practice just being

Silent like a song without music

2011-04-14T20:55:00.000-07:00

She tugged on the edge of her lace like she was strumming an old acoustic guitar:

Quietly, almost in secret, thinking about the world and its relationship to her- to humanity. While she wondered what the next day might bring, what the next weather report might reveal, she couldn't help but be consumed with memories of what had already happened and how it came about.

The past is confusing simply because it obliges us to ponder and reflect. The future is easier because we can dream, imagine, and- hopefully- obtain what we set out to do. But that is rarely the case. Our past existence always finds a way of creeping up on us; it has made us who we are, and ultimately, it provides us with a pathway for who we really want to become. We can regret our failures and remember our victories, sure, but what we actually should do is learn from each individual occurrence and allow our revelations a reserved place in some warped future life. What is living without learning, anyway?

These are the thoughts that would fill her mind, beneath the warm welcome of the summer sun and over-arching tree branches sprinkling shade. As she slowly brought the strawberry to her chapped lips, her mind remained in motion, and her heart hesitated through the unavoidable hurdles of love.

She rather liked being alone. Hearing her own thoughts, fearing her irrational insecurities, nearing a complete mental breakdown, she suddenly stopped, if only for a second.

"What if I'm always more comfortable being alone?"

She couldn't shake the sentiment. What if? Are some of us truly better off alone? And if so, how do we derive that surreal feeling of intimacy that comes with loving, with needing, another companion?

Questions raced through her tired mind, and she couldn't provide answers to any of them. Maybe that was her answer: a lack of solutions. If we lead a life always searching, yearning, for solid solutions to problems, then perhaps we miss out on what mere existence is trying to offer us-

"peace of mind..."

Loving yourself when you're alone is the most powerful and precious gift, and it should never be taken at face value. Too many people suffer from unhappiness, and the main source is the self.

Love yourself, if only in silence, like a song without music, always searching for resonating harmony.

Sometimes, they call it poetry.

Happiness (hap-ee-nis): noun.

2011-03-27T09:03:00.000-07:00

1. the quality or state of being happy (thanks, dictionary)

2. good fortune; pleasure; contentment; joy.

These definitions seem far too trivial to truly encompass the meaning of what it is to be happy. I foolishly opened the dictionary hoping to find instructions, I guess. I wanted to know how to get back to complacency, and I wanted someone- something- to tell me how to do it. But that was precisely my problem.

Happiness, while the perfunctory "quality or state of being happy," is extremely subjective. It lives within, and is completely different, for all of us. I've been trying to remember what it means for me.

Happiness is waking up early, a morning cup of coffee, and a night sky full of stars. It is a random rush of energy and a light summer breeze. Happiness is collecting sea shells on the sand, exploring a lighthouse full of history, making up stories, asking questions, and getting answers. Happiness is in the first and last rain drop that cascades down my cheek. Happiness is allowing myself to be sad when I need to be. It is a brief encounter with fate and serendipity; it is not knowing what tomorrow will bring. Happiness is an old library book, a photo album full of memories, and a terribly trite joke. Happiness is in laughter and making others laugh. Happiness is a delicious breakfast on Saturday morning, and a dinner date spent sharing your soul. It is looking into someone's eyes and knowing you have somehow brought happiness to them.

Happiness is living even though life is not always happy.

Didn't Jew know?

2011-03-24T22:24:00.000-07:00

An essay contest for the New York Times has recently caught my attention and current interest. They asked college students to write about the perception of love and relationships in the modern world. This will be my submission.

Didn’t Jew Know?

By Lydia Martin

A couple of weeks ago I was broken up with for being liked and cared about too much. At first glance, this may seem absurd, but the intricate and complicated explanations underlying the situation are worth the words it will take.

We met unexpectedly. But in the midst of busy lives, we found each other at precisely the right time to be found. He was full of certainty, while I remained a mystery even to myself. His spirit awakened my senses, and I was finally able to feel something after years of quietly hiding from hurt. I remember the first time we spoke. I remember liking him instantly. And I remember my heart practically jumping into my throat when he asked me to go to dinner with him. The novelty that exists in a budding relationship is exhilarating, exciting, and intoxicating. But that is also precisely why it is dangerous.

The six months we spent growing together are undoubtedly some of the best moments of my life, leaving a trail of wonderful memories in my mind. We performed the typical couple tasks, which generally include hand-holding in the car, cuddling under a blanket on the couch, “watching” movies we never actually watched. While these activities make us feel wanted, deserved, adored, they are not what really creates or defines a relationship. The relationship comes when silence is comfortable, words are no longer necessary, and the heart begins to speak for itself.

Our relationship became real, I think, after we spent three amazingly perfect days in Tybee Island during our school’s winter break. It was early December, I just turned twenty-one, and we had been absolutely enthralled with one another for about two months. The car rides were full of laughter and music, stories and stand-up comedy routines. We arrived in Tybee to find it utterly deserted. With the exception of a few locals and time-share owners, the little beach town was solely ours to explore. And we did.

We stumbled along the sidewalk, full on champagne and high on each other’s company. We walked across the pier with cold hands in pockets, pondering the emptiness of the beach in the winter and the tranquility that naturally comes with it. We watched the sun set over the drifting shoreline, while keeping each other in our peripheral sight. As the night silently crept up on us, we walked back in search of food, more champagne, and more conversation.

That night we became who we were together. We fell for each other more with every passing minute, excited for our similarities and content with our differences. It was the best, healthiest, and most fulfilling relationship I have ever experienced. And that is exactly why it was the hardest to give up.

Of course it was raining the day he broke up with me. I blissfully walked with the raindrops and avoided the puddles on the way over to his apartment. We went to his room, and as soon as he decided to sit in the chair near the window rather than next to me on his bed, my head and heart began to feel heavy with the weight of looming tears.

