Questions Concerning Humanity and Utility

Humans are an interesting lot. It seems at once like yesterday and like forever ago that I wrote my blog entry, “Humans Are Actually Terrifying.” It seemed a popular enough piece at the time, but I think it’s good to spark some dialogue about the human condition and our habits as we live our lives.

            A classmate of mine asked, regarding architecture, “At what point does development become meaningless?” This made me think of some other things I have thought about, other questions I have asked: At what point do we realize that not every single human needs to ‘make a living’ in order to be valued and loved? What is the true purpose of cancer and why are we so intent on and obsessed with curing it in all its forms? What further studies can we do that might tell us the reason cancers appear? Isn’t cancer simply the evolutionary process taking place? Why do we grieve those who die? Is death not merely a part of life that we should all accept? Should we not honor the dead for who they were in life, rather than bemoaning the fact that they no longer breathe our same air?

            We should celebrate the lives of those who have passed. Take, for example, the late, great, Alan Rickman. Or, perhaps, the wonderful Carrie Fisher. Yes, it is sad that they are gone because they were wonderful to see on screen. Has it crossed no one’s mind, though, that perhaps it was their time to go? It may seem premature to us, as we expected Carrie Fisher to finish the Star Wars movies and Alan Rickman to tell his great-grandchildren about Harry Potter, but since when has the world cared about what humans think should happen? Life happens on its own terms and we simply need to grab on, hold on tight, and figure it out as we plunge forward with the persistent march of time. I was particularly devastated with the passing of Robin Williams. He was like the cool uncle I knew and loved but had never actually met. I felt an intimate connection with him that I would like to mention before anyone tries to tell me I simply don’t understand because I was never a true fan. It felt as though a family member and a true friend had passed when Robin Williams took his own life and I cannot fathom why he did it. All I know is that he was found to have hung himself on the day I gave birth to my daughter. Coincidence? I don’t believe in coincidences. For a while, I mourned Robin Williams, but I realize now that the best thing for me to do is to continue his legacy by ensuring that my wonderful daughter knows all of his movies, so that she can see what a wonderful soul we had with us for some time. I want her to know Robin Williams as I knew him, to feel him as intimately as I felt him, even and especially when he discussed mental illness. Robin Williams can help teach my child compassion and wherewithal, even if there is no longer a chance of my meeting him in person. I hope we can all think of our favorite late celebrities in this way.

            What is cancer, really? I always imagine one of two things. The first is to imagine feeling lumps multiplying within my body at an exponential rate, so that each time I poke a particular part of my body, it feels like more and more little balls are forming within. The other is to imagine what cells look like as they multiply… and multiply, continuously. Why do cells become cancerous? What purpose could cancer serve that humans are blind to due to our “divine spiritual and intellectual development”? People like to share things on social media that condemn cancer for the suffering it induces in those who become sick with it. People like to do things like participate in Relay for Life and purchase items from the Susan G. Komen Foundation for Breast Cancer Awareness (a scam if I’ve ever seen one). “Cancer is horrible!” “Fuck cancer!” “Rest in Peace Grandpa, Grandma, Auntie Susie, and Uncle John, all cancer victims…” I do not seek to belittle the emotional implications behind the suffering endured by cancer patients. I do, however, seek to belittle the way in which we approach the topic. Why do we think it is so vital to save every single life that comes into this world? Why are we the only species on the planet that coddles the weak and unfit? Is it so that we can flash our Good Guy Badges in one another’s faces and claim we’re such excellent citizens because we have compassion? What is true compassion? At what point does compassion turn from strength to weakness?

            I believe death is a part of life. I believe that we need to accept the inevitability of bodily death and focus less on what happens afterwards and more on what happens beforehand. The religious are, in many cases, entirely too focused on what seems to be the end of the journey that is life. I believe wholeheartedly in living in the moment as much as possible. Of course, it is important to plan for the future. After all, we do have an average life span depending on demographic and geography, so that virtually every person on this planet could plan as if to live up to that point. In this way, people could be prepared for the future even if they weren’t to reach as far into it as they’ve planned. We also need to learn from the history we are taught and presented, as well as do our own historical research in order to develop well-rounded ideas of what has happened over time and what mistakes were made, so that we do not continue to repeat that which has been detrimental to our livelihoods. It has been said that the smart man learns from his mistakes while the wise man learns from the mistakes of others. I believe this is true and I strive to learn from the mistakes of others so that I can push forward and hopefully contribute to human evolution in a positive manner. This leads me to a connecting point…

