Now where did I read that...

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Waiting For The World To Be Right

There's been a lot of changes with me lately.
I've learned to control and/or hide my emotions far better than I thought would ever be possible for me. I'm really loving that.
I'm learning to be a little more mindful and a little less worried.
I'm at the point where being the lone wolf doesn't scare me and, in fact, I think I prefer it. Like, for good.

This is not the person I expected to ever be. Some of these changes are exactly what I wanted, others I never considered, nevermind thought possible.

I'll be leaving Korea in a matter of a couple weeks, to go home to be responsible for another human being. No pressure.

The last two years I've spent doing little but growing the hell up. It was way past due, but no easier because of it's lateness. I still feel overwhelmed by much of what I've had to learn in these last two years. To sum it up, think of everything you learned about yourself and the world between the ages of 11 and 21. That's what I've had to learn in 2 years. Don't tell me it doesn't sound hard. Teenage years suck enough the first time around! On top of all this, quitting drinking. I went off post to dinner alone last night, and caught myself thinking about the fact that nobody would know if I got an alcoholic drink. I didn't cave, but I was pretty upset with myself for thinking like that. I really don't want to go back to that.

So, two years of growing up and moving on to be responsible for another human being. Lord have mercy. This is scary. The thought of doing it all alone, for good, is both better and worse, but scary none the less. I don't know how to process all of this.

My Guardian Angel

Oh, Lord, look at the tears flow.
Angel is not his real name, but it might as well be. He knows that's what he is to me. That's not even his nickname, but it sure is his job title.
During the process of my divorce, I was planning on joining the Army. It turns out, I had to take a detour to get where I needed to go. I met a Soldier who was stationed at Ft. Hood, who was also going through a divorce. We met online, and I decided to move out there, as I was barely making ends meet waiting tables in Georgia. It only took about 2 weeks and one meltdown before he decided he was done with me. I had moved 2,000 miles from anyone I knew, all my family being in Maine at that point. My almost-ex-husband at that point was stationed in Ft. Lewis, WA. He was trying to make arrangements to, once again, come save me from myself, but the man-child I'd moved to Texas for wanted me out like yesterday. I got on the computer, and was trying to find shelters or cheap hotels to stay at til the ex got there. I was talking to another guy from the area I'd met online, asking him questions about the area. He listened to me talk about staying in shelters and such and, well, I'll never forget that conversation.
"You're really thinking about staying in a shelter?" He asked
"Yeah, I've done it before."
"So, here's a thought. Instead of risking your ass with a bunch of people you don't know, why don't you come stay on my couch- then you're only risking your ass with one person you kinda know."
I moved in with Angel that day. We met at an Arby's in the middle of town, and I followed him back to his place. I gave my dad all of his information. We didn't sleep together and, in fact, the whole situation was very awkward. He was quiet, and I felt like I was in his way more often than not.

I woke up on the couch one morning to him leaving- it must have been a weekend. I got up, folded the blankets, and tried to wake up a bit. As I was sitting there, groggy with sleep, he came back in, with breakfast for both of us. I was shocked by this act of kindness, and sat at the table and ate with him. There's another conversation I'll never forget.

"So, let me get this straight. You're staying with me til your soon-to-be-ex-husband can come pick you up so you can move to Washington so you can get on your feet while living with him... And he's in the Army, and you had wanted to join the Army, but he wouldn't let you when you were married. Right?"
"Yeah."
"So, why don't you just stay here until you get on your feet. I mean, you can either find a job, or join the Army, and then you wouldn't be living with your ex."
"Ummmmmmm............................."

I had nothing. So I stayed. I came home from a friend's house one day to hear him yell for me from his office. I came in, only to see a blow-up mattress, with sheets, pillows and a blanket. He'd organized my stuff a bit, too, so it wasn't quite so much like I was living out of my suitcases/car. I was blown away. I felt like I had a home.

A few days later, I was sitting in the living room, reading my book on the couch, when Angel came home from wherever he'd been. The quiet, shy, to-the-point guy I'd been staying with bursts out with "GIGGITY-GIGGITY! ALRIIIIIIGHT!" To date, he still does the best Quagmire impression I've ever seen. It doesn't worry me as much as it probably should.

I'll never forget the first time he (tried to) hug me, either. Sounds touching, right? Not so much.
I woke up late, he was home on his lunch break. I stumbled out to the living room. He came out of his room, smiling. He said he was glad I was up, and, when that made me look at him sideways, he asked for a hug, still smiling. I backed up three steps.
"Why?" I asked. That's all I really remember saying. I might have asked him what he was up to, but, eventually he admitted his unit had gone through the gas chamber that day, and his uniform still reeked of it.

These are the stories that have defined, shaped and founded a friendship I still don't quite understand. I love Angel dearly, and at one point wanted nothing more than to date him. Part of me still does, but another part is convinced that's not in the cards for us. I adore him, and always will. Despite his protection and love, I've never really opened up to him, though some of it, I suppose, is that we've spent less time near one another than we have apart. I adore him, in any case, and hope at some point that level of intimacy in our friendship improves- now that I understand the difference between intimacy and sex.

Angel helped me grow up, and pushed me to be the woman he knew I could be, instead of the girl who came into his life. The whole time we lived together, it was never a question of it being anything more than him looking out for me. He had an advantage, and I was so scared and naive at that point, I probably would have given in. He never took advantage of that situation, though, and I love him for it more each day.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

The Beauty Of Blind

There is a guy here I had a crush on for quite some time, one who used to work in the same office as one of the boys I consider my brother. After some flirtation, I asked my brother to pass long my number. He told me he did so, but that said guy, we'll call him Saint (after the team, not the religious icon) said he wasn't looking for anything, and more or less 'passed'. Flirtation continued, though, when I saw Saint, which seemed odd, but not entirely unusual.

Yesterday, I ran into Saint. I let him know I was leaving, and he was eager to get together and exchange numbers. I spent some time at one of the local pool halls with him and some friends last night, and we had a blast.

Turns out the feelings my "brother" professed recently seem to have skewed his judgment on what he should do. I'm disappointed, and kind of sad that I won't get to know Saint better before I leave. I suppose, though, that things work out as they're meant to.

I told Saint last night that "We're going to enjoy each other while we can, and what's meant to be will be, regardless."

Wait, where'd THAT come from? That doesn't sound like the Charli we all know.
Well, it's an improvement, so we'll see if it sticks.
Being mindful would be beneficial in an awful lot of ways if I have learned it.

Monday, June 28, 2010

Alone At The Cross Roads

What if I'm not meant to have someone?
What if I get more and more comfortable being by myself, and simply stay that way?
Would that be so bad?

This feeling isn't quite as sudden as it might sound.
I've always struggled with relationships, and, while I like having someone, I tend to move past people pretty quickly. Most of the longer relationships I've had were when I was younger, or extremely volatile. I'd be lying if I said I was confident that I would meet someone that made me want to stay. I have loved men, and oh Lord have I loved, but it seems odd that it's always the men I can't truly have for my own that I fall for. There are plenty of dynamics unique to the Army that make relationships even more complex than they would be anyway. I just wonder if the true reason for me being comfortable with these men is that, well, I don't want forever. To some degree, I do enjoy meeting new people and not knowing what will happen. Though I know far more about what I would like (in theory) in a relationship, does that mean I'm ready for one? I just don't know. I honestly feel right now that I am more ready than I'd ever expected to be for this settling down business. I just don't care, though. I have other focuses, and, well, I don't enjoy being alone, but having someone would limit my goals and abilities, and I don't know if or why I'd want that right now.

Tank and I are still close friends, and I can see so much of myself in him that it's frightening. His wife and children rarely see him. He's so wrapped up in his life, his career, his Soldiers and battle buddies, that he doesn't often spend any real time at home. He was recently diagnosed with Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) which I had suspected anyway. This left him crumbling, and made him question his worth, as it would any Soldier. My diagnosis of PTSD from before I ever joined the Army makes me question, seriously, how effective I can be on the battle field, and if my history with this disorder will be a helping factor in my dealing and healing or a threat to my health and stability. "Good Soldiers" do not have injuries or disorders, never mind the emotional/mental sort! That's what we're bred to understand, trained to believe. We don't, however, get the choice in whether or not we are struck with a problem. We are simply seen as failures for not being able to come home with that Purple Heart and all four limbs, unmarred from flesh to soul. While the mindset of Vietnam is long past, there are still plenty who see us as baby killers, and many of us who question ourselves for having to do what we have to do in battle. Those that claim they want to kill are generally the first to fall apart when they finally are on that end of the gun. We're all just humans doing our best to live up to our full potential, some of us to help our country, others because it what comes naturally.