Then he began to speak.

He told me he cared about me, and liked me more every day. He also told me that this was the problem. It was a problem we would never find a solution to depsite our constant struggle to desperately try. We ended the relationship through hazy, uncertain words.

And then I left, forcing my tears to stay behind watering eyes a few minutes longer and holding my heart in the now lifeless palm of my hand. For the next three days, I cried; I tried to write, cried some more, ate Moose Tracks ice cream, and cried in between scoops.

The hardest part about breaking up is made even more torturous by the booming technology that cultivates the world of social networking. I saw every picture, every post, every moment of his life that was no longer a part of mine. I could literally feel my heart breaking. I thought I would never be happy again. But as much time as it takes to make a relationship thrive, it takes twice as much to learn how to let it go and let it be.

I’m still in the process of allowing myself to feel okay. The strange and difficult limbo that followed the break up can be summed up in the fact that nothing was wrong with the relationship. I had nothing to blame, no one to be angry with, and an awful lingering desire to keep him close, if only in friendship. But romantic relationships require distance and separation from an intended future friendship. The heart needs time to heal and feel whole in the absence of a lover’s embrace. We must learn to be fully happy with ourselves before we can truly be happy with someone else. I find immense comfort in this notion because I now realize that as much as I adored every single moment we spent together as an “us,” he could never love me and accept me entirely as I am. He could never really allow every seemingly minute aspect of my being to be an enduring part of his. I was, unknowingly, the ghost in the machine of our relationship, blinded by, and consumed with romantic feelings for someone I could never be with forever. He was saving me by breaking up with me- from myself and us.

People come into our lives every day, and they serve a purpose. They act as transitional elements, synthesizing our existence into something meaningful- and beautiful. We need human contact; we need to feel wanted. It's an innate part of us, and it is why we co-exist. It's why falling in love feels infinitely surreal, while losing a loved one feels like nothing will ever be the same in the world. The impact we hold over each other's lives is one of the strongest bonds in the physical world, and the most influential agent we have in the mental realm. I think that is one of the hardest features of our relationships with others: we allow ourselves to be intimately impacted by other people. We have to, because if we didn’t, then life would lose a lot of its meaning. I’m not suggesting we define ourselves by others beliefs, in fact, that is precisely what we shouldn’t do. But I am saying that we are human beings full of feelings that will most likely be acted upon. We have to be okay with these feelings, and find peace within ourselves, before we can properly let another individual affect us in myriad facets of life and love.

I cannot, and will not, regret the decision I made to date an outstanding Jewish boy. I entered a relationship I knew could never last, and as a result, I learned more about myself and life than I ever thought possible. I live with infinite, infallible memories of reading The New Yorker in the sunshine, making coffee at 8 A.M. on Saturday (Shabbat) mornings, and sharing stories of young life on the Hudson in Tribeca. These memories will never fade or lose meaning. They are a part of me. He is a part of me. And as Tennyson once said, “I am part of all that I have met.” In this, I find hope; for that, I find comfort.

Dear Self,

2011-01-24T11:35:00.000-08:00

Our aspirations are forever guiding us throughout our lives. Every seemingly minute detail about the choices we make are actually being governed by one incentive that has manifested itself into a dream. And while some of these dreams might lead into the dark, others will follow the light and develop into a truly wonderful accomplishment. It is often difficult to obtain the path that will lead to success, and most must first encounter many dark corners before moving on to their true path of passion, but the future is worth the wait. Many become discouraged after a failed attempt at a future goal, but we must keep moving, and growing, and living in order to find ourselves and what we were meant to do in this world. And you must ask yourself how many wrong paths you are willing to travel before you reach your ultimate destination. You might be wondering, but how many paths are there for me to choose from? And the answer is simple: as many as you're willing to take.

Over the past 21 years, I have been able to successfully narrow my future goals down from infinitely many to about three or four. I have discovered there are things in this world that I was simply not meant to do. For example, any career that is related to the practice of mathematics on a daily basis is not allowed into my life. But in light of finding my various Achilles' heels, I have also found my passions.

I love to sing. I love to laugh. I love to write. I have been fascinated by people and everything they do, with or without reason, since I could put a coherent thought together. I used to just observe their interactions for hours- at the mall, a restaurant, the airport, and even my own home. This interest in the human race and their actions soon developed into an interest in writing sitcoms or scripts. Why should I watch when I could write? My future goal is to become a writer.

Do not be mislead when I say the word "writer." I do not have enough patience to become an author and write countless novels. I do not have the mindset of a poet. I am too opinionated to write anything for a newspaper. But I am the perfect people person. I want to write hysterical episodes detailing the lives of strange people. I want to adapt books that have already captured my heart into movies that could potentially win an Oscar. I want to publish one of my journals and finally let my family know how ridiculous some of their antics can be. Mostly, though, I want my voice heard among the white noise of the corporate world.

L'chaim

2011-01-07T14:17:00.000-08:00

Today, they found Erik Downes' body. But they only found his body because his wonderful, gracious existence still lives on in all of the people that were fortunate enough to know him. If you did not have the pleasure of knowing Erik while he was alive, I am sorry for you- probably more sorry than I am for the people who had the chance to experience the exquisite person, son, brother, and friend he was- to everyone.

While I was not one of Erik's closest friends, I was his classmate, and his fellow petrel. I admired him and his drive, both in life and school. He impacted the Oglethorpe community in unimaginable ways, bringing smiles to everyone throughout the busy day and motivation in the late hours of nights consumed with studying. He was a man of perseverance, of humility, and of God. His beliefs gave me the strength to believe in something- in anything- and his pure spirit brought a light to Atlanta that can never go out. Erik Downes was someone who could- no, would- have changed the world, and I am deeply sorrowful that the Earth will never know what he had to offer it: passion, love, wit, intelligence, grace, kindness, innovation, belief, and hope. His death is nothing but a tragedy, but his life will always be something to celebrate.

