There are two rooms in two houses.
The first house is the one she got when she was still working her way up. She didn't like it very much--not the best neighborhood, no front yard to speak of, difficult to have any decent privacy--but she keeps it, because it's hers, and because people expect it. In that house, she allows herself two luxuries: two places she needed, not for her work, but for herself, before she would consent to living in such a house for decades, for the rest of her life.
The first is not one of the rooms, but a back yard. It is small, but present, and enough to grow in. She's made it good publicity, since it is organic and environmentally friendly, but first and foremost her garden is her garden. Life from her, feeding her. That keeps her grounded, no matter how many people might try to knock her down. When something goes too horribly at work, she thinks, garden, and her head clears. There's hardly room for what she's managed to fit, but the garden is there. It's hers.
The second luxury in the tiny house is her room. In the dining room, there rests a blank panel that swings out if you press here. Behind, there is a room without a visible floor, because it only barely fits her bed. On each of the four walls, there are books. No one has ever seen this room, though a spouse would, if she married. Anyone she trusted completely would see it.
The second house is a luxury in itself, and she knows it. It's a second house, how could it be anything else? But her work demanded something, some show of status--it was a second house or a mansion. She hated living alone in large places. They always felt cold, and hollow, and empty.
So she bought the place, a small, cozy space, and snapped a picture from the right angle, and put a picture in the right place in her first house. She dropped, "my cabin," or, "my retreat," when necessary, using the latter just enough and in the right tone that no one ever asked to attend. Whatever her words said, she made her tone say, "my sanctuary," "my sacred space," "the place I go to be alone."
That one is more isolated. It had to be, to give the right effect. That is no luxury, that is work, that is showing off to impress the right people. Nor are the books luxurious, to her mind. They are the ones she cannot bear to part with--torn, beat-up, almost disintegrating, old, well loved, hers. They do not fit in the reading room, so they were in storage until she had her reading cabin.
The bed, here, is in one of the rooms she takes pictures of. She can't sleep without books around her. But there is one room she never photographs, she wouldn't even let someone she trusted completely photograph. Show them, yes, but not let them document.
In the heart of the cabin she built, she has something she calls a waiting room, though she only calls it that when no one can hear her. It is behind a bookshelf--push here and the wall and shelf swing in. She sleeps in her reading room, but she only enters this one to dust and polish.
Her garden grounds her, makes sure no one can knock her down.
Her reading room is home, where she can forget the world and sleep.
But this, this room...
Two chairs, one candle in the center of the table, and a small kitchen off to one side. No division--the dining room and the kitchen are the same room, in her waiting room.
Whenever she's in a relationship and her partner want to know if she loves them, or asks her to marry them, she thinks, Would I show them this room?
If she can imagine them in the waiting room to her home, her heart, then they get to come in. They can see the cabin, the room, even the reading room in her first house, that most guarded of sanctuaries. If not, she's honest.
She hasn't been able to say, "Yes," yet. But she may, someday, so she keeps the room. Sometimes, on the days where she takes down a romance novel and wears rose perfume, she imagines cooking with someone else, in that room.
Showing posts with label trust. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trust. Show all posts
Friday, June 8, 2012
Saturday, April 16, 2011
My Line on Secrets
60 summarized posts+13 musings+26 somethings+this post=100 Posts
To start with the simplest way I can think of to say it: Any person should be able to keep secrets that do no harm. No person should be forced to keep a secret.
What I mean to say by the first is that I am not writing this as a part of a crusade to completely do away with secrets. I recognize that saying something like, "Ugh, you are [insult]" is something you might want to keep to yourself. Particularly if there's nothing constructive about the insult--"Your clothes are messed up" is worse than, "You're tag's sticking out," for instance. I also recognize that some secrets are simply difficult to communicate. I...obviously can't give an example of that one.
And, simply, I believe people deserve a certain level of privacy. Unless I am interested in a relationship/one-night stand with you, I don't need to know your orientation. I would say I don't even need to know that, only if you're interested, but there's an entire part of the courtship ritual devoted to winning over a potential mate so...gray area.
Simply put: maybe it's none of my business. I'm fine with that. As one of my goals is to know everything, I want to know, and as a friend I hope that if my friends wants to tell someone they can tell me, but I would not intentionally force an invasion of privacy.
And here comes the flip.
All that stuff I just said about being forced to tell a secret? Combine that with a need to communicate and understand, and a reflexive feeling of wrong about anyone being forced to keep a secret, and you begin to have how I feel about a person made to keep one.
Then there's the more conventional way to force: make it unsafe. If I have no particular thing standing in my way, I personally am open about my bisexuality. If I would become a target...well, I personally would probably be fiercely open out of spite, though that's not exactly the healthiest way to be open, but someone else might hide, and it certainly makes things more difficult. If I would be putting my family (or friends, or partner) in danger...that would stop me. At least for a while. And that lack of choice is not healthy.
