Belated Christmas Thoughts

After a hiatus brought on by vacation and a lack of planning ahead on my part, I am finally back to writing my belated Sunday night posts. Yay! And many apologies.

I don't have much to write about still. I have now seen Les Mis three times, and I still really like it. Christmas with the family was funny. We watched the Doctor Who Christmas special, starring a new actress who is really quite adorable, and my (younger, innocent, cute, etc.) siblings were joking with each other about her; my sister was teasing my brother about how cute she was and he responded with a drawn-out, typical, sexual sigh of teenage longing--"yeeeeaaaahhhhh....sigh" Which I of course joined in on, which they were not expecting.

I also requested Louise Erdrich's book The Antelope Wife as a Christmas present, which has a kind of cubist painting of a bare-breasted woman on the front cover (a sexualization of the Native American female subject that bothered the Native American female author), but was not given it because my parents didn't want me opening it "in mixed company." Meaning that of my 14- and 17-year-old siblings, I guess. Or maybe that there were men in the room and it might be pornographic? Who knows. Anyway, I bought the book myself at a used bookstore in Washington a week later.

There were some less funny moments, like when my dad (intentionally or not) equated both suicidality and bisexuality with "choices" that he hoped I would steer away from making so that I could end up in "a good place" by making "wise choices." Also implicit was that suicide and sexuality are worldly ideologies that I have apparently bought into. My parents' view on suicide is fairly disturbing; when talking about a boy we know who committed suicide, they concluded their discussion on him with, "Well, but he did commit some pretty serious sins, so." As if that explained the whole thing. Only those who choose to sin choose to commit suicide, I guess.

What bothers me more is that my parents, who are tired of all the emotional pain I apparently heap on them with devilish glee, have adopted an attitude of disinterested disapproval; rather than listening to me when I talk, they have taken to informing me that what I do as the Laman/Lemuel combo of the family is no longer their problem. They have, as they said, chosen to step out of the path of the "speeding train of self-destruction" that is now my life. It was nice of them to take me to see Les Mis with them and to give me Christmas presents and all those traditional family Christmas things. And I kind of hate to be talking about all this on a blog, knowing what would happen if they saw any of this anywhere on the internet. But there were just these moments where my parents so affectedly do not care about me at this point. When I tried to explain to my dad about how I was feeling about this, he just said, "Well, we're trying to help you feel welcome at our house, so stop feeling anxious about it." I think that they think I'm a robot now (which they've said many times to my face), which I guess means I have no feelings--apart from devilish glee and a general delight in sin and mayhem--but when I say that I feel stressed and anxious I'm just told not to be, like it's not something that is a part of my makeup anymore even though they know that I've been stressed and anxious for my entire life. In the past they've tried to help with that. Now, not so much. They just don't care. So those are the reasons why Christmas mostly just ended with me sobbing every night. It was not that great.

Happily, I only had to be there for like three days, and then I went to lovely Washington, which was good. And I'm trying to focus on the positive aspects of being back in Provo, like finally going to the Sundance Film Festival with friends in a few weeks. I feel bad about the people who also had crummy Christmas breaks but didn't get to escape to Washington at the end of it. That sucks, and I'm sorry.

That concludes the summary of the bad parts of Christmas break. To be clear, even though they seem to believe otherwise, I do love my parents and especially my cute little siblings. But that doesn't mean that hanging out with them doesn't suck sometimes.

In lieu of the Leslie Norris poem I wanted to share, since I can't find the full text anywhere, here's a poem I read on Christmas that I quite liked. Cheers.

"Nativity"
Li-Young Lee 

In the dark, a child might ask, What is the world?
just to hear his sister
promise, An unfinished wing of heaven,
just to hear his brother say,
A house inside a house,
but most of all to hear his mother answer,
One more song, then you go to sleep.

How could anyone in that bed guess
the question finds its beginning
in the answer long growing
inside the one who asked, that restless boy,
the night's darling?

Later, a man lying awake,
he might ask it again,
just to hear the silence
charge him, This night
arching over your sleepless wondering,

this night, the near ground
every reaching-out-to overreaches,

just to remind himself
out of what little earth and duration,
out of what immense good-bye,

each must make a safe place of his heart,
before so strange and wild a guest
as God approaches.

How the Grinch Survives Christmas

“I-iiiiiiiiiiiiii don’t want aaaa lot forrrr Christmas”

I groaned, ignoring the “what’s your problem?” looks from the people in that coffee shop. Admittedly, even I had to check myself. I mean, it was only November. And it was the first instance of the holiday season where I was hearing Mariah Carey’s popular “All I Want For Christmas is You” (though now my count has reached the 30s, all thanks to radio and department stores).

