Definition of Love

It's been a while. Hi guys! I didn't forget about this place.
(Although, it's crazy, because I don't wear my ribbons anymore, after three years. It's incredible, I'm free of them. I got the courage because of my girlfriend/ex-girlfriend/I have no idea. But they're still a large part of my life, so I'm going to keep this blog the same.

Speaking of a big part of my life, love. Love is a huge part. I like to think I have a basic understanding of it. But in the midst of things, that definition gets muddled. People often think it's a lot more complicated than it really is. And that makes horrible situations like the ones I'm in with loved ones and friends. It kinda drives me insane. So to make sure I don't forget, and maybe others don't forget, I'm going to write my definition here.

Love: is a FEELING. It is not a question. It is not a commitment. It is not a promise. It is a feeling. It is kinda like happiness, or sadness, or anger, except it is tied to physical objects. which really, so is everything else.

Love is basically feeling an incredible sense of happiness when in the prescence of something/someone you love. It is absolutely nothing more than that.

Just like other emotions, it has varying depths. For example, there is platonic love. I have a dear friend who Ii can sincerely say I love. Whenever I see her, I am very happy, and she means the world to me and I'll protect her no matter what. But I want nothing to do with her romantically. That would be weird. It also isn't as intense of a love as a romantic love, but just as meaningful. Seeing her happy brings my life joy. It's just like happiness, or sadness, or anger. You may see roadkill, and it will make you sad. You see someone die, and it makes you cry, There's depression, that cripples you. Different levels, same emotion. Sometimes so radically different that it feels like different emotions, but really they're the same.

Then there's romantic love, which people tend to always think about. My example is my girlfriend. I love her to the depths of my heart, and forgive her for all she does and embrace her. Seeing her instantly brightens my day. Whenever I am with her, there is an intense happiness surrounding me. And I just want to hold her forever, and keep her around me and feeling safe, and hold her hand. It is much more intimate. (Not sexual though. Sexual attraction is still, while it can be linked, completely different).

I believe love even goes to objects, though at a much lesser extent. There can be items which, with a strong enough attraction, can be loved. That you feel the certain emotion, love, when you are around it. Love is triggered. Usually it is the most basic form of love, but it still counts. I think that's how some people actually develop a emotional attraction to inanimate objects. (sexual attraction is still a completely different story though, and has nothing to do with love).

 That is the definition, but s many people mess it up. They automatically think it is sort sort of obligation or commitment. It. Is. Not. That's what destroys people.
Just because I love someone doesn't mean they automatically have to do something for me. That's retarded. They are my feelings, and my feelings alone. So if someone doesn't reciprocate your love, why should it matter? It isn't a question. Just because seeing a certain someone makes you angry, you don't go to that person and say "I hate you! Do you hate me too?" Some people do. They feel like it means more when it is a shared feeling. It's true, this creates a certain bond. It is a good thing. But people tend to think love only exists with that bond. When someone you hate doesn't hate you back, do you say, "You know what, it isn't working, I guess I'll stop hating that guy now." No. You don't. That's stupid. You can't control who you hate. It just happens. If your hate does burn out when the other person doesn't reciprocate, that is only because you were trying to get attention, and the fabricated feeling wasn't even real in the first place.

So it really annoys me when someone is in love, and when the other person involved doesn't feel the same the original decides they are sick of being the only one feeling and they're giving up. Love doesn't work that way. So it's somehow the other person's fault because they don't have a certain happiness that you do? That's selfish. You don't say that, and give up. Love is b eing happy with someone. There are no negatives in that. Love is a blessing. Throwing that blessing away because you didn't get a special bond out of it is like throwing away the winning lottery ticket because you only got $10,000 instead of $90,000.

People are chasing a love story instead of being grateful they have a love to begin with. it's a special thing. A bond is just something that may occur from love, but isn't actual love itself. It's an addition. Separate. So when Person A is in love with Person B, but Person B doesn't love them back, person A shouldn't just throw in the towel and give up. You can't 'give up' love. It isn't a challenge. It isn't a goal. that's like giving up sadness or happiness. You just can't. They are completely out of your control. If you could throw it away, that was a fabricated love all along that you made up to make yourself feel good. That's stupid.

