It's been about seven months since I've written anything substantial here; although the void doesn't seem to have lasted longer than the blink of an eye. It's amazing how quickly your life can change - how quickly something or somebody can take hold of you and extract you completely from your old life. Where everything seems different from your point of view, from waking up in the morning to scrubbing the last morsel of food off a dirty plate. Any previously deemed monotonous tasks are revitalized and no longer completed grudgingly.
What sparked my interest in returning here to write something stemmed from a few things including a new found curiosity to both write down and share my dreams and a rather curious soundtrack that played during one of my work nights. Of the many calm inducing songs that were played over the eight hour shift was that of Erik Satie, Gnossienne 1.
They say the more you think about your dreams, including talking about them and writing them down, the more likely you are to remember them. There's nothing more annoying than waking up and not remembering what you just dreamt about. Imagine going on some spectacular adventure, doing whatever you please, having the most fun you've had in your life, and not remembering it the day after. Remembering is how we grow. Reminiscing for me is a greatly satisfying experience. I don't want to forget anything, even my dreams.
My dreams come in two parts, two waves mostly independent of each other. Depending on how much time passes from when I wake up to the point when my pen reaches the paper, I can usually only remember one part - probably the second. I like to write them down right away, otherwise I'm risking the loss of detail. I'm not obsessive about it, but I do keep a notebook pretty close to my bed. I'm also not one to interpret my dreams much, also I do a bit of mild correlating between certain dream occurrences and past real-life events. I don't believe dreams predict the future, but they certainly say something about you. Please excuse my fragmented way of portraying my dream, it's how I remember it playing out.
Dream Log 11/14 I'm standing at the mid-point of my grandmother's back yard looking where her fence should be, but instead at my newly built house. It is very tiny, a little bit bigger than a mobile home - but it's one of those new-age mini cost-efficient houses that's solar powered. I'm standing there looking at my house wondering if the walls are thick enough - if they're well insulated, and also of the locks on the doors are strong enough. Then I turn around and look back at my grandmother's house and wonder why the heck I built my house so close. So then I start to wonder how easy it would be to transport the entire house elsewhere and also wonder how I'm going to explain the reason I want to move away. The next thing I know I'm at the back porch of my grandmother's house talking to her - what about I don't know. Then my aunt shows up and asks me to babysit her kids. The next thing I remember, we're playing follow the leader around the yard and my house - I'm the leader. What's weird is that there's some old lady in a wheel chair in the back of the line. We walk around a bit more until we get to the side of my house. We stop and look beyond the back yard. I realize my house is built almost in the middle of a street, slightly over the two yellow lines, and it seems to be built on a big speed bump. There are cars coming from both sides of the street, slowing down as they approach the speed bump, and squeezing by as they avoid my house. Now I'm standing there wondering how that could have happened and then I realize there's an ocean just beyond the road. I wake up shortly looking at the blue waves.
Apt and eager to take on the uncertainties of this beautiful April morning, I opened my front door and took a deep breath. Exhaling and looking out at the clear sky I felt something land on my shirt with a buzz. I instinctively brushed down with my right hand and took a step back to see a yellow jacket fall to the floor. My screen door closed as I backed into the kitchen while the wasp squirmed a bit on the floor as it flipped itself over. Having a bad experience in the past I panicked and stomped down with my right foot and twisted it counter clock-wise. I turned my head away and winced after hearing the barely audible 'crunk' as I ended the life of something beautiful.
I wouldn't say it ruined my day but it certainly put a damper on things - as I spent the rest of the day mulling over my split-second decision. The corpse is still there, right in front of my door; I'm not sure when I'll pick it up. I remember when I had absolutely no problem killing insects - I even did it for fun once in a while. I had a friend next door when I was in elementary school and we used to have a contest to see who could kill the most bumble bees in my front yard. They would hover right above the grass at exactly the right height for us to pounce at the right time and squish them under our little feet.