There are multiple methods of force, of course. The simplest is one I've alluded to in talking about the right of secrecy: intentionally creating a situation where people are incapable of saying it. Back to sexual orientation--if a person does not know the word bisexual, nor that such an orientation exists, it suddenly becomes a lot harder to recognize that orientation in one's self, never mind explaining it to someone else. It's not as flagrantly dangerous, and yet...
If I'm under threat, I'm under threat, but if I lack the ideas, then I have no idea what is happening. I cannot speak for more than myself, but I would rather understand.
To start with the simplest way I can think of to say it: Any person should be able to keep secrets that do no harm. No person should be forced to keep a secret.
What I mean to say by the first is that I am not writing this as a part of a crusade to completely do away with secrets. I recognize that saying something like, "Ugh, you are [insult]" is something you might want to keep to yourself. Particularly if there's nothing constructive about the insult--"Your clothes are messed up" is worse than, "You're tag's sticking out," for instance. I also recognize that some secrets are simply difficult to communicate. I...obviously can't give an example of that one.
And, simply, I believe people deserve a certain level of privacy. Unless I am interested in a relationship/one-night stand with you, I don't need to know your orientation. I would say I don't even need to know that, only if you're interested, but there's an entire part of the courtship ritual devoted to winning over a potential mate so...gray area.
Simply put: maybe it's none of my business. I'm fine with that. As one of my goals is to know everything, I want to know, and as a friend I hope that if my friends wants to tell someone they can tell me, but I would not intentionally force an invasion of privacy.
And here comes the flip.
All that stuff I just said about being forced to tell a secret? Combine that with a need to communicate and understand, and a reflexive feeling of wrong about anyone being forced to keep a secret, and you begin to have how I feel about a person made to keep one.
Then there's the more conventional way to force: make it unsafe. If I have no particular thing standing in my way, I personally am open about my bisexuality. If I would become a target...well, I personally would probably be fiercely open out of spite, though that's not exactly the healthiest way to be open, but someone else might hide, and it certainly makes things more difficult. If I would be putting my family (or friends, or partner) in danger...that would stop me. At least for a while. And that lack of choice is not healthy.
There are multiple methods of force, of course. The simplest is one I've alluded to in talking about the right of secrecy: intentionally creating a situation where people are incapable of saying it. Back to sexual orientation--if a person does not know the word bisexual, nor that such an orientation exists, it suddenly becomes a lot harder to recognize that orientation in one's self, never mind explaining it to someone else. It's not as flagrantly dangerous, and yet...
If I'm under threat, I'm under threat, but if I lack the ideas, then I have no idea what is happening. I cannot speak for more than myself, but I would rather understand.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Faith and Trust
Just for the record, I do not plan to look up either of these in the dictionary while writing this post, and I do not recall ever having done so in the past. I may look both faith and trust up at the end, and put down the official definitions at the end of this post. However, even if they are there, I will change nothing earlier. That is why this part does not establish whether I will do it, even though you, the reader who is reading through the time it took me to write this, can scroll down a few inches and see.
Inspired by a Simpsons quote (paraphrased),
I will be writing as if I am referring to people, though you can have faith in or trust something as much as someone.
In the most basic terms: Faith is believing that someone will aid you. No reason to really, no guarantee, no need. Just you believe this. Pretty much the exact opposite of the scientific method*. It doesn't have to be absolutely certainty--though that is what absolute faith is. Even without evidence, the bedrock-solid knowledge that this fact is true.
Flip side, used less: Knowing that it will all go wrong fits equally well. Knowing that the person with the wrong scar over the right eye is going to stab you in the back. You don't know the person. You just see the face.
Laconic: This I believe.
Trust is different. You might have faith in some people after not seeing them for years, but trust has to be kept up. Help you up; stand by you when no one else would; just be there when you need them to be and you trust them. You have seen how they acted in the past, and it leads you to believe they are good people. You know they'll help you and yours.
Flip side, used less: Pretty obvious at this point. Push you down; run when someone else stood with you; leave when you need them most. Worse, do that and then expect you to help them. Maybe even worse than that. Because you will, and tomorrow they're back to this knife-twisting trust, you know they'll hurt you. But you choose. Do you turn you back on you own ideals? Do you stick to them, cruel people or no?
Or do you change your ideals for a new situation?
*I am not belittling the scientific method or faith. The scientific method does require setting one's faiths aside for the sake of seeing reality as it is--but not everything is scientifically provable. And stuff that isn't scientifically proven may well still be true.
Dictionary, closest to mine posted:
Faith: b (1) : firm belief in something for which there is no proof (2) : complete trust
Trust: a : assured reliance on the character, ability, strength, or truth of someone or something
Inspired by a Simpsons quote (paraphrased),
Wiggum: You have that much faith in me?
