So I haven't written in a while. I'm getting over my obsession with Erik, but I have a slight feeling that KK's trying to convert me to Greek Orthodoxy. Anyway, I'm trying to think about a solution to a problem, while putting off my English homework.
You see, some of my friends are extremely afraid of spiders. I used to be, but I'm not anymore. They were even freaked out about how Voldemort looked in the fourth Harry Potter movie. I'm not a teratophiliac, but his appearance didn't bother me. Nor am I a necrophiliac or anything like that. And yes, I am aware that teratophiliac isn't a real word, but it makes sense. I didn't make it up. But that's besides the point. So a week ago, I had a huge meltdown when Christina was going on about how she hated spiders, and couldn't stand them and she was afraid of them and all that stuff. This was the night after I had an hour long cry fest about Erik. So I was calm, on a night hike with KK's youth group, and I was walking alone, because I wanted to reflect. I didn't want to start crying again, but the words of Rent kept going through my head, "Forget regret/ Or life is yours to miss" and I got so depressed because I didn't want to forget, and I couldn't listen to myself when I sang that to myself, which made me frustrated and cry. And then when Christina went on about her loathing for spiders, I got really depressed because I always overanalyze things. And I got upset because I was so obsessed. I didn't want to start crying and ruin the whole trip, but when KK hugged me when we got to the car because they hadn't been walking with me, I couldn't fight the tears back any longer. And I couldn't control my diaphragm. You know whenever you've been depressed and then someone is kind to you, you always want to cry? That's how it was. I was so disgusted at myself for being so obsessed that he had become part of my religion, I didn't know what to do. But I knew that if I told KK, she would make it better, because since I haven't seen Nina in a long time, KK's become my spiritual guide. So I was ashamed that I had become so obsessed, because I knew that Stina and Kati wouldn't understand, and I didn't want to tell them, but I had to tell KK, so I had to talk about it without letting on what I was talking about, which was hard even though KK knew what I was saying. So why Christina's hatred of spiders set me off is because I read Phantom by Susan Kay. In it, they use a metaphor to describe Erik. They use spiders. So it's like this: if you fear spiders, you fear Erik's face. If you hate spiders, you hate Erik's face. If you are indifferent towards spiders, you don't mind Erik's face. If you are fascinated by spiders, you probably would love studying Erik's face. What Christina was saying was that if she ever saw Erik's face, she would be terrified of it and hate him for it. And then the thing with her squirming in her seat when Voldemort's face was on the screen. It depresses me to think that even some of my closest friends could hate and fear the one man/Angel I love.
I tried to tell myself "Fear can turn to love" but it usually turns to hatred instead. In fact, it practically always turns to hatred. Have you ever read a story where the protagonist falls in love with the villain? Beauty and the Beast doesn't count; she didn't fear him, she hated him, and then loved him. That's different. So I don't know what to tell myself when someone starts talking about something like this. That's why I need to think!
I don't love Erik because he is deformed. I love him because of his genius and my motherly instinct pities him. I don't care what he looks like. I love him for himself. The blind girl loves him for his voice, teratophiliacs love him for his deformities, I love him! All of him!
So what am I to say to myself when someone says they hate Erik without knowing it? I need to think! And eat dinner. ttyl!
Monday, November 21
Friday, November 4
Poor, unhappy Erik!
I started reading Phantom by Susan Kay yesterday. It's very good, though not true to Gaston Leroux's book. But it's a phan fiction, so it's okay. I just finished the section from Giovanni's point of view, and it's very depressing. Giovanni should have given Erik the choice and said, "Erik, my daughter is entertaining the thought that she loves you. You must decide for yourself whether to let her continue her behavior or take the mask off and discourage her once and for all. I apologize for the atrocious manners on her part, and wish you to do as you see fit." Then Erik could decide if he wanted her to stop bothering him, or if he would rather endure that than reveal his face to her. That's what I think Giovanni should have said to him.
When I grow up, I'm going to spend a year abroad at the Scottish Agricultural College and study botany. Then I'll be able to find a flower that's vulgar and garish, but extremely medicinal in its properties. BTW, if anyone knows of such a thing already, please tell me! Ok, so then I can tell Erik, "Look, Erik. See this flower. People may frown upon it as a weed, but if they looked closer, they would find its extraordinary healing powers. Erik, don't hate yourself. If people dismiss you as a weed, then they don't matter in the slightest bit. Those few who take the time to get to know you regardless of appearance, they are the ones that can change you and learn from you. Erik, you should value yourself. The greatest artists create such subtle art that the common person can't find it. It is only the select few who are patient that such art is revealed to them and they are moved deeply. You don't believe anyone can love you because you do not love yourself. That flower doesn't droop in desolation that no kind eye passes it by; it smirks to itself that the foolish walk by such an exquisite specimen and don't even notice. Of course, you never gave yourself a reason to love yourself. Erik, you are the Angel of Music; you love music so you must love yourself! And once you accept that, you'll be able to look out of your window and see all of the adoring phans lining up to give you their own speech. And if that doesn't convince you that you are loved, go to the old widow down the street, whose eyesight is so poor she can't count on her fingers. She won't care what you look like. She'll hear your voice and know your troubles. She'll reach out to you with her crippled hands and stand you in front of her. She'll give you her own matronly speech in a way only the wisest can. And her dark, unseeing eyes will squint up at you, searching through the darkness, for that spark of light that you show you that you can be loved for yourself, but only if you love you for yourself first. And you'll love you for all the reasons those phans love you: for your voice and your genius and your architecture skills and all of your talents, and for your bravery. And Erik, you'll be able to see that we love you for your face and if your face were any different, we wouldn't be able to love you more. Your bravery that you can acknowledge your face and yourself and that is beauty, Erik. Your inner beauty of your musicality and all around genius is out-shone only by the radiance of your ubiquitous eyes. And no one can withstand such a concentrated amount of brilliance that resides in your eyes. You see, most people have their beauty spread throughout their person, but you, Erik, your beauty is within mostly. But such eyes! That is where your beauty lies. And within context, the contrast of your eyes and your face magnifies the beauty so much that that is why people are not worthy of seeing you. If you could just embrace this, Erik, and see that so many people love you for yourself, and that we love you so much no matter who or what you chose to do, we will love you for that. If you chose the small girl that hides in the shadows, we would be happy that you are happy. If you chose no one, we would be satisfied with the fact that we could reach through to you and show you that you are loved and even if you can't admit our love, just that you know it exists is enough for us."
