van Gogh had is only speculation, during his lifetime, he was diagnosed with epilepsy, where he would suffer from fits if he spent extended periods of time outside. Keep in mind, this was already after a lifetime of major depressive and manic episodes, where his rash and often extreme decisions led to his own father threatening to put him in an asylum. Additionally, he also often expressed that he felt uncertain of his place or purpose in the world. [4] In fact, this part of him is so well known that it almost surpasses his contributions to the art world as: the myth of the “tortured artist,” of which Van Gogh exists as the poster boy.  To have one’s mental state be as well known, if not eclipse the legacy of their work, proves that this was a significant aspect of Van Gogh’s life, and to be wracked with such aggressive physical and mental anguish is enough to make anyone miserable. Though, he did have one consistent bright spot in his life.

    Vincent van Gogh kept in frequent contact with his younger brother and sister-in-law, Theo and Johanna van Gogh, both of whom he was incredibly close to and often expressed his appreciation for. They kept each other updated through letters, and the couple not only provided Vincent with unwavering moral support, but were also the ones who sustained his life as an artist. Theo van Gogh was even directly in contact with Vincent’s doctor, Dr. Peyron, as he was the one who arranged Vincent’s stay. [5] It comes as no surprise, then, that Vincent van Gogh was among the first, if not the first, to hear the good news in the form of a letter on January 31, 1890.

    After months of a tumultuous pregnancy and an intense labor, Johanna van Gogh delivered a healthy newborn baby. [6] Theo penned the good news and sent it off to his brother with haste, who was greatly moved by the declaration that the baby boy was named after him and their other long-deceased brother, Vincent Willem van Gogh. [7] Upon receiving the news, van Gogh immediately started on a painting to commemorate the occasion.

    Almond Blossom is a still life painted in February 1890 to celebrate the birth of Vincent van Gogh’s only nephew, who also bore his name. Not only does van Gogh finish it in record time, taking only half a month to complete the canvas, but he encloses it and several canvases in a package that he sends to his family in April. [8] While he originally intended for the couple to hang the painting in their bedroom, they instead chose to hang it on the wall above their baby’s bassinet, since the painting was intended for him.

     It was a highly cherished piece, not only by the family, but also by Vincent himself; he expressed immense satisfaction during the creation and completion of the work, where he not only wrote that he was painting calmly from day to night, but that it was “the best and most patiently worked canvas [he] had ever done.” [9]

    His love of almond blossoms was well known by others, too. His brother commented on it, once writing, “…the branch of the almond trees in blossom shows that you haven’t exhausted these subjects.” [10] (Van Gogh was even so inspired by the creation of this piece that he tried to paint several more blossoming almond flowers, although he fell ill immediately after the completion of Almond Blossom, so he missed the rest of the blooming window.)

    Not only was his love of the subject and the love of his new familial stranger a strong influence of the artwork, but also the subject itself. Almond blossoms, according to most cultures, signify hope and new beginnings because of their overwhelming presence at the start of spring; it’s only fitting that van Gogh would chose it as the subject of the painting that celebrates the life of his newborn nephew. On the flipside, almond blossoms also represent the fragility and transient nature of life, that the beauty of it is fleeting, perhaps a sign of what was to come. [11]

    Even the predominant usage of the color blue was a choice that influenced its beauty; while blue wasn’t van Gogh’s favorite color (it was yellow), he still often used it heavily due to the personal meaning it had to him, which were the universal feelings relating to the color; sadness, longing, despair. [12] Rather than the intense, rich dark cobalt blue he used for many of his pieces, which often made a piece feel daunting or uneasy, Almond Blossom stands out because it uses a light, soft blue, which can represent health, healing, and tranquility, three things that van Gogh wished to achieve. [13] But that shade of blue can also carry an additional meaning, maybe some of which van Gogh felt deep down above all: hope. Even in the throes of the worst of his illness, van Gogh always remained hopeful that he would recover, even when such an idea felt uncertain and cruel to maintain. To him, art was seen as a healing mechanism, and he used painting as a way to cope. [14] All of these things contributed to his usage of blue in Almond Blossom: what was once seen as a dreary color paired with a symbol of hope to turn it into something bittersweet. Or perhaps, that even with the overwhelming presence of such melancholic feelings, there still remained little bits of hope for the future.

