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So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

The Profile

Age. 37
Gender. Female
Ethnicity. that of my father and his father before him
Location Altadena, CA
School. Other
» More info.
The World

The Link To Zanzibar's Past
This is my page in the beloved art community that my sister got me into:


Extra points for people who know what Samarinda is.
The Phases of the Moon Module
Croc Hunter/Combat Wombat
My hero(s)
Only My Favorite Baseball Player EVER

Aw, Larry Walker, how I loved thee.
The Schedule
M: Science and Exploration
T: Cook a nice dinner
Th: Parties, movies, dinners
F: Picnics, the Louvre
S: Read books, go for walks, PARKOUR
Su: Philosophy, Religion
The Reading List
This list starts Summer 2006
A Crocodile on the Sandbank
Looking Backwards
Wild Swans
Tales of the Alhambra (in progress)
Dark Lord of Derkholm
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
The Lost Years of Merlin
Harry Potter a l'ecole des sorciers (in progress)
Atlas Shrugged (in progress)
A Long Way Gone (story of a boy soldier in Sierra Leone- met the author! w00t!)
The Eye of the World: Book One of the Wheel of Time
From Magma to Tephra (in progress)
Lady Chatterley's Lover
Harry Potter 7
The No. 1 Lady's Detective Agency
Introduction to Planetary Volcanism
A Child Called "It"
Is Multi-Culturalism Bad for Women?
Americans in Southeast Asia: Roots of Commitment (in progress)
What's So Great About Christianity?
Aeolian Geomorphology
Aeolian Dust and Dust Deposits
The City of Ember
The People of Sparks
Cube Route
When I was in Cuba, I was a German Shepard
The Golden Compass
Clan of the Cave Bear
The 9/11 Commission Report (2nd time through, graphic novel format this time, ip)
The Incredible Shrinking Man
New Moon
Breaking Dawn
Armageddon's Children
The Elves of Cintra
The Gypsy Morph
Animorphs #23: The Pretender
Animorphs #25: The Extreme
Animorphs #26: The Attack
Crucial Conversations
A Journey to the Center of the Earth
A Great and Terrible Beauty
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
Dandelion Wine
To Sir, With Love
London Calling
Watership Down
The Invisible
Alice in Wonderland
Through the Looking Glass
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
The Host
The Hunger Games
Catching Fire
Shadows and Strongholds
The Jungle Book
Beatrice and Virgil
The Help
Zion Andrews
The Unit
Quantum Brain
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
No One Ever Told Us We Were Defeated
Memento Nora
The Name of the Wind
The Terror
Tao Te Ching
What Paul Meant
Lao Tzu and Taoism
Libyan Sands
Sand and Sandstones
Lost Christianites: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew
The Science of God
Calculating God
Great Contemporaries, by Winston Churchill
City of Bones
Around the World in 80 Days, by Jules Verne
Stranger in a Strange Land
The Old Man and the Sea
Flowers for Algernon
Au Bonheur des Ogres
The Martian
The Road to Serfdom
De La Terre � la Lune (ip)
In the Light of What We Know
Devil in the White City
The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August
Red Mars
How to Be a Good Wife
A Mote in God's Eye
A Gentleman in Russia
The Fatal Conceit: The Errors of Socialism
Seneca: Letters from a Stoic
The Juanes Module

Juanes just needed his own mod. Who can disagree.
The Battle of the Sexes
Wednesday. 1.24.07 7:11 am
I'm writing this blog because after reading Ranor's most recent entry I got to thinking about it more in depth. Because it's not really just about boys crying, it's about boys being truly human- in a sense, for a moment not being boys or men at all but sharing in the entire gamut of human emotions elicited by human experience.
So this got me to think about the differences between man and woman. I was talking to my roommate the other day about these differences, and he was lamenting that "women these days" of "our generation" (he is 10 years older than me, but whatevz) have lost their femininity. They've developed this defensive exterior, this sheen of hardness that he claims is not present in other generations. I think part of the reason he makes this proclamation is because his girlfriend typifies this type of woman, but he may be right. In the past when women weren't so integrated in the workplace, your average woman did not need a particularly thick skin. The workplace demands a tough exterior to be able to deal with the competition and criticism that one inevitably runs into there. Sure, these pressures can be found at home, but at home you aren't always required to deal with them with stony-faced professionalism. It is only natural that women should develop behaviors that reflect their surroundings and further their goals.