It's strange now that I think about it. I believe I always had a slight phobia of insects and arachnids of all sorts, but I went through phases in which I enjoyed inflicting harm on them. In another house at another location.....and yet another friend when I was five years old, we used to look around the perimeter of his house for daddy long-legs. While I just watched, he would pick them up by one leg and pluck the rest off one by one until only one remained. I didn't particularly enjoy this activity, but he was my only friend at the time.
Which brings me to ponder the importance or value of different forms of life. I remember having a discussion with my aunt not too long ago about what we would do if I hit a deer with my car. She said that depending on the severity of the injury, she would most likely try to run the deer over again to kill it, to end its misery. I honestly don't know if I could bring myself to do that. I then asked her if she would have the same attitude and willingness to accomplish something of that nature with a human being, if say perhaps there was absolutely no hope for recovery. She said she didn't know, and that it's completely different.
Is it completely different? I don't know - I suppose it depends on the person and their point of view. I killed the wasp because I was afraid it would sting me. I suppose I shouldn't feel bad about it, but I do. I've never killed a human before, but if I was defending myself and it happened, I don't think I would feel any different than killing the wasp. Sure if there was a dead human body laying in front of my kitchen door, there would be bigger implications in terms of the law, but psychologically I don't think I would react any differently. Did I cry when I killed the wasp? No. Would I cry if I killed a human out of self-defense? I don't think I would.
If you asked me if I would rather save the lives of 1000 people or 1000 bugs or 1000 elephants or 1000 deer or 1000 polar bears, I wouldn't have an answer for you. Of course the people I know and love are important to me, and so my answer to the previous question would not apply - but in general I don't think human life is more important than any other form of life. Would I be called evil? Probably. Unethical? Amoral? Filthy excuse for a human-being? Most likely. I honestly couldn't care less what people think of me, but I think its this mode of thought that is destroying the diversity and beauty of our earth. Some people would just say that its evolution - survival of the fittest....but do you think humans will evolve fast enough to keep up with drastic human-induced changes to our world? I'm not so sure.
I never knew how to be a good father. I always figured it would come to me naturally; it seemed to me that the art of parenting was part of our physiological structure - much like love, you can't simply read about it in a book. Thinking back to my childhood when my father was still alive, while my memory is vague, I remember his charming smile. He wasn't around often because of work, but from what I can remember he was a very cheerful man and always managed to make me smile. My fondest memory was the day he taught me how to throw a curve ball. We were in the back yard all night it seemed - until I got it just right. Upon catching the last ball he jumped up and cheered and we ran toward each other. He grabbed me by the sides and lifted me up above his head and twirled me around in the air. After setting me down he took his right hand and rubbed the top of my head and told me how proud he was of me. While I didn't get to see him that often, he made a significant impact on me as a father. Above all though, he was always there for me. No matter where I was or how I felt, I could always get get a hold of him and he would always cheer me up. Even through the phone, I could always see his smile.
After loosing my wife to cancer a year ago, I could no longer maintain this timeless smile. I don't know if my son could notice or not, but it was something I worried about every day. Not only was my wife taken from me, but I was left to raise our son on my own, and the fear that I might fail grew with every thought. I read every book I could get my hands on - from single parenting to depression and living with loss. I even began to see a therapist. Even after months, none of it seemed to be helping. My son seemed to be coping just fine, but I honestly couldn't tell because my own depression. Although I was spending much more time with him, my head was filled with constant mourning and negativity I had a hard time seeing what was right in front of me. I followed my self-help books to a T, and I hoped to god my son was getting all he deserved. I made sure he ate well, did his homework, and got to bed on time - but I didn't know what he was thinking, and I can see now that I failed to ask.
Every night after tucking my son into bed, I would escape to my recling chair in the living room and watch the old video tapes of my wedding. With a cuban cigar in my left hand and a cup of scotch in my right, I would drown myself in alcohol, smoke, and memories that are now painful to think about. I couldn't help myself. Every night would be the same. It was just me and my son now and for some reason that wasn't enough. Why wasn't it enough? Am I really that selfish a person to forever cling to the past and abandon my responsibilites as a father? I want to smile again, and I want my son to see me as I was before all of this happened. Why did this have to happen? I don't understand, and I will never understand. No one will ever be able to answer these questions. No one will ever be able to undo the past. Things became clear to me though on one of my more pathetic nights - the most important day of my life.