    Indeed, the canvas not only reflected the feelings of joy and pain, but largely captured who Vincent van Gogh was as a person: that he, underneath all the intense despairing emotions, was a man with an intense conviction to make people feel through art, and to feel because of art. He wanted to capture the emotions he felt and express them as a form of beauty, and through it, he managed to transform a simple still life into an enduring and sentimental sign of love. Van Gogh would be dead only five months after its completion, with his brother following a year later, although the evidence of his love remained. This painting was cherish by the family; not only did it stay hung up in the family home and survive several moves, but this remains to be the only painting of Vincent van Gogh’s that has never been sold. In fact, to this day, the painting strictly remains displayed on the walls of the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, which was founded nephew Vincent Willem van Gogh. [15]

    Bibliography

    Conradt, Stacy. “Meet Vincent van Gogh’s Brother, Vincent Van Gogh.” Mental Floss, July 27, 2015. https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/66547/meet-vincent-van-goghs-brother-vincent-van-gogh.

    Dietrich Blumer, M.D. “The Illness of Vincent Van Gogh.” American Journal of Psychiatry, April 1, 2002. https://psychiatryonline.org/doi/full/10.1176/appi.ajp.159.4.519?mobileUi=0.

    “Fondation Vincent van Gogh à Arles – Vincent.” Fondation Vincent Van Gogh Arles. 2024. https://www.fondation-vincentvangogh-arles.org/en/vincent/.

    Sanders, Fred. “Vincent van Gogh: More Blue than Yellow.” The Scriptorium Daily, April 26, 2021. https://scriptoriumdaily.com/vincent-van-gogh-more-blue-than-yellow/.

    “The Language and Meaning of Almond Flowers: History, Symbolism, and Uses.” PictureThis. https://www.picturethisai.com/language-flower/Prunus_dulcis.html.

    Van Gogh, Theo. Theo van Gogh to Théophile Peyron. April 24, 1889. In Vincent van Gogh The Letters. https://vangoghletters.org/vg/documentation.html#id24April1889.

    Van Gogh, Theo. Theo van Gogh to Vincent van Gogh. January 31, 1890. In Vincent van Gogh The Letters. https://vangoghletters.org/vg/letters/let847/letter.html.

    Van Gogh, Vincent. Theo van Gogh to Vincent van Gogh. May 3, 1890. In Vincent van Gogh The Letters. https://vangoghletters.org/vg/letters/let867/letter.html.

    Van Gogh, Theo. Theo van Gogh to Willemien van Gogh. February 24 and 26, 1888. In Vincent van Gogh The Letters. https://vangoghletters.org/vg/documentation.html.

    Van Gogh, Vincent. Vincent van Gogh to Anna van Gogh-Carbentus. February 19, 1890. In Vincent van Gogh The Letters. https://vangoghletters.org/vg/letters/let855/letter.html

    Van Gogh, Vincent. Vincent van Gogh to Theo van Gogh. April 29, 1890. In Vincent van Gogh The Letters. https://vangoghletters.org/vg/letters/let863/letter.html.

    “Vincent’s Illness and the Healing Power of Art.” Van Gogh Museum. 2024. https://www.vangoghmuseum.nl/en/art-and-stories/stories/vincents-illness-and-the-healing-power-of-art.

    “Vincent van Gogh.” Encyclopædia Britannica, March 3, 2025. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Vincent-van-Gogh.

    “Vincent van Gogh – Almond Blossom.” Van Gogh Museum. 2024. https://www.vangoghmuseum.nl/en/collection/s0176v1962.

    V Lakshmi, Vijaya. “Psychological Effects of Colour.” Journal of Biotechnology & Bioinformatics Research, April 2023. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/370411571_Psychological_Effects_of_Colour.

  • O, YOU’VE RETURNED!

    In case you’re wondering why I’ve been uncharacteristically quiet lately, it’s because my means of communication has been hindered; every so often, the ‘o’ button on my keyboard will sporadically cut out.

    Why did it have to be O, of all things? Only one of the most commonly used letters in the entire alphabet? Look at that last sentence to prove my point right! I can’t even lament and say I’d prefer if it were Z or X- both of those I need for handy shortcut functions, and I don’t know which one would grate on my sanity faster.

    For now, I’ve taken to keeping a copy of O on hand in my clipboards, that way I can readily paste it into whatever word I need it for. It’s a real hassle when taking notes in class, especially when quick keystrokes are the difference between copying the whole slide and only three sentences.

