Restless Baby Freaks
Unknown to many, I like studying people. I like reading them and making assessments about their personalities. I like trying to figure out their stories inside and outside their homes. I like knowing a lot. I like knowing who they are deep inside, because their stories are what make the world colorful and fun and life more meaningful and interesting. People are interesting. People’s stories are interesting –
and colorful.
Sure, I’ve seen and met professionals, simple people, those who bully, those who are being bullied, those who are contented in life, and those who are still seeking for answers. But what interests me the most are these kids, the younger ones, those in the awkward stage of puberty and trying to figure things out, those kids who hang out with their friends and feel like everything’s perfect and in their favor, those who try to look mature but fail because they still look like kids who just find happiness in celebrity crushes and vanilla ice cream. I’ve always liked kids. I’ve always been interested in adolescents. Not that I haven’t gone and currently going through what they will go or are going through – of course, I was once a little kid with wobbly scraped knees, an adolescent, an awkward human being. Oh, screw the last one – I’m
still an awkward human being (I’m never going to surpass that stage). I’m just too fascinated in their own perspective (“perspective” is one of my favorite words) about their lives, about love in all its forms, about the world, about religion and faith, about politics, about world peace, about everlasting beauty, about having fun, about vampires and werewolves and magic, about this and that TV show, about these uncomfortable changes. Knowing makes me understand things more. Listening to their stories makes me understand them more. Communicating makes me understand those ‘what the hells’. Understanding makes me perceive life in a different way, beyond its complications and imperfections.
And what a better way to explore stories that make up this world than to ask those who are just starting to make their own – their own stories, their own little chaotic world, their own purpose, their own lives.
Young minds? That’s insane, you may think. Why not ask those who know life already, those who had seen and experienced triumph and failure in their lives, those who
actually have the knowledge? I don’t know. Maybe because I think that they know too much already, to the point that life isn’t exciting anymore. When we want to try this thing that we’ve heard about somewhere and we’re all thrilled about it, and we ask this ‘experienced’ person and he tells us what it can do to us and some of it are not actually good, and we become scared about failing and hurting and embarrassment so we back out and lose all the excitement and let go of that chance. That doesn’t sound good, does it? There are these quotes from novels that I always believe to be true. One could be as straight as this: “It’s not good to know things ahead. It screws up your life.”
[1]; or as spelled out as this: “There were so many of us who would have to live with things done and things left undone that day. Things that did not go right, things that seemed okay at the time because we could not see the future. If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can’t know better until knowing better is useless.”
[2]Why ask those who don’t even have the slightest bit of experience and understanding about the life outside their perfect world, about the life that isn’t just about going to school and playing and Disney Channel? Indeed, their minds are quite young and fresh and inexperienced yet, but their minds are more interesting. You may think that I’m insane to be interested in minds that are not even filled with wonders yet. Well okay, let’s say that I’m insane. I can’t actually give you exact reasons why I am. Young minds amaze me. Young people are always so excited about everything – new school year, cute guys, academic clubs, sports to try, arts, Ian Somerhalder, music, fashion, experiences, growing up. We’re always up for anything, always trying things out, always on the move, never stopping, never ceasing, always so restless. Heck, screw what they say, screw ‘limitations’ and ‘you’re-too-young-to-knows’. We’re invincible, we’re out to rule the world, we’re young and strong, we’re looking cool and bad-ass. Perfect kids, perfect adolescents, perfect awkward human beings,
perfect life.
When adults say, “Teenagers think they are invincible” with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don’t know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail.
- Looking For Alaska, John Green
But then all of sudden, everything crumbles down.
Shit happens. And we, the invincible, cool and young people, abruptly stop trying to rule the world and run to a dark corner and regret everything. Shit
always happens. Shits may come in varied forms: family problems, peer pressure, heartbreaks, drugs, unmet desires, unidentified identities. But then, gradually, we get back up again. We leave that dark corner and stop regretting everything. We compose ourselves and try to rule the world again. Young life is like that: we feel good and lucky this day, we feel crappy and doomed the next, but we wake up from that day and start the cycle all over again, and we just learn to accept that cycle and live within it and try to make those ‘crappy and doomed’ days a little better. Being young means having a big room for opportunities and new things to try, but when things don’t work out, there’s always a bigger room for second chances.
That’s why I like being young and am interested in the younger generation: we seem like we’re genetically made up of adrenaline cells and euphoric nerves. We can curse a lot and screw everything but still be fragile little kids who just need some delicate care at the end of the day. People may think that we’re just these misunderstood freaks who are hopelessly in dire need of appreciation and attention. Maybe we are. Maybe we really are misunderstood in every way – our taste in music and fashion, our beliefs, the friends we hang out with, our interests, what we want to do, where we want to go. But that’s who we are. We are young, we are out to rule the world, we are free, we are unceasing. We are the restless, and we are the freaks.
1 Henry DeTamble, The Time Traveler’s Wife (written by Audrey Niffenegger, 2003) | 2 Miles Halter, Looking For Alaska (written by John Green, 2005) | Photos
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Restless Baby Freaks
Unknown to many, I like studying people. I like reading them and making assessments about their personalities. I like trying to figure out their stories inside and outside their homes. I like knowing a lot. I like knowing who they are deep inside, because their stories are what make the world colorful and fun and life more meaningful and interesting. People are interesting. People’s stories are interesting –
and colorful.
