Southeast

The southeast dorms at my university are known to be the party dorms. This blog post may include a lot of stereotypes, and for that I am sorry. I have already written about stereotypes. They can be very unjust, unfair, and angering. However, they can also be totally true, and maybe just- just, and fair.

The party thing. If it is a stereotype, well it’s true. If it is bad, well it’s true. And not necessarily bad, depending on the way you view it. In fact, the way you view it, stereotypes, might say more about you, be a projection or displacement or your personal thoughts or feelings, than anything else. Than mine. Yes I am be the writer, the one writing the words, but the way you interpret them, can also be in your control. Writers, they can sculpt the way they want you to view or think about something, called framing, in psychology, I think. They can attempt to persuade. However, writers can also be very elusive. To write in a way where you don’t actually know what it is they are talking about, and in part this in on purpose, because they do not want you to know. Poetry is a great example of this. At least I am of the opinion that the reason why poetry is so hard to read, why there’s a stereotype that English teachers try to make…substance out of nothingness…is basically the poets themselves, they don’t want you to know what they’re talking about. Maybe it’s some hard thing, some uncomfortable topic, so that their soul led them to want to write about it, to share it in some kind of way, but for you to actually know? They cannot put it in words. Ironically, that’s why they decided to write instead. Now you may think that that’s the most nonsensical thing ever. They can’t put it into words…so they’re writing about it? How, in the world, is that, not words? What I’m saying is that it’s not spoken words. To actually tell a living soul about something, is much different than writing about it. And much harder. And perhaps your soul may yearn to share it, but sharing it with spoken words, while looking someone in the face, is something you cannot do. So writing is the way of escape instead.

The point I wanted to drive was that in the end, writers can sculpt all they want, and sculpt really is a good word choice here, because writing is also art, therefore it can be sculpted, but no matter the sculpting, in the end, inevitably, for better or for worse, whether they want to or not, readers, interpret words. They read what they read. They will always read what they read. Their personal experiences, predispositions, and personalities, thoughts & tendencies, will always cause them to read a certain way, interpret a certain way.

So no matter what I write, there is always the power of the reader. And perhaps the reader gives more power to the writing than the writer themselves. An interesting dynamic to think about, right? Poetry is a great example of this. With the way that poetry is so hard to interpret, to understand what is going on.

The bit about the southeast dorms equaling party dorms at my university, was important for you to be aware of in order to understand the short little story I am about to tell, and the crazy mix of emotions I started to feel from this very short but powerful endeavor. One that led me to a turmoil of emotions that has lasted and will be over spilled in probably quite a few following blog posts.

I was on my way back home for the first time this semester, sitting and waiting for the bus. I was sitting inside a dining hall, a huge one and the one that likely everyone who lives in those dorms, inevitably goes to (for I don’t think there are any other ones near anyway, even if they did not want to, and wanted to go to other ones, they simply do not have the option). I think I was attempting to do homework. But inevitably across from me was sitting a girl, she was quite far, but she was distracting me, because she was clearly on the phone or on some kind of video call perhaps it seemed like, and she was talking very loud, in a way that it was very hard to ignore her and everyone around her was subject to being forced to listening to her talking. Her talk just seemed so shallow that it was loosening my hope in humanity and making me genuinely disappointed and upset. And it wasn’t even anything crazy that she was saying. She was going crazy enthusiastic with whoever she was talking with, about some gossip. Some guy inviting some girl when he was talking to some girl…something like that. And on and on about this seemingly small, and insignificant (not in that it was not important or should not be talked about, in some manner or capacity maybe, but not in the way it was talked about), situation. It’s not that she couldn’t’ve or shouldn’t’ve been talking about this, well maybe not so loud, maybe please more privately, it even seemed like it was and should’ve been more private, but the way in which she was talking about it, was clearly just focusing on and enjoying the drama.

Yeah sure, many of us enjoy drama, but like not this. There’s a different way of talking about things that happened. There’s a gossipy judgemental he-she-said-did-this way, and there’s a more matter of fact let’s discuss this way.

It was even upsetting and annoying me, to listen to this girl talk about this up ahead of me, so loud and for the world to hear (that, is one prime example of the wrong way to talk about it, like anyone could hear it, and form their opinions and judge these people, just saying, that makes it wrong, it should be more of a private matter) and know that people stereotype girls to be like this. I wanted nothing to do with her, nothing to do with this. It was upsetting. But again, need to remember, stereotypes are dumb, stupid, and I shouldn’t lend them the power they hold. Really it’s people who give power to stereotypes, just how I said, readers give power to writing, to words. And there was a much worse, inappropriate conversation I heard out loud from two girls, that similarly made me feel this way. I cannot put it fully in this blog, because I do not want this blog to be like this, about this, but I will put it in shortened version so that you can get the gist: two girls walk by. One of them is texting or looking at something on her phone. “Oh they’re stripping,” she says to the other girl. The other girl said something that made it sound so casual and horrible, and I will not put it in this blog.

Deep breaths deep breaths. Don’t let, even for one second, the idea that other people represent you, to take ahold of you. Just do you just do you, and don’t care what others think. Don’t give stereotypes power.

It’s just crazy for me to also think about, how these events, saying something like this, doing something like this, how could you live with yourself? I would hate myself. But it’s crazy.