I woke up to a beep, after a second realizing it was my cell-phone which was in the kitchen. I was sprawled out on my basement floor in a sea of old pictures that were scattered around my body. I sat up and peeled a picture off my forehead which happened to be of my son and I on his fourth birthday. I carried this with me while I walked upstairs to the kitchen. I flipped open my phone, surprised to see that I had twenty-three missed calls, all from home. I also had one message from my son, which made me panic at first. He was sobbing and sniffling and barely managed to let a few words escape, "daddy, where are you?". I thought for a second and remembered that he was terrified of going into the basement at night. He must have looked all over the house. I rushed upstairs to his room and he wasn't there. My second guess was right - I found him curled up with in my bed with a cordless phone in his hands. I stood there for a minute, watching my son sleep. I had forgotten how precious he was to me. Tears flowing, I crawled into bed and wrapped my arms around him. "I'm sorry sport, I'm here. I'll always be here, I promise."
Three rooms, three people - ever since my accident, this is what my life has been confined to. For the past several years though, I've discovered that the uncertainties of the outside world are just as frightening as the truths that emerge behind closed doors. There's a delicate balance of peace within these walls, and even though I'm completely aloof in terms of my direct influence on the psychology of this family, I am completely submerged within it. I can't really walk that well, and as the days go by it feels harder to breath.
I spend most of my time with the son. He's very calm, quiet, and gives me just the right amount of attention. Unlike his sister who is constantly on the phone, gossiping to her girlfriends about the way a certain guy looked at her during school that day. Between phone calls she likes to pick me up from under my shoulders and twirl me around in a circle several times until she gets dizzy. She then plops me down on her bead and almost violently rubs the top of my head out of excitement, leaving my hair sticking out in awkward directions. This is about the time I stroll back over to the boys room to fix myself. He'll usually have his window open for me to rest on the window sill. If I'm lucky the sun will be out and the birds will be chirping. I'll stretch out, close my eyes, and lay there the rest of the day letting my imagination run free. Occasionally the boy will break away from his notebook and gently stroke behind my ears, sending me further into oblivion.
I've never been in the father's room. He always has the door closed and always seems to be doing something. From what I can hear, he does a lot of typing. He does come out from time to time to either make dinner or to check up on his kids to make sure their homework is done. From what I can tell, they all get along quite well - there never seems to be a dull moment during family meals. Lots of smiles, lots of laughs - just a normal family sharing their daily endeavors and activities. Although brief, their encounters are joyful and pleasant - nothing seems to be out of place. Naturally though, most of their thoughts are kept at bay. Not wanting to disturb the buoyancy of their relationship, much goes unsaid. Secrets have reasons for existing, but not without high potential for disaster.
One day the kids got home from school - I was resting on the son's bed at the time. Coming up the stairs with his report card in his hand, he called out, "Dad, dad! You're going to be so proud of me". His sister went in her room to change and he proceeded to knock on his father's bedroom door. There was no answer. Slightly worried he opened the door and walked in to make sure he wasn't there. He had only been in this room a few times since they moved in, and it looked slightly different from before. On the corner of the computer desk stood a small monitor. Looking more closely at the screen, he saw that there was a young girl getting undressed. Once she turned around, the boy became extremely confused.
"I thought I told you never to come in my room!", his father yelled from the door way behind him. The boy spun around to see a face he had never seen before. "Dad, I'm sorry - I was trying to find you.... I uhh....why is sister on this little t.v. over here?" "That is none of your business, get out of here right now!" "But I wanted to show you..." Before he could say anything else his father had thrashed over to where he was, lifted him off his feet and carried him all the way to his own room and slammed him down on his bed. "If you ever tell anyone about what you saw in my room, I swear to god you will end up just like your damn crippled cat".