    I’m still ever thankful when it comes back online. The first time it started going out, I thought perhaps I had a piece of lint or a crumb stuck in there; that was common for a key fault for me, and yet when I cleaned it out several times, I started developing the sneaking suspicion that that wasn’t the case. In my fifteen years of owning computers, I’ve never experienced a keyboard going out before. Well, that’s a lie. I just remembered I had a little laptop of mine whose keyboard started going out significantly- it was fourteen or something letters that I took to clicking on using my on-screen keyboard with a trackpad! Ah, to be twelve and writing on WordPad again. Not.

    So far, it’s also spread to my screen brightener key and, most recently, my +/= sign. That was one I discovered today, when I was trying to plan my future move to elsewhere and discovered I couldn’t add a + to my “pillows plus blankets plus covers” bullet point. It seems to be working fine now.

    As for the brightener key, that one is gone for good. I think I’ve had maybe one instance of it returning to me in the past several weeks or so, but nothing concrete. The same thing is happening to my keyboard backlight key, too, where it’s working also at the same rate of frequency as O.

    I’m enjoying my time using these as much as possible before they go out again. I’m not quite sure when they’re going to go back to not functioning. There’s no trigger to it, no pattern; it simply intermittently comes on and off when it feels like it. Too bad it wasn’t a dust bunny.

    Oh, and I’ve also been enjoying my time abroad as a student, though that’s a story for next time- one that will hopefully happen with a functioning O key.

  • WHY ARE NAMES GENDERED, ANYWAY?

    When language first came about and humans invented ways to refer to objects, we also needed a way to refer to each other. Hence, we were given names, a personal identifier for an individual that oftentimes carries historical, cultural, or sentimental meaning. Beyond that, most names often time carry another distinguishing mark: they are divided and assigned by sex. Sure, there exist unisex names in some cultures, but even those started out assigned to one side. But why? Who determined what proper noun would be associated with which sex? Spoiler: there’s no clear cut answer, but there are a variety of factors that contribute to us assigning a gender to a name across many cultures. 

    The first reason has to do with sounds. Specifically, the sounds and letters each culture or language will associate with a sex. The differentiating markers all depend on the language. In many romance languages, for example, feminine names tend to be longer and “softer” sounding than masculine names. This is because feminine names that are derived from masculine names are usually given a vowel sound at the end, like “-e,” “-a,” “-ie,” “-ine,” “-ina,” and so on. These suffixes change the syllabic stress, which ends up making the name sound “smoother” or “rounder”. Contrastly, masculine names tend to be short and end with a consonant, making it “abrupt” or “spiky” sounding. These names tend to place the stressed syllable at the front (names like “Rick, “Jamal,” or “Evan” spring to mind), while feminine names tend to have the stressed syllable in the middle or last (think “Josephina,” “Ramona,” or “Evelyn”). In other non-romance or syllabic languages, names might end or include certain sex-associated markers. In Japanese, names that end with “-o” or “-shi” tend to be male, while feminine names tend to end with “-e,” “-ka,” or “-ko” (to name a few). In Chinese, feminine names will include radicals that make reference to beauty, appearance, or flowers, or include the female radical, “女” in some way. That’s why we can say a name sounds feminine or masculine, even if we have no idea what it means. 

    Meaning also ends up determining the gender of a name. A lot of names are derived from descriptors, praises, or traits we tend to associate with the sexes. Male names often include meanings like strength, war, protection, numerical birth order, authority, or even just “manly.” Feminine names tend to relate to positive attributes or characteristics, like kindness, fertility, flowers and nature, purity, places, or seasons. There exists some overlap with both sexes when it comes to meaning derived from appearance, historical figures, or deities, although feminine names are more likely to make reference to appearance than male. 

    Meaning and phonemes also often influence the creation of unisex names, too. For instance, in English-speaking parts of the world, names like “Leslie,” “Evelyn,” and “Ashley” started off as boy’s names, and within the span of the 20th century, were either popularized as girl’s names, or accepted as unisex. This is because our ears have been trained to detect the masculine and feminine patterns and components of a name- the stressed syllables and length- which is why it’s easier to accept names that have these features as belonging to the opposite sex. While not every masculine name utilizes voiced phonemes, and not every feminine name utilizes unvoiced, the pattern is common enough that our brains have picked up on it. With a few rare exceptions, most of these switches were popularized in the 20th century. In fact, one individual compiled a table that showed the progression of this opposite name adoption from 1900 to 2016 using data compiled from the US Social Security Administration. In less than a century, names that were previously male skyrocketed in popularity for women, most commonly in the 40s, 50s, and 60s! Religion can sometimes play a part in the blurring of these gender lines, too, when it comes to meaning. A common practice in some Catholic countries or cultures is to have the name of a saint given as the middle name for a child, even if it does not match their sex. For example, a child might be named Maria José or José Maria, depending on their sex, in reference to Mary, the mother of Jesus, and Joseph, his legal father, even though these names are typically assigned to one sex or the other. Many Hindu names for both male and female are derived from Indian gods and goddesses. 