And let us think for a moment on what "femininity" actually is. I think in some ways it is the gentle and tender way a woman moves through life, avoiding the bluntness of direct engagement and being a pleasure for the eyes, the ears, and the mind to encounter, through grace, gentleness of voice, and attention to her looks. Many people might disagree with me here, but I believe that this is the femininity of which my roommate speaks. But here again we see the hallmarks of change. In the past a woman held a lesser position than a man (some would call it "complementary" in some cultures, but I call it lesser because it weakened her independence and curtailed her personal liberties). But this absolutely did not mean that women were powerless creatures. I think they say it in the Joy Luck Club- A man is the head of a household, but a woman is the neck, and she can turn the head whichever way she pleases.
Woman, in her pursuit of power and influence (a drive which is the same as a man's) has been forced for milennia to assume the role of manipulator. She works hard to seem unthreatening, meek, beautiful, and tantalizing. She studies and comes to understand the moods of both women and men, becoming sensitive to changes in them and how they might be affected by her own behavior. In short, just as a man must learn how to stand on his own two feet before other men, boldy expressing himself, appearing strong and striving after his goals, a woman must learn how to use the man as a tool to get what she wants- whether that is to have him ask her out, to get him to get her the presents she desires but cannot purchase, or to direct the future of her family. Thus the so-called "feminine wiles" of woman are just, in my humble opinion, a reaction to the power structure in which woman was born. Blunt women did not often get what they wanted, because the man had the power over them to overrule it, and bluntness in women was not valued.

This is no longer true.

It has been a slow march, but with the coming of the 20th century, women for the first time can achieve complete financial and personal independence. I cannot overstate the importance of this development. It changes everything. For the first time in history, woman stands with man, not slightly behind and to the side. For the first time, she is subject to many of the same societal pressures as he. As our world passes through the Age of Technology, they are learning and experiencing things new things together, and innovating together as well.
Woman is learning that if she wants something out of this world, for the first time in history, she can just stand up and get it.

So what does this have to do with men crying?
I say... so what if women of this age appear to have lost their "femininity"? Womankind is going through a radical revision of strategy here. She is free, but she hasn't yet decided what she thinks freedom means. At first she wanted to seem much more like a man, and reject all of the hallmarks of the traditional female role. Now I believe that the pendulum is swinging back, and women have decided that they can pick and choose from traditionally masculine and traditionally feminine roles and they have to feel shame about neither. Man is reacting to this. In many ways the liberation of women has liberated man, who is increasingly no longer stuck in his position as bread winner and caretaker, but for the first time part of a real partnership.
So in essence I am not concerned with how men and women are different. Talking about this and that silly and useless item which separates women from men- this pop culture idea of women as catty and emotional- the idea as men as feeling no emotions but anger. These commercials that portray men as idiots who can't even operate the folding backseat in a mini van! COME ON!

The thing that is important about the two sexes is that we SHARE so many THINGS. We share the workplace, we share the duties of home, we share the human experience and the whole rollercoaster of emotions that goes with it. I would much rather learn about a person's individual nature, the places where we differ and the things that we share... human being to human being. To discuss the petty differences in gender is to fill up the space between two people with trivialities. It forces each into a role- "the boyfriend" or "the girlfriend", and each begins to assume a personality around the other that they wholly lack while among friends. And that is a shame, because I think you really miss learning something about somebody else when you force that person into a role.

I think you'd find that a lot of people (like here on Nutang, for example) if you only read their writing and gendered pronouns didn't exist, it would be a long time before you could figure it out what sex they were.

So let the boys cry (if the occurrence is heart-breaking, we don't want any pansy-asses here of any sex). And let the women decide how much of their "femininity" they are going to keep. There is a man for every type of woman and a woman for every type of man. And in the broader context, away from the man/woman paradigm... there is a human being for every human being, no matter what sex they are.

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Actual Entry about Valentine's Day
Monday. 1.22.07 8:27 pm
I love Valentine's Day. Well. There are very few holidays that I don't love (Martin Luther King Day, for example, tempts me with the idea that I might get a day off, and then does not deliver. Plus there are no special festive traditional MLK-day foods, games, or hats. It doesn't have to be that way, kids. Let's think of something that will make MLK day the greatest holiday ever!!)