Can I be a Good Soldier? Can I be a good Baha'i? Can I do both at once? Can I be either without needing/wanting a family at home waiting for me?
These are the struggles I face each day.

On Virginity And Me

[WARNING: Some graphic content/possible triggers]
I won't forget the day I lost my virginity. I won't forget that it was taken from me by a younger boy, nor will I forget the pregnancy and miscarriage that followed.
I won't forget the way it made me feel: I didn't recognize myself.
When I was browsing this blog about virginity in the queer/GLBT world, the phrase struck me like a sucker punch in an interview about BDSM.

BDSM and my virginity?! Holy hell. That threw me.

That's what I've been doing for the last ten years- I'm coming right up on the anniversary of the first rape now, it was a few days after Independence Day- trying to recognize myself again.

I was innocent. I won't ever get that back, I suppose. It's taken me almost the full decade to truly understand that some people genuinely go out looking for this sort of thing, which is sickening. I wanted to wait til I got married, if I ever got married. I didn't really want kids, and I wasn't sure I wanted marriage. I was fine being on my own, and I had big dreams. I was a unique kid, creating my own religion, as wrapped up in The Monkees and Shania Twain's early stuff (this was back in the mid- 90's) as I was with the Top 40 stuff on the radio. I was a racial minority as a "white" girl, until 2 years before I was raped.
I had just broken up with my boyfriend, a wonderful half-Puerto Rican boy four years my senior. We had dated for a year without having sex. A year at fourteen years old is a lifetime. I am still close to his family.

What happened after that?

I got into all sorts of things I shouldn't have. If we're being brutally honest, I don't remember half of those years. I remember my mother calling me a whore the moment she realized I was pregnant (the following morning, no less- I'd never seen mother's intuition so strong in that household). I remember the fights over getting an abortion- I refused the thought, she insisted, which wound up in a Mexican standoff in which I would not go anywhere near any medical facility with her, and mostly wouldn't leave the house with her at all. I think she even made me an appointment at one point, I never did go. I miscarried the baby alone one night. I had nightmares for the first time in the 3 or so months I was pregnant, and woke to find the house empty. I crawled into my mother's bed, and woke to find myself in a pool of blood. I cried, and later watched parts of my unborn child pass out of my body on their own. After that, Mom started throwing me out of her house, other times I'd get sick of the fighting, drinking, etc, and leave on my own. I started dating much older men to have a place to live when I was gone. I started drinking. My fear of anything harder than Smirnoff Ice may be the only thing that kept me from losing control completely. The heartburn from a couple six packs of that stuff was cruel. I was hospitalized for something every few months, thanks to good ol' Munchhausen's-by-proxy. I didn't recognize myself, and I only got farther into that problem.

A decade later, I'm sober, honest as I ever was, twice as difficult, and, well, on my way to being as hard-headed about my dealings with the opposite gender as I once was. I'll admit that being alone has not been my strong suit since. My behavior, at times, has reflected, almost eerily, that of Christina Ricci's character in Black Snake Moan. That knowledge is both terrifying and painful. It's interesting to see other folks' initial reactions to that movie. Non-rape-survivors tend to look dumbfounded and rather caught in a web of disbelief at this movie- and they generally do not care for the movie. Most survivors I know, though, can relate.

Maybe the peace I'm finding is simply me starting to recognize myself again.
Maybe I'm finally getting back to those big dreams I started so many years ago.
I will never forget every second I spent in the back of that little red Ford Fiesta-
but that doesn't mean I have to forget who I was before that.

Here's to survival.

I'm Not Sari


I have a fascination with all things India.
When I got married, back in 2005, I wore a red sari or saree, and I absolutely loved it. Honestly, it was far more comfortable than any other dress I've ever worn. It was also incredibly beautiful.
I'm not sure how me wearing one would go over down in El Paso, but I plan on finding out. I found a website full of incredibly beautiful, unique saris and I can't wait to get some. I'm also excited to take belly dancing classes when I get back.
I have no idea where this fascination came from, or when. I have loved the Indian culture for as long as I can remember. I remember being interested in Hinduism, too, though the angry god phenomenon was not something I knew how to adapt to. These were the days back when I had stumbled across the Baha'i faith for the first time, but was many, many years from finding anyone who believed. I remember feeling like a fraud trying to claim or follow something I couldn't pronounce- and the pronunciation was, in fact, the one thing about the Faith that I couldn't grasp. I was eleven or twelve at this point. Go figure.

I want, desperately, to visit India. I can't see taking leave from the U.S. and paying that amount of money, but I hope to get stationed in Europe at some point, and that would make it far less expensive. Even if I come back to Korea, I think I would do it. I am fascinated by this place, despite, and maybe partially because of, it's poverty. It is not what I know, and that makes it that much more fascinating.

In the U.S. we don't display our Faith. It seems to me, we may be the only country/culture who doesn't. A hijab is worn by women of the Muslim faith, while married Hindu women wear a bindi. The yarmukle is worn by Jewish men to show their respect for God (they also don't ever write the full name of God as I do here, of course) by separating themselves from Him by wearing a hat or cap between their head and the heavens. On the political side of things, the keffiyeh is a symbol of Palestinian nationalism.

While I suppose the lack of display of faith in the states has a way of equalizing folks, it seems to me to be a pity. I have a sweatshirt that reads I heart Baha'i guys and a t-shirt that has a bar code with the word Baha'i under it. I am extremely proud of my faith, and try to be as encouraging to others to ask about it as I know how. I have introduced probably a dozen or so folks to it since I've been studying, and just letting people know it exists makes me happy. I don't have any intentions of attempting to convert anyone. After all, nobody converted me. I discovered it, asked a lot of questions, and, when the time as right, I declared.

I'm already heavily tattooed, and have considered getting a Baha'i tattoo. I will probably get one once I return to the states, perhaps the ringstone symbol, but here in South Korea it is prohibited. I want, more than anything, to be able to show others my faith without having to speak a word. I am blessed to have found this, and to live in the age of entry by troops, and to have so many supportive folks around me. It's a pretty amazing feeling to believe in something so much you want to share it with the world.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Waiting For Forever

I am horribly impatient with men.
At twenty four, I have been divorced for three years, and, well, I'm tired of being single.
My faith tempers my impatience some, because I know there's a reason for it taking so long to meet the right person, and I have no doubt that they'll be worth it, but, well, I WANT ITTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



I have been through the fire, and I like to think I'm ready for the one. (Are any of us ever really ready for things like marriage and children?? I tend not to believe that's possible.) I'm not going to lie and say I'm not enjoying my time alone, but, well, I'm ready to start enjoying my time with someone else.