    Interestingly, while there are some male names that were originally female (“Douglas,” in fact, was a girl’s name in 16th and 17th century England), the switch often seems to happen male-to-female instead of female-to-male. This has to deal with the societal attitudes behind what makes an individual masculine or feminine, and the attitude towards the sex as a whole. This idea of one-way name-switching carries some traces of sexism; while a woman can be granted attributes of “strength,” it is deemed as “emasculating” or insulting to refer to a man as “beautiful,” “graceful,” or “compassionate,” even though these are widely regarded as positive traits on their own. This is rooted in the still-present demonization of femininity, that it is inherently “lesser” or unfavorable to display feminine traits, especially in males. Similarly, names can even change gender association across cultures; names like “Kim,” “Andrea,” and “Yuri” can be majority one sex or the other depending on what part of the world you’re in. 

    Your location also determines what your name can be. Many countries have name laws that dictate what you can and cannot name your child. Countries like New Zealand and Lithuania, to name a few, require parents to choose the name of their child from a list; any other name must be approved by the government. These lists are often divided by sex, but unisex names are still permissible. Four countries- Portugal, Denmark, Iceland, and Germany- have outright banned the use of unisex names. In cases of countries with syllabic languages, like Japan, China, or Korea, these regulations are put in place so the child’s name can be read without issue. In the case of Iceland, this is done to meet certain rules of grammar, though the primary reason is to avoid future embarrassment for the child, as is with most other countries. It is the held belief that a child with a name that mismatches their sex will be prone to teasing or bullying. In some cultures, like with the Sikh, there exist genderless given names; if gender is wished to be indicated, it is usually through using the middle or last name. Though, in recent years, names have started favoring one sex or the other. 

    Socialization affecting the meaning of a name also swings the other way: your name can affect your socialization. A study found that individuals that had names less strongly associated with one gender reportedly engaged in less gender-typical social behavior, and had a weaker expression of gender-associated personality traits. So men that boasted “masculine-masculine” names were more likely to engage in stereotypically masculine activities and behaviors, and the same on the feminine side. Beyond your sex, your name influences your gender socialization, identification, and contributes to your expression of gender and gender roles within the society you’re a part of. Your name can even go on to influence your personality, self-esteem, and even your face, but that’s a topic for another time. 

    Names have so many linguistic influences that go into their creation. While these gender associations may vary by culture and tongue, there seem to be a shared list of components ranging from meaning to auditory pattern to spelling that determine the reason a name may become associated with a certain gender. While we’re aware of what names are associated with what sex in our respective cultures, names, like language, are an ever-evolving mode of communication that constantly grow, shift, and change; who knows, one day you may be walking past a girl named “John” or a boy named “Grace!” 

    References 

    Alexander, Gerianne M. et. al. “Living Up to a Name: Gender Role Behavior Varies With Forename Gender Typicality.” Front Psychol, Jan. 22, 2021, https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC7862123/.

    Seguin, Charles, Chris Julien, Yongjun Zhang. “The stability of androgynous names: Dynamics of gendered naming practices in the United States 1880-2016.” Poetics 85 (2021), https://doi.org/10.1016/j.poetic.2020.101501.

    Sidhu, David M., Penny M. Pexman. “What’s in a Name? Sound Symbolism and Gender in First Names.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, May 27, 2015. https://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?d=10.1371/journal.pone.0126809

    Kaufman, Jeff. “Name Gender Over Time.” Feb. 23, 2016. https://www.jefftk.com/p/name-gender-over-time.

  • I FEEL BETTER ALREADY

    It’s strange what a day of sleep can do. Not a literal day. I only got three hours. But I am trying to say that a moment of rest can really refresh your mind, you know? It’s a little break from reality, a little step back so you can breathe and enjoy the bigger picture at an arm’s length.

    I always seek out two individuals when my heart feels wrought with grief, and that’s my mom and the Most High. For a while, I was concerned that I didn’t deserve to seek solace in Him since my mood had been so down, and because I was struggling to thank Him for what I already had, I didn’t deserve to turn around and ask for anything else.

    But understand that kind of mentality is all in my head, and that’s not really the way things are supposed to work out. You can seek comfort in the Most High both when you’re feeling up and down. To thank Him for your breath. To talk about your day. Never feel as if there’s nothing you can’t go to Him for.

