Practicality vs. aesthetics
A thing of beauty is a joy forever. – John Keats
Things of beauty have a value all their own. They might not have a great deal of practical or monetary value, but they are precious nonetheless.
They fascinate me. I love to see flowers and babies, elegant gowns and scenes of nature, graceful ballerinas. I scrutinise the "What they wore to the Academy Awards" pictures every year, drool over Anne Geddes's awesome pictures, and... you get the idea. :)
My parents, however, do insist on being practical, which isn't totally a bad thing. I probably needed the balance when I was younger.
But they are sooooo practical!
Dad will not put up anything on the walls. Not the framed 500-piece crossword puzzle I completed, not the framed cross-stitch given by a family friend, not my graduation photo, not his and Mom's wedding photo. When I asked him to put up my graduation photo, he said it would gather dust, which wouldn't be healthy. Doesn't that sound just like a doctor? LOL
In fact, my home has absolutely no framed photos in sight at all. Not on the walls, not on the tables, bookcases, or whatever. Mom doesn't like ornaments and table decorations because they just sit there, take up space and get in the way. Oh, and gather dust.
I'm sentimental and keep all the letters I receive; Mom chucks all my letters into the wastepaper basket after replying them. (Remember, my parents live in the Stone Age, so we have to resort to good old-fashioned snail mail. I really miss holding an honest-to-goodness letter in my hands, feeling the paper, and seeing the unique squiggles that speak of the writer's personality. Loving wishes seem so much more REAL when they're handwritten, somehow. But I digress.)
With Mom and Dad, everything is about usefulness and necessity. Shopping for clothes with Mom was always a big production. She'd ask me a million times, "Are you sure you'll wear it if I buy it for you? What are you going to match it with? Where are you going to wear it to?" I'd be like, "Mom, just buy the thing, pleeeeease!" To me, I liked it, so of course I would wear it. And I'll worry about matching it later!
Last year, I finally admitted a long-buried dream to myself: I want to take art classes and learn how to paint properly.
Now, to Mom and Dad, this would be a total waste of money. Dad, by the way, still thinks my piano playing is so much noise and rolls his eyes at my poetry. Mom once said my card-making was a waste of time and made noise about all the money spent to buy craft scissors and other materials.
I've been thinking about who I am, and realising that I've been suppressing my true nature all this while. I try hard to "be practical" as defined by my parents, but my soul sometimes feels like it's starving. And I constantly feel pulled in two different directions, warring against myself. Like the other day, I was walking around a shopping mall and stopped to admire a pretty ballerina sculpted out of sand crystal. I caught myself thinking, "But it will just sit on my table and end up gathering dust! It doesn't serve any useful purpose!"
Well, I'm tired of being practical all the time. I can totally understand what Owen is talking about when he says, "I also feel guilty that I continue to push away the cry of my soul and its need to create." I have discovered a hunger for beautiful things and a hope of creating a few beautiful things on my own.
As Jon Davis writes,
- But my solitary behavior is not driven by a disgust with people, even if "popular" people who try to prove their social worth frustrate the snot out of me. Rather, my behavior is driven by a fascination with the things that these "popular" folks don't care about. I like to read programmer code. That doesn't make me a nerd! That makes me Jon Davis, God-assigned to my place. I like being here.
I'm moving this weekend. After moving, I've decided that I shall get a small glass bookcase (eliminating the dust problem Mom and Dad are always so concerned about) and I will get that sand crystal ballerina ornament. I can't wait. :)