When you Find yourself a Villain in the Story you've Written

On this fine, cold and unusual insomniac night, I sit looking at my phone waiting for the battery to charge because tomorrow might be long and I don't want to lose the convenience that my cell affords me. Tonight is unusual because whenever am insomniac(read most nights) I enjoy the silence that comes with the night, in fact, I find that I crave it. Silence in the dead of the night creates an illusion  of aloneness that is hard to find during the day and that is very comforting for my introverted tendencies.  Okay, granted, most nights I am reading and therefore meeting new people as it is. Tonight, however, the silence is both deafening and suffocating. So I have put some music on so I can finally breath.

My thoughts wander haphazardly,  as if seeking for something but never pausing long enough to explore what it is they are searching. I tell myself that after the day I have had, I should be damn tired, near exhaustion, but my mind contradicts this idea. That's why, in an effort to quiet the cacophony that is my thoughts, I try to put to paper what it is that I think I am feeling. I try so hard to show you my favourite part of me, because that's what us humans do, but I feel like a villain in this story that I have written, and it is safe to say that no one ever wants to be the villain, we want to be good people, we endeavour to be nice but sometimes we fail horribly in our attempts. Truth is, sometimes I am a heartless villain who unknowingly (and sometimes knowingly) hurts the people around me.

Sometimes I am unforgiving and therefore let meaningful relationships die because of things that could easily be forgotten. I pride myself in being very observant, taking note of things my friends do and most importantly listening intently to them during conversations. But when my being observant is not reciprocated and I find myself talking about the same things that I am sure I had already talked about to the same person, I get angry and let the friendship wither all so naturally.

I don't have friends. But I have a myriad of acquaintances. This was rightly pointed out by an acquaintance whom I have known for quite some time now. I was studying for my Communication and Gender paper and I read to her the steps of building a friendship and one of the key steps is mutual sharing of vital information about each other. She said that I am a good listener, and people easily share personal information and not even realise that I have not shared anything personal. She then confessed that she wanted to buy me a present on my birthday, but she was conflicted, she didn't know if I would like whatever it is she bought. And she is not the only one, so many people, some of my siblings included don't know even my favourite food(!) But instead of thinking that maybe am too secretive or mysterious, I felt a surge of anger, because I thought that people don't outrightly tell you what they like, it's your job to find out, by being observant, and I do that job so well. But she sensed my anger and calmly said that I am picky, too picky for that matter.

So I am unforgiving, very picky and mysterious, all traits that don't nurture good friendships. In this story that is my life, I am responsible for these villain traits. I picked these traits for my protagonist, who is me, and for as long as this story has been in existence, these traits have served me well. They have put an electric barrier between myself and other people, thereby protecting my vulnerabilities and in so doing, creating a cocoon that is my safety net without which I wouldn't recognise myself.

The title of this post is from the song You are a Tourist by Death Cab for Cutie.

Even when I'm Wrong I Tend to Think I'm Right

I have always disliked the word empowerment. Disliking the word was not a conscious decision, but a subconscious one. Maybe it's because whenever I heard the term being used, it was associated with women. I have also written many essays with the phrase 'women empowerment,' but I cringed everytime I did. In retrospect, I realise that my hatred for this word was because:

1. my understanding of the meaning of the verb 'empower' was limited to only two meanings; (1) to give power to someone and (2) to give official authority or legal power to someone; and

2. A quote by Roseanne Barr, author of, among other books, My Life as a Woman;
    "The thing women have yet to learn is nobody gives you power. You just take it."

Maybe, I should have prefaced this post by saying that I am a feminist, but then, I think, that would be stating the obvious. Therefore, Roseanne telling me, in no uncertain terms, mind you, that if you want power, you don't need permission,  you just take it, I had good reason to hate the word empowerment. Until today!

During my yoga class, the instructor talked about empowerment and how it means different things to different people. The thing with yoga, you have to come to your practice undone and unglued from everything that you believe in and just be. Therefore,  I was more than ready to hear the instructor's view on this loaded term. And from a yoga perspective,  she talked about empowerment as being the freedom to be who you are, freedom to do what you think is right and freedom to get the most out of the practice. That right there was new for me. Having harboured strong feelings towards this empowering word, no pun intended,  I didn't instantly change my view. Later, I consulted the good ol' Webster,  and while I was right about the first two meanings, I didn't know about the third meaning which is 'to promote the self actualization or influence of.'

I love this third meaning, yet, I fail to understand why I don't want to let go of my hatred of the term. I know the opposite of hate is not necessarily love and it would be too soon for me to say that I love the word. Having a change of heart is rarely instantaneous, it takes time. I don't want to be indifferent towards it. So, why do I have this anomalous obsession to think am right even when I know am wrong? Part of my idiosyncrasies, I think?

The title of this post is from the song Coming of Age by Foster the People