    And really, all it took was one turn of a day. I’d been in that slump for a while now, but I think putting it all down on paper really helped me breath. My heart still clenches in mourning, though, even though I’m sad for something I’ve never had.

  • MY ACHING HEART

    I’ve been in a romantical mood as of late. I’m not quite sure where it came from, or why it came on so strongly, but it’s there and threatening to beat all my walls down.

    I think it started the other day, when my roommates and I somehow got on the topic of wedding rings, and suddenly we’re all scrolling through our phones and showing each other engagement rings we find pretty. I later kept that tab open to fantasize about it a little longer.

    Or maybe it’s the sudden uptick of couples on campus. I see people paired off in sets of two everywhere I go. I think it’s the spring weather. A lot of the time, I’ve come to find, that contributes to instances of a relationship. Holding hands. Leaning in close. Giggling and laughter. Even most of my friends have paired off.

    I’ve felt increasingly lonely lately. Usually I’m content with being alone, mostly because I’m used to it, but there’s been a disturbance in me recently that I can’t quite put my finger on.

    I think it’s because lately I’ve been in a lot of situations where having someone there for moral support would make all the difference. It’s not the same when my mom is 1000 miles away, and because I’ve shirked back from most of my regular interactions, I feel like I don’t deserve to burden my friends. I just wish I had real life reassurance, the kind I can see in your eyes.

    It doesn’t help that the vast majority of my social interactions, as of late, have taken place behind a screen, where I try to fill the void of shallow acquaintances with even shallower substitutes. Worse yet, it’s so nonspecific, yet all-consuming, that it won’t go away.

    I thought I’d be able to rid of the feeling as I normally do, and push past it back to contentedness, but I’d be lying if I said the feeling wasn’t different this time. I haven’t really felt this way since 2019, where I’d be wondering after school to myself if this were all life was going to be for me. And now it’s come back to greet me like a boulder before a landslide.

    Maybe it’s also because nothing seems to be going right lately. Between every mounting obstacle and blow to my self-esteem, I’ve gotten to the point where ignoring that problem feels like willing, blissful ignorance. I know I’ve made jokes about this before, especially most recently in my last blog post, but I oftentimes thrive on the delusions I can conjure up in my mind. I love seeking solace in the one place things will go alright for me. It takes the edge off of a long day, like the way an alcoholic will seek comfort from the bottom of a glass, or a chain smoker to a pack of cigarettes.

    I’m never in any circumstances talking about my online friends when I say this, but I really don’t have any meaningful relationships in my waking life. All of my dearest companions are people I’ve never physically met before, but it’s a genuine friendship, tried and true; people I’ve grown up with for years. I love them all so much, so dearly, and my only complaint is I wish I had the joy of seeing them everyday in person. People who I enjoy being around, and who equally enjoy me, not just for the sake of convenience.

    Many people have echoed my sentiments, just as many will after me, but I struggle with making meaningful friends. Perhaps it’s because I’ve highlighted myself as a “social floater”- I get along with everyone, so there was never a real need to box myself in with one specific group or ideology, because I could come and go as I please.  I make people feel good about themselves. And I like making people feel good about themselves. It’s what I do best. And because of the convenience I provide as an easy friendship- a listening ear in times of distress, a shoulder to cry on, an unjudgmental stare- there is no need to reciprocate such actions with me, because I will most likely never open up in the first place, not unless prompted, for fear of sounding self-centered, and that’s exactly how you end up with friendships where you are seen as dependable and reliable, without really being all there.

    When I was younger, I had problems with opening up to people because I struggled to connect with age-appropriate problems plaguing my peers. The pendulum of emotional maturity swings both ways, and that was one of its downsides. And it doesn’t help that I often times naturally shoe-boxed myself into being the support friend- a position I don’t mind with regular people, but sometimes I’d always be paired up with someone who could never stop talking about how awful their life was, how bad they felt, and the usual draining motifs these archetypes of people bring with themselves, etc. I attract exhausting people, sometimes, because I’d feel bad for them being shunned.

    But let it not be thought that I’m blaming anyone else for my problems, no. I’d always figured this was a no-fault situation, something that can’t be helped from either side. I can’t fault my peers for not relating to me, the same way it’d be unfair for it vice-versa. Everyone is at different places in their lives, and at no point does being in similar age groups guarantee you will be in similar situations. Everyone moves at a different pace, and everyone will be in a different place.

