postaday – Page 9 – hannah ananas

Singing, Showering, and liking you better…

Today, I sent a message to my best friend that read, “For some reason, I regularly think about messaging you when I go to the bathroom”

Her response was prompt and simple. “Lol,” followed by, “You like me so much better when youre naked”

“Duh,” was my casual response.

You see, the whole thing started back in college. Freshman year, I was Skype-ing with Christine one day, probably early morning. I had gone into the common room to chat with her, but, since we were in an all-girls dormitory, and it was too early for visitors to be around, I wasn’t fully dressed (probably just a t-shirt and underwear). When we started the call, she let me know that a friend of hers was with her, and that it was a guy (because it was already afternoon in Cambridge, England, so it was normal to be hanging out with people already there). So, I had to go put on some more clothing before we turned on the camera. (At least, I think that was the case… she might have just checked to make sure I was properly clothed, because I regularly would be not fully clothed. Either way, the next part did happen.) When I commented about this, the guy friend of hers made a comment about liking someone so much better naked (I forget if it was about Christine liking me, or what, but it was totally silly, and seemed such an odd comment.) We both were lacking in understanding at first, but he explained that there was an actual song (by Ida Maria), and that that was the line the girl used in it. (See, it made sense and wasn’t actually weird at all.)

The chorus goes like this:

But I won’t mind
If you take me home
Come on, take me home

I won’t mind
if you take off all your clothes
Come on, take them off

‘Cause I like you so much better when you’re naked
I like me so much better when you’re naked
I like you so much better when you’re naked
I like me so much better when you’re naked

We found it hilarious. We found the actual song and music video, and fell in a sort of this is silly and utterly ridiculous, but I still love it kind of love with the song.

I shared it with my hallway neighbor, who played guitar, and we tried playing it a bit on the guitar. I eventually played it for Christine one day on Skype. My greatest, proudest achievement with the song, however, was the time I snuck into the bathrooms (they were shared, and had loads of stalls and multiple showers) one day, just after Jessie, the neighbor, had gone in to shower. Once I knew she was actually in the shower, showering, I walked into the showering area (mind you, not into her stall, just in the showering section of the bathroom), and began playing the song on guitar, and singing it to her. I could hear her snorting, gurgling, guffawing laugher emitting from the shower stall as I sang and played. It was spectacular for the both of us. I shared the story with my best friend, too, and she loved it.*

So, the song has always held a special little place in our hearts, minds, and lives, all three of us. Everyone else probably just thinks we’re crazy, whenever they overhear us mentioning or quoting or singing it. 😛

Here’s a link to the music video.

*This reminds me… I sang to a friend of mine in Japan while she showered one night. We were chatting on the phone, just hanging out one night, after we’d both gotten internet, and so didn’t have to hang up after every five minutes anymore, and she really needed to shower, but we weren’t ready to end our conversation/hanging out. So, she set the phone to the side on speakerphone, and I sang to her while she showered. I had been humming and singing quietly already anyway, so what was the difference if I just did it a little louder, right? It was spectacular, of course. Then a night or few later, when I mentioned to another friend that this had happened, he complained that I didn’t sing for him and that that certainly wasn’t fair. And so I sang to him over the phone… and he fell asleep. 😛 Spectacular in a different sort of way, I guess, but still spectacular. 🙂

Post-a-day 2017

Granny at heart?

I’ve never really been one for people my own age. I’m not sure what it is about me or about them, but I just have never much meshed with people my own age. A recent party was no exception in proving this.

See, I was attending this party, and there were people of various ages. The handful around my own age all got on really well with one another, in a few groups that all would mix and mingle off and on with one another. I was not part of any of them, really, at any point, though various individuals greeted me briefly throughout the evening. Near the end of the party, they all started going on about whether everyone else was going to the afterparty. They weren’t really asking the older folks; just the youngish people, the ones around my own age.

