“Strangers,” the Blue Man said, “are just family you have yet to come to know.” – The Five People You Meet In Heaven by Mitch Albom

I thought about this quote, as I finished reading this passage from The Theory and Practice of Group Psychotherapy by Irvin Yalom (2nd Edition).

These final two paragraphs (separated into further paragraphs for easier reading) are about how patients question the reality of group therapy – they claim that their behavior in the group is not like their actual life outside the group, so their activities in the group is not an accurate representation of who they are.

However, in the therapist testimonial below, you’ll see how two people who loathe each other in life, come together and share their existence with each other.

I think what I liked about this passage was the commentary at the end that basically says that despite the limited time one spends in these groups, the psychological development that they experience transcends beyond the physical dimensions of time. Strangers infuse and share amongst each other, forming the closest of bonds.
———–

… I often think of Earl and Marguerite, two patients in a group long ago. Earl had been a member of a group for four months when Marguerite was introduced. They both blushed to see one another in the group room since, by chance, they had only a month previously gone on a Sierra Club camping trip and been “intimate” together. Neither wanted to be in the group with the other.

To Earl, Marguerite was a foolish, empty girl, a “mindless piece of ass,” as he was to put it later in the group. To Marguerite, Earl was a dull nonentity, someone whose penis she had one used as a means of retaliation against her husband. During that time they came to know one another intimately in the full sense of the word; they shared their deepest feelings, they weathered some fierce, vicious battles, and helped each other through suicidal depressions, and, on more than one occasion, they wept for each other. Which was the “real” world and which was the artificial?

Paradoxically, the group can be far more “real” than the world out there. There are no social, prestige, or sexual games in the group; members go through some vital life experiences together; the reality-distorting facades are doffed as members become as honest as possible with one another. How many times have I heard group members say, “This is the first time I have ever told this to anyone.” These are not strangers but quite the contrary; these are individuals far more likely to know one another deeply and fully. Psychological reality is not equivalent to physical reality. Psychologically, they spend infinitely more time together than the one or two meetings a week in which their physical beings occupy the same professionally sponsored room. – p.38-39

I have a personal vendetta with traditions. I can’t say that this vendetta is completely justified, but I sometimes feel that traditions are selfish, or some kind of marketing gimmick.

For example, take Valentine’s day, or Christmas. I know that in the case of V-day, it’s to set aside a day to declare love to someone special, or remind someone of said specialness; in Christmas, it’s about giving.

However, I know this isn’t completely true, but it is mainly true: these holidays require the purchase of some gift to give; it’s heavily marketed, smeared onto your face that HOLY SHIT IT IS FUCKING V-DAY.

I guess it’s difficult for me to see past the marketing aspect of these holidays because I always see people worrying about what gifts to buy for so-and-so. Maybe I’m forgetting that perhaps the gimmick lies in the fact that some effort has to be made in order to obtain the goods. I also want to argue, why a specific day to make someone feel special, why not another day. Wouldn’t another day be more of a surprise because they would never expect it to happen?

Then we have Easter. I never really understood this holiday too well; but it happens right after V-day. All this Easter crap goes up in stores, and now it’s BAM IN YOUR FACE, ITS MOTHERFUCKING EASTER. Buy their shit, get into the spirit, etc, etc. I think it’s the same for Halloween, but I like Halloween because it’s the only day where it’s acceptable to wear clothing that defies social norms.

I guess my issue is that we get lost into the marketing aspects of these holidays, and sometimes forget the deep meaning of them. My other issue is also that we need specific days to give things meaning.

What about the drama and confusion that certain traditions bring up?

Chauvinism. I think my distaste for traditions started with chauvinism. Frequent battles over do I have to open the door for a female, or do I have to pay for their meal even though it’s not even a relationship.

And yet, arguments start when one does or does not do it, just because it is for or against the tradition. Pay for your meal? I’m not obligated to. But the guy is supposed to pay! Says who? Tradition? Not all scenarios are like that, but I really felt that tradition leads to a lot of self-serving. It just feels it only benefits one person at a time, and never the same. However, I know this is not completely true. Why should I have to feel like crap just because I forget to open a door for a female? I don’t feel that way if they never open any for me. I know, it’s faulty logic.

The tradition of how one should live their life – get educated, find a career. Again, not everyone follows this, but it is constantly stressed; we have to find a singular path to follow, rarely diverge, and should you diverge, your life won’t be as quality as those who do follow it. I think it’s horseshit.