Homer: No, faith is what you have in things that don't exist. Your awesomeness is real.
I will be writing as if I am referring to people, though you can have faith in or trust something as much as someone.
In the most basic terms: Faith is believing that someone will aid you. No reason to really, no guarantee, no need. Just you believe this. Pretty much the exact opposite of the scientific method*. It doesn't have to be absolutely certainty--though that is what absolute faith is. Even without evidence, the bedrock-solid knowledge that this fact is true.
Flip side, used less: Knowing that it will all go wrong fits equally well. Knowing that the person with the wrong scar over the right eye is going to stab you in the back. You don't know the person. You just see the face.
Laconic: This I believe.
Trust is different. You might have faith in some people after not seeing them for years, but trust has to be kept up. Help you up; stand by you when no one else would; just be there when you need them to be and you trust them. You have seen how they acted in the past, and it leads you to believe they are good people. You know they'll help you and yours.
Flip side, used less: Pretty obvious at this point. Push you down; run when someone else stood with you; leave when you need them most. Worse, do that and then expect you to help them. Maybe even worse than that. Because you will, and tomorrow they're back to this knife-twisting trust, you know they'll hurt you. But you choose. Do you turn you back on you own ideals? Do you stick to them, cruel people or no?
Or do you change your ideals for a new situation?
*I am not belittling the scientific method or faith. The scientific method does require setting one's faiths aside for the sake of seeing reality as it is--but not everything is scientifically provable. And stuff that isn't scientifically proven may well still be true.
Dictionary, closest to mine posted:
Faith: b (1) : firm belief in something for which there is no proof (2) : complete trust
Trust: a : assured reliance on the character, ability, strength, or truth of someone or something
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Glimmers in the Den
The stories that get told from bad times can be dark indeed. But sometimes the most memorable are the flashes of wisdom, hope...
We weren’t happy. Who would be? Forced here, where we were basically food. If we got lucky, we died or became one of them. And what if becoming one of them meant a shift in thought so huge that we became…well, like them?
I touched the stones in my pocket. As I went through the day I saw a girl yelling at the guards. I handed her the varied brown one that said wisdom. Her lips twitched and she nodded; fell back. She tucked the stone in her pocket.
A few days later, a little boy was hiding in the corner. He was sobbing his clear, too-old gray eyes out. I took his hand and pressed the pale green stone into it. He looked at it, then at me. He clung to me and we held each other until he stopped crying. I convinced him to start washing and eating again.
Barely a few hours after that, I was flipping the last one over and over. It was black, and polished very smooth. I think it had been like that since the start. I might just have come to it for comfort enough.
A woman was praying. Before, I had heard her saying she wouldn’t pray anymore. It didn’t surprise me that she was. We were all going back to old comforts, and until she said she’d stop a few days after coming here, she’d prayed every evening. She said she had since she was six.
The topic didn’t really surprise me either. It wasn’t even covered in pretty language anymore. “I’m trying. I’m trying. But I don’t understand why.”
I looked around, checking for anyone obvious. The fact that I couldn’t see them wasn’t really pertinent. When they wanted to be seen, we obeyed every rule perfectly because they were cementing their power. Most, though, just wanted to make sure none of us were trying anything too dire—-like escaping—-and get on with it.
No one I could see. It crept down off my bunk and over to hers. By the time I got there her prayers had stopped, she was just crying. It hurt—I mean it physically hurt—to see someone so broken. I hoped the outburst would help her, but I was worried she’d just fall farther.
“Miss?”
She jerked up and looked at me. “What?” she asked sharply. Then she closed her eyes and softened. “Sorry. Yes?”
I took a breath. This was my last, but it was worth it. But it was my last, so I better make it count. “I’m Amelia.”
“Jean.”
“When I was little, I got these stones. They’ve got words on them, and they help me remember what I want to do, or be.”
She nodded. “I’ve seen you giving them out. How many have you got left?”
“Just the one.” I held the small oval of polished black out. In the dark, it was nearly invisible, though it reflected a lot of light.
A few phrases ran through my head. ‘(I think) It’ll do you more good than me.’ ‘You need it more than I do.’ But that wasn’t what I wanted to say.
“I want you to have it.”
She took it, solid black indent up. “What’s it say?”
“Turn it over.”
She looked at me; then turned it over.
“If you ever need me, just ask.”
She stared at the stone for a moment. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she smiled a little now. “Thank you.” Her eyes went to mine. “The same goes for you.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
That last one said trust.
We weren’t happy. Who would be? Forced here, where we were basically food. If we got lucky, we died or became one of them. And what if becoming one of them meant a shift in thought so huge that we became…well, like them?
