Tears, that is. Life is overflowing
with tears. Sorting through drawers of old notes, old written prayers, and
memories. Babies being born on Bones and well, just about every episode on that
show. Glee this week (I won’t spoil it for those who haven’t seen it yet).
Recognizing that at long last, I’m starting to sort through how to cap off this
era of my life. Not being able to sleep last night and instead, writing a
lengthy list of thank you letters that need to be written in the near future.
Remembering the wonderful, wonderful people who have shaped me over the last 17
years. Today’s blog post is going to go in two different directions. I have a
personal epiphany and update to give to those who I haven’t spent quality time
with for a long time. I also have something to get up on my soapbox and preach
about. You can take the girl out of the Christian school, but you can’t take
the Christian school out of the girl.
Like I
mentioned above, I just watched Glee’s two episodes from their Nationals
build-up and competition. Now, I have been a loyal fan of these kids since Day
One, although Season Two had me hoping that we were going to find something redeemable
in the mess of it all (cue “For Good” on the Wicked stage and I was back on board). So, I’m here to say. Cut the
hate. People either love this show or bash it. While I respect you’re right to
be a Glee Scrooge, let’s be honest. Those actors/actresses have more talent
than any of us regular, old earthlings. Unless of course, you’re one of my remarkably
talented acquaintances in which case, ignore this. Still, I triple dare you to
sing “Don’t Rain on My Parade” at the Tony Awards and see how much hate is
left.
Look, I get it. The entertainment industry is
not fairyland. It’s an ugly place at times and people who shouldn’t be in the
limelight are. And, I’m guilty of just as much hate (see my earlier rants
concerning Twilight). Yes, I think Robert Pattinson is ugly, but really I just
have a feeling that all of the cast members are a little too intelligent to be
buying into this franchise. Yes, I’m looking at you, Kristen Stewart, who must
have a brain behind that brooding glare. Although I admit my hypocrisy, many of
the young people (including the much hated Biebs) actually do have talent and
have worked their butts off to put that talent on display for the world. If you
cannot respect anything else about a popular artist, respect their dream. They
had the guts to go out and do something about it. Most of us just sit on our
butts all day in front of a computer screen. Don’t for a second think that you
are better than someone because they make money off of what you call “terrible
music”. Bottom line, you’re not better or worse, but you definitely aren’t as
rich. Respect. It’s a simple word, but so often forgotten.
Now,
don’t think that this is the only bone I have to pick with the world. This is
directed to everyone who has jumped on the bandwagon for the hipster movement.
It’s one of those paradoxical things where you establish your cool status by
not listening to “cool” music and generally shirking the ‘mainstream’. It
reflects on that whole “If we’re all unique, are any of us unique?”. Look, it’s
your right to only listen to bands that no one (not even the band members’
moms) has heard of. But, don’t freaking judge me! I’m not buying into a
capitalist scheme to turn us into clones if I publicize my guilty pleasure for
belting Celine Dion songs. Or even my weird obsession for country music. I was
raised by two phenomenal musicians; well a host of phenomenal musicians, as my
early days are marked by early familiarity with Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start
the Fire” and Tracy Chapman’s songs. I know what good music is.
Half the music that isn’t
mainstream isn’t mainstream for a reason. Let me be blunt. It’s not good music.
Music is more than good lyrics. It’s more than a nice voice. It’s more than dancing
ability. It’s more than marketing skills. It’s more than the look. It is,
however, charisma, combined in equal parts with many of the characteristics I
mentioned, although some of them aren’t always necessary. Also, don’t even get
me started on electronic music. Don’t tell me that it’s better than all other
forms of music; because I’m not even sure that digitally creating sounds and
rhythms is music. It’s definitely an art, but while anyone and their dog can
produce electronic, musicians play for decades to master the cello or the
piano. Bottom line, I’m no expert but I can guarantee that you aren’t either,
if you’re my age. And my peers who actually know a fair amount about music or
have remarkable talent? This trait only shines through when it’s matched with
humility. So, kill the judgment. I will be dancing to Michael Jackson until I
bite the dust. There is a reason he was named the “King of Pop”. In return, I
promise not to roll my eyes when you talk about your new favorite band which
revolves its sound around an ancient Chinese instrument. I also promise to keep
an open mind in regards to your musical preferences. When an artist establishes
rigid boundaries and judgment, they lose the true spirit of artistry. No artist
is an island. Art is derived from inspiration, sometimes from unlikely sources.