    As you can see, that feeling hasn’t been anything new. I think I just did better at stuffing it down last time. And, truthfully, I was happy being alone, but I think this is the first time I’ve ever felt dreadfully lonely. I’ve always been able to keep my own company, but I think what I truly long for is companionship and understanding. I’ve often feared that I’m far too boyish in personality for any man to be attracted to me on anything other than a superficial level, because I have yet to have that experience happen romantically. My friends love me, and I love my friends, and they always tell me how great I am, and really it’s my own fault that I feel disconnected from them; it’s on me. But when it comes to romance, I think I will be less likely to succeed.

    I used to primarily crave for a best friend, for a deep understanding and loyal companionship that runs deeper than just sexual attraction, but is endearing and enduring love, but I’ve found myself changing gears slightly. I’d really love to feel love, and to be in love, and to know what it’s like to be desired. Alas, I’ve yet to have that feeling, because I’ve never had anyone like me for who I am.

    Which is a darn shame too, because I think I would make a lovely partner. I’ve had guys attracted to me before, but it’s only on days where I advertise myself as ideal with the way I dress, because men are visual creatures, after all, and they oftentimes can’t see past what I wear before realizing that, huh, she’s kind of attractive after all. I would love to know what it feels like to be loved for who you are. I’ve never had a guy like me. Even among the guys I’ve dated. Physical attraction is not the same as appreciation of character.

    So, just like every other person my age, oftentimes I’ve fantasized what that must feel like. I’m glad I have a point of reference in the forms of other people, but I still long to know what it feels like romantically. To have someone who loves you, every part of you, and want to spend the rest of their days with you. A man compassionate, kind, and just as enthusiastic as me. I’ve curled around my heart-shaped pillow every night just to dream about it and ponder what it’s like. For several days I’ve listened to nothing but romance songs. I’ve even started reading my horoscope to see if I’d be lucky in love.

    Maybe I should get to bed before the thought consumes me again. It’s already been on my mind for several days at a time, so I’d be lying to myself if I expected it to go away, but at least it’s one of those subjects I can fill the void with in fantasy and dreams to not feel so bad about everything else.

    But beyond that, I think what I desire most are meaningful relationships. This post may convey the idea that I struggle with talking to people, but not at all. For the longest time, I was under the impression that I was an extrovert simply because socializing came naturally for me. I love people, I really do, and I love listening to them and hearing what they have to say and where they come from. I love their little quirks and fashion choices and finding out what they think about their hair. I love finding out what we have in common and where we differ, and the challenge of finding the perfect way to socialize with the other party is highly appealing to me.

    But lately it feels like I’ve lost my edge. I’ve become so isolated that I almost feel like I’ve forgotten how to talk with people, in a way. And lately, it’s not enough to simply get along with them. That part comes easy. What I’m looking for is satisfaction.

    I love interacting with strangers because I can have a fulfilling social interaction without the expectation of a deeper relationship; both of us enter and exit the conversation with the knowledge that we will not leave as friends.

    But my regular interactions, with the familiar faces I see every day, those are the ones that bother me. They consist of someone who I dread talking to, who I try to avoid, often times because they have no listening skills, or are prone to interrupting, or simply are hard to carry a conversation with. About 90% of my day-to-day social interactions consist of some form of this, where it lacks all the things that send me further into a depressive spiral. And when my options consist of talking to someone who will take effort for an unfulfilling interaction, or not talking at all, then why wouldn’t I choose the latter? Talking is the easy part. Understanding is what I’m looking for. I do wish I had someone to care, and someone who wants me, genuinely, around.

    And the irony is that I do have someone like that. My mom, of course. I love her so much, you wouldn’t believe, and I think that’s because her mere presence has spoiled me into knowing what a healthy conversation should be. We listen, we contribute, we care. And now everything else after that feels so bland, so surface-level and unfulfilling. It’s not interactions I’m looking for, it’s meaningful interactions. And it’s more noticeable still that, when I look back on my life and my catalogue of friends, I have never gotten to experience that with a peer for more than a brief moment. That kind of lifestyle just isn’t sustainable. And now it’s starting to take its toll.

    Between all my decisions falling apart at the seams, and a lack of joyous hobbies to take part in lately, my heart is a little heavy. I’ll distract myself with something for just long enough that the weight of reality comes crashing back down into me twice as hard. There’s no distraction in my hobbies lately, since I have trouble connecting with that. It’s why I came to write here, where I have a vague semblance of cohesively expressing how I feel with the understanding that I don’t have to worry about someone caring- I can yell into the void of the world wide web as much as I want, and it mostly all flies under the radar. Even reading and going outside just make me feel foggy. It’s like this issue is weighing on me so heavily that there is really little else that can take my mind off of it, because I only end up feeling worse once I remember where I am in life. 21-years-old and a socially unfortunate loser. The thought of it almost makes me want to take up drinking.