I touched the stones in my pocket. As I went through the day I saw a girl yelling at the guards. I handed her the varied brown one that said wisdom. Her lips twitched and she nodded; fell back. She tucked the stone in her pocket.
A few days later, a little boy was hiding in the corner. He was sobbing his clear, too-old gray eyes out. I took his hand and pressed the pale green stone into it. He looked at it, then at me. He clung to me and we held each other until he stopped crying. I convinced him to start washing and eating again.
Barely a few hours after that, I was flipping the last one over and over. It was black, and polished very smooth. I think it had been like that since the start. I might just have come to it for comfort enough.
A woman was praying. Before, I had heard her saying she wouldn’t pray anymore. It didn’t surprise me that she was. We were all going back to old comforts, and until she said she’d stop a few days after coming here, she’d prayed every evening. She said she had since she was six.
The topic didn’t really surprise me either. It wasn’t even covered in pretty language anymore. “I’m trying. I’m trying. But I don’t understand why.”
I looked around, checking for anyone obvious. The fact that I couldn’t see them wasn’t really pertinent. When they wanted to be seen, we obeyed every rule perfectly because they were cementing their power. Most, though, just wanted to make sure none of us were trying anything too dire—-like escaping—-and get on with it.
No one I could see. It crept down off my bunk and over to hers. By the time I got there her prayers had stopped, she was just crying. It hurt—I mean it physically hurt—to see someone so broken. I hoped the outburst would help her, but I was worried she’d just fall farther.
“Miss?”
She jerked up and looked at me. “What?” she asked sharply. Then she closed her eyes and softened. “Sorry. Yes?”
I took a breath. This was my last, but it was worth it. But it was my last, so I better make it count. “I’m Amelia.”
“Jean.”
“When I was little, I got these stones. They’ve got words on them, and they help me remember what I want to do, or be.”
She nodded. “I’ve seen you giving them out. How many have you got left?”
“Just the one.” I held the small oval of polished black out. In the dark, it was nearly invisible, though it reflected a lot of light.
A few phrases ran through my head. ‘(I think) It’ll do you more good than me.’ ‘You need it more than I do.’ But that wasn’t what I wanted to say.
“I want you to have it.”
She took it, solid black indent up. “What’s it say?”
“Turn it over.”
She looked at me; then turned it over.
“If you ever need me, just ask.”
She stared at the stone for a moment. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she smiled a little now. “Thank you.” Her eyes went to mine. “The same goes for you.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
That last one said trust.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Story 3
A/N: This is something of an experimentation with voice and tone, so please tell me what you think. Warning: Some swearing.
I just--ugh! It's like, there's stuff that sticks with you for years, and it shouldn't be there after a couple days, or even hours. Like you're mind's trying to get back at you or something.
We were having an argument. Whatever. It was a bowling alley, even if we were yelling it wouldn't've carried more than a few feet. She was attacking whatever she could; seeing what stuck. Saying that I was a loser, I had no friends. Again, what-freaking-ever. Like I hadn't been hearing stuff like that since, like, third grade. Most of it since first. I mean, honestly, get some new material.
And then, she got flustered, she stopped thinking, and she hit something.
"I come here in my best clothes, and you come here in--in scraps--"
I really didn't hear anything she said after that. All I could think of was that she had called my very best scraps. This was my new outfit. I'd gotten it for my birthday. I loved it. It felt like she'd hit me, full on and in the chest.
I can tell you, looking back, why it bothered me so much, why I burst into tears--and the girl asked, "Are you getting help? Do you take medication for this?" which was real bright. I can tell you that, though people had insulted my voice, my oddities, my family, my intelligence, and everything else, no one had ever touched my looks. I knew, on some level, that I was pretty. To have someone attack that was worse than anything else she'd said.
Call it shallow. Call it valuing clothes over friends. But it was what I had, and losing that last inch hurt as much as the first time a friend had turned her back and snickered.
And her asking if I had medication...Hell. I know, she was just trying to push the blame off herself, onto some imbalance in my system. Anywhere that made it so she didn't have to feel the guilt. I know. It just doesn't help much. Or, you know, at all. Do people ever think before they speak? Is this so hard it's a step people just skip over, so they can listen to themselves yap insults and compliments, work themselves up some fucking popularity tree?
I put up this big facade. I don't care how I look. I don't care what you think. I don't care I can't seem to keep friends. It's all bullshit. I care. Anyone who bothered to look at me for two seconds would know that. Which means that anyone who doesn't see through this it doesn't bother to look for two seconds, and that makes me feel just wonderful, thank you so very much.
Aw, shit, I'm sorry. I'm unloading all this on you, it's not your fault.
No, it's not a problem, really. I wanted to get to know you better. And...I'm glad you let down the facade.
Hah. Thanks. Glad you saw through it.
Hey, you said it. It only takes a couple seconds. If you ever need someone to talk to...I'm here, okay?
