worthy

Once upon a time, in a group of little brownies, a towheaded midget wearing a brown sash which was sparsely populated by badges unrolled a piece of paper revealing her destiny.

well, not exactly destiny. it was me, reading the meaning of my birthname: amanda. "worthy of great love."Since then i've read multiple derivations from obvious "lovable" to the disappointing "princess." the first one was the one i always thought was true, even though now i know "true" is usually more flexible than my five-year old mind would grasp.

It's odd because it doesn't mean that i will get great love, or any love. And actually it feels more like a potential future than a promise of any kind. as in "you have the opportunity to be greatly love."

And actually, that's something I've been thinking about lately. In this decade of life I guess is the time were it's a mad scramble to settle major things like careers and securing marriage if that's what you're into. and so it's easy to get focused on the bottom line thinking, be envious of those that get the girl and the gold despite what it does to them to do so.

recently i've had some guy friends discussing with me how mutual acquaintances will stoop to underhanded techniques to get girls, and they finished it up, "but.....they get girls!" as if that was the point.

one of my favorite writers from my adolescence wrote, "what you win is how you play." or the more popular, "what you are today is the price you pay for what you used to want."

i believe it's a universal desire to want to be loved, some of the giddiest highs or the simplest pleasures are derived from knowing that someone loves you. But it's also something we absolutely cannot control, attempts to do so are sabotage. So what i think in the end we are left with is the ability to try and be someone worthy of love, even if no one every will.

i suppose it's a trite and cliche conclusion, but i think still true. Perhaps growing up is modifying our wiring for instant gratification and selfish need of attention and love and all the flash and jazz of fabricated love and subsuming a quieter and stiffer satisfaction in knowing that i am worthy of the things i believe i want, if i never obtain them.

where i am now

I feel almost obligated to update. Since I've had sweet handful of people say to me, "i read your blog"

and well, I'm not as bummed out as i was just a couple days ago. the sun rises, i bike to school, i study chem, i try to hang out with my brother who's so sweet and he's moving to alabama in a week.

he really loves me, and i find that given the events of the last little bit that i feel pessimistic about non-familial close relationships. in a week i had an ex and an ex best friend write me scathing little electronic communications which at best were emotionally cathartic for them at my expense.

after the inital depression of getting over the abrupt dumping done by that guy who now has permanently earned "ex" status i find that i just feel empty in my social interactions. i used to feel optimistic and hopeful about everybody i met, more or less.

people hurt each other. this truth i dont know if i can quite get over.

Plato said, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

I'm depressed.

I know the signs, this has happened before. runs in my family according to my mother. I used to think when I was in junior high and we watched late 90's vidoes made to try to appeal to the "y generation" or whatever it is i've been lumped with, that depression was glamorous, blue tinted and high contrasted.

it's not, it's hot, like you're living in a room that used to be a garage in house with no ac, yellowish like sweat stains, and glaringly bright with those little technicolor spots from a migraine.

i push people away, which for the most part isn't hard. social structures are mostly like water, they flow to the easiest spot, people are hydrogen bonded, like blends with like and they stick together in little crystalline structures.

sometimes someone can hurt you with words, and sometimes indifference. it's funny how all that tenderness and intimacy can flip on it's head in an instant and all that soft pink exposed flesh gets pinched.

some artwork

I got featured on a local website http://upsideprovo.com/community/art.html and they said that "to see more of her artwork here's her blog" which, well frankly I have yet to put up a single picture of my own artwork on this blog as far as I remember.
Well, I guess it's a good excuse.
These are some images from my final show 2008, I guess that's almost two years ago.

some contemporary figure painters

These artists are: Jenny Saville, Steve Huston, Mark Demsteader, and Alex Kanevsky in that order.

tthate

mistake?

I am faced with the impossibility of making life decisions. It seemed like such a good idea to not go back to germany and to do pre-med here.

But now i'm sort of baffled. I gave up living in germany doing something at least psuedo art related to taking physics and chem midterms here? Was I crazy?

helpless

A lot has changed in the past year. alot. Even just a few months ago i would never imagine myself in the position that i'm in.

The funny thing is I can pinpoint it almost. I was in the stanstead airport heading back to bremen. It was my second or third quick weekend trip on ryanair since i'd been back from america for christmas break. something about the break had disrupted my rhythm of life their so completely. I couldn't seem to stay put, london several times, amsterdam, switzerland, all in the month that i was back before i headed back to america for what was supposed to be 7 weeks in between semesters.

flying on ryanair can be disillusioning to the somewhat pampered clientale of the usa. when you're flying for dirt cheap i guess you shouldn't be surprised to be treated like dirt.

The thing is they only allow 10 kg carryon. anything more either checked or above gets charged extra 30 pounds, which is close to 50 dollars or so. that's a lot of money for a poor roamer such as myself with an art degree.

So I flew in no problem, and didn't expect any trouble on the way back, afterall, what could be worst than german airport security, right?

the security guard informed me i was 4 kilos over. No problem i thought, i pulled my suitcase to the side, put on my two pairs of pants, my other coats and took my books out and carried them in my arms. A few people looked at me and laughed as i was layering but i felt like i was in on the joke.

upon reentry i decided to go to a different security guard since the first one was a little snippity. the second security guard noticed the first had marked on my paper that my carryon was overweight and double checked my bag, which was now a kilo underweight.

"it's just for your own comfort" he explained politely and let me pass. As i made my way through the mostly empty security line the first security guard so me walking through with my bag and left his post and ran after me.

He was tall, overweight, red in the face with a walrus white mustache and a thick accent.

"dont you be slipping the micky on me!" he exclaimed in outrage. As though me walking through the security line was a personal attack.

"I went through my bag" i explained, "i passed."

he grabbed me by my arm and pulled me back.

"who? who let you through?" he demanded.

"sir..." i tried to intervene. the onslaught of his outrage was hitting me emotionally. despite my "spunk" or "sass" or whatever attributes anyone might give to me when all is said and done i am a nice good girl who was raised by parents that hardly ever yelled by teachers that were gentle and i dont get in trouble. old people dont yell at me, people in uniforms dont swear at me and grab me by the arm in a rage and drag me out of line.

He pulls me in front of the check in counter and demands that the workers have me check my now underweight luggage.

They look at each a little loss as to what to do.

"well, if her suitcase is the right weight she doesn't have to check it," says one of the girls heistantly.

"she just put more clothes on!" he exclaims, "she's trying to slip the micky on me!"

"um, let me ask my supervisor?" she says

A skinny slumped shouldered sandy haired man pops up uncomfortably. He doesn't look me in the eye as he says it might be better for me to just check my luggage.

"That's a lot of money for me," i explain. "i only flew here because it was so cheap, checking the luggage will cost as much as the whole trip!"

the security guard nods at the supervisor and stalks off in triumph.

I try to argue with the workers. I can see they agree with me.

"Well, your bag is a little big. it might not even get past security..."

I put my bag in the metal cage that checks for size. it barely fits, but it still fits.

"Well if you want to risk it but it might make you miss your flight...."

it became clear to me. there was no reason for me to have to check my bag. but none of the workers would stand up for me because they had to deal with the walrus mustached security guard everyday, whereas i was just one of millions of customers coming through. By the end none of them were making eye contact with me.

It may seem like an insignificant event blown up into full detail. But this is when things changed for me. I was completely helpless. someone bigger than me picked on me, and there were side characters that could have done something but they did nothing, and the bigger one won. I paid the fifty dollars to check my 9 kilo bag and felt this welling rage inside me at my complete inability to affect my fate.

As my dad might say, this is how the world is.