Psychology...

is such an interesting science. How do people think? Why do they think about the things they think about, and does the environment and the world around them create these thoughts. In order to graduate, I need to fulfill my history, art, mathematics, and literature requirements, plus 7 more anthropology classes. If I take 4 classes each semester, presumably I will only have 12 left, since I will spend a semester abroad in the world, and there's no guarentee that those classes will count towards fulfilling my requirements.

But what I really want to take and feel like I have an obligation to take before I leave Colby is "Child Development","Boys to Men" and "Girls and Women". Especially boys to men... which I'll talk more about in a later blog that I'll be posting up soon about the culture of almost, the double disadvantage of being male and of color, especially in society. And I did say disadvantage of being male, but that's for a later time.

I used to embrace being alone, and the autonomy of my own thoughts, and I've always blogged, journaled, I write for the school paper. Not love it, but it was a comfortable embrace of the idea. Because as a young person (which I still am), I had a tendency to think that only I could understand my own voice- or what I'm REALLY feeling. And there's a part of me that's still there, I'm not the most articulate, and I don't exactly make eye contact all the time, or create a smooth transition from point to point (if I really ever complete my first point that is.) There is still a part of me which I wish wasn't as socially awkward as I am at times, but it's something special when you see yourself, your transition, occur in front of your eyes and realize it. It's a gradual epiphany as I'm finding that people do see me past that awkwardness, they do see my points, they do see my passions, and how my awkwardness, and honesty, and my bubbliness is almost endearing. And there's been a lot of those people coming of late, pointing out to me that awkwardness is not the same thing as wrong or dumb, and it's become a perpetual cycle, the more they come, the more I open up, the more they continue to come. And for the first time in my life, though I have a million stresses in the world- and though people slight me, I see myself, I see my potentials, I see that people can see past my wall and know that I like them or love them (there are so few I don't like, and practically no one I hate), like I'm here and I make a diferrence, and though I don't articulate myself perfectly and people don't get 100% of what I'm saying, I try and they listen.

I'm alone on a Friday evening and I'm ok without any "him" here; and I know that if I'm not, I can write it in poetry and tell people and there'll be someone here. I know that as I'm becomming as strong on the outside as my opinions are on the inside that, if I go to Boston, or Tanzania, or Viet Nam, or Cape Town, that I'll find people to love and care for, and that there'll be people there who will love and care for me.

Part of my blog is more discreet and metaphorical, but this one is somewhat like a journal of me figuring out my psychology.

And the thing IS named "Honesty".