You can't beat yourself up because someone doesn't love you. It isn't personal. You have to think about as 'they don't have an incredible happiness whenever they see you'. It doesn't mean they don't care about you an incredible amount. Forcing obligations on them when it is your feelings and just your feelings is just hurtful and self-diestructive. If everyone just understood this, it wouldn't be so damn hard.

I have a friend who is in love with me. He has been for a number of years. I don't love him. He is one of my greatest friends in the world. He means so much to me. But it doesn't matter because somehow, because I don't have feelings for him, it is hurting him. i have no control over it, but somehow i am at fault. And I see him saying "I am sick of being the only one trying, I'm giving up, love is stupid." It kills me. It hurts me. I feel terrible. I'm sure he wants me to read it. But what the hell can I do? I can't force myself to love him. I can't stop loving the person I care about, who makes me happy. Comments like these is like saying 'you're really happy, but I'm not, so stop being happy for me'. And no one in love would say that.

Again, there's nothing I can do about the situation, But at least, I can make sure I never forget this theory, which I made years ago long before this stupid situation, and maybe I can share it so others understand. I just wish everything could be better.

Remember: love is a blessing. Love is an incredible happiness you can't find anywhere else. Love is a rarity that shouldn't be squandered, and isn't meant to cause you harm. Love is not something that you can take away, but it comes and goes as you let it, flows from person to person over time. It is one way and one way only, and even if the person loves you back, while the bond is one you share, the love is something individual, something differnt for each partner and not controlled by the other. As soon as you start connecting your love with someone else, you are blaming someone else. If you know it is your own feeling, just like your anger, your fear, your gladness, and your sadness, then you won't get hurt or angry when others don't reciprocate.

Cherish your gift and don't ruin the experience. Don't give up on love forever wen it doesn't go 'right'. Love is not a journey, but it will lead you on one, just like every other emotion.

Life is good.

One of my Favorite Topics

 Homosexuality.

Many people say they are very open minded about this, and for the most part, they are true. Many are accepting of it. But are they really understanding of it?

When we see a man with a certain tone of voice or taste in fashion, or sometimes even body shape, we wonder if he is gay. Most of us do not accuse; we just wonder. And there is nothing wrong with wondering.

But this shows we do not understand. Because to look at clothes, or hair, or a voice, on a butch woman and guess her to be a lesbian shows we equate homosexuality as pertaining to clothes, hair, or voice. Which it doesn't.


Let me re-educate you: Homosexuality (or bisexuality, in my case) is not how you act, but who you love. It is who your body chooses to respond to; something completely out of our control, which we can't choose.

All of us make this mistake though. Even I do sometimes. But we must remind ourselves it isn't correct. For example, I told my mom that for my senior year, I want to end with a bang by entering homecoming king thing. All I would need to do is get signatures, so no one would know I was a girl, and most people can't tell my gender anyway (I tricked maybe 5 more people that first week of school).

But mom said I wasn't allowed to do that, because of my sexuality. She went on about how some people really had to struggle with their sexuality, and that I would be making fun of them. She is not at all against me being bi; she is just concerned.

Which is a valid point: except for the fact that this is again equating dress and being 'homecoming king' as being gay. That is again, a stereotype. I want to try for homecoming king because I could actually pass off as a guy, and I love wearing tuxes (I have since I was 3, before I was bi). If I wanted to do it because of my pride (which I have in surplus amounts, though I rarely tell anyone because I don't want to make them uncomfortable), then I wouldn't hide my gender or try to pass off as a guy.

Yes, some homosexuals like to show off their pride by dressing like the opposite sex, or maybe because they feel more like the opposite sex, but that isn't standard behavior for homosexuals. Not every religious person is a heretic-hating extremeist. Not every homosexual is a cross-dresser. I have nothing against them, I am just discontinuing a stereotype.

As much as I am attarcted to women, I am still a girl. I feel those heart-beat moments, and get all lovey, and pretty much act like a typical girl when I am in love. The only difference is I'm not allowed to gossip about my love life in public.

Life is good.

Gender Confused in a PINK SWIMSUIT

DUDE how does that even HAPPEN?! XD

Okay, so my freaking awesome mom decided that she would take us to this lake to swim and bike and sanddiaperburylegssandmonster and stuff. I was mostly swimming, and being awesome, and swimming. In my bright freaking pink swimsuit.