Friday, June 25, 2010

Laughter Of Love

I needed this reminder today.
G.W. is a fellow Baha'i, and one of my indirect mentors. I have been reading his blog for quite some time now, and was, well, stoked to realize he'd been reading mine as well, after the first time he linked to/quoted my blog. That is uplifting to say the least.
Once again, he has referenced my writing in his blog, and it made me smile. It is interesting to see what others would choose to highlight of my writing, and I laugh as I read my own words. I forget just how, er, unique I am sometimes. I had a Korean-American friend of mine tell me, quite pointedly, last night that he's never met someone as honest as I am. It was a very positive comment, though it took me by surprise. I forget, too often perhaps, that honesty shocks people. It is part of who I am and, clearly, a part that some people find attractive.
Identity is something I don't so much struggle with, not nearly the way others do, but it is something I struggle to be aware of. I had my wishy-washy teenage years, of course, but, as an adult, and even more so since I've began to settle into the Faith, I am far more comfortable without a label, just enjoying being who I already am.
That's not to say it's all smooth sailing, of course.
I am only human, and, while probably more aware of my quirks than many, I sure do struggle with them. Relationships are at the absolute top of that list. Even as I see more and more what I need and want in a relationship for it to last, I struggle with my own wants and questions. I am preparing to leave South Korea for the states. Korea is a place, in Army culture, where folks get in a lot of trouble because we feel like this isn't home, we're let off the chain to party and have fun. There are some who take it to extremes, and that never does anyone any good. As for myself, however, I have actually settled down and come into my own here. This place hasn't taken me away from home so much as become my home. I think it's impossible to not truly grow in a place and not feel that it is somehow a home to you.
So much of me wants to party and let loose these last few weeks, but celebrating or anything of the sort involves people. What happens when Charli is around people? She gets emotionally attached.
It's not so much a matter of not knowing what type of person I want in my life at this point. I know, down to an almost startling detail, what kind of person I want in my life for keeps. I want a Baha'i. I want someone who is not skinny, someone who I do not feel large or awkward next to, as I am not petite at five ft nine and a perfectly healthy and athletic 170lbs. I want someone who comes across as almost too tough to people, but can open up to someone they trust. Race is not an issue, so long as they understand what it's like to be a minority and don't fall into the "colorblind" fallacy. (Race still exists, and pretending racism doesn't is nothing short of negligent.) I know just what I want- but I'm all too aware that I won't be finding that in the next 2 weeks. It doesn't take much for me to get attached, though, as people are my favorite past time.
I love people. People as a whole, I mean- there are some folks who definitely make the "Love Thy Neighbor" commandment way harder than it needs to be. (I suspect it has more to do with them not loving themselves than how they feel about other people, but that's another blog.) I really love hearing people's stories and learning what it is that is their truth in life. Everyone has different experiences, but we all have more in common than different. I have yet to meet a person I couldn't relate to on some level, so long as they were open and honest. Liking them is another matter, but sometimes these things take time and effort.
I truly believe people are the best investment you can make. Unlike a bank, you can never completely withdraw yourself from someone once you have put part of yourself and your time into a person. There are plenty of things that can influence the return you get on that investment, but the more positivity you put in, the more you will get out overall. There will always be those that are higher-risk investments than others but, just like Wall Street, these are usually the ones that have the highest return on your investment, too.
My best friend, Cricket, is a woman I have yet to meet face to face. I won't ever forget how we met. His name was Mike, and he is from West Monroe, Louisiana, though I couldn't tell you where he's living now. We had both been led on and betrayed by this man, in different but not dissimilar ways. I didn't know who she was, but she was a follower of the blog I used to write on Myspace- the earliest days of my internet writing addiction. I got an email one day from a woman asking about the picture of the beautiful little house in Louisiana that I had posted. It was Mike's place, and she knew it as well as I did, if not better. She had been following my blog, it turned out, because when she stumbled across it, she realized this friend of her boyfriend had been through much of what she had. I discussed openly then, as I do now, the effects that the sexual assaults I have experienced have had on me, and how I deal with them, or not. It was a very emotional time for me to begin with. My divorce was in the works, and the second rape had occurred less than a year prior. We started talking- quite guardedly at first- and, after she tried to give Mike just one more chance, well, she realized that some leopards have no interest in zebra stripes, and she moved on. Our friendship flourished when I left for basic training. She wrote me more often in those six months than anybody besides my Dad. She sent a care package or two, and made my time there much easier. I forget, sometimes, that this woman was once my "competition" for a boy I wanted for my own. She is nearly 20 years my senior, another thing I forget, as she has become both my best friend and my sister in a way I can't begin to rationally explain. Opening up to "my competition" was one of the riskiest investments I've made in my life, and I just don't know where I'd be without her now. Late night phone calls, tears, facebook posts, plotting against the men in our lives together, and ranting about them to one another... If ever the nightmares become too much, she's the only person I want to talk to. She understands. I love her for it, and know that my risky investment has paid of tenfold.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Pain And Prayer

I was in third grade when I broke my leg jumping into an empty swimming pool on a dare.
I didn't cry until my mother told my stepdad. The man was my frikkin hero! I was so embarrassed!
Prayer reminds me of this moment so many years ago.
I know I need to pray most when I want to the least.
I have to let go of my pride to talk to the One I need to talk to most. I have a lot of pride.

It takes a lot of work to talk to God when I know I've done something I was told not to, especially when that something goes against common sense.

Even at twenty-four years old, after doing PLENTY of those somethings, there are still tears sometimes.

I am overwhelmed right now, physically not doing so hot, and I know that stress is playing a part in what I'm going through right now. I miss having people to lean on the way I did when my brothers were here. I miss them so much. I had a family then. It's a rare feeling for me. My Daddy is my family, period. When he needs me, I have to be strong. There's nothing wrong with that, and I am glad to have the relationship with him that I do.
The experience of having brothers, though, was wonderful. Ku, B, Rob, G and Huggy gave me what I thought the Army was supposed to be. They had my back. In the middle of the night, I didn't have one person I could call- I had five. I knew how they'd respond, I knew who to call for what, and they were proud of me and still let me look after them without race, gender, age or rank being a factor in how they saw me. I want that back. They gave me advice and taught me more about the Army and life than any teacher, NCO or parent has or could have. I know life in Texas will be different than anything I've ever known, and I will make friends, and adapt. I know I will blossom there, because it's what I do. Life gives me a hard time, and I make it look like a joke off a Bazooka wrapper. THIS IS WHAT I DO. I was baptized by fire, these things scare me, but, really, they never touch me in the end. I just wish I could bring that family with me. I wish I didn't have to start all over again. Now that I know what it is to be in one place for a while, I'm just not sure I want to start fresh. It's frustrating and painful.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Charli, Princess Of Persia

Persia, or modern-day Iran, is a holy place to Baha'i folk, as well as that of current turmoil for our people. Our people are shamelessly persecuted there. It is painful for us to speak of our brothers and sisters who are currently imprisoned there.
It is a place deeply symbolic of all the Baha'i faith stands for, in my own opinion. Amongst the struggles and crimes committed against our people, still there is a Baha'i community present and working for the betterment of the global community. If fighting to overcome oppression peacefully and attempting to create a better world in the meantime isn't symbolic of our community and faith, I simply don't know what is.
A friend of mine, married to a beautiful Persian woman, suggested amongst my relationship struggles, that I make friends with a Persian mother so that she might introduce me to an available Persian Baha'i man she might know. I giggled at the time, but I have begun corresponding with the first Persian I've had the fortune to meet, and I must say, I am rather thrilled with his intellect and knowledge of the world. He's handsome, dark, tall, athletic, educated, and just all around seems wonderful. My friend may not be quite as bias as I once thought!
I have an ever-increasing network of Baha'is in my life- world-wide now- and I am thrilled at this. I have always loved people, but there's a different quality about the Baha'i community. We trust each other, depend on each other. Every time I speak to a new Baha'i it is much the same; we begin with the sizing up, ensuring that the other is not of the rare sort that preaches just a little too much or remembers their own humanity just a tad too rarely. Once we've established that neither of us are amongst that group, we hit it off quite well, and find that we have a great deal in common, and that we both have quite a bit of interesting things to say and discuss. At least by military standards, if not American or human standards, the sizing-up period tends to be quite brief, though I think it's a natural and much-needed part of human interaction.
I seem to be hitting crossroads in my life at a rate of one or two a month now, and that's no joke. I feel the growth happening, and it's simply overwhelming some days. I find myself with nothing to do at work and hours left to do it in, and I'll start browsing Islam blogs or information sheets on the internet, as that is one part of the faith I have very little understanding of, as of yet. I'll read race blogs or Google sub-topics of diversity or world news. I know it wasn't all that long ago that I had little to no knowledge of the world I live in, but now, well, I get it, and I keep right on getting it. Perhaps this sounds a bit cocky, but I'm quite impressed with all the progress I've made.
I am realizing that my relationship and dating habits are becoming much more solid, in a sense, but much more fluid in another. I am rapidly learning what I do not like, and becoming much more able to identify that in folks before it gets far at all. I was rather amused by a rumor I heard about myself the other day. As is typical for the military life, there was a rumor that I'd slept with a good male friend of mine. While the rumor wasn't particularly amusing, and the friend isn't an unattractive man in any way, I found this amusing because I knew spot-on why I would never date this man seriously- he is in a state of healing emotionally, and physically much too aggressive. I want the exact opposite- someone who is tough, even to the point of being a little bit of a roughneck, emotionally, within reason, but who is very passive physically. I understand why now, too. I've finally truly started healing from my past traumas, and I see now what it is I truly want, as opposed to what I felt I would have to expect.
I am realizing what it is to know that I want only a specific person- and not to jump at the chance to just not be alone anymore. I am learning. Am I ready to settle down with one person for the rest of my life? Lord only knows. The thought of that makes my head spin. I suppose it'll all work itself out when it's meant to, but I certainly feel more prepared for the possibility of it now.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Gentle

As tends to happen, I am currently pretty profoundly blown away by recent progress in my life.
Progress suits this all much more than the word events.
It's not the events that startle me, it's the incredible, powerful, mind-boggling knowledge that has sprung from it.
Relationships have been a focus for me for much too long, which isn't anything new, and they have always confused me on an inexplicable level.
It's never been that I've had trouble "getting" guys- be it on the intellectual "I get it" level or the "my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard" attraction level. I rarely have a hard time communicating with anyone for long, if at all, and, well, I understand people. I'm a fairly attractive woman. I don't have a huge ego, but I don't want for attention from the male gender, either.

