Hi, You’re Not Nice Either

This is what I had planned for this entry.

Pointing out how displeasing it is for people to hide their truth, their real personalities to be agreeable, and pleasing too other people. To lie, and make it such that people know one side of them, and that isn’t nice. It is exactly what nice people do. And it’s not pleasing, or appealing in the long run. One of the parties involved will end up leaving the acquaintance, the relationship because they can’t keep up with the farces put forward for everything to be okay.

Then, this past weekend happened, and I hung out with people. I experienced, once again, why people do what they do, why they present one side to themselves, and aim for the niceness effect. People want friends, and family. They want connections that last beyond an hour, or a day. They want illusions of deep, strong connections if they can’t have more than one day. People, in general, play at being nice to have people around them. It’s not nice, but it is necessary.

More mammals than not are social animals in the core of their existence. We are wired to seek community; to create one, and run with multiple entities around them. It’s why despite epically deplorable conditions, some communities manage to thrive. And why despite epically amazing living conditions, some people living alone don’t live long; and those who feel lonely or rejected even if they are surrounded by loving community members commit suicide. Too many of us need communication, connections that feel tangible inside our psyches to risk alienating people by acting in the manner we feel is natural to, or nurtured within us. This is one of the major reasons people act in whatever way society decides is nice.

Because society decides what is nice when it feels like it. When I was under eighteen, nice girls sat primly, spoke softly, were always polite, and never flamboyant. Nice boys were assertive, ambitious, wore baggy trousers, and jackets. Nice people went to places they were told to go like clockwork: church, school, work, home, to sleep. I am hoping my nieces/nephews grow up in a time where nice people are those who look to the positivity of an existence. People who acknowledge their flaws, and apologise for them, even when they know they won’t change. Accept apologies, and save themselves harmful things that are repeatedly thrown out into the world, and declared acceptable. Nice people shouldn’t have to sacrifice their heath, their personal care and regard when it’s positive, and healthy, for things that harm them. For things, ideas, and actions that take away from their goodness.

I’m idealistic, though. I fear that it will harm them if the world remains with ideologies spread about the world by European imperials.

The same ideals have me disliking nice people, because I know eventually they will reveal their true selves; and it won’t be pretty, or acceptable. Because they’ve hidden it for too long, instead of allowing me to know them gradually. The weekend hang-out lent me a few acquaintances, but no one I will be making a friend; because there was alcohol, and a.m. arguments that implied what was being hidden.

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Hi, I’m not Nice.

I really am not.

When I was growing up, the idea was put into me to be a nice person. Nice people don’t talk back, they don’t yell, they don’t sit hunched over or with their legs spread if they are a girl. Nice people don’t question authority, they don’t sneer, they don’t resent anyone. Nice people help everyone. Nice people don’t talk to strangers. Nice people raise money for charity. Nice people don’t give away their parents’ hard earned money. Nice people believe in God, but not every God otherwise they won’t go to Heaven, and Nice People want to go to Heaven.

It got to a point where I started hating the idea of being nice. Nice people did nothing if they followed everyone’s rules, and ended up not being nice when they did try to follow everyone’s rules because at some point, you’ll give away money that your parents will deem a waste. But that wasn’t the only reason. I just couldn’t like myself enough to be nice.

So, I decided to check up the word in the dictionary; try to get to the basics of the word to see if it would help me embrace it. Nice, initially meant gullible, naive, foolish. It came from the Latin word for not to know, ignorance. Declare me displeased. It evolved to its present meaning of pleasant, agreeable, and/or satisfactory in general. Knowing the original meaning, I can’t help but feel the current meaning is in line with the original to some extent. And that the current meaning doesn’t mean one can in fact, counter anything put forth to them even if they’d be right.

I don’t like myself enough to be nice; be it in the original sense or the current one. People are generally displeased when you point out something off about them, or their ideas and opinions. This irks me because I still want to be a nice person. Old habits are hard to kill; or leave behind. But moreso for the people around me, than myself. I want them to experience having niceness in their lives; or in hanging out with me. But I don’t want to be the nice that is taken advantage of. I don’t want to be the nice that agrees with everything, questions nothing, and doesn’t set people straight on whatever wrong, or one dimensional idea they put forth as the only thing to be. I am not satisfactory, not to myself, not to the general public, not to my family. I don’t feel enough.

So, I’m not nice; and I wholly accept the displeasure that comes with it, no matter how hurt I am by it, or frustrated. Sometimes I don’t even care.

it’s not about you, and things people don’t ask

This week has started off to a rough start for some of my acquaintances. A friend of theirs has died, and from all their “Why? What could I have done?”s, it is assumed it was as a result of suicide. I used to have this person as an acquaintance, and as such, news of his death startled me, but I didn’t ask why, or what I could have done. I asked what happened, and what will happen from now on.