Yeah. Okay. Thanks, J, I'll remember that. I'm probably going to come up with a list long enough to reach the moon for reasons not to, but I'll remember.
Just use a large font.
Ha! Sure, why not?
I just--ugh! It's like, there's stuff that sticks with you for years, and it shouldn't be there after a couple days, or even hours. Like you're mind's trying to get back at you or something.
We were having an argument. Whatever. It was a bowling alley, even if we were yelling it wouldn't've carried more than a few feet. She was attacking whatever she could; seeing what stuck. Saying that I was a loser, I had no friends. Again, what-freaking-ever. Like I hadn't been hearing stuff like that since, like, third grade. Most of it since first. I mean, honestly, get some new material.
And then, she got flustered, she stopped thinking, and she hit something.
"I come here in my best clothes, and you come here in--in scraps--"
I really didn't hear anything she said after that. All I could think of was that she had called my very best scraps. This was my new outfit. I'd gotten it for my birthday. I loved it. It felt like she'd hit me, full on and in the chest.
I can tell you, looking back, why it bothered me so much, why I burst into tears--and the girl asked, "Are you getting help? Do you take medication for this?" which was real bright. I can tell you that, though people had insulted my voice, my oddities, my family, my intelligence, and everything else, no one had ever touched my looks. I knew, on some level, that I was pretty. To have someone attack that was worse than anything else she'd said.
Call it shallow. Call it valuing clothes over friends. But it was what I had, and losing that last inch hurt as much as the first time a friend had turned her back and snickered.
And her asking if I had medication...Hell. I know, she was just trying to push the blame off herself, onto some imbalance in my system. Anywhere that made it so she didn't have to feel the guilt. I know. It just doesn't help much. Or, you know, at all. Do people ever think before they speak? Is this so hard it's a step people just skip over, so they can listen to themselves yap insults and compliments, work themselves up some fucking popularity tree?
I put up this big facade. I don't care how I look. I don't care what you think. I don't care I can't seem to keep friends. It's all bullshit. I care. Anyone who bothered to look at me for two seconds would know that. Which means that anyone who doesn't see through this it doesn't bother to look for two seconds, and that makes me feel just wonderful, thank you so very much.
Aw, shit, I'm sorry. I'm unloading all this on you, it's not your fault.
No, it's not a problem, really. I wanted to get to know you better. And...I'm glad you let down the facade.
Hah. Thanks. Glad you saw through it.
Hey, you said it. It only takes a couple seconds. If you ever need someone to talk to...I'm here, okay?
Yeah. Okay. Thanks, J, I'll remember that. I'm probably going to come up with a list long enough to reach the moon for reasons not to, but I'll remember.
Just use a large font.
Ha! Sure, why not?
Friday, May 7, 2010
Virtue
Mercy.
It had been simple, really. Names here...in English, really...no one really bothered to remember what half of them meant. Even the obvious ones like 'Victoria'. They're after the person, the people, not the word. One things Queen Victoria, not victorious. Though one might associate them, perhaps not. And perhaps it's not her. Perhaps it's a childhood friend or acquaintance, so blond hair, gray eyes, and an old aunt who always brings cookies.
It was all so...random.
And the names that do have something obvious tend to be so mundane: Ruby, May, April, June. A rock. A month.
It's not like there's anything wrong. They can be perfectly good names. But given the choice...choice. Given the right to come up with my own name, there was just something in me that wanted more.
Yet I couldn't stick out. I couldn't pick something like spirit, or soul. English just doesn't do that often enough for one to blend.
Naturally, I gravitated toward virtues. But...Chastity? No. Charity was better, Hope was good. Still. I wanted something different. Charity was nice, but was a reaction to a problem. Hope was something that kept you going, good, but...
I wanted something that would be present if the world were perfect. Charity would not be needed, everyone would just have. You would not need hope, per se, it would just be. One does not really have hope the sun will rise; it is more that one would feel betrayed if it didn't.
But mercy. Yes, I liked Mercy. Even in a utopia, people would still make mistakes, however slight. Perhaps oversleeping. Forgetfulness.
What I really wanted, what I would have taken as a name if it were common, is Forgiveness. But Mercy is...well, fundamentally good, in ways Forgiveness isn't. Even if you cannot forgive, cannot forget, cannot let go, you can be merciful. You can let it pass.
"Name?"
"Mercy."
"Last name?"
I hadn't thought of one. Hm...your last name was your family, right? A connection to blood and earth. And that would not sound nearly so needlessly poetic if we were speaking just about anything but English, trust me.
I smiled. Trust.
John might approve, he might not. Either way. Here I am.
"I am Mercy Johnson."
She nodded, first in recognition and then to where I should go. "Third door on the right. Eleanor Wright will see you."