I've survived two rapes by men who knew me.
I still struggle with survivor's guilt, questioning every choice, breath and action from those days. I have questioned myself many, many times over those events. The fact of the matter is, though, that they both happened. The fact of the matter is, it was wrong.

I never thought I could enjoy someone being gentle with me- emotionally and physically.
I've become quite used to pushy, rough, over-eager and rude men. I'm used to it being about hormones, and physical attraction and a whole slew of other, artificial things I had never realized played so much into my experiences. Now, though, I get it.

Sweet, slow, soft. Things I never thought I could enjoy. I always related these things to men who were the nice guys, the ones who could never stand up to me or for me, the weak ones. It turns out, the hard-headed rough-necks are perfectly capable of this, too.

It turns out, I really, really want someone who can be both, and intelligent too. I'm not going to lie, where looks are concerned, I'm not very picky. I don't like skinny guys, but I don't get ridiculous about anything more than that. I just really see how much I've been settling now, and I want to make it stop, now. I realized what it is I could have, and how well I could be treated, and I don't want anything more than I want to be at a place where I can have that stable home life, and have that person in my life to love and lean on, and know that they're there for me, thick or thin.

Now, if I can find a dark haired, dark-eyed Baha'i man with all of these features, well, I just couldn't complain about that, now could I?

I have some really good Baha'i friends in my life, plenty of them male, and I can't help but think that, as wonderful as they are, we met for other purposes. I don't think I've met the one I'm meant to be with just yet.

Friday, June 18, 2010

Lady Likes

He opens doors for me.
He tells me I'm beautiful, and doesn't refer to me as a woman, girl, chick, b*tch or female- he always calls me a lady.
He's nervous to kiss me, and sex isn't even a topic for discussion, never mind a worry.
He asks me what I'm thinking- and listens to the answers.
He worries about me, and reminds me to be safe.
He's gentle with me, and my heart, and tells me he'd never want to hurt me.

I was sitting in class the other day, talking to a friend of mine and, before I'd realized there were only about five of us in the room, I said something that doesn't sound much like me.
"Why are the only guys who realize how awesome I am already married?"
Oh, I've complained about the good ones being taken before, but, me? Awesome?
When did I even start using that word?
I realized it'd came from talking to Tank about things, as that's one of his favorite words, though I'm not sure he'd ever used it to describe me specifically- he likes picking on me for fun, and the heckling goes both directions.
I've realized since I've been up here in these last two weeks that all the crap that I've had to fight for the last two years will probably be coming back with reinforcements as soon as I hit the states. Alcohol? Oh yeah- now I won't have to worry about it popping up on the system my commander can see when I buy liquor. Self-esteem? Ha, now I'll be back with the rest of the world, where it's not just Korean girl and American female Soldiers in the runnings. Whether this will be a plus or a kick in the ovaries, we'll find out.
Hopefully, it will be easier to surround myself with people of my own faith. I can only hope. It took quite some time for me to find fellow Baha'i folks here, but I would assume back in the U.S. it would be easier. I sure hope that's the case, though adapting to a new set of people, and waiting for them to adapt to my outgoing, straight-forward, shoot-from-the-hip nature, well, that will be an adventure for sure. I'm a great person, but Lord made me a handful.
Anyway, it's odd to me that so many things just seem to be settling right now. I assume it's because of the bigger things on their way, but, well, it's nice to see things fitting the way I've been wanting them to. I'm not as worried about dating, and my body is not number one on my list of stress factors for once, either. Things are getting better, I suppose, and it's about time.
Someday, I will find someone who loves me and treats me like a lady and who's conversation I miss as much as their touch and they will be all mine.
Or else, I will do it alone.
There's no need to give in, or give up.

Boots & Boys

I'm feeling like a human blur right now. I'm exhausted, but I feel like I'm juggling a million things, even while sitting in my room trying to get my thoughts sorted out, and wishing I was anywhere but here.
The poem in this article brought back memories of a couple conversations I've had recently. I can relate to the poem- I constantly feel like I'm translating for people. I watched a movie with a buddy from class the other night- Percy Jackson And The Olympians: The Lightning Thief- which is a fantastic movie, by the way. I think we were about 15 minutes into the movie, maybe 30, when I looked at the screen and said 'Why is the only minority in this movie the main character's protector?' My buddy stopped and, being a white male, noted that he wouldn't have realized that if I hadn't pointed it out. This movie was made this year. It's a wonderful movie, but the one person of color in this movie is a protector who spends more of his time chasing tail than doing much else, though he is depicted as a good guy. He is a black male.
It really bothers me how much black folks are depicted sexually versus everyone else. Black females in particular.
The other conversation I had was with another white male friend, also in the Army. To be honest, he's the first white man to not only agree with my views on race, but to be able to finish my sentences on that. He grew up "without race" as he explained it, those being his exact words. His stepfather was in the Navy, and he- we will call my friend Tank- grew up without ever noting race. His stepfather could speak proper English (by American standards, anyhow) as well as being fluent in the language known to Americans as Ebonics. While I don't know that there is enough separation between the media and Ebonics to keep the majority of Gen-X and younger Americans ignorant of the language, you also don't notice a lot of older white folks speaking this way. Hell, in some places, that's something white folks simply don't do. I can understand, all to well, Tank's frustration with the racial separatism I've seen so much in the Army, and the way some people depict themselves. The fact that an over-sexed, violent, under-educated culture is celebrated in music and in practice is embarrassing, I would think, to all involved. I like hip-hop, but have a harder and harder time with the more violent/sexual lyrics. I think it reflects badly on American culture as a whole, and only perpetuates ridiculous racial and gender stereotypes.
It was interesting to me, not to mention a bit relieving, to see two so very different realities expressed by two men of the same race. It's no secret at this point that I don't date many white men. I have very strong opinions when it comes to race, with a lot of experience behind them, and most white men a) simply don't know what it is to be a minority and b) don't really want to be bothered by the uncomfortable subject.
Things are getting better, but we're not out of the woods yet, folks.
The first male I referred to is a wonderful guy, and I've really enjoyed spending time with him these last few weeks. He showed me what it is to be a single woman, and was the first to really give me a nudge on enjoying that part of my life. Tank, I think, was sent to me for the opposite reason.
Tank and I have been friends for a while. We've related to one another on levels that are often hard to describe and not always comfortable to acknowledge with other folks. He has PTSD, as I do, though his is from doing his job. He absolutely refuses to label himself PTSD- a sentiment I can understand all too well at this point- and mostly refuses to believe that's what it is, though he can identify the demons individually, and has no doubt as to from whence they came. He is a truly wonderful man, and I'm not at all ashamed to say I love him. It's hard not to love someone who you relate to on so many levels. I can only hope I am able to push him to help himself, because seeing the way he hurts himself and his family pains me deeply, though it takes quite a bit to get that through to him.
When Tank and I first met, he tried to throw me attitude, hoping I'd go away just like every other female he managed to irritate and piss off within 10 minutes of meeting. No such luck, my friend, I am not so easily scared off. I thought he was amusing, and maintained a friendship with him. Emails sustained and, recently, I got to spend some time hanging out with him that only solidified what we both knew- we were way too much alike. The conversations we've had over these last few days are honestly mind-blowing. He refuses to let me accept the idea that I'm not meant to be with anyone, and refuses to let me believe that things will be as hard as I think they will. He thinks I can do anything, and that I deserve the best.
He is married, I should add, and happily, so don't go taking this as a relationship. My friendship with this man-beast means far more to me than any relationship ever could.
To see a self-proclaimed a-hole open up and speak about things like race on such an honest level, particularly someone who could so easily allow his view to be engulfed by white male privilege, as so many others do, touched me deeply. To talk to someone about my experiences, about my own wild ride with PTSD and all the things it came from, and have them tell me I'm beautiful and worth the absolute best... It blew me away.
This friendship, I say again, is worth more to me than any relationship ever could be.
We understand each other, and that's something I don't think I've really experienced like this before.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Front Toward Enemy

A claymore mine contains 750 steel balls and a pound of C4. That's a board question for you sergeant wanna-be's.

I'm 26 days from getting on a plane and leaving the last two years of my life in a blaze of dust and glory, or something like that. I will fly out of Korea on the 14th of July, to return home. Am I excited? You have no idea. What's stranger, though, is that I'm absolutely petrified. I am not going home to relax for 30 days like most people do. I am going home, at most for 21 days, though I have no intention of taking all the time I requested, and spending a few days with my Dad and a few days tracking down the unit I really want to be attached to as opposed to the one I have orders to, and then signing in after probably more like 7 days off.