That night was like no other. The boy held me in his arms until he fell asleep while I could barely hear the father weep silently in the other room. Things were different from then onward. The subtle balance had been offset and no one could ever hope to change that fact - the fear was too great. For once though I felt a strange sense of belonging. Broken, we find ways to compensate, to fill in the void, to maintain at least a sense of balance even though it might exist only in our imagination.
1. I like to walk around my apartment in complete darkness.
2. Every time I see myself in a mirror I make a habit of saying, "hi there!" - which always makes me laugh.
3. I can't fall asleep without some form of a cover.
4. I'm the only person I know who doesn't own a cell phone.
5. My favorite thing to write with is a standard wooden #2 pencil.
6. When I was younger - when I found someone I was attracted to, I would always join their first name with my last name to see if they sounded good together.
7. In one of my biology classes in High School, my instructor passed around a taste test for everyone in the class to sample. We were discussing genetics and the test was to illustrate the presence of dominant and recessive genes. My instructor explained that there should be at least one or two people in the class who wouldn't be able to taste the sample - they would be the ones with the recessive gene. After putting the sample in my mouth, I didn't taste a thing. When the instructor asked the people in the class with the recessive gene to raise their hands, I kept both of mine on my desk, tightly clasped.
8. I still own my R.O.P.E. shirt which I got in elementary school - which I wear to sleep every other night.
9. My favorite color is yellow, and I have no idea why.
10. I simultaneously hate being alone and in the presence of most people.
11. My favorite childhood pastimes involved the original Nintendo - playing Tetris with my mother and Baseball with my father.
12. I once cried in class because I didn't get student of the month.
13. I remember the first and only love letter I wrote. I spent an entire day on it - of course considering I was only ten years old, that was a long time to ponder anything. I worried about it so much, I even asked my mother for advice. I wrote in the letter to this girl that I would change for her. My mother told me to take that part out - and I said I would, but I didn't. The next day in school I was too nervous to hand deliver the letter, so I asked my best friend at the time to do it for me. He said he would do it, so I gave him the letter. We decided the best time to give it to her was just before recess. So when the time came, I left my friend and went to hide on the side of the building while the rest of the kids had fun. I met up with him afterwards and he said he delivered it. But I never heard back from her. She never even looked at me. I spent the rest of that school year feeling like I didn't exist in the eyes of my peers. Like I didn't matter. Thinking about it now, I'm wondering if my friend actually lied about delivering the letter.
14. I've never been really sick.
15. I sometimes lose track of what someone is saying while figuring out why they're saying it.
16. If I ever feel the need or want to raise a child, I will most likely adopt. The film Martian Child gave me the idea.
17. Some of my most intimate conversations have been with people I have never met.
18. I used to hate wearing jeans. Almost every day it seemed I would fight with my mother as she forced them on me. Stiff and uncomfortable against my skin, my whole day would be absolutely miserable.
19. I never understood the saying, "I could care less". I always say, I couldn't care less.
20. I almost crashed my car once because of an epiphany that popped into my head.
21. Some of the best feelings in my life have occurred during night-time summer jogs across town.
22. I take my time to appreciate almost anything I encounter. Say I only need milk and eggs from the grocery store, I'll walk down every single isle just for the sake of doing so.
23. I was born in North Carolina on the 23th of January, and my parents named me Jordan, Michael(middle name) without any knowledge at all of the famous Michael Jordan who went to college in NC, whose jersey number is 23.
24. I taught myself how to juggle in one day.
25. Every day I try to do something slightly different than the previous day. Instead of brushing my teeth in the bathroom, I'll brush them on my couch. Instead of eating dinner on my kitchen table, I'll eat at my desk. Instead of trying to write these entries sober, I'll try doing them drunk. Meanwhile, all day I'll throw around 'what ifs' in my head... what if I was blind.....what if I was an orphan....what if, what if, what if, what if, what if tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of my life, and I have found reason to live on.