I nodded in recognition back and went to see Ms. Wright.
It had been simple, really. Names here...in English, really...no one really bothered to remember what half of them meant. Even the obvious ones like 'Victoria'. They're after the person, the people, not the word. One things Queen Victoria, not victorious. Though one might associate them, perhaps not. And perhaps it's not her. Perhaps it's a childhood friend or acquaintance, so blond hair, gray eyes, and an old aunt who always brings cookies.
It was all so...random.
And the names that do have something obvious tend to be so mundane: Ruby, May, April, June. A rock. A month.
It's not like there's anything wrong. They can be perfectly good names. But given the choice...choice. Given the right to come up with my own name, there was just something in me that wanted more.
Yet I couldn't stick out. I couldn't pick something like spirit, or soul. English just doesn't do that often enough for one to blend.
Naturally, I gravitated toward virtues. But...Chastity? No. Charity was better, Hope was good. Still. I wanted something different. Charity was nice, but was a reaction to a problem. Hope was something that kept you going, good, but...
I wanted something that would be present if the world were perfect. Charity would not be needed, everyone would just have. You would not need hope, per se, it would just be. One does not really have hope the sun will rise; it is more that one would feel betrayed if it didn't.
But mercy. Yes, I liked Mercy. Even in a utopia, people would still make mistakes, however slight. Perhaps oversleeping. Forgetfulness.
What I really wanted, what I would have taken as a name if it were common, is Forgiveness. But Mercy is...well, fundamentally good, in ways Forgiveness isn't. Even if you cannot forgive, cannot forget, cannot let go, you can be merciful. You can let it pass.
"Name?"
"Mercy."
"Last name?"
I hadn't thought of one. Hm...your last name was your family, right? A connection to blood and earth. And that would not sound nearly so needlessly poetic if we were speaking just about anything but English, trust me.
I smiled. Trust.
John might approve, he might not. Either way. Here I am.
"I am Mercy Johnson."
She nodded, first in recognition and then to where I should go. "Third door on the right. Eleanor Wright will see you."
I nodded in recognition back and went to see Ms. Wright.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Song Analysis
All my own opinions, I have not seen anything Idina said. If we're going by the school of whatever the artist says is right, I'm probably way off.
Also, note: the she I refer to is the speaker, not the author. Idina may share some or none of these traits, I wouldn't know.
My Own Worst Enemy
Idina Menzel
In the roses
In the spring
Innocence, specifically in the sense of ignorance. Roses are used as signs of love, and spring of new life; everything has its own little realm and you see the world through new, bright eyes.
I remember
Immediately implies that that time has passed. If you still are innocent, you do not remember, it simply is. This is particularly true with innocence, those truly innocent (using it as partially synonymous with 'ignorant') do not even know that it can get worse.
There was a time
I wasn’t afraid of anything
Emphasizes the innocence/ignorance again. People talk about having no fear flippantly occasionally, when discussing bravery. But, in context, this seems to imply a literal lack of fear. A lack of fear is caused by either a lack of experience or a lack of imagination. Considering the idyllic setting, it is probably the former.
But with the lilacs
And the rain
Direct link drawn back to the roses and the spring, mentioned earlier. This time it includes an obvious reference in the spring vs. rain parallel, rain comes later in the year and we assume it to be slightly worse. Not necessarily in the long run, but in the here-and-now? Yeah.
This draws us back to the innocence/ignorance, as looking to the future is a sign of wisdom, but you have to earn that.
The roses vs. lilacs is more interesting. There is nothing particularly bad about lilacs--they are also used for love, they bloom in spring, all that good stuff. But it's also just a bit less mainstream. On the other hand, combine it with rain and you could get tears on lilacs--very easily a loss of innocence, when you consider the juxtaposition of love and tears.
One day you went away
Loss of innocence, realizing you can lose people.
I remember
I forgot everything
Can be seen as a first freak out. You spend your entire life learning how to fit into society, learning every rule, probably learning how to manipulate them and then BAM. You lose it. The first time this happens can be liberating, surreal or both, making the opposites above very appropriate.
Chorus:
My mother’s always trying to tell me
How to be grateful how to believe
May be just me, but I always heard "believe" as "be free". One could see this as showing how to trust even in the face of bad things, and how to survive on one's own, either way.
My father’s always trying to say
Baby you’re beautiful in every way
Classic good dad. He's saying that everything she does is alright, everything she is is beautiful. The multiple meanings of beautiful--outer, inner and actions--make this an interesting set of lines. It could just be out there to show how she has no reason to be scared/hurt, or it could be that he has trusted her and helped her every step of the way.
My lover’s always got me in his arms
Trying to protect me keep me from harm
She has a close relationship with her lover. By this point it is clear that these three sets of lines are a unit, establishing that she has people helping her, people who care about her, every step of the way.