Crudely drawn representation of swimwear

So yes, swimming. Water. Bright freaking pink.

I am swimming, minding my own business, and then see this group of people a little distance away. They are also swimming and junk, apparently friends. They are staring straight at me.

Okay, this is weeeeeird.

And then, the one in the front of this small crowd of buddies dejectedly informs her friends;

"IT'S A GIRL!"

in this way that almost sounds like my being female is an insult to water goers everywhere. Or she may have said it in a way that states that her friends are stupid.

In reality, she was the stupid one, because she severely underestimated the distance between us and how well her voice carries. So I heard that, and my very first thought was, am I really that incredibly manly to be gender confused in a bright pink one piece?

Apparently so. I doubt any gender confusion story will ever beat this one.

Life is good.

Gender Confused

 That last post is still under construction. I was in the middle of adding those horrible doodles when mom came and I had to leave. I'll fix it. Later. After this.

 On Saturday, I volunteered with a Christian charity called the Tent Of Hope, run by the local churches in the area. We had a GIANT thing of free clothes, diapers, hygiene things, free photos, haircuts, a band, children's tent while parents got stuff, and last but not least a food shelf thing. Giant freaking semi truck container filled with bags of food, with each family getting a bag. (Except if it was a large family, liek 50 thousand million people came in a giant truck, we let them have two. And really, if they came twice, they probably needed it, so we gave them food too. Oh, and because of rain not as many people came, so we ended up shoving bags on random people-What, want one? No, take three, we insist!)

So anyway, thingy to help those in need. I was having a good time. When a parent was already holding a baby and two bags full of clothes, I volunteered to help carry grocery bags into the car. I always thanked them for coming, because it took dignity to ask for help, and we didn't want them to feel like they lost that dignity by coming. It was all well.

Then at one point in the five hour workday, I was carrying groceries for this women and her husband. I think they had some kids too. I plodded along behind her, even though I could easily pull in ahead with my fast walking I needed to know where the car was. At last she closes in along a black truck already filled with stuff, and as her husband tried to fit their clothing bags into the trunk, the woman I was following sits herself in shotgun. i nervously wonder where I should place their food bag, when the woman, seeing my state, decides to help.

"Here, sir, I'll take it, put it here."

...YES. I secretly celebrated in my mind as I gave her the groceries and wished them a good day. I was confused for a boy. With my short hair and a track suit on I wasn't showing any obviously femine things, and I guess I didn't talk exceedingly much to show my high chipper voice. And my nametag cooly read:
Hello, My Name Is
AWESOME
So there wasn't any clues there. But I think I just look masculine. You see, this has happened a few times before.

The first time was definityly  the BEST. It was right after I got the haircut, so it was at its shortest (it has since grown). Anyway, my family was driving out to the Land Of CheeseHeads to go camping. We had been driving for some hours and decided to find a rest stop, blah blah blah blah. So I of course go to the girl's room, in my jeans and sexually ambiguous T-shirt. There is a little blond girl just coming out of a stall. She looks to be only 9.

Her face is one of shock and horror as I  enter the women's restroom as well as the stall she was just in.\

It took me a few minutes to realize she thought I was a boy in the girl's room. I later heard evidence of the mother telling the frighterned youngster, "I'll tell you when we get to the car..."

The next instance was a few days later, at the camping site. My mother and I were going to the camp center to get more firewood. We went in, and the lady at the counter asked if I was having fun, and if we needed anything. I responded I was having a fabulous time camping in the obviously nature-y outdoors camping center, complete with ice cream bar, arcade, bike/go-cart rental, skate park etc. Then shee went to get the wood, and when she came back she told me,
"Have a good time, young man!"
Mom and I walked cooly out of the building. As soon as the door was shut, however, we doubled over laughing.

The last time I remember was in Chicago with friends. We had just gotten back from a band concert, and were in our concert white and black (white dress shirt with black bottoms, usually skirts for girls). I was in my make shift-tux; white dress shirt with snazzy black tie, my black dress pants and black shoes. The only way to tell I was a woman was a red clip in my hair, because it was day of silence. I was not speaking.