Because it’s not about what I could have done, or anyone else short of physically intervening in the act if it was suicide. It’s about what he felt, where he was, and what he wanted to happen after doing it. It’s not about how they feel, or how affected they are by the death. It’s about what he was going through, and what led him there. Maybe why for some, but not for me; because the why is pretty easy. Existing is just not worth the effort.

Why suicide is mostly about the people committing it weighing the efforts expended in staying alive to the worth off staying alive. Some aim to commit suicide and find that staying alive is worth it. Others find that it isn’t. Some are motivated by external forces; bullying, financial ruin, academic pressures and demands, work stress, social burdens like ungrateful, demeaning family and friends, and a social environment that demeans one’s existence, or caring for family with conditions that drain upon one’s energies. Others are motivated by internal forces involving mental unhealthiness. Mental disorders, and illnesses can lead one to try and commit suicide multiple times. Stress is inevitably a common factor in motivating suicide. People are not.

Making suicide about the people who cared for the deceased can be noble, and appreciative of how much they feel for the deceased, but it isn’t the only thing, or the greatest concern. Unless one person’s suicide is a motivator for others’, the focus should be on the deceased. On what motivated them, and how one doesn’t need to look dishevelled, and distraught to be suicidal.

Stating that they were always smiling, or cheerful; that they were outgoing and friendly every time you saw them doesn’t mean they were always that way, It means they were that way with you; and even then it doesn’t mean they never once thought of suicide in your presence. It  means they never showed it to you, or said a word.

So when someone commits suicide, don’t look for moments of sadness, or hopelessness. Realise that suicidal people smile, and interact with others regularly without any hint of their feelings of dying. They can have children, and families; they can have exceptional careers, and strong spiritual faith. They can be suicidal, and fighting it everyday. You don’t push them over the edge. When they decide to do it, they have decided to do it. Some may regret it for their decision was flimsy, and had a solution. Others probably won’t care, others still be relieved because the fight with death and life is over. Whatever the case, keep in mind them, their moments of greatness, and moments of great failure. The small gestures that pleased them, and those that made them flawed. For the suicide is about the deceased. May they rest in the peace they sought; and those they’ve left behind be at peace, eventually.

Love, and Things People Don’t Ask

Often, people don’t ask me what it is to love, and be okay with not being with that person. They ask if I’ve ever been in love, and I tell yes, but it seems adding that I didn’t like that person ceases the conversation for them. It doesn’t for me.

Every time love comes up, and the wonders of how can one live without their love, I think of the simplicity in doing so. Literally, just stay away. Don’t communicate, don’t interact; just don’t involve them in your life. Does this men you don’t love them? No. It means you don’t have anything to do with them beyond feeling for them.

Most people find this strange, and the opposite of loving someone. I have observed their ideas on this through their analyses of stories they read, or watch. They believe proximity denotes intensity of emotions; and ridicule the idea of someone being able to love someone else without using any of the five senses in regards to them, that is sight, touch, hearing, taste, or smell. But it happens. People love other people without seeing them, without hearing them, without touching. They do it through having love within themselves.

A lot of the time, people expend too much effort to promote an idea of love being evoked in someone, instead of love already existing in people, and only finding an object of desire when its energy crosses their path. They make movies, write books, preach it in religious spaces and life coaching seminars (which really are religions by themselves), Too many cultures have a binary, cause and effect approach to every aspect of life, which leaves a lot of things deemed unnatural as they can’t be explained for what they are when the mentalities of the cultures refuse to consider what they are as natural. So, ideas like love is inside everyone regardless of an object of desire or affection are deemed ridiculous, and dismissed.

Doing so doesn’t eradicate their existence, however. It doesn’t take the love out of existence. One still loves, one still feels for to whomever they direct their love. They can despair the feeling, or enjoy it, but they don’t have to interact with people to do so. It doesn’t mean that they don’t love the person; but it’s a good option, especially when being close to that person is dangerous in a tangible manner.

I prefer to enjoy the feeling. The warmth it brings, the headiness, the cheer. Despairing has such a lonely taste to it, and hopelessness. That isn’t what one should feel along with love.