And that’s when I knew I wasn’t feeling Christmas this year.

Jingle all the way? More like whining all the way as I went about my December activities. Not even shopping or donating to a homeless shelter could lift me out of this funk. It got so bad that I even began to sympathize with those melodramatic tales from people not having that “special someone” to go do December-y things with: gift shopping, hot cider drinking, snow frollocking, and ice skating. Typically, I respond to such lamentations with a big LOL and a “that’s ridiculous.” But this December, as I put on my happy face and thinking cap to buy presents, it took all I had to bite my tongue and withhold cynical points of criticism at the slowpoke couples standing in my way of that last scarf.

And as I went about December, I couldn’t help but wonder if other people were experiencing the same thing. Are there others who don’t like the holidays? Do the typical December activities turn off some? Is loneliness a widespread feeling during December? How do people get into the spirit of the holiday season?

Now, with it being Christmas Eve, I feel resolution as I sigh relief go and realize I have made it through the holiday season. Now comes the easy part: nom nom-ing on delicious food my parents make and unwrapping the clothes I helped cast as my presents in the production of Christmas Day.

But as soon as Mariah starts singing next November, will I be in the holiday spirit?

With Apologies

I'm not sure what to post on today. I probably wouldn't post, but I feel bad about not blogging last week. In my defense, I'd just finished finals, and spent a pleasant day with my cousins shopping and watching Lord of the Rings and I didn't really feel like doing anything else. Now I'm over at my parents' house for the next three days, hoping everything will be okay. It probably will. I'm still anxious about it, in spite of reassurances and the fact that it is only for three days.

I'm glad it will be a white Christmas here in Utah. That should be nice.

Christmas is sad because traditions are supposed to remind us of how everything is the same. But nothing is the same here; we're watching home videos and I'm up on the screen reading two poems I wrote where every line ends with "because of the baby Jesus." I'm like 11. It's adorable. And long and silly and kind of weird. We were cute kids. So I guess there's that. But now we're all grown up and sad. And it's kind of sad.

I feel bad that I don't have anything else to say. But I hope you have a pleasant holiday, whatever you do or do not celebrate. Either way, here's a poem by ee cummings about christmas, but also about being sad and lonely, so it can apply to multiple circumstances.

little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly

i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don't be afraid

look the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms
and i'll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you're quite dressed
you'll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they'll stare!
oh but you'll be very proud

and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we'll dance and sing
"Noel Noel" 

He's jolly and foreign, what more could you ask for?

A week or so ago, I was Santa. First at an elementary school, for the special ed class. Lots of ho-ho-ho’s and hand shaking and “merry Christmas!”s, and then we played bingo until all thirty kids won and got a present from Santa. One kid was super energetic and friendly. As we finished class, he came up to me, patted my pillow-enlarged belly, and asked (in Japanese), “Santa, are you pregnant?”

Costume held together with safety pins. Classy.

No buddy. But if I were, I hope my kid would be as awesome as you.

Second was a kindergarten. Four very brave tiny children asked questions like “How many reindeer do you have,” “Why do you wear red,” “How do you get in houses,” and “Where do you live?” (Nine reindeer; it’s a bright and happy color; magic; and Finland.) Each kid came up and shook my hand and got a present, and then we took a class picture.

And then in the teachers’ room the principle gave me coffee and cake, an origami Santa ornament, tangerines, and a flower arrangement from the PTA. Unexpected, but pleasant. Add to that the fact that both days I was finished with “work” by eleven a.m. and I had an extremely satisfying Santa experience.

It makes me think a bit. It’s the kind of thing that wouldn’t have happened in the states. If I’d kept on my pre-Japan path I’d be living in New York and still thinking of myself as far too young to be a suitable Santa. I’d be missing out on so much. 
Or maybe not, maybe I’d be doing equally awesome things in the states. Kinda doubt it, though.

***

For the holiday itself, I’m going to stay indoors where it’s warm all day, but for the twenty-fourth I’m going with a friend and her friends and family over to the coast, to a town called Fujisawa. We’ll go to a nondenominational Christian service that’s completely in Japanese (I didn’t understand a single word last year) and eat a fantastic dinner of excellent chicken (though not KFC, which is seriously what most Japanese people associate with Christmas) and sushi. And wine, because the dad of the family is a connoisseur. We’ll sit on cushions around the low heated table and I will try very hard to participate in the conversation. I swear, being social here is like taking oral exams every day.

