Anger

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I must be strong and let myself being dominated by my emotions.
I am quick to anger and it burns so easily and so hot. This is not a fire I know how to put out. It's there, roaring and eating away at my insides while I do my best to breath in, breath out, count to ten, count to twenty, drown myself in numbers and try to ignore the obvious.
I am angry.
I am angry and I am frustrated.
I can't tell if I am being unfair or not. I don't think I am, but I have learnt to distrust myself enough that I don't know whether I am right or wrong.
But the anger it there.
And it hurts.
Don't be afraid, I will not let it affect me. You will not have to put up with it.
But know that deep down, that fire is still roaring hours later and I am not okay.

On unmatched love

I have come to realize that i love my best friend more than she loves me.
I think I have known for a long time.
I don't blame her. It's not something she does. I just think I give more value to our friendship than she does.
She has social anxiety so I have always been the one maintaining our relationship. She is not good at answering her phone and answering messages. I think she is sorry for it but unapologetic at the same time. "It's not because I have a phone that I have to be available all the time." and she is right about that. From our conversations on MSN to the pictures of cute bunnies I send her, I have always been the one initiating our conversations. It kind of hurts because I hate to beg for attention but hey, it's that or not having news for months in a row. So I try. I send her pins, messages, posts, texts, small reminders that I exist and I love her and I miss her always.
She has social anxiety and planning/organizing stuff exhausts her so she keeps that energy for those who she wouldn't see if she didn't make the effort. But since I make the effort, I guess she felt like she could rely on me to plan stuff.
But it means that more than once, I tried but she didn't meet me half way and screwed my evening, day, weekend.
She doesn't do it on purpose. she doesn't do it out of malice. I know that. But it hurts.
My mum once said that she is not a very good friend. And she took it very badly. She was hurt by the comment.
But I think my mother is right. She is a great person, but not a great friend. At least not to me.
Oh she loves me! She truly does.
But we both know that I shouldn't rely on her for any kind of emergency. Or book time for her before she actually confirms (which, since she doesn't communicate much makes it a tad difficult) and that even then there is a not-zero chance that she might not come.

I think I can safely say that she's always been a priority for me. Making sure that she is happy, that I see her, that she feels loved.
She is important to me. and I though that was enough.
I thought loving her was enough and that it didn't matter if she didn't love me as much or as well. That loving her was the point of friendship and that true friendship meant taking the extra step and meeting her where she was. Not asking from her anything more than what she would voluntarily give.
This is what a good person would say, would do, would feel.

The problem is that I am not exactly a good person.
I try to, but I am not.
I am possessive, constantly afraid of being forgotten and abandoned and to end up alone.
I am not jealous, but definitely envious.
I am probably much too self-centered and at least a bit egotistic. Selfish at heart, despite my best efforts in action.

And at the end of the day, I am not sure I am enough of a good person to be satisfied by loving her unconditionally.
I want to be loved unconditionally back. I want to be chose over. I want to be a priority. I want to get random marks of affection from the person I cherish the most.
And deep down it has made me miserable. I'm good enough at compartmentalizing that it is not an issue. but every once in a while there'd be something, a detail, a cancelled event, a message left unanswered, a comment, that wakes the pain up.
And each time I'd hurt, I'd tell myself "If you really love her, then you mustn't resent her for that, because she doesn't do it on purpose and you cannot ask more of her".
And I'd take the pain and seal it away and shrug.

But I am not doing exactly great these days.
I'm probably just a little over worked. So I am tired, which in turns mean I am probably too emotional, not really rational.
And the last little something was just too much.
It's nothing really. A missed opportunity to see each other due to her not responding in time, a wasted evening, a comment.
I know I am not a great person and that I should probably work on being more humble and more grateful. But here it is.
This small comment was too much. It wrecked me.
It profoundly wrecked me to my chore.
It woke up the pain and I wasn't capable of dismissing it this time.
It was there and I couldn't ignore it.

And Oh Boy it hurt.
How it hurt.
She will never love me as I love her.
No matter how much of myself I give, no matter how much of myself I give up, she will never love me like I do.
She will never be the one to initiate our conversations.
She will never choose me over.
Because I'll always be there.
She takes me for granted. And she's probably right to do so. I love her too much to abandon her anyway. I have loved her for so long I don't think I would recognize my life without her.
And Oh Boy this realization hurt.

I often feel lonely but I know I have only myself to blame for that.
After all I am the one building walls between and my friends.
Maintaining composure. Maintaining appearances. Never show weakness.
They mustn't know that I am not invincible. That things can get to me.
I am invincible. I am always here. Always reliable. Distant but rock solid.
So loneliness is a pain I'm familiar with. Intimate even.
But I can only blame myself for that.

There aren't any walls like that between me and her.