When one is raised to believe physical proximity is the only way to experience love, it may seem downright invalidating to love from afar. Despite growing up with parents who were apart due to work commitments more than living in the same house, I still thought interacting with my love everyday was the only way to be in love. I missed out on 2 years of enjoying being in love because of it. I wasn’t supposed to interact with them, though. I tried to do that in the 3rd year of loving, but it didn’t work out. I hate physical proximity. Familiarity breeds contempt with me, and so, the love feelings started dying. I had to let it go for the sake of myself, and feeling good. It wasn’t easy. It hurt a lot, but accepting that was greater relief. It was worth it. A little practise, and a lot of resolve made it happen.

trigger warning, depression

It’s a day in which waking up is an inevitability, but unwanted. I can’t sleep for more than two hours this week, and getting to sleep is a struggle, although I am sleepy all the time. I want to hate it, but the effort is too great. So, I’m in this limbo where nothing is happening, and I’m whining because there are options I should take, but I won’t because I’m too tired, or apathetic, or watching a series and unwilling to turn it off for a few minutes to deal with the insomnia.

It’s a day in which the ground is firm, the sun is hot, the air is dry, and my hair is glossy because the sunshine warms the lotion in my hair, and makes it work the way putting my hair under a drier for a few minutes would if I tried to go near a hair dryer. My skin is dry, my nose bleeds, and my eyes water a lot because of the air. So, when I feel like crying, I have an excuse.

The world is going on with their plans around me. There’s a pregnancy, a loan, a renovation. People are getting jobs, and promotions. Income. People are doing things they want, or as close to it as they can get.

My world remains the same: try to sleep, try not to wake up and fail. Write the story, and keep writing no matter how much I hate it. Listen to music that doesn’t make me cry, or curl up in myself. Listen, and watch shows that will keep my mind from thinking that it’s a good time to google what types of drugs I can overdose on that won’t destroy my organs. I figure contaminated blood is a loss worth the rest of my organs being viable for donation. Or run away from home. Leave and say nothing to anyone. And never return.

It’s been a day; the kind that I will put down as one I found at its end with me still in existence.

I have tried to avoid hot topics such as my dress my choice, and my body my home cause it always has unnecessary contributions which detract from the conversation, and put in harmful opinions much like nudity is not my choice. Good for you, nudity is not your choice. However, why does it seem as if decency is based not on one’s mentality, but someone else’s outfit in this case; and especially how appealing, or comfortable it is to you? Such detraction makes me angry, and I end up taking out on my family, which is bad of me, and for them. It also leads to a lot of opinions, and ideas that I hold. Does it make me right? I don’t know, and I don’t care. What I care is that what I put out as good, and acceptable isn’t harmful, but beneficial to people. Respectful to more than those who are moralistic when it suits them.

As such, I say decency is in the mind of the beholder.

If you figure that a naked body is repulsive, that’s on you, because a naked body is nothing salacious. That idea comes from ridiculously repressed people in the medieval times, all the way to the Victorian Era.

Yes, some old nations in the continent had thing against naked bodies, but it was specific. For example, an old woman’s naked body was used as a weapon against men, and the younger ones. It was used to curse, or shame them when something was done that was wrong in the woman’s eyes. A woman in some cultures, stood naked to protest a husband’s mistreatment of her. Not because it was offensive, but because it was respected enough to be used as a weapon.

Know who decided bodies were repulsive, and hence deemed to be covered at all times in the continent? Europeans, and Arabs.They brutally enforced their standards in the places they colonised; and changed a body from being a vessel carrying a soul, and sometimes a work of art, to something that is repulsive, and should be hidden from sight, lest it offend God, and good people, because it’s so carnal; so base.

Why should a naked body offend an omniscient, omnipresent entity? And why should that entity make its own creation repulsive to itself. That’s irony, and foolishness, especially if that entity supposedly loves its creations. Idiocy. And some psychopathy, cause why create something to be repulsed by it, and then claim highest order of logic, and superhuman intelligence? Somewhere, someone’s contribution to their design of their understanding of the Almighty was greatly flawed. The body isn’t repulsive to a logical God. Therefore, the argument of God is ridiculous, and voids itself.

Nakedness being repulsive, or sensational is designed by humans. Europeans who peaked in the Victorian Era in our case. These eurocentric, Victorian era standards need to stay where they were made. As do Arabic standards that are oppressive, and inhuman. A body’s a body til it’s a work of art. Making it any other way is indecent.

Stop making people’s bodies a thing of contention. If you can’t explain what a naked body is, then don’t have one. If you can’t tolerate naked bodies, stop having one. If your biggest definition of decency is qualified by certain lengths in dressing, stop having a definition. Because your/that definition is harmful, and derisive. It concentrates on an unnecessary qualifier.

Length doesn’t determine character. Not long hair, nails, limbs, tongue, ears, sleeves, tops, or bottoms.Determining that the length of anyone’s clothes directly correlates with their character is a qualifier for one’s character. A bad one. Unless someone says their dressing is a reflection of themselves, and explains how, there’s no reason to assume, or believe a skirt defines someone. Define decency differently. Based on anything else that isn’t the length of someone’s clothes. Cause then, aren’t overlong clothes-indecent? Aren’t ill-fitting jackets, and colours that are ghastly against people’s skin tone indecent? Aren’t those qualifiers ridiculous?