To Erik Downes; to the people he loved and those that loved him back; to his family; to his existence...L'chaim.

The most wasted of days

2010-07-02T10:47:00.000-07:00

...is one without laughter (e.e. cummings)

I believe in this quote more than I believe in most people. Laughing, in its most basic nature, purifies and refreshes the beating of your heart. It catches you off guard at times, knocks the wind from your lungs, tightens your stomach muscles and leaves you with the most incredible breath of new life as it passes, and softens, and lingers in your happiness. So laugh. Be happy.

I feel like reminders of the small wonders in life are necessary to maintain a positive perspective on the act of living. It's mainly the huge uproars of catastrophy in the political, social, and environmental spheres of life that get me down and depressed about the world. But then I remember living, and experiencing, and failing, and succeeding and all of the intense emotions and outcomes of each- it helps; it heals. When something as simple as a laugh can define the infinite beauty of existence, you realize how complex the whole system is. Sure, we're in a terribly awful, no good, very bad economic period; however, one tiny portion of my day can overlook these unfortunate circumstances to enjoy a magnificient parade of clouds against the sky, or an ice cream cone melting down the side of my hand in the blazing summer heat, or the company of lovely individuals. We can't let the beauty and joy of life become overshadowed and destroyed by the unfortunate decisions of a few powerful people (ahem, BP) or the unpredictable wrath of the invisible hand. Take the little things: a lemonade stand, a good book, fireplaces on cold nights, baking anything, laughing at everything- and enhance their impact on your life. Make them the main points of focus when possible. The result should be equivalent to something between taking a warm bath and falling in love. Maybe.

Razzleberry Peace Tea

2010-06-24T09:32:00.000-07:00

Tea is my current drink of choice. It's just simply delicious.

In other news, Joel and I will be off on an adventure to Orlando, FL this weekend for his friends' combined (and AWESOME) bachelor/bachelorette party extravaganza. Let's just say that the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and Islands of Adventure will be involved, which is spectacular in and of itself. But I am most excited about getting away, laughing with friends, drinking, eating, and not caring one bit about work or my life inside the bounds of the Georgia state lines. Vacations are what I live for, basically. I am running low on interesting happenings in my life, but I am certain that after this weekend has passed much will be said and much will be reflected upon. Hahaha. Until then, lads and ladies- peace [tea].

Oh, and there is a slight chance I will be returning with a tattoo. Who knows?

Nostalgia 3D

2010-06-18T14:21:00.000-07:00

Tonight is the night.

Toy Story 3 will be hitting theatres this evening after a tremendously tormenting time lapse of about eleven years. So those kids better watch themselves because I have the ability to reserve my own tickets, which Joel did already, and we will be in the theatre well before it starts at 7PM. If all the good seats are taken, it might get chaotic. My suspense for this second sequel to one of the greatest children's movies of all time is extreme, and I will stop at nothing to see those beloved characters on the big screen once more- from a suitable seat.

I remember the night I saw the premiere screening of Toy Story 2. We were living in Manhattan, when Bill still had his career, his alcohol, and somehow his sanity. Back when I had somewhat of a little nuclear family, and we went to incredible places together and shared memorable experiences with each other. Carrie and I were two of the luckiest little girls in the world, and we didn't even realize it yet. But that night really put our situation into perspective. As we were leaving the theatre, enamored with the film we just watched before every other kid out there, waiting for the following week and its public debut, Bill got a call to rush down town for an interview with Tom Hanks before he left for Los Angeles that night. He hugged us all goodbye, and as he was walking towards the curb to call a cab I yelled, "Tell Tom I said hello!" Bill laughed and assured me that he would do just that. I had never really thought about the impact Bill had on us those first few months of living in New York. But that night- that instant- I realized all that was made possible, all I was fortunate enough to experience because of Bill's presence in our lives, and I was happy; I was safe. Life used to be so surreal. Living used to be easy.

So tonight, I cheers to the Toy Story trilogy; a cheers to the life I once had and how it transformed me into the person writing these words today; cheers to Bill and everything he did for us, to hope and happiness, missing and regret.

Oh, & cheers to Tom Hanks, of course.

Memories aren't records; they're interpretations

2010-06-17T16:09:00.000-07:00

My mind is an infinite source of thought.

& I realized today that I do not write them down nearly as often as I should. I need to preserve my present and give my future self something to observe and interpret from an entirely new perspective. I need to experience, record, and ultimately learn later in life. Only this time around, it won't be the diary of a self-conscious twelve year old girl, filled with arbitrary crushes on boys who remain in my memory as a mere name, not even a last name, and maybe a fuzzy face. But those encounters were far less thrilling and meaningful than my current position in life. Two years of college are rapidly being left behind, and the next two years are perhaps some of the most important months of my life. I hate that I didn't write about more moments these last two years- wonderful yet ephemeral moments with incredible and intellectual people. Of course, there will be certain things that don't possess the ability to leave my mind. I will forever hold onto some quite vivid and prodigious experiences that Oglethorpe has provided me with. And as for the other memories that will inevitably fade, leaving my mind with only a vague interpretation of what was once a certain and seemingly infallible record, these memories have their purpose too. Perhaps it is best that our minds learn to let things go. What was once an exhilarating childhood experience, like riding a bike in the neighborhood or selling lemonade on the sidewalk, is now only a thought, not even a memory, but a miniscule recollection of the fact that it probably happened. But if these were the memories reigning supreme in my psyche, then I fear that other more recently made memories would only falter and never even get the chance to reside in my subconscious for a while. It is in our nature to forget. While the brain is excessively powerful, it is not, and never can be, perfect. Our capacity to hold certain information alters throughout our lives, and I think that in an intense knowledge-seeking environment (such as college), our minds must learn to let a few things fall behind in order to make suitable space for myriad novels, essays, papers, presentations, speeches, and yes, the dreaded final examinations. Still, I find both beauty and terror in the act of forgetting. One day I will remember things the way I want to, and not necessarily the way they occurred. But that's okay. If anything, that will be refreshing, and liberating! Growing older, losing more and more of my past life every day, will somehow make getting old easier and far more appealing. Once I reach the point in my life where I look back on what I have accomplished, ruined, changed, learned- and I only find happiness (no regrets or distress) in my ignorance of all the 20 hour work days, parking tickets, failed tests, drunken frat house nights- this will be a blissful time for living. And as for the memories that I know I will always want to keep, I should probably start writing them down. Anywhere, on anything, at any point in time.

