Touch: May 24, 2000:
I don’t know if you’ve ever read Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson, but if you haven’t, you need to. At least the first couple of chapters. “Hands” is one of the best stories I know, and it’s on its central idea I’d like to reflect. “Hands” concerns a man who calls himself Wing Biddlebaum. Wing was once a gentle, loving schoolteacher with a knack for inspiring young minds under his caress. But one day, a young boy accuses Wing of harassment and Wing is run out of town. Though it was written almost a century ago, the story is amazingly relevant in today’s world. What with the extreme homophobia, the Boy Scouts of America case, and the latest news stories in sex scandals between teachers and students, perhaps “Hands” is even more relevant. But it’s not just about teacher-student affairs. Wing Biddlebaum speaks to the reader about how easily touch can be misconstrued. We all need touch. Undeniable, hard fact. Babies who aren’t touched die. I am a toucher. I need to be touched. Some people, even by adolescence, are not touchers. I think this is more a guy-thing, caused in part by the extreme homophobia in our high schools. If I’m not touched, I get lonely, moody, cranky, and generally unpleasant to be around. Not entirely sure why.

Thoughtfully Yours,
Sairen

Catharsis: May 24, 2000
Have you ever thought about your catharsis? What is it you do to soothe yourself? What stops the aching? Do you do anything at all, or does it just stay bottled up? I know a lot of people like that. It’s too typical to say that guys do it more, and I really don’t think they do. Gender-wise, guys are taught to be aggressive and girls are taught to smile it away. But I digress. One of my best friends uses music. He listens to a song… I think he picks one that fits his mood. Metallica to James Taylor. All depends on how low he’s feeling. Me? I write. I write to myself, usually. My email program is cluttered with journal-entry emails intended to be sent only to myself. I find that something bothers me only until I can express it. Once I’ve found the perfect words for a feeling—and expressing a feeling in words ain’t always easy—it’s ok. Usually whatever I’ve written is so bitter that reading it makes me cry. And crying takes the hurt away or at least wears me out so much that I sleep until I feel better. One of my high school English teachers encouraged a “Primal Scream Therapy,” which is good for frustration, but not for much else, at least not for me. I read a poem last year that had the line “music, my rampart; my only one.” The author used music to shield herself, just like my friend I told you about. There’s a “mental acid” that builds up during bad times, just like lactic acid builds up. It makes people snappish or mean or any number of other things. When you take in oxygen, the lactic acid eventually goes away. Somehow or another, it’s just as necessary to get rid of the mental acid. It will corrode you. I remember at the end of my junior year…my friends and I were so close—I mean it, you’d never meet a bunch that loved each other more—but by the end of the year, I saw people who never lose their tempers snap, just break. Myself included in the snapping. I swear, an outside observer must have thought that every one of us had severe PMS—female or not! So cry, take a bath, sing in the shower, write it down, call a friend, meditate. There are over six billion different means of catharsis, all unique and beautiful. Yeah, it’s cliché, but no one’s an island. In the U.S. (and most of Western culture, I believe) we put a lot of emphasis on individuality and strength of character. But you don’t have to be alone to be strong. Strength doesn’t mean not letting anyone else see you hurt.

Thoughtfully Yours,
Sairen

And before I get too far into this fun, I'd like to post a small caveat, friends. I warned that this would include thoughts on my own life. These entries will be headed with a label [[My Life]] or the like, depending on what I'm in the mood for at the time. I make no apologies for these sections. All others are written to be intelligent and/or thought-provoking. These fall where they may and thought often has little to do with it. No editing will be done. If they sound whiny, immature, or angst-filled, they probably are. Enjoy life vicariously; it's the way to go.

Thoughtfully Yours,
Sairen

Amazing Grace: 5/24/00
There is just something about the song Amazing Grace that is moving. When played on bagpipes, I have to say it is about the most touching song I have ever heard. Now I don’t care much what you think about bagpipes. I happen to like them, but I know a lot of people who think they sound like dying cats. At any rate, it’s irrelevant for this song. If you’ve never heard Amazing Grace played on bagpipes, do so. Now. I can’t quite decide what makes it so great. Maybe it’s the lyrics—it’s a religious tune. But I’m not a terribly religious person. The tune itself is simple, but maybe the best things are. Maybe it’s the association with Spock’s funeral at the end of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan that always makes me feel a bit moisty behind the eyes during this song. There’s just something touching, something inspirational. It’s the sort of thing that makes you want to stand up and put your hand on your heart and be truly proud to be human.
I’m a bit cynical by nature, so you know that anything that would make me proud to be human has to be pretty good. And is it just me or does the song evoke an image of a mist-covered Scottish lake…with a white-clad, somewhat mournful, yet resolute woman stepping into view? Ok, maybe it is just me. But think about it. I think that if they played Amazing Grace at an armistice or on the battlefield, war would be over a lot sooner. Who could fight to this song? Can’t you see it? Two leaders of nations approach a table calmly; Amazing Grace is playing in the background. Their heads are held high and they’re ready to make peace. At last. And when you hear the song, be proud to be human. Any species that can create something so beautiful deserves a bit of admiration.

Thoughtfully Yours,
Sairen

Welcome, friend!
The title needs to be changed. This page's emphasis is not me. It is my thoughts. Just the thoughts. Have you ever listened to a piece of music and thought, "I need to do something! Write a poem, draw a picture...something!" The creative urge for the non-creative person. You could say that this is my outlet. I needed to create a webpage. I also needed to write down my thoughts. Ah, the information age. I don't write (by hand, that is) unless I must. So I don't keep a journal. Why are we the way we are? What shapes us? How much of our life is determined by society and how much by us? Or rather, how much of ourselves is determined by society. The big "S" word that no one really knows but likes to blame anyway. I get ahead of myself already! This was meant to be my introduction!

Very well. My name is not Sairen O'Reilly. My looks are irrelevant. My age will only serve to bias you from the start, though a clever reader should be able to deduce. My personality you will be able to infer. Each entry will be dated. It should reflect my learning and growth. Why should you read any of this? You might just find something of yourself in me...

~Thoughtfully Yours,
Sairen