            In coddling the weak and unfit and by supporting those who would otherwise die in nature’s survival of the fittest, do we waste resources on those who do not contribute to our futures? In what way are the severely handicapped useful to our lives aside from teaching us a level of compassion that is virtually useless? At what point will our habit of coddling the weak come back to bite us in the ass due to overextension of resources? We are already an overpopulated species on this planet and we continue to fuck up the environment by transporting wildlife from place to place, disturbing local ecosystems and forcing species after species into extinction not only from the transport of species to new lands but also from such abhorrent activities as shark finning and bottom trawling our oceans. We worry about sustainability but who will we be sustaining for? At what point will we need to prioritize human lives based on people’s merit? At what point do we stop demonizing eugenics due to the Holocaust of World War II and instead look at it as a viable possibility for improving the human race and reducing our impact on the planet?

            I encourage feedback to every blog entry, but this particular entry is one on which I very much wish to see dialogue sparked. I would especially like to see what some thoughts are as far as the question regarding architectural development, as that is the question posed that sparked this entry and all the questions I’ve presented herein.

Some Thoughts Regarding Religion and Spirituality

Do this. Don’t do that. Feel this way about these issues, but feel that way about those issues. Contradictions. Paradoxes. Confusion.

            This is religion.

            I’ve done my research. I know, in this year’s political race, Hillary Clinton had the audacity to tell Bernie followers to “do their own research,” as if we haven’t already done our Google searches and unearthed her inconsistency and even flat-out lies. Thanks, Hillary, we did what you said and we still don’t like you, you vote-pandering bag of bones. I digress. In this case, I have done my research on religion.

            I don’t care if you’re Jewish, Catholic, Muslim, or part of one of the countless denominations of Christianity. Of these, all are the same at a fundamental level and none seem to recognize it of the others. All have a certain level of respectability and I believe it is that level of respectability that made each one as alluring as the next, throughout history.

            Judaism is the parent language. From it, Catholicism broke out and took over much of Europe, if not the whole. Islam was born from Judaism and came to being with the prophet Muhammad. From Catholicism came the Protestants, later to be known as Christians, and from Christianity came Evangelists, Latter-Day Saints, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Baptists, Southern Baptists, Jesus freaks, and more. Islam has the Qur’an; Mormons have the Book of Mormon.

The rest, as far as my still-limited knowledge goes, have the Holy Bible. The be-all and end-all of books; the most popular book in the world. The greatest work of historical fiction ever to hit the presses and people follow it like their lives depend on it because they believe they do.

I don’t care if your god exists. As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t, but my argument here is not about the existence of some invisible deity in space. My argument is against the brainwashing, the indoctrination of children, the hypocritical self-deceit, and the very idea of sin. You can’t take a breath without sinning, according to the Bible.

Religion is different for many people. Perhaps it is true that the majority of Christians are loving people who would rather not shove their precious books down the throats of their atheist neighbors. Perhaps you follow your religion in such a way that you simply believe God exists to help you be happy and be your guide, but if that’s the case, why are you where you are now?

Maybe my friend would tell me that she’s in her place because she turned away from God and that has caused parts of her life to unravel and lead to her current situation. My thoughts run a different course.

Perhaps God gives her light in her life, but I don’t see it. I see an insecure woman who needs to feel validated for her feelings and that’s okay because it seems her family didn’t make her feel important enough as a child. I see someone who sees the good in her pastor and the good in the people at her church and thus infers goodness to the religion because she believes that God Himself is good.

Religion is not good. Religion divides. Religion has been a divisive tool used for conquest since the dawn of time, it seems. How can your religion bring you light and love if you truly follow the book that has been written and rewritten countless times with countless translations and two to four different versions?

My friends, if you believe that your religion gives you light and love, then I have news for you in the form of an opinion: You are, in fact, a spiritual being. We are all spiritual beings, but some embrace it better than others, while still others know of their spirituality in a way that keeps them from so much as naming a religion. The “majority” of people with religion who are instead loving and accepting are seen as people who “truly follow God.” I disagree.

