On Monsters and Men

If retreat is like the previous two, I won't have many coherent thoughts on it for several months. But it's tomorrow, so I better write now, before the overwhelming holy presence of everything immoblizes my spew of irrationality.

In my parents' perspective, this summer has probably gone completely to waste. Chinese, SQL, Java, Javascript, linear algebra books lay untouched. My Internet history is an endless scroll of philosophy lectures and Just Kidding News (and even more guilty pleasures). I won't deny the complete pointlessness of some of these days, but I also won't dismiss the validity of the rest.

There were afternoons of staring at the ceiling with the cat, awash in self pity and hopelessness. There were nights destroying the stiff feathered shuttlecocks with a demographic of people I thought I would never, ever befriend. There were days that even the light of day couldn't permeate, and instead, the glow of Photoshop burned into my eyes. Those days were the full days, when peace and meaning seemed tangible, when I felt like a self, a piece of creation rather than a byproduct of it. And when I think, it is true, that the only thing that has been consistent throughout the past 18 years is drawing, even comics. From Pokemon battles to Goofy's squad to the death of ISATS to the death of PI+ to the atom's evolution to psychedelic giraffe sightings. All of it has stayed with me, longer than any single friend, any personality, sickness, mathematical inclination. How dare I ever consider giving it up.

There were early, early mornings of wild and engaging discourse - the exchange of vulnerability but also intense, thoughtful passion. And its not being original, but real (look, the quote). And that is so exciting, more than 7000 views, more than 17000 views. And, and, and this is not even the beginning.

Socially, we are pushed towards being perfect. Physically, beautiful to conform to standards that are cruel and uncommon, to demonstrate to the world that we are happy and healthy and all full of sunshine. However, I feel that the most achievable goal in most of our lives is to have the freedom that our imperfection gives us. And there is no better patron saint of imperfection than the monster. We will try really hard to be angels, but I think what a balanced life is to accept the monstrosity in ourselves and others, as part of what being human is. Imperfection, the acceptance of imperfection, leads to tolerance and liberates us from social models that I find horrible and oppressive.

Guillermo Del Toro

"Basically, we're all shitheads at the end."

Circles

Before I see everyone, most for the first time this summer, let us have a moment of silence for dead friendship. Even though I haven't a single excuse for not even attempting to reach out, and even though I feel a prick of resentment between snaps. This summer didn't change the validity and depth of the relationships of so, SO many years of friendship, but isn't it funny that its so much easier to connect to people a thousand miles away than it is with the thirty people I invited to my graduation party.

For people that I used to see every day, not a single sentence was exchanged in the past two months, yet here I am, drowning in the warm satisfaction getting someone 800 views on a comic at 4:35 am. And for all 60 some missed lunches and every gathering I would decline, I really would rather sit with a cat and a boy I haven't talked to in four years. Because the exchange of our lives in the present is nothing like sharing a dark cynicism. Because every time I want to participate in Naperville, in church, in school, among friends, I also understand that we weren't made for each other, and because every time I think about walking from Helen Newman to North Campus, nothing in this befouled place matters.

Because. When I was on the carpet staring at the ceiling with 400 mg of caffeine coursing through my slightly abused veins, the people who brought me back weren't... you. When I was shaking and drowning in some stupid bout of fright, we didn't go out for Chipotle. Instead, I bought a giant squid and introduced a girlfriend  to my roommate's pet rock Frederick. Maybe its as weird as it sounds. Maybe these boys are still the scum of the earth. But they are most certainly a different type of scum. Like, interesting types.

Because. I sent more bunny butts over WeChat than chat lines over Google+ (not that Google+ was ever a thing).  And maybe everyone in this city just had their shit together two years ago, and I'm still trying to figure out what that is. I like to think that its in something like The Red Hankie, and Guillermo Del Toro, and C Major. It might not be. But it's certainly not here.