It's also worth noting that, in all three instances, the word "trying" comes up. Her mother and father are trying to teach her, her lover is trying to protect her. This means it ultimately comes down to her, and...
So why do I always have to be
My worst my own worst enemy
She clearly feels she isn't living up to this. She feels she is holding herself back, hence her bit about being her own worst enemy. There is also a not-quite-pause between My worst and the rest of the line. This makes the line being spoken, however briefly, into, Why do I always have to be my worst? This takes us back to tears and the freak out, few people would want either of those things to be someone's first impression of him or her.
In the shadows in the grays
First off, shadows is very loaded. We have a long history of associating darkness with evil, making it impossible for it to be otherwise.
The grays has a bit of duality because it's gray. Just as we've associated dark with evil, we've associated light with good. Gray stays solidly in the middle of that spectrum, meaning that it is both not what one would hope for in good nor what one would expect in evil.
In the lonely
There is a place
Where we can all hide away
Being lonely is bad.
We're pack animals. We can handle being alone, but loneliness automatically has a number of stigmas against it, to the point that those who remain alone by choice or necessity are seen as odd.
But hiding can be a comfort, and it is often necessary to be alone if one wishes to hide. So we have a wish and a necessity noted in this line.
But in the windows of the soul
There is nowhere we can go
If we keep running
Running from our destiny
Back to being alone. If you are alone, you have to deal with...yourself. You naturally can't run. It is worth noting that the speaker knows there are things you can run from (see above), but running from the bad bits of something will also run from the good parts of it.
So you can run, but there are things you cannot run from. And I suppose it makes as much sense as anything else to call those things your destiny.
Chorus:
My mother’s always trying to tell me
How to be grateful how to believe
My father’s always trying to say
Baby you’re beautiful in every way
My lover’s always got me in his arms
Trying to protect me keep me from harm
So why do I always have to be
My worst my own worst enemy
The chorus, this time can be seen as the things that keep her from running. Her mother, who helps her remember the things she is grateful for and so should stick around for. Her father, who helps her remember she doesn't need to run. Her lover is the most forward in this interpretation, he is actively holding her from running and trying to stop the things that are making her want to run.
But still, we have trying. Are they succeeding?
You say I walk on water
You say I walk on the moon
But it’s never enough
(no it’s never enough no it’s never enough)
The former is downright divine, and the latter is widely established as a turning point in American history. But still, no matter what she does, she is not good enough. Usually this would be a way to make the character sympathetic and the person who is creating this feeling unsympathetic. But the speaker is neither asking for sympathy nor blaming someone else. In the context of the song, it is clearly never enough for herself. Everyone else is supportive, but she never feels like she's worth it.
You say I’m only human
It’s all in my head
But it’s never enough
(no it’s never enough no it’s never enough)
Emphasizes that the above things are all but impossible for humans, doing them at all is impressive. Any claim otherwise is just her trying to be more than anyone would reasonably expect of her.
One day I’ll find
My alibi...
An alibi is only used when someone has done something wrong. The idea that she cannot do these things is, to her mind, a crime.
Chorus:
My mother’s always trying to tell me
How to be grateful how to believe
My father’s always trying to say
Baby you’re beautiful in every way
My lover’s always got me in his arms
Trying to protect me keep me from harm
So why do I always have to be
My worst my own worst enemy
Now the chorus takes on a feel of people trying to convince her that she has nothing to be sorry for. They're trying to say that she's done enough, and her lover in particular is saying he can help her through the rest, if she just lets him.
Also, note: the she I refer to is the speaker, not the author. Idina may share some or none of these traits, I wouldn't know.
My Own Worst Enemy
Idina Menzel
In the roses
In the spring
Innocence, specifically in the sense of ignorance. Roses are used as signs of love, and spring of new life; everything has its own little realm and you see the world through new, bright eyes.
I remember
Immediately implies that that time has passed. If you still are innocent, you do not remember, it simply is. This is particularly true with innocence, those truly innocent (using it as partially synonymous with 'ignorant') do not even know that it can get worse.
There was a time
I wasn’t afraid of anything
Emphasizes the innocence/ignorance again. People talk about having no fear flippantly occasionally, when discussing bravery. But, in context, this seems to imply a literal lack of fear. A lack of fear is caused by either a lack of experience or a lack of imagination. Considering the idyllic setting, it is probably the former.
But with the lilacs
And the rain
Direct link drawn back to the roses and the spring, mentioned earlier. This time it includes an obvious reference in the spring vs. rain parallel, rain comes later in the year and we assume it to be slightly worse. Not necessarily in the long run, but in the here-and-now? Yeah.
This draws us back to the innocence/ignorance, as looking to the future is a sign of wisdom, but you have to earn that.
