People, Stories and the act of Leveling Up

How i view people, and how i view aging in general.

One of my many fascinations are people. What they think, what they know, where they come from. Their troubles, their fears, their way of thinking and how they view the world. These are things that peak my curiosity, and are one of the many questions I doubt I’ll ever truly have an answer to. Too many people thinking too many different things, with too many different mentalities and personalities.

 

People watching has always been a hobby of mine. It has always fascinated me some of the things people do, and I try to find the reasoning behind it. Some things are easy to find out, like why people believe in a god they cannot prove exists, yet would live as devoutly as if he lived with them and watched tv. It makes life have meaning to them, and I understand and accept that. Some people need somebody to watch over them, give their life meaning. On the other side of that same coin, it confounds me how the same people would kill someone else simply because they believe in a different entity. It’s a question I have asked time and time again, and I never get an acceptable answer. Nobody has yet to be able to give one other than because they do. Such things amaze and interest me, not because they adversely effect me, but because its a curiosity that I have always had.

 

The prosecution of LGBT people is another thing I have recently started to be curious over. This one, however, does effect me. On Saturday January 19, 2013 I came out of the closet for the first time in 21 years of life. I joke that the goats of Narnia were getting annoying, always chewing on my shirt and that the snow was getting old. The truth is, is that I was bullied so badly, that at times I seriously considered suicide as a viable option. It got so bad that I started to burn myself with a lighter and screwdriver because I figure I deserved it. Putting myself in the line of fire coming out would have caused from the kids at school would have given me that one push I would have needed to go over the edge. After awhile, I bought my own bullshit and believed that it was just a phase I would get over, and that I should start looking for a girl to date. The one time I did date a girl, it was such a train wreck that I just never looked again.

 

When I did come out, it wasn’t because I felt safer. It wasn’t because I thought it would make life easier. It wasn’t even because I was making a big choice. While it is a big choice, it was one I found easy to make. Finding a guy who would make me happy is something I wanted, and wanted to find with all my heart. I came out because I realized that what I made myself believe wasn’t the truth, and I despise it when anybody else lies to me. It makes no sense to lie to myself. Just a few days after �" no more than a few days before I wrote this, dear readers �" I met someone that I truly liked, somebody I enjoyed talking to. As I’m writing this, I’m not sure how it will turn out. But I’m willing to role the dice and take a chance.

 

The point of telling you this long winded story, is that I have become asking another question, another reason to people watch. One that effects me directly. Watching people hate people like me for no apparent reason, it makes me curious as to why. It’s a question I will always ask, and will never find an answer to. But I will keep asking it, because the burning curiosity within me requires me to. And I enjoy asking the questions, and will do so until I die.

 

Which brings me to the second thing mentioned in the title of the chapter- stories. I love listening to people’s mental stories; where they are from, what they care about, what they do. Who they love. Everything about their story I want to know, and I will listen to them for hours given the chance. It’s something I truly enjoy, and something that never grows old. The world is like a sheet of paper, on which something’s typed. The meaning and the reading, vary with the reader. I want to know what they read, and how the book of life looks like to them. It’s a beautiful thing to me, and something I care a great deal about.

 

People have always amazed me. The things they do, from stupid to the extraordinary. I always want to know about them, and their stories. I will listen indefinitely, if I had the choice.

 

Age is a funny thing with me. My body gets old, my mind never ages. I’m bubbly and see the world through the eyes of a child, amazing and full of splendor. I don’t think of my birthday as getting older. I see it as leveling up. I even call it that in my head, though I don’t say it out loud. I am level 21. People would give me stranger looks than usual. While I could care less, sometimes it’s best to not speak my eccentricities. Every level I gain more knowledge, and once a year I gain the experience to gain another. Always seemed a fitting analogy to me.

Reviews

[Sue Hart]

You wondered how this would turn out? Excellent. You write with fluidity. Everything here flowed well and you were very clear. I can easily see you writing short stories.
You asked, "Watching people hate people like me for no apparent reason, it makes me curious as to why."
That's the question of the ages. Sometimes its because you are different and that's a big spectrum. Remember, those who hate are beneath you. Always. That's on the scum line. Bottom of the pool and not worth a thought. You wouldn't want to have anything to do with them anyway. Hate is easy. Love, kindness, generosity, and understanding are the keys to the universe.