Well then, Life, let's get goin'.

Luxury Retail Fascism

2010-06-16T09:32:00.000-07:00

Eh, I suppose the updates could be more frequent.

However, there is one terribly mundane and boring activity standing in my way of writing. This activity is known as a minimum wage, part-time job. You see, it is apparently pertinent to surviving to maintain a financial income in order to purchase, well, everything needed to sustain life. This can be troublesome when one does nothing but write down thoughts all day, and therefore, a stupid job is necessary.

I have never worked in retail before. And after the experience I have had in said area thus far, I doubt I will ever return to selling clothes- at least to rich people at Phipps Plaza. I feel like I fall down the rabbit hole and into some warped Wonderland every time I walk in for my shift. Suddenly, the rules (or lack thereof) applied to my own life change dramatically, and they transform into unrealistic, petty and shallow terms of agreement. The idea of treating people differently, as though they deserve something more, simply because they (or most often, their husbands) just so happen to possess abundant amounts of money irks me endlessly. We don't have customers, we have "clientel." For those of you that are unaware of the difference between these two terms (and don't feel ashamed; if anything, you are a better educated person for that), mere customers are simply provided a service in order to persuade them to buy something. This relationship typically works for stores that do not charge $45 for a "favorite" tank [top]. But for those ritzy, upscale boutiques that use the most luxurious fabrics and can somehow substantiate the need for a $40 t-shirt, the idea of a customer does not work. Instead, we are forced to build the "clientel" relationship with the shoppers: offer them a beverage, put their information in our client books in order to send future thank-you notes and contact them when sales occur.

I cannot accurately convey how ridiculous I find my current job to be.

The regime must be stopped! More to come, mes amis.

Sanity Search

2010-05-18T14:05:00.001-07:00

I just feel so incredibly weird lately.

My priorities in life have changed drastically within a mere week, and it's daunting; it's unfamiliar, and I don't know how to react quite yet. Time is such a strange, wonderful, phenomenal notion. There are moments when two weeks feels like it will last an eternity, and then there are those sporadic instances when you reflect on the years that have recently passed and wonder how it could have all happened so quickly. In our rudimentary daily living, nothing seems like it's blazing past you relentlessly. You're simply making motions throughout life, deciding to do one thing instead of another, existing as you desire and under your own regulations. You are playing the most important game you ever will, and every instant of every day means something, determines something, changes something. Seconds are powerful portions of time.
Right now, my life is glacially drifting by, leaving me without answers and without security. I'm being forced to sit back as I watch people in my life, whom I care for deeply, destroy their psyches and subsequently their happiness. It is literally the most disheartening situation I have ever had to witness. And it's messing with my mind, I know it. My view of humanity is so skewed and clouded with skepticism that I can barely concentrate on the beauty of life outside of people. I think I may go on hiatus from humans for a bit and bring myself back to nature, back to my sanity.

"Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life." - Pablo Neruda

Hiatus Halt

2010-04-25T07:02:00.000-07:00

I promise to come back to this world.

But for the time being, school assignments have taken my creativity hostage and forced it to work only on research papers, final papers, and final exams. Soon, however, my mind will be back on summer-time. This means that I will write, write, write- no excuses.

Until then, be peaceful. Be happy.

Crackerjacks;

2009-04-15T21:06:00.001-07:00

I used to believe that life is about finding yourself.
But now I am finally realizing that your life is about defining yourself, building off of everything you were, innovating with everything that you are and imagining everything that you can be. We are the most complex beings on the planet because our souls are comprised of so many different experiences, lifetimes and friendships. We learn and grow from the people we surround ourselves with and the situations we are placed in, meticulously adding each puzzle piece to our entire masterpiece. You are everything you have been through, are currently going through and will eventually deal with. And while you may feel as though you are changing, it is not you as a person who is necessarily changing, adopting a new form and presenting it to the world as your 'new-self;' it is your atmosphere and subsequently how you adapt to it at that point in your life that is evolving; it is your bond with others around you and how you relate to them in those particular moments that is growing and becoming more intimate; it is your mind expanding as you are experiencing and learning from every seemingly mundane or minute detail about the world around you. You can't change, but you can reevaluate and build off of the person you thought you left behind. But you should never leave pieces of yourself behind. You must embrace your embarrassing past and utilize your forgotten heartache or happiness to create beauty in the world, to show other people they are not the only ones who have felt those feelings and wanted to leave them behind. Your puzzle can't be completed without all of the pieces, and isn't that what you have desired all along? To feel complete?