    Even worse, physically it’s started to take its toll on me. Loneliness can kill you, you know. I can already feel it squeeze my heart in my chest, feel it turn my stomach. It could send me to an early grave. And worse yet, there’d be nothing I can do about it. I’ll just be a victim of circumstance.

    But I think it’s fine that it’s happened like that. Everyone needs something to struggle with, and this one will be mine. I’m glad my heart doesn’t fill with envy when I see groups of friends or people in love strolling by, because I would love to experience the thrill of belonging just for one time, one day.

  • SUPPRESSING YAWNS

    When a yawned a few minutes ago, I realized something – – that’s the first time I’ve yawned in days.

    Ever since I’ve pulled these back-to-back all-nighters, I’ve felt strangely…awake. Don’t get me wrong, my brain is still fuzzy, but I’ve never had adrenaline this strong to get me through several days of little rest.

    Even now, I’m dog-tired, but it’s like I can feel it everywhere except for my brain. My heart’s fluttering, my chest burns, and I’d like nothing more than to recline on a flat, comfortable surface, but I also feel this weird drive to keep going on. I’ve abused and misused my body before, but never before have I had it give me such pleasant results.

    I wonder if I’ve achieved a new low? I wouldn’t be surprised if everything becomes super sharp and clear before your brain starts to see things that aren’t there.

    Two more days. Just two more days. Man, I know it’ll be okay, but that almost feels like a lifetime away. I wouldn’t be surprised if sleep all through Friday.

  • CRACKING OPEN A COLD ONE

    No, not alcohol. Since I’m going to be up anyway, I figured I might as well supplement my night and get a little help from good ole’ Mr. Mean Bean Java Monster.

    I’m not even a super big fan of energy drinks. I had my first one last fall and, while it worked wonders then, I’ve never quite captured that initial burst of energy that first one gave me. Now I’m chasing a placebo. Maybe I hit my caffeine ceiling.

    I’m only two sips deep and can feel my esophagus burning already. Soon I’ll be stopping to pee every 30 minutes. Hmm. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea to use in combination with being up for the last 48 hours. I’m probably one can away from a heart attack. But there’s no better application for it than a student in the midst of finals week! I’m practically the target demographic!

    Now to begin my annual tradition (ritual?) of bumping “Up All Night” by Owl City as I burn my eyes into the backlight of my laptop monitor, only to be interrupted by meticulous sips of my coffee-flavored beverage.

    After college, I’m probably never touching this stuff again. Not like it works, anyway!

  • THE HEIGHT OF AN ALL-NIGHTER

    It’s that time of night where the feelings are feeling good. I’m currently several hours into being rooted in a chair, staring between two-three screens as I work with upmost dedication on my finals.

    JK! Except, I really mean it this time! I’m actually amped up despite not having a coffee in 48 hours. I’m still a slow worker, but man do I feel good!

    Thus, we’ve reached the peak of the all-nighter. The time where you have the adrenaline flowing, where the creative juices and juicing and your brain is outright wired. You’ve probably noticed a dip in quality between this and my last post from an hour ago, and I’ve certainly noticed the uptick in missed keystrokes and typos, but this is what I live for! Oh man, do I love staying up all night!

    I haven’t done this in quite a while. Lately my sleep schedule has been messed up enough to stay up super later, but I may just pull an all-nighter the whole night through, today. No naps. My only class for the day starts at 5 pm and continues until after 7 pm, which is around the time I’ll crash once I get let out.

    The high is going to come down soon enough, though! I shall ride until I can’t anymore.

    In fact, I shouldn’t have thought about it! I’m starting to feel it now.

    (Also, I recently realized, the vast majority of my posts are still in CST. Most posts being made from November-May and September-November are in EST!)

  • MERITS IN MEDIOCRITY

    For all intents and purposes, I’m an okayish writer. I always fantasize about one day being heralded as this brilliant writer, a visionary of my time, but the fact of the matter is that I am not as good as I’ve been told I am.

    I think my whole thing is that I can come up with some cool ideas, but it takes me forever to think of a proper execution. Often times, I commit the biggest tragedy for readers and writers everywhere: I make it lame. I don’t think I can execute something interesting to save my life. You’ll sit there and wonder, ‘What was the point of all this, anyhow?’