The roses vs. lilacs is more interesting. There is nothing particularly bad about lilacs--they are also used for love, they bloom in spring, all that good stuff. But it's also just a bit less mainstream. On the other hand, combine it with rain and you could get tears on lilacs--very easily a loss of innocence, when you consider the juxtaposition of love and tears.
One day you went away
Loss of innocence, realizing you can lose people.
I remember
I forgot everything
Can be seen as a first freak out. You spend your entire life learning how to fit into society, learning every rule, probably learning how to manipulate them and then BAM. You lose it. The first time this happens can be liberating, surreal or both, making the opposites above very appropriate.
Chorus:
My mother’s always trying to tell me
How to be grateful how to believe
May be just me, but I always heard "believe" as "be free". One could see this as showing how to trust even in the face of bad things, and how to survive on one's own, either way.
My father’s always trying to say
Baby you’re beautiful in every way
Classic good dad. He's saying that everything she does is alright, everything she is is beautiful. The multiple meanings of beautiful--outer, inner and actions--make this an interesting set of lines. It could just be out there to show how she has no reason to be scared/hurt, or it could be that he has trusted her and helped her every step of the way.
My lover’s always got me in his arms
Trying to protect me keep me from harm
She has a close relationship with her lover. By this point it is clear that these three sets of lines are a unit, establishing that she has people helping her, people who care about her, every step of the way.
It's also worth noting that, in all three instances, the word "trying" comes up. Her mother and father are trying to teach her, her lover is trying to protect her. This means it ultimately comes down to her, and...
So why do I always have to be
My worst my own worst enemy
She clearly feels she isn't living up to this. She feels she is holding herself back, hence her bit about being her own worst enemy. There is also a not-quite-pause between My worst and the rest of the line. This makes the line being spoken, however briefly, into, Why do I always have to be my worst? This takes us back to tears and the freak out, few people would want either of those things to be someone's first impression of him or her.
In the shadows in the grays
First off, shadows is very loaded. We have a long history of associating darkness with evil, making it impossible for it to be otherwise.
The grays has a bit of duality because it's gray. Just as we've associated dark with evil, we've associated light with good. Gray stays solidly in the middle of that spectrum, meaning that it is both not what one would hope for in good nor what one would expect in evil.
In the lonely
There is a place
Where we can all hide away
Being lonely is bad.
We're pack animals. We can handle being alone, but loneliness automatically has a number of stigmas against it, to the point that those who remain alone by choice or necessity are seen as odd.
But hiding can be a comfort, and it is often necessary to be alone if one wishes to hide. So we have a wish and a necessity noted in this line.
But in the windows of the soul
There is nowhere we can go
If we keep running
Running from our destiny
Back to being alone. If you are alone, you have to deal with...yourself. You naturally can't run. It is worth noting that the speaker knows there are things you can run from (see above), but running from the bad bits of something will also run from the good parts of it.
So you can run, but there are things you cannot run from. And I suppose it makes as much sense as anything else to call those things your destiny.
Chorus:
My mother’s always trying to tell me
How to be grateful how to believe
My father’s always trying to say
Baby you’re beautiful in every way
My lover’s always got me in his arms
Trying to protect me keep me from harm
So why do I always have to be
My worst my own worst enemy
The chorus, this time can be seen as the things that keep her from running. Her mother, who helps her remember the things she is grateful for and so should stick around for. Her father, who helps her remember she doesn't need to run. Her lover is the most forward in this interpretation, he is actively holding her from running and trying to stop the things that are making her want to run.
But still, we have trying. Are they succeeding?
You say I walk on water
You say I walk on the moon
But it’s never enough
(no it’s never enough no it’s never enough)
The former is downright divine, and the latter is widely established as a turning point in American history. But still, no matter what she does, she is not good enough. Usually this would be a way to make the character sympathetic and the person who is creating this feeling unsympathetic. But the speaker is neither asking for sympathy nor blaming someone else. In the context of the song, it is clearly never enough for herself. Everyone else is supportive, but she never feels like she's worth it.
You say I’m only human
It’s all in my head
But it’s never enough
(no it’s never enough no it’s never enough)
Emphasizes that the above things are all but impossible for humans, doing them at all is impressive. Any claim otherwise is just her trying to be more than anyone would reasonably expect of her.
One day I’ll find
My alibi...
An alibi is only used when someone has done something wrong. The idea that she cannot do these things is, to her mind, a crime.
Chorus:
My mother’s always trying to tell me
How to be grateful how to believe
My father’s always trying to say
Baby you’re beautiful in every way
My lover’s always got me in his arms
Trying to protect me keep me from harm
So why do I always have to be
My worst my own worst enemy
Now the chorus takes on a feel of people trying to convince her that she has nothing to be sorry for. They're trying to say that she's done enough, and her lover in particular is saying he can help her through the rest, if she just lets him.
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