11:55 AM

2008-12-05T08:53:00.000-08:00

So it's my birthday again, but this time it's different.
Today is the first birthday I didn't spend at home, asleep in my bed, waiting for my mother to come down the stairs ridiculously early in the morning to whisper "Happy Birthday" in my ear and leave my present on my bedside table. I didn't spend the majority of the night wide awake, anticipating the day to come, excited for the ginger bread house my mom always brought into one of my classes.
To be honest, I didn't even realize it was going to be my birthday until it literally hit me sometime Wednesday morning. I thought, "Oh, I'm going to be 19 on Friday. Big effing deal." Having a birthday is cool and all, but 19 is such an arbitrary age; it's really more like...18 B. Nothing monumental happens at 19. You can do everything you could do at 18, and you're still a teenager. Nevertheless, it is still a birthday, and I intend to party just as much as if it mattered more. I'm just a bit more laid back about the 'excited for turning a year older' aspect.
I feel like I turned about three years older a couple of months ago. It's strange, but living on my own, coming and leaving as I please, taking major control of all decisions in my academic career and succeeding has truly made me 'grow up.' So I suppose this really should be my 22nd birthday, and I should be allowed to go out to the bars tonight and make even more grown up decisions. That's how birthday's should work- with obvious discretion.
Thus far, though, this birthday is turning out to be one of the more favorable ones for me. It's a beautifully sunny day, and I only had one class, which I thoroughly enjoy. But what really is going to make this birthday the best yet is Mr. Joel Anders and his presence in my life. I received my first birthday kiss at midnight from someone I truly love and care for. That in itself made the day begin just as I wished :).

Park Adventures;

2008-11-12T08:59:00.000-08:00

A sunset spent at Piedmont Park yielded these photos... as well as an ever growing love.

Landslide;

2008-11-07T08:46:00.000-08:00

Tuesday night was epic, to say the least.

After about 11 p.m., all was lost- or won in this case. Barack Obama is now the 44th president of the United States of America, and I could not be more excited about that bit of information. I am so happy this was my first election I had the ability to take part in and make a difference. It was a complete success. The best part about the election results, though, was after the news had arrived and eventually spread across America. I took a walk with Joel, John, Ta and Chris around the Tech campus after Obama reached 338 electoral votes (which wasn't even the highest amount he would receive that night) in celebration, and I could not believe what was unfolding before me. For the first time in my life, and the lives of so many others, people were incandescently happy- simultaneously. People were honking their horns as they drove by us, screaming for joy, and other cars joined in response. It was as though we were all going to be okay and we knew it. I couldn't help but join in with the cheering, and I almost lost my voice. I have never been more proud to be an American. All over the world, politicians are supporting the American people in their decision to elect Obama, and I think this is a major milestone in our relationships with the rest of the world. Things are going to be different; we are going to see change; we are going to thrive as a nation and a people.

I can't believe I am a part of it.

Obama '08.

2008-10-23T15:06:00.001-07:00

I am so sick and exasperated by the fact that this election has turned into constant personal attacks on character. I am not ignorant. I know this happens every day, both inside and outside of the public eye, but it seems to me that the 2008 election has become malicious in nature now more than ever before. Our current situation is driving people to extremes that should not be reached during the interval in which the next leader of our country is to be chosen. Everyone wants a solution, and everyone wants it now. But it can't come now. We have been driven into a crisis that is not going to be mended over night. Other countries' perceptions of us will not transform in the blink of an eye or an unnecessary bombing of innocent civilians. The economy will not rebound by the simple act of drilling everywhere we can or giving EVERYONE a '$5000 tax break,' which has incidentally been promised for years with no results. It is going to take cooperation and compassion. It is going to take time and temperament. It is going to take sacrifice and submission.
When you blatantly criticize an individual based on race or religion, and utilize these criticisms as your main opposition to his or her ideals, then you are utterly foolish. It is the 21st century, the dawn of a new era, where intelligence and talent is not limited to white males with a whip. People can think for themselves, some better than others. Too many people are stuck in a world where 'tradition' has become paralyzing and ineffective. We now require different maintenances and plans for the future. With that said, I am publicly displaying my support for Barack Obama in the upcoming election.
I am not as much a philanthropist as I probably should be. Nor am I prone to tolerance for stupidity. But I know money doesn't magically appear when it is needed, and I know that children should NOT be held responsible for their parent's mistakes, intentional or unintentional. I know that an increase in taxes for the wealthy, subsequently cutting taxes for 95% of Americans, is going to help more than it hurts. God forbid you can't buy your spoiled children a pony for their birthday or a Hummer at age 16. I know that everyone who wants to go to college should have the opportunity, and without the work that illegal immigrants provide, your million dollar homes would not be built. More options for healthcare is not a campaign for socialism. It is another opportunity. If you have healthcare already, then you are not bothered. Most people's opposition to the tax dilemma is that it will decrease capitalism and a drive to succeed, but no one is going to succumb to living in slightly lower standards simply because more of your money will be put toward something to help more people than you could ever imagine. No one is going to change their current career path because of tax increases. It will not be forever; but it has to be for now. Money is not rushing in by the billions; it is doing the exact opposite. And until we cease spending 10 billion dollars or more a year on the war, sacrifices must be made. I know, I know, "it wasn't our decision to go to war, why should we have to pay for it." Because you live here. Because you have made a life as an American, and if you don't want to be bothered by the fact that the government has to spend money in order to do certain things, then leave, please. Sacrifice some money now so your children can have a somewhat promising future.
And the fact that some deem it acceptable to refer to Obama as the "anti-christ" is completely disturbing and shocking. You ignorant, self-absorbed pricks.
That's all. But probably not. Let the comments roll.