Perhaps it is true that following God includes only love and acceptance and tolerance. If so, I believe God is misrepresented and thus misunderstood. However, it is the spirituality of people that I mean to discuss. You who follow God in the name of love, light, acceptance, and prosperity are spiritual, not religious. You name a religion and say that you follow it but it is a lie. You follow your heart and your soul and that makes you spiritual, not religious.

            Disagree all you like. That’s the beauty of opinions, my friends.

A Letter to A New Friend

I care about you deeply. You are important to me because you are a good person, underneath it all. Underneath the needless apologies and automatic defenses; behind the walls you’ve erected to protect yourself from the people around you, you have a heart of gold and all you really want to do is help people. I resonate with that.

            All I’ve ever wanted to do—short of being an artist—is help people. Part of the reason for me to get a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology is because I want to help people; what better degree to pursue for such an endeavor? Naturally, I want to help you. The thing is, I’m not even sure you realize you’re damaged; or, perhaps you do, but you don’t know how to accept constructive criticism from another person because all you’ve experienced have been negative people who have nothing nice to say.

            You’re not trying to be mean. I can accept that and appreciate it. What I think you don’t realize is how you sound to those around you even when you think you’re being “just fine”. Your voice is so sharp—as sharp as the nose on your face, as sharp as your very chin, so is your voice—and when something comes unbidden from your mouth in an environment you don’t prefer while you’re surrounded by generally undesirable people, your voice is sharp.

            Tone of voice means a lot in communication, my dear friend. The very sound of your voice when you say something—your inflections, as in, the way your voice rises and falls during speech—including the speed with which you talk and the words that come out of your mouth are all parts of the communication process. I don’t think very many people think of communication as a process; I think people think it consists only of what is said, rather than how.

            It is clear to me that you pay attention to what you say, friend. Many people do, when communicating. What I’m not sure you know is the meaning of your words. I’m not sure you know the true message you send with your body language, the words you actually say, and the tone of your voice.

            It’s different with me. When you’re with me, your tone is softer. But even when you’re with me, you’re so defensive of yourself, like you think your defenses must be up at all times and like you believe that the best defense is a good offense. God forbid you should ever offend anyone, though, so you preface many of the things you say—things that are hardly ever offensive by any nature—with “No offense.” None offense is taken and I feel like there is a larger underlying issue with you that perhaps you don’t recognize, where you feel the need to disclaim yourself before saying anything.

            Anything I say is met with, “No, I know, but—” something. Do you realize that you always say “No,” first? The first word out of your mouth when we are speaking is “No,” when I have something to say that isn’t a general nod, “mm-hmm,” or silence in listening. I might tell you that, while I understand your point of view, I think differently about the situation. The first word out of your mouth is, “No,” but I don’t think you even hear yourself say it. You hear yourself say the following “I know,” before you continue with your point and your endeavor to make me understand what you’re saying—which I do, dear friend. I do.

            I want to help you, friend. I want to help all of my friends, but I think the struggle for you is internal. Perhaps it is something only you can work on yourself and I am so glad that your goal for the year—if not beyond—is to help yourself. My hope for you, dear friend, is that you are also sincerely interested in personal growth. Perhaps there is something subconsciously that makes you speak the way you do or even act a certain way.

            I want you to remember that I love you. No matter how hard it gets for you, my love for you as a friend remains. Remember, too, that when everything is a joke, nothing is, and there is always truth in jest. I recognize your jokes as a method by which you wish to be understood and communicate your true thoughts to the outside world, but you’re so afraid of ridicule or backlash that it cannot be said in sincerity. Or, so you think.

            Where is your fear founded? What kind of terrible past have you endured to make you feel so insecure? Secure people speak sincerely and unapologetically, my friend, and you do not fit the bill except when you’re with me. Perhaps it is my sincerity that helps you to relax every so often and if that is the case, I want to move with it. I want to spend more time with you to help you feel sincerity and know it for yourself. I want to wrap you in security and make you realize that it’s okay to have your thoughts, your feelings, your opinions, and it’s okay to share them, but there is a time and a place for everything and there is always a good way to communicate a thought, even if there is no good way it can be received. Fear not, my friend, for I feel that most of what you could say would be received without judgment.

