One of the reasons I hate myself.
I feel I can express this here, because I doubt anyone actually looks at my journal unless I post a story to a com. In other words, I feel safe here. So, this is one of the reasons I seriously hate myself. Please bare with my ramblings.
Today is one of my favorite days. It's one of those days that I can have sad thoughts and not worry about where they are coming from. To understand this, you need to understand that I believe in ghosts to a certain extent. I believe that you your soul doesn't leave the earth. Your body will fail and decay until there is nothing left of you but bones as a reminder to future generations. Your soul, the only thing that makes you specifically you; not just human but an actual person, stays. Souls follow loved ones and enemies. A soul watching you is what gives you goosebumps, makes you feel comfort, makes you look behind you for the eyes you feel on the back of your head.
With that said, make note of the date. Today is April 14th, 2012. Today, a hundred years ago, a ship was sailing in the north Atlantic. People were laughing and dancing, walking the cat walk and working their fingers to the bone. They were alive and living. They had no idea that a few hours later, while they lay in their beds, dreaming of the welcoming they'd have in New York, that they would never make it to their friends and families. They didn't know that the unsinkable ship was about to be tested and failed.
But it's not what the movie by James Cameron would tell you, they weren't ignorant; they were realists. The ship was moving through an ice field in the middle of the sea. It took a lot to get the ship moving; more than just coal or the flip of a switch. It made more sense to continue than to stop where they could have potentially died anyways. The captian kept the ship on course, keeping an eye out. But anyone who knows anything about icebergs would know that 90 percent of the iceberg is underwater. No one could know the shape, know if there was a sharp point that could have been avoided.
The people who created this wonderful ship were smart and impassioned, they weren't only thinking of the best way to make money; the ship wasn't built with cheap materials, nothing was missing that wasn't needed. Thomas Andrews created a ship that would keep it's passengers safe.
The Titanic had numerous watertight compartments, ones that Thomas Andrews used as a fail safe. Two compartments in the middle, or the first four compartments, could be comprimised and the ship would still have made it to port safe and sound, saving the 1,500 lives that were lost out there on that cold night in 1912, but the first 5 (or six as some sources say) compartments were comprimised, and the ship sank to the sea floor.
It was terrible, and yet in my eyes it was beautiful. I understand that 1,500 souls lost their bodies, and that they are reliving their deaths there on this very day. I think they would wish that we would learn something from this tragedy; don't believe propaganda, or learn from your mistakes. Learn from the past.
Now for the part that I really hate about myself. When I was younger, when my world revolved around me and happiness, I saw the movie Titanic, and I fell in love. Not with Jack or Rose's romance. Not with the beautiful dining or the dresses. No, I fell in love with a tragedy. I fell in love with the RMS Titanic because it was mine.
When I was young, everything that had my name was mine. The town in the UK that shared my last name: Mine. The musical about the red headed orphan was my life story, and the sinking of the ship baring my initials was my personal tragedy.
I am a hypocrite; I love the Titanic and it's story, I love the people who's lives were lost in the water, and the people who made it onto the life boats, I love the 9 garuntees and the people who built the beautiful ship. I love the people who spent days in turmoil; wondering and hoping thier loved ones hadn't gone with the ship. I love Capitan Robert Ballard. And I hate myself because I didn't care until I associated the Titanic to my initals; RMS.
Today is one of my favorite days. It's one of those days that I can have sad thoughts and not worry about where they are coming from. To understand this, you need to understand that I believe in ghosts to a certain extent. I believe that you your soul doesn't leave the earth. Your body will fail and decay until there is nothing left of you but bones as a reminder to future generations. Your soul, the only thing that makes you specifically you; not just human but an actual person, stays. Souls follow loved ones and enemies. A soul watching you is what gives you goosebumps, makes you feel comfort, makes you look behind you for the eyes you feel on the back of your head.
With that said, make note of the date. Today is April 14th, 2012. Today, a hundred years ago, a ship was sailing in the north Atlantic. People were laughing and dancing, walking the cat walk and working their fingers to the bone. They were alive and living. They had no idea that a few hours later, while they lay in their beds, dreaming of the welcoming they'd have in New York, that they would never make it to their friends and families. They didn't know that the unsinkable ship was about to be tested and failed.
But it's not what the movie by James Cameron would tell you, they weren't ignorant; they were realists. The ship was moving through an ice field in the middle of the sea. It took a lot to get the ship moving; more than just coal or the flip of a switch. It made more sense to continue than to stop where they could have potentially died anyways. The captian kept the ship on course, keeping an eye out. But anyone who knows anything about icebergs would know that 90 percent of the iceberg is underwater. No one could know the shape, know if there was a sharp point that could have been avoided.
The people who created this wonderful ship were smart and impassioned, they weren't only thinking of the best way to make money; the ship wasn't built with cheap materials, nothing was missing that wasn't needed. Thomas Andrews created a ship that would keep it's passengers safe.
The Titanic had numerous watertight compartments, ones that Thomas Andrews used as a fail safe. Two compartments in the middle, or the first four compartments, could be comprimised and the ship would still have made it to port safe and sound, saving the 1,500 lives that were lost out there on that cold night in 1912, but the first 5 (or six as some sources say) compartments were comprimised, and the ship sank to the sea floor.
It was terrible, and yet in my eyes it was beautiful. I understand that 1,500 souls lost their bodies, and that they are reliving their deaths there on this very day. I think they would wish that we would learn something from this tragedy; don't believe propaganda, or learn from your mistakes. Learn from the past.
Now for the part that I really hate about myself. When I was younger, when my world revolved around me and happiness, I saw the movie Titanic, and I fell in love. Not with Jack or Rose's romance. Not with the beautiful dining or the dresses. No, I fell in love with a tragedy. I fell in love with the RMS Titanic because it was mine.
When I was young, everything that had my name was mine. The town in the UK that shared my last name: Mine. The musical about the red headed orphan was my life story, and the sinking of the ship baring my initials was my personal tragedy.
I am a hypocrite; I love the Titanic and it's story, I love the people who's lives were lost in the water, and the people who made it onto the life boats, I love the 9 garuntees and the people who built the beautiful ship. I love the people who spent days in turmoil; wondering and hoping thier loved ones hadn't gone with the ship. I love Capitan Robert Ballard. And I hate myself because I didn't care until I associated the Titanic to my initals; RMS.
hopeful