I remember the first time I stepped foot in a library. It was during a school day in my third year of grammar school. I'm not exactly sure of the reason for the trip, but I know it was a field trip; all of my classmates were there. I think perhaps it was required for all third year students, just to get us acquainted with the concept of a library. I wonder if they still do it; I'm assuming it was a town tradition. Whatever the reason, I am very thankful. I might not of otherwise discovered such a beautiful and serene place. I had never seen so many books in one area before. While the rest of the students clumped together in their separate niches that would continue to grow and evolve all throughout grammar school and beyond, I broke away from the stares of my peers and ventured off along the walls, scanning the titles of the books I could see. After circling the entire room, I discovered a staircase that led upstairs to yet another huge room lined with books. I grabbed a text off the shelf about icebergs, sat down in corner of the room and began reading.
Ever since then, like a magnet-like attractiveness I would find my way back. Every day after school. Every day after work. All day long for fifty years I would long for the silence, the peacefulness of this sanctuary. I could have read a book out of the library, and I have once or twice, but it's never the same. I could go anywhere in the world, but there's no place I'd rather be. Every time I walk through the doors, it's like walking through a sieve; all of the chaos and the noise is stripped from my skin. Finally, I am completely at ease. I did have a library card and I would check books out, but I would only read them where they belonged. Every day I would exchange brief salutations with the librarians as I made my way up to the second floor, across the isle, and behind a bookcase to a cushioned chair in the left-hand corner of the room.
This was my home. And the books were my family. It would always give me something the outside world could never hope to give me. Did I know this for certain? No. But I didn't want to waste my life looking. I did my fair share of traveling; but no matter where I went, it was all essentially the same. Slight differences in temperature, dialect, language, governments, belief-systems, culture - interesting for a brief time I suppose, but then the mundane and repetitiveness sets in and you're left with a million words trying to describe one idea. I would find myself desperately asking around town for the whereabouts of the local library. In the end, that was the only reason I traveled at all. I'm glad I did though because I found my favorite library in the world. I would move there shortly after.
I had a few friends growing up and I suppose a few close acquaintances during my professional career, but there was'nt anyone I was particularly attatched to. They would often tell me to go out and meet people, to try my hand at a social life. I tried, I really did. This may sound strange, but no matter who I was in the presense of, I always felt like I was being suffocated. All of these eyes on me, judging me, excpecting something from me, wanting something. Maybe I'm just inherently and irrevocably selfish, but I always hated the idea of giving something up and not knowing for sure if it would be returned in full. I have often been dissapointed in the passed and ever since I've kept myself at a safe distance.
I do get lonely, which I think is a big reason I like the library so much - you are never alone. You are constantly in the presense of like-minded people; you exist together, doing what you love, excpecting nothing but peace and quiet from each other - that alone is enough for me. I'm a simple man. I don't need much. The thousands of stories I've read act as an all-encompassing placebo to my needs. My dreams and aspirations are satisfied completely - until one day.
It was a day like any other, it just happened to be Spring on a Saturday afternoon and the sun was shining slightly through the window to my left, filtering through the bookcases and cutting across my lap. I was finishing the last chapter of my book when I noticed one of the librarians, an older woman by the name of Elena making her way down the isle towards me. I had never really noticed before, but she was incredibly beautiful. She had a book in her left hand and with her right, she curled her bangs almost nervously around her ear as she looked at the floor in front of her as she walked. A few feet in front of me, she looked up and our eyes met. Neither of us said anything for at least ten seconds, or so it seemed. She took her hand down from her hair and placed it on the book which she held down in front of her.
"I'm sorry to disturb you like this, but I was wondering if you would be interested in this book. I don't mean to intrude on your privacy, but I have noticed over the months the kinds of novels you've been reading and I'm quite delighted to say that many of them are among my favorites. I really think you would enjoy this one." I've never heard her speak with such an anxious and enthusiastic tone before. I couldn't help but blush, something I haven't done in a long time. The sun was slightly in her eyes, so she probably couldn't tell. I stood up almost immediately and gently grasped the book from her outstretched hands.
"Thank you, I was looking for something to read next", was all I could come up with. Our eyes remained locked for the next several moments, until she broke the silence with a slight shake of her head. "Well, I better get back to work. When you're ready, I'd be happy to check you out." She left me with a smile and walked back to her desk. I stood there for a few minutes not realizing how much time had passed, almost unconscoiusly basking in the sunlight holding the book tight against my chest. I sat down and finished the last few pages of the other book and quickly made my way over to the check out desk. Elena was busy helping someone use the library index, and not wanting to bother her, I checked out with one of the other employees.