No Note;

2008-10-07T22:56:00.000-07:00

Please do not think I am attempting to be morbid by writing this blog. I have an assignment for my Modern and Contemporary Literature class to write an imitation of sorts of a work we have read thus far. I chose to replicate the suicide of Septimus, a character in Virginia Woolf's novel Mrs. Dalloway, with the suicide of my aunt. The style is slightly odd because that is Virginia Woolf's strategy and part of the assignment.

The subject is real.

She was finally left in peace; in silence; in tranquility. The drugs had taken their near paralyzing effect, and her mind entered a world she had become all too familiar with. Slowly, slowly; she slipped into a limbo of nostalgia. She remembered her mother saying, “If you just accept God into your life again, Jennifer, then you can come away from all of this. You can be whole again.” The words resonated in the air, she must be whole again; she must come back. “Why does everyone have power over my life but me?” “Why God?” “Why my mother?” “Why the drugs?” “I have lost complete control, or perhaps I never had it to begin with.”

She couldn’t bare the thoughts; the loss of power; the loss of sanity. It was all encompassing. Her children were gone, stripped away from her care because some deemed it inadequate. But perhaps it was; perhaps she herself was inadequate. The disappointment was staring her down! Where were the drugs? the only things that made any sense to her…

And she snorted line after line; the venomous, white powder grazed the inside of her nostrils; they were now red and raw, and she, she didn’t have a care in the world. Not in those moments.

So she got some rope from the garage and made a noose- no one could tell her what to do anymore. “I am no longer powerless.” “There is no longer a must, nor a will to live.” She could do this; she could and she would. The one thing no one else could manage in her life was, in fact, her life. She would no longer be at the mercy of neither family nor friends, neither deities nor drugs. And as she struggled up the stairs, nearly falling back twice as a result of the cocaine, she passed the pictures of her children along the walls; tiny faces once smiling back at the camera man, and now her. They were smiling at her. “I’ll miss you, but I have always loved you.”

Falling from great heights would do the trick; the balcony was the perfect base. But no, too public. Death is sacred, even in haste. She considered her husband’s handgun he kept in the bedside drawer for safety, but no, “he will have no part in this,” she exclaimed! The attic door caught the corner of her tired, watery eyes, and she knew. She knew how she would leave this world, her family, herself.

The plan was literally falling into place. No one was home. No one would check for hours. Just enough time to scrape her last breaths from her tired lungs. The knotting became more and more difficult as the drugs became stronger; there was no time for a note; no time for an explanation; no time for second thoughts…

There was, however, time to wrap the rope around her neck and pull. She pulled for her life, for her death; and then she fell. She fell from the opening of the attic in the ceiling, and was immediately jerked back up slightly by the resistance of the rope. She hung there in pity, more powerless than ever before.

Revelation;

2008-09-29T10:08:00.000-07:00

After years of searching, I finally know what the world wants me to do. Or really, what I want to do for the world. The stress of finalizing a major next year has passed because I came across an aspect of Oglethorpe that intrigues and excites me endlessly. I am going to pursue an Individually Planned Major with a strong focus on writing and film/television production. This will not only allow me to take every class I want that is offered at Oglethorpe, but it is something I am overtly interested in and plan on making a career and a life out of. I want to write, and I want to be involved in the film/television industry. I want it, and I can have it. This prospect was previously inhibited because of the selection of majors in any school I wanted or thought about going to, but when I came across the individually planned major and the selection of courses, I broke into an uncontrollable stage of excitement. I can take philosophy, psychology, writing, film production and English courses and still have the outcome be a Bachelor of Arts degree from a great liberal arts college. This is going to propel my writing and thinking so rapidly and intricately forward, I myself might even be in awe. I have found my place in the world and this school. It feels nice to be secure on my abilities. Thank you to all who have guided me :).

Insidious Intent;

2008-09-25T14:33:00.000-07:00

I read this poem last year for AP Literature and Composition; however, I never got anything deep and invigorating out of it until I read it for my Modern and Contemporary Literature class the other day. It is brilliant and inspiring, and I wish people still wondered and admired such thought presented in this beautiful poem.
"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"
By T.S. Eliot

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells;
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in the drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back on the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And a time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair-
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmy to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin-
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all-
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons,
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all-
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all-
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?...
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep...tired...or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought
in upon a platter,
I am no prophet- and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll is toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"-
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all,
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail
along the floor...
And this, and so much more?-
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be,
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse,
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous-
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old...I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel shorts, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

If you made it through without being slightly turned off at the length and random tendencies, then I applaud you for not giving up and opening your mind to the poem and its meaning. There are so many dissections I could derive from this poem, and that is why I love it. It presents the concept of losing time, growing old, and wanting to live on through stories of shared or individual experiences. But the unsettling aspect of this endeavor resides in the misinterpretations of such stories that leave a mark of resistance in the author's mind. We do not want to be onlookers of our lives playing out in stories beyond our time on Earth and think to ourselves: "That is not what I meant at all." What meaning do you want your life to have? If you have found an adamant answer to this question, then please share, because I most certainly am at a loss.

Sunshine & Surrealism;

2008-08-29T08:28:00.001-07:00

There are certain days where you can walk outside and feel the happiness resonating. It's rather intense, but once you surpass the anomaly, the feeling is surreal. I wouldn't categorize this experience as the result of a perfect day; however, there is definitely some perfection involved. The colors of the world are vibrant and pulsating, rich and deeply beautiful. There is an extreme texture to the trees, the grass and the sky. It seems more than 3-D, like some alternate plane of shapes and colors is making a brief appearance to the world in which we live. Everything is more intricately defined and energetic, jumping into eyesight rather than gazing past the retina and into the mind in order to determine what the object before you actually might be. You need no second thoughts. It just is. And it hits you in the most pleasant manner, like being submerged in a swimming pool with all the force of the water pushing against your best efforts to move forward. You struggle, but the sensation is more than worth it. That's what the colors are; forceful and entirely worth it.
That is how today felt. And I won't say that I wish that is how everyday felt because I don't. That would detract from the magic, which is a notion I find most people to disregard. Not everything can be good because then there would be no definition or differentiation between the bad. There would be nothing to compare it to, and comparison is everything. That is how we decide our dislikes and our passions. It is an entirely essential factor of life. But for now, I am glad today is, in essence, perfect. And even though I know sometime in the near future I will be feeling the exact opposite as I do now, I'm not hesitant because I know another pallet of colors is waiting for me when I walk outside one day. A day when I least expect it. And for that I find hope; for that I find comfort.

