2kkeina

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people keep asking me if I’m gay, and if I say ‘hm, not really?’ they squint at me and say “are you sure?…”
Because apparently they are pretty sure I should be.

And when I say ‘people’, I mean both men and women of different countries.

They also tell me that “it would make more sense if you were a man” a bit too often,
… whatever that means.

And I don’t tell them that I know for sure, that if I happened to be born a man in the same circumstances I was born in, I wouldn’t be alive right now.

There was also a person once who went as far as too say that I should’ve been ‘a man and gay’, and then I would be ‘easier to understand’. 
I was so petrified by the ridiculousness of that statement I couldn’t even bring myself to ask them what the hell was wrong with their images of gender identities that they felt the need to change me twice over so that I would fit in there.

I know I have hard time relating to women, but I often had hard time relating to humans in general… And I never really felt it was a problem of my gender, and that I should concern myself with questions of how to identify… I mostly felt that it was a question of ridiculous stereotypes falsely constructed by various societies, and we should be able to be ‘men’ and ‘women’ however the hell we want. … though I do sometimes wonder what exactly makes people make these assumptions about me…

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Every woman sometimes really needs someone to take the weight off her shoulders…

Literally.

…ya know, like, a designated boob holder … upholder? …uplifter? …carrier?

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In other words
it’s the
“push me, push me, I want to taste how it feels to fly, before I hit the ground”
state of mind

I will bind and cover hundreds of pages with my insanity
and make my wings out of them
and next time I need to fly and not hit the ground…
… I will.

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I’m being overly honest about things in a way that might just screw me over in near future in ways I can’t really afford.

I’m setting myself up for a rejection that might just kill me, because I’m afraid of many many things, but dying, metaphorically or not so much, perhaps never really was one of them.

I’m daring them to show me there can be a different outcome, because I never liked that Einstein’s definition of insanity, and still want to believe that if you do the right thing it will get the right response. Even if not the first dozen times.

It’s like a screwy kind of trust exercise, when I give people the knife, stand on the edge and tell myself there still might be a chance that they won’t do it. While kinda wanting to see the (after)world when they do.

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You know how long before your flight you need to get to security check for a domestic flight in Japan? 
20 minutes. 
Eat that.

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My birthday coincides with the day of Earth’s 1st contact,
and people don’t appreciate my Star Trek hoodies enough.

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Still can’t forget.

That one day about two years ago, when I, 15 minutes before the end of a long workday, came up to the manager and asked him if there “were any instructions from the CIA” with a very straight face.

Complete, with the whole “manager sitting down with a squeak and people turning heads towards us in the dead silence” scene.

It took me about 2 years working in gaming company to finally stop pronouncing SCEA (SIE) as CIA in Japanese.

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These Rebel Waves (Stream Raiders, #1)

These Rebel Waves by Sara Raasch

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Skillfully written heart gripping story of faith, politics, and prejudice

This was a very surprising read for me, because I did not expect to like it this much. First of all, I hardly ever like YA. Second of all, I don’t enjoy reading about politics and intrigues. And yet this book held me interested all the way through to the very end.
The writing is very good. The world is interesting and comprehensively built, even if small. And more importantly, characters feel true, their emotions and motivations clear and compelling. It was very easy to feel with them and for them, and never once I felt like they’ve been stupified, as I so often do with YA.
This is not a light story, it is full of blood, intrigues and betrayal. There are fanatics, religious or political, there’s torture, death, child soldiers, and the main characters have to fight for things that are so much larger than them, and against things that are so much larger the them. I liked that the ideas of right and wrong, of learning to see things from different sides, of reacting to changing circumstances no matter how painful the situation is to believe in, are in the heart of this book. This book kept me tense a lot of time, and even when I didn’t really want to be reading something that made me feel so tense, I still couldn’t put it down.
I’ll be looking forward to and dreading the sequel.

Although, I don’t know who decided to market it as a book about ‘gay pirates’ (which I learned after skimming through the first page of goodreads reviews), but it was clearly a mistake. This is not in any way ‘a book about gay pirates’.
It is worth a read though, regardless.




View all my reviews

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I wanted to stop people from noticing things about myself, because of the ways they were voicing them in, so I ran away into my loneliness.
I didn’t really make a conscious decision to run, but when my life turned in such a way that a big effort would be required to find people and make connections again, I chose not to make that effort. 
I wanted people to stop talking about the way I touch things. Or look at things. Or eat things. 
I wanted them to stop probing and poking and criticizing.
I wanted them to stop paying attention to things about me that I don’t have enough of an attention span to notice myself. Because I never knew someone could do it kindly.
I spend a lot of time inside my head, and when someone starts noticing the things I do while not paying attention to the things I do, it makes me feel vulnerable and naked. So I wanted them to stop.

And yet, in the end, not having anyone notice things about you for you is one of those things that will eventually drive a person mad.

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rain. aroma diffuser with woody and foresty oils. hot cocoa. ambient fantasy soundtrack. 
Sunday.
I’m out.

it’s kind of pathetic to need all this, if you think about it, but we won’t think about it 
We do what we’ve got to do

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still trying to read stuff, write stuff and watch stuff at the same time,
like I can’t decide or can’t handle doing only one

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sometimes I just forget to tell myself that I’m crazy, 
when I’m writing this story and struggle with some part and think “I can’t just change this! Because that’s how it happened!“

I also wish I could just see in other writers’ heads, to find out why writing some things feels like making up things any way you want, and writing other things feels like you’re trying very hard to ‘novelise a movie’ from memory (and a very old memory at that)

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when you come in to work in the morning and see coffee spilled on the stairs outside… and feel genuine pity for the poor soul