Night Train to Lisbon by Pascal Mercier

Unsent letter from a son to his father, who had a curved and pain ridden spine, who was a judge during a trying time in history, and who committed suicide to end all these struggles:

"I start trembling at the very thought of the unplanned and unknown, but inevitable and unstoppable force with which parents leave traces in their children that, like traces of branding, can never be erased.  The outlines of parental will and fear are written with a white-hot stylus in the souls of the children who are helpless and ignorant of what is happening to them.  We need a whole life to find and decipher the branded text and we can never be sure we have understood it.
And you see, papa, that's also what happened to me with you.  Not long ago it finally dawned on me that there is a powerful text in me that has dominated everything I have felt af done so far, a hidden white-hot text [...].
Mama as the interpreter, who had to translate your reticence to us.  Why didn't you learn to talk about yourself and your feelings?  I want to tell you why: it was too comfortable to you [...]. You were arrogant: others were left to guess how much you were suffering. [...]
Did you never think, papa, how much of a burden it was for  us that you didn't talk about your pain and humiliation?  That your mute, heroic endurance, which was not without vanity, could be more oppressive for us than if you had sometimes cursed and shed tears of self-pity?  For that meant that we children, and mainly I, the son, imprisoned by your imposed bravery, we had no right to complain."

Unsent letter from this father to his son:

"My esteemed, dear son,
Can you imagine what it is like to have a son blessed with so many talents?  A son powerful with words who gives his father the feeling that all he has left is silence if he is not to soud like a bungler? [...]
A radiant intelligence filled the room and I still recall that I thought: How little the naïveté of the sentences suits him!  Later, when I was alone again, pride gave way to anther thought: from now on, his mind will be like a dazzling spotlight that mercilessly illuminates all of my weaknesses.  I believe that was the beginning of my fear for you.  For yes, I was afraid of you. [...]
You have the soul of a rebel and rebels don't become priests.  So where would your ardor finally lead you, what outlet would it seek?  That it possesses an explosive force, this ardor, that was palpable.  I was afraid of the explosions it could produce.
[...] As I watched you grow up, I was amazed at the breadth of your mind [...] And I was proud! And jealous! Jealous of the independent thought and of the morality that spoke through every one of your lines.  They were like a shining horizon I would have liked to have reached, but never could; the leaden gravity of my upbringing was too great for that.  How could I have explained my proud jealousy for you? Without making myself feel small, even smaller and more dejected that I already was?"

Task: Figure out how to nurture an emphatic yet resilient inner child

Condition 1: People pleaser

A child who is naturally intuitive and perceptive is cursed. A child who sees, feels, thinks more deeply, thoroughly, and intensely is constantly taking in the overwhelming amount of energy in his or her surroundings. He or she is so attune with the atmosphere, a vibe, an unspoken rule, and feels that it lays upon his or her shoulders to meet all expectations and keep everybody pleased. At any given moment, such child is teetering on the verge of crossing a thin line that is constantly moving, zigzagging sideways and crossways. Inevitably he or she traps oneself in an extremely narrow and oppressively low box. Perhaps this stunts growth of self expression. Perhaps this develops passive aggressive behaviors. This was not specifically me, but I claim its effects.

Condition 2: Perfectionist

A child with above mentioned qualities feels the need to keep a very small world, in effort to reduce anxieties. If by chance the child has loving parents with similar temperaments, he or she will grow up sheltered. The parents confirm the child's ideologies, nurture the child's doubts and insecurities, and provide the child with a sense of belonging, and even elitism. With belonging comes the awareness of those who do not belong. In a child's young mind, this may be defined as those who have not acquired a level of social awareness that the child feels he or she has achieved with the collective effort of the family.
As a child, one can afford to maintain this small world where everything within is sensible, trustworthy, and consistent. It is as if one stands somewhere at a beach, takes a sturdy stick, and draws a circle around oneself by extending his or her arm as far as it can reach. Everything in this circle is manageable because nothing is contradictory to one another. Everything is logical, cause and effect, but most of all altruistic.
Then the child grows into young adulthood through teenage years. And the waves come crashing in washing out the circle, leaving the child susceptible to forceful water. One witnesses the unjustifiably harsh and rude acts and words of fellow teenagers who are fueled by hormones, aggression, and insecurities. But still, most of these observations and experiences are not completely processed nor internalized.
It only gets worse through young adulthood. Plenty of disappointment, not of a specific person, but of humanity. One cannot help but question, "Why? What could I have done differently? What have I done to elicit such actions? What have I DONE? WHY is this happening?" There is no cause and effect, no logical explanation. It is difficult to accept that nothing that one has done resulted in such a catastrophic trauma that has caused so much suffering. A decision made by a loved one that leaves permanent damage to other loved ones for the rest of their lives. A decision made by somebody that makes one question the entirety of ones's existence. A decision made by a trusted friend that makes one feel that nobody can be trusted.

