This blog is part of a conglomerate of blogs on facebook under "The Lives and Times of Young Adult things.", which is dedicated to cultural growth and the spreading of ideas to educate and enrich your lives, while in turn being educated and enriched by you.
To "find yourself" is a difficult quest: we all walk in this non-glamorous, elongated version of the classical "Hero's Journey" Joseph Campbell decided was a thing (deduced? Would it be deduced?).
I still don't understand the concept of finding yourself, since you're a lot of different "things"--archetypes of characters
Wheezy Waiter is so cool, like. . . .Cool! :D *shot*
There we go!
Anyways, while surfing through my daily batch of YouTube
vloggy videos and stuff, somewhere between Hank Green music and Charlie’s
public relationship*, I found a guy named Wheezy Waiter
And oh my God he is weird!
Wheezy Waiter’s videos are, essentially, a random person’s
brain going on and on with virtually no omitting. . . . and a lot of great
editing.
He describes himself as being “a dude making weirdness
happen in his apartment nearly every weekday with the help of clones, a whale,
alligator, eagle, and everything else in the Wheezyverse.”, and trust me, the “clones”
are actually used. For once, it is not just some weird thing someone puts in
their description to be witty and fun. This guy actually uses clones in the
videos for jokes. Along with the Alligator, the eagle, and the whale!
Seriously, I don’t know if this guy is just made of awesome
or if I’m just too elated as seeing a person with such random thoughts and
actually having the balls to go through with them all!
If Charlie is awareness, and Cullen is conceits, Wheezy is
just weirdness. . . . . and it is amazing (and I totally did not mean for that
to sound this way).
This guy is an oddity of fun things and really smart words
of wisdom. He’s a definite must-see for
fans of Charlie and other fun oddballs!
8.5/10, would “Wheezy” again—I’m gonna start rating blogs
now.
Yes, I’ll go that.
With love
Nikola Strange
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My notes:
*Charlie’s got a girlfriend! :DD
As of, like, seven months ago or something, Charlie announced out loud on
youtube that he’s now in a public relationship with Bryarly Bishop! :DD
I was kinda sad, but after seeing how goddamn happy he was I was suddenly so
goddamn happy for him! I’m glad! Congradulations, Charlie! I hope you two’re great and happy-dandy as
hell. :3
My new crush lasted a total of less than 24 hrs. *sigh* Better than no crush at all, I guess! :)
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For about a year now, I’ve been watching “Charlieissocoollike”’s videos on YouTube
after a recommendation from a friend when she found I had had gotten into Chameleon Circuit(whom totally deserve their own post—multiple post).
After some pestering from this chum of mine, I decided it
was high-time to watch this so-called “Charlie” person. I tacked in the name
and clicked on a video: this odd-looking British boy with funny rusted hair was
staring back at me, talking about some everyday stuff he managed to make pretty interesting, along with some other at times oddball ideas, which again were delivered in an interesting manner.
Although I cannot remember the first video I watched, I
can remember greatly enjoying the videos I watched that week, and subscribing a
day or two into the discovery of Mr. McDonnell. And really, what wasn’t there to love? We’re
talking about a dude in his room/house making ridiculous videos that are
genuine and fun to watch. Every video concerns such normal things, yet since it's written
out and delivered to you so smoothly he makes them seem more exciting than when other
people do them, much like how the music tab makes your friend’s funny Facebook
status better turn into euphoria, and how gifs on tumblr can make buttered
toast the best thing on the planet, even if it’s a sarcastic post.
In fact, I remember being genuinely impressed at the amount of camera tinkering that went into his procrastination video (to the right).
Plus I am a huge fan of British humor, and he seems like a
great person, too. Very fun, relaxed (mostly), honest and downright fun/funny.
Yeah, this dude had another loyal follower.
It wasn’t until today, while procrastinating on all of the
things I said I was going to do today, that I realized something astonishing
while watching the Resolute Unicycling Muppet video. It was almost like the
skies had open up by decree of the universe so that a revelation could come to
pass--I have a crush on Charlie McDonnell!
As overly dramatic as that last sentence made it seem, my
secondary reaction (()) was strangely Gryffindorian*:
Every damn time.
I mean, yeah Charlie is great and deserves all the love in
the world as decreed by the laws of decent humanity and his legion of loyal
fangirls, but why did this legion need me? Why did I like him?
Maybe this is just my thing, but It didn’t initially make
sense to me, or maybe, as they say in my parent’s homeland, “Toda via no me caia el 20”^! So I began to really analyze what I define as beautiful:
As a younger version of me, I was often told that beauty
lied in the heart of the beholder, and the phrase stuck with me more than other words of wisdom for whatever reason, so I began to make my own definition of
beauty. . . .