            I fear that your religion gets in the way. Perhaps it is what keeps you going and helps you see the light in life. Who am I to judge your feelings? Better that you tell them to me, in due time, as you will. Just remember, my friend: I love you.

An Unpolished Account from Kirkland to Hoquiam

In my life, I have decided to make a point of not talking badly about people behind their backs. It was driven home yesterday that not everyone shares such a desire to avoid gossip and bullshit. I learned yesterday that someone who used to be a “friend” is jealous of me and likes to talk shit about everyone around her.

            The conversation started innocently enough. Randy, my friend Kelly, her dog, my dog, Persephone, and I all met with another friend of mine in Kirkland, a place I’d never visited before. I was pleasantly impressed by what I saw of Kirkland, little as it was, and my friend, Kara, and I were sitting on the grass, she with her son and I with my dog, as Randy chased Persephone around the grass. I’m not sure why or how the conversation ended up on a Facebook group we’re in, but Kara mentioned the group, which I’ll call the Lounge, and asked me a question having to do with some other group members.

            “Some of the other ladies left the group,” she said. I hadn’t known anything about it, so I hmm’d and ha’d and nodded my head, furrowing my brow and mentioning my ignorance of the other, now former, group members’ activities. At the mention of other members of the group, though, I thought of someone who had been a mutual friend to Kara and me who goes by Nessa. Opportunity bloomed before my eyes for me to tell someone about how Nessa had suddenly, unexpectedly, and without a word to me, deleted me from her Facebook friends’ list. I didn’t feel that it was a great loss—Nessa had blatantly avoided my Halloween party last year, only to have the gall to invite me to her house when I’d expressed that no one was showing up to my party—but I hadn’t had anyone to tell about her having deleted me until just now, because I didn’t have anyone nearby who would have cared to hear about it in any capacity.

            “Nessa deleted me from Facebook,” I said, adding something before the sentence to segue into the topic. The reaction from Kara wasn’t quite what I’d expected, as she said: “She’s jealous of you.” Did I say that wasn’t quite what I’d expected? Let me correct that: It came as a complete surprise. My eyes widened and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

            Well, it was then that I learned that Nessa had been talking badly about me to Kara, who did nothing to add to it and simply tried to diffuse the situation when it came up (after all, she and I are friends and I’ve done nothing to incur either woman’s wrath), but of course I was filled with a burning curiosity to know what was said about me, behind my back, without my knowledge. Happily for me, Kara was happy enough to oblige and humor my curiosity.

            What I learned wasn’t necessarily very specific, but it was quite revealing. Before delving into the things Nessa had said about me—which were quite unimportant but satisfied my curiosity nonetheless—Kara mentioned that Nessa had betrayed her, and not slightly.

            The story is not mine to tell, but suffice to say that what Nessa did was a complete betrayal of trust with Kara and, as far as I’m concerned, was unforgivable. Kara is a more forgiving woman than I, however, and she did forgive Nessa for it—though she admitted to me that she shouldn’t have, based on the caliber of person Nessa has proven to be. Long story short, the betrayal had to do with an actual legal case that was going on and Nessa gave out information that she had specifically been forewarned not to give out. Her excuse when she apologized profusely was as follows: “I didn’t mean to.”

            She didn’t mean to? I don’t think so. Let’s spell out a scenario of similarity in order to shed some light onto my incredulity. Let’s say that Susie is my partner’s ex and she’s trying to keep half of my partner’s belongings because they used to be together, but my partner wants his belongings back, so he’s fighting for them using the legal system. I don’t want Susie to know anything about me because it could somehow jeopardize my partner getting his things back, so I tell my friend, who has become friends with Susie, that I don’t want Susie to know about me. I specifically tell my friend, Nessa (let’s at least keep that part consistent), “Please don’t tell Susie anything about me. I don’t want her to know my name, where I live, what I do for a living, or anything. Nothing. Please.” Nessa agrees, but the next thing I know, Nessa has told Susie every last thing she knows about me!

            I would never have forgiven Nessa.