The sweet sixteen. I think it came from the fact that at 16, you can get a driver’s license, a mark of the start of freedom. However, in some US states now, you can’t get one until you’re 18, so what the hell does it mean now? Yet, we have really stupid drama shows like MTV’s My Super Sweet 16 that promotes these traditions and sets a theme that a female for her sweet 16 must have this glorious party, or feel left in the dust in the wake of reputation. Most adults will tell you that being sixteen means absolute shit. Wait until you’re eighteen or twenty-one.

The tradition of diamonds for weddings. Compressed carbon is actually commonplace on our planet; however, the few diamond mining companies and distributors that exist have created an artificial extinction of them – that they’re rare, and because they’re compressed carbon, the term A Diamond Lasts Forever came about; according to Epstein, E. J. who wrote Have you ever tried to sell a diamond? found in The Atlantic in February 1982, it was De Beers that started the marketing gimmick that one should employ diamonds to wed; why is it that it is also the tradition that a male has to dump tons of money on a diamond ring for his hopeful bride? Also, what happens if the engagement breaks? Perhaps it might end up here for a significantly lesser value, or none at all, should the ex-bride decide to never return it.

Prom. For those who do not go: trust me, you’re not missing out. I’ve been to three different ones in different states, and I think the concept of a ‘good’ prom rarely exists, but only on TV and reality shows, like MTV’s Prom. Oh, and what’s with those girls bitching about having the same dress? Oh no, I’ve lost my sense of individuality. Compare this to the males, who all look the same 90% of the time because the look of a tux does not change much aside from the colors or the vest/tie that one wears.

Death. You think that at death, everything is over. Not for those around you. The coffin prices, the cremation prices, the burial price, the transport fee, etc etc. Why can’t we just bury someone in the ground and let nature run its course? I know a lot of this tradition deals with respecting the dead by giving a proper burial, but why does respect cost so much?

Family names. In marriage, it is commonplace for the female to replace their last name with the male’s. I know I’m male, but I think there’s something wrong with that. We’re all concerned about who’s legacy gets to continue, but when I think about this, in the end, I doubt it’s going to matter if a Smith or a Jackson does such-and-such. However, I do know in some cases, it’s all about the last name – status comes with the name at times; people who work in research do not usually change their last name because they will have to re-establish their status since their publications would only be known under their former last name.

Having the firstborn son as a male. In China, due to birth laws, and the status of males in society, rates of infanticide are high for female births because females are not as “useful” as males in terms of being able to carry on the family name or in some cases, work, or school.

I’m not saying that all traditions have problems; I know some good traditions, like maybe the standard family gathering on Tuesdays, or visiting a grave of a loved one every so often. It’s just, the mainstream traditions, I wish it wasn’t so much of a marketing gimmick anymore. Perhaps I should have changed my article title to, The Commercialization of Traditions.

All quotes are from the psychotherapy book, The Theory and Practice of Group Psychotherapy, Second Edition by Irvin D. Yalom. Note that there is a 5th edition to my knowledge, but this copy was given to me by my boss.

Altruism

There is an old Hasidic story of the Rabbi who had a conversation with the Lord about Heaven and Hell. “I will show you Hell,” said the Lord and led the Rabbi into a room in the middle of which was a very big, round table. The people sitting at it were famished and desperate. In the middle of the table there was a large pot of stew, enough and more for everyone. The smell of the stew was delicious and made the Rabbi’s mouth water. The people round the table were holding spoons with very long handles. Each one found that it was just possible to reach the pot to take a spoonful of the stew, but because the handle of his spoon was longer than a man’s arm, he could not get the food back into his mouth. The Rabbi saw that their suffering was terrible.

“Now I will show you Heaven,” said the Lord, and they went into another room, exactly the same as the first. There was the same big, round table and the same pot of stew. The people, as before, were equipped with the same long-handled spoons – but here they were well nourished and plump, laughing and talking. At first the Rabbi could not understand. “It is simple, but it requires a certain skill,” said the Lord. “You see, they have learned to feed each other.” – p. 12-13
————–

Warden Duffy is reputed to have claimed that the best way to help a man is to let him help you. People need to feel they are needed.

…

This source of help is not appreciated at first. Quite the contrary. Many patients resist the suggestion of group therapy with the question, “How can the blind lead the blind?” Or they ask, “What can I possibly get from others as confused as I?” We’ll end up pulling one another down.” Exploration of this sentiment usually reveals that the patient is really saying, “What do I have to offer anyone?” Such resistance to entering the group is best worked through from the direction of the patient’s critical self-evaluation. – p. 13-14

I am loving the School Days anime. I wonder if there was a situation where a girl secretly likes her close guy friend, and she knew that he loved someone else; it would he his first time, so the girl sets him up with his beloved only to guide him through his screwups with his new girlfriend, in hopes that they’ll part, and by then, he’ll be suitable enough as a boyfriend for the girl. I wrote a poem devoted to the crazy love triangle in the anime.

