Don’t Define Yourself By What You’re Not

This is another article from Thought Catalog by Brianna Wiest.

I find it fascinating that people are usually described, initially at least, by a brief summary of their physical attributes and anything else that is outwardly recognizable. The first things we tend to first reach for when explaining someone are their hair color, clothing style, height, weight, job, or other successes. Even when we note that so-and-so is a really great person, that fact usually doesn’t stand alone. It’s sandwiched between other physical descriptors.

But that would make sense, right? Those are the obvious, most easily definable and recognizable things in a person. When we try to paint a picture of someone, we want to use what will best facilitate a visual. I get that. But the problem is that as much as we define other people within those means, I think we can sometimes begin to think of ourselves as being only the summation of what others can perceive.

You are not your hair color. You are not your choice of clothing. You’re not your height, weight or job or degree of education. More importantly, you’re not your mistakes. You’re not defined by the things that make you human, otherwise known to some as “flaws.” The physical are just descriptors that make you easier to identify by others, they don’t define who you are.

You are whatever touches your soul more deeply than anything. You are who you love. You are the music that makes you cry. You are the daydreams your mind trails off to. You are your favorite food. You are your deepest desires. You are what you want to bring to the world. You are the silly jokes that make you laugh. You are how you treat other people, especially people who don’t and can’t do anything for you in return. You are anything and everything that touches you and changes you from your core.

I’ve noticed that people tend to fall into two categories in this respect, and I usually see it when I’m having a conversation with someone. There are those who focus on what they’re saying, and those who focus on how they appear while saying it. As a disclaimer, it’s not to say that everybody in the world falls into either category, we’re all too diverse for such simple generalizations, so I apologize for that. Also, it’s not a matter of seeing that someone is using an abnormally astute vocabulary and is dressed well that would determine whether or not they are trying to seem intelligent and put-together.

It’s that when someone is focused on what they’re saying, it’s apparent that they feel they have something to bring to the table. Their faces express emotion congruent to what they are saying. It’s clear that they are, for the majority of the time, focusing on just what they are saying, not how they are being received by others. The conversation moves beyond the superficial, and there is truly thought behind their words. They are not speaking just for the sake of appearing one way or another or impressing anyone. They are speaking from their depths, and they realize that they aren’t what the world will take them to be.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was such a nice article. I like how the writer describe people speaking from their despair and realizing that physical appearance are just picture that help you to recognize by others, but it doesn’t define who you are. I feel like while reading it, also deals with the awareness that can lead to so many self-esteem issues. It is best just to know you who are and what your value and loving and accepting yourself can come so much easier.

I believe that everyone’s special in their own way. Everyone is unique and special; even if you don't think you are. Everyone has a unique physical structure and a mind. Just because you’re a little different doesn’t mean you’re not special. I learned that there are people who are different from others that want acceptance. That I shouldn’t accept them just because I feel pity for them but that I should accept them for who they are. Without variations in the world the world is boring. Everything is dull and everything would look the same. This I believe. There is something deeper inside of you, beyond your surface appearance. Think beyond what you can see.

Love is when...

Reblogged from Thought Catalog. I just enjoyed reading this. This is so well-written! I personally love the use of extreme almost grotesque images to capture the intensity of raw love. It is the same as how I feel about love. That even when I'm grumpy and frumpy and down, all I want is to be with him. But I also don't because I don't want him to see me sad. And yet, he is what makes me better."I hate everything as much as I love you." Great line in a great thing.

Love is when... by Kat George

I guess love is when I’m super cranky because I’ve got my period, and I’m sitting on the bed when you get home from work and even though I’m so relieved to see you, I scowl at you and complain that my belly hurts. I won’t cuddle you when you come and sit on the edge of the bed, even though all I really want to do is crawl inside you and wear your skin as a coat and your guts as a scarf, because love is gross and creepy like that. I have my period and my tummy hurts and I love you so much I want to slap you in the face.

I’ll grunt at you instead of answering your questions and I’ll be relieved when you leave the room and shut the door behind you, because I love you so much, and you should never have to receive me when I’m like this. When I’m like this I should be shackled to a wall and fed gruel that’s been slopped on the ground in front of me, and my hands should be tied behind my back so that I have to lap it up from the dirty floor with my tongue.

I guess love is when you come back, 15 minutes later, and you’ve been down to the off license and bought me my favorite biscuits, you know, the Weston’s Digestives with the chocolate on one side, even though it’s cold in the street and we’re poor and have no money to pay our rent. The way you come back to me, with the packet of biscuits in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, the way you come so silently and put these things next to me, the way you walk across the room without even displacing the air you’re moving through, makes me ashamed that you have to love someone that can be such a horrible little troll.

But still, I love you so much I am too embarrassed to apologise, and I continue to sit there with my arms crossed and my bottom lip out. I won’t even turn my head to face you, but I can see the biscuits laying on the bed between us, as you take up your position next to me, leaning against the brick wall because I’ve got all the pillows and I’m too stubborn and surly to take one. I think I love you more as we sit there, me obstinate and you so calm, a ringmaster waltzing boldly into a lion’s den.