            Hearing Kara’s story was infuriating. I was filled with a kind of righteous rage, that which drives me to exact vengeance on those who have wronged me or those close to me. I put it aside, however, as it’s not my battle and my friend had already forgiven her for the betrayal, whether it deserved forgiving or not. So, rather than getting into a rage and ranting about the injustice of it all, I mentioned my Halloween party—which led to my learning that Kara had planned to attend, with Nessa! Another surprise!

            This was when I learned that Nessa enjoys making plans with Kara and being the person who coordinates it all, with or without Kara’s knowledge but often with her involvement, only to then decide to cancel and leave the cancelling up to Kara, who beforehand hadn’t even known she’d be involved. It’s a shitty thing to do. Imagine if you and I were friends and I made plans that involved you, but didn’t tell you about them. You get a call from the person with whom I’ve made the plans: “Hey, are you still coming to my picnic?” You’re surprised: “What picnic? Was I going to something? What’s this about?” Suddenly, you become aware that I’ve signed you up for an event without your consent or knowledge. Then, on the day of the event, I say, “You know, I just want to stay home. Can you cancel? Also, can you find a bus back to your house since you don’t have a car and I don’t feel like driving even though I don’t have an issue with gas money because you’d help me with it if I would just give you a ride?” Essentially, that is what Nessa does to Kara.

            When Kara said she’d planned on coming to my party with Nessa, I was angry with the latter woman all over again. How dare she ignore my party completely, make plans with someone to actually attend, then cancel and follow up with the gall to invite me to her disgustingly filthy household to do what I could only assume would amount to sitting outside and smoking weed, because the interior of the house is revolting and also a health hazard…which brings me to my next point.

            Nessa was offended when I looked out for the health and well-being of a child at her home.

            Nessa is not a mother. She cannot understand motherly instinct and she clearly doesn’t respect one mother’s concern over another mother’s child. Nessa had requested help in cleaning her disgustingly filthy home, and I had volunteered because it had been my idea that she should conduct a cleaning party and get as much support as she could, so as to get it done and maybe make it fun. Another friend of mine helped, admittedly more than I did, but on the first day, I was there. So was another woman Nessa had invited.

            The other woman had a small child, perhaps 4 or 5 years old, if memory serves. The house was full of fumes from unchanged kitty litter and stagnant chicken shit in the floors. Unhealthy, respiratory-problem-causing fumes. So, looking out for the child, I suggested keeping her outside so as to prevent her getting sick. Kara told me that her son gets sick every time she takes him with her to visit Nessa’s home. Yet, Nessa took great offense to my concern, choosing to take it as some kind of slight against her. Ridiculous.

            It turns out, from the enlightenment I received from Kara, that Nessa seemed to decide she no longer liked me after I suggested keeping the child outside for health and safety reasons. I had no idea. Nessa never said how she felt while I was at her home, cleaning without safety equipment, nor did she send me a message over Facebook or a text message via phone to express her feelings over the matter. She did, however, feel comfortable with venting all about it to Kara, which turned out well for me because I get a much better idea of her character in addition to getting closure over the issue.

            I will have it known that I did not consider the loss of Nessa’s Facebook friendship to be a big loss. I looked at the “add friend” button on Nessa’s page and thought, “Well, that was unexpected.” That was about the end of it for me, until my good friend, Kara, enlightened me further.

            If anything, my conversation with Kara about Nessa made me feel better about myself and gave me closure to an issue that had vaguely confused me. Someone is jealous of me. What an ego boost! The only other person who has admitted to being jealous of me has done so to my face and it was my older brother, who has proven himself to be a real nigga capable of real talk, whereas this bitch can’t even tell me to my face how she feels. My older brother thinks I’m better than him—it’s not true, but it’s what he told me he thinks, to my face, because he has balls—while this bitch complains about me behind my back and talks about how “negative” I am when I post a meme.

            I compare Nessa to my older brother only because they’re both jealous of me. That is the only connection and the only reason I think about it is because, for the longest time, I thought my brother was a bitch-ass nigga. Ebonics may not be my first language, but I’ve become familiar with it and it is the most appropriate way to describe some things. This is one of those things. Hearing about Nessa made me realize that my brother isn’t nearly as lame as I thought he was and he does, in fact, have the intestinal fortitude to be a good man. I have so much more respect for him now than I did before the revelations of Kara.

