Fettuccine Al-dead-o

The afterlife has been somewhat of a concern for me.  Especially since the past few weeks have found me relentlessly questioning my faith.  For the longest time, I had always just taken for granted what everyone told me to believe.  And that’s what it has been all of my life.  People say, “God exists, and you must believe in him.”  Because I was young and impressionable, I did. However, now that I discovered the ever nifty “thinking for yourself” application in my brain, I wonder if I really, truly believe that.  And I don’t know.

We don’t go to church.  Even when we did go to church, I absolutely loathed it.  I had to get up early on Sundays, I had to wear a dress and tights and uncomfortable shoes, and getting ready for church usually put my parents in a really bad mood.  The last time I actually went to church (outside of the going with friends on Sundays before they take me home) was probably when I was ten years old, or somewhere around there.  And I have not really regretted it.  I don’t think that, fifty years from now, that I will say, “Damn.  I really wish I had gone to church more…”  However, I think church may have helped me on my way to the conclusion of what my faith actually was.  When I say that I don’t go to church, I get these hilarious looks that are like, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME???”  My friend and I have talked about this quite a bit.  People, nowadays, believe, not in God’s salvation, but in the salvation that church provides them.  They think that attending church will save their immortal souls.  They think that going to church makes you a good person.  I’m not going to be the one to tell them that going to church is supposed to help you understand–it’s not going to help you ensure your position in heaven, not if you rely on it completely to erase the sins you committed that week.

My friend made an excellent point when we were talking about Catholicism.  “Church is a rehab for sinners, nor a gathering place for saints.”  And that’s how some Catholics view things.  Not all of them, but many of them do.  My father’s family is Catholic, he was raised Catholic, but now, he’s not.  My family “believes” as my mom says.  She doesn’t understand why you have to go to church to be able to call yourself a Christian.  But it isn’t like I exactly want to call myself a Christian, because some of the “Christian” behavior is questionable.  The protesting of a gay man’s funeral is the worst thing I have heard in a while.  It’s appalling to me, that those people call themselves Christians.  That’s very Christian behavior.  People constantly say, “What would Jesus do?”  I can tell you that he wouldn’t do THAT.  That’s fine if you don’t agree with their lifestyle, but that’s none of your business.  Forgiveness is the greatest tool that we have.

So, in all of this that I am saying, none of this has helped me in my search for something to believe.  What’s going to happen to me when I die?  I absolutely refuse that after this life there is nothing.  There’s no possible freaking way I went through all the shit I went through for it all to be OVER.  Just over.  However, I don’t want reincarnation or immortality.  Me and Taylor were talking about that and Futurama came up in conversation.  Bender said ”If I found out I had to live another life, I’d kill myself right now.”  It makes me smile.  I am still on my search for what’s on the other side of this life, because I’m not sure.  But people are helping me find my way, so maybe I’ll be okay. 

I just want to know that when I am fettuccine al-dead-o, or basting the formaldehyde turkey, that there is something waiting for me on the other side.  I know there is, but the specifics are eluding me.  So, now starts my search.  I’ll let you know how it goes.    

Teenager: Adults Telling Us NO

Teenagers scare the living shit out of me. 

They could care less as long as someone’ll bleed.

The crossing from preteen to teen (or young adult, whichever you prefer) is marked by one thing:  the considerable restriction on your life.  Or it was in my case.  As a kid, going places with your friends was no big deal–you usually had a chaperone.  However, as a kid, you don’t usually make the same demands as a teen, because you don’t know better.  You don’t badger your parents for the freedoms you suddenly crave:  movies every weekend after dark, the ability to change plans on a whim and screw your parents over.  (I do that all the time.)  You want the freedom to express yourself in anyway you choose.  In this instance, we’ll focus on artists, mainly writers.

I had discussed this with Taylor earlier and I decided to discuss it with my Hamster, to get two different views because adults and kids sometimes see things differently.  However, me, Hamz, and Taylor had the same train of thought:  “Don’t let anyone tell you what you can and cannot say.”  I had been upset about a message someone had sent me in response to my statement “That’s gay.”  They told it was NOT OK to say that, that teens do it all the time and it’s not cool.  And, since I’m a teen, I deleted the message and refused to acknowledge the sender.  Because teens can be childish like that.  The world thinks we’re childish all the time anyway.  While I cannot say I was RIGHT to say that, I can say that no one is going to edit their language when they are extremely flustered.  it just doesn’t work that way, I’m sorry.  And I’m not going to apologize for what I said, because I don’t think I need to.  (I know my friend Bsinger 1017 would find this particularily hilarious, ebcause he says GAY after pretty much everything.)

However, I do agree with Talyor on one thing:  gay sounds immature, coming from a writer like me.  Had I been a little more calm and my thoughts less clouded, I would have used a different word.  There are, much to your surprise, I know, quite a few words in my vocabluary that can express my irritation and anger.  Hamz said “…had no right.  You can express yourself!  What ever happened to freedom of speech?  Well, I know [they] have the ability to cally ou out, but online?  Isn’t that why do all that online stuff?  To get away from adults who tell you what you should and should not do?”  EXACTLY.

Gay, in some ways, is the same as any “derogatory” “mean-spirited” word.  Such as bitch.  OMG!  Did I just swear. Yeah.  I did.  Because I can.

Quote from “Teenagers” by My Chemical Romance

Self Portrait

Blue eyes, calculating, observing; never resting for fear I will miss something.   They are my eyes, light blue at the center ringed with dark, almost black blue.  They stare at me, those reflected eyes lined in black eyeliner and they seem to ask me, Who are you? 

Pale skin with teenage blemishes, the skin’s whiteness made stark by dark hair and black clothing.  There are some who call it pasty, unhealthy looking–I do not agree.  It’s my skin.  Let me decide what it looks like.

Dark, chestnut brown hair falls straight, only marred by layers from the last hair cut.  It frames my face when let alone, but my annoying habit of running my hands through it tosses it every which way to give me a slightly frazzled look.  It falls, shining and straight.

My hands shake in panic, the chipped black nail polish becoming slightly blurred in my fingers’ movement.  Writer’s hands:  constantly scarred with ink from a page.  Nails are uneven; sometimes from breaking, sometimes because my old habit of worrying them with my teeth comes back.  But they put my thoughts on the paper, on the screen; they hold the pen that makes my imagination real, or as real as it gets.

Not tall.  Not skinny.  Apparently, according to the nice woman at Arby’s, I have “junk in my trunk.” While I don’t look like Kiera Knightly, I love the way my legs look in jeans, and the way my torso looks in tank tops.  People may think I could stand to lose some weight, but for now, I’m content.

My face is like an oval–not bad, but no real defining attributes.  Black Ray-Ban prescription eyeglasses sit on my nose, the lenses enhancing my sight.  They are like my shield, protecting me from the real world.

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, frantically, my hands are still shaking.  I’m alive.