House Drama

I have not written in quite some time, but at long last inspiration has struck again. Returning from the sitar and sarod concert in Finney, I stopped in the lounge to see what had been written in the house journal since my earlier entry this same day. People have stopped signing their names. I stopped too, no one else was signing, but I think I will begin to sign again.

In the newest entry a girl wrote about her feelings when stuck in conversations with those who talk too much, that go on and on and leave no chance for the listener to speak. That is often my position in conversations, unable to get a word in edgewise, especially here at Oberlin. I often don't speak at all at lunch. This girl was bothered by it. Directly below her entry another girl responded "Drama drama drama" and then she commented on people making drama where there was none.

I was seriously offended by this. How dare she? And neither signed, I don't know who among the people I live with is upset and feels like me, and who is a bitch. I responded, "That was mean! Some people are bothered by things that don't bother you at all." Don't cheapen the pain. That's one of my main issues with the term 'emo', it cheapens other people's suffering, for some, their genuine feelings are mocked. I'm not complaining about the world for lack of anything better to do! Maybe all I see are terrible things and awful people, and the names you make for people like me only prove me right!

I spoke with my room mate. Our house journal sure is angsty. I wondered, has our house always been angsty? Well, lo and behold, there on the shelf are all the previous house journals!! My room mate went upstairs to our room and I stayed behind to read.

The first thing I found was that this was not the first house journal of the year. The first had been stolen, this was the replacement. The beginning to the journal was filled with entries claiming happiness at having a journal again, sadness because they miss the old one, and insecurity: they had written personal things down, and someone just up and stole it... I saw ethical debates on white and black, and just as many complaints about having so much work and being worn out as our current journal. And I only saw two names...

More went on in this year for Baldwin, more that I think I had better leave private, just for us. It was a hard year, through hardship the Baldwin community grew closer, and someone lamented that is was a negative force that caused it. But, names. Consistently, only one or two wrote their names by their entries. Why?

I replaced the journal on the shelf and went up to my room. I spoke with my room mate about what went on in the past, then commented on the names. I said that I felt people should write their names by their entries. She disagreed.

But this is supposed to be a close knit community, shouldn't we know what each other think?

No. People are always angsty when they are young. What if they become politicians and someone connects her to what she said in her house journal in college?

So what? People change, will I be judged years from now on what I write in my journal now?

Our conversation ended. I began to write. I think that we should stamp our names by what we say. It's what we believe, right? We should stand by it! Not hide. I know somethings are personal, but really, if you're going to write in a public journal...

I just don't know. I realize that if I were to look back at my old diary, my old poems I would see a different person that I am today. Does that mean I don't want it connected to me? I do! I know I was dark, I was depressing, and I laugh now at my old angsty ways, but I would not disclaim them. I would say I have changed, but I would not deny my past self.

I am no longer my past self, but my past self is still me!