And then Erik would fall asleep because that was so long. He's fifteen in my book right where I am. Fifteen! I have to tell him this before he gets any older, otherwise it will be too late! Alas, I have gotten ahead of myself. I won't ever tell this to Erik, not until I am dead and in Heaven with him. He is the Angel of Music. And I will speak to him before I return to the earth, and come back to a different, Jellicle life. I'm just joking. That's only for cats. And I'm not a cat in this life. I must have sinned pretty badly in my previous life to be demoted to human.
But we're talking about Erik here, not Cats. I think we've exhausted the subject. Or at least, I've exhausted myself. I need to sleep. Maybe Erik will visit me in a dream tonight! ttyl!
When I grow up, I'm going to spend a year abroad at the Scottish Agricultural College and study botany. Then I'll be able to find a flower that's vulgar and garish, but extremely medicinal in its properties. BTW, if anyone knows of such a thing already, please tell me! Ok, so then I can tell Erik, "Look, Erik. See this flower. People may frown upon it as a weed, but if they looked closer, they would find its extraordinary healing powers. Erik, don't hate yourself. If people dismiss you as a weed, then they don't matter in the slightest bit. Those few who take the time to get to know you regardless of appearance, they are the ones that can change you and learn from you. Erik, you should value yourself. The greatest artists create such subtle art that the common person can't find it. It is only the select few who are patient that such art is revealed to them and they are moved deeply. You don't believe anyone can love you because you do not love yourself. That flower doesn't droop in desolation that no kind eye passes it by; it smirks to itself that the foolish walk by such an exquisite specimen and don't even notice. Of course, you never gave yourself a reason to love yourself. Erik, you are the Angel of Music; you love music so you must love yourself! And once you accept that, you'll be able to look out of your window and see all of the adoring phans lining up to give you their own speech. And if that doesn't convince you that you are loved, go to the old widow down the street, whose eyesight is so poor she can't count on her fingers. She won't care what you look like. She'll hear your voice and know your troubles. She'll reach out to you with her crippled hands and stand you in front of her. She'll give you her own matronly speech in a way only the wisest can. And her dark, unseeing eyes will squint up at you, searching through the darkness, for that spark of light that you show you that you can be loved for yourself, but only if you love you for yourself first. And you'll love you for all the reasons those phans love you: for your voice and your genius and your architecture skills and all of your talents, and for your bravery. And Erik, you'll be able to see that we love you for your face and if your face were any different, we wouldn't be able to love you more. Your bravery that you can acknowledge your face and yourself and that is beauty, Erik. Your inner beauty of your musicality and all around genius is out-shone only by the radiance of your ubiquitous eyes. And no one can withstand such a concentrated amount of brilliance that resides in your eyes. You see, most people have their beauty spread throughout their person, but you, Erik, your beauty is within mostly. But such eyes! That is where your beauty lies. And within context, the contrast of your eyes and your face magnifies the beauty so much that that is why people are not worthy of seeing you. If you could just embrace this, Erik, and see that so many people love you for yourself, and that we love you so much no matter who or what you chose to do, we will love you for that. If you chose the small girl that hides in the shadows, we would be happy that you are happy. If you chose no one, we would be satisfied with the fact that we could reach through to you and show you that you are loved and even if you can't admit our love, just that you know it exists is enough for us."
And then Erik would fall asleep because that was so long. He's fifteen in my book right where I am. Fifteen! I have to tell him this before he gets any older, otherwise it will be too late! Alas, I have gotten ahead of myself. I won't ever tell this to Erik, not until I am dead and in Heaven with him. He is the Angel of Music. And I will speak to him before I return to the earth, and come back to a different, Jellicle life. I'm just joking. That's only for cats. And I'm not a cat in this life. I must have sinned pretty badly in my previous life to be demoted to human.
But we're talking about Erik here, not Cats. I think we've exhausted the subject. Or at least, I've exhausted myself. I need to sleep. Maybe Erik will visit me in a dream tonight! ttyl!
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