Standard 1: Strive to be sheltered

One can always choose to escape and surround oneself with like minded and caring people. But what gives when one can only shelter oneself? At a certain point, one will have people or things he or she cares for dearly, whether it is a child or a cause. Then what? One would need enough capital and assets to protect others too. So how does one shelter oneself without losing touch with the harshness of reality? Don't run away. Become the one with power and influence. Become the one who can shelter the good and shun the bad. Become the one who can outcast those with no integrity, those who are self serving, those who benefit from the suffering of others. Be the one with money, be the one who can do favors, be the one sought after. Shelter oneself and others by being a stronghold that diminishes the trauma. Bark back, frighten away, be ruthless. Be harsh.

Standard 2: Stay traumatized

Trauma does things to people that nothing else does. It infiltrates into the thinnest cracks and fills up the darkest hallows. The thoughts and emotions spurred from a trauma remains deeply embedded in ones mind, heart, and body. It becomes an armor that protects one from the harshness of reality. One becomes less vulnerable because one closes down on his or her surroundings. But is this not counterintuitive and counterproductive with being able to protect others? How does one notice the suffering and needs of others when one cannot do that internally? If one must, one should stay traumatized, let the trauma remain raw and feel the pulse throb. Only then may one empathize and keep fresh memories to understand when somebody comes along with similar pains. One who closes those pain in a pretty little box called life lessons and looks back at it with only fond memories of naivety will inevitably accept the systemic problems of society and grow old to patronize young ones who feel the pain that one once felt so deeply but had forgotten.

Standard 3: Never let up on trust

There will be those who console, those who persuade, those who scold youthful passion. If the consolation, persuasion, disapproval, and reprimand come from those whom one regards highly, trusts absolutely, respects ultimately, one cannot help but doubt oneself. But never let up on trust, not trust in others but trust in oneself. Grow out of the need to depend on and trust others. Become resolute with the idea that one might be made an enemy, a disappointment, or an outcast by every living person whom one loves. Trust that even if that happens, everything will be okay. One will make other friends along the way, who may naturally fall out just like others. But even so, it's okay. Some things can only be done alone.



If you have read this far, thank you for caring. I am totally being facetious with the tasks, conditions, standards, which the Army deems appropriate for all lessons. This regurgitation of emotions and thoughts are far from a comprehensive lesson.

Oxymoron

Introversion, contrary to its pervasive use to categorize people in a binary manner, merely nods toward the methods in which one expends and replenishes energy. On the wide, and likely never ending, spectrum of introversion are those who flourish with social interaction and recognition. When thrusted under the blinding glare of a spotlight, a social introvert does not scurry into the darkness but rather smiles a teethy grin and throws a smart pose, purely out of muscle memory, although unobserved parts of the body may check off most signs of anxiety. A social introvert is self trained, well versed, and fully equipped to appear an extrovert to reap for oneself and provide for others the benefits of companionship. Maddening, really, when such introverts disclose his or her true natural tendencies, only to be resisted by a stranger saying, "No, trust me, you're an extrovert." Stranger, indeed, for those considered acquaintances, colleagues, and even friends are easily strangers to a social introvert. Unbeknownst to themselves, these strangers are led to believe that they can read this social introvert like an open book, when in fact they are flipping through with clumsy hands, skipping pages that are hidden in plain sight.

This is all very much moronic, but not one bit contradictory.

Apathy

I had the most unbearably dull company last night.  Well I mustn't insult the entire group that gathered in good spirits, but the particular person sitting next to me kept attempting to engage me in a forced conversation.  The choppy string of uninteresting remarks was halfheartedly encouraged with equally uninterested 'uh huh's from myself.   This is rather harsh of me but I genuinely wonder if people do not sense the disinterest in such interactions, or they do but see nothing wrong with spewing words that are useless to the listener.  It's either unaware or selfish.  I'm not sure which is worse.  Really, people, it's absolutely okay to sit in silence.  No need for pointless chatter.

In any case, I attended this social gathering out of obligation, and I'm glad I did, but I was in desperate need of solitary silence.  This is usually the case when I need to figure out what I am unknowingly internalizing.  At the risk of sounding too zen, I sometimes need to let the unintelligible noise bounce around in the cavity of my mind so that its echo may give me a hint of what's really going on.  Plus I was exhausted from all the second-hand emotions I have been having all week.

A cruise ship sank and a lot of people died.  I scoffed at the authorities that let this happen.  And then I pitied those who died.  I could not fathom how these students complied to stay inside rather than find open air.  I came across articles about text messages from survivors in air pockets underwater  pleading for help.  Whether fabricated or not, it was fuel enough for vivid imagination. I saw teenagers huddled together in the dark, obviously feeling the ship tipping over as gravity pushed them against a wall.  I wonder when it dawned on them that they should actually get a move on.  The panic they felt when they realized the exit doorway is now up on the ceiling.  The splash of water creeping up their ankles, slowly filling up the room. I felt everything one might feel trapped in a sinking ship.  Let them rest in peace.