            So, for my brother, Cristopher: If you’re reading this, I love you and you are important to me. I want to help you in any way I can to make your dreams come true.

A Letter to An Old Friend

Let me start with your husband. The man is a piece of white trash. I see the photos you post of him. I see him on his ass, his fat gut protruding from his unattractive body, his unattractive face stuck in some perpetual expression of apathetic lethargy. Sometimes, he contorts his hand for the camera; he’s showing off what I can only assume is some kind of gang sign. This, coming from a fat white guy, reminds me solely of my older brother, who once ran with a gang and continues to occasionally speak like he’s still part of that lifestyle. Not that I actually think he ever was. I’ve always thought he was all talk and no walk. But that’s another story.

            I loved you. I love you, still, in my memories. Do I love you now? I’m not sure anymore, if I’m completely honest, but honey, you will always have a special place in my heart and I will continue to look on your status updates with a fond eye, even if what I’m seeing is visually offensive in some way (see above about hand signs). I do not love what your body looks like, now. I do not love your double chin or your sagging breasts or the gut they barely cover. I do not love your poor spelling or poor grammar, nor do I love your choices in life. By the time this letter is finished, perhaps you will have concluded that I do not love you. For all I know, while I write this, I may convince myself of the same. All that remains for me now is to write it, and see.

            I admire your fortitude. I admire your dream job and I want to help you reach your dreams, but the life you want is now the life you have and I know I will never bring you away from it, no matter how much I so desire. You wanted marriage and kids and now you have a husband and a baby. Your primary hobby is also your dream job. It looks a lot to me like your life is moving in precisely the direction you always wanted. I’m glad things are going your way, sweetheart, I really am. Yet, I feel certain sadness when I look upon it; I recognize that now as disappointment in the fact that you are not living your life to a standard I have somehow set in my own mind. That isn’t fair to you, honey, and for that, I am sorry. Perhaps there is an imaginary scenario in my mind that I have clung to for far too long; now is the time to let it go and look on your life as your own, rather than some extension of mine.

            I want to see you get healthy. I want to see you be happy—truly, toothy-grin happy. I’ve never seen you upload a photo in which your teeth show when you smile. All of your smiles are close-lipped, barred, like there’s a wall within you that prevents you from letting go and letting the world see the light I know burns within you. I think that a large part of the sadness I feel for you is sadness in the knowledge that you have never had an orgasm. While you have not lived your life in any way like I thought you might, or like I’ve imagined perhaps that you should, you have not experienced the one thing that can bring a significant measure of peace and serenity to your life. For that, I pity you. I pity you greatly, because I experience an orgasm somewhat regularly and I believe every man and woman should. I want your life to be a fairy tale and I know it never will be because your husband looks like disappointment personified and your child has the pointed chin of Rumplestiltskin or Peter Pan.

            It should not have disappointed me when you asked about the crowd we used to mutually know, before you left. I should have felt happiness at the fact that you wanted to pick up right where we left off, as if all the years between had never even happened. That’s what good friends do, isn’t it? Best friends? We’re best friends, aren’t we? Yet, I felt disappointment because so many years had passed. I wanted to see a woman who had grown and learned, maybe even been educated, but ultimately who spoke like an adult. What I felt I was met with was a bloated teenager and that’s not fair to you because you are so much more than that. Maybe that’s the kind of thinking that leads to disappointment. So be it. So be it that I believe you are a woman who could do so much more than that to which you limit yourself.

            May you see this, my love, and know it is for you and you alone. May you know that I still love you, the way you were and even the way you are now. You are a woman who has achieved her dreams and continues to pursue them because some are still out there, waiting to be taken by the horns and forced into your repertoire of success, while I am a woman bereft of dreams because one of my greatest fears was realized instead of a greater desire and I suffer greatly from a depression that keeps me thinking, believing, even, that my dreams will do nothing but fail. You are a woman who lives a simpler life than I do and for that, perhaps I envy you.

Humans are Actually Terrifying

                Many blog entries have been made to illustrate the scariness of nature. Usually, these entries revolve around animals and how terrifying they can be—and many of them have similar themes. You’re afraid of spiders? Here’s a list of the 10 largest/deadliest/scariest-looking spiders we can find pictures of and information for. You like cats? Here’s a list of the most unsettling facts we can possibly find about the feline world. Wait, you think these particular animals are scary? Let me tell you all about the animals that eat them.

