Perks of Being a Sleepyhead

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Understanding the Elephant:

My entire life I’ve been lucky enough to be blessed with a good long-term memory, but at the same time have horrible short-term one. I guess you could call it selective. Growing up, I recall having a close group of friends that I could’ve told you every single detail about. Sadly I had a very similar experience to the story of The Colorless Tsukuru Tzakai, written by Haruki Marakami, an amazing Japanese author. He wrote of about a boy forced to grow up and find himself when his childhood rejected him. My first memories of playing and having fun were with this group, but also my first memory of pain through the lack of understanding. 

First on my list is my friend -Blank-. Our parents were on a ski racing team together, but we didn’t meet until I was about 4. The craziest thing is we have the same birthday, -Blank-. This last year it landed on Friday the 13^th. We slowly realized over time that we were awesome, but also that we are ten times as awesome together! He is the Patrick to my SpongeBob, the Christopher to my Columbus, the Yin to my Yang. Still…. I messed up in high school and was an asshole freshman year. Another friend that was always around, even when I didn’t want him, was -Blank-. Of all the friends I can remember, I am happy to say he is still one of them. He may have some views that really piss people off, but he’s willing to sacrifice his opinion for the benefit of others. This is what I admire about him most. -Blank- was the friend I remember first. I have faint memories of running through corridors, playing with weasels, and perching in a tree house above the entire world. I always wanted to be more like -Blank-; minus the bulging ego and social paranoia.-Blank- was a friend that I made later in life. He was a boy who moved into the neighborhood late, but still wanted his own tight knit group. He forced it. He was hard on me growing up, but as I have talked with him over the years I realized, in his own way, he was trying to help me. He is almost as cocky as my next friend, -Blank-. He was another friend from before I can remember, a friend from before I knew what friends were. We always had our differences and sparks flew on occasion, but we always got past it. Up next is -Blank-. He grew up caddy corner to my backyard, and we would run back and forth between our houses every day. People would mix up our names. -Blank- and Tyler… or is it Tyler and -Blank-? We even played video games together. Game cube, which he broke partially, and the PC game “Age of Mythology.” The latter was more important to us. After school we would play for hours, but if I ever brought it up around others he would deny any kind of involvement. In hindsight we both could have been a little more honest with ourselves. -Blank- was another friend that was good to me, but I realized it too late, which denied his perspective. I pissed him off. He pissed me off. My question is why does everyone have to be so damn sensitive? Last, I wanted to mention my friend -Blank-. I met him my first year of college, he lived two doors down from me, in the JMAC. He was the kind of guy that you meet and feel like you can tell your whole life story too. Maybe we both needed to listen. He ended up in rehab after his first year of college, and is now on such strong emotional stabilizers that he says he feels like a robot. You can’t save everyone. Both from themselves, or a society that isn’t ready for them.

I was so shy throughout elementary and middle school because of how well my opposition knew me. Moving on, I came into high school with a fresh mentality, not expecting anything, and it could not have gone better. On the other hand, my friend -Blank- had a tough freshman year.  He felt that he was losing me, and as a result I feel as though he lost sight of himself. He needed someone. Someone to keep him grounded in the world of the unknown that is pubescents. That was my biggest regret from high school. Still… he forgave me. I personally have never had thoughts of suicide, but, before my time in high school, my biggest regret was not being there for him when he wanted to harm himself. I will always be The Catcher In The Rye because I always see the possibilities of a second chance. Now I see, in order to stay afloat, that I must strive to be myself, and not let others define it for me. You can’t save what you don’t understand.