Nicki Minaj proves that daily (that was a joke, so quit judging).
Geez that felt good! Look, no one’s
perfect. I probably over-generalized in the above paragraph, but this is what I’ve
seen in my surroundings in the past few weeks. If there’s one thing I don’t
stand for, its people throwing judgments around when really they have no right
to. For example, I hate that mathematicians named one of the applications of
the chi-squared distribution, the “Goodness of Fit” test, but as I have not yet
graduated high school, my protest against terrible grammar doesn’t really stand
up in the face of the mathematician (with infinite doctorates) who created this
test. Humility, my friends. It’s rare but so delightful!
So, this above return to my sassy,
argumentative self is a good sign. I’ve found peace of some sort in the last
few weeks. Yes, I’ve completed 11 out of my 13 IB exams. I also made a decision
about university (I’m going to be an Axewoman and I mostly say that because I
think it sounds hilarious; bottom line, I’m moving to Wolfville, Nova Scotia). I
underwent some retail therapy at Amani ya Juu. Shopping at Amani ya Juu is equivalent to every natural high available times twenty. It's a wonderful place. Still, for several
days, I sat in front of my computer watching TV show finales, alternately
checking Facebook which is totally acceptable behavior for a girl who’s
undergone a lot of stress for the last couple months. But, last night, I had an
epiphany (after a nice long chat with the always incredible Carrie Mixon) as I
sorted through the drawer I mentioned above. I read several pieces of writing that
had been important to me in the last couple of years that I had written or
someone else had written and I began to cry, as I remembered the people and
memories that had brought me such joy. I realized that I have a lot of good and
wonderful to say goodbye to. I got so wrapped up in the funk of these last
couple months that I forgot the bittersweet joys of goodbyes. If there’s one
thing that I’ve learnt over the years, it’s that goodbyes suck but they also
mean that you have something lasting and lovely to carry with you. And you now
have hundreds of couches to crash on all over the world. The nice thing is I’m
not fighting the closure of this phase of my life. I have learnt that the
rose-hued glasses we often use to view our pasts are misleading. People, places
and events fail your expectations. Even the best moments are sometimes followed
by moments of apathy or confusion or hurt. So, we remember and celebrate the
good and file the bad away for a rainy day when we might need the wisdom gained
from failing.
This sounds like a culmination of
sorts, but I’m not done with this year yet. I graduate in a week and a half.
Between now and then, I have multiple awards ceremonies to sit through (boo),
various senior-related festivities, two French exams, and a checkout sheet to
fill out (along with about a hundred textbooks). I also have mountains of paper
to “dispose of” (BURN). As for words of wisdom from the girl who has almost
survived the IB… Don’t do it. Unless your personal life is perfect. In which
case, be my guest! I’m back to kind of understanding the concept of peace that “passes
all understanding”. My future is still murky. It’s all very exciting and
adventurous, really! Davita versus Eastern Canada, Round 2 (I was four the last
time, so it should be an interesting ride).
Let’s get back to the point. Why is life overflowing? Well, I just suckered you into reading a really really
lengthy blog post. So, you should be feeling overwhelmed at the huge overflow of thoughts and words. It’s probably because I can type it on a
computer rather than in the evil boxes prescribed by the IB. There is an overflow of stuff, both physical and emotional that I get to sort through in
the next few weeks. Mostly, I’m overwhelmed in the face of the promise that peace can be
found in what seem to be the most trying circumstances. An overflowing peace.