But Valentine's Day. What is good about it? Let me tell you:

1. You get to wear a color combination that would otherwise considered hideous.
2. You get to draw little hearts all over your day planner
3. You get to eat little heart candies that practically break your teeth... it's like eating 50 abbreviated fortune cookies, and everyone likes fortune cookies!
4. Usually it is snowing. What is more romantic than snow? Ans: NOTHING!
5. You get to see boys walking around awkwardly with flowers. cute!
6. You get to dye all of your food pink! (though dyeing it green for St. Patrick's Day is definitely cooler)
7. Sudden availability of chocolate! (Reese's hearts, for example!)
8. Sometimes you get a flower from your daddy and then you can draw it three times over: once when you get it, once when it opens to its fullest glory, and once when with weeping, wilted head it lets fall its petals to the table.

Today in my Valentinesy rapture I thought with fond remembrance on where I was and what I was doing for the past four Valentine's Days.

Freshman year it was a Friday night and all of us in our hall were hanging around as usual. We shut all of the boys (excepting Ranor and at times, Dan), and we made Valentines for all of the boys in our hall. This consisted of cutting out pictures from the Victoria's Secret magazine and pasting them onto pieces of construction paper and decorating them and putting suggestive phrases in speech bubbles above the models' heads. Once that was finished, the night was still young, so we proceeded to turn the lounge into... THE FEISTY FLAMINGO: a nightclub for exotic Valentine's Day dancers. Unfortunately we had no exotic dancers, and no pole, only a stray hurdle that we had taken from the pile of old unused hurdles by the track. So we made up names for all of the girls in the hall like, "Luscious Linh" and "Curvy Kristi" and "The DomiNika". Ranor tried to teach us how to hurdle dance, among other things. It was awesome. While the lounge is now just another dorm room, the Feisty Flamingo will live on.

Sophomore year it was a Saturday and my mom was in town. We went out into the village and looked around and went to this awesome place kind of like BeadIt! where you could make a necklace for yourself. That was awesome. The weather was splendid and it was California, so all the flowers were in bloom. You know, I was thinking about it, and perhaps men once gave flowers to women on Valentine's Day because it would be pretty freakin' hard to get a flower in the middle of winter, and it probably meant that you went to some great trouble to procure it. But now all you have to do is get on the internet. This doesn't make flowers any less awesome, of course. But if you lived in SoCal, you could just go pick her some flowers (how totally romantic is that!?). When I lived there, I wanted to pick flowers all the time, but I felt bad because somebody was tending those flowers, so instead I would choose the nicest flower I could find that had already fallen off the tree or bush, and I'd take that one home and draw it.

Junior year I was in China. In fact that was the day on which Phil and I and company drifted down the river Li from Guilin to Yangshuo. While it had absolutely none of the trappings of your average Valentine's Day, it will probably always remain among the most memorable. Especially when Steven drank Snake Wine, which looks like all outward appearances like formaldehyde, as it has actual snake-bodies in it.

Senior year it fell on a Monday, and I was busy as all hell. I got back to my room late at night and I had a little gift on my desk, someone had bought me an acre of Mars from the internet. It came complete with a land deed and a map of Mars showing where your acre was on the planet (mine was on the flank of Olympus Mons, the largest volcano in the solar system!). My mouth watered with thoughts of that rich, fertile volcanic soil. ;P It was from my "secret admirer". Later that evening my secret admirer was revealed. Hilarity ensued.
Just kidding.

Then my friend Kristina and I got all of the tea lights we could find and made a little trail of candles from the steps of our rooms to our doors (which were right across from each other's) and up to our respective roommates' desks. We also put my carnations to good deaths by pulling out all of their petals and sprinkling them romantically on the floor. The wax was on the carpet for the rest of the semester. One of our suitemates gave each of us this gigantic pair of chocolate lips, and those were soooo good.
Incidentally, my "secret admirer" will spend this Valentine's Day in Guilin, China. No way, right, how crazy is that? Now all I need is for my mom to become part of the cast at the Old Feisty Flamingo, and all the Valentine's Day cosmic connections will be complete. But I don't think that's going to happen. ;)

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Blood, syringes, and other Valentine-sy things
Monday. 1.22.07 6:06 pm
I've been thinking about Valentine's Day today. I know that I'm early, and Valentine's Day is still some number of days above 20 away, which is practically like a month, I'm still going to talk about it because it was today that it occurred to me that Valentine's Day was on the horizon.