This past summer I had an epiphany at non-other than my holy place of sacrament, Red Rocks Amphitheater, with Pretty Lights. To give some background, Pretty Lights is an electronic music experience created by Derek Vincent Smith, one of the trailblazers of electronic dance music in Colorado. When I first heard electronic music it was Ratatat; I hated it. It was a bunch of forced together noises that confused me. Over time I found one song that I liked by them, “Loud Pipes.” The reason I fell in love with synthesized music was Red Rocks, more specifically, Pretty Lights at Red Rocks. Red Rocks is the mecca of Colorado to me, and this is similar to many other kids of my generation. My first concert experience was magical. It was Atmosphere, Common and Grieves. All three Midwest hip-hop artists that came to Colorado for the first Winter concert at Red Rocks Amphitheatre. Winter on the Rocks. I fell in love. This being said, the shows I’ve seen by Derek have made him the Muhammed to my Red Rocks. Listen to color map, lost tapes. This last summer I was able to see Pretty Lights for the third time in my life, but I almost didn’t go. I had work. On the way back from my other job I passed my old group of asshole friends that I had lost touch with through middle school. I stopped to ask what they were doing and they were going to the concert. When I finally got home to change into my second uniform, my boss called me and said I had the night off, they found someone else to step in for me. In hindsight this should have made me angry, but it was the best thing that could’ve happened to me all summer. I called my friend Taylor right away and asked if I could get a ride. They himm’d and haha’d, but in the end said yes. I bought my ticket for the same price that most of them did on the night of the concert. Maybe it was meant to be. We’re all still friends, but I realized something that night. We were always friends, even if we were bad at showing it.

Defining Loss:

I’ve lost a lot of things in my life, it almost feels like a habit at this point. Luckily I’ve never truly lost a friend. The OED definition of loss is interesting. The first definition says it is, “the fact or condition of being ‘lost’, destroyed, or ruined.” The second definition I agreed with more right away. “The being deprived of, or the failure to keep”. I can’t count the number of times I have felt this way, especially while growing up. The next definition this led me to was of the word lose. This word has a specific definition as a noun, which comes from its old French meaning. Lose is reputation; it can be praise and fame, but also infamy and disapproval. One’s losses define them the most. In my mind when I think of the word lose, I think of it as the verb; to lose. It has some kind of loss involved in it. But realize that a constructive loss tends to teach much more than an abhorrent win. The verb lose is defined as “to perish, [also,] to be lost or missing.” What does it mean to be lost? To me, it’s being surrounded by the unknown, not knowing if your next step will save you or kill you. The OED definition as a noun is “to perish, [or] go to ruin.” As an adjective its first definition is “That has perished, or been destroyed, …. mentally or physically”, but its second definition is “having [one’s] mental powers impaired… imbecilic.” This doesn’t paint the best picture for lost things, but it leads to a more optimistic word; losing. The OED definition of losing, as a noun, is “to be in the process of being lost… Or destroyed,” and, as an adjective, “That [which] loses, or that results in loss.” But, in order to be losing there still has to be a possibility of winning. For this reason, I would say losing is an optimistic word. That being said, not all losing is optimistic. Losing, or winning, without understanding, only leads to confusion and hurt. 

It's funny to see how I’ve changed as a traveler as I’ve gained experience in immersion. My first memory of being in another country was of a yacht in the BVIs. I was about 12 years old and was skimming off the back of our catamaran when the yacht snuck by in the middle of the day, not a care in the world. Easily apparent by the four or five topless women and two naked men aboard the vessel. That’s probably when I first lost my innocence. 

That trip to the British Virgin Islands was my first optimistic view into the foreign abyss. More recently I decided to go to El Salvador to live with 28 kids from 14 different countries through a youth organization called CISV. Thank you Doris. I remember looking at all the faces before the trip, feeling a slight twinge at the many cute girls, and a bit of disgust at the French boy that started to argue with me before I even saw his face. All those girls are now like sisters to me, and the boy is a French cinematographer who ended up being my closest friend at the end of the ordeal. 

My next trip was pretty close to home. I decided to study at the University of Denver, only 15 to 20 minutes away from my childhood home. The real trip I took was to Mexico through a student run, idealistic, organization called AIESEC. It’s a French acronym that roughly translates to,” International Association of Students in Economics and Commercial Sciences.” Now it has grown to take on more meaning and the acronym has almost become obsolete. Anyways, I went down to Mexico for a border summit between about ten universities of the United States and about twenty to twenty-five Universidades de Mexico. It was called USEXICO, but it should’ve been called Mexico border summit with special guests from the US. Break the Border. It was probably the most stressful and fulfilling weekend of my college careers, but it was the weekend before finals. I should not have gone. It gave me a very pessimistic view of the club as a whole. Still, I’m involved and strive to contribute something that I can be proud of. 