I've been in the Army for nearly three years now. August 21st, I will be authorized a Good Conduct Medal, and my very first service stripe. I have the overwhelming feeling that it is now that I am finally really understanding and fully grasping my life, and the Army. I have been through some serious stuff, and I am going to go through some other serious stuff, especially in the Army. I am finally grasping what I am going to have to do to survive this life in one piece, and I'd be lying if I said I was all that confident about it.

I'm blessed with faith and an understanding of my place in this world that most do not have, particularly at the young age of 24. I don't feel 24- most days, I feel like I should be applying for social security benefits any day- but I am old for my age, and I am told this often enough to know that it is true.

I will be going home to a place where I no longer have any real support structure, and I will be the sole provider for myself and my father. There will be no more "I" and there will be no more flippant or impulsive choices, particularly not with money. I won't have that luxury any more.

Am I ready for it? Will I ever know the answer to that question? I don't think anyone has ever said they are ready to be responsible for anyone else. I love my Daddy, and I know I'd give absolutely anything to take care of him as best I could, so I know I will blow this thing out of the water, and probably make it look easy, because that is who I am and what I do. The process scares the ever-loving crap out of me, though.

It's like the backwards version of having children, in a way. People have a little more say in having kids, and they usually see it coming, at least by about 9 months or so. Granted, I probably got more of a heads up on this than that, in a way, but reality sure has taken it's sweet time setting in. I won't have a spouse to share responsibilities with, and there's really no predicting exactly what responsibilities will be on my plate, as diagnoses and time shift things like the wind shifts sand.

I sit here, after successfully completing a school that bored me almost to tears, looking at the room I have spent the last two weeks living in, knowing I should be packing, but feeling I have to get things out of my system before I can focus on anything.

There are two men in my life right now that were sent to teach me something, and I'm a little confused as to what, exactly, that was. One, I think, was to prove to me that I am absolutely fine alone, and that I enjoy being alone more than I would like to admit. The other, I think was to remind me that, while I may enjoy being alone, there are men out there who are everything I want and will treat me as I want to be treated. The fact of the matter is, I just don't have that much say in the way my life is supposed to turn out. I have a sneaking suspicion God thought I might just be getting too big for my britches and needed me to remember that, while I'm growing up, I'm not grown yet... I'm not running this show, and it was time I remembered that. I don't like it when He's right all the time, but I'm learning to shut up and take orders like a good Soldier should. Funny how that works.

I'm not sure where I'll spend tonight. I'll either be back in my own barracks, or at a hotel, avoiding people for an evening, which is something I can desperately use right now.
But that may be frivolously spending money, which is a choice I should not be making at this point. There goes that grown up thing again.

"You know what I learned this week, Brian? Being a grown up SUCKS!" -Stewie Griffin

Monday, June 14, 2010

Sand Through The Hourglass Figure


I'm not built like a "white girl".
I looked like a dancer as a child, long legs and slender build, high cheek bones, large eyes... A lack of coordination and a wild streak a mile wild killed ballet lessons after not too long. I was young, and I don't remember that year well, but I can't imagine I was an easy child to control.
Around the time I hit fourteen- perhaps it was the short-lived pregnancy at such a young age that did it- My hips went out, and I didn't grow much taller after that, though I was expected to be 6 ft at one point. I gained and lost weight, but my shape never was quite the same. I was too slender to fit in on Mom's side of the family, but still a bit curvier than the women on my Dad's side. My Dad's mother and I bear a striking resemblance, though my hips are about as wide now as hers were after four live births.
I'm past the point of hiding my thick legs under whatever works to cover them up. I'm tired of acting like my body is something to be bothered by. Yes, of course, I have self-conscious periods just like everyone else does, but I've been anorexic, I went through bulimia, I did so many horrible things to my body, and still I am in better shape, without trying, than many women have ever been. I can't be mad at that. I won't always see what other people do when it comes to my looks, but they're mine, and I'm learning.
I spent an hour and a half on the cross-fit cardio machine today. It was one step down from running, and my heartbeat was above 140 almost the entire time. It felt great. I watched many people come and go, and had plenty look at me in an odd way when they realized I was still going without problem. I don't know why it's suddenly become so much easier for me to do cardio activity, but I am truly, truly enjoying it. I want to get to the point where I am able to hit the gym every day and enjoy it. I've gotten much better about it all, but I still have some miles to cover before I can make it a daily thing. I am fortunate to know my body well enough to realize when I am at risk of hurting myself or overdoing it, and when I need to push fluids, etc.
I truly feel like I am at a turning point in my life. There's plenty I'm confused and worried about right now, but the weight is so much lighter on my shoulders than it once was. The parts of myself that I worked so hard for so long to improve seem to finally be settling into normalcy, as a part of who I am, rather than a struggle I must endure. I have no doubt that there will always be another mountain to climb, but I can't help feeling that I have reached the peak of the largest.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Bad Girlfriend/Good Baha'i?

So, there's been a few jokes about me among my roughneck-is-an-understatement friends/battle buddies these last few days.
"Virgin Slayer" and "Black Widow" seem to be the top ranking two nicknames I may be answering to any day.
I am in infantry land right now, and it is completely different than anything I've seen before. I was amazed at the attention I started getting from guys when I came to Korea, especially once I started girl-ing up a bit. Infantry land, however, is insane. I get gawks and stares on a level I didn't know was possible. This paired with my sweet-but-naive boyfriend, well, the guys think it's hilarious. I can see their point.
After the jokes, though, I started to realize something. I've always sort of found an identity in the off-the-wall jokes and nicknames and, well, this isn't the worst identity I could have come along just now. No, I don't mean tearing through men like they're tissues, I mean, well, not worrying about them so much. I've treated every guy in my life like this potential relationship and why in the world is that right?! How can it be? I've been treating guys who really don't even know me that well like they have an inherent right to have an opinion or part when it comes to my life. That's exactly what's been turning me around and getting me hurt. It's fine that I want to care about someone and not hurt others, but I do not need to give anyone else control over my life. They are not a part of my world until I make them a part of it.
I have lost focus of the things that are the most important to me in life plenty because of the men I have let into my life prematurely. Honor is a good man, but he is not special in that aspect. It's great that I found a good man, but it was premature.
Why am I letting the customers dictate this? It's my carnival, I'll run it how I want to!

Made Of A Different Wood/Marching To A Different Beat

So here's a pretty interesting spin on the idea of folks marching to different beats...
I have been interested in the drums I've seen used at drum circles and in other random places/times for quite a while now, and just stumbled across the name of one type of drum that I'm interested in taking a go at.
Djembe drums are beautiful, and the type I've seen used more than any other. What caught me about the drum-to-person analogy, though, is it's quite easy to relate.
There are many types of wood used, and each wood makes a different sound. Pretty easy to see how that relates to people, huh? The other factor that caught me is that, the smoother the inside, the better the sound.
Wow.
It is hard work smoothing out the inside of a drum, be it a real drum or that of analogy.
I think rhythm, harmony and a sweeter sound echoing from our hollow places is something we can all use a little more of in our lives, no?