So the thought of this glorious pink and purple and red day (just like the inside of your heart, right... but what about blue?) OH MAN... I just thought about how cool it would be if you did an experiment where you sealed your arm in an oxygen-less case and then you cut one of your veins... would you bleed BLUE BLOOD????? If I did this, and I bled blue blood, then I would definitely take an artistic picture and post it on deviantart.com, and then when people were like, "Hey, is that REAL??" I'd be like, "hell yes it is real." I'd just have to make sure to get the pressure in the case just right so that weird crap wouldn't happen to my poor arm. Maybe I could pay somebody else to be my model so I could get better photographs....

One girl had this picture where there was a syringe stuck through her tongue and blood squirting out all over her really pale lips and face, it was so gross. Turns out she normally has a tongue piercing, so she just took it out and stuck the needle through the hole and then had fake blood everywhere. wow. It's like one of the most popular deviantart images of all time. Actually, you can just see for yourself:

Well, I suppose I got off-track and I will have to talk about St. Valentine another day. Tchuss!

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Rocking and Rolling American Good Time
Saturday. 1.20.07 2:21 am
Tonight I went out to a rock show. Well, it was sort of a rock show- it took place in a blues club in Newport which used to be a bank, which just for this night was hosting some old rock bands, including House of Lords and "the Dropoutz" and some other band with the word "Tango" in it which according to my roommate "used to be HUGE" and are currently still popular in the larger Pakistan vicinity. This place was cool, they even have a private room where you can be seated in the vault of the former bank. It's very classy, not the kind of place you would expect to have a rock concert.

I was wheedled into going by my roommate, Chris. First he asked me, "Hey are you going out Friday night?"

I said, "Yes." because I was. I was to go ice skating downtown with Toku, the Japanese exchange student. My roommate had assumed that I was going to say no, so he was ready to launch his proposal before he suddenly realized that I'd said yes. "YOU DO???!" he asked, incredulous.

Hey, come on now, just because every other Friday for as long as you've known me I've either been at work or lazing around in the house, baking myself brownies and surfing on nutang doesn't mean that I don't have a life!!


So finally we decided that I'd bring Toku along the the rock concert and then we could go ice skating on Saturday. And we rocked out, oh yes. Toku had a fantastic time, as far as I could tell. The night screamed "cultural experience". And there were excellent nachos and quesadillas. We did have to talk our way past security though, because Toku's only form of ID was his Japanese ID which was, for some bizarre reason, in Japanese. He'd left his passport at the office. :C

The highlight of the evening for me was the seven minutes I spent in the women's restroom fishing Kathy's improvised earplug (made of a wad of toilet paper) out of where it was lodged deep in her ear canal- with a dart. Now that's what we call "trust".

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Friday. 1.19.07 7:54 am
So I had this dream and it was this chaotic, end-of-the-world type day, with a roiling purple sky filled with dark clouds. My party and I stumbled into a large fortress castle (like the old school kind, without any frills). We were in the courtyard and we saw these giant carved chinese dragons that were snaking over the corners of the outside wall, that was the only ornamentation in the whole fort. Except-- we hurried to the side wall where there was an alcove. The weather was getting worse and the wind was picking up. The storm was coming soon. In the little alcove was a bust of a woman carved out of stone. It was St. Catherine, and she had stone arrows in her neck and behind her sticking out of the alcove wall. I know that it's actually St. Sebastian who was martryed by arrows, but in the dream it was St. Catherine.
We knew we didn't have much time. I kissed my hand and transfered the kiss to the statue of St. Catherine, why, I don't know, I don't really believe in saints as intermediaries, but the image of her being martyred really touched me, especially in this time of great peril and darkness.
We headed out of the castle for a portion of the dream that I don't now remember, but it was dark and chaotic like the day. At once we were rushing back into the walls of the fortress, pursued by an angry mob of soldiers. We were one of a persecuted group, the soldiers were rounding us up and killing us, as many as they could find, just like in Hotel Rwanda (or like the Shiite death squads are doing right now in Iraq). But they were medieval-looking soldiers, they looked like they belonged in the castle. We looked like peasants, and our clothes were ragged from the mud and the rain and continuous wear. This time the sky behind the castle was a mix of purple and red. The chinese dragons could no longer be seen- they had been completely covered and destroyed but a layer of advancing lava, that was using the low point in the wall at the dragons to spill into the courtyard. It wouldn't be long before it brought the entire wall down. The sky rained ash like snowflakes.
The soldiers cornered us and seized us, I was the one that they brought to the rotting wooden structure in the center of the wall of the compound, between where the chinese dragons once stood. They lashed my wrists to two posts on either side of me. There was shouting, and the wind had picked up, though the rain (besides that of ash) had ceased. They trundled me onto the platform and drew back, bringing out their bows.