I rushed home and started on the book straight away. Stopping only to eat and use the bathroom, I would finish it later that night. After thinking about it for a bit, it was the first book I've read from start to finish outside of the library. Something took a hold of me. I no longer had that strong sense of uneasyness that plagued me for so many years. The chaos and ugliness may have still been there, but it no longer passed through my field of vision. I had one thing on my mind, and that was the fact that I couldn't wait to share my thoughts with another person.
I could see it coming. I didn't want to believe it, but my subconscious could no longer maintain the illusion. After ten years, you really know someone. The way she smiled. The way she kissed me. None of it was the same anymore. She wasn't cheating on me; she's not that kind of person. Day to day though I could feel her slipping away. She no longer felt for me the way I still felt for her. It's not her fault though, nor is it mine. Emotion is purely reactive and is not something we can control despite our inherent free will.
A few months after we started dating, while neither of us believed in the idea of marriage, we came to a consensus that we would stick together no matter what. We often discussed the idea that somewhere in the world there would always exist someone else who we found more attractive than one another. Removing ourselves from that never ending and fruitless search, we maintained a fiction that we were each others soul-mates. We would support each other, love each other, grow old together, and change together. We even talked about adopting a child once.
And then it all came to a halt. I knew it the morning she left for work. Not wanting to accidentally wake me up, she would normally leave the bedroom door slightly ajar; that day I woke up and the door was tightly shut. We discussed the situation logically over dinner that evening, and she moved out the following day. And I was alone, repeating to myself one of the last things she said to me, "I still love you, but I've changed". I had no choice but to change as well.
A few months ago I happen to catch a segment of a Dr. Phil show on game addictions. Being an avid gamer myself in the past, despite my contempt for the host, I took an interest in what they were saying. He's not really a doctor, so I'm going to be calling him Phil from now on. Anyway, at the moment I started watching, they were talking to a man in his late twenties, early thirties about an online game he played and the friendships he formed. Phil asked him what sort of character he played and the man replied with, "an elemental shaman". Phil laughed at him as if he were a child and proceeded to ask him why he enjoyed playing the game so much. He went on to say that it was a hobby like any other. He enjoyed the experience of playing in an alternate world and the mechanics of the game-play, along with the interactions with hundreds of others and the friends he acquired. Phil then asked him, "You actually have friends in the game you play?". He said yes and that they interact almost everyday, even sometimes outside of the game, and that he actually met a few of them in real life. Phil and his side-kick expert for the day took over from there. They argued that the friends he acquired in the game-world weren't real friends because their friendship is performance-based. They were only friends with him because they wanted something. This is where I started feeling for the guy. Phil then started spewing out pseudo-facts about how detrimental game addictions are and that they were offering to provide him 'professional' service to help him get rid of his vice.
In his situation, he planned his entire life around the game and while he still maintained a job, he slightly neglected his family and his girlfriend. I will agree that game addictions can be detrimental to a person's overall well-being, but it is no different than any other addiction or hobby for that matter; you can learn to control and balance it. My biggest problem with Phil is his assertion that the man's online friends weren't real. I'm going to take a wild guess here and assume that the all-knowing "Dr." Phil has never played a video game in his life, much less a massive-multiplayer online role-playing game(MMORPG).
I have no problem admitting that I played the ever popular World of Warcraft for about a year straight. I was pretty heavily into it. (If you'd rather skip the geek-talk, feel free to skip this entire paragraph) I leveled four of my characters to level 70: a gnome mage, night-elf hunter, human warlock, and a draenei paladin. During the Burning Crusade, my mage was my main(character). I don't care what anyone says, I'd pwn a warlock any day on the damage meters - especially after the tier 5 bonus with the arcane spec - although I admit I was horrible at pvp. Anyway, I joined up with a mature guild named FortyTwo on the realm Whisperwind. It was a raiding guild and we were able to progress half-way into tier 6 content before Wrath of the Lich King was released. For those of you who are trying to follow this paragraph, 'raiding' is an event in which 25 people get together at once and try to overcome an obstacle known as a dungeon that requires alot of communication and coordination on everyone's part. The encounters I am most proud of are when we were able to defeat Lady Vashj and Prince Kael'thas, along with our ability to achieve the Zul'aman timed event which awarded a Bear Mount which less than 10% of the total people who play the game are able to get. I don't mean to brag by any means, but rather outline the difficultly that went into the achievement.