And then without warning, my eyes lap with waves and I’m ready to look at you and say I’m sorry for being such a brat, it’s just that I feel so horrible, and I hate it here sometimes, in this tiny mouse infested apartment, their little droppings sometimes between the sheets of our mattress that lives on the floor. I hate that my tummy hurts, I hate that we don’t have a living room in our flat, that we can’t afford to go to a restaurant. I hate everything as much as I love you.

So you squeeze my hand and you say, I know, and you say we can just watch Paris Hilton’s British Best Friend and you’ll bitch about all the contestants with me and even pretend like you care. I start to cry because you are the best, and I tell you I didn’t mean it, that I love our tiny mouse infested apartment, I love it here, I love it here with you and did I mention that I love you? You say we’re going to miss the start of the program and you smile at me.

We watch Paris Hilton’s British Best Friend and you have an opinion on everything, and we complain about all the contestants like they’re friends we dislike and we’re driving back from a dinner party we just had with them, and we eat the whole packet of biscuits and drink tea until my tummy doesn’t hurt anymore and we’re holding hands. When the show is over, we go to the bathroom together and brush our teeth standing side by side in front of the mirror, like we do every night since we moved here. You poke me with the frothy tip of your brush, I pretend like I think it’s gross because I know you think the face I pull when I do that is cute, and then we have an argument about whether or not we can cross swords and you swear if I sit on the toilet you can aim your wee so it gets right between my legs and none will go on me. And like every night before, and every night after, we don’t cross swords.

Before we go to bed you lay on your tummy with your shirt off and I lay on your back squeezing your blackheads, and we talk about what happened today at work. So I guess love is when we eventually lay together in the darkness, and have our ten minutes of cuddles, then both roll to our own side of the bed because neither of us can sleep while cuddling unless we’re drunk or sad and right now we’re sober and happy. You touch your big toe against mine under the sheets and we fall asleep just like this; far enough apart to fall into dreams, but pressing together regardless.

I Have Story to Tell

I love stories. If you gave me unlimited time to anything I wanted. I would spend it all devouring stories. I could be reading or watching something. Either way, I’d be very happy. The way we tell stories have evolved over time. In the early time, people just passed them on with the spoke word. Now there are more than few methods to go about it. Because of existence of this highly technical gadgets in this geeration, stories can tell in many means, can be through e-books, audiobooks, podcasts which is mostly convenient to all of us, anytime and anywhere.

Film has become a very popular way, probably because it’s too easy to sit back and absorb something with very little effort while enjoying yourself as well. Back in the days, I’m a person who always prefers viewing something over reading it, because I’d readily enjoy something ragher than have to imagine it for myself. But now that perspective change, I love both. I personally do enjoy reading just as much as I enjoy watching. :))

We all have stories to tell…stories about love, hope, pain, holding on, letting go and moving on…we smiled, we laughed, we cried on and over these stories. Stories allow us to experience things that are completely different from our lives. It’s part of human nature. It’s part of the transition. The irony is that we often judge a piece of work by how well we can relate to it, even when the setting or plot is so bizarre to us. But that’s probably the secret to a great story — we have to go through all these to teach us to recognize, to understand, and to appreciate our existence. It is how deeply affects us, despite our distance from it. How I wish I had all the time to read, to know and to watch all the great stories in the world.

Stuck

I was filtering files in my lappy when I saw this poem I made when I’m in high school if I’m not mistaken. I just caught myself smiling while reading it I realized how “emo” I am way back in my high school years. I don’t even remember the reason or the story why I came up writing this poem. Hahaha :))

STUCK (Original Poem)

Here I am, doing nothing

I hate this feeling

Like I’m here, but I’m not

Minding no one, just myself

Like someone cares, but they don’t

Hearing silence keep ringing in my ear

Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here

I’m here hiding...hoping no one will find me

In the depths of my lonesome self

No one's here

Everyone’s minding their own thing

Everyone's outside…having fun

Smiles and big grin in their face

Can’t talk to anyone…

Can't turn to anyone…

'Cause nobody cares…

They all gone…they all left

I'm alone

I’m stuck.

It is unusual me...PARANOID!

"There is no escape from the necessity to think."

There are things that I would just keep forgetting.

There are things that I should stop thinking and worrying my ass off too much.

There are things that I need to believe, convince myself everything would be fine and then, I'm just become too pessimistic which I hate.

There are things that are far more important than what I am thinking about.

My mind's preoccupied with a lot of things...Worrying a lot and over thinking! Sheeesshh! :'(

I am trying to get strength. I am trying to take my mind off things. 

So, STUPID MIND, stop worrying, wondering and doubting about things, making yourself confused and lost! Have faith that things will work out, maybe not how you planned but just how it's meant to be. STOP BEING PARANOID. 

"Trust, Have Faith!"