I was not afraid.

I had somehow known that this would be my fate ever since I'd seen the bust of St. Catherine. If she could take martyrdom, I could, if only she were with me. I didn't look at the statue now. The real St. Catherine was not there. Instead I looked up at the shrieking heavens. The tears left ashy rivulets down my dirty face.
ST. CATHERINE!! I screamed, my lungs raw from the running and the tears and the ash. I had never in all my life prayed to a saint.


They tensed their bows. I could not even hear the commands, so wild was the wind at that moment. They let fly their arrows!


I woke up.

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Killing Time
Wednesday. 1.17.07 11:23 pm
Once again I have lived this day
As if I had a thousand days to live

This day, as fit for life as any other
I spent its drowsy span killing it

Wasted day, betrayed hours
Nikstlitslepmur, spinning gold into straw

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The Sensitive Plant
Tuesday. 1.16.07 10:23 pm
Whether the Sensitive Plant, or that
Which within its boughs like a spirit sat,
Ere its outward form had known decay,
Now felt this change, I cannot say.

Whether that Lady's gentle mind,
No longer with the form combined
Which scattered love, as stars do light,
Found sadness, where it left delight,

I dare not guess; but in this life
Of error, ignorance and strife,
Where nothing is, but all things seem,
And we the shadows of the dream,

It is a modest creed, and yet
Pleasant if one considers it,
To own that death itself must be,
Like all the rest, a mockery.

---excerpt from "The Sensitive Plant", by Shelley

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Heartbreak Hotel
Monday. 1.15.07 11:35 pm
Browsing through Nutang lately has made me think of this quote by Marcel Proust:

"Words do not change their meanings so drastically in the course of centuries as, in our minds, names do in the course of a year or two.”

How true. Consider, for example, one you may have loved, who broke your heart. The day before she broke your heart, her name was like a butterfly who came to alight on your tongue, and you direct the conversation carefully so that her name stays there as long as possible. This can make you a very poor conversationalist as far as your friends are concerned. It's kind of hard to speak well or with abundant wit when you have a large, winged insect sitting on your tongue. Not to mention the fact that its little, curious probiscus would make you giggle insanely. Unless it was the WHITE butterfly of the butterfly museum of Massachusetts, because those fucking things hurt you!!! Especially when you do this:

In the course of several days, hours, minutes, this person's name can become the damn pixie moth infestation that you can't get out of your room. No matter how many times you see a pixie moth and viciously kill it and throw it in the bin, you will always find another... another reference, another reminder, another DAMN MOTH that you CANNOT EXPUNGE!!! It infects your mind, your dreams (if you can sleep at all!) You sit in class and want to write that name in secret, elaborate languages, surrounded by tragic song lyrics, letting the lecture pass over you like you were a stone in a stream, the words having no real effect on you besides to slowly wear you away. But you don't want that name in your notebook. You don't want it ANYWHERE. You want to talk about it all the time, but when you do it makes your mouth feel dry and gross, and it makes your stomach hurt with rememberance. You oscillate between intense anger, thinking that it would be easier for you if that person had been in a tragic accident and killed instead alive somewhere, going about his day, not wanting you or loving you or caring if you are alive and in pain.
Then your mood changes to the sort of desperate, groggy echo of the love you felt before. You want everything good for that person. You want her to be happy, even if it means that you must drag yourself through the gutter every day for the rest of your life, scraping your face on the abrasive sidewalk, sucking up bits of what was like a catfish on an aquarium wall. You believe that you'll feel like this forever, you'll be in love with her forever. You don't want to think thoughts about how you'll forget her someday, because you don't want to forget her. If you forget the love that you shared, doesn't that mean that it was less somehow? You don't want this person and this love to fade into the past. It would take away everything that was real about it.
This mood usually gives way to despair. WHY? WHY doesn't he like me? What is wrong with me? Why can't he see that I am everything he's ever wanted or needed and *she* is so wrong for him in every way?!?!
In my opinion, this is the worst part. Make it pass quickly, or you will do something you regret. All three of these moods are both painful and incredibly destructive. This calls for another quote by Marcel Proust:

"Like everybody who is not in love, he thought one chose the person to be loved after endless deliberations and on the basis of particular qualities or advantages."