So we were in an FYE, looking through the anime like the nerds we are. A random guy comes up to us, about 18 if not older. He converses on many subjects he and only he enjoys, like how most animes have only scantily clad women, and how it's like porn. He then tells us how much he hated the ending on Inuyasha, which none of us had seen. Throughou this one-sided conversation, he swears in nearly every sentence.

Finally, he looks at me and asks, "Are you a dude, or a chick?" I don't speak, just laaaaugh as my freinds clear it up. I hug them as if they are all my harem.

Directly after that, the creep's friend called out to him. He had a hispanic woman by the arm and was saying, "Hey, this is your type, right?" The creep ran over, commenting about how he liked round women. The girl said they were creeps, and my friends and I high-tailed it outta there before he turned on us again.

I have never felt safe in any FYE since.

And so, my manry-ness has far exceeded any vast expectations I ever had. I even was told but ccountless people that I looked like Justin Beiber owo If that is  a compliment.

Life is good.

Ice Skating With Jason

 UNDER CONSTRUCTION (sorry)


Today, my twin brother Jason and I went ice skating in Minneapolis. Now, he had been talking about how he had only ever ice skated once in his life, and that was in 8th grade (he's now 23, so he's much older than me; not exactly twin age, but we're cool like that). I was teasing him about what it would be like if he ended up falling on his butt while I, the expirenced ice skater, laughed, and I was having so much fun while we rode different buses to the rink....


Too bad, I was the one flailing about.

 I'd only gone ice skating twice, and for some reason, I was doing very, verrrry badly. Flailing about like a maniac, yelling random 'ANA ANA ANA ANA ANA ANA ANA's (a habit of mine, blame Thailand Hetalia), while clutching the wall for dear life. It was not a pretty sight, and as I would realize later, everyone was sending pitty looks my way. (At least I was smiling, so they knew I was having fun. I was smiling the entire time, even as I yelped.)

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At one point, an old woman in a black leotard came up to Jason and I.
"I know it's none of my business, but it looks like those skates are too big. They don't support your ankles enough to keep you steady." Oh. I was wondering why I was that was. "If you go down a size, you'll probably be able to skate better."  Hm. Well. Thank you old woman.
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She continued to give more friendly advice about how I may suck less, before Jason and I exited the rink so as to take off skates and replace them with smaller sizes. Being the thorough gentleman he is, Jason decided he would bring both our skates so I wouldn't have to get up from the seats. So he went and I waited, and an old woman in a pink leotard sat down beside me.

"Are you going to go back skating?" she asked. Yes, I said, yes I was. She smiled at me sweetly. "Then I'll give you some advice on your skating, to help you."

She then proceeded to stand in front of me and demonstrate different poses, telling me to tuck in my tummy and put my arms out. I should never, EVER put my arms behind me when I'm skating, which she said I was doing (really, I doubt my arms were ever flailing in just one location). I thanked her for the advice many times, prehaps too many (I felt bad about that, I kept on thinking she was done but she kept on going!) until Jason came back with the new skates.
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Soon Jason, being incredibly socially gifted, started a conversation with her. She said that she had been skating since she was a little girl, and many of the people participating in the free skate this hour were in their 70s and 80s. She went on to say it was an all age sport, and she just anted everyone to enjoy it as much as she did, so she helped people. We said our thanks and were soon on the ice again, while I wondered what a sorry sight I must have been to attract so much attention.

The new skates helped, but I was still a flailing mess. Still, I could hold myself up and skated decently well (I had done it before, yanno) and went on to hurl myself into many a wall and I expiremented with the mystery that was turning. Soon I was doing okay...ish. I was still a giant flailing mess, but I didn't scream nearly as much.

It was at one point that I was skating in the giant circle of life that I came across a horrible sight; an old man, bleeding freely from the side of his head, while his other friends held him up by the shoulders. Drops of blood dotted the ice. As a recovering hemaphobic I was frozen (get it, 'cuase I was on ice?). Then, I noticed Jason.

