Who Are We?

Sometimes, when I least expect it, raw emotions from two years ago resurface somewhere from a hidden crevice inside my gut to the front of my face, right under my eyes and nose.

Jan was my "best friend" in college, then things crashed in May 2001. She spurned me after I said something about her relationship that she perceived as being judgmental. She sent several terse, angry e-mails. And at the 10-year high school reunion dinner, she didn't say a word to me, though it was a small gathering. Then the communication stopped.

Only through the grapevine did I hear what she was saying about me (she and a friend calling me a "hypocrite" and a "non-believer," whatever that can possibly mean, confirming to each other that "we don't like Ruth"). But then again, I'm guilty of saying unkind things about her, too.

I felt weak. I felt raw. Truth be told, I haven't forgiven her. I don't know why. I don't really understand forgiveness at the core. Perhaps your best intention can be to forgive, care, love unconditionally, move on. But there is material that can be left behind, no matter how good your intentions are.

Perhaps part of the anger relates to how regretfully weak I was during that whole year we struggled to communicate. Perhaps the anger relates more to an anger toward who I was back then and less toward Jan. During that harsh year, I constantly told her that I cared for her and that we were still friends and that I wanted the best for her and that I respected her, despite her harsh e-mails and her need to "cut things off." I acted in a way that was very Christian, very forgiving. It was the right thing to do, I thought.

But deep inside, I was extremely angry and hurt. I wanted to lash out, the same way she did to me, slicing into me with her e-mails. But my muscles don't know how to do that.

I sit at my desk on June 2003, and I don't understand this energy. What does one do with things like this?

Sometimes we think we've left the past behind us, that it can't touch us any longer, like we can separate ourselves the same way a video tape is physically separated from our existence.

Who are we, really?

Posted by ruth at June 23, 2003 01:13 PM

Comments

There is no set time for how long painful memories require to heal, but the sooner this one does, the sooner you will be able to answer your question of who you are.
Posted by: kane on June 29, 2003 09:55 PM

Philosophy of Song

I went to local jazz gig last night, and this out-of-town singer "sat in" (musician speak for when a guest performs a song or two during someone else's gig).

Warm, colorful voice. Deep and wide, mellow and strong. Butter, cognac. And she had the chops, scatting every which way. I really think she could do anything and everything with her fine instrument.

Unfortunately, she did.

On her Latin tune, she did a lot of bending and delays, swooping and dragging, which can be sexy and cool. The crowd loved her. They were amazed and were left breathless. She ended her tune to much clapping and "Hana hou!" She definitely delivered on the "wow" factor.

But I was left with a completely different feeling. I don't prefer acrobatics strewn throughout an entire song with no relief in simplicity. Sometimes when performers "go for it" that way, the essence and emotion inside a song is lost to the flashiness of the vocalist.

Perhaps it's a matter of philosophy. I believe the performer is simply a vessel for the true thing of value, which is the work itself. Before you let me sense your awesome skills, let me sense the song.

Posted by ruth at June 18, 2003 11:30 AM

Hmmm ....

A lot of guys like golf.

Posted by ruth at June 18, 2003 03:00 PM

Comments

A lot of guys like The Three Stooges. I never understood the appeal of either.
Posted by: Ryan on June 19, 2003 12:49 PM

Reframed Screams

I had some time to think about my frustrations described in "Violent Moonwalk" and "Adult Screams."

These are not new frustrations, but the way that I frame them is changing - and must. We all have to help each other. We are all fragile. We all need.

Empathy.

Posted by ruth at May 30, 2003 11:33 AM

Violent Moonwalk

Ugh. ... Argh! Ack!

What kinds of words do you use when you're frustrated by the rope someone puts around you? This relates the frustrations recorded in "Adult Screams."

"Ruth," she calls on the phone. "I heard you're going to Makapuu late at night. I'm very worried."
Tonight's a full moon, so I was going to gather a bunch for a moonwalk.

Mom and I go through this exchange.

"Don't worry, Mom, it's a full moon. There will be others out there" (though I am not certain).

"Well, you know what happened in Makaha years ago. These Samoan guys killed the guy and six guys raped the girl. It's dangerous. You better be safe."