And this is essentially what I’ve come up with:
Beauty is an emotion. It is not a question of being aesthetically
pleasing. There is an entire science behind what is aesthetically pleasing to
look at for another human being—what you would naturally be more inclined to
look at—all to create a perfect realism for products. And every now and again
some blessed individual will be born with that perfect face somewhat naturally.
But this is not the same as being beautiful. To be
beautiful, in my opinion, is to spark an emotion within a person—a feeling I
can only describe as beauty—to be happy, calm and accepting with an underlying but
distinct feeling of fascination towards the person of your affection. It’s the
distinct wanting to peel away at every layer of the onion and inspect each and
every single line of it—every expression, every flush of color, every movement
and shift in tone; to see what makes the person feel happy or sad or frightened
or whatever, and to be, during the entire process, fascinated, happy and grateful
they exist at all. That’s what I call being enamored.
Though logically I wouldn’t call it that, because I’ve never
really met Charlie in reality and probably never will—in fact, I’d be shocked
and ecstatic and too embarrassed to respond if he ever even found this post.
More so if he bothered to skim through it.
Not to mention I was thinking of my best friends while
writing out the definition, because “beautiful” isn’t just a unisex term in my
mind, is also isn’t exclusively romantic.
Because the way I see it, why not surround yourself with “beautiful”
people. People whom become so much more attractive with their flaws and fallbacks
and misgivings, because there’s so much to love about people—certain types of
people, I think; I’ve tricked myself into thinking all people are beautiful
because I ignore those I don’t think are, so I’m surrounded by my definition of
beauty (Does this post even make sense?)
Strangely enough, despite the fact I can see people as aesthetically
pleasing and do find myself gawking at exceptionally pleasing people, I don’t
ever find them physically attractive until I’ve pegged them with the title of
beautiful, and often find myself finding the closest of friends physically attractive
because they’re so beautiful.
And I found Charlie to be so beautiful during that video I
could not stand it.
Which made me sort of worry what it’d be like when he’d
change! Because I automatically connected it back to the “I’m excited” video,
and how people will always change and evolve as they grow, and if I now found
Charlie beautiful then it would be bound to end at some point in the future
when he’d change, right?!
Wrong, actually. I went back to watch some older videos of
his and found myself inwardly swooning like a woman from the 1950s. *Awkward*
This is a real person, and I will never know him, and I am
swooning like a girl from the 1950s while trying (and failing) to keep a
somewhat straight face.
I’ve been told about a million times my face is like a map.
*Sighs!* Regardless of my reaction to the chemicals in my
brain, Charlie is now the cutest British man in all the United Kingdom to me,
because he has become so beautiful.
So beautiful in fact, it’s now on my bucket list to hug him
and maybe have a conversation that doesn’t consist of awkward silence and “How
are you?” repeated over and over again.
Charlie, if you do by some odd miracle find this, you should
know that you’re lovely to me and to a ton of other people across the globe.
And I hope that thought puts a smile on your face. :3
With love
Nikola Strange
In celebration of my feelings, here’s Charlie:
My feelings exactly at the moment, more or less.
UPDATE: Charlie has a girlfriend by the name of Bryarly Bishop. Well, that crush lasted less than 24 hrs. :3
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These are my notes:
((by secondary reaction, I mean my feelings towards the feeling of suddenly
having a crush. . ..I don’t know if this is the correct term, or a term at all,
but it sounded smart and correct, so. . . .))
^”Toda via no me cae el 20”, or “The 20 hasn’t hit me yet” is an allusion to payphones
in Mexico, which once upon a time when they were real, would have some
difficulty accepting currency (20 cents, or “pesos”) because it would get stuck
on the way down. The phone would give you no notions of it receiving your money
until you tapped the side of it, much like you’d tap an old TV when the picture
would blur. The phrase is used now-a-days to express something that hasn’t
QUITE hit you yet. You’re waiting for it to register.
*If you guys have not started
following Hogwarts House Traits on tumblr, you should! Check them out! :DD*
I’m going to try something new called propaganda, or
friendly reminders, to see what’ll happen so:
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I trembled. And I cried.
And I remembered. I remembered all the stupid things, and I remember feeling pitiful over hurting at all. I still feel pitiful. It was never much. What I was, and what I went through, wasn't nearly as bad as what the people went through in the video. I don't even feel right saying "what I went through". It was more just . . .an experience.
I remember stupid name-calling, and I remember stupid friends. I remember each and every time I felt a bad thing at home. I know it was unknown to everyone else, especially at home. It still isn't known.
And To This Day I tell myself it was nothing and that I should feel nothing to run away because it's nothing and I should feel nothing and I genuinely believe this is true.
What I heard at school was nothing. I genuinely don't remember what it is. What I was told at home should be nothing. I genuinely know I can change what's being said.
Yet I feel hurt.
I hurt.
