Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

Resistance
There are two types of forces in the world and it is by them that we define everything. In any action there is one force seeking to accomplish or change something, and one trying to resist change. A man seeks to climb a mountain; a mountain seeks to remain unconquered. A prosecutor seeks to place a convict in prison; the convict seeks to retain freedom. Sometimes it is clear which force is which, but often we only can see through a fog of confusion and judgments, impressions and labels. One such instance comes from my own history. Even in retrospect I find it hard to say what the force is, and who is putting up the resistance. In fact, I’m not entirely sure I can attest to the validity of this occurrence, or that the story is mine. It is quite possible that this may be an amalgamation of several stories, drawn from confused experiences of my own past and that of others, compiled into one narration by a panicked and confused mind, one that needed an explanation for its current state of disaster, and so created one.
The story will begin some two summers ago, on Father’s day. The fact that it was Father’s Day is beside the point, it is simply a statement of fact, especially considering my primary goal at the time was to be distanced from my father, and home, for six weeks. I would be staying in the dorms of a nearby Community College for the summer quarter, as part of the Upward Bound program. As you can expect from a ninety-five pound white, Mormon high school freshman placed in the midst of larger, older, mostly Hispanic, and altogether unfamiliar people, my nervousness was overpowering, especially when you factor in my normal level of social isolation, and I was left in my dorm room, hiding behind the premise of unpacking and settling in. Eventually however, my roommate showed up, a senior whose name I won’t disclose at the moment, and, being an old friend of mine, managed to coax me out into a more sociable position.
A man seeks to change a friend; the friend seeks to remain socially defiant.
Albeit, for all the effort I was putting into social defiance, I didn’t last very long, but that is, once again, beside the point. Classes started the next day. I had three classes, two math classes and a web design course. In my first math class I quickly became a friend with several of the people in there, and I felt considerably less like a pale-skinned outsider. Then came the second class.
Before class started I informed the instructor that I would like to take a full year of his math class, as opposed to the traditional semester. He informed me that would be fine, but that it meant I would have to put in a lot of work, something I, a classic overachiever, was definitely not afraid of. I went back to my seat and surveyed the textbook. I could tell it would provide little resistance.
A boy seeks to complete an entire textbook in six weeks; the textbook seeks to keep its dignity.
As far as matters go, I finished the course in four and a half weeks, but this is, yet again, beside the point. After I finished sizing up my quarry, I looked up and glanced around the room in order to see all of the other students. As they filed in and took their seats, I was able, from my seat in the back left corner, to survey all of them. None of them stood out, until I glimpsed a girl seated in the front of the class. Immediately my gaze reverted to her. I had never seen anything like her. I’m not just talking about looks either, there was something else, an aura, you might say, that seemed to hang around her. The first thing that came to mind was a glow that people in the church have told me hangs over Mormons in general, specifically the prophet, a sort of glint of some inner greatness, or a mark given to individuals destined to do great things. Aura being noted, she was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, from her calm eyes and delicately freckled face, framed by dark hair that was mildly curly, even, strange as it is, her feet were beautiful, perfectly proportioned, yet appearing sturdy and strong, suggesting poise as well as athleticism. Her physique was one that was obviously agile, flexible, and having a sort of compact strength, suggesting a dancer, fighter, or gymnast. I soon found myself awestruck, and forced myself to avert my gaze before I was consumed.
A young man seeking to retain his robotic detachment, while these images sought to seek out and activate his heart.
It should be known that I had spent at least the two years prior to this cleansing myself of all the distracting emotions that bog a person down. Or so I thought. In a matter of seconds I was taken from this pedestal and suddenly reminded that I do have feelings. This revelation scared me. I, a self-trained master of detachment, could not possibly begin to feel based on a single person, a girl whose name I didn’t even know. As if to prove this point to myself, I nonchalantly looked up from my book, towards this dangerous beast and again, I could feel things. I looked down, unsure of what to think, but resolved to not look toward her for the rest of class. That plan worked brilliantly for all of two-and-a-half minutes. By the end of class I had each of her features permanently and prominently emblazoned in my mind, and I knew her name (as well as some other bits of information I won’t disclose for the sake of anonymity), all learned, though I didn’t believe I had the strength to talk to or about her. Soon the question began to haunt me, perhaps I do have feelings, and emotions, and, dare I say it, a heart. This confused matters more. And I struggled against forces beyond my perception.
A young man resisting a change in heart to spare his illusion of emotional detachment. Or was it the other way around. A young man seeking to change the natural course of himself, change himself into a heartless machine, while the heavens throw out their most powerful resistance, the forces of love and attraction.
So went six weeks. I know she didn’t mean or even recognize the pain that she caused, but it was still there, and pain it was. On top of me trying to uphold my image, I also feared that love would be a sin, being as I was fifteen and she was similarly youthful at the time. While it conflicts with a majority of societal values, the Mormon Church taught that one should not date or do anything like unto it until the age of at least sixteen, and I, being a devout Mormon at the time, was not about to risk breaking that rule. It seemed to me at the time that even an admission of attraction would begin an unstoppable downhill slide that would almost ensure I end up in some sort of grievous sin. So instead of coming to grips with the reality of the situation, I lived in a state of confusion and denial. The worst kind of denial, the kind where you know the truth, have somewhat acknowledged it even, but continue to work against it.
A fool seeks to alter the truth, but the truth puts up a resistance that cannot be overcome.
As for how this ends, I cannot exactly tell you. I find my mind being drawn to hundreds of random occurrences that took place over the summer, conversations with others, including her, where I was mildly inquisitive, yet unenthusiastic. I was riding my bike through the forest to guide her and a group of others to a deep-woods waterfall. There was a dance where I tried convincing her to dance, to be awkwardly informed that she doesn’t dance for religious reasons. All in all, that summer has always been a part of me, for her, but also for other reasons and experiences that I will never forget or forsake. Still, when I drift into pondering, I wonder whether I was a catalyst for change, or a resistance, and which side of that war I should have been on.