A wave of the hand;

2008-08-25T13:41:00.000-07:00

A new setting, a new course load, a new life, and I have never felt so at home in my own skin. Knowing that I made the absolute right choice for college is one of the most comforting prospects in my life right now. I couldn't be more content with my decision to come to Oglethorpe. This is the first thing I have done correctly in such a long time. I'm not good at managing my life, and now I feel as though I am becoming more acquainted with the accuracy associated with my current decisions.

I am...dare I say it...where I am supposed to be.

I like being on my own. I like arriving and departing as I please. I like going to class at certain intervals that rotate daily. I like being surrounded by intelligent conversations and people reading books under the trees. And I like calling educators "Dr." Being taught by those who specialize in the field in which I am taking classes excites me because I know I can conjure up some really meaningful conversations and discussions, and my purpose in life can only propel forward at record speed.

I have never wanted to learn so many new concepts and styles and theories.

I truly feel as though I am coming into my own,

and it is only the first week.

Letters of Love;

2008-08-04T15:13:00.000-07:00

I write because I want people to somehow feel my exact sentiments in a moment of uncertainty or absurdity. I write because I want to share my thoughts with the minds reading my inscriptions. I write because I want to put descriptions to impulses or ideas that may be difficult for others. I write because I want people to know the beauty of words again.
But right now I'm not sure I want others to know how I am feeling in response to his demise.
For those who are unaware, my 9th grade World Geography teacher is in critical condition, and his last weeks on Earth have brought a wave of despondency on everyone. Cancer is the worst villain I have ever encountered via a loved one. My grandmother died last year as a result of cancer, and now Mr. Fowler is fighting for his life against this monstrous threat. Nothing about this is fair. Nothing about this is right. Nothing about this is justified.
A wife and three children under the age of three are going to suffer endlessly; A school filled with students, staff and teachers are going to be without a wonderful mentor and colleague; A mother and father are losing a spectacular son; And the world is saying goodbye to one of the most genuine and caring individuals to ever grace its surface.
Dear Kids,
I want you to know that your father changed my life. I want you to know that every day he taught me something new regarding the geography of the world, I became more inspired to travel to the places he would talk about and experience new surroundings. I want you to know that he was one of the greatest men I have ever known, and I am eternally grateful to have had the opportunity to know him at all. He was happy. There wasn't a day I didn't walk by his classroom that he didn't smile at me or crack a joke. And while the majority of these jokes were barely funny, I laughed because he laughed. I laughed because he knew they weren't hysterical by any means but said them anyway despite his reputation in the comedy world. That was one of his greatest attributes: his selflessness and ability to disregard negativity in people. He took risks and loved what he did. He was an inspiration to most of his students and the tennis team. He was a friend to his colleagues, but the most stand-out quality that resonates in my mind was his everlasting love for his family. Pictures upon pictures cascaded along the walls and shelves in his classroom- pictures of beautiful babies in the arms of their equally beautiful mother. You were all his greatest success. He knew that. And he wants to see you succeed as well, no matter what difficulties you may face in life. Know that he is proud of you. Know that he cherishes you. Know that he loves you with everything he could possibly feel. You are incredibly lucky to be able to call your father Jeremy Fowler.

Gratification;

2008-07-10T20:08:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been running through the process of analyzing the last few years of my life. In retrospect, a lot of the decisions I have made and paths I have chosen to take have obviously assisted me in my journey to my current state of existence, one of which I can be decently proud of; however, in dealing with my past practices, I have also come to encounter one essential element in my transformation as a person: encouragement.

There are two people who have truly molded me into the person typing these words that could hopefully someday impact the world. There are two people I have put my entire being into resisting the terrifying prospect of disappointing either one of them in any way, shape or form. There are two people I strive to replicate in some fashion each and every day. These two people are Mr. Mike Martin, my father, and Mr. Zack Kirk, my teacher and mentor. I can genuinely say that I would be nowhere near the mere thought of who I would like to become some day had it not been for their guidance, drive and passion for what they do...
Mr. Kirk,
You are the one person that can make me do absolutely anything. Your unyielding desire to learn, and in turn, introduce your knowledge into the world through teaching or writing gives me an adamant drive to do the same. I could never tell you no. If you asked me for the most outlandish and absurd favor in the entire universe, I would find some way to achieve that standard you set for me. I could not bare to dissatisfy you. And that is why I feel the need to thank you, because I believe that a massive aspect of my success throughout high school came from that fear of letting you down. I achieved so many things I never thought possible because the absolute horror of disappointing you ignited a fire inside me, and I felt I could do anything. I just wanted to thank you for that.
Daddy,
I know you read this blog, and it makes me so incredibly happy that you do because it keeps me writing. I feel like its our secret world because Mom and Bill don't even know about it, and I don't want them to know. I want it to be ours. I want to keep you informed, and I want your support more than anything. You have always led me to believe I could achieve whatever I wanted, and no matter how unrealistic that feat might be (I could NEVER become a chemist or doctor :P), just knowing you believe in me is entirely enough. We have always had a special connection; we are so similar, and I like to believe I have never let you down because that thought in and of itself makes me uneasy. I want to make you proud, which is another thing that has kept me striving for the absolute best throughout my life, and for that, I thank you. I love you.
To the two most important people in my life: I do not know where I would be without you, and I mean that. I really do.