Here's my bear!
Vashj by FortyTwo of Whisperwind That's me up front doing a little dance for the camera.
Prince Kael'Thas by FortyTwo of Whisperwind I'm on the far left. Aren't I a little cutie?
Watch this video to get an idea of the complexity of such an encounter. Also, imagine twenty-five people talking to each other through microphones while all this is going on. As a gamer, this is my attempt to defend our intelligence and to break down any stereotypes that these types of games make people's brains go to mush.
People play these games for different reasons. I played it for the challenge. The satisfaction I got from achieving something with twenty-four others after hours of practice was immeasurable. After playing the game for so long, the more I realized how similar it was to real-life. It had it's own economy, competition, controversy, and groups of people who got together to achieve a similar goal. The people I played with had lives of their own. They have jobs, families, and significant others. It's interesting to notice thought that most of the people in my guild played with their significant others, which is perhaps the reason why the game didn't get in the way of their real life. I admire these people because of their ability to balance the game with the real world. Often after the 'raid', people would just talk.... about the economy, about life, about relationships. If that's not a friend, then what is? I have since stopped playing the game, but I'm still in contact with a few of the people I played with. Above all, for me, it was a distraction. When something acts as a distraction, it becomes dangerous. It was just something I was doing while trying to find my true passion. After I found it, I was able to let the game go. I did enjoy the experience though and there might be a day I'll return, but when and if I do, it will not be my first priority like it once was.
Phil's argument was that online friends aren't real because they are performance-based. I can see where he is coming from with this argument, but I don't agree. Much of the game takes quite a bit of skill, and often when groups are forming, the best players are picked first. My guild's raids for example....only twenty-five people can go, while there are more than that who want to go. Depending on the maturity of the people you group with, it is possible for someone who pretends to be your friend in attempt to get you to help them out with something. This is where the false friendship comes into play. I would say that the average adult can probably see through this front, which is part of the reason I disagree with Phil. Contrary to popular belief, most of people's play time is spent socializing; it's in these times that most of the real friendships are formed.
I'm also going to argue that all friendships, and even most relationships in general are performance-based. According to Phil, true friends are the product of unrequited friendship. With this mode of thinking, a friendship with a rock could exist. Before I go any further I want to give my own definition of friendship. Friendship to me, is a bond that exists between two parties which requires reciprocation on both ends. When searching for a friend or a lover, you look for someone you can connect with. In order for this connection to be made, participation is required from each person. Phil says that online friends aren't real because they only want something from you. How is this different in real life? I'd argue that all friendships and most relationships exist because of a constant exchange of goods and services. The main difference between a friend and an acquaintance is the frequency and importance of these goods and services that are exchanged. The ability to exchange these things whether it be advice, a sentiment, or a shoulder to cry on is in essence a performance. The better performance, the better the friend is.
Textograph time! The Xs are the exchange of goods and services. You can imagine what the Os are.
Acquaintance -------------------------------Friend---------Lover x x x x x x x x x xx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxoxoxooXOXOXO
It is my opinion that unrequited love exists largely among immediate family, more often from parent to child. We all have some level of unrequited compassion within us, but friendship does not require it. While it is possible to have unrequited love or compassion for someone else, this does not necessarily require any form of relationship. While unrequited, compassion is just another good or service that may or may not spark a relationship. It is a theory of mine though that compassion grows with connection. While it may not start the relationship, it will keep it going.
And as Forest Gump said after his audience had absolutely no idea what he was talking about previously, "that's all I have to say about that".
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