I lose at blogging.  Do I lose at life?  No, because I’m alive.  But sometimes winning still feels like losing.

Should I have gotten married at a young age?  No, of course not.  Should I have been raised to believe my only options were to marry in the cult or fail my parents’ legacy?  No, of course not.  Will my mother ever accept that maybe, just maybe, in this arena of life, she screwed me?  I think you see where the pattern goes next.

Is it a big deal?  Well, okay, yes, but not really, no.  I’m a well adjusted person (says my therapist, as I like to finish the punch line- it’s true though, she did tell me that).  I have a great outlook on the world, and I am all the better for what didn’t kill me (didn’t come close to killing me).  But I do get to say, you know what, you screwed me.  So you don’t get to come back and say, Well, dear, you shouldn’t have gotten married so young.  Jesus Christ, mother, I called you three nights before my damned mass wedding crying so hysterically that I had to pull over to the side of the road.  Do you forget that night, that phone call?  The advice that eventually pulled me through was Bev’s: “Well, you’re going to go through it now, or you’re going to go through it later.  Might as well get it over with now.”  And it was the perfect advice for me, because that’s how I saw it, too.  That’s the way I thought.  My brain couldn’t comprehend the grand idea that I would be able to have my life the way I wanted, and it not be infinitely unfair to you and my father.  Even now, the way you treat the subject, I can’t help but wonder- do you think, as I believed then, that I am invalidating your 40 years of suffering?  Your only hope for “God’s” lineage, going straight down the toilet that is my personal integrity.

Yes, my integrity.  I originally had typed “my happiness”, but I know the counter-argument to that, and it’s shit.  Yes, I could make a happy life.  It’s what I told Brian two nights into our relationship: I’m scared because I know exactly what that path leads to- a stable home, a community of friends, a solid future- and I’m throwing it away.  So don’t give me the “sometimes you have to suffer for what’s right” argument.  I know it.  

So, what defense do I have, for ruining your dreams?  I want to believe in a God that believes in the right for his children to choose their true love, hetero OR homosexual.  I want to believe that if a Messiah should return to the mortal earth, he will spend hours talking about bringing mosquito nets to children in Africa, talking about an Israeli/Palestinian shared state, talking about how doing marijuana in the US perpetuates the drug cartel violence in Mexico.  I don’t condemn his big houses, I know they are used for events and “public” use.  I don’t even condemn the power struggle amongst his children.  I condemn that he spends 6 hours of your precious time talking about the same things: how great he is because he’s the Messiah.  How much he’s accomplished, because he’s the Messiah.  You don’t even deserve to be sitting on the floor in front of him, because of what he’s done for mankind.  With a little give-and-take talk for prelude.  I don’t want a Messiah like that.

Oh, and I condemn the gambling.  Did Jesus get his feet cleaned by a prostitute?  Yes.  But at least after that, his feet were clean.  What purpose does Black Jack serve the returned Messiah?

What do I think will happen to the U.Church?  It will crumble.  I’ve tried to defend it, tried to hope for it’s prolongation- why?  Ironically, for my parents.  But I hope it burns.  Not in hell, because if there is one, I can’t in good conscience wish it on anyone, but I hope it burns in a big fire of humiliation, for a little bit.

And then, I hope my mother accepts it and moves on.

[An author’s note, to start the day: I know it LOOKS like I already failed at the blogathon, which is at http://www.thirtydaychallenge.com/blog/, and I also fail at being able to link a page to text… whateverrrr… no one reads this, and it’s all about me anyway.  HOWEVER, I did start writing a blog with a purpose, for girls on how to get guys.  It’s actually pretty above-average, lol, and I’m really excited to put it up, which I guess I will soon.  I wrote the first five blogs, but I’m trying to figure out how to make it look nice.  I am really proud of it.  I might just post them up here so I can start advertising my work, at least in it’s rough stages.  Anyway, onto today!]

I am a therapist convert.

