Interactions, pt. 5

With this thought in mind, I sat and waited for the noises to begin again. Like clockwork, the noises and glowing started up again. Excited, I grabbed my notebook and ran toward the glowing. Thinking that I had figured out the mystery to the earlier disappearance, I began to feel great confidence in my supposed discovery. While sitting near the glow, it slowly crept toward me. I didn't even notice the air around me lighten bit by bit because I was so engrossed in recording my thoughts and findings. By the time I realized that something was going on, it was much too late to do a thing. Completely enveloped in the light, I began to feel drowsy and my thoughts came as garbled and butchered words. The last thing I remember thinking of that night was when I would head off to bed.

I awoke to the pinched face of a child no older than eight or nine turns. Varying shades of black wrapped around me again as that pinched face haunted the darkness of loosing consciousness again. My next conscious moment was spent trying to communicate with a man poking and proding me with strange medical instruments. As I began to realize that the words I tried to use were coming out as moans and garbbled gibberish, I let go of my fear and apprehension for the time being. Slowly, I moved my head to try and take in my surroundings. The man looked like men from where I knew as home. His mannerisms were quite odd, but nothing I hadn't become accustomed to in my studies of communications back on the Reservation. Something that completely threw me off was the way that the doctor kept his distance from the one nurse that was helping, and I use helping in a very liberal sense.

The doctor walked away as his nurse came to me seeming very distressed. Confused, I once again tried my hand at communicating. More moans came out of my mouth, but I was at least able to form enough words to have the nurse look puzzled more than distressed. I found out later that the nurse was afraid of me because of the strange noises I was making while the doctor was checking me out. No idea what kind of noises I might have been making, but I thought at the time that that was a strange thing to be concerned about.

Song of the Day

"Existentialism on Prom Night" by Straylight Run

BYU-Hawaii Security is Gonna Die

So, another day in the annuals of my life here at BYU-Hawaii, and I'm ready to get someone fired. Why, you might ask? Well, it all started with a parking ticket that has turned into someone following me while driving. Oh, and I'm pissed. I was even followed off campus. So... how is BYU-Hawaii Security gonna die, you might be wondering... well, they aren't as a whole. Just the lady that is always rude. My first run in with her was when I was just a wee little sophmore here, and it was my first semester out here. She was rudely accusing me and group of friends of being bad Mormons because we were up late watching LOTR, the first one no less. Well, that about cooked my bacon back then in that I was rearin' and ready for a fight to get that knocked off.

This time around... I'm out lookin' for some blood. This is ridiculous. I was accused of trespassing. Trespassing!!!! I drove through TVA in order to not have to drive all the way around the big circle... apparently not a kosher thing to do. There was nothing posted stating that there was no trespassing. Nothing posted in the parking lot where I got my parking ticket either. No notification anywhere to be seen. So, what am I going to do? Fight until they knock that stupid thing off of Clover or have someone's job canned. This is ridiculous. I swear, if I go back to where Clover is parked to find it not there, or with another ticket... it's going to be blood. I will not be pegged for this. *Breathes in & out*

Interactions, pt. 4

The first day passed uneventful as I gathered data on the explosion, but as night came, glowing could be seen from the affected area. This worried me for I did not know what the glowing could possibly mean other than a sure way to keep me from ever being able to study the Waia. Preparing to sleep for the night, rustling noises began to come from outside my tent and disturbed my relaxation. Fighting fear and curiosity, I searched out my journal for the light the blast area gave off was bright enough to see so I could write about the noises I had heard.

Writing about the noises somehow made them cease. This I also recorded so as to be sure that I would not miss even the smallest detail to take back. The Waia were known to be peculiar people in their obsession with details. Sometime while I was recording the details of the mysterious light, I fell asleep, pen in hand and sitting upright. I awoke the next morning a change in my surroundings. I was still in the same area as the previous night, but there was no evidence of a blast to be seen. Worried, I scoured my notes to be sure that something had been there, and I wasn't dreaming. Sure enough, I was able to find my notes from the previous day on the blast area.

Seeing that I had not imaged the blast site, I decided that I should go back out to try and find any evidence of the event from yesterday. While I explored the area I had recorded in my notes, I found nothing to be out of the ordinary. No sorch marks, no debris, not even an indent in the ground that would even indicate that a blast would have happened years ago. Overcome by this enigma, I went back to my camp to try and think about where the blast area had gone to. I poured over my notes endlessly hoping to find an answer. The sun set the dusk sky ablaze with purples and oranges as I had finished going through my notes for the umpteenth time that afternoon. Just before I gave up, a thought struck me; what if the noises had something to do with the disappearance.

Betrayal

How many times will I do this to her? I feel awful every single time, and after the previous time, I think that this time I won't hurt her like I did before. I still do. Once again, instead of just being the bigger person and telling her to go have fun, I become petulant and feel left out. Each time I tell myself that I need to stop. I pray hard in order to help change to happen. I hurt her again this afternoon. The stupid me that I am. I was doing so well too. She'll let it go I hope. Somehow, I've become way too attached to her; it's weird. Uncomfortable too. Maybe I'm just misreading myself completely, and it's just me being overwhelmingly happy for her. I totally am too. I need to stop pinch-hitting in the emotional box. It's gonna kill our friendship before too long. I can see it in her eyes.

