Buried in the sand at the beach.

I look around my room.  I challenge myself to find something in here - anything - that would have been in my room had I first moved in a hundred years ago.  Is there anything here that would have withstood the tests of time - not only from a durability standpoint, but also because I would have kept taking it with me...?

Not my underwear, that's for sure.  The blanket, perhaps...will they recognize this table as a priceless relic in 2113?

I am not a fan of relics.  I like the nostalgia they trigger, but not enough that the sentimentality would take over and convince me to hang on to what is otherwise just a receptacle for dust and lost space.

I spent the last year looking for reasons to throw away (read: donate) as much of my material possessions that I could let go.  Each time I held something in my hand that I dug out of a shelf - or a box under the other box in the cabinet under the sink - I would ask myself:  "Do I really need this?"

One of the most important things in my life that I learned from travelling to the United States was that feeling.  Upon returning home, bags were opened for unpacking.  Clothes in arms, I walked to the closet to put them back where they were neatly stacked just a month prior.

Inside the closet were stacks of clothes that I did not bring with me.

Look at all these clothes I neither needed nor thought about.  Half of them almost immediately went into the vacant Balikbayan Box and were shipped off to some household helper's province.

A hundred years hence, my hope is that closets, rooms - peoples' very lives - contain only what they really need.  That what I really need becomes clearly visible right in front of me, unobscured by stacks of "things I might need."  Things I use.  People who matter.  Friends that "get it."

Where are these things?  Who are these people?

They are under that fancy car we might buy, or maybe behind that hot girl we want to get jiggy with.  More usually, buried under the stacks of paperwork on the desk.  The things that matter, we don't pick them up till we buy the car, fuck the girl, finish the work.

Treasure hunts.  Fun.

The Pansacola Monthly Writing Project: Prompt for July

We are now in the middle of month 2 of this semi-successful writing endeavor (by successful, I mean more than one participated). It's good, but we can definitely do better. I am calling out those who said would participate but didn't post an entry last time (if you aren't myself, Jason, or Ron, then I MEAN YOU)...don't be lazy and join the writing fun!

This month's theme is courtesy of Jason:
The World, in 2113: Imagine what the world would be like in a hundred years. Now write something about it.

Reminders:

• Just login to Blogger.com using the email you asked to be added. You will be directed to your Blogger dashboard, where you can easily spot the Pansacola blog. (If you're really having a hard time figuring it out, email it to me personally and I will post it on the blog for you, where it will be automatically shared to other members.)
• No confinements for this theme, according to Jason. It can be about absolutely anything, big or small. You can write in whatever format you can think of.
• You can post as many entries as you want, as long as they all fit the theme/topic.

Feel free to post a comment for any questions/clarifications about this month's theme/topic.

Jam

The list.

1
The first time I ever saw the light of day.
That time I tripped (as a toddler) and fell flat on my face.
When mommy and daddy left for America.
When they came back with presents.
When I couldn't get any toys from the pabitin at my own frigging birthday party.
The time my neighbor got to buy a Barbie dollhouse.

2
When the boy down the street told me he liked me.
When my grade school teacher told me off in front of the class for swinging my knees inside and out while sitting down (because that's not how little girls are supposed to behave).
When another grade school teacher gave me back a movie report I wrote with a perfect score on it and whispered into my ear, "you should do your own work next time."
That time my dad yelled at me for saying I was off to bed when I was really secretly watching Bramstoker's Dracula on TV.
When my pretend boyfriend told me he didn't like me anymore.
That momentous occasion when I got my first Gold Card Award.

3
Kodak commercials...or any ad depicting the perfect family life, for that matter.
Father-daughter dialogues in movies.
Evil winning over good.
Rumors and lies.
Death.
People cheating on significant others.