Cracked.com's Scariest Animals

                Other blogs have gone the other direction—posting information in order to convince us that nature isn’t scary at all and the world is really a wonderful place full of beauty and mysticism. Such articles include things like the top 10 largest holes in the ground, largest lakes, most strikingly-colored aquatic life, etc.

                A news article covers the “ten scariest animals in nature,” an article that seems to debunk the scariness of some animals while illustrating that others are scarier than we thought.

NBC News's Scariest Animals

                Popular images when one Google searches “scary nature” include deep-sea life and tremendous storms, along with the occasional image of nature eating something like a street sign.

                Still other blogs like to simply post information with no hidden agenda. The best example of that, in my opinion, is a video series by zefrank1 on YouTube called “True Facts About...” The videos themselves are highly amusing and great fun to watch, yet they still cover facts that are, in fact, true (imagine that!).

                However, how often have we taken the time to look at humans as a creation of nature? Religious people like to argue that we are created by an almighty, omnipresent, omniscient, benevolent, just, jealous, vengeful, mysterious “God”, when the truth is that nature “created” us, just as it created every other mammal, reptile, amphibian, sea creature, and plant on the planet. The truth is that evolution is a fact, whether you decide to believe in it or not. The greater truth, as I have come to know, is that humans are by far the scariest creatures ever to come from nature.

                “But what about the box jellyfish?!” one might ask. The box jellyfish minds its own damn business and won’t hurt you unless you mess with it—intentionally or not. Now, let’s focus on what I’m actually saying, please.

                Humans are the only creatures to unintentionally cause serious harm to the environment. Wikipedia hosts a lovely list of nuclear and radiation accidents and incidents (actually the name of the page, if you want to look it up yourself), organized so that you can jump to one category in particular if you’re so inclined. Their list of nuclear meltdowns is one that I find particularly compelling for illustrating my point.

Nuclear Radiation Accidents and Incidents

Images of Nuclear Accidents:

                Those are accidents. Those images and the lists on Wikipedia don’t address what humans do deliberately to destroy the planet. A lot of people think explosions are cool. The Myth Busters are famous for blowing stuff up in nearly every one of their episodes. I have a number of friends who think explosions are really cool-looking; these are also friends who advocate firearms and are great fans of what Americans like to call “air power”. Now, don’t get me wrong, explosions can look cool… but…

                I’m sure we’re all aware of the attacks on Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Here’s a look at those explosions.

Nagasaki and Hiroshima

                Those are pretty nifty, aren’t they? Nuclear explosions are famous (or infamous) for their mushroom-shaped clouds and, conveniently, Google has a nice collection of images in stock! But this post isn’t about the explosions. It isn’t about weapons or war or firepower of any kind. This post, I’ll remind you, is about the scariness of humanity.

                Consider, for instance, the aftermath of any given explosion. If you’ve seen images on the news after Hurricane Katrina, you may have an idea. But Hurricane Katrina was a natural disaster—not something done to the planet by humans.

                We agreed that those explosions looked pretty cool, didn’t we? Sure, we did. We like looking at pictures of explosions. What we don’t like looking at is the aftermath. Take, for instance, the aftermath at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

                The rubble and people made homeless don’t look like much, especially when placed side-by-side with pictures of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. The woman’s face, even, could be worse, couldn’t it? Images like these should be far more compelling than they are, but radiation itself is invisible (unless it’s glowing in the dark). We can’t see the danger floating in the air that we as a species created. What we can see, however, are the effects of that danger.

                You may still be asking yourself, “How are humans the scariest creatures on the planet?” to which I respond, “We destroy everything.” Not only do we destroy the planet in every creative way we can imagine, we destroy each other. People are all too happy to be terrified of being bitten or eaten alive by piranhas or sharks. What they don’t seem to be afraid of—as they should be—is an attack from a fellow human being.

                The irony of this is that humans attack people far more often than any other animal in nature. It’s in the news every single day—a school shooting, a serial killer on the loose, sexual predators possibly living in your neighborhoods and preying on your children, a mother who has killed her baby, and kids who have killed their mother. Why are we not more afraid of humans? Humans are unpredictable, dangerous creatures! They come in all shapes, sizes, appearances, rendering judgment by appearance impossible!