Except, in all of the inviting and discussing, no one ever mentioned the after party to me. And it wasn’t as though it had been announced or anything, and so I had heard all about it, and everyone was invited. No. Someone commented publicly the day before that there would be an afterparty, almost in a joking manner, yes. But, at the actual party, it was a one-on-one or one-on-two topic of discussion. And I was never included in any of those small groups. I only heard the, “Are you going to the afterparty?” questions posed among friends as I passed by them. Multiple times.

And it’s not like I really wanted to go to the afterparty, anyway. They were going to some bar, it sounded like, and in the opposite direction of my home (which was already half an hour away). Neither of those ideas appealed to me. Plus, throw in the factor that I’m not exactly wanted there, and I definitely am less than thrilled at the idea of the afterparty.

The thing is, I wanted to be invited. It hurt ever so slightly that I wasn’t even invited. That I never expected them to invite me made it hurt that much more. I spent most of the party chatting with people quite older than I am (at least a decade or two), and I loved that. It felt almost like I actually belonged in that group. But I still am a tiny bit disappointed that the my-age people seem not to like me. I’m not sure if they dislike me, or if they think I dislike them or something. I am, at the very least, unimportant to them. And, while I don’t really like them all too much, anyway, – I don’t dislike them, let’s be clear – I would invite them along to something, if I were doing something tied to that group of people. I wouldn’t exclude them. I don’t wish the feeling of exclusion on anyone.

Anyway, the bottom line is: I really just don’t get on easily with people my own age most of the time. This party the other night emphasized the fact that this has not changed as I have aged.

Post-a-day 2017

A foreigner at home?

Have you ever felt out of place within your own culture? As time passes, it happens to me more and more often. Last night, I attended an event with coworkers. The noise volume took me by slight surprise when I first arrived. How can people be this loud? I thought. And then I remembered almost before I finished asking the question: They’re americans (from the USA).

But I’m american from the US, too. Wouldn’t I be used to this, then?

I quickly compared it to a drinking party at an izakaya (like a bar) with nomihodai (all-you-can-drink) in Japan. Yes, the Japanese can get quite loud there. It was never to the point of wanting to cover my ears, though, I hear myself thinking. So, I am very much accustomed to a much quieter environment for parties, then. I’m not just being a bit dramatic and overly sensitive to normal behavior and a normal situation.

Even still… I felt so oddly out of place, I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with myself. I ended up semi-hiding in the coatroom (it wasn’t a closet, but an actual room, I promise) to take a breather from all the people and the noise from time to time. I also took extra-long any time I went to the bathroom, because it was cozy and quiet in there on my own. Yes, I could have just gone home. However, I rarely spend time even around people who aren’t high schoolers right now, so I felt it was somewhat necessary – even if just for social practice – to spend time around adults, especially happy ones in a good, safe environment.

I definitely adjusted after a bit, but I still felt quite out of place for most of the event. I guess I’m just not so USA american anymore… which doesn’t surprise me, really. It’s just odd, not belonging in a place everyone calls my “home”.

Post-a-day 2017

Life goals(?)

I found myself tonight considering a conversation I had with my cousin several years ago. People were talking about jobs and interviews and moving to work in different countries and kids, and all that jazz. Reviewing it all in my head, as I prepared for bed just now, I wondered about giving things my all. I feel that I never give my all for things. I am certainly not certain of this as a fact – I just mean that I feels as though I never give my all on anything. And I think that is tied in with passion; if I were passionate about something truly, then I would give my all.

But I couldn’t call to mind anywhere that I have given my all. I give a great effort for different things and different times, and oftentimes a much greater effort than someone else has given or would give. However, is it ever my best effort? I think not.

Thinking about this, then, I began to wonder about where my passion lies, such that, when presented with it, I would give the situation my best effort, give it my all.

And then I remembered the conversation.

‘I want to make a difference for people in life. I want to help people.

‘Why do you want to do that?’

I am halted. I consider deeply. Eventually, I have a response. ‘I think it is because I feel valued, needed, when I help others. And that makes me feel like I am worth it in life.’ If I am needed, then I am necessary and worth having around.