———-~ <3 ~—————-

The feelings I’ve endowed
are resolute to a sense of
confused understanding
matters of your heart

Am I so naive To believe
thinking we’ll be together
with platonic feelings for eternity

Perhaps our lips will Find closure
move, press and part ways
finding a love forever

———-~ <3 ~—————-

(Scenes are from the h-game, which has many endings. Oh yeah, I’m going to be calling my new colored, multi-meaning poem style, the Rainbow Poemer style. Yeah.)

Commonly, in the movies and related shows, when someone wakes up in the morning and hits the bathroom to brush their teeth, you always see them doing it standing, in front of a mirror, and/or sink.

I don’t think this methodology is illogical by any means; some of us have a desire to see their teeth as they brush, or do not want the foam to hit the floor, and rather into the sink.

I want to say though that I feel it’s a waste of time. My method involves killing two birds with one stone; the ultimate lazy man’s version of brushing teeth and making sure they are clean.

My toothbrush sits in the shower and/or bathtub, flat against the surface. There is nothing to hold it up, nothing to shake it from meeting its brisly head facing its side along the cold tile.

The morning involves my entry into the bathroom, where I pick up the tube of my favorite toothpaste, Aquafresh Extreme Clean, and open the shower door to find my weapon of plaque destruction.

I apply a sizable amount of paste onto the bristles, but not before I begin to turn on the tub knob and run some water onto the brush.

Then, I sit with my legs stretched (or crouched if in a small shower), and just brush. Depending on my state of wakefulness, I might think about the events for the day, or maybe, just how much I’d love to return to slumber.

Regardless, my efforts are concentrated into administrating the proper strokes to each and every corner of my teeth, especially for those hard-to-reach places, since well, I have a tooth misaligned somewhere.

My sink is the tub itself; I just swish my mouth a bit to feel the Extremeness of the paste-now-foam before I press my lips together and expel with a gush of air. A hand reaches for the shower knob, where my mouth opens to welcome the incoming rain, cleansing my oral cavity of debris, and renewing the glimmer of my toothbrush.

I continue to sit there, applying soap.

***

On my exit out of the stall, I visually inspect my glossy enamels for any impurities; should I find any, I reach back for my brush and finalize at the sink.

And that, my friends, is how I brush. I wonder if there are any who are just as lazy.

The change In time
awakens those
once in an ocean
tears of salt
converge together
to only split apart
forgiveness, regret

*Art Credit: David McEown

I know I’m not the only one here that experiences this. I think a lot of teenagers go through this similiar process, but I’m unsure if it carries on through adulthood.

Communication with my parents is on a very audible level, with high levels of frustration and constrained anger. It’s not that I do not love my parents, it’s quite the opposite; however, I think it’s really me that have difficulty in adjusting myself.

As a teen, do you ever bark back in response if they ever asked you a question? It could be any kind of question, from chores to well-being, etc.

I still do that. I hate it, but I can’t help it. My parents mean no harm, they just either want help or want to communicate about life; but I bark. How dare I bite the hand that holds itself out just to give me a metaphorical pet on the head?

I bark, and internally, I beat myself each time I do. That’s not what I really wanted to say! This isn’t how I wanted to convey my words to you!

But it happens; I know they use restraint to not respond the same way. I don’t know why I continue to do it. Even the littlest request from them, I get this feeling of inconvinence and that’s when it all goes out – but that’s not my intent, it really isn’t.

I know how much they put forth for me, and I always hate it when they’re innocent victims for just asking a question or a mere task. I don’t do it to my friends if they ever asked the same things; it’s a horrible feeling, and I try to watch myself as best as possible before it happens.

The one thing I want my parents to know is that I’m hurting deep inside every time that part of me roars.

Photo Credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/valentia/144643510/

I just picked up Mitch Albom’s other work, The Five People You Meet In Heaven today, and managed to read the entire thing in one day. I can’t say it was as great as Tuesdays With Morrie, but it had its moments. I’m trying to do lots of reading to prime myself to do lots of journal article reading for the rest of the summer XD.

Pride in Loss of Dignity

(A man named the “Blue Man” is talking to the main character, Eddie about his life; he became the Blue Man because of a silver nitrate overdose, which caused his skin to turn blue, and soon became a circus attraction after being shunned away in general society.)

