i'm happy.

artwork: seonna hong

i love you.

i don't say it very often, if at all. in fact, i might say it to my own parents just once in a blue-ish, seafoam green moon. and as far as a significant other... the times it's been uttered out of my mouth have been far less. it's not that i don't want to say it. or i think that the three words weight much heavily than they seem. [actually, no. i do think that.] the thing i don't understand is why they're so necessary to say.

if [for some miraculous reason] you've read previous blogs i've written, you'd have noticed i've explored this topic before. there is a lot of emphasis placed on saying the L-word and i feel people throw it out there just as often and lightly as they inhale oxygen. but hey, for some, maybe they feel love and acknowledging it is just as essential as the very own air they breathe. while it's taken me a while to understand "love" as much as i understand it now (which isn't a lot), i've learned something very significant in how i interpret it: i'm very, VERY happy with the possibility that it exists (especially for someone like me).

i wont deny it; i can be one of those females who obsess over their feelings/how much attention they're receiving, and question if care and consideration between a significant other has been evenly reciprocated. i pay my own bills, i pay for my own gifts--clothes, shows, drinks, food--though i don't mind if someone offers. but as much as i pride myself in being a modern, independent woman, i know that deep down i'm dependent on other people/someone else, especially when it comes to validating my feelings. after spending so much time putting on this stoic facade, i do want someone who can catch me at the end of they day and absorb my woes. i know that i bottle so much inside, that to release any bit of it in any way provides great relief.

thought i might not say it as much (if at all, because it scares me to death), being loved/having love seems like it's a pretty damn good feeling. i know what it's like to talk deeply with someone you care about. i know the feeling to be in someones arms. to be caught in the midst of a tired collapse. the actions themselves speak more than 3 small words could say (as cheesy as that sounds). it may be the case that i don't exchange those words with someone, but it's simple explanation for me. if you show it, i know it. and i can't imagine anything more gratifying. and this makes me happy.

lovingly,
stefrose (robot)

evolution of a jaded heart

at first, I thought I knew what love was.
then I thought I knew what other people said what love was.
now, when anyone even speaks of it, I have no idea what they're talking about.

songs about robots

... of the ones that I dig...


Fembot - Robyn


I'm Not a Robot - Marina & the Diamonds (Starsmith 24 Carat remix)

enjoy,
robot dancing robot

robots can't handle the truth

[forewarning: the subject matter of this post may be, yet again, on the more somber side. as a writer, I was always taught, "write what you know." so, for now, this is what I know. I promise, I'll be more pleasantly amusing in the future.]

as a "robot," I've notice many traits that humans acquire as a means of survival in what science has come to learn as Darwin's Theory of Evolution. many believe it's the skills of strength dominating over weak, others say it's applying practical knowledge and logic. some might even say it's ones very heart and passion that makes them superior beings. that all sounds poetically righteous and all, but I think there's one thing that makes one rise above the other so distinctively. and that is the ability to laugh at ones self in the face of humiliation.

yes, the classic, "laugh at yourself before they can laugh at you." a bold defense mechanism that empowers us individually and gives others the impression that we are in that much control of ourselves. to be bothered by ridicule and shame is the downfall of all tragic heroes with the potential for greatness.

robots utilize this quality quite naturally. due to our stoic nature, embarrassment doesn't stick too easily to our sleek exterior. in fact, we have this capability of stepping outside our biased perception and seeing the humor in our shortcomings. we know what our aptitudes are capable of and understand that even we make mistakes sometimes. now, that can very well be the end of that right there. but like I said in my first post, I do have feelings. and that, by far, is probably my greatest shortcoming.