I’m not sure if I want to be upset by this or not. (Obviously, I want to be content, not upset. However, this is calling for some deep consideration, which I do respect.) Does this still drive me in life? It was years ago, and I consciously took action to free myself of the mentality, and then forgot about it until now. It just lived as a picture on the wall of a room through which I pass so often, that I’ve forgotten what decorations are even in it. And now, someone has asked me what I think of this picture on the wall….

I don’t know.

Post-a-day 2017

Writing, math in life…

I’ve been on the phone with my college flatmate tonight, talking about writing. Apparently, I actually do have some fun and crazy ideas that would be really interesting for people to read – she didn’t even understand how I got to the sorts of ideas that regularly come to mind, simply as the normal order of thinking in my head. So, I guess that’s not so normal as I’d thought it to be, having such ideas so casually and regularly.

The thing is, I haven’t set up sitting down to do it. Not yet, anyway, and not for long enough. I’ve noticed that writing at night is not the way to go for me. For other things, sure – I can do loads of physical movement at night. For writing, however, I’m next to hopeless, it feels. I don’t feel much like writing anything in the first place at night, and so I struggle to find something to write, and then I make loads of errors in what I do finally write. It just isn’t a good combination.

Speaking of combinations, I was talking with students in my geometry class today about how math can be useful in life in cool ways. One example was from a show my stepdad watches about the TV show “The Walking Dead”. It’s sort of a behind-the-scenes sort of show, and this particular bit that I saw was talking about everything they had to do in order to set up a car crash. It was really cool, seeing everything broken down, all of the things they had to organize to make it work. The best part, perhaps, was seeing how it was pure geometry and physics that made the crash work flawlessly.

The other example was in a little photo shoot I was witnessing (and had to abandon for distress), in which the photographer said that they were supposed to be sitting in a Christmas tree formation. But she didn’t do anything to make this happen. She didn’t even seem to know what needed to be done for this shape to happen. (The people in charge definitely seemed to be lacking in general crowd control and effective instructions arenas, too.) It occurred to me that she never considered just getting the number of people – I’d have done it ahead of time, but on the sport would have worked just finely, too – expected in the photo, and dividing them up into the necessary number of people per row, based on the exact shape desired and the number of rows available. I was about to begin the calculations as I watched, but then realized that no one was going to listen to me anyway, so it was better if I just left the stressful situation, since that was the only thing I actually could do in the situation. So, I left. But it proved to be a good example to the kids in class at how math is present in life in ways that people don’t even consider. Had the photographer thought about math, – and it is likely that she didn’t, because she wasn’t very confident in or in love with math while in school – the whole photo shoot could have gone loads better than it did. And they could have had the Christmas tree, and even decorated with “lights” or an outline, using the different shirt and jacket colors present and available. But she didn’t, so none of that happened.

Post-a-day 2017

Free/Me Time…?

My cousin wants me to start work on this work-out plan, with a very unique tie into a specialty of mine. The idea itself sounds like something totally awesome not only to create, but also to use once it is created. The task, though, feels almost daunting right now, in the midst of my minimal free/me time. I hardly get enough sleep to function decently right now, I have so little time to accomplish anything that has me feel accomplished, satisfied with my day, I have to do it all late at night before I pass out. I hardly have the time to exercise the way I want (Actually, I don’t have the time and energy to do it the way I actually want to do it, but I am finally getting in some exercise (at last!), though it has me getting to bed even later, which doesn’t help on the muscle restore front after the exercise).

I love the work I am doing right now, and I am dearly grateful for it – it is a blessing in and of itself. I am very much looking forward to what comes next, when this current job is finished. I will miss this, and I will be grateful to have moved to the next thing. It will be time. (I think that is really the main thought behind all of this right now.)