Yet I know it's not so bad anymore. Not when I don't let it get to me--whatever "it" is, really. I know I'm hurt, but it's not that bad. I have a smug look, I have a smug smile, I look at myself and I don't just say, but I know that "Damn, I'm gorgeous!" I love myself. I can think that and mean it.
And that's more than can be said by others.
I went to shower afterwards, and I thought to myself of that cast wrapped around our hearts and the words written. And I knew they were wrong. I smiled. And I thought to myself "If my friends and I were all single, I'd be first to get a girlfriend--I'm perfect! In all my imperfections."
And then I cried. I curled myself up and I cried into that black hole I had newly resurfaced in my chest. And I told myself "Don't cry, don't cry don't cry . . . " And that the sun was ever tailor-made for me by a man or woman was just such an unattainable dream then. And that if someone was ever like the sun for me, then I knew I'd make them hurt. I thought "Johnny Cash", and the comprehension resurfaced. And now I feel better.
I genuinely do.
When I first saw the video, it was an emotion so strong I tried to suppress it. But I knew I could relate (even if I don't have the right to be such a baby). I re-watched it, open, to try and absorb it in--grasp at the idea of the video. And I felt myself gasping for breath. Until the tears rolled down my eyes.
And I smiled. And it was the most beautiful smile I've ever smiled, and I wished someone had a camera, and I said "I'm so alone." I felt like Snow White.
And for just a second, I could see someone to sweet inside me. Someone I forgot I had. It felt like velvet. Like warmth.
And I felt light.
And I wondered, has there ever been a person on this green earth that hadn't been bullied? Some, glorious individual with all the great things in life? Someone that wasn't self-conscious about their makeup after being called pretty so many times and receiving no compliments when they had none on? Someone who hasn't had a lecture dumbed down because they were a jock and thus expected to be stupid. Some beautiful creature not called a bitch or a slut when being a prominent member of the cheer squad?
And what're we doing with these kinds of videos? Is it a vicious lineage on a food chain because everyone is called names and thus calls names to others until the poor suckers at the bottom have no one else to pick on? Are we catering to those persons? Will they ever forget what it was they went through and raise healthy strong children who in turn bully others?
What are we trying to do?
Who is it we are trying to teach?
We as a nation, and as a species, need a re-education on these type of things, because no one who has ever been hurt by this calls it "bullying", because bullying is such a small word. It's the idea of a stereotypical fat big guy in a black shirt and a mean scowl spitting on your face in a movie that ends okay. And even if we root for the underdog, and that's the point of the movie--to give hope to the real-life survivors--it still undermines everything that word implies and everything those implication do in reality. The scars never really do go away, and the mold and the grime and the hurt never really does fade forever. And the triggers are always there and the memories are always burned into the back of your eyelids, but you do learn to just turn away. Or so I've learned.
I don't think it's working too well.
I want to live here one day. Breath free.
But I know they were wrong.
I know they were wrong.
I know they were wrong about me, And I know that I am going to do so much better than they could ever have hoped for. And if they ever become my boss, I am not just going to suck it up and hope they do not remember me. I won't sit there and look away and pretend not to care. I won't let it start up again.
But I know I won't have to. Because I remember them way more than they remember me. They don't remember me at all.
I didn't even realize why, until a friend of mine decided to sit me down and talk. Damn if I ever needed it.
My life has, according to my friend, revolved around fear: fear of not being accepted. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of not deserving good things.
At first, I thought he was silly: why would I feel such things?
Sure, I have my secrets, but why would I fear being austracized?
I have my differences, but how would that make me feel inadiquate?
I didn't hate myself. I still don't. Why would I feel undeserving?
The last one hit home first: I do fear it--I fear love. It's a scary thing, knowing a living breathing person with their own wants and desires could take an interest to you. Or that you'd have to live up to their standards.
I am scared of that.
So I thought about the rest: yeah. I do fear not being accepted in my family, for reasons I can't get into here on this blog. Not yet.
And I do fear I've failed somehow, for reasons I can't get into here either. Not yet.
There's a file on my computer holding our entire conversation. Read at your own peril, would be my advice
.
I hope everything turns out okay in the end.
With Love,
Nikola Strange.
(Please pardon the typos. I want to publish this before I think too much--now you can see ny piss-poor spelling!! :DD
With the sudden influx of death in
my life, true to my generation’s nickname, I can’t help but reflect on myself.
As an individual.
How selfish.
Does it matter much [if I’m selfish
right now]? I don’t know. I like to think it does.
My view on the topic at hand is not
a common one in my family. In fact, it might just be mine alone—I don’t mourn
the deaths of others. In fact I’m happy their sufferings are over, if they were
suffering to begin with. I’m happy they lived their lives, and they had their
happy moments and sad moments. So long as their lives were, for the most part, pleasant,
I’m happy they’ve lived at all. And I’m happy they’re now resting. Or in a
heaven. Or reborn. Or simply gone. Whatever suits their taste while alive.