And right there, right then, as the wave of nausea and pain washed over me I thought,
Well maybe it should.
Maybe I could take some of the bricks from somewhere else and put them between me and her. Protect myself. I know she doesn't mean to harm me. But the pain is still there.
And I don't have to put up with it.

I have, out of love, out of loyalty, out of the puppy eyed admiration I have had for her since I met her and I was 15 and I was in love with her.
But I don't have to.

There are other people who I should take better care of.
People who like me, who love me and who might love me even more if I gave them the opportunity. If I invested more in them, in their friendship.
Maybe I should pay more attention to those who are here despite the distance I keep, despite my lack of time, despite everything.

I read something.
"It is unfair for those who love you to focus on those who don't."
And it helped.

I love her. I always have and always will.
But maybe It's time to question my priority.

Cycles

"ah, young people today, they don't..."

I hate this sentence. 

I've heard it used to talk about me, about my students.
I see people look down at their youth and dismiss them.
In 0.2 sec my colleague said: "I have to teach all this programming stuff I know nothing about. I need a formation." and "oh the programmes have been slashed and cut down! It's awful! The kids don't learn anything anymore!"
Because they learn other skills you humanoid turkey!
They learn to use tools that /they/ will need. And dismissing those on the premise that they are new, and that you lived perfectly well is a testimony of your own mediocrity!
Your inability to accept that the world changes, has always been changing scares me because it prevents you from connecting with your students and to offer them the respect and support they need to grow up into interesting and happy people. 

It's not very nice to say that.

"you'll see, it will happen to you too at some point. You're doing too much. You're gonna break too."

Oh Darling you don't know.
I look at you, at your scars, at your pain and at how you broke. How you couldn't stand and how it was just too much for you. How much life was too much.
I understand and it's okay. I see you.
But Oh Darling you have no idea.
I will not break like you did. Out of pride, out of spite, out of fury. I refuse. I look at the lethargy that plagues you and I know. I shall not break.
You sigh and shake your head. You think I am naive.
I think we don't play in the same league.
You think I don't understand the risk.
I think you misjudged me.
Oh Darling you couldn't even begin to comprehend.
I know the pain. It is inbedded in my bones, in all the small injuries that I dismiss. I know the tiredness and the exhaustion. I know how it feels to drown, how it feels when your heart is so compressed, when each beat hurts.
Oh Darling I know all that.
And you know what. I. Shall. Not. Break.
Ask me if I'm afraid of the dark.
Ask me if I am afraid of failure.
And then watch me walk at night. Watch me throw myself in the adventure.
I have a fire inside. An all devouring furnace.
And it will not be put out.

We had that talk at a restaurant and I looked at their faces. The dark circles under their eyes, the slight shame they can't erase no matter how much they need to.
I sat there, listening and I felt sorry for them. For how hard they tried to look tough. Why does everyone try to look stronge? I watched them explain to each other how hard it had been. The depression, the anxiety, the nervous break down, the burn out.
And I sat silently, reading with half my brain a book I had grabbed on the table before leaving. Not even mine. I understand the need for sharing, for feeling less lonely.
And His friend was so sure that I was the next one on the chopping block. I just bearly avoided telling her that it does not do well to judge everyone by one's own standard. No, it's not because you broke that I shall break too. I like her. I do. But there is a difference between us.
One that cannot be ignored. I am passionate.
I have a thirst for glory and fame and success. I have a craving for greatness.
I refuse to break.

Life in community

Among the new experiences of this year, there is "living with two flatmates". I had been living with people other than my parents in the past, but I had never been in charge. There was someone else to make the groceries, to cook, to do the laundry and the cleaning and so on. I used to give a hand, but I wasn't in charge.
Here, it is different.
First of all, because I have to constantly keep an eye on my diet. Old habits die hard. I have to check that I am eating in acceptable quantities, that I don't skip meals, or only under exceptional circumstances. If I don't want to cook, I just have to go outside buy myself something, but in any case, I must eat. And I do.
That means that I do my own groceries. Tea, biscuits, bred, jam, some stuff to cook whenever I feel like I am in the mood. make sure I have everything because no one is going to do it for me.
I bought myself some crockery, because I feel that it is a waste to rely only on disposable stuff. Not much, A bowl, a plate, a couple of mugs, some forks and spoons.

Then, there is how we live in the flat.
I always wash up the dishes I used for cooking before starting to eat (that way I don't have to get out of my bed room once I am done eating, while everyone else can use anything) I clean the sink and kitchen after use. Same way I clean the bathroom after use. Basic stuff. We like in a hot and humind place. If we don't do this, we'll soon end up with mildew everywhere.

That's where things usually start to go south when you are sharing a flat.

We don't have the same frame of what is clean and what is not, of what one should do and shouldn't do.
My two flatmates share a bedroom and I have nothing to say about the state of it. It's their place and thus, none of my business.