I have become quite good at repelling embarrassment and demonstrating resilience in things that challenge my ego. but admittedly, having to defend myself so often does take its toll. I don't mean standing up to bullying or laying the better sarcastic line than my opposition. it's when the truth about who I really am exposes me as vulnerable. the truth? I may not exactly know what that is, after all, part of why I started this blog is to find that out... but when I feel it come out, there's no hiding it. see, when robots are hit with these challenges that expose our shortcomings, it doesn't just bounce off us like rubber. sure, we can deflect their impact but the experience resonates, until each incident has built up to capacity in our hard drives, which humans refer to as memories. then, there is that last moment that catches us off guard, triggering us at our weakest, and blowing us over. that one moment that makes us unable to process what is going on and our system overloads where we have no choice but to spill out ourselves. leaving us totally bare in front of anyone who happens to catch us... at least for me.

all that hard work of building a tough exterior completely unravels. probably by the most trivial thing too, but just enough to send me over. that little nudge that makes me lose footing until I fall into a succession of stumbles, each second trying to catch my step but, really, just encouraging the fall even more. and that is where the truth comes out.

it doesn't have to end in shame--that self-exposure being the achilles heel. in fact, those that can accept their truths are the ones that are ultimately triumphant. and that is where I currently struggle...

leaps and bounds, obstacles, that foot that sticks out to intentionally trip me, others that are looking at you, seeing if you might fall... all that I can handle. but to come face to face with the truth about me... it's scary. after putting up a fight to protect myself, maybe it's to keep from finding out the truth and running the risk that I'm disappointing others that matter, and more importantly, myself.

"the truth will set you free," or so they say. maybe I'm not ready for that. for that freedom. because under that vast canvas, I don't know how I can maintain a steady hand and control my brush. what if I paint isn't what I had envisioned it to be?

[gosh, I just sound like a mess... ha]

truthfully,
honest robot

what happens when a robot cries?

-she pretends nothing's wrong, even though her eyes are bloodshot and face is swollen.
-she doesn't want to be talked to, but longs for some comforting attention.
-she bursts the second someone sees her upset.
-she hates every guy in the world, even though it's not one man's fault. 
-in that moment she'd rather die, because living feels too good for the likes of her.
-she repeats a melancholy song a hundred times on end, but also finds solace in silence.
-she expects her man to read her mind, even though she gives him no clue as to what is on it.
-she takes it upon herself to carry the weight of her problems in a heavy sack, refusing assist even though the contents spill over.
-in the grande scheme of things, she understands her problem(s) is just a spec, but seeks to justify why she's deserving of such excruciating pain.
-she longs to cry out her sorrows to the world, but in fear of uninvited attention, keeps it bottled inside.
-she convinces others that on any other day, she's completely fine and things like this would never get to her. today is just an exception and won't last very long.
-though problems may be beyond her control, she'll find a way to feel at fault because she refuses to believe luck, karma, or destiny would grant her such a fate without reason.
-the person who knows her the best suffers bullets from her wounds as an innocent bystander. she will apologize later, but at that point, she feels it will be too late. Her image has been tainted.
-the day goes on around her and she goes about her tedious tasks so as not to draw a pity party. But her face sends out an invitation to everyone but her.
-she remains in her same dressed up outfit throughout and even into sleep because if this moment happens to be her last, one part of her should be decent.
-she whips out a bottle of vodka. she considered the wine she's been aging until a special occasion. or her last favorite bottle of beer. She was close to wasting a good drink. but chose vodka; not because it's a lesser quality of preference, but because she hates the taste. the flavor should pair her mood, and vodka wipes the sting away faster.
-she thinks this is either the best or worst night to take up alcoholism.
-she wishes for that one person to be at her side, consoling her. she might not know who that is, exactly, but she may just end up with the wrong person because she decided to be proactive in feeling better instead of giving herself time to grieve.
-she wonders why you didn't call/text. she refuses to be the first to break the ice but will end up doing so anyway. it'll be a comment of something random and seemingly playful. Or something vague with an option of two choices, but really one.
-she pretends to have drank a lot to justify her ridiculous behavior, but perhaps probably DID drink that much as a result of loss in body water from crying.
-she might be at a bar appearing happy go lucky or dancing.
-she might indulge in the first male stranger's friendly conversation. But will reject any hint of advances so she feels powerful.
-she might be at home. Painting. Drawing.
-or she might be slowly falling asleep
-no matter what she does, who she's with, she feels alone. and probably wouldn't prefer it any other way.

vulnerably,
sad robot