I like this. Aside from my mom’s rolls, I never really liked Christmas dinner in the states. Christmas sushi may become a tradition for me.

***

Christmas lights: I miss them. There are three houses I know of in my city that have lights up, and they’re all awful, garish, and tacky.

Christmas songs: I don’t miss them. This year the only ones I’ve sought out are “Boots” and “Joseph, Better You Than Me,” both by The Killers. That’s enough. I’m sure I’ll hear all the others next year. And the year after that. And so on.

***

Next week will almost certainly be full of reminiscences. For the week after that, though, I have something more . . . contrary? combative? in the works. Some things were said in the moho blogs recently that I strongly disagree with and think are important enough to write a handful of posts about.

***

Chances are you’ve seen this already, but in case you haven’t: The year's best autocorrects. Guffaws and tears. It’s that funny.

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Clutter

I had a lovely Thanksgiving Break, but I woke up this morning and lay (lied?) in bed for an hour thinking about all the things that were stressing me out. All the clutter in my head. I picture crinkled balls of paper, tangled red yarn, strips of caution tape drowning out crowds of good thoughts. Bad thoughts include and are not limited to the following:

-Going back to school tomorrow, writing three term papers, planning a lesson for my baby freshmen tomorrow
-My brother coming home from his mission in January and trying to friend me on facebook; me eventually having to explain why I've blocked and then defriended my entire family
-This time last year, when I had to write several term papers, I was more suicidal than I've been in the whole last year, and it was basically hell, and I'm starting to get worried about that happening again
-I have to go to therapy on Tuesday (well, I mean, I don't have to go....I'm the one who made the appointment), and therapy is helpful but also stressful and what are we going to talk about and how much am I going to cry
-Thanksgiving is over and wasn't too terrible with my family, but now I have Christmas to worry about, and for Christmas Break I actually have to stay at my house, instead of this break where I only had to be there for three hours on Thanksgiving

And so on and so forth. It was not very restful. 

In contrast, Thanksgiving Break was lovely. I watched three Harry Potter movies and a ridiculously adorable adaptation of Snow White, tried to catch up on Once Upon a Time (I am now officially on episode 8...of season one), and spent one whole remarkable day just reading my favorite Harry Potter book (which is the fourth, which is THE BEST ONE OKAY except for the seventh and okay possibly the third). I graded student papers and read one essay for class. It was the best five days of the entire semester.

School is hard. Grad school is harder, and grad school at BYU is the hardest. I'm just throwing that out there. I guess the light at the end of the tunnel is that there are only two more weeks of actual school. Two weeks of writing papers, staying up late, frantically cramming, planning a final for my poor hapless students. I'm hoping I can keep the suicidality down this time around, but I'm not sure how. I guess that's what I can talk about at therapy tomorrow. In the meantime, I think I'll keep focusing on my good old Harry Potter books, watch the sporadic tv show, and maybe kick of my Sailor Moon rewatch:

Sailor Moon is the best, and don't try to deny it. 

Otherwise, there are still helpful quotes to read when I start having existential crises about faith and God and religion and the future, including this one:

“…through all our lives we are faced with the task of reconciling opposites, which, in logical thought, cannot be reconciled… do it by bringing into the situation a force that belongs to a higher level where opposites are transcended – the power of love… Divergent problems, as it were, forces us to strain ourselves to a level above ourselves; they demand, and thus provoke the supply of forces from a higher level, thus bringing love, beauty, goodness and truth into our lives. It is only with the help of these higher forces that the opposites can be reconciled in the living situation.”
~ E. F. Schumacher

And maybe by rewatching Beasts of the Souther Wild, which was the best thing to come out this last year. Here's the gorgeous clip I'm showing my little BYU students tomorrow

And, as always, here's the poem of the week. Not a happy poem, but a beautiful one, and I find solace in the strength of words. I hope it helps in the coming weeks.

There was a point in our lives

where if I slit my throat, it was you who would bleed.
You say goodbye too often in autumn.
Tonight the last leaf fell off the tree beyond my bedroom window,

and I could hear the sound of branches aching for love to wrap

around their leaves like limbs.
It was three a.m. in the last stretch of May.

Springtime calls for heartbeat symphonies

and when we pressed our bodies together they coincided like

chords, like staccatos when I ran my hand down

your spine.
Fog is one of the top reasons that drivers get killed each year.
In the backseat of my car we almost caused

the hundredth casualty,

but all I got were bruises in the shape of apologies

along my thighs.
There are certain people who leave scars when they go.
Tonight I cut my thumb while I was peeling an apple.

I thought of you.”A Rendition of Autumn, Shinji Moon