I am the neatfreak of the flat, or so they say (it might be true). My room is clean and tidy. Cloths are neatly folded in the closet, or hanging in the wardrobe, the books and notebooks are on the shelves, I make my bed every morning and so on. My mother would be proud. She has been complaining about my messy bedroom for most of my life (all my life would be more accurate).

My two flatmates are sort of the opposite at varying degree.
One is messy, with which is okay.
The other one is dirty, Which is, on the contrary, not okay. at all.

Today I broke a glass.
Not on purpose, obviously. It had been left for three days in the kitchen sink because someone had forgotten to wash it. I had to ask for the rice cooker to be cleaned, because it had been left for two days or more after being used. And afterwards I had to wash its lid because my flatmate had not bothered with washing it. And I had to ask again to get my spoon back because it had been borrowed some days ago and not returned. It was in a dirty bowl in their bedroom.
I had to wash the kitchen before being able to use it. I put the crockery back where it belongs, rewash what has just been rinsed by a lazy ass. and so on.

I wash the bathroom sink because otherwise no one does, I put everyone's stuff back in their compartment, so we have some room to put cloths and so on while using the bathroom without risking to stain them with toothpaste or eyeliner. I can accept for things to be messy. If I am not okay with the mess, then I can tidy it myself, since it is my standard that I impose to the others.
Hygiene on the other hand is not the same.

And this is tiring.
I am tired of being the one pointing out at the dirty crockery, at the stuff that has been abandoned in the common parts of the flat. Being the one always bringing out the unpleasant issues is not a great feeling. It feels like being the raven, bearing ill news, It feels like being exaggerating and never happy. I don't like to feel like a bully. I try to put all the tact I can, but it seems not to be enough.

Since no matter how many times I ask or signal things, nothing changes. Which slowly builds up the impression that the problem comes from me and not from them. And soon one starts to question the validity of their claim. Am I being too harsh? Am I being fair? Do I have any legitimacy in asking them  to do this or that? Am I making a fuss for nothing?

I am not the oldest here yet it seems that the role of the unpleasant parent fell on me. I try to keep calm and just remember that this will be over soon and that it is unnecessary to argue now.

Parmis les nouvelles experiences de cette annee figure celle de vivre avec deux colocataires. J’avais deja vecu en dehors du domicile familiale, mais je n’avais jamais ete responsable de la tenue de mon logement. Il y avait toujours quelqu’un pour faire les courses, la cuisine, le menage, la lessive. Je filais un coup de main, mais je n’etais pas en charge de quoi que ce soit.

Ici c’est different.

Tout d’abord parce que je dois surveiller mon alimentation. Difficile de deboulonner de vieilles habitudes. Les quantites, ne pas sauter de repas sauf situation exceptionnelle. Tout ca necessite une attention quotidienne.
Si je ne me sens pas de cuisiner, je peux acheter a manger dehors, mais cela signifie quand meme sortir, dans le but de manger. Faire les courses, parce que personne ne les fera pour moi.
J’ai achete un peu de vaisselle (les trucs jetables, c’est pas mon truc). Pas grand chose, un bol, une assiette, deux ou trois mugs, fourchette et cuillerres.

Et puis il y a la cohabitation.

Je nettoie toujours les ustencils de cuisine quand j’ai finis de cuisiner, avant de manger, comme ca, je n’ai pas a m’en preoccuper apres et n’importe qui peut s’en servir. De la meme facon, je nettoie la salle de bain apres usage. Le minimum quoi. Nous vivons dans un endroit chaud et humide et sans ce genre de precautions on se retrouve vite avec de la moisissure partout.

C ‘est la que le bat blesse quand on partage un appartement.

Nous n’avons pas la meme notion de ce qui est propre et de ce qui ne l’est pas, ou de ce qui devrait etre fait ou non.

Mes deux colocs partagent une chambre et dans la mesure ou je n’y vis pas, son etat ne me regarde pas.

Je suis, d’apres elles la maniaque de l’appart. (il se peut que ce soit vrai). Ma chambre est propre et rangee, les vetements sont dans le placard, plies, ou pendus dans l’armoire, les livres et cahiers sont sur les etageres, mon lit est fait tous les matins. Ma mere serait fiere, elle qui s’est toujours plainte de l’etat de ma chambre.

Mes colocs sont l’inverse, a des degres differents.

L’une est bordelique, l’autre est sale.

Aujourd’hui, j’ai casse un verre.

Pas volontairement, evidement. Il avait ete laisse dans l’evier pendant 3 jours, parce que quelau’un n’avait pas pris la peine de le nettoyer. Ila fallu que je demande a ce que l’autocuiseur soit laver, parce que cela faisait 3 jours qu’il avait ete abandonne apres usage, sale. Et encore il a fallu que je lave le couvercle parce que ma coloc n’as pas juger necessaire de le faire. Puis il a fallu que j’aille reclamer ma cuillere, car elle avait ete emporte dans leur chambre, ou elle trainait a present, sale, dans une boite vide.