Before my first therapy appointment, I was one of those people who thought therapists were for people too weak and pathetic to handle a little stress.  I called them “shrinks” and would mock them with their own stereotypes, you know, “So how do you feeeeeeel today?  Mmm hmm, mm hmm… Interesting…” in that overly pretentious voice with fake bifocals.

Then my life turned to shit.  I found myself thinking all the beliefs that I had devoted 23 (on and off) years of my life to were wrong, and unsure of what I wanted to hold onto for my own life philosophies.  I realized the person I had always assumed I would spend the rest of my life with was actually someone I didn’t want to spend my life with, and had already gotten in way over my head.  I was about to single-handedly deliver the worst emotional blow to my mother in her 57 years of life (that’s coming next weekend… eh) and I felt like a total failure at existence.

A friend of mine suggested I try therapy.  I shook my head and rolled my eyes.  He insisted it was a good thing and not for weak people.  Plus, my school has free therapy (who I proceeded to refer to as “fake shrinks”).  I signed up for my first appointment.

My first appointment, I told her my situation, and she was speechless.  To her credit, she’s used to college kids day in and day out, coming in because they’re having adjustment issues, stress from their courseload, breaking up with their first serious boyfriend, etc.  I came in and said I had been raised in a cult and married off and I had no idea how to reform my life.  It was a nice talk, but I still wasn’t feeling awesome.

The second time, I got so emotional about my mother, my shrink started crying, because, I’m not kidding you, that’s how bad I feel about this whole thing with my parents.  And it was weird, because she’s my shrink (yes, I still use that word, haha) but that’s also where my breakthrough happened:

I am not crazy.  I am a normal person in a crazy situation. 

Of course I heard that from my friends, and people I knew, and my own rationality.  But when you hear it, or some derivative of it, from someone who owes you nothing, who is completely objective, and furthermore, has spent their whole life training to be objective… let me tell  you, it is a relief.

I continued seeing her until my separation was settled, through a rough first-dating-relationship experience, and until I met and started dating this awesome guy that I’m with now.  Then I just got too busy with school, and I was feeling pretty good about my handle on my life situation, so I stopped going.  I think I might see her before I leave for the summer, but if I don’t, I still feel alright.  I do want a more permanent shrink at some point in my life, because I think we all can benefit from that objective, you-are-not-crazy-but-you-are-dysfunctionally-normal-just-like-everyone-else point of view that therapy provides.

So that’s my two cents for today.  Happy feeling-sharing :)

Subtitle: … duh?

I had four overdraft charges on my Bank of America account.  I thought I had overdraft protection connected to my BoA credit card, but you see, they cut that off because I was late on three consecutive payments.  So I called, and they took off $35 from $140… awesome.  Luckily, I’m still living off the generosity of my ex, who paid the rest.  I.  Feel.  Absolutely.  Pathetic.

But you know what?  Pick yourself up and try try again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Because what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.  Hopefully it makes you smarter too.  And more well-rounded as a person. 

That’s all I have to say for today.

(Day two bloggeriffic.) (And what I mean by that, it’s my second day in the Blog Every Day in the Month of May blogathon.  If I could remember the official website, I would link it.  Tomorrow I will be smarter.)

So, my fake husband (my first religious-but-not-legal husband… more on him later) really wants to be a director.  He’s in the film conservatory at SUNY Purchase, and he’s made some short films, and they’re okay.  He’s AWESOME at making trailers, though, so if he doesn’t make it big (he may, he may not), he’s at least got that going for him.

Anyway.  Enough about that; back to me.

He’s really into the whole scene, and really likes to be That Guy- I would peg him as “Emo.”  He wants to have symbolism and be misunderstood, but his intention either 1. doesn’t get communicated, (His second film, I watched all 20 minutes of it, and after it was over, asked why the boyfriend in the relationship was so weird in the first place.  Apparently the whole point was that the girlfriend was pregnant… which was supposed to be communicated by her rubbing her stomach for a prolonged 10 second touch.  Eh.) or 2. isn’t tricky and comes off as cliche (Cliche Emo’s, think Dashboard Confessional, just if they were films).  Now, since our relationship is weird enough to begin with, I don’t say this to him, I just encourage him.  He’s coming out with one, and from the trailer, I asked him if he was going for a Unbearable Lightness of Being/Catcher in the Rye feel.  He exclaimed, “Yes!  Exactly!”

