There is something you should know about me. I am a Ceridon. It is more than a surname, it is a mental state. Being as there are so few afflicted with being a Ceridon, it will never appear in the DSM; besides, it’s not a disorder, it is a state of being.
I am just leaving a gathering of Ceridons feeling that sort of weird completeness that only comes with being with your own tribe. Your people. The ones that get you and your special kind of mental being. For those who have never been to a Ceridon rodeo, it’s hard to explain just how weird, offensive, vulgar, sassy and LOUD it can get. Especially when the gathering is for what those outside the Ohana would consider the somber occasion of saying goodbye to one of our clan. Like the meaning of Aloha, we say goodbye just as we say hello, but we do it at 11.
For those that know me personally, you know I am a proud, loud, volatile, expressive, opinionated, intense, and spirited person. That is an essence of Ceridon. And, while I score pretty high on the Ceridon spectrum, I am by no means exceptional in comparison to some of my cousins, aunties and uncles. I may possess only the tiniest of filters between my brain and mouth, but, trust me, there are Ceridons that possess even smaller ones. While I may drip with sarcasm, there are Ceridons that drown in it. While I may poke and needle to get a rile outta you, there are Ceridons who use a sledge hammer.
We are loud. We are unfiltered. We are crude. We are vulgar. We are animated. We are expressive. We are volatile. We are funny. We are laughter. We are colorful. We are sassy. We are snappy. We are loud (yes, that loud). We are irrepressible. We are Ohana.
This is my tribe.
I wasted endless energy trying to repress, the unrepressible…to be less volatile…less outrageous…less spirited…less vulgar…less what I thought was crazy… less mentally unfit…less disordered…less inappropriate…less loud…less me….less Ceridon.
But a tiger does not change its stripes. I lashes out and fights against the forces that try to tame its natural state… it’s normal mental being. The repressed tiger is the stressed tiger. Someday, that tiger will say it’s had enough and it will buy a motorcycle and ride across the country screaming “Fuck it, I am a tiger.”
No, I am not crazy. I am a Ceridon.
Happy cooking and aloha!
We all miss you uncle.