Friday, June 11, 2010

Growing Pains

That's what Daddy used to call them, growing pains.
Most parents, presumably medically employed parents in particular, used this term for the physical aches of, well, growing. As a kid, I remember random body aches right around the time I hit growth spurts.
The physical aches, though, were never what Daddy was referring to. I have him to blame/thank for my utter inability to ignore the fact that the miserableness is part of a process of growth. Plenty of people don't see this, I know. I learned this about the time I realized I was the only one I knew who said things like "I don't know what this is supposed to teach me, but I don't like getting there."
I don't handle change well, and I think now is one of those times when that's what's happening.
As a teenager, I was told my behaviors and emotions were out of my control, and was taught quickly to attribute them to a list of diagnoses a mile long that would be, much later, completely debunked. I spent ages eleven through a couple months before my twenty-first birthday not taking responsibility for my actions, believing that I was a burden, and different, a flawed human being who could never function as others did, and who would inevitably scar the lives of those she burdened. Thankfully my husband (circa 2005-2007, anyway) saw fit to take me out of the place where I had learned this and try to show me better. While it was a process, and much of it came during and after the divorce and still later, he believed in me and that opened the door to, well, everything. He taught me how to take responsibility, he was the first person to hold me accountable for my actions.
I am twenty four now. Lord, it's been a long road since that day. We divorced, I moved around the country a couple times in a few months, I met some pretty jacked up people who believed I was every bit as flawed as I'd been told, and others who couldn't imagine me being less than capable of changing the world. I joined the Army, got injured, survived a hellacious time in basic training, completed medic training and got shipped to Korea. I've been in Korea for two years, and am preparing to return home in about a month. There is a mirror on the door at the end of the bed I'm sitting on right now, and all I can think is: Who is that?!
I remember being thirteen years old and hearing adults talk about going to work and how grown-up and important it sounded. I remember being so excited to finally get a job when I was fourteen. I remember looking at maps and globes and being amazed at all the places in the world I'd probably never go, most of which I'd never heard of before. I remember seeing women with long, beautiful hair on the reservations and wondering if I'd ever be as beautiful or as peaceful as them.
This woman staring back at me in the mirror has spent two years living in and traveling a country on the opposite side of the world from where she was born, only three years after she'd never driven 2 hours by herself. She can hop on a train in South Korea and not worry about the fact that she's in a foreign country. Her dark hair reaches past her waist. She's able to keep her calm when people begin to yell, she can hide the tears when she wants to cry, and she can be the rock when someone needs to lean. She is tattooed and tough, and very aware of the fact that she still has much to learn, despite all the stories she has to tell. She can make friends with anyone, attracts animals and children, and can carry on conversations with strangers in public that most people are afraid to have with their own offspring. She doesn't drink or smoke, and is trying to stop swearing. She's not scared to live or to fall or to hurt. She has been a leader, and has taken responsibility for the actions of others junior to her, and has refused to blame others for things that were partially their fault. She has taken control, taken the lead, and taken her whole life in her hands and made it better for her and everyone in it. She's not afraid.

Submitting

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
Scary Mommy wrote an entirely sarcastic blog entry on the video she embedded in her blog.
The woman speaking in this video is certainly true to her beliefs. She wants nothing more than to be the woman her husband needs, and what a goal! She quotes the bible accurately, referencing how God wants us, as women, to be our husband's helper, and notes that God doesn't tell us, in the Bible, exactly what our marriages should look like.
Thank God I'm Baha'i, because I remember, right at this moment, why I struggled so much with
trying to be the proverbial Good Christian. I cannot wrap my head around the thought that there are women out there who genuinely believe that their entire identity is based solely on the man they married.
I feel like I should be saying Hail Marys for thinking about all of this.
I'm struggling with my relationship right now. I haven't ended it, and I haven't strayed, but my heart is anything but in it. He'll be gone for several more weeks, and I have spent more time wondering if there's something wrong with me for feeling the need to let go of this than missing him. The thought of basing my identity on this man, as much as I adore him as a person, would flatten me completely. I have taught
him things that, in some countries, I would be imprisoned for. I pointed out lines in the Bible that made him realize he couldn't take literally. I taught him about musicians and political leaders that there was no conceivable reason he didn't have a proper grasp on. He's Christian and I love that he has faith, but, well, this is one more way I see that this relationship is probably not quite on the level playing field it should be.
I had intended to go into a rant about marriages and a woman trying to alter or obtain her identity for or from her male partner- or anyone altering/obtaining their identity because of their romantic partner. Now, though, I see the reason I needed to see this: I need to really pull my head out of my fourth point of contact and get a very clear, very defined idea of what it is I actually do want in a relationship/marriage. I was so intent on finding "a good man" that when I finally did, I realized I was oblivious to specific qualities. Go figure.
I'll tell you now, the ability to carry on an intelligent conversation is number one on the list. I do not believe for one second my identity should be derived from my romantic partner. I do, however, believe that we represent each other, and I have no intention or desire to represent a man who comes across as less than intelligent and peaceful to those around him. I may need to work on these qualities a bit myself, as I tend to be a bit of a free spirit, but I know what I respect in others, and love is derived from respect.
I'm a Soldier, but I swear sometimes my discipline just goes straight out the window. I can see why I needed this life, but I wonder sometimes how long I can possibly go on with it. I enjoy it, but I know I would absolutely love the opportunity to express myself more on the day-to-day, and not worry about the consequences of being an individual. None the less, that discipline and focus is something I truly admire in others. I suppose there's a difference between respecting a quality and truly possessing it. I think if I had that sort of personality, though, that my path in life would be insanely different than it is now. I wouldn't be able to take that chance to talk to people I don't even know about race and religion and anything else that seems to apply in random places and scenarios. I wonder if I'll ever find a man who has these qualities but also has the faith that is such a must in my world.
It's not the first time that I've wondered if I'm meant to have a partner down this long road that I've been set upon.

WORE OUT!

Holy cow.
This class is ridiculously easy, I passed the first test today with flying colors, but if there is ANYTHING I'm learning from this class, it's that I would much rather be doing manual labor than sitting in a classroom all day. I would rather be physically sore, worn out and beat up than bored to death and sleepy.
I'm exhausted, and I didn't DO ANYTHING! Missed three on the test today, and some folks missed upwards of twenty. You could miss up to fourteen. It wasn't hard in the least, and it was open-note. I mean, really? Missing 27 on an open-note test is amazing. I sure didn't need my notes for the vast majority of that test, either. Some people are just lazy, I guess, but I really hope they understand their mistakes (and that failing on purpose isn't getting them out of anything, because their commander can give them the job with or without the class) and learn from them.
I managed to get laundry in the washer today before I got comfy, which is the only way it was going to get done. Now I just have to get up the energy to put it in the dryer.... and then get it out of the dryer. Ugh.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Purest Emotion

Why is it that every time someone who makes me feel incredibly special and taken care of comes into my life, there are two circumstances unavoidably linked with it--- they are always married and they already know they are there to show me what it's SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE.
Nerdboy fixed my computer, and put an amazing bandage on my very tattered heart tonight.
I am completely overwhelmed right now, and I can't make sense of it at all.
I have a wonderful boyfriend. I know this, and I am grateful, and I want that sentence to end after the word grateful but it doesn't and I wonder if it ever will. I want to feel like he is the one, like he is enough, like he is all there is, but I don't and it hurts. The more time that passes the less I see him as my man and the more I see him as a brother and that tears away at a part of me that I didn't know existed, much less felt pain. He's a good man, and I want to love a good man, but I don't love him, and the more I try to, the more I want to not have to worry about this relationship. It's horrible and painful that I just want the worry to go away, that I just want to stop caring. It's terrible. He's such a good guy, and I can't imagine hurting him, but right now, I just want that part of my life, even that want for love or a relationship or even someone to hold me, to just go away.
I know I'm hormonal right now, I know the intensity of these emotions are probably 90% PMS, but right now, this is my reality. The tears and frustration and hurt... The overwhelming feeling like I just peeked into what it's supposed to be like, once again, only to have it ripped from my fingers....
Will I ever get it right?

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Youth And Love

We've been dating less than two weeks.
He's gone for 30 days.
I suck at relationships.
I want to step away from this, let it go. I'm trying hard to believe and trust that my friend Jerry is right, and that I just need to hang in there. Honor is a really GOOD man, and I could never say otherwise. I just feel like I'm babying him much of the time, though, like I'm having to guide him and teach him, well, everything. I don't suppose that alone bothers me, but the thought that I may have to teach him how to handle me, right when I need him most... That's scary for me. I'm kinda high-maintenance, I guess, though I've been told the opposite, too. I just really want to walk away from this. I thought I'd feel better once I talked to him, but that's not the case at all. I'm lonely, and talking to him made me remember that it felt like babysitting when we were alone together. He's so sweet, but he's so young. I love love LOVE that he doesn't pressure me for sex- finally! someone!- but I just can't imagine feeling that physical passion with him... I hate to say it, but I think he's going to end up more like a brother than a boyfriend, and I know that won't ever be something he is really okay with. I want Jerry to be right, I want the questions to go away... I don't think they will.
Will I always want to run when things settle down? Will I ever feel like the person I'm with is the one I want to be with? Will I ever be satisfied?

