5/10/16

Tuesday 12:00 PM

Earlier I wrote about how writing is easy. Sometimes words escape me.

At the risk of being too honest, causing others to stumble, maybe I won't share EVERYTHING publicly.

I think I have a Freudian problem. I think my mind has been hijacked by an idea. I really wonder I'm alone in my thoughts in the extent that I think them. Everyone seems to be smiling all the time (for privacy or for pride). Fear and complacency can look dangerously similar to joy when worn on the face.

More than Music, World Religions has been a recurring motif in this semester. Even in my doubt and apathy, the subject has been one that provided content in my life. It's ironic. I'd have my arms crossed at church, and my arms drawn at school in defense of Christ.

But as I've come to crossroads with questions and surrender, In this quasi-joy, I've lost the skepticism and curiosity that drove me to search for answers. I don't scribble all over my copy of The World's Religions like I used to. I don't pay for the vibe and status of sitting in an overpriced cafe whilst burying my head in the text for 3 hours anymore. So with the slumber of the academic struggle, the other struggle becomes more real. As one sense is turned off, my sense of sight becomes highlighted, heightened.

We started the unit on Islam today. Actually yesterday, we visited a local mosque in Anaheim, the Islamic Institute of Orange County (IIOC). We were shown around by one of the Islamic Center's imams (worship leader) and were able to ask him any questions we had regarding Islam. It was a very nice time of establishing intra-communal understanding and bonds, like all our visitations thus far. But today we started the lecture on Islam. Among many things, we were learning about Muhammad's origins as a prophet. Once a year he liked to retreat into the mountainside by himself to have a personal time of meditation and reflection. One day while in a cave, he had an overwhelming mystical experience and he heard a voice calling him, calling him to "Recite!" Upon returning home, he shared his experience with his wife, Aisha. She was greatly shocked and amazed at hearing what happened, but she didn't know what to make of it either. But she suggested, "My cousin is Christian! He should know a lot more about things like this. Maybe he could explain what this means." They met Aisha's cousin, and he concluded that what Muhammad heard that night in the cave was the voice of God. God chose to speak to Muhammad as he spoke to Abraham, Moses, Elijah, Jesus and all the prophets. Together, they concluded that Muhammad was chosen by God to be his prophet to the people.

But more than all this I was struck by just how gorgeous my professor is.

How intelligent, funny, cool, wise, and admirable a person she is. Plus she's beautiful.

I'm romantically attracted to my professor. Am I? I'm not sure. The fear is that this becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. It's cute when children have teacher crushes. It's not so cute when a student is emotionally attracted to his/her professor. It's a problem actually.  See, Ms. Burke is actually Mrs. Burke. It's tormenting to realize the taboo nature of my heart, but like some female friends explain, "crushes are fun," pleasurable. Crushing is fun, but hey, I'm guessing coveting your neighbor's wife is pretty fun too. but the taboo is debilitating.

Maybe if I met Mr. Burke. The fact is that her husband lives in San Diego. I've only ever seen Mrs. Burke by herself in here Fullerton. It gives me the fantasious illusion that he doesn't exist. I don't know anything about him, I've never seen any pictures of him, never heard his voice, never been given any proof of his existence other than Mrs. Burke's word. Scratch that, he graduated from UC Davis. She told me that when I was wearing my kdvs shirt.

Maybe if I met him. I need a name, something. I need a person behind the ring. Otherwise it's just a ring.
It's weird to even call her Mrs. Burke. Makes her sound like an old lady. Reminds me of Mrs. Ronstadt, my first grade teacher.

I'm reminded of Youtuber, Casey Neistat, and his on screen relationship with his wife, Candice. They're married, have a ring, have a kid. Yet, aside from the occasional date, they're practically a divorced couple staying together for the baby. He lives his own life. She lives her own life. This is what I observe from what Casey chooses to capture and share.

(Casey's vlog for this day)

But earlier I said I had a Freudian problem. Where does this unhealthy obsession with women come from?

I treat my mom like crap. I act like she's my maid. Sure. I say "I love you." I give her a kiss on the cheek from time to time. I say thank you. But I'm a spoiled bratty bish most of the time. No really. It's easy to say thank you. Anyone can do it. Repeat after me.

Thank you.

Easy, right? It's a lot harder to live a life in thanks.

I have an absent father, for the most part. We "chat" everyday, and he comes to visit every 2 months or so, but aside from that, he hasn't been an active influence in my life.

I also grew up watching porn from an early age. It's really jacked me up in a lot of ways. I consider myself polite and courteous. But that's on the surface level. Last semester, one of my personal projects was giving a speech on the Biblical, biological, and humanitarian reasons to stop watching porn. Well in my apathy and rebellion, I built some bad habits. And I can tell you that it definitely does change the way you see women.

1:04 PM

Well what do you know. I ended up sharing everything I wrote in my journal, even elaborating.