I predict it will be a guy running about doing stupid shit and not feeling anything.  (See option #2.)

But the thing is, both of those books are considered Great Books.  I didn’t particularly enjoy both, but after reading (I just finished Kundera), I can recognize the greatness- but I couldn’t DEFINE it.  So this set me off thinking- what is considered Great Art (film, literature, photography, etc).  Why is Unbearable Lightness of Being acclaimed?  Why is Schindler’s List a timeless classic, and For the Love of the Game just* a feel good chick flick?

*I put the asterick here because “just” is a funny word- it makes it seem like the movie has less value.  This is all subjective.  Also, my boyfriend would beg to differ on the “not a timeless classic” part (he loves it).  I haven’t seen it yet.  Actually, I’ll just get back to you on that whole movie.

ANYWAY.

The answer, if you haven’t yet- after all my rambling- guessed:

Tension.

We loooooove things that aren’t straightforward, that can capture that pull to either and/or both sides in the middle.  We love paintings that we can argue about the interpretations.  We love books that we can pick apart and find the conflict within the tortured-but-average character.  We love to critique things by saying “the tragic beauty of the human condition” et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

This is not exclusive to art.  Read “The Opposable Mind” by Roger Martin.  I’m not going into it, in case I want to write about it later in the month, but it’s a new way of looking at business- embracing the tension.

 So, bottom line?  Art is great when it can portray tension.  My “first” husband hasn’t yet perfected that art (he could, though).  And he dumped me, so… yeah… suck it.  (Kidding!  Kind of…)

Tune in tomorrow for day 3!  Go go gadget :)

So I just signed up for a May blogathon, and the purpose is to get the creativity flowing by posting a blog every day in the month of May.  Challenge?  Challenge accepted.

On the application, which I literally JUST DID, there was a question:

Describe what your blog is about:

(With a one-liner type space for my answer.)

Huh.

I said that this would be my “extra venting” blog (not necessarily angry venting, but just getting thoughts outside of my head without boring Brian to death).  With my thoughts being all over the place, how can I adequately and neatly and intriguingly describe this?

What ARE those thoughts- those invaluable future recordings of ME- going to BE, anyway?

I’m breaking with the religious group (cult?) that has surrounded me my whole life, and dealing with the repercussions from my parents, my ex-in-laws, the whole community of people who I have befriended over the years.  I’m in college late; next year I will be getting my Bachelor’s at age 24 (turning 25).  I’m reintegrating to the school scene at the 8th best school in the country (according to US News Reports- go Lions) and it’s kicking my butt.  At age 23 (now), I’m in the first healthy romantic relationship that I’ve ever been in, ever, and it scares the pants off me.  I have big dreams of helping people all over the world, yet I can’t afford a taxi to Midtown.  I might not want children, but I really think I do, but you know what, I still have lots of time to think about stuff like that… right?

Oy vay.

I had a phone conversation with my best friend (!!!! love her) today, and every time we talk, I always walk away feeling better.  She always reassures me that what I’m feeling is normal for this time in my life.  This is the beautiful nonsense that is young adulthood.

This is my quarterlife crisis.

And so, triumphantly, I typed in, “Documenting my quarterlife crisis.”  That’s what this blog is about, suck it monkeys.  (Hehe.)

Crisis gives it kind of a negative spin, I know; I kept it for the cliche.  It’s not at all bad, I’m actually kind of loving it.  It’s the beautiful tragedy of the human condition, right?  The only absolute is that there are no absolutes.  Whoooooaaa.