The Quiet Jew

Bet that title grabbed your attention, huh?
There's a fellow Soldier in my class that has repeatedly caught my attention, and I genuinely can't put my finger on why. Sure, I caught him peeking at me, but, frankly, we're in Infantry Land, that's not even interesting at this point. He's not unattractive, though he's not someone that peaked my interest based upon looks, and he's rather quiet, without being awkward about it.
I had noticed him before class started yesterday, our first day, and today it was only magnified. Somebody was talking about something rather ridiculous, I can't remember what, and suddenly he piped up, from across the room, out of nowhere with a response- something to do with money- and I busted out laughing. I told him he caught that idea a little too quickly, and that I was now officially worried about him. His response was 'Oh, don't worry about it, it's just because I'm a Jew!' This, as you can imagine, only incurred more laughs, but it's had me thinking, even more than before, that this man- I can't, with any sense of accuracy, even begin to guess his age, which bugs me- is someone I need to talk to. I can't put my finger on why, and, honestly, I know just enough about Judaism to not have any even semi-legit questions I can ask him, yet not enough to really mention something worth discussing. So, I open the loverly Ocean program, and tap tap tap away, until I stumble across something I might be able to ask him about, and all this is on the assumption that he's a practicing Jew, and not someone who was simply born to a Jewish mother, if even that much.
I try to combine the thought of all this with some of the recent conversations I've had with folks that, once again, tell me that this Baha'i thing was less circumstance than, for lack of better word, fate.
Jerry has told me many times that he's known since our first conversation that I was already a Baha'i, it was just a matter of time for it to become official. Conversations with Richard, Steve G, and others, to include my recent cross-posting blessing, seem to convey more of the same; this is who I've always been. For all the pain, frustration, fear and total confusion I've endured in this lifetime, I can't, for one second, believe it was for nothing. I believe my mission is to open up a few more gates during the time of Entry By Troops- a term I only recently came to understand. I understood my mission before I understood the terminology most of the friends use. Strange feeling. This faith has always been who I was. I never agreed with half of what I did, but I believe I had to experience these things to be able to understand the same people I introduce to this life. When I try to think of being this open with faith and race without the experiences I've had... Well, it feels a lot like those people who knock on your door and tell you, a complete stranger, well, "YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG!"
I'm not down with that.
I can't tell people I don't relate to where they're screwing up. Hell, I can't tell people I DO relate to that. I've had the blessing of many opportunities, though, to talk to people who knew me (and plenty who didn't) about my faith, and about race, and about plenty of other things that people really, really, REALLY don't like talking to strangers about. How many people do you know that could sit in a nail salon getting a pedicure and wind up having a full-blown discussion with two other people, both of different races, about race? How many people do you know willing to ask someone even if they believe in God these days? PEOPLE ARE SCARED! The thing is, we've been soooo focused on what makes us different for sooooo long that we've forgotten the underlying message in that Golden Rule we like to tout off about: The reason we should be treating everyone like we want to be treated is because THEY ARE ALL JUST LIKE US! Why is that such a hard concept to grasp?! Did people get so scared to look at why we do things, or why we're supposed to do things, that they just started taking orders and not questioning it all?
What would happen if the Golden Rule (Treat others as you want to be treated) became law? You remember your early days of school, when it was no big surprise when the adult on hand asked you about your offense 'Now, is that what you'd want him to do to you?' What if adults started routinely asking each other that? What if you saw someone walk over/around someone who'd dropped a stack of papers and you asked them 'Would you like someone to help you in that situation, or would you rather they ignore your need for help and kept moving?' What if this became a NORMAL, EVERYDAY THING?
I'm in a fortunate position as a Soldier. I'm in the senior most jr enlisted rank- I'm above the privates, and below the sergeants. I'm at that point in my career where they expect me to question things, and make corrections where I know how. So here's my goal for tomorrow, and my challenge to anyone reading this: Today, or tomorrow, depending on when you read this, I suppose, call ONE PERSON out on the Golden Rule. Just one. You pick who, and where. That's not hard, is it?
One rule really can change the world, you know.

Not Into _____ Girls

"He's not into black girls."
I love love LOVE this blog... yet, once again, there's a subtle exclusion.
I had a huge crush on a guy, and someone subtly told me that 'he's not into white girls'.
The dude is white.
I get really, really frustrated when these sort of topics are written in such a way that it is treated as only a _____ race issue. I don't consider myself white. I have some pretty bizarre genealogy, if you want to get right down to it, and, while I know darn well what I look like, I will never, ever, EVER check that box on any form. Won't happen.
Yet, "other" is still the answer that gets the sideways look.

Wait'll You See My Gunz!

Amorer class is boring me to tears. I would rather be left alone in a room with the regs for a week, and the weapons for another, than listen to a man who's done this class a million times repeat common sense info nine different ways and remind us that he has a certain number of hours to fill.
Seriously, I'm so bored I feel guilty for it.
No joke.
This is incredible. We have some cool people in the class, and the instructor is a nice guy, but this is just so blasted boring!
The boyfriend is in the states, and I'm questioning myself, as I tend to do, and questioning how I'll make it through 30 days of him being gone questioning my judgment. I like him, but, with him gone, things get wonky, and I question things I could avoid questioning if he were here, and things I could just talk to him about if he weren't, you know, on the other side of the planet. We haven't been together 2 weeks. How do I think this is going to work?
I like him, of course, and I know what all the right things to do are... This is the reason, I suppose, they call it the hard right over the easy wrong. It's only more difficult when he hasn't called me like he said he would, and I've been without word from him since before he flew out. It's frustrating, but not completely unexpected. I just want these questions to go away, and to take the lonliness with it.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Healing Astaria

In my fervent love affair with Google Reader, I was fortunate enough to stumble across this article about healing after a miscarriage.
The article was beautifully and sensitively written, and makes me feel much more, well, for lack of better word, sane. My own experience with miscarriage is probably about as far from the norm as it comes, so seeing someone blog about such similar feelings is so incredibly healing to my soul. She mentions she bled for 6 weeks, though some only bleed for two. I was fortunate enough to be among the latter, give or take a few days. She says some women/couples count birthdays, and I know without having to think about it, that Astaria would be nine years old, had she been born as expected. Nine years later, no children to the naked eye, and people are often in shock to see how much it still hurts when I really open up and think/talk about my daughter.
I will always call that "fetus" my daughter, despite the short gestation period and lack of medical care.
I suppose I should start from the beginning. I am 24 years old now, and, if you do the math, that means I was 14 years old when she was conceived. She was not the product of some misguided teenage love, or of myself and my high school sweetheart getting a little too frisky at the junior prom. No, the boy who would have been the biological father of this beautiful little girl was thirteen years old, and I'd never dated him. He took my virginity by force in the backseat of a Ford Fiesta. I was not the last, though I can't be certain if I was the first he raped. I had the choice to prosecute him once my parents understood the full circumstances, but I opted against it- I had a child to consider. I had no intention of ever, ever, EVER giving up my child, in any way, shape or form. I dreamt about a beautiful, blonde, blue eyed little girl from the night it happened until, well, now. I've watched her grow up in my dreams. The dreams are less and less frequent, but they still occur from time to time.
The other twist to this story, and the reason I am without child now, I suppose, is that my fertility was an unfortunate casualty of my mother's Münchhausen-by-proxy disorder, and my own submission to that as a preteen and young adult. After many, many diagnoses, I agreed with one of her many predictions about the very limited life I'd be able to lead later, and agreed to having my tubes tied at 18 years old. It seemed impractical, and not much like my unreliable, extremist, irresponsible self to only get them tied or even clamped in case of future changes, because certainly I would never be able to care for a child in my condition, so I had the doctor tie, cut and burn a large section of my fallopian tubes. My mother was present for every moment I spoke to the doctor, and was there before and after the surgery. I don't suppose I knew enough to question this choice, even had she not been there.
There's always going to be ways to conceive, I know, in vitro, for example. The chance to question to such lengths whether or not now is the time, though, rather than it being a natural, happy experience, is something I'm not sure I can ever completely mourn the loss of. I want children worse than I want oxygen some days. I miss the daughter I never met, and I still think of her. April 4th, what I had figured would be her birthday so many years ago, and Mother's Day are always going to be the two hardest days of the year for me, and I know this. It won't change. As the author of this blog entry says, the best medicine for a miscarriage is a healthy baby. Maybe that's true. I just hope I get the chance to find out.
The one thing that I was ever told that helped me, even a little bit, was by a male friend of mine. He explained that in his faith, and I believe he was LDS, life is a test of one's soul. Some souls, he said, are so pure, and so holy, that they need not make it all the way to this world before God knows He needs them there with Him.
Mommy loves you, Astaria, my angel, and she always will.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Energetic Ego

