The Firefly Field Theory

|1| Honesty And Other Types of Negative Thinking: Part III

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PART III:

I came to befriend Naomi in the later part of freshman year, and her secret recipe is probably written down in some ancient Japanese scriptures, that you can only get to if you defeat the fire breathing dragon that is guarding them in some high altitude cave, with your Jackie Chan styled KungFu moves. In other words no one including me knows how she does it or ever will.

Naomi and I have had only one kind of minor dispute in the past, but that minor dispute pops up and hits me in the face out of no where way more than I would like to admit. It ends quickly though, the reason being her forgiving spirit. It is a hobby of hers to forgive people and to ask them for forgiveness, a kind of IAmSoSorryAndThat'sOk Syndrome.

Many a times has she confronted me to take pride in where in from, and asked me not to look down on my homeland saying that if I did not respect my home neither will others. And since she was the one who used chopsticks at the lunch table, distributed homemade rice dumplings among classmates that nobody ate because they would be stuffed with raw squid, she took the liberty to tell us how it goes in Japan and talked excessively about anime (which apparently Japanese masses feed upon more than rice). I didn't half expect her to understand.

She has mistaken my reluctance, for hatred, when that is not true at all. I have no issues with where I come from and why would I, worrying where you are from is not that different from a teenage girl worrying she wouldn't be granted entry to school if she didn't have branded clothes, shoes and bags. Nobody gives a shit. The teenage girl regardless of her clothes gets to go to school and sit in the same class as the girl who is dressed head to toe in branded shit. It amounts to nothing in the end really. It doesn't matter.

But I can't just say all this to Naomi, because she might end up thinking that her whole iamjapaneseandthisismyculture thing is, according to me, a waste of time. Which quite frankly it is, whenever I see her talking to somebody about her culture, I am always thinking how people pretend to care so damn well. And I often try to guess how long it will be before they forget, by the end of the day, by the end of next class, after high school or for some skilled actors by the end of the next minute.

That is all the importance our experiences hold in the eyes of others, that is all our feelings will ever amount to be to someone else, our pain, joy, suffering and relief is nothing in the eyes of someone who hasn't been there in those moments of our pain, joy, suffering and relief. Until then nobody cares at all. I don't dictate what I feel to someone else because I know that they don't understand, I know they can't understand no one could.

It sickens me when people fake concern or regret, it's insulting. It's quite similar to saying I don't have a clue about what you're going through but I don't want to look like an idiot right now so I'll be your shoulder to cry on, until you feel better. I don't know if the crying on a parents/siblings/spouses/friends shoulder therapy has ever worked, if it did we wouldn't have therapists we would have shoulder providers. But what I do know is that a person doesn't need a shoulder to cry on, they could use a pillow (it's much softer) to cry on, what they do need is somebody who has been there in that dark corner of life they are in, somebody who could understand, who could help them out.

Needless to say, I can't say all that to that darling girl, who would lose fate in humanity if I told her what I think, is the hidden ugly truth. As I enter the hallways and spot the thick braid amid the crowd of buzzing seniors, I make my way to it.