So, with that, let the blog-o-pa-loo-za begin!  Yee haw!! :)

My Lit Professor today said that (in our final lecture session) and I thought it was just fantastically worded.  I guess that is what he does, as a literature buff- words things in a fantastic manner.

So, introduction in ten sentences, because I want to get onto more fun times:

1.  My name is Christa, I’m 23 (24 in July), I was born in New York and lived there until my parents moved me to Baltimore at age 3 (Dundalk, more specifically) and recently moved back to complete my undergraduate college education at Columbia University’s School of General Studies, majoring in Political Science- International Relations.

2. I hope to obtain a Nursing Degree after this, and a Master’s in Public Health after that (or concurrently) because I want to develop programs in Global Health Development, but academia is not my strong suit (apparently!-yuck) so I’m hoping with the RN accreditation I can do a lot of developing of useful sorts in a hands-on manner.

3.  My parents are Moonies, and so was I, even to the point of marrying another Moonie who was my best friend for the seven years previous to marriage (and two years in a marriage); however, I asked him for a divorce in October, but it’s messy, because we still share an apartment, and finances, but I’m dating someone else.

4.  I love my boyfriend, he’s the second I’ve had since the split and the fourth real relationship I’ve had in my life (okay, I had two Moonie marriages, the first one dumped me), and I was actually expecting to have a friendship with a little bit of sexually chemistry mixed in and it never go anywhere; it’s quite the awesome surprise.

5.  I haven’t told my family or my extensive network of Moonie friends any of this, that will happen post-finals and I’m scared shitless, but I do believe in authenticity and transparency, and to rid myself of the disintegrable discrepancy will feel so good (yet so bad at the same time, I’m sure).

6.  My best friend lives in Vermont and I miss her a lot, but it’s also nice to know that you have that person in your life that you can go without talking to for a while and come right back feeling uninterrupted.

7.  Before moving to New York, my then-husband (Jay) and I lived with his family (personal nightmare) and before that I lived with a Moonie family in Bowie, and I consider them my own family, although they will probably disown me once my big ol’ mess comes out- I don’t care and I will always keep a special place in my heart for them.

8.  I love animals and being comfortable and in reality, I’m probably a pretty simple person, but simple in the sense that I can’t stand the existence of human suffering; therefore, I’m trying to become smart and able to do everything I can within one lifetime to further the elimination of that suffering.

9.  I also like books and blankets and sex and daisies and Sudoku and tv shows that make me laugh and drinking and seeing new places and shopping and sweatpants and summer and a whole lot of other typical things that I can’t imagine people not liking- well, I guess except summer, because some people aren’t summer people; I am completely a summer person.

10.  I enjoy talking about myself, but I think sometimes I get stuck on topics and have a need to over-reconcile them; the main purpose behind this blog was to do a lot of talking through that I need to do “outside of myself” and I don’t want my boyfriend to get sick of hearing the same thing alllll the time- so, voila!

Enjoy me, folks, but not in a sexual manner.  Thanks :)

Sub-subtitle: Why Can’t We Give Love That One More Chance.

Small intro for the sake of this entry and predictably many more rants to come:

I was born into a cult.  I was raised in this cult, and it’s the Unification Church (Rev. Sun Myung Moon, Korean man who claims to be the returning Messiah).  I have had my run-ins and almost-outs with this cult for the past 23 years, but eventually bought into it and got married (2 years ago next May, in pseudo-religious terms, and legally one year ago last January) to my best friend since age 14 in the same cult.  Because that’s what you’re supposed to do in this cult, get married to other culties. 

Why?  Well, that’s something I’ve been trying to come to terms with since I threw in the towel last October.  It’s hard to really leave, since it’s internally advertised as something you are born to be (like being Jewish) if you are born within such cult, but I asked my husband for a separation and had other relationships.  I am not going to give you all the gory details, because you don’t need to know (read: Noneya bizzzzness) but I’m in a recently outed phase, and haven’t broken the news to my parents, and although I am in charge of my own life- as people usually grasp- it creates this unnecessary weird limbo for me.  I don’t know if it’s the cult upbringing, or some Asian tendency that is showing itself (I’m half-Japanese American) or what, but for me, my parents have a huge (and in my opinion, undeserving) influence over my life.  Even when they are miles and miles away and I haven’t talked to them in weeks.