I was blessed enough to get referenced in a fellow Baha'i's blog which I have been following for quite some time. I am a very new Baha'i, so this was quite flattering for me, and I told him such in an email. He complimented me further in his response by saying I brought a great energy to the cause.
It's funny how other people often see things you don't about yourself, isn't it?
Richard, a local Baha'i here in South Korea, has said much the same thing. He's been tremendously excited about how quickly I am grasping the whole notion of being Baha'i and so much of what that encompasses. My friend Jerry, my first Baha'i friend, was thrilled with my interest in the Faith, and has told me all along that I was born a Baha'i, and he's quite impressed with how naturally it all comes to me.
I stumbled across information about the Baha'i faith as early as eleven years old. I've been searching for a faith I can believe in a few years longer than that. The faith popped in and out of my life over the years, but it didn't really take hold until I'd stopped drinking on my own, and began to make some pretty major life changes already. That's when Jerry came into my life via military email, and things just blossomed from there.
To me, it IS natural. I talk to people about race and faith almost daily. It's so strange to see this flawed human being in the mirror, but to be able to see exactly why God needed to put me through all He did. I understand why I've been through all I have, because I am truly doing His work when I understand other people, and when I understand their struggles. I'm by no means perfect, but I haven't met a soul who was perfect yet. Besides, a perfect person would be too intimidating to talk to, anyhow.
My boyfriend, Honor, is Christian. I had been worried about this at first, because he got very defensive the first time I brought it up. (He smokes, drinks and swears.) I asked him about this last night, and he explained that he doesn't follow it as he's supposed to, so it's hard for him to talk about. He doesn't like that he has these bad habits, but it's hard for him to break them when he's surrounded by people who do the same things. I remember what it was like when I quit drinking, and boy do I know how he feels. Last night, though, he took his first big step (and he doesn't realize yet how big the first one is, but it's a doozy!) and, after having agreed to go drink with his friend, he told her plans were off. She was upset, but he stuck to his guns, and I'm proud of him. He made that decision for himself, and he did it right. It will only get easier now that he knows what to expect, though I think it'll be a bit before he's able to quit completely. When he gets back from Leave, we will go to the Friday night Contemporary (Christian) worship service. I think this knocks out two birds with one stone- one less chance to drink, and gets him back in the Christian community here, amongst people he should be networked with already. He's a good man, but he's still a little lost. Aren't we all, though?
We had an interesting conversation surrounding Timothy 2:12 last night, as well, as he is another Christian who believes in literal translations. It's been too long since I've read the bible regularly, but I had stumbled across this post over at One Baha'i (I'm a big fan of Mead's blog) and I was determined to remember that. It gave us a great conversation about literal vs. intended meaning, and he understood where I was coming from afterwards. He wasn't defensive, and we had a great after dinner conversation.
More to follow!

Friday, June 4, 2010

On Babies

I want children.
There's a shocker, right?
I've always looked at the whole drug-free labor vs. c-section, etc battle women fight with themselves as unnecessary. It seems like it'd be a natural decision. Until I thought about it, anyway.
I really figured I'd just know when I was preggers how I wanted to do it. Then I read articles like this one about other women who thought the same thing. About halfway through the article, I figured I'd mull it over. By the end of the article, though, I had a clear mental image in my mind of when I passed a very, very early term Astaria out of my body after a few hours of bleeding. It seems selfish and disrespectful to her, and my future child to not even allow myself to try to do it the way God intended. I know life, God and myself well enough to know that things just don't always turn out the way you intend them to, so, frankly, I have to understand that it may not be possible anyway. At least, though, I know where I stand with it all.
I don't know when I'll have children, or even settle down completely- being in a young relationship, I'm remembering how these things can be difficult even in the best circumstances- but I want to be prepared when I get there, as much as one can be.
And the beat goes on.

Example

Baha'i folks believe we are supposed to set the example in all things.
*sigh*
No pressure, right?
I'm so grateful to believe in a forgiving God.
I didn't lose my temper today, but I genuinely struggled with the want to reach out and choke people. I spent the majority of the day in the sun, with elementary school children, doing medical support, helping to run the three-legged race, and taking the pics the acting BC asked me to take. We had one lil boy bump himself up pretty good, which didn't require more than a band-aid, and one little girl get some mild heat exhaustion and a bad case of a bruised ego. I was kind of irritated with her parents for not making sure she was hydrating prior to an all-day outdoor event, but some people just don't use their brains.
I start Armorer School on Monday, but just got my confirmation for this class today. I have to travel across the country to take this class, so a heads up would have been appreciated, but it's whatever.
Today was a long day. I stood in end of day formation and got heat cramps, for hell's sake.
I didn't snap at the people who probably deserved it, and I avoided telling the children who smarted off or acted out (surprisingly violently in some cases) that their parents weren't doing a thing for them. I was very polite to Mr. Choi when I got the run around about going TDY. I didn't swear around the kids. I didn't get pissed off or jealous when I found out my boyfriend may be helping a female co-worker move to another floor tonight before I get to see him. I wasn't rude to the people who were looking at me like I was speaking Gaelic when I told them to get out of the kids' way so they could run their race, even though I must have had to say it three dozen times in a row. I didn't even ask them if they needed an appointment at the hearing clinic, which I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been tempted to.
Overall, I think I did pretty good. However, the amount of times I wanted to take a child over my knee and give them one good swat, or at least kick them off my lane, or tell a parent they needed to stop being their child's friend/doormat and PARENT THE LITTLE BASTARDS was tremendous.
Have patience with this one, Lord, she is trying...

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Goodnight Sweetheart Goodnight

I'm ridiculously happy.
This is easy and stress-free. I am not worried about Honor hiding anything, or cheating, or what he's thinking or what's going to happen... I'm just happy.
He fell asleep after we talked on the phone today- he was supposed to be on his way over. I didn't get upset because plans changed, and I wasn't worried that he lied to me or he was with another girl or anything, because, well, that's not him. He shows me off like I'm a celebrity he's lucky enough to know. He tells me how smart and beautiful he thinks I am every day.
This, he told me, is just the beginning.
He was raised by nine women, he's explained. His Mama is the most important person in his life, and I agree whole-heartedly with that. His sister is right up there with her.
He told me today that he loves his mom. I told him that's the way it should be and, at least until he gets married, that she should be the most important woman in his life. After marriage, things change a bit, but that she still should be important. After this comment, and much other discussion, his response was 'I think you really might be the one.'
I wish I could say I hadn't been thinking the same thing.
This boy is NOT my type. He's skinny, and he's younger than my kid sister. Okay, just by a month, but STILLLLL! For someone who's used to dating men 13 years her senior, sharing a birthday with someone means they're "too young".
Honor, though, seems to know what he knows and what he doesn't know, and is pretty grounded about that. I never have to wonder what he's feeling or thinking, because he's as honest as me, as open too. He's laid back, though he's admitted to having a bad temper at times. He doesn't feel like he has to put up a front with me, and vice versa.
We're together. Some people already seem to have issues with that. I couldn't care less. There are people who are important to me, but anyone who can't be happy for me, probably has no place on that list. Ever.
I know it's a risk, beginning a relationship right before I PCS CONUS, but, as I explained to one hater in particular today, the benefits outweigh the risks. I'll put myself out there if it means getting treated like a queen, but risking my heart one more time.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Creative Crack

It's almost 1 in the morning, and I have about 5 hours before I should be up.
I'm in a ridiculously creative mood tonight, though, and really don't feel like sleeping.
I feel the need to reach out to someone tonight, and I'm not really sure where to begin.

What This Means

I've decided the new boy's nickname is honor.
I suppose this stands out a bit from the nicknames I've used for others in my writing- Rock Star, Bear, Lady DJ, and I'm sure there were others.
Have you ever heard the phrase "No honor among thieves"?
The male species has, as of late, become, to me, a negative idea. Maybe it wasn't just recently that this happened, but it certainly has been highlighted in more recent days.
After seeing doors opened, a night full of stories both happy and sad listened to, meals paid for, efforts made to show me that I am certainly the only one he's interested in... I just can't help but see this not-quite-twenty-three year old as my bit of honor among the thieves. He may very well hurt me someday, it certainly is a possibility, but he is the sweet, good boy, the one I usually distance myself from for fear of corrupting or damaging. He is not what I would have expected, though I suppose it's still quite early.
I am well aware that the chances of this relationship surviving my impending PCS are slim, at best, but I want to try. I have decided that I am giving this my all, and I will do what I'm able to make this happen to the best of my ability. Our values and beliefs line up so well, I simply can't blow this off as a coincidence, not after all the lies and pain. I will hold my tongue/temper when I should/need to, and I will find the patience within myself. Worst case scenario is that this doesn't work out, and I have learned from it.
I will be on leave in July, traveling Memphis solo. I am looking forward to this experience, and think that time will give me the chance to understand what strength there may be in separation, and to see how I handle a foreign environment when my heart is ocupado. If we survive this, as a couple, imagine how much stronger we'll be! It's a lot of hoping and wondering, and I know it's a risk, but I think it's a worthwhile risk.