As a bystander, we mustn't grieve for the ones who have died.  They are gone, without pain, not left behind.  We must grieve for the survivors.  Those who have escaped, perhaps with guilt.  Those who personally and intimately knew the dead, and must live on with the sudden and severe absence.  Those who can see these dead teenagers leading a happy life and grow old till natural death, and didn't have the slightest doubt that they would share their lives together.  As a bystander who knew nothing of the tenderness of these dead ones' soul, the warmth of their presence,  what right do I have to grieve?  I do not mean to be impertinent, but it is a sacred right that remains exclusive to a select group of people to grieve for the dead.  As a bystander, we must show support and grieve for the survivors, and dare not offer melodrama to the surviving family who has quite enough to handle already.

I can't quite figure out the public response I gather while scanning my Facebook newsfeed. I only see the opposite extremes, those who are grieving out loud and those who are finding the whole thing amusing enough to sensationalize the event.  Of course there must be those somewhere in between who choose to stay quiet in the public domain.  The emotions and trickery displayed on Facebook makes me apathetic.  And this apathy prevents me from seeing things clearly.  That is, until my mom deciphers all my unnerving dreams and until I write everything down as I am now.  I fear for those who may not know what they truly feel or how to feel it because they are told so many different things.  No, I really don't care about other people, I'm just concerned I'll ever become as dull as that.

The Heart in a Bottle by Oliver Jeffers

In truth, nothing was the same. She forgot about the stars… and taking notice of the sea. She was no longer filled with all the curiosities of the world and didn’t take much notice of anything… other than how heavy… and awkward the bottle had become.

 

Children books are awesome.  Children book writers have peculiar minds.  Respectable, respectful, simplified, complicated.  It takes something special to be able to regurgitate a jaded, cynical thought, which one is bound to have from years of experience, into something beautiful and childlike for children to read and giggle at, and for adults to read into and ponder.  The layers of meaning give adults to think about, to briefly feel the passage of time, and to try to embody the innocence of a child.  Well, that, of course, only occurs to people who take the time to read children books.  That's a whole different discussion.

Brief einer Unbekannten by Stefan Zweig

Letter from an Unknown Woman was written by Austrian novelist Stefan Zweig and published in 1922.  It is of one woman's unrequited love for a man who does not know of her existence despite the fact that she has been in his living quarters on three separate occasions, one of which results in the birth of their child.  After the child's death and before her impending death, she writes him a letter with details of her entire life that revolved around him.  At the end of this novella, he finishes the letter and barely recollects only the faintest memory of this woman.  I read the Korean translation, and mind you, German books translated into Korean consistently suck.  If one attempts to retain all the original meaning by keeping every adjective and adverb, not to mention descriptive figure of speech, it just becomes too syntactically convoluted in Korean.

독일에 한 동안 살게 될 딸아이 위해 아버지께서 책을 여러권 장만해 주셨어요.  특히 한글로 옮겨진 독일어 소설을 많이 두고 가주셨는데요. 그 중 물론 헤르만 헤세도 있었죠.  시키는 일은 절대 바로바로 안하더라도 때가 되면 부모님의 뜻을 이해하고 언젠가는 꼭하는 딸은 그 책들을 한동안 훑어 보지도 않았어요.  그래도 가까이에 있는것 만으로 '언젠가는 읽어야지'라고 생각은 했을까요.  그렇게 거의 한 해가 지나 겨울이 다시 다가오네요.

독일인의 사랑이라는 표지가 깔끔하고 이쁜 책이 눈에 들어오더라고요.  집 밖을 나서는데 책 한권은 밀란에 가져가야겠다 싶어 그 조그마한 책을 가방에 넣었어요.  항상 그러하듯 밀란에 있는 내내 책을 펴보지도 않았죠.  집에 돌아오는 길에 마자막 기차를 놓쳐 역에서 세시간 정도 기다려야 했는데 그래서 책을 읽기 시작했어요.  제 자신이 생각하는 사랑이라는 것과는 너무 다른 사랑을 나누더라고요.

그리고 낯선 여인의 편지를 읽게됬어요.  사랑한다고 생각이 들게하는 친구랑 편안한 주말을 보내는 동안 그 소설을 처음부터 끝까지 읽었어요.  그 아이의 손을 잡으며, 그 아이의 어깨에 기대어, 그 아이가 나의 다리를 어루만지는 동안, 그리고 그 아이의 머리를 쓰다듬으며 그렇게 책을 한 장 한 장 읽었는데요. 친가댁의 전라도 사투리를 빌리자면 정말 답답합디다.  짠하고 짜잔한 것을 지나 짜증스러웠어요.  어떻게 그렇게 못나게 사랑을 할 수 있는지 이해가 않가더라고요.  어떻게 그렇게 자기애가 없고 자기 자신에게 못할 짓을 하는지.  그런데 어떻게 생각해보면 우리 모두 그럴까요.

Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol

We'll do it all
Everything
On our own

We don't need
Anything
Or anyone

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel

Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough

I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see