We have to stop holding harmful eurocentric standards as definitions of decency. Decency means acceptable behaviour to set standards of morality, respect? How does it benefit us to still uphold mentality that was entrenched brutally in our ancestors? It’s a failing that of all things to keep from our colonisers, we choose the negative, harmful things. Change the standards.

Decency involves mentality; it should involve people not being offended by thighs, and buttocks, or ankle, and elbows. It involves accepting the norms of a human body; and rejecting harmful things like uncleanliness from here on out. It involves rejecting lack of water supply so severe that people can’t bathe or wash their clothes for days on end. Decency is provision of shelters for homeless people, and donations of viable clothes to those who can’t afford them.Indecent dressing isn’t about a chest, or ankle seen, but about wearing the same clothes in public for five days straight. It’s about wearing 20k suits while people are starving in North, and NorthWest Kenya. How about a 5k suit, and the 15k buy people food, aye?

Rich people dare to imply that short skirts and sagging pants are a problem while wearing clothes that could feed a family for a month. Oh, yeah, a micro mini is indecent, but not people starving while others spend a month’s worth of food on booze in a weekend. I scoff at them.

Indecency is the repulsion people have to natural bodies; to the display of body parts instead of the violence routinely meted upon bodies in the name of discipline. Why are people repulsed by them? What is going on that you think they are bad? Why can’t you explain to child that an average naked body is nothing to write home about? Why sensationalise nakedness to such an extent that a stranger’s nakedness humiliates you? Especially if that person isn’t cursing you. That’s misplaced, and unnecessary.

Teach that a body is that in which a life is carried. Teach the respect of bodies; naked or not. Teach that unless someone is sharing their body with you, or using it against you; it’s not a concern to you. Unless it’s in danger, or having suffered trauma, starving, sleeping in the open, suffering dehydration, anything compromising it’s physical health, being violent towards you, it’s not a concern to you.

Redefine indecency, and make it such that it involves violence upon positive native aesthetics like locks, and copper neck-braces. Make it indecent that schools can refuse people admission, and attendance for wearing jeans, and locks; and work places refuse to hire people based on their non-eurocentric attire. Make that an issue. Leave unnecessary problems aside. Short skirts, sagging pants; exposed thighs, buttocks, or foreheads are not serious. Violence, and violent policing against women, and men who don’t make others feel comfortable according to harmful standards of social acceptance is the indecency problem rife in this country.

Truth Be Told

The year is drawing to an end; at least by the Gregorian calendar. People in China, and Ethiopia have more weeks to theirs, and utterly different year numbers. For the purpose of this post, I go with the UK fronted calendar, and it’s coming to an end. What better way to mark it, and depress myself than by thinking on what I have achieved this year. Truth be told, it’s nothing to write about, and that’s why I’m setting this down.

This year, I have been 27, and depressed.

I have been lazy, and unwilling to get a job.

I haven’t finished my thesis, and collected data by not engaging anyone face to face.

This year, I have met my friends less, I have thought of them less as friends, and even dumped some former friends.

This year, I’ve had less headaches, and more toothaches, less money, and more frustration than I remember. Though not more than 2013.

This year, I gave up. I had planned on publishing books on Amazon, get a job that I would hate, but keep at nevertheless cause I will inevitably hate everything, but commitment is my greatest challenge.

This year, I sucked, and I don’t care enough for it to be a shame for me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried to make it a shame. I’ve used all the tactics including what my parents think of me, what I think of myself, my family, my friends, my 13 year old self. None of them are enough to make me feel so ashamed that I change.

This year, I had less suicidal thoughts; and those that I did have weren’t overwhelming. I suck so much that even the thought of my death does nothing for me anymore. No elation, no pity, no motivation to change; nothing.

Truth be told, I’m a woman who works everyday but gets no income; I take care of my grandmother 6 days out of the week, most weeks out of the month; and I am too tired to fight when the world makes me angry.

I’m not the story that people tell to amuse, or caution, or uplift. I’m not a story to anyone but myself, which is why I write this.

One day I’ll come alert and regret these days, and weeks, and years that I have wasted. One day, my mind, and my will will gel, and I will do things again. One year, I’ll sit down, and tally up what I have done with those 365.25/366 days, and they will constitute of tangible things like saving a life, making a life, leaving lives lived. This is not that year.

And if I die before that year; well, it’s a good dream, and a good intention to have.