This week I struggled with the concept of goodness and perception and endurance.
I don’t always understand what other people see, how they see it, and why they see it. My entire life I have been told that I am good, that I am a gentle soul, a kindred spirit, always sweet, patient, accepting , friendly. And I want to know where this comes from, how individuals are able to sense this inherent goodness because I don’t always feel like that and I especially think I don’t always act like that. (Sometimes I think bad thoughts, especially when I am driving or walking behind someone really slow.) But I seek out the best in others and in situations and I love everyone and if this reflects back to my own character, then I can only give a million thanks to the lovely individuals who fill my being.
They are the people who will suggest good movies that cause me to stay up too late procrastinating my studies; they are the ones who answer my telephone calls on Tuesdays at 3am when I am having panic attacks about small things, or worse, nothing at all. They are the people with whom I have Thursday night slumber parties and stay up until 6:30 in the morning talking about everything and laughing, always laughing.; they are the people who help satisfy my French fry obsession and order in bad Spanish accents. They are the people who let me go with them to a class I’m not even in because I’m weird and like sitting in on lectures. They are the people who have silent coffee dates with me and understand when I don’t want to talk about it; they are the people who let me sleep in their bed, mess up the sheets, hog the covers and take a walk of shame in the morning without saying goodbye. They are the people who don’t get upset with me when I wake up early and make noise accidentally; they are the ones who laugh at my lame jokes, feel sorry for my bruised leg when I fall out of the shower, and get concerned when I say that I can feel my blood surging after drinking too much coffee. They are the people who take me swing dancing and salad eating, kiss my cheek, and hold me close when I am freezing from only wearing half of a sweater.
This week I have never been more challenged. Everyday I want to scream, cry, and runaway. I want to give up. I’m not sure if it’s some divine intervention or the fact that I have the strongest support system I could ever imagine, but I won’t give up. I know at the end of this fiasco I will be a much better person.
And though I take pleasure in always being busy, stressed out, frazzled and on a permanent coffee binge, I am looking forward to a weekend without obligations. I want to do homework because I want to and not because I need to finish before service. I want to hang out and relax with people on my own terms, not because I need fellowship. I want to lay in my bed all day long, eating mochi, drinking tea and watching Sex and the City.
But until then I am counting down the hours until Berkeley and counting minutes until I can be with my loves, my bests. Because not being able to understand a voice because of a crappy cell connection is never as good as not being able to understand a voice in person because you’re laughing too hard. And text emotio-cons are never as good as real life angry-winky-smiley-licky tongue faces.