Interactions, pt. 3

In my travellings around the continent, I found many words and actions to be characteristic of the area. The more time I spent in an area, the more I realized how the ways people interacted were framed by the culture they were a part of. Years passed and my thurst to understand this phenomenon grew more and more passionate. I started first with the peoples located on the Reservation and recorded the many things I learned and observed there. I was with one tribe, when disaster struck. This disaster turned into the catalyst that began my journey into the strange world that tore itself apart because of my presence.

The little village that consisted of the Waia tribe was more complex than many of the larger tribes I had visited in the Reservation. I had barely been given permission by the tribal leaders to begin living among them, when an explosion erupted near the border of the village. The tribal leaders saw this a sign to fear that my presence among their people would bring disaster, so they devised a plan to have me go to the area where the explosion took place in order to put my observation skills to use and see if I couldn't figure out what had happened and if there were any further threat. Well, being so anxoius to have the opportunity to live among these people was the driving force in my acceptance. Whether a choice made in rash youth or one made out of my supposed lust for this opportunity, to this day I cannot tell, but I do know that that choice was one of the last ones I would make in this world.

The day came for me to set out for the explosion area, and I reluctantly rechecked my rucksak for the supplies I knew I would need. Thinking that my journey would last a day or two, I brought supplies accordingly, including enough to record on for a week. Of course, this would not be close to enough to cover the time that I was gone. I started off toward the borderland thinking that the explosion would just be another vehicle vandalized by some troublemakers. The sun hits its zenith as I saw the first signs of the explosion. As I glanced at the charred ground, I saw that the blast radius wasn't as large as the noise made it out to be. I set my camp up ten paces away from the edge of the blast so I could make visual observations while still being close enough to do some studying of the debris left.

Interactions, pt. 2

In the following time that I spent in this strange place, the people and their culture began to unravel before me. The rare friendships that few people had with each other fell apart. Any romance people had turned into betrayal, and all this while I was honored, not blamed. Men and women, old and young... all reacted the same to me. No one was left untouched by this unusual phenomenon. It knew no class difference, no gender or racial difference. In fact, as I write this chronicle of what went wrong, I realized that though people's skin color varied, there was no conscious differing based on skin tone either.

This journey brought about much discovery about myself, especially the moments when I saw myself react to the customs of this world that I was unfamiliar with. Shock and awe were experienced side by side with fear and outrage. Some things I saw were worse than what John saw before me as an outsider to a civilization similar to this one. Oh John; I remember our talks together as he purged his thoughts of the nightmarish world of the World State. With picture-like words John would take in whoever would listen. Some people at the Reservation even thought him mad after hearing of his experiences.

No longer will I be aligned with those who claim of John's maddness. First, I must start with how I stumbled upon these people. Human interactions always intrigued me, even before John and I began talking with each other. I would fill my days sitting in the shade of a nearby tree and watch the people on the Reservation deal with each other. Though I was too far to hear the words they used, I could tell what was going on by how people carried themselves and the movements they used. For each word spoken, hundreds more were left unverbalized, spoken instead with their bodies. The majority of misunderstandings came from misinterpreting these non-verbal forms of communication that came with body usage in conversation.

An Aside

So, this is completely unrelated to the story I started posting, but I need to say it. I have broken up with Alan. End of story. At this point I just want to move on. If anyone does have questions as to what went wrong, I will answer them. But I am hoping to close that chapter of my life here shortly. That said, I'll share what my new job is like. I work as a writer/researcher/transcriber for the University's Communications department. So far it's been cool. I am currently working on writing an article about a recent graduate who went home to Cambodia to start his own business. It's a cool story. So yeah, that is where things are at for me. That being said... the next installment of my story should be up later today or tomorrow. That's my hope anyways.

Interactions, pt. 1

Days pass and the earth continues to turn. The sun rises and falls while the moon follows the chase. Seasons change as all things do. People are born as babes and die in the course of their lives as they develop uniquely. In this lifetime of a human, interactions are bound to happen; even the most hidden of hermits have encountered other people at one point in their lives. This interaction, like the continuation of seasons and passings, is sure to happen in all lives. One is not born a hermit, nor is one born without parents. Though these principles are common knowledge to many, there is a place that exists where human interaction is not bound to happen. People, if they so desire, never come in contact with others.

Though parents are needed in order to birth a child, infants do not need to rely on their parents for their needs. There is no interaction if parents choose this for their child. Orphanages operate with automatons to feed the children and computerized databases and files for these children in order to know their needs. As the children grow and learn and mature, they choose how to go about their lives in the orphanage. The most interesting thing about this is that when I arrived in this place, all the inhabitants wanted to meet me and thus were forced to interact with each other.

Song of the Day

"Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts

Co-Dependancy or Interdependancy?

One of the most difficult things in my life right now is trying to figure out which things I'm co-dependant on and which things I can marginalize from my life. I never knew it would be so difficult. As I begin to post some of the writing I've been working on in my free time, I'll also add some random posts about where my mind is at, unless you can find it for me. I don't think being co-dependant on anything is a good thing, but I can't decide why. I know that interdependance is an amazing thing to have in your life, but I can't decipher the line that divides co-dependancy and interdepenancy.

A Time Out for Sickness

Sorry about not putting much of anything on my blog since I let everyone know about my getting the job. When I have more time, I'll put another post up. Til then, PEACE!