The truth is, this person who just broke your heart isn't the right one for you. And if she chose someone else, or just didn't choose you, it likely isn't because he is better, or more handsome, or more appealing, or of better character. If she did choose him for these qualities then she probably isn't actually in love with him (or you). Love isn't rational. Or kind. So think about it: You didn't choose to fall in love with her. At this point you might even realize that had you had your wits about you you probably would have chosen *not* to fall in love with her. She is governed by the same principles. She's probably fallen in love with some asshole, and she'll figure that out later, and she'll read this Marcel Proust quote and nod sadly because she'll know it's true. But that will not make her fall back in love with you. You don't get to pick. Ever.

Another uplifting quote:

We are healed from suffering only by experiencing it to the full.”
Marcel Proust

So he breaks your heart. You can't heal from that by immediately dating somebody else. You can't hide your emotions, you have to slog through every step, questioning everything, feeling miserable, etc. It sucks. I hate it.
And finally:

“Those whose suffering is due to love are, as we say of certain invalids, their own physicians”
Marcel Proust

You don't have to be sick forever. Cry a river, build a bridge, and get over it.
This person who broke your heart, you don't really want to remember him. It could take years to forget him. You know how when you're falling asleep and if all you think about is falling asleep, it makes it impossible to fall asleep? Well, you need to develop that falling-away-from-this-plane-of-existence kind of attitude that leads to actual sleep. You have to go through all your things and expunge his memory. Then you have to go out and focus on doing all the things you never had time for because you were wasting it on him. At first you can do this simply so it looks like you are busy and happy and you want to make him feel bad. Everybody does that, if that will get you out of the house, then by all means do it. Fake smiles can create smile lines and pave the way for real ones. This will distract your mind from any remaining pixie moths.

After a long time goes by, after you've started to have recreational crushes on random people again, after you've made yourself a more interesting and desirable person through a combination of spiteful reasons and real self-improving ones, you might see your former object of affection again. She might come in with some mutual friends. You might have to hug each other in greeting. During a period of weeks or months or years, that hug will be something special... it will be centered on the stomach, stomach-to-stomach. It will last a little longer than it should. It will be infused with meaning. It will be slightly melodramatic and bittersweet. You'll wonder if the mutual friends were paying attention to the awkwardness and irony of it all.

But eventually, the two of you will exchange a hug, somewhere, for some reason, and the feeling will have totally disappeared. It isn't a hollow feeling, but a full one- but inanimate, like you're expecting to touch a hot pan and it turns out to be room temperature. Nothing. The absence of feeling.

I remember I did this to a guy once. An embrace involves two people, but it is always controlled by the one who cares least. It can be extended by the one who cares more, of course, but the tone is completely set by the one who cares least. So this guy, our hugs were always of the kind described above, even when I hated him, and one day I saw him and everything I had ever felt had disappated: this includes love, anger, envy, pity, and hate. The hug was short and filled with nothing. When it ended I could tell that he knew that and he hadn't been expecting it. The satisfaction I should have felt was dulled by indifference.

Somewhat recently someone did that to me... it was weird. We'd never gone out nor had either of us tried to effect that end. However, there had always been something there, even when he was dating other girls. But recently he's been dating this one girl that he really likes for a while, and they've become, as he tells me, "serious... whatever that means." So when we embraced the last time, all of that specialness that used to be there was conspicuously absent. It was only then when I realized what the extent of their relationship must be and how it had obviously changed from the last time we'd met. It made me happy in a way, because I like them both and knowing the depth of his affection for her made me think that they might last. But it also made me feel bereft. Funny how much meaning can be encapsulated in the absence of tangible emotion.

At this stage, the name of your former beloved to you like a miller moth in a park outside. Small, unimportant, not a cause of concern. Almost as soon as you note its existence you forget about it. That person that you never wanted to forget has slowly turned into somebody that you wouldn't mind forgetting about. And while the memory of your love is never lost, it is relegated to the past where it belongs. You can call it up whenever you wish (you'll find you won't often choose to call it up) but it doesn't haunt your present.

You are free.

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