I am angry. And for no trivial reason.

Today, I heard about a boy who committed suicide because his roommates took a video of him having sex and posted it on the internet. In that sentence alone, there are enough reasons to be angry. Asshole people who defy someone’s right to privacy and cause them to do permanent self-harm. There’s no way the intent of releasing that video could not have been malicious. But what pisses me off more?

He was gay.

How many people are going to have to be put through hell before we, as a society, realise that demonising someone for being who they are is wrong? How many people will have to kill themselves before we wake up and see that the environment we’re creating for people not so different than “the rest of us” is toxic and wrong?

How many people are going to have to go through what I went through in high school-- being called a “dyke” under their breath or worse, that look. How many people are going to go through hell? How many people are going to be physically abused and be too afraid to say something because their school bureaucracy is unkind to their sexual orientation? How many people are going to be too scared to speak up when they know something is wrong? How many people are going to have to quietly suffer?

How many people are going to be defined by simply a small part of who they are? How many people are never going to get the chance to be a person because they’re always going to be “the lesbian?”

How many more people, how many more stories, how many more fears, how many more suicides before our culture realises that this is wrong?

Damn Fortune Cookie: My Autobiography

It all started with a G-ddamned cookie.

I was in the eighth grade. I was in love with this girl; she was mystifying. She intrigued me. And by the way her hand brushed past me when we saw each other and all the late-night soul-bearing emails, things were looking good. So finally, the day came when I was going to make my move. A few hours before, I went out for Chinese food, and upon opening my fortune cookie, received the message "all of your love endeavours will be successful." This was a Good Omen, I thought. Things cannot possibly go better tonight, right?

Wrong. Things went horribly awry. Turns out I'd been led on.

Fast forward five years. Here I am, finally in a real and functional relationship, finally back at college after a long summer. I order Chinese food, and crack into my fortune cookie. "Tonight will be a lucky night," it says. This could only mean good things.

That night, we almost broke up. It was a long, tearful night that came to conclusions at 4am--we would stick it out for another month. Feel it out. Gage feelings.

So that's what we did. The past four months have been amazing. I couldn't have been happier, thought things were far from perfect. But I had a relationship built on mutual respect and friendship. And I still have a friendship built on that. But after tonight, I no longer have that relationship.

I am not going to deny that it hurts. It does. It hurts a lot. But it hurts considerably less than not knowing what would have happened. It hurts less than having to wonder every day if this could have worked between us. We did our best. And still things end.

...just after I repented for my sins and started anew with Yom Kippur. Thanks, Irony.

I am coming to terms with the knowledge that things end. I am coming to understand the sentiment that "'tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all." (Alfred Lord Tennyson) It's true. I'm glad it happened. It was a good experience for us both. And I still have an amazing best friend.

I could do without the severe, hilarious irony. I'm also starting a personal vendetta against fortune cookies. Death to fortune cookies!

Dear World: On Pants

Dear World,

It is mid-September. The weather is getting to the point where sweatshirts are VERY comfortable and the wind just starts to hurt your ears as you walk int the door. It's great weather for corduroy pants. On the subject of pants, when the weather gets this nippy, why would you want to wear skintight, breathable "pants?"

I am all for girls wearing what they like regardless of body shape. You can find something to flatter any shape. And I am not one of the girls that can wear leggings as pants and get away with it. I simply do not have the shapely rear and things required.

I think maybe four people in the world have that kind of butt.

But (no pun intended), regardless of whether or not you can pull off something flat and skintight emphasising that you're either a) not wearing underwear, or b) have a very intense thong, I do not want to see that much of your rear end. I don't want to have any idea what kind of underwear you're wearing. If you're wearing something that covers your butt and wearing leggings under it, go for it. But leggings as pants?

I'd rather not see your ass.

Love,
Rachel

The Mysterious Rachel Disappearing Act

I suppose I've learned a magic trick: disappearing from Blogger when I have things to blog about whilst still sufficiently lurking around the internet.

For most of you, school has started. This means that I'm back in Ithaca, attempting to major in music, minor in computer science, be in a functional relationship, work as an usher, be a member of a professional music fraternity, finish Portal, practice enough, and sleep. Simultaneously. Notice that "have a life" doesn't factor into this equation.

I worked really hard all summer on my audition excerpts. I counted, thought about, listened to, and explored Stravinsky and Brahms in an entirely new way. And still I fell short of my goal by one chair. It turns out that auditions are picky--and those split-second unconscious decisions on vibrato or expression can cost you. I'm not blaming anyone but myself for this--I made the mistake and I'm going to learn from it. And plus, being a principle player in a lower ensemble is a good experience for me, miss "I want to do a sophomore recital but ZOMG SOLO I CAN'T PLAY THIS IN FRONT OF PEOPLE!?!?!"

My trick to practicing is to make other people listen to you. Let them judge your performance. If you feel comfortable with the people whose opinions matter to you judging your music-making, the audition's going to go better.

Another important thing I learned (from SIMF): let go of your ego. Focus on the music. This makes things a lot easier. It's surprising, how much better we play when we don't think "shit, I might mess up this next run and then the people outside in the hall will think I'm horrible and don't deserve where I'm placed." It's amazing to me that when we go into a practice room thinking that we're the greatest gift to music that any deity has ever created, we falter. The point of music, to me, is that it's not about you. It's about the composer's intent mixed with your emotions. You're not playing music to show how good you are. You're playing music because you feel it. It's inside of you. You want to read the composer's words in a different way.

As musicians, we're all guilty of being full of ourselves. But we're not what matters. The music is what matters.

I think I'm finally at peace with myself.