I've been on this moonwalk many times. I understand that anywhere you go, there is inherent danger, and at an isolated place like that, there is a greater risk of being "trapped" if someone wanted to hurt you. But to never see what Makapuu offers because of this fear is no way to live.

If I died trying to experience something beautiful, then so be it. I would rather live that way than stay at home and never be able to testify that "I saw that" or "I felt that."

Mom hears the frustation I thought I so cleverly hid. "Let me be Mom," she says.

We say our polite goodbyes. I hang up the phone.

"Let me be Ruth!"

I need to take a walk.

********

I know she loves me. If I could ask her one thing, it would be that we treat each other as adult equals, that she throw down her Mom role for something that I think is better for where we're at - equal friendship, mutual respect.

Is this too much to ask? Am I being naive?

Posted by ruth at May 16, 2003 05:10 PM

Comments

Jen, my wife, always said, "It's different for girls," and I, idealistic, would just shake my head. Now that I have a daughter, though...
Besides, I think your mom isn't just worried about you, she's just worried. That is, she personally wouldn't feel safe out there, and unfounded or not, that's why she has to warn you. I don't think she specifically thinks you're less capable, or undeserving of respect.
Katie might grow up to be a black-belt kickboxer who can bench press 200 pounds. But I'll still nag, and sit up nights when she strikes out on her own... at fifteen, or twenty five.
I hope the moonwalk was as gorgeous as I imagine! It's been a good week in general for moonwatching. (Even if we were denied the eclipse.)
Posted by: Ryan on May 18, 2003 12:01 AM

Hey Ryan,
Well, the hike turned out to be absolutely lovely.
There were other groups of walkers there on our way up, though our group was the only one left on the hill by the time we were going back.
During the first part of the hike, I had all these nervous and unsafe feelings, with my mom's voice hanging over me like an ominous curse.
But the adrenaline starting pumping, and I suddenly felt safe. It was a most gorgeous hike, and I'm glad I experienced it.
Ruth
Posted by: ruth on May 19, 2003 10:35 AM

Distance helps. Even now when I stay at my parents', I have a curfew (!!) and my mom is either calling me or wanting me to call her constantly if I'm out.
2500 miles away, she worries if I don't call for a day or two; I only tell her afterwards what I did. I merely climbed- not jumped, mind you, just climbed- the rock in Waimea and told her about it, and she started to freak out.
I don't worry too much about going places in a group, though being alone just about anywhere makes me nervous. I think that's my mom's constant warnings from when I was young- I still have recurring dreams about being kidnapped and/or attacked by strange scary men.
Ultimately, though, I think a bit of common sense and belief in fate (if it's your time to go, nothing you can do about it) guide me. If I have a bad feeling about it, I won't go; otherwise I trust I'll be fine.
Posted by: lisa on May 19, 2003 06:55 PM

Hi Lisa,
Yeah - distance does help. I have a friend who moved thousands of miles away from her parents, and she can be much more selective about the image her parents receive of the life she lives here.
And I experienced something similar when I stayed in Boston for two months. I did all kinds of things but told my parents the waterered-down version.
I can relate to you in that my parents do want to keep in touch - constantly. While that can be a source of struggle, I at least understand the core, which is their desire to be connected. I don't want to throw away all connections because of certain frustrations. Life is too short to disregard your parents over irritations.
I'm sort of trying to strike a balance, wanting to be an adult yet wanting still to honor my parents' love for me. It's not always easy.
Thanks for your insight, Lisa.
Ruth
Posted by: ruth on May 20, 2003 01:15 PM

Waning Light

My kindness toward you wanes

And I am sad.

If my trust were blind and my soul innocent,

Perhaps my kindness might grow.

But I am weary, sometimes breathless and weary

Over the times I must second-guess

Whether you will strike me,

Knowing indeed that it is easier

For you to hurt me

Than for you to risk losing

The little you have.

Posted by ruth at May 15, 2003 05:23 PM

Claws

She, a middle-aged Japanese woman with strong cheekbones, stared like a tiger into my eyes, her aging limbs stepping past me in the concert hall balcony.

She did not touch me. I disgusted her.

Posted by ruth at May 12, 2003 03:12 PM