This was actually not what I intended to write about, but it bothers me a lot more than what I was actually going to write about, so I’m going to run with it.  Funny how that happens, you know, in life and blogs and other shit.

I am loyal.  I am an extremely loyal person, which when we first got together, my boyfriend said to me was a good thing and he hoped one day I would feel that strong loyalty to him.  (Which I do, but for the first time in my life, it’s in a non-obligatory way, which is wonderful and awesomely scary and worth writing a blog about in the future.)  And more than anything, I am loyal to my parents.  I was raised under Mr. Moon’s words that you should be loyal to your parents more than anyone else in the world, besides God, and, oh yeah, him.  And his wife.  Good ol’ Moons.  Whatever. 

I still want to retain this loyalty to my parents, because I love them, but I want to do it for real.  Not because some crazy Korean guy told me to, but because I want to affirm that I have a real relationship with them.  But… do I?

My mother and I have very few things that we talk about: the UC (Unification Church), her activities related to the UC, my life philosophies in relation to the UC, complaining about our respective husbands, and my cat.  Now, I don’t want to have anything to do with UC, so nix the first three things.  I’m divorcing my husband, and my cat died last November (RIP Kiki, 1991-2009).  I mean, we can chitchat (once she gets over the betrayal I’m about to deal her) but what have we ever talked about?  Really?  Will I ever have fulfilling conversations with her?  I’ve been in the position where I was at odds with the UC before, and I wrote it off later as teenage rebellion (which is when I was more at peace with my individuality than ever, ironically).  We didn’t have much to talk about until I rescinded my odds and came back to it… AND HER?  That can’t be how this shit works.

One of my big leaving factors was the fact that I never want my kids to wonder about this.  I want them to every day know that I love them no matter what.  A good religion, in my opinion, should never put parents and children at odds with each other.  There are enough things in the world to do that already… Jesus.  (Pun intended.)

What is a parent-child relationship supposed to be anyway?

What are “real” relationships, anyway?

Can I still claim that this title relates anyway?

Oh, life, you’ve bested me again :P

So you will have to wait, until I get some stuff out of my brain and into the digital world in a (hopefully) organized fashion.

I lost a friend to cancer this past week.  Not really a friend, she was an acquaintance- I’m not a poser, like many people I know, who feel closer to a person after their passing.  Not saying they are necessarily posers, as a lot of them are big believers in the afterlife and feel “her presence” (or the psychological equivalent of such, I don’t know). 

[Now for the “In Memorandum” paragraph…]