“The carnivals gave me my names, Edward. Sometimes I was the Blue Man of the North Pole, or the Blue Man of Algeria… I had never been to any of these places, of course, but it was pleasant to be considered exotic, if only on a painted sign. The ’show’ was simple. I would sit on the stage, half undressed, as people walked past and the barker told them how pathetic I was. For this, I was able to put a few coins in my pocket. The manager once called me the ‘best freak’ in his stable, and, sad as it sounds, I took pride in that. When you are an outcast, even a tossed stone can be cherished.” – p. 42

Convergence ~ Strangers/Death

“That there are no random acts. that we are all connected. That you can no more separate one life from another than you can separate a breeze from the wind.”

Eddie shook his head. “We were throwing a ball. It was my stupidity, running out there like that. Why should you have to die on account of me? It ain’t fair.”

The Blue Man held out his hand. “Fairness,” he said, “does not govern life and death. If it did, no good person would ever die young.”

…

“My funeral,” the Blue Man said. “Look at the mourners. Some did not even know me well, yet they came. Why? Did you ever wonder? Why people gather when others die? Why people feel they should?

It is because the human spirit knows, deep down, that all lives intersect. That death doesn’t just take someone, it misses someone else, and in the small distance between being taken and being missed, lives are changed.

You say you should have died instead of me. But during my time on earth, people died instead of me, too. It happens every day. When lightning strikes a minute after you are gone, or an airplane crashes that you might have been on… We think such things are random. But there is a balance to it all. One withers, another grows, Birth and death are part of a whole.”

…

“I still don’t understand,” Eddie whispered. “What good came from your death?”

“You lived,” the Blue Man answered.

“But we barely knew each other. I might as well have been a stranger.”

…

“Strangers,” the Blue Man said, “are just family you have yet to come to know.”

…

“No life is a waste,” the Blue Man said. “The only time we waste is the time we spend thinking we are alone.” – p. 47-50

Sacrifice

“Sacrifice,” The Captain said. “You made one. I made one. We all make them. But you were angry over yours. You kept thinking about what you lost.

You didn’t get it. Sacrifice is a part of life. It’s supposed to be. It’s not something to regret. It’s something to aspire to. Little sacrifices. Big sacrifices. A mother works so her son can go to school. A daughter moves home to take care of her sick father.”

…

“That’s the thing. Sometimes when you sacrifice something precious, you’re not really losing it. You’re just passing it on to someone else.” – p. 93-94

(Note: There was this scene on page 95 on the fallacy of holding the same perspective from the past to the present, but it’s difficult to transcribe without giving appropriate context first…)

Childhood

‘All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.’ – p. 104

Those Make You Who You Are

‘Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away. The moments that used to define them – a mother’s approval, a father’s nod – are covered by moments of their own accomplishments. It is not until much later, as the skin sags and the heart weakens, that children understand; their stories, and all their accomplishments, sit atop the stories of their mothers and fathers, stones upon stones, beneath the waters of their lives.’ – p. 126

Loyalty

(They are talking about Eddie’s father and his death. Mickey is Eddie’s father’s best friend, who in a drunken stupor, tried to make a move on the father’s wife; Mickey and the father were fighting and got too deep into the ocean; the father in the end, saved Mickey because he still valued their friendship, and paid for it with his life.)

“Fifty-six,” the old woman repeated. “His body had weakened, the ocean had left him vulnerable, pneumonia took hold of him, and in time, he died.”

“Because of Mickey?” Eddie said.

“Because of loyalty,” she said.

“People don’t die because of loyalty.”

“They don’t?” She smiled. “Religion? Government? Are we not loyal to such things, sometimes to the death?”

Eddie shrugged.

“Better,” she said, “to be loyal to one another.” – p. 138

Holding Bitterness

Ruby stepped toward him. “Edward,” she said softly. It was the first time she had called him by name. “Learn this from me. Holding anger is a poison. It eats you from inside. We think that hating is a weapon that attacks the person who harmed us. But hatred is a curved blade. And the harm we do, we do to ourselves.

Forgive, Edward. Forgive. Do you remember the lightness you felt when you first arrived in heaven?”

Eddie did. Where is my pain?

“That’s because no one is born with anger. And when we die, the soul is freed of it. But now, here, in order to move on, you must understand why you felt what you did, and why you no longer need to feel it.”

She touched his hand.

