Cheerleader

It breaks my heart in the most wonderful and beautiful way to see my brother become my cheerleader.

For years, we were at odds. Odd siblings never seeming to get along.
Finally, we've fixed that. Somehow we mended the broken bridge as I helped to mend his broken heart.
And it seems we've kept this theme: strengthening our bond through personal adversities.
Typically, it's been me who plays counselor and doles out the helpful advice and kinds word.
I never mind doing it: I love helping my brother and making sure he's going through life smiling.
The fact that our sibling link grows is a sweet bonus, but I'm happy as long as he is.

This time, though, the story is different.
I was struggling, I was unhappy, I was torturing myself every minute of the day and replaying my mistakes.
And there, out of the blue, with perfect timing, my brother sends me a motivational comic about self-love.
It reminded me that people may not always be there for me when I need them and that that's okay.
It reminded me that I will always be there for me and that I'm my #1 supporter.
Then my brother reminded me that he's my #1 supporter too, then proceeded to make my day.

He cheered me up so quickly that I didn't have a moment to think - to think about how things have changed.
I used to give the kind words all the time, show him what it meant to be an incorrigible optimist.
Now he's beat me at my own game: he didn't hesitate to cheer me on and tell me that I would succeed.
There was no doubt in his mind that I would be okay and that I would get through this rough patch.

It breaks my heart in the best way to realize how much my big brother believes in me.
When the hell did he turn into this amazing cheerleader?

Unprepared for change

71 fucking cue cards later, I thought I was ready.
Ha, as if I'll ever be ready for anything.
Not for this midterm,
Not for that social.
Not for tomorrow,
And certainly not for the rest of my life.

I'm constantly finding myself unprepared for life!

Maybe it's because I don't think ahead, and I don't plan for the future.
Maybe it's a fault of mine that I'll never be able to change,
But I can only dream for that excuse because it sounds so viable.
It sounds almost true. But I know it's not.

I know that I can change my ways, but that's what makes it hard.
Self-awareness of faults and short-comings is a strength, they say.
It means that you can see your faults and so overcome them!
You must first recognize that you have a problem before you can fix it.

Well, I think that's bullshit.
Being aware of your faults sucks fucking dick.
It's the self-awareness that makes me hate myself because I can see the issue.
I know what needs to be changed. I know how it needs to be changed.
I know I have the capacity to change and all the opportunities.

And yet, I never do change.
I'm acutely aware that I should think and plan ahead,
Yet I never do.
I know that I should prepare myself for the eventualities,
Yet I willfully walk in blind.

It's this pain of knowing to do better and never following through
That follows me. It sticks with me.
No amount of Advil could dull its stabbing knife.
I should probably get used to it:
I'll be stuck with this pain for the rest of my life.

How do I know?
Obviously because I won't change.

Living in a Meritocracy

There were 40 questions.
At least 3, I got wrong.
3 times I know I failed.
3 times I let myself down.
7.5% is already gone and lost,
Dare I see the final score?

1, I was foolish, brazen in my choice.
2, I second-guessed, ignored my inner voice.
3, I was lost.
3, I forgot.
The definitions meant nothing,
The definitions escaped me.
I panicked,
Then I picked.
And I know full-well I picked wrong.

Now it plagues me, all these numbers.
The guilt of making wrong choices.
Not bad choices, but the wrong ones.
Ones that no justification can fix,
That no reassurance can change.
No,
Too many times I picked wrong.

Nevermind the ones I got right.
Where I knew the second I looked.
Nevermind the bonus I gained,
The bonus to offset my loss.
My net is still less,
And I still wrack my brain in distress
Over these small, small, minuscule
Numbers.

Because maybe it was more than 3.
Maybe those 3 were enough
To throw off my game.
To push the knowledge from my mind.
To ruin my afternoon,
And ruin my chances.
Chances at perfection, or as close I could get.

Perfection which has always been desired,
Though I know it's a lie.
Perfection which haunts me since
I'll never know it.
Oh, Perfection, I know you're not real!
I know you don't matter!
But nevertheless, I feel
As though I need you.

I strive to achieve you.
You'll always be my goal.

But I know that I'll fail.
I understand it completely,
I recognize the lie of perfection in entirety
But that doesn't mean
I don't want it.
It doesn't mean I'll ever stop
Striving for it.

After all, isn't this goal bred into me?
Socialized to attain to perfection,
To make my parents proud
In the only way I know.
In the only way that really matters:
With success.
And success is spelled with one letter.
A.

Plus,
What is my goal without perfection?
What else have I been raised to seek?
What do I know beyond school
Beyond studying,
Beyond grades,
Beyond the constant scramble for perfection?
Nothing.