Sure, I’ve seen and met professionals, simple people, those who bully, those who are being bullied, those who are contented in life, and those who are still seeking for answers. But what interests me the most are these kids, the younger ones, those in the awkward stage of puberty and trying to figure things out, those kids who hang out with their friends and feel like everything’s perfect and in their favor, those who try to look mature but fail because they still look like kids who just find happiness in celebrity crushes and vanilla ice cream. I’ve always liked kids. I’ve always been interested in adolescents. Not that I haven’t gone and currently going through what they will go or are going through – of course, I was once a little kid with wobbly scraped knees, an adolescent, an awkward human being. Oh, screw the last one – I’m
still an awkward human being (I’m never going to surpass that stage). I’m just too fascinated in their own perspective (“perspective” is one of my favorite words) about their lives, about love in all its forms, about the world, about religion and faith, about politics, about world peace, about everlasting beauty, about having fun, about vampires and werewolves and magic, about this and that TV show, about these uncomfortable changes. Knowing makes me understand things more. Listening to their stories makes me understand them more. Communicating makes me understand those ‘what the hells’. Understanding makes me perceive life in a different way, beyond its complications and imperfections.
And what a better way to explore stories that make up this world than to ask those who are just starting to make their own – their own stories, their own little chaotic world, their own purpose, their own lives.
Young minds? That’s insane, you may think. Why not ask those who know life already, those who had seen and experienced triumph and failure in their lives, those who
actually have the knowledge? I don’t know. Maybe because I think that they know too much already, to the point that life isn’t exciting anymore. When we want to try this thing that we’ve heard about somewhere and we’re all thrilled about it, and we ask this ‘experienced’ person and he tells us what it can do to us and some of it are not actually good, and we become scared about failing and hurting and embarrassment so we back out and lose all the excitement and let go of that chance. That doesn’t sound good, does it? There are these quotes from novels that I always believe to be true. One could be as straight as this: “It’s not good to know things ahead. It screws up your life.”
[1]; or as spelled out as this: “There were so many of us who would have to live with things done and things left undone that day. Things that did not go right, things that seemed okay at the time because we could not see the future. If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can’t know better until knowing better is useless.”
[2]Why ask those who don’t even have the slightest bit of experience and understanding about the life outside their perfect world, about the life that isn’t just about going to school and playing and Disney Channel? Indeed, their minds are quite young and fresh and inexperienced yet, but their minds are more interesting. You may think that I’m insane to be interested in minds that are not even filled with wonders yet. Well okay, let’s say that I’m insane. I can’t actually give you exact reasons why I am. Young minds amaze me. Young people are always so excited about everything – new school year, cute guys, academic clubs, sports to try, arts, Ian Somerhalder, music, fashion, experiences, growing up. We’re always up for anything, always trying things out, always on the move, never stopping, never ceasing, always so restless. Heck, screw what they say, screw ‘limitations’ and ‘you’re-too-young-to-knows’. We’re invincible, we’re out to rule the world, we’re young and strong, we’re looking cool and bad-ass. Perfect kids, perfect adolescents, perfect awkward human beings,
perfect life.
When adults say, “Teenagers think they are invincible” with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don’t know how right they are. We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail.
- Looking For Alaska, John Green
But then all of sudden, everything crumbles down.
Shit happens. And we, the invincible, cool and young people, abruptly stop trying to rule the world and run to a dark corner and regret everything. Shit
always happens. Shits may come in varied forms: family problems, peer pressure, heartbreaks, drugs, unmet desires, unidentified identities. But then, gradually, we get back up again. We leave that dark corner and stop regretting everything. We compose ourselves and try to rule the world again. Young life is like that: we feel good and lucky this day, we feel crappy and doomed the next, but we wake up from that day and start the cycle all over again, and we just learn to accept that cycle and live within it and try to make those ‘crappy and doomed’ days a little better. Being young means having a big room for opportunities and new things to try, but when things don’t work out, there’s always a bigger room for second chances.
That’s why I like being young and am interested in the younger generation: we seem like we’re genetically made up of adrenaline cells and euphoric nerves. We can curse a lot and screw everything but still be fragile little kids who just need some delicate care at the end of the day. People may think that we’re just these misunderstood freaks who are hopelessly in dire need of appreciation and attention. Maybe we are. Maybe we really are misunderstood in every way – our taste in music and fashion, our beliefs, the friends we hang out with, our interests, what we want to do, where we want to go. But that’s who we are. We are young, we are out to rule the world, we are free, we are unceasing. We are the restless, and we are the freaks.
1 Henry DeTamble, The Time Traveler’s Wife (written by Audrey Niffenegger, 2003) | 2 Miles Halter, Looking For Alaska (written by John Green, 2005) | Photos
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
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Already several months had passed, and I am missing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven
Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of
Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.
Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is
Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum
“Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in
Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the
Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s
Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.
And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since.
All is well, indeed.
And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.
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