“You need to forgive your father.” – p. 141-142

Love

‘Love like rain, can nourish from above, drenching couples with a soaking joy. But sometimes, under the angry heat of life, love dries on the surface and must nourish from below, tending to its roots, keeping itself alive.’ – p. 164

(Eddie’s dead wife is talking to him.)

“Lost love is still love, Eddie. It takes a different form, that’s all. You can’t see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.

Life has to end,” she said. “Love doesn’t.”

Eddie thought about the years after he buried his wife. It was like looking over a fence. He was aware of another kind of life out there, even as he knew he would never be a part of it.

“I never wanted anyone else,” he said quietly.

“I know,” she said.

“I was still in love with you.”

“I know.” She nodded. “I felt it.”

“Here [in heaven]?” he asked.
“Even here,” she said, smiling. “That’s how strong lost love can be.”

Throughout my life, I’ve lived in the smallest nooks and crannies; only in my kindergarten years had I a room where there was enough space to hold a bed with lots of room to spare. When we moved a city away, we lived in a small, one bedroom apartment, where the living room became my brother and my bed space.

Eventually, high school hit, and the need for privacy as teenagers increased. In response, my dad built a wall in the living room that divided it into two separate rooms. For some reason, my younger brother always have had the largest room; I was stuck with the equivalent of half a walk-in closet. It was so small, I could only crouch lengthwise with barely any room to spare. Regardless, I grew used to the limited space and it was my room for the remainder years of high school.

My issue was never with the limited spaces that I’ve lived with. Because I had to live with so little room (and I still do), I think there was a point where I lost interest in material items.

I think the loss of interest came when I moved out of my parents place around two years ago. I lived with my friends (and still do), and despite the length of stay (around a year), I always found it a chore to transfer items from one place to another. I enjoyed a swift move – in two hours and one car trip, my entire life could be transported from one place to another, compared to the many hours or days that a normal move would take.

Today, I was out with my friends at a Target in the city of Tracy; we made a one-and-a-half hour drive to eat at the Sonics restaurant (yes we drove that long for a fast food joint). My friends made their way down the aisles to the toy section, and gleed themselves in the Transformers action toys and associated paraphernalia.
Their actions made me wonder, Why? Why do we spend so much money on useless crap that has no real purpose other than to be a mere display on a bookshelf?

It’s not that I’ve never been materialistic myself; of course, my parents spoiled me silly as a child, and I had several toys of my own. I guess, I never really cared to think about the reasons behind having items that will never stand the growth of time. I live in a materialistic household, where 95% of the items in the house belong to my friends, and they are really items that are mainly one-use, or for display only, like several plushes, old gaming magazines that have already been browsed though, manga that has been scrutinized and now collect dust on three separate shelves… the list is endless.

And now, my friends have three additional Transformers figures to add to that collection. It’s not my money, I can’t complain, but only wonder about materialism.

I guess these objects make us who we are; if someone walked into your room full of your personal effects, I’m sure within seconds they can gather a few things about you and your personality, likes or dislikes. The objects paint a personal world, which in itself validates existence, uniqueness. A proof of possible financial stability and success.

So, I look at my own room – small (but larger than the walk-in closet I once had), bare white walls, a lone rug in the center with a dark-brown coffee table at the end and a matching head table at its side; adjacent is a tall lamp for lightning, and two laundry hampers – one for clean, another for dirty clothes. My ‘bed’ is on the ground (a familiar position I’ve been used to for years), in a walk-in closet that can barely contain my feet.

All I have are my computers and books, and papers from college strewn about the floor. It’s strange, even though this room is barren, I never have felt empty being inside of it. Lots of people have this assumption that I’m quite rich because I am able to afford a new computer, or a decent car, but not many know that it’s because I rarely spend, and just save up for the big necessities.

I enjoy living simple, but I wonder why can’t others do the same. Why are we so attached to our material items, when they only carry a single-use or get ignored for grossly long periods of time, until someone finds attachment once again?

Image Credit: http://www.anime.com/Origami/

Face to face against a cascade of tears
A hand slapped against a thigh
That sigh of frustration on your face

I place a hand against your shoulder
Telepathy; a shock wave of emotion
The love you lost and no longer felt

My smile is internal
I can never let you know
The joy I feel that you’ve chosen me

For all in the universe
Where feelings like cannonballs launch
The only suitable target is I

No words can help
But only mere touch and embrace
To balance the uneasiness

Continue to reach
Continue to speak
I’m here to listen
To offer that love

Song: Tokimeki Memorial Drama 3 - ~Zuuto, Itsudemo~ (Piano + Strings Version)