Anyway, goodnight…

Post-a-day 2017

Moms and being young at heart

My mom came home late tonight, and walked into my room with a surprise for me. Bop It Extreme (R) with newly replaced batteries. I asked if she was teasing me, because it was actually just going to make some absurd sound after sitting for over a decade, but she declared that she had found it today and had put in new batteries specifically because she recalled that I had liked the game.

I showed her how I always held it, told her about the sounds for scoring, and convinced her to play the group version with me, passing it back and forth together. We were both laughing like little kids. It was fabulous.

Afterward, we began discussing family activities for our family open house the Saturday before Christmas, while we have family all in town. The main topic of this discussion was cooked decorating. As my mom listed off the number of dog houses, campers, trains, houses, sweaters, and ninjas she had, we couldn’t contain our growing smiles. She ended with, “and a partridge in a pear tree,” and we both laughed while she figured out what she actually had not yet listed (there is no partridge and no pear tree). I said that it sounded more like a “The dog, in the camper, with the nunchucks,” kind of scenario. She argued that the dog goes in the doghouse, though, but then declared that that is why the dog is in the doghouse – because he was the one in the camper with the nunchucks…

Can you tell we are young at heart? I sure love it. 😀

Post-a-day 2017

The Lingering Effects of Culture?

I have noticed two behaviors of mine that linger still (and consistently), despite my having been in the USA and out of Japan for almost four months. They are 1) constantly looking right first before crossing the road, naturally walking to the left, and casually beginning on the left side of the road when riding my bike; and 2) silence.

The first has been improving significantly, and is almost never present when I am driving a car (though those two-lane, small town style, empty roads do make me think twice before I pull out onto them). It is mostly just my bicycle riding and walking that is still in the habit of Japan’s side. Seeing as how I am aware of the road-crossing issue every time I approach a road, I feel confident that things will be fine there – even if I must continue constantly checking both directions over and over again, because I don’t trust myself as to from which way the cars actually will be coming on which side. The second is a bit different.

I wonder if the silence is something about which I need to worry. I feel like it is no big deal, however, when I look at it from an outside, USA perspective, I seem almost oppressed in the action. The silence comes in the regular everyday passing of people at work. I often only smile and nod when we make eye contact, and I regularly say little-to-nothing in group conversations. Partly, I have no interest in discussing the present topic with the present company most of the time. However, I wonder if part of that is because I am not accustomed to discussing things with people like I once was.

My distress tied to living in Japan significantly affected my desire and will to learn Japanese. Therefore, I really didn’t put forth almost any effort in the language beyond the absolute necessary, until I was on the rise from all of the depression, only a few months before my departure. This means that I was not able to participate in most conversation around me. Yes, I could understand a good amount of it, and often all of it (though, occasionally almost nothing), but I usually was unable to respond. It was my first experience with what I previously had only heard other people say they did, and the development of which I couldn’t understand: understanding a language, but not speaking it.

So, I grew incredibly accustomed to speaking very little and to listening a lot. And this was not a conscious decision, necessarily, though I had intended to observe for the sake of learning all about the culture and language. My goal was to learn, not to separate and somewhat exclude myself. Transferring the same behavior over here to the USA, my native country, has the behavior occur quite differently. As mentioned, I seem somewhat oppressed, like something is preventing me from speaking. All I notice is a lack of desire to say anything most of the time. But I also don’t even consider whether I want to speak or not – I just don’t speak… So, I am wondering about this, whether there is something more there, something in the way for me, preventing me from full self-expression.

Post-a-day 2017

Christmas Music and Photos at the Beach

This afternoon, I headed down to Galveston to visit my cousin. We had discussed meeting at Dickens on the Strand, but I didn’t have a costume, and I was too far behind schedule for that really to work. However, we could still hang out when she finished at the little festival. Plus, I felt that I could really use some time in Galveston, and preferably some time on the beach.

