Moment of nerdery #32: I have now named my second city Iskenderun, where there is no museum of antiquities. 

Faith, in every sense religious and not, is belief in the most basic sense of the word. It does not rely on proof; indeed, it is the very lack of proof that faith demands for its definition. It is the essence of religion and the antithesis of science, though this does not necessarily make them enemies, because religion claims to know what the scientific method cannot discern (and does not seek to).

Agnosticism is an impure mix of faith and non-faith. It asks that in order to legitimize atheism, proof must be presented for the lack of a god, or gods. It asks for what science asks, yet in the service of faith.

It is impossible -- or terribly near -- to prove something does not exist. Nowhere else in humanity's body of knowledge do we "hold off" on something's existence until its existence is "disproven."

Nowhere in atheism (except perhaps among its most fundamentalist) does it say that it is closed to evidence contrary to its principles -- should it present itself. There is simply, at this moment, no evidence; ergo, no occasion for persuasion.

The idea of agnosticism, with its chosen distinctions, creates the mistaken notion that it is somehow distilling the atheistic principle into something finer and purer. Acknowledging that one could, in the future, be wrong does not mean we need a new name for it, a new ideology.

It wrongly implies that science is rigid and dogmatic. Science tries to know what can be empirically proven and demonstrated -- but it can change and on countless historical occasions, it has. There has never been a separate creature that was Science with an Asterisk. To suggest otherwise is erroneous and dangerous in its ignorance.

That is why agonosticism, on every occasion, provokes my scorn and contempt.

If you tell me that I can't criticize what I haven't read, but, in the same breath, that I shouldn't read what I don't like, the fuck am I supposed to do?

Having continued my usual habits of eating a lot and moving much less, I have gained weight in the last month and a half.

Technically, I shouldn't be surprised. But I am disappointed that my actions have resulted in the expected consequences.

I got a haircut and I'm feeling a little poorly about it.

Much of it was maintenance: I had it shortened by a few inches, and thinned so it wasn't so much of the thick mat it had grown into. But the drastic change is that I got rid of the long bangs I've been growing out for about a thousand years and had them hacked into a shortened fringe.

It doesn't suit me. The cut is rough so it needs a delicate, even face to set it off; my face is too square and my features are too blunt. There is too little contrast and no balance; the effect is entirely unsettling.

He had to ruminate for a moment. "It looks ... feisty."

Later, he confessed to missing my sideways "swoop", a style where I parted my hair on one side. He told me that when he first met me again after high school, he thought I looked so sweet and adorable that way that he wanted to give me a hug (but for the obvious reason of his then-girlfriend, did not).

I loved it too. Many women wear their hair the same way. It's a terribly popular style for a reason; it's flattering and it's feminine. I was feeling angst over the change because I knew I had abandoned it for little more reason than it was annoying (the long bangs were annoying to keep tidy because they were never long enough, and it fell into my eyes all the time), and I was sick of it and it wasn't different. 

I was sick of it because I was sick of doing what was obvious. Every girl wore their hair that way because it was attractive yet not particularly threatening or confrontational (far from "feisty"), but nobody seemed to care it was so fucking obvious and so right, and nobody cared that it didn't matter whether it was what they liked or what they thought looked interesting.

I've always tempered my desires, to conform to what I thought was the most "suitable" or attainable, rather than what I truly wanted for myself. It was a thought process that constantly reminded me of what I couldn't do or I couldn't have, and to choose things under an endless list of limitations and restrictions, where I made less of a choice than was simply reduced to one.  

I was sick of seeing prettier girls and trying so hard to look like them. Maybe if I struck out and did something different, gave myself a distinction that placed me in a different category, a different genre, a different genera (who compares birds to fish?), I could do things for me. Once I didn't look like them at all, I could stop trying to. Because I would have finally embraced that I could never look like other girls and that was ... okay.

I always thought I had to be pretty to do things that weren't conventional. I couldn't get my new haircut because it didn't fit my face; I couldn't wear this or that because of my waist or my legs or my breasts. Other girls could do it because they were so beautiful it didn't matter what they did. But now, it seems I've figured out that because I'm not beautiful and I'm not skinny that I can do whatever shit I want because I have nothing to lose.

I had a tremble in my voice. And even though I didn't have my cute sweep anymore, he hugged me. 

I really never thought this'd happen:

My mom rang me this evening. After I said "hullo," she briskly got to the point: "Why can't I be your friend on Facebook?"

I had rejected her request only minutes ago, one that had baffled me because I had long ago patiently explained the social shaming I would suffer if I did not, and she had accepted the situation quite gracefully, knowing it met the boundary we had set for the other things I did with my friends.

"Your cousin has you on Facebook and I was talking with your aunt and she knows all these things about you to which I would like to say 'I knew that already.' Do you realize how it makes me feel to say otherwise? You must add me as a friend."

Already at this point, I realized how many times she had said "friend" and that she would be much too hung up on Facebook's use of the term. Secondary to this realization is the sinking feeling that I would never be able to explain that Facebook's definition of "friend" shares almost nothing with its meaningful, real-world use.

So, what earth-shattering things do my Hong Kong relations know that my own mother is not privy to? That I went out to get groceries last night? That I took a particularly satisfying shit a couple of minutes ago?

"Many things." (It is noteworthy to say now that throughout the entire conversation, despite several requests, she never gave me an example.)

"Right, well, no, I'm sorry, I'm not adding my own mother on Facebook." Because this surely violates some ancient internet rule, and I attempted to convey as much.

Eventually, it escalated into me threatening to de-friend my cousin (who apparently finds my online activities fascinating conversation fodder -- a small and alarming comfort) or merely quit Facebook entirely (if my mother can't know my hour-to-hour YouTube selections, then nobody can!). 

As I finally declined for the last time, her voice took on a distinct tone of dejection. She stated that it was her belief that I had gone and misunderstood her deeply.

"I guess I'll simply remain your mother," she declared with the air of an imminent martyr, "and never your Friend." There was definitely a capital F.

Argh.

The fuck?!

"Nearly half of all men and one-third of women have lied about what they have read to try to impress friends or potential partners, a survey suggests. The men polled said they would be most impressed by women who read news websites, Shakespeare or song lyrics. Women said men should have read Nelson Mandela's biography or Shakespeare." [BBC News]

Why on fucking earth would you want to lie that you read fucking song lyrics?

Apparently my blog came up in a recent Google search for "seduce my professor." The kicker? The search originated from a Toronto ISP.

Damn. Students in this city are sluts.