4
When I found out my high school boyfriend was into boys.
When I watched the movie Stepmom (1998) and thought, man, Susan Sarandon looks a lot like my own mom...
When he crumpled a letter I wrote explaining my side.
The first time I ever got a 0.0 grade.
The idea of never finishing college.
When I got an anonymous text telling me he was seeing someone else.

5
Dirty secrets.
Emails from exes.
Remembering horrible mistakes.
The very first time I saw his face in real life.
Every time we have a fight.
Whenever I think of what the future holds.

6
Happiness.
Sadness.
Anger.
Fear.
Excitement.
Love...and every other emotion possible.

Shadow

My older brother used to call me "shadow."  It wasn't really a term of endearment, it was given because of the way that I used to follow him around incessantly when he was playing with his friends.

I grew up in fairly normal circumstances for an American, though my surroundings were perhaps a shade more rural than the suburban norm.  Growing up in a small neighborhood surrounded by farms meant that your selection of friends was quite limited.  You tended to make do with who you had.

It also happens that any given neighborhood tends to be settled in waves.  The first wave builds the houses, and they all come around the same couple of years.  Their children play together, become lifelong friends, and probably leave the neighborhood.  As those of the first wave start to retire to Florida or die of heart attacks, the second wave moves in.  Their children will subsequently play together, and the cycle goes on.

This is all well and good, unless you happen to be in between several of these waves.  My brother, five years older than me, happened to be right in the middle of one, and had a number of friends to choose from within shouting distance.  All I had were a couple of girls, and during much of the formative time frame of childhood, girls just aren't going to cut it for an adventuresome boy.

So my brother would play his his friends - basketball at the house across the street, capture the flag games on Saturday nights, exploring the woods that could be found in almost any direction, or simply wasting the time away in someone's backyard throwing a ball around.  And me?  I would follow them.

When my brother had a fight in the woods with a friend of his, I was there.  When they accidentally hit the neighbor's house with a golf ball, I was 15 feet up in a nearby tree.  For whatever reason, my brother didn't like to take me around with him.  Maybe it was my parents making him do it sometimes that made him resentful.  Whatever the reason was, I learned to follow them around anyway.

At first, I wasn't very good at it.  Half hidden behind a tree, my brother would loudly sigh and yell at me to leave them alone.  I'd run off, only to circle back on the other side.  After enough of this, I learned the fine art of spying on one's older brother.  Laying in some tall grass was a great option.  Also, climbing the broad pine trees that soared in the neighbor's yard allowed me to observe events from high above the ground, complete with pine fresh fragrance.

There is a thrill to operating without being seen.  Knowing things that others don't want you to know, doing things that others don't want you to do.  But after a while, the thrill wears off.  At that point, I had to figure out how to entertain myself.

It was this dependence on no one but myself that eventually led me to branch out.  Sometimes, what my brother and his friends were doing was just plain boring.  It was time to make my own fun.  I'd dam up small streams and watch the water flow a different route, or catch crawfish in styrofoam cups and see how hard they pinched with their little pincers.  I built a place to sit in one of those tall pine trees, and took books up there to read.  Through the stories I'd read, or the ones I'd concoct on my own solitary adventures, I imagined my own world.

Most importantly for the rest of my life, I learned independence - the ability to make my own way, and have my own fun.  I have kept a bit of that watching, wary boy with me throughout the years.  More importantly, though, that first taste of independence became the beginnings of who I am today, no longer a shadow.

Confucius, Confucion

As I paraphrased The Golden Rule, I am supposed to treat others the way I'd like to be treated.  I paraphrased because I just supposed that it was first spoken in Chinese, so as loose translations go, I chose not to go verbatim on this one.  They tried that with the Bible, after all, and we all know how that worked out.

It seems like Confucius was referring to a dirt-simple guideline for how to be nice.  If you like people being punctual, you arrive on time.  If you like being served, you serve.  If you like receiving, you give.

If you like getting blow jobs in a public places... wait, wut?

The Golden Rule is so simple, I often believe it was made for simpletons.