I arrived about two hours before sunset, and as much time before my cousin would be finishing, so I headed straight for the beach. We made these advent calendars for one another, with a tea for each day, as well as a quote/bible verse and a sort of task for the day. My tea yesterday was spectacular, but today’s flavor was not to my liking. However, the task for today was fabulous. It read, “Learn a Christmas song on a string instrument”. And so, seeing as I had a phone for the research and a ukulele in my trunk, instead of reading my book, I headed down to the sunny sand to play some ukulele.

While playing, people passed by, going about their business. Some just walking in light jackets, others exercising with the dog, and one family had three little boys sprinting into the edge of the water, playing. After a while, it started getting quite cool, thanks to the wind and the setting sun. My fingers began to struggle against stiffness. As I paused to warm them (I think that’s what it was, anyway), I glanced out to my left. The rising moon was spectacular. I had noticed it big and sneaky a while before, hiding behind the haze so close to Earth’s surface, but now it was beginning to glow.

And what was just under the now-glowing moon, but the three frolicking boys, looking quite adorable. The scene was set, and I had to take a photo.

Unfortunately, they were just far enough away that I needed to zoom, if I wanted to have the photo focus on what I was naturally focusing…, and the zoom is not so great on a phone.

So, I made another essay, and went for a different perspective. To get it to be perfectly straight, I would have had to get down on my belly and align it, and that just felt a little too conspicuous.

Nonetheless, after I took the photos, I really enjoyed them. I knew that I would have loved for someone to take an awesome shot of me and then actually give it to me. So, I checked out the parents to see if they seemed at all of similar minds to mine.

And they did. They looked young and open to things. They even were taking photos of the kids and of themselves on their own phones, so they were likely to understand the value of a good photo. Or, a neat one, anyway.

I figured I might as well go for it, so I set my stuff carefully to the side, and stood on up. I approached them comfortably and confidently and in my best ‘I am a sane person, please don’t freak out,’ manner. They gave me odd looks when I mentioned how this might be a bit odd, – wouldn’t you, if a stranger walked up and started saying something like that? – but their brows cleared and they were all about it, when I showed them the photos I’d taken. The mom asked me if I could send them to her, if she gave me her number.* Of course, of course… And so, I sent them to her, and she was incredibly grateful. They had been seeing about doing a Christmas card, using their beach photos they were taking then, so they completely understood fun and neat photos, and they were not at all weirded out. phew

And so, I went back to my ukulele for a little bit longer, until the sun was almost hidden, and the wind was too chilly, and I headed back to the car and over to my cousin’s house to wait for her there.

As I ast on the beach, and then again after I was back in my car, I contemplated the experience of being on a beach. I hadn’t gone into the water, and I hadn’t even touched the sand, really – just to wipe off the bottom of my bag afterward. What was beautiful and almost magical about it, though, was the wind and the air and salt, the feeling of it all on my skin, and the view. I love the feeling of my hair after time at the beach (not to touch, but the feeling from within), that salty, windblown feeling. I had that today, and it was truly refreshing. And it had me wonder, if I didn’t want to give a brief time living there. I at least need to go down there, just to hang around the wind and the ocean more often than I have done lately. At least once a month, if not once a week or every two weeks… that would be brilliant…

Anyway, that’s what I’ve got to share for now. Sweet dreams, world (and good afternoon and evening to the other side of it)!

*I chuckled inside at this when she asked. Let’s be real, why else would I have been showing her the photos? ‘No, you can’t have them. I just wanted to show you these awesome photos I took of your children, and then leave you to wonder if there’s something wrong with me.’

Post-a-day 2017

A letter to Santa and a new perspective

I wrote a letter to Santa today. Well, I typed it. I 21st Century wrote a letter to Santa. I felt a bit odd at first, realizing how long it had been since I had written him, as well as the fact that I always just asked for things from him, but never offered him much, and never really got to know him. I realize that this is Santa, but it calls to mind how I might relate to others in my life. Have I taken the time I normally would want to take to get to know someone, or have I learned just to ask for things, because of that someone’s understood role in my life? How can I turn my unintentional and unnoticed selfish into selfless in my relationships with others?

Post-a-day 2017