    It’s not a case of imposter syndrome, either; I just know myself. I can brainstorm something fun in a few moments, but it’ll take me the next decade to make it fun unless I have a deadline. Hell, even with a deadline, oftentimes I just don’t feel like it’s good enough! Only recently have I started working around deadlines again (ones that aren’t self-imposed, because I need my discipline to be external), and I find myself to never be satisfied with anything I make anymore!

    Is this what getting older is like? I already had a stint of that masochistic dissatisfaction back when I was an animator full-time, but it seems like it’s spread to other creative outlets. Especially because I’m trying to pursue this as a career. Being shit was forgivable when I was 15, but I’m an adult now! Is this the best I can do?

    I can only wait with bated breath until Wednesday, where my script will be read aloud and preformed by my peers for our class. And then on Thursday, where an animatic of my own creation will be presented to the class. I can’t wait — I’m downright excited! But man, I’m also downright scared!

    Genuinely, I can’t recall a time where I’ve ever been as worried about a final product not going well as I am now. What ruined my confidence? What caused this apprehension? Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t presented a finished idea in quite a while. My last project I couldn’t finish in time, and I honestly haven’t worked anything to completion in years.

    I get a little shy when it comes to sharing my things, not only because they never seem to be finished, but I don’t have many people I can regularly show them off to, anyway. I’ve eluded to a series I’m working on to my core group of online friends, and other than some stray conversations with people, that’s about it.

    All the short stories I’ve started, all the videos I have written on sticky notes, all the Clip Studio files I have unfinished on my computer…I haven’t finished any of them. I’ve lost my moment to get many of them out in the world, because I never get anything done. My craving for feedback is limited by the fact that I hate presenting anything before its finished, and if I never finish, well, the cycle continues.

    Maybe that’s why Wednesday and Thursday mean so much to me. In my mind, that’s the day where I get confirmation about whether or not the things I want to do have anything good to them. It’s the bar to see if I can draw a crowd, or to simply see if anyone’s interested. I need to see if I have any merit beyond mediocrity.

  • HOW MANY ALMONDS TO DIE?

    For the last couple of days, my mouth has been obsessed with M&Ms. I’m pretty sure I mentioned this on a previous post, where my meals nowadays consist of a crunchy candy supplement.

    My favorites used to be the regular brown bag M&Ms, and then a few months ago I developed a sudden hankering for the peanut ones (probably because they called my name from behind the vending machine glass). I’m pretty sure I spent a good amount on buying them during break time for my night classes, but it was well worth it, because I was already a soldier having to attend class until 10:30 at night.

    And until the other day, where I did a small grocery store run, I stayed faithful to said yellow bag. But they were out the other day, and I was craving more candy, so I looked between the flavors on the shelves.

    There were the tried and true brown bag ones, but I wanted something bigger. I wanted something my teeth could really sink into. They also had fun little flavors, and for a brief moment, I picked up the Cold Brew Latte flavor (which, by the way, yum! That sounds delicious, wtf?!), and while I was going to get them (and, after exiting the store, actually thought I did get them), I didn’t want to get too experimental, just in case they tasted bad (which they probably didn’t, ’cause they’re M&Ms).

    Hence, we have almond. Oh almond. Glorious almond. I chose them because I knew, texture-wise, they’d taste and feel most similar to the peanut M&Ms, and boy, I wasn’t disappointed. These are better than those. These are a heavenly flavor unlike any other. Better yet, they come in the big resealable bags for $5! Why wouldn’t I decide to indulge in more of these?

    I’m playing a dangerous game. I never had a sweet tooth before I started college, but these might just be the reason why it gets sustained. I’m exaggerating, of course, but I can definitely see myself buying at least two bags of these in the near future. Y’know, for sustenance.

    Also, my teeth have started feeling gross after all the sugar I’ve had lately. I like sugar as much as the next guy, but man, after having too much of it, it’s like this film builds up on your teeth. Yet another reason I probably won’t be continuing this sugar addiction after college; I’m too much of a dental hygienist freak for that. Plus, I feel like it’s getting in the way of absorbing water, but that’s the pseudoscientific part of me talking.

    I do quite miss salt, though. But almond M&Ms…mmmhhh. Anyway, I can’t afford any more time talking about how much candy; I’ve got a project to work on! And with us losing an hour tonight, it’ll be a real time crunch! (Ha, get it?)

    (And, for the record, sweet almonds, the kinds they sell in grocery stores, won’t kill you. You can eat them to your heart’s desire! <3)