Because reasons…

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Art by Ori Kintahumi

“Everything happens for a reason…”

For a long time, I believed this. I think it became even more apparent to me once I began taking Christianity seriously during my late teen years as my life and emotions seemed to be crumbling around me. Now that I have gone through a number of various life changes and experienced a bit more, relying on this belief isn’t entirely beyond me. Yet, accepting my existence and path in life as completely in the hands of a higher power has no room in my current form.

To simply rest on my laurels and say things like, “Well God simply didn’t want that for me because there’s something better for me” is relinquishing one’s own free will and responsibility to actively do their part in shaping their future. Some may find comfort in the idea of blaming God for shit not going their way and find peace in that. However, those same people turn and blame God for misfortunate events that were actually out of their control. Why? Because it’s easier to blame a higher power than to simply say “This happened. I have to accept it and move on.”

This convenient double standard of conveniently having a source of blame is what I find most issue about regarding the kinds of Christians I was around for most of my life. That is not to say this is the reason I have gradually become more of an Agnostic than anything. Rather, I acknowledge that Christianity aided me in controlling my emotions – most notably, my anger and sense of abandonment regarding my father – and brought me to a place where I could put myself second to equip me to inspire & help my fellow man. Christianity even helped me recover from the most scarring betrayal of my existence. Though, as may be apparent in my blog entries years back, I became torn between believing in a fluffy, kind God that graced an ordained human with spiritual insight to guide other humans…or having enough faith to believe in my own ordinance of free will to guide and inspire myself and others if given the opportunity.

Things do, in fact, happen for a reason, but telling someone to “just have faith” or “trust God to work it out” is basically telling someone to look the other way and pray something good comes from what little they have or haven’t already done. Anyone can have faith, but having faith does not require a god or a religion. As I’ve admitted to my mother more than once, I now see Christianity as a moral compass for those who can recognize good from evil for themselves, but choose to rely on scripture written by the hands of man bestowed upon them by a being beyond their own understanding for wisdom.

Personally, I have no qualms with anyone who truly needs wisdom in this way, but I now trust in my own heart and knowledge. There are enough matters in this world to fear. A million ways to die that are out of our control. Submitting to being a follower of organized believers, fearing for my soul because of what a heavily edited tale of [oftentimes dated] life lessons is not how I wish to live out my atom-sized existence in this expansive universe.

To believe I can shape my legacy, influence my path, and learn from the negatives has freed me to live in a greater, more spiritual sense of valuing my own existence above all. Acknowledging the power I wield to influence all I can and to let go of that which I cannot. Life is too short to simply discard what doesn’t align with the rules of religion. I have more interest to amass knowledge about the different ways people believe than to ascribe to a singular belief system.

Perhaps I’ll share about how my artist friend of over ten years observed about how time has changed me. That, without a doubt, happened for a reason.

A year of passion…

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Haku Yowane by Caffein

When this year started, I felt rejuvenated as most do when a new year begins. To be honest, I didn’t want to experience that feeling as I knew it would only be betrayed by my own laziness and neglect. That is not to say I don’t believe in myself. No, not by any means. I simply was aware that to charge head-first would likely get me through the first month, then propped upon a spike somewhere after.

Even still, I said to myself:

I want to write and be creative again. That was something I lost all of last year, for the most part. Now, I want to take it back.

However, anyone who knows how to set S.M.A.R.T goals understand that simply generalizing will get you nowhere fast. It’s now the end of January and I haven’t done much in the vein of writing more. To realize this so soon while most people simply give up the ghost is actually a good thing.

Now, it would be nice if I could somehow do more with this blog that would trigger me to set aside 45-60 minutes each day. The most relatively easy thing would be to simply free write. Truth be told, this entry itself is an experiment in free writing. Prompted by nothing but a self-realization with no real aim in mind.

Though, in a twist of irony, the aim of this entry revealed itself in a matter of moments of beginning to write. Sharing my desire to reclaim my creativity that I allowed to slip away in favor of grander pursuits that required a great deal of my time and energy. Now that one of the largest barriers restricting me access to my creativity is nearly torn down, I couldn’t help but feel as though I could breathe again.

There’s more that I want to do besides writing more – creativity abounds in various forms within me. However, proving that I am capable of weaving the English language relatively at will is first on my plate. As I am already expending creativity as a voice actress, it’s a matter of properly directing my energies toward dedicating myself to this task.

Rather than trying to recover what I’ve lost in January, I shall use the remaining days to attempt to condition myself gently until February to find that sweet spot that allows me to be the most creative. In the past, the night has been my confidant in that regard and, given that I’m writing this a bit after midnight, may still be.

As I am unsure of how to make use of this blog, I will, at the very least, show my conditioning in the form of blog posts. If I am unable to maintain myself for the week leading up to February, I will not consider myself a lost cause. Rather, I will simply assess and try a different approach.

I used to write a ton as a teenager, mostly during my glory days of text roleplaying. Those days ended after I realized my creativity was being squandered on tales that would never see the light of day. Though I’ve convinced myself that I could never return, perhaps I may attempt to recapture some of that ancient roleplaying spirit to add a fun element to tempering my creative soul again. If for no other reason than out of desperation to resuscitate that which came to me so naturally years back.

We shall see. For now, hopefully I’ll begin posting daily here, not fretting about errors or fluff as I usually do. Just…sharing my heart as I have become ever more adept at doing since HRT.

Now you see me

renai_1609Got asked for my number today at work by a male customer while only wearing basic cover-up, eyeliner, and glasses. No, I don’t know why either. I’m more or less convinced that the quality of male trying to pick me up is equivalent to the level of effort I put into doing my makeup and hair.

When did I become so adept at flashing a shy smile and reciting “Thank you, but I’m taken”? I would be lying if I said I have not been flirted with/hit on a number of times since I began living full-time, though I only seem to recall the points which I did not parry some older man’s adverse advances. Though, being well trained to resist romantic interests isn’t something anyone should be proud of. Yes, it would be nice for my precisely cut lie to actually be true for once.

Or better yet, for someone actually attractive to throw a cheesy pick-up line my way. For someone to actually make me think if giving them my number would be worth my while. This has, in fact, happened to me before. Once or twice, but still. My tastes are both wide and narrow. Varied, yet specific. Especially with cis males.

Or better still, to not be terrified of how a man would react to me being not quite the woman they expected. To be desired by a cis male exposes a myriad of internal questions I’d rather not have to answer. Ironically, if a cis male knows I’m transgender, that then adds on even more questions. Many of which broach the matters of my self-worth, gender dysphoria, and faded internalized transphobia. Sad that now I know the moment any male shows any interest in being with me, I am convinced that I have been fetishized or become a curious fantasy.

I’m sure you can imagine the snowballing questions that bubble to the surface from never being loved in the way I’ve always wanted. The way I never believed could be possible for me. The way I’ve longed since accepted would surely be out of my reach. For the ones I could give myself to do not desire me, and the ones who desire me I can only perceive as a cruel joke brought about by a sexual whim.

Such a level of emotional acceptance has brought me to a place where sexuality and intimacy are fickle entities that I could live without indefinitely. My life, in its current form, has little capacity for such things. Not because I am too occupied pursuing my dreams, but because my self-worth is the lowest point it has ever been in my life. Out of frustration of failing to meet my own standards, I have begun hating romance to avoid crying myself to sleep in the midst of my own silent longing.

Kill off that which is meaningless. Nurture that which can grow.

In the end, for my own sanity, I cannot help but cling to what is left of my pride, and protect my self from myself.