                One terrible fact that I, and many others I know, have come to notice is that people are immensely guilty of “bystander syndrome”—an inner voice that tells you, “Someone will take care of it,” accompanied by a feeling of non-involvement and non-responsibility and, perhaps, a twinge of guilt—whenever they see something that they know, ultimately, is wrong. Take, for instance, a man falling down in the street and not a single person stopping to help him for well over an hour, then by the time someone finally does stop, it’s too late. He’s dead. Or, perhaps there’s a situation you see at a bar where a man is hitting on a woman who is clearly drunk; you know the woman doesn’t want anything to do with the man but you do nothing to separate them and ultimately he rapes her.

                There are many things we tell ourselves as bystanders and we are all guilty of bystander syndrome at one time or another. In the situation with a man falling in the street, we may look at his shabby clothing and unshaven face and think to ourselves, “He’s probably homeless,” or, “If he’s really sick, I don’t want to catch his disease,” or, “I don’t know anything about him and I don’t want to put myself in any kind of danger.” We are conditioned from a very young age to think, when we see a stranger, “You never know who someone is.” The problem with this conditioning is that this inner talk is almost always negative toward strangers. We don’t stop to offer aid to a homeless man on the sidewalk because we don’t know anything about him. He could have been a largely successful man before he lost everything due to circumstances outside his control. Or, as we are more prone to assuming, he could be a drug addict just looking for his next fix. In the situation with the man and woman in the bar, we are likely to think to ourselves, “It’s none of my business,” or, “I don’t want to fight that guy,” or, “I don’t know them; I shouldn’t get involved.” We are conditioned from an early age to think that what others do is none of our business and we should never get involved in the affairs of others. We put blinders on, stick our heads in the sand, and mind our own business for fear of altercation with another person, or fear of judgment.

                More than those things, however, we laugh things off that are not funny and should not be made into jokes. The word “rape” is thrown around so often now that fewer and fewer people take it seriously and therefore are less likely to do anything to prevent a rape from happening—due to the idea that it “isn’t a big deal.” It is a big deal. It’s something that the US military is focusing on very heavily, along with drunk driving, to eliminate—and, with it, bystander syndrome, so that those around people who are drinking or making advances on drunk women are not driving drunk or taking home unwilling partners.

                Bystander syndrome may well be the scariest trait of humanity. After all, while there are rapists, pedophiles, and murderers out there—and usually you can’t identify them by looks alone—think of this: There are more people than all of those criminals combined who sit back and do nothing while these things happen. Think of Jeffrey Dahmer’s neighbors, who smelled the rotting corpses of his victims and heard the sounds of his tools while he went about cutting them into bits—yet who did nothing to investigate. Some called the police, yes—and good for them for doing so, I’m certainly not saying they shouldn’t have—but the police, after very brief questioning, went on their way and thought no more about it. Or—even worse than Dahmer’s neighbors—think of the two cops who went to his apartment with one of his last victims, a teenage boy, after finding said boy trying to run down the street naked with blood on him from being anally raped—a boy found by two girls who called for help and knew something was wrong, girls who did something and were not bystanders—and after brief questioning and absolutely no background checking, the cops left the boy with Dahmer in his apartment and went on their way. Bystanders are literally the reason Jeffrey Dahmer got away with murder so many times.

                What I’m trying to say is this: Rapists of all kinds…

…serial killers…

…and drug addicts…

…might scare you. They might make you nervous. But I have to ask you…

                What about your neighbors who will stand idly by and watch a drive-by shooting destroy your house? What about the people filling a restaurant so that nobody can get in without a reservation, turning away as you choke on a piece of your food? What about the hundreds, perhaps thousands of people in the streets, walking right by you as you fall over, coughing, in desperate need of medical attention on your way to the hospital—and not a single person stops to ask if you need help while you collapse to the ground and cough out your final breaths among specks of blood?

                It isn’t just about what humans do to destroy the planet. It isn’t even about what humans do to actively destroy one another—such as with war.

                It’s about the fact that we do nothing to stop it, and we are doing more and more of nothing every single day.