I don’t know how my family would
take that.
I pity the living instead. That’s
the real reason why I cry in funerals.
How strange, maybe.
Mulling over these beliefs brought
back memories: memories of childhood—a bookworm, refusing to put down novels
twice her size, itching to get out of the kiddie’s section in the library. A
loaner, whom spent time talking to imaginary, opposing sides of herself. An
outgoing kid who loved to show off victories—something as small as being a “super
student”—like trophies on a shelf. A kid that hated being told what to do if it
wasn’t a teacher instructing her. A kid that liked work, most odd of all, I
think.
I remember a teacher once asked
what we had to be thankful for on Thanksgiving. While most kids said they were
thankful for their toys, their rooms, their parents playing with them, I
remember thinking those were stupid things to be thankful for. I raised my hand
and proudly said I was thankful my parents worked for me. I was interrupted by
a kid I don’t remember (lies. I still know his name) shouting “You’re mean!
That’s like your parents being slaves!” I never got a chance to mention I was
thankful I was fed and clothed before receiving toys (which I did receive
whenever my parents could afford them, mind you).
Was that a strange thing to say? I’m
not sure. I wonder what that says about me.
I don’t think I was that off. I
still liked childish things, and I still love them now! I was never allowed to
like Belle from Beauty and the Beast because my older sister claimed her as her
favorite. Being the darkest of the three sisters, I was always stuck being
Jasmine, whom I couldn’t relate to. I tried instead to be like Cinderella: she
was a hard worker, and I liked that toil more than I liked her ending with
Prince Charming (his name is Henry, by the way).
I remember I tried to learn to wash
clothes or scrub the floors on my hands and feet, or dust the house. Mother
never let me.
I also remember trying to lighten
my skin with flour, and contemplating if the material would sink into my skin
if I dipped my hands in egg first.
Esmeralda’s my favorite now.
Mother once said I was so sure I
was a princess as a kid, I would tell her about running off to England to meet
my relatives and be friends with Anastasia (bonus points if you can tell me
what my favorite childhood movie was*). I remember that. I remember thinking I
was a lot of things, because a gap existed on both ends of my family,
grandfathers on both ends. I’d spend ages trying to imagine myself as a wizard
or princess or superhero because of those gaps. I look onto those memories
fondly.
God I love stories.
Mother found it strange I preferred
my imagination to people most of the time. She insists to my older sister her
baby boy is perfectly fine, since he’s largely the same as me. “Every child is
different—you three are as different as could be. He’s just fine.”
Love you, mama.
Daddy always tried to soften the
blow, though. I wasn’t your average kid, and my family has the bad habit of
saying “not normal” over “not average”. He’d always tell me that wasn’t the
case with me, “You’re different”.
Normal is just a state of mind, and
“different” doesn’t mean bad.
Thank you daddy. I wouldn’t have
come up with that without your chats.
In fact, there are times where the
strange things are truly the most beautiful.
Yet I feel that in certain
situations, like a death in the family, whether it be good or bad is irrelevant.
My elder sister was rightly
trying my patience today: "How're you going to pay for your dorm and your
things if you don't have money? Did you even turn in that application?"
Truth be told, I didn't. I haven't done a
lot of things, and I'm ashamed of that.
"Take care of your nephew.
Improvise!" She was taking care of her bills with the IRS, scratching
things off of her daily planner.
I got off of facebook and took the
kid outside, who proceeded to ride his bike.
I
felt disgusted that I haven't given a shit about collage or my future at all! I
was so passionate about my future and the great things I’d do—all the wonderful
things I’d create.
The
tuition for the Academy of Arts, a for-profit school, was raised by 25 dollars
a while back. The cost for this for-profit is staggering, but less expensive
than schools like CalArts or California Collage of the Arts, and isn’t being
sued like the Art Institute chain is. Not to mention it’s been nationally
accredited since the 80’s. Though the school accepts everyone that applies and
has no portfolio requirements, I felt so welcomed on my visit to San Francisco.
And the animation building itself felt like home! I instantly went looking for work
and scholarships and could not find the will to make myself continue. Why was
that?
Why is it that I can never finish
anything I start?
Lauren
Faust didn't graduate from CalArts and she's made some of the most incredible
cartoons do date! MLP, the Super Best friends forever shorts (I am in love
with, btw), she worked on Foster's and Cats don't dance! It's all I've ever
wanted in life, but with Disney.
Sure, she didn't have a degree, but she's
skilled enough to have gotten into CalArts in the first place!
I felt like such a sloth, but why
was it that I cared so little about my collage education and life goals so
suddenly?
Soon, I heard another small voice shouting
at me "I got a sticker school today, tia!"
"Oh really?!"
"Yeah!" He laughed.
Both of my nephews rode their identical bikes
in circles, round and around and around.
