Rants & Ravings

Fangirling is for Everyone

Here’s how I see it, currently; fangirls in our simplest form are unbridled passion. The sheer depths of our love for one genre, for one show or book, for one character, is a wonder to behold. I’ve been a fangirl since the first time I saw Shenron being summoned from the collected 7 dragon balls, since the first cry of “Moon Prism Power,” since the seal on the book of Clow was broken. My fangirl passion has been growing for two decades now and I careful help it grow every chance I get. (Currently, feeding her, Yuuri!!! On Ice)

That being said, when I occasionally express my fangirl-ness in public, I tend to get raised eyebrows, judging questions, and “you’re too old for that” stares. Strangers, families, friends, classmates, and co-workers have each shared their opinion about my craze for a world they don’t understand. However, if topics they deem “appropriate” come up, such as current television shows or the lives of celebrities, to which I care very little about, they can fire off facts and trivia that could rival my personal DBZ mental database.

Some people may not know it or they don’t accept it, but I’m happy to break the news…[whispers] there’s a fangirl living inside you. You may call it something else, but the name doesn’t change the definition, you’re a fangirl. And contrary to the opinion of some, being this spastic fan is a good thing.

I’ve recently thought, the life of someone who rejects their inner fangirl must be dull and boring. That poor person lives solely in this one world and nowhere else. There’s no escape hatch from their reality and that makes me sad. I believe my life is made better as a fangirl, I have an outlet, I have a safe haven and even better I can find a supportive community at every convention. The weekends are always far too short and leave me jonesing for more until the next one comes up in the next state over. But for those three days, I’m surrounded by an atmosphere of comradery; it’s a wonderfully loud, colorful and creative place to be, complete with the all-powerful nerd factor.

My wish is that everyone can find their passion and unleash their fangirl/fanboy into the World.

Long live the fangirl!

*written the week after Anime Boston 2017*

Outside My Bubble

Here’s how I see it currently…

For every 10 people you know that share your opinion, there are 50 people who do not (not a quantitative fact). This bubble of shared opinion is a great safe place, but can sometimes be a misguided concept of reality. If I listened solely to my facebook bubble, I would have gone to sleep on election night without a worry or care, but I knew not to trust that particular bubble. I, myself, fall into several “minority” groups; black, female, reader, nerd and plenty others that do not apply to this tale. Therefore, I know that an opinion driven by what I’ve learned and what I was taught is a skewed view compared to the majority opinion. But isn’t that the beauty of an opinion, it is yours and yours alone to create, tweak and share.

All this to say, during the post-2016 recovery and the chaotic start to Trump 2017, I thought the mass majority of people held a similar opinion of, one, our current President and two, the reason we resist. I thought most people understood the national Women’s March in January, at least by those not apart of ATL-thinking. I thought people understood the method of marching and protesting. Then I heard my co-workers and boss deliberately on how “pointless” the march was and how they described the voices of these women and men as “throwing a tantrum.” It shocked me to hear the lack of support coming from everyday women. I thought it was understood that each woman and man marching on that day, marched for a number of reasons; the right to choose, the right to feel empowered, the right to have a voice. It was a united march fueled by multiple beliefs and it was a wonderful thing to see. It shocked me to know that that was their view of the march. I didn’t want to voice my opinion in an argumentative way, so my only comment was, “still, it’s nice to see that there are so many people out there that share the same opinion.” They looked at me, then we moved on with another topic.

Before leaving high school, I knew I wanted to go to a college outside of Maryland. I wanted to see how other people live, how other people think, what other people do outside of my own 17-year-old bubble. I knew the “real world” was not going to be like the DMV or like an HBCU, so I apply to schools with that goal in mind. That was my goal then and it continues to be one of my goals now. I think you have to be open to the way the world thinks outside your bubble; that doesn’t mean you have to agree. A difference in opinion should not create a difference in respect for one another.

It Happens Too Quickly

Here’s how I see it, currently.
You start your life out in the middle of a luscious green pasture, directly under the shade of a healthy middle-aged tree, on a bright minimally cloudy day. Sounds like pretty decent conditions, wouldn’t you agree?
It’s not until we have the first heartbreak, the first feeling of being let down, the first teardrop of hurt that the scenery begins to change. Right next to the root of your beautiful, protective tree, a chunk of earth has been carved out and there lies a crevice big enough for you to sit curled up in.
As a child, all hurt, deception, and lies are innately dramatized. Your mom could have confused your favorite kind of juice for your sister’s and it can feel as if she never loved you to begin with. It’s that bad but as bad as it seems, the hurt is shallow and can be recovered from quickly, then forgotten. Unfortunately, the mass of ground has still been dug up, but all you see in your recovered bliss is a sunny sky and far-reaching horizon.
As you continue in life, more hurt and pain comes your way. With each experience, a new clump of earth is excavated from that same spot. More and more you start to notice that void growing in front of your safe haven. Your recovery from the pain is slow and unseen.
One day you look down to notice that your feet are dangling into the large carven. There is no more green landscape in front of your tree, just a perch, wide enough for you to sit on with your back pressed safely against the trunk.
The sky is still a bright blue and white canvas above you and the tree is just as healthy as the day you first looked up into the green spectacled branches. Only, you focus on the dark depth below you and the tip of your toes, until you rest your head back against the tree and close your eyes.
Every moment of every day your thoughts are dancing around the fact that there is nothing around you that will keep you from falling in. You actually know that it is inevitable, so you wait.
Then that day comes, when your sun-shiny view is gone. No green grass. No warm tree at your back. There is, however, the sky. It is much farther away than before, and the span of it has been reduced to a pinhole view. You know, without knowing, you have fallen in. The only reminder of what you once had, for so long, is the small point of the sky above you; where one cloud can pass over a white-out your view of blue.
One day, when I was just existing in my dark space, a group of persons reached in and pulled me out. I’m not sure how they managed to reach across the distance to get to me, but they did. They set me back on the freshly trimmed grass and the sight of my long lost home was breathtaking. It was just as beautiful and boundless as before.
However, just as the view remained the same, so did the gaping space of darkness at the edge of the tree’s roots. I was out, but not rescued from its ever-present danger. The only change to my environment were the persons who reached out to pull me up. They remained and I took comfort in their presence, because I know I will fall in again, and I hope they will be there to connect me back to the beauty around me.