Learning to Gain:

I love to travel and of all the places left in the world I want to see Panama and Israel first. One is because of desire for adventure, the other is in pursuit of beauty; or is that both? Either way it’s going to be a tough choice. I mean where to go first. Panama peaked my interest freshman year of college during my first year seminar course. It was a study of revolutions and revolutionaries in Latin America. We learned about Che and Castro, Simone’s espalda, the Guatemalan, Nicaraguan, and Bolivian genocides, etc. etc. I didn’t learn much about Panama; besides the fact that the US aided Panama revolutionaries by supplying Israeli guns. When researching Panama, I stumbled across a website called KaluYala.com. It shows the story of a group of friends from Atlanta, who decided to start their own town, solely through entrepreneurship and determination. They bought 575 acres of fertile valley from a landowning farmer a little outside of the Chagres national park. It is a beautiful flower of human ingenuity, innovation, and sustainability. I want to visit this small town and live for a year, contributing whatever I can. 

I want to go to Israel because of the women. I don’t know why, but I always seem to fall for the Israeli. On a trip to Italy as a kid I had a scandalous experience with two Israeli girls and two Italian girls; obviously competing. Of course I made the wrong choice. I had my second make out of my life in front of everyone in the camp, with the boldest of the four, Yahel, an exotic and passionate girl, just not quite right for me. Due to this experience the Italian girl, who I thought I really liked, was heartbroken. In the end I fell for the other two, Elena and Maayan. I still don’t know if I could make the right choice, even if I did get a second chance. Italian or Israeli?

One place in the world that interests me greatly is the CERN particle reactor in Geneva, Switzerland. It was introduced to me by my crazy friend from Freshman year of College, Daniel. He went on a trip after High school with four other friends, a few camping supplies, and the shirts on their back to none other than the main land of unknown, Europe. Coming from a hardcore Venezuelan/American family that was torn apart, I feel that he was reaching to find some sort of culture to repair the gap left in a child’s life by divorce. Not understanding love and hate is the most painful and wonderful part of humanity at the same time. It will trick you into thinking that it has rules and guidelines that one must follow, but this is bullshit. Every situation requires an individual to react, and then try to understand.  In Geneva scientists at CERN create an equation to explain how particles react when they collide at speeds higher than humanly imaginable. The equation still isn’t perfect. I want to go there to try to help understand it more. I want to learn and soak it all up while I’m still young. Young thoughts bring about big changes, but it’s about bringing people together and setting them towards a common goal. One perfect example is the Manhattan Project. Through innovation, possibility is endless.

Society rides atop the back of an elephant that we all ignore (probably because we aren’t able to fully understand). If we’re good to the elephant, it stays calm; if not, I guess we’re in for something. No one knows where the elephant will walk, when it wants to eat or shit. The Elephant is non-discriminate, and non-excludable. No matter what race, religion, creed, or nationality, the elephant treats everyone in the room the same. If you decide to hold on tight and ride the elephant for as long as possible, there is the possibility you’ll go insane, or, gain something priceless. Always consider the elephant, but don’t worry if others can’t. Always clarify, but don’t worry if it only helps yourself. 

One day a man decides to walk his prize Dalmatian through an unknown park. But… this is no normal Dalmatian. This animal has won ribbons, medals, and countless trophies in shows across the country, all because the dog only has one spot around its right eye. As they walk through the park the man looks up to see a weeping willow, an ageless tree whose vines danced to the voice of the wind. He feels a tug on his leash, the Dalmatian froze. A wolf appeared on the hill next to the willow, and the two canines have some kind of exchange, thoughtful or not, that only they could understand. The man looks close at the face of the wolf to realize that it was half blind. The right eye was completely white. The two animals stand stock still, ready to react in an instant. A shockwave breaks the pristine tension, followed by a wave of heat and noise, something that seems to never end. His name was Tsukuru Tazaki. The shadow on the wall. He died.

If the man had survived. He would awake to a landscape of desolation, but all he could think of would be the prize Dalmatian. He would approach the willow and peak over the hill. The animals would be running through a field of black and white flowers, jumping and snarling, out of anger or pleasure, only they knew. But he didn’t live. The only one to lay witness to it all was a boy. Someone who could see the beauty in the clash between these majestic forces. A wallflower. ‘