It is far too simple to assume that everyone likes what I like.  How does the Golden Rule apply to practitioners of S&M?  Or people who love being miserable?

It is flawed, and I have known it forever, but I must confess that I have used it as my favorite sweeping excuse for my own bad behavior.

Under the noble pretext of "treating everyone as my peer" I have allowed young impressionable children to watch the films I like to watch.  I am guilty of being extremely conservative when it comes to explanations because I expect others to "get it" once I got it.  I don't mind loud music when I am sleeping, and neither should you.  I squeeze my toothpaste tube from the end, so I find your random squeezing inexcusable.  A cause for eviction.

I am fine commuting in the heat of midday, so I refuse to think about your personal discomfort.  If I cannot treat you the way I like to be treated, I will chase you off.  Which works out a lot, because I mostly like to be left alone.

Thanks Confucius.  I am alone, and you are an idiot.

Or is he?

Confucius say:  Sport a white beard and robes, and people will heed your advice.

As I wiki him out, I read that the "official" translation was phrased in the negative:  "Do NOT do unto others what you do NOT want done to yourself."

Oh, well that's different.

My source of Confucion was in the way I paraphrased his words into a positive phrasing.  As it turns out, it doesn't work that way.  The Golden Rule was not about how to act, but how NOT to act.  Not exactly a thought-process that syncs well with this era's preference for proactivity and positivity.  Joe Vitale would lose his mind.

So let me get this straight:  I don't like getting flowers, so I don't give flowers.  I don't like ice cream, so that kid can cry all she wants, she ain't getting a scoop.

I don't like to be punched in the face, so I am not gonna punch him in the face.  I repeat, I will NOT punch him in his ugly fat smug smirking face.

Meanwhile, all I can think about is punching him in the face.

Yeah, Confucius is dead, and I never met him personally.  And I'm not Chinese.  So why should I pattern my life and my choices after something he purportedly said?

I am the idiot.

The Pansacola Monthly Writing Project: Prompt for June

Since this is the very first writing prompt in what I am hoping will be a long series of prompts this year, the theme/topic will be somewhat personal in nature.

Think of a character flaw or strength you believe represents you. It can be something only you think is true that may not be known to anyone else, or it could be something someone else said about you.

Now think of a past experience (it can be recent if you'd like) that's memorable to you, one that sort of explains why you think that flaw/strength applies to you. Use that experience and tell a story.

Reminders:

• In case anyone can't figure out how to create a blog post (I'm looking at you, Mom), here's a tutorial. But really, once you log into Blogger.com using your email and see your dashboard, it should be easy.
• You can write in whatever form you want.
• You can post as many entries as you want, as long as they all fit the theme/topic.
• You can use whatever title you want in your post, just make sure you include your first name and the word June under Labels (it should be located on the right-side panel of the New Post page) and click Done.
• You don't have to mention the flaw/strength in your piece if you don't want to. Plus points if you decide to go vulnerable and choose a flaw. Plus more points if you use an experience from your distant past.

Feel free to post a comment for any questions/clarifications about this month's theme/topic.

Jam

The Pansacola Monthly Writing Project: An Introduction

Let's face it - we are a talented bunch, and one of the many skills we share and enjoy is the art of writing. It may not always shine through the Facebook comments we post or the brief tweets we share, but it is evident in the emails that we send each other on a weekly basis.

Why not do something more with that?

On this blog, a writing prompt will be posted per month, and any member of the Pansacola family is invited to participate by publishing a post that fits the theme or answers the question. Those who would like to post more than once are also welcome to do so...the more, the merrier! Who knows, if enough of us get involved, maybe we can change the duration to bi-weekly. For now, let's be realistic and assume that probably only 3 will participate.

Every member of the clan is also encouraged to comment on posts. I'd say keep it civil, but we're family, so...yeah, that's a rule that will be hard to uphold. :-P

The first prompt will go out on June 1st, 2013.