I'm unsettled outside learning.
Yet I know I don't need structure
To learn.
I can learn on my own
But it isn't the same.
There isn't the drive.
There isn't the need.
There isn't the burning shame
That keeps me from failure.

But there isn't the shame
Or the disappointment
When I do fail.
Because I always do
And I always will
Fail.
It's so much an inevitability
That I cling to it as my rock.

Ah, yes, the certainty of failure.
Because no matter what I do,
No matter what I try,
I know that in the end
I'll fail somehow.
I'll fail my expectations.
I'll fail my parents' expectations.
I'll fail society's expectations.

I'll never live up to my potential,
And I know that for certain
Because no human does.
We're flawed creatures.
We bite off more than we can chew.
We dream bigger than we can attain.
It's our curse
And it plagues me
Because I know it, and I see it.

So I'll continue to tear myself apart
All over 3 fucking choices I made
While under stress,
With a pencil in hand,
And I'll never reward myself
For the 37 I got right.
Or for the bonus that I attained.
No, I'll fixate on the minor failings
Because that's what I know,
And that's what I do.

Just a shitty poem

A shitty poem about AC and landlords.

For my Property Manager, the most stubborn person I know.

When I told you the AC unit wouldn't fit into my window, I wasn't joking. 
When I explained how it was impossible to install a window unit into a horizontally opening window without structural alterations being made to the window, I wasn't lying.
When I told you it would be cheaper to buy an expensive standing unit rather than have contractors come in, why didn't you believe me?

They're here - one, two, three.
Three men to work on one little window. Hell, it's not even double-pane.
But it's become a pain in my ass.
35 emails sent back and forth.
I ask for AC, he promises AC, I explain how it works, he works around my words.
He quotes the lease, I explain what it means. But still, he doesn't budge - oi vey, fuck me.

Okay, okay, the contractor comes on Monday.
At least he's nice and will do the work. The work my manager said I'd have to figure out.
The work he said I would have to hire other people to do because I don't have the tools, I don't have the skills, I don't have the goddamn proper window sill.
But joke's on you, they're doing it all, all in the window that's so pathetically small.

And wow, has it already been three weeks since his promise? The promise of cool air and escape from the heat, the promise he made and didn't think to keep.
Well, I guess he's paying for it now, going back on our agreement.
And by paying, I mean literally, he's literally paying
For the extra work, the extra men, the extra materials needs to all put in
This goddamn tiny AC
Into my tiny window
All so that I can rip it back out when it's no longer needed in the winter.

Sorry for never budging when arresting my rights, the rights to cold air and being able to sleep at night. My right to escape the heat, the right that our lease outlined for me.
But actually
Fuck you.
Sorry not sorry.

I went through the frustration, now it's melted to laughter.
Laughter because you didn't listen.
Because you're now paying more than you should have for these three contractors
To come and put a small unit in the small window of my small room in my small house
All because you were stubborn.
And refused to buy the proper unit.
And expected me to not argue about it.

Well, I can be stubborn too.
Fuck the patriarchy and fuck the student ghetto.
Landlords treat students like living trash because they think they can, they think we don't know our rights - and they're right. We don't. So learn them. Read your lease, argue your lease, and know your rights as a tenant. Leases lie, so look at your city's landlord and tenant act. Because they will do whatever they can to get money out of you and keep you living in the shittiest situation possible.

But hell no, no more. You try to make my life a living pool of sweat? Well, enjoy paying my 24-hour full-blast AC bill. Dick.

A poem about being sad yet happy

I'm not certain as to what I wish to say.
There's this hole in me filled with longing.

My hopes were high when I started to make plans,
When I allowed myself to dream,
To fantasize about seeing him again,
Laughing with him again,
Being able to touch him again.

I tried not to get too excited - the visit would be short
I knew that.
I tried not to be overbearing and make too many plans,
I wanted to be casual, flexible
For him,
Because I knew he had plans, might have plans,
Does have plans.

And his plans don't involve me right now.
But I remember that this is only now,
The future will come and maybe his plans will change.
Maybe he won't have his week here fully planned,
Maybe he'll make sure to reserve me some time.

Even if he doesn't,
That's okay.

I'll keep smiling
When I think of him;
His laugh,
His jokes,
His touch,
His fascination with theory,
And the look on his face when he's so focused
That he can't see outside his work.

So really, I'll always keep smiling
Because so many things remind me of him,
Make me think of him.

And if I'm smiling, what's there to be sad about?

Hey.

My name is Shannon and I'm a student.

I've been keeping blogs and journals on-and-off since I was 5. Recently, people have told me that I should write a blog, so might as well start another one, right?

Here's to bad poetry, destructive introspection, and completely unvalidated opinions about life. Oh, and uninvited observations.

Cheers.