Jason worked as an EMT, so it was good he was there. Still, I was concentrating at looking away from the blood, and my mood got a bit lower. I started to pass them carefully, feeling a bit bad for not smiling anymore. It felt worse skating about like a fairy too, when some old guy was being carried off with a head injury.
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At one point I went around again and saw Jason wearing plastic gloves, helping the guy with his injury. I felt sorta proud watching, like it was my husband going to war (except I'm sorta anti-war, but you know what I mean). My twin brother, my great friend, was doing good things and helping others with his skills. I soon found myself smiling again. Of course, I was unable to help (though I would have if there wasn't blood), and I had no idea what to do. Help my friend, or leave him while I skate in pointless circles? I decided maybe he would have wanted me to have fun, so I decided to skate. Everytime I made a revoltuion I stopped and looked to see how things were going. At one point he actually had the people around laughing; again with his social gift, and i felt proud he was easing them from worry.
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Later on he would join me again, and I would ask whatnot, and he said he got the injured man to ride with someone home. It didn't take very long at all until a skater came up and thanked Jason for what he had done. Then another skater went up and thanked him, asking how things went. Then another.

Then at one point, the old woman in the pink leotard came again to thank him, before starting to train us on our skating technique again. Apparently she still felt bad for my flailing, and again demostrated the techniques; hands at waits level, in front of you, back bent, tummy tucked, shoulders up. When I saw her, I was reminded of a fuzzy hulking elephant..

She made me march, glide, and turn, before directing her attention at Jason. Apparently he was wobbly to, and he was soon forced to follow her in cicles while doing her directions while I ventured off to be a wholly mammoth.Whit I was sporting my infamous Bear Claw of Doom, I ended up falling the first time all day. I felt very bad, she had worked hard to instruct me, but luckily she was too busy caoching Jason against his will to notice my misshap.
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I got a talk from the black leotard woman too, when she thanked Jason, as many more did before we left. Somehow, we had both ended up known by everyone in the skating rink in an hour. It was an amazing thing.
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If only my fame were as heoric! XD
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Me, in mid-fall.
Life is good.

Why the Ribbons, Aki?

 That is a question many, many, MANY people ask me each day. At one point, they will see me brushing one with my thumb or absently spinning on for comfort, and wonder, "What does Aki need to remember today?" So of course, they ask me.

I will not tell you what they mean, all I will say is that they are a constant reminder that are rarely if ever taken off. It's gotten to the point where I can't even sleep without them on; 24/7, through school, shower, pools, amusement parks, bed, they are there. So if the same person asks me about them the next day, I have to explain I'm remembering the exactly same thing.

Usually, I answer their question with, 'what I'm supposed to be remembering'. This is true, but sometimes I realized, if I actually wanted a reminder, I would take them off. The lack of ribbons and the resulting crazy would definitely be all the reminder I would need.

As you can possibly tell, these ribbons are very important to me. It may be silly, yes, but they are. They are like my blood (circulation, if you will). When I first started making this blog, I wondered 'what the heck could I possibly write about?' Then I saw the ribbons. They made everything good. I still smile when I see them.

But really, I'm still not sure what the heck I'm gonna do with this thing. Maybe I'll draw pictures, maybe I'll take it seriously, maybe I'll tell old stories..... I'm not quite sure. What do you guys think?

Life is good.

Okay, I Lied

 On my thingymajig, I said I had TWO finger ribbons. This is usually, in fact nearly always true. I have multiple sets (because I'm a dork like that), with one on each pointer finger. I have green ones, and brown ones, and recently I thought it smart to mix and match, so I was wearing brown on my left hand and green on my right....

Now, I only have my green one. The other mysteriously disappeared, and without it I am a terrible wreck. Those things are more than just a constant reminder; they are a coping device. Really, I'm reminded more when they aren't there, because the feel of an uncovered pointer finger makes me go insane. Which I am as we speak (no wonder I gave in and made a Google account).

My thumb keeps on dragging across the base of my finger, as if brushing past the skin will somehow change the texture of what I feel. I can't really describe why it drives me so mad. It just does. I need these ribbons. They are my life blood.

And then, the great dellemia: Now I only have one brown finger ribbon. How will I match them now? That's a rather girly and petty worry, but I just thought of it now. That poor ribbon, all alone, with no match....

At one point when I didn't have one, dad lent me his old wedding ring to wear. It fit just right, and spinning it around made me all better. But I wore it to sleep and when I woke up, it was gone! QAQ I better male sure to keep bettter track of these things, or this blog will never be accurate!

Life is good.