(no subject)
I can see why Christmas is a time where we look to live vicariously through quirky holiday comedies starring Matthew Broderick and Danny DeVito.
A Christmas Story was wacky, but in a manner most could relate to...it was believably wacky.
And sometimes it takes just a picture--one seemingly simple picture--to make one's eyes glimmer like silver spoons before vomiting tears.
It comes in a whirl--a confusing, makes-no-sense whirl--that condemns and points:
Because you forgot. Because your communication is not up to muster. You forgot.
I didn't cry, but I felt like I was supposed to.
And I still might.
I looked at the picture, and everything I had denied came rushing into me, similar to (but not quite the same as) the way the demon enters Karras at the end of The Exorcist.
All of the things I had fabricated in my mind to dissociate myself from my heritage.
How confused I am.
For all the wrong reasons.
In the photograph I saw a smiling mother, father, and young son.
I saw happiness captured in the flat, two-dimensional image.
You forgot.
And I suddenly felt awful for remembering, because they had remembered and I had not.
It has become so easy to forget, easier than it ever should be.
Sometimes I wish there was a way to atone for forgetfulness--it is a transgression, in its own seemingly minor way.
It's as though one family has been 'dumped' for another, even though the blood relation still pumps through our veins.
I feel more guilt than is probably considered healthy for the average human being.
I hate reacting awkwardly and nervously to everything.
A Christmas Story was wacky, but in a manner most could relate to...it was believably wacky.
And sometimes it takes just a picture--one seemingly simple picture--to make one's eyes glimmer like silver spoons before vomiting tears.
It comes in a whirl--a confusing, makes-no-sense whirl--that condemns and points:
Because you forgot. Because your communication is not up to muster. You forgot.
I didn't cry, but I felt like I was supposed to.
And I still might.
I looked at the picture, and everything I had denied came rushing into me, similar to (but not quite the same as) the way the demon enters Karras at the end of The Exorcist.
All of the things I had fabricated in my mind to dissociate myself from my heritage.
How confused I am.
For all the wrong reasons.
In the photograph I saw a smiling mother, father, and young son.
I saw happiness captured in the flat, two-dimensional image.
You forgot.
And I suddenly felt awful for remembering, because they had remembered and I had not.
It has become so easy to forget, easier than it ever should be.
Sometimes I wish there was a way to atone for forgetfulness--it is a transgression, in its own seemingly minor way.
It's as though one family has been 'dumped' for another, even though the blood relation still pumps through our veins.
I feel more guilt than is probably considered healthy for the average human being.
I hate reacting awkwardly and nervously to everything.