What is home? Is it where you can hang your hat? Is it where the heart is? Or is it where you can comfortably take a shit?
You have all heard the reassuring cliché:
“It’s always darkest before the dawn.”
Aside from it sounding like a pop-hook written by Legolas, what a load of shit huh? This is just what people say when they don’t know what to say anymore, right? They don’t know how to comfort you, so they gag you with this hallmark nonsense.
If you are related to me, you should stop reading this post right here. Seriously…I am telling you to skip this one. It will be weird.
My sex life has never been about me. It has always been about making sure the guy is enjoying himself. On one hand, it genuinely turns me on to see his eyes roll back and steam shoot out of his ears. On the heavier hand, it feels like I’ve given up my own pleasure for the sake of this other individual.
Amongst different crowds, the word “ego” has different connotations. To some, it is a positive attribute to have an ego in excess, even something to strive for, because in a way ego is invincibility. Albeit, invincibility that may be birthed from ignorance, like a boy who throws on a cape and is convinced he can fly, only to break both of his legs jumping off the roof of his suburban home. Ego can be dangerous. Some people never take off the cape and feel they are superior to others because they know they can fly, even though they may have never jumped off the roof to give it a try.
Fuck off. What the actual fuck does that mean? Whenever I was confronted with a nerve-wracking situation, someone would offer me the sage advice “just be yourself”.
The first day of school? Just be yourself. Going on a date? Just be yourself. Going to an interview? Just be yourself. Hmm, interesting but have you ever considered this: WHO AM I? How can I be myself if I have no idea what that means?
This post is split into two parts. The first is my own opinion on the matter of cultural appropriation versus appreciation, and the second is my experience with my Yantra tattoo. If you just want to read how painful the tattoo was, feel free to skip ahead to the section marked The Story of My Sak Yant.
I was a really well-mannered kid. I always did well in school, I was polite, hardly ever caused any trouble, and was well liked by my teachers and had friends. So what changed? Why did I feel the need to rebel at all? Well, I hated myself, so I guess that’s where rebellion started to swell. It was like a pulse. It was a part of me that I was denying, one that I could feel knocking on the door of the interior of my mind hoping for release. I have been reading a lot of poetry lately, and apparently now feel like I’m full of wit…man. If you understood that joke, congrats on graduating high school, or just you know, bettering yourself with literature that isn’t your daily horoscope. Read More