Her name was Sarah Hanna, she was 25, lived in London.  I met her a few times, and I always got irritated at my then-husband after hanging out with her because he would always talk to her for too long.  This is nothing against her character- she was THAT girl, and not in the way that you say it as a flaw on her part, but rather on your own part, because you can’t help but be jealous of her.  She was gorgeous, and outgoing, and funny, and engaging, and I make the point that I got mad at my then-husband because I want to impress upon you— these are not just exaggerations because she is now dead.  Living, she was all of these things to an extreme, but without the Regina-George-itis (Mean Girls reference).  Maybe in her head, she might have been conceited- if I was her, I definitely would be- but I think, whether she was or not, it’s a true testament to her character that if such a spirit even existed, she kept it in her head, and didn’t let it manifest itself otherwise.  She was incredibly talented, which I never knew while she was alive, unfortunately; she played piano and had a beautiful singing voice.  Also not an exaggeration, and I will impress THIS upon you because I am critical of people who sing.  There are plenty of people I have known (especially going to a school for the arts, Jesus!) with some degree of artistic talent who I know for a fact will never make it big, either because they are good-but-just-not-THAT-good, or because they are lacking some other quality (stage presence/charisma, ambition, or let’s be real, looks).  This was not Sarah (judging from even poor quality youtubes).  If the opportunity had ever presented itself (and she being only 25 at her passing, with a lot of life in front of her, who knows), she would have gone far.  Her voice was beautiful, I begrudgingly admitted to myself after watching her YouTube videos.  Begrudgingly, because, come on- at that point, any more amazing qualities is just unfair to the rest of us, lol.  In all seriousness, as silly as it may seem, I can’t help but wonder if that’s why she was taken from this earth early… an unbalance of positive features?  Maybe I just don’t know her well enough, and she has some major hidden character flaws, but you know what, I honestly don’t think so.  And if you can’t trust that I’m honest after this, then well, what a loss on your part, to not at least know of this girl, if nothing else, from me right now.  I’m so serious.  As a girl (author’s note: I have a theory that all females cannot stop comparing themselves to other females), I instinctively HATE praising another woman to such an extreme degree, because in comparison, I don’t come off so well… and, in the spirit of honesty (again, so you can understand I’m NOT exaggerating just because she’s dead) I am not a bad catch.  I’m not ugly, I’m not stupid, I am without creative talent (but I’m the last person to care about that), I do above average at life, really.  But next to Sarah, I don’t come off so well.  She was amazing.

[End Memorandum.  RIP Sarah, thank you for your memory.]

Suddenly, she’s gone.  Everything that she was, is? was present on this earth for one breath, and then the next never came.  They will put her body in the ground, and maybe there is an afterlife and maybe there isn’t, and either way, there is no way for me to possibly know until I get there… I’ve had friends die before, ones that I knew better, was closer to, but maybe never ones so similar to myself.  My age, my background, my disposition towards the world, etc.  I could relate to her.  She had a tumor on her spine, and it’s not a weakness that she couldn’t beat it, there’s no coming back from that.  But she would get so frustrated because she couldn’t walk, and I suspect frustrated because she couldn’t overcome it.  To be such a driven person, like me, and be faced with your own mortality in such a defeating way… jesus.  I feel so sad for her, and so scared for her in those last months of her life.  But her father reports that her anxieties lifted, and if nothing else, thank whatever powers that be (God?) for that miracle.  That and that alone makes me so grateful I could cry, but I won’t, because I’m in my school library right now… averting thoughts to my donut, to save embarrassment.

I have a need to talk things through to resolve them, and I think I’ve finally figured out why I can’t shake this feeling. 

Rest in peace, Sarah.

It’s the first step to recovery- from my addiction to shopping.  Online shopping is JUST SO DANGEROUS for my struggling little bank account, clinging to life by the double (sometimes single) digits.  Facebook helps, but after cutting my friends list down by half, there is just not enough exciting stuff filtering through my newsfeed to keep me away from Express.com.

I have been thinking about trying my hand at blogging again for some time now, apart from the shopaholism, because I believe it’s healthy: 1) in the way that journals are a channel to get out all that stuff that I “just HAVE to talk about” and 2. it gives me a chance to work the creative side of my brain, which I think- especially as a poli-sci major- just doesn’t happen much anymore.

Oh yeah, and my life is a shitshow right now, so it might be fun to document some of it.  But the internet is a dangerous thing, and while I am a huge fan of honesty and transparency, there is something to be said for control of information flow.  No shame in my game (okay, a little shame) but there are responsible ways to release your secrets.  People are affected by other people, no matter how hard we try to “island” ourselves- there is no reason to be careless.

I guess my first exercise, after this post (post-post?) will be practicing the FOCUS of my entries.  Like I said, my life is a shitshow, but that doesn’t mean my writing has to reflect such.

But there is probably no hope for this entry.  So here is your prologue to me.  Take from it what you will, but if you took nothing, it’s okay.  Not everyone reads the preface to great novels (yeah, I’m great, so what wannafightaboutit).

Next up: Introduction?  We will see.

test test test