Il a fallu que je lave la cuisine avec de pouvoir m’en servir, que je range la vaisselle pour avoir un peu de place, que je nettoie ce qui n’avait ete que rince. Et ainsi de suite.

Je nettoie l’evier de la salle de bain, parce que sinon, personne ne le fait. Je range les affaires de chacune dans les contenants appropries, pour que l’on puisse poser des affaires sans craindre de les tacher avec du dentifrice ou du eyeliner.

Je peux accepter que ce soit le bazar. Si cela ne me plait pas, je range, car il s’agit d’imposer mon mode de rangement aux autres.
L’hygiene par contre, je refuse d’etre la seule a y veiller. C’est une question de respect de tous.

Et c’est fatiguant.

J’en ai assez d’etre toujours celle qui fait remarquer qu’il y a de la vaisselle sale, de faire remarquer tout ce qui traine dans les parties communes. Etre celle qui abordent les sujets qui fache n’est pas vraiment agreable. J’ai l’impression d’etre un oiseau de mauvaise augure. Je me dit que je fois avoir l’air d’exagerer et de n’etre jamais contente, d’etre une tortionnaire. J’ai beau y mettre les formes, rien ne change.

Peu importe combine de fois je demande ou signale les choses, rien n’est fait. Ce aui au fur et a mesure renforce cette ideed que le probleme vient de moi, et non d’elles. On se retrouve rapidement a questionner la validite de ses demandes. Est ce que je suis trop dure ? est ce que je suis juste ? Est ce que j’ai le droit de leur demander ca ? Est ce que je fais une scene pour rien ?

Je ne suis pas la plus agee et pourtant il semble que le role du parent chiant m’est tombe dessus.
J’essaie de garder mon calme et de garder a l’esprit que c’est bientot finit, que cela ne vaut plus la peine de s’enerver pour ca.

Some funny stories about Ancient philosophy

So, new semester, new MOOC. I am allegedly addicted to those weird distant classes on impossibly random subject, and I am not sure I can deny.
So, I signed up for an "Ancient Philosophy - Plato and his predecessors" class.
And OH GOOD LORD, 2500 years later, Philosophy is still awesomely fun.
Let me give you some examples:

There's a guy, Hyppolitus of Rome (170 - 235 BCE), who wrote a book "the refutation of all heresies", in which he refutes all pagan philosophies, because... because. The guy was a christian bishop, and he didn't really like those philosophical treaties, so he made a book about it.
The thing is, that the books and treaties that the ancient philosophers wrote has been lost through history and because how do you want to salvage ancient books and lore when humans have trouble remembering where they put their damn car keys five minutes ago.
Anyway, the original books are lost and have been so for a millennia or two. So finding honest  and complete historical sources from this time is a pain.
why am I telling you this? Remember the guy who wanted to  refute all the ancient philosophies because it was heretical and so on? Well, this guy's book ended up being one of the most prominent historical source in the preservation and diffusion of the ancient philosophy.
Call it Kharma or Irony, but as dead as he is, I think Hyppolitus might be pissed.

Another funny story:
So there was this guy, Heraclitus (540 BCE) who was called the Riddler because his work had a reputation to be obscure, complex and full of paradoxes.
To give you an Idea of how complicated we are talking about, let me quote Socrates talking about Heraclitus' book; "The parts I understood were very impressive and so wer the parts I didn't understand".
So basically, Socrates says "sounds great, butI couldn't get everything, the thing is damn complicated"

In short, I am having fun.

Just when you think you had a life

Taken from Neil Gaiman's Tumblr:

Peter Freuchen and his second wife Dagmar Freuchen Gale, in a photo taken by Irving Penn in 1947. Freuchen is a top candidate for the Most Interesting Man in the World.Standing six feet seven inches, Freuchen was an arctic explorer, journalist, author, and anthropologist. He participated in several arctic journeys (including a 1000miles dogsled trip across Greenland), starred in an Oscar winning film, wrote more than a dozen books (novels and nonfiction, including his Famous Book of the Eskimos), had a peg leg (he lost his leg to frostbite in 1926; he amputated his gangrenous toes himself), was involved in the Danish resistance against Germany, was imprisoned and sentenced to death by the Nazis before escaping to Sweden, studied to be a doctor at university, his first wife was Inuit and his second was a Danish margarine heiress, became friends with Jean Harlow and MaeWest, once escaped from a blizzard shelter by cutting his way out of it with a knife fashioned from his own feces, and last but certainly not least, won $64,000 on The $64,000 Question. 

My life is so plain and boring when I read that.