Manifestations;

2008-06-27T13:51:00.000-07:00

It was one of those evenings that started out as simplistic as they come. Plans were made, manipulated and eventually put into action. The car rides initiated, the music was perfected and, in the grand theme of tradition, pictures were undoubtedly taken. The six of us embarked on an Atlanta-bound adventure with no great expectations in mind, and we ended up with an unforgettable sensation in our hearts.

I went to Screen on the Green last night with five of the most wonderful girls I know. Originally, we went to "watch" Footloose; however, those plans were foiled once the clouds above the Atlanta skyline became picture-esque and conversation bloomed. Topics that would seem rather frivolous to most ignited our minds and tranquilized our thoughts with brilliance. We just sat on our blanket in a circle and enjoyed one another's company for hours- well, until our parking meter ran out. It's difficult for me to fathom the pure fortune that played such an integral part in my final placement for a home. Almost six years ago I didn't even know these girls existed, and I certainly had no concept of the impact they would subsequently have on my life. And now I cannot imagine my life in their absence. It is literally incredible how far we have all come. I cannot picture myself anywhere else. I don't even know who I would be had I stayed in New York; I don't know that person at all. Sometimes I wonder if I would like that version of myself slightly better, almost as though I would possess certain qualities I wish I exhibited now that I don't. Perhaps in that world I would be more caring or reserved; perhaps I would have continued to act and sing for people, and maybe I would have enjoyed it so much that I right now I would be venturing to turn those passions into a career. I might have scared myself out of such ambitions, but in that world I am who I wanted to be at one point. We are faced with infinite paths and possibilities in this lifetime, which is slightly ironic because we only get one lifetime to live and experience a perpetual amount of events. It is almost a little unfair. How can everything be pre-destined if there are limitless outcomes to everything we encounter, and changing our minds is so incredibly easy and, at times, convenient? Maybe we make our own fate without realizing it, and maybe that is the way it is supposed to be.

Let's Make Music Together.

2008-06-10T17:36:00.000-07:00

It is almost as though there is too much that has happened to even report an update of sorts. I am a high school graduate, officially. It doesn't feel different. It doesn't bring tears to my eyes. It doesn't make me feel any more mature than I did before. If anything, it gives me strength to progress forward in life and tackle my next adventure with a forceful ardor: college. I am so incredibly ready. It's slightly ridiculous how prepared I feel for Oglethorpe next year. I am going to grow in ways previously unfathomable and learn in capacities previously not granted. Everything is oh so wonderful.
Now, I'm not the biggest fan of summer heat; however, the last week or so has been immensely monumental within my short yet vibrant life. I am so incredibly in love with a boy who truly and literally completes my soul. We have become so close in such an abrupt amount of time, but it feels more than appropriate or appreciated. It feels so...perfect. For a moment it caught me off guard and frightened my nerves slightly, but letting him in, letting him see who I truly am and having him love me for it has given me more than new found confidence; it has given me more of a reason to live than ever before. I never knew I was entitled to feel this way and have those feelings reciprocated in any manner. I never knew I could completely let myself go and learn to love someone as much as, if not more than, myself. I would do anything to have these emotions flood my body and never leave, even if they exist in simple memories- I could feel this way forever. I could love this boy forever.
The sun was finally fading. As is custom on a mid-June, summer evening, it made a valiant attempt at shining throughout the night, subsequently putting the moon out of a job and leaving those awaiting the stars arrival rather disappointed. And then those familiar and golden hues began to graze the sky ever so lightly, and the glowing, red ball of fire fell beneath the trees and over the horizon to warn the others of a new day, and we- we were left with nightfall.
So we made our way to the golf course, a blanket and ice cream at our disposal. There was a small opening between the trees that caught our struggling eyes, and we proceeded to lay the blanket down among the singing crickets and dancing fireflies: a symphony of nature.
"I have always loved fireflies," I said, "They're the closest I have ever come to real magic."
We layed down beside one another and continued to search eachother's souls for one more thing to adore. Talk of music and books and memories joined the harmonizing crickets, and we couldn't stop smiling. But they were sincere smiles- the kind where you know it was you and only you who caused such a sign of happiness. They were the type of smiles that graze the mouth only after something genuinely makes your heart beat faster and your eyes cease blinking because you don't want to miss a second.
"Lydia, let's make music together," he said in his soft and reserved voice, "Like Sonny and Cher."
And my reply?
"Absolutely."
I sat up, and he followed by kissing my shoulder and saying: "I love you. So much." And I honestly believed in those moments that I could never be so happy again.
But I am. Every second I am in his presence- I am that happy.

Melodies;

2008-04-11T11:23:00.000-07:00

If there is one miraculous prospect in this world, it is music- synchronized beats and rhythms that have the power to mold a moment and harness a certain form of happiness that cannot be quenched otherwise. Music is everywhere.
Chuck Klosterman said it best: "Without a soundtrack, human interaction is meaningless." And while completely 'meaningless' may be a bit hyperbolic, there is some definite truth tangled in his words of wisdom. Every captured feeling or sentiment can be emphasized and empathized with song. Songs can enhance any moment in life, and I have fallen witness to this exhilarating experience time and time again. Perhaps my background in the wonderful world of choir has something to do with my intense connection to music, but I have found that you do not have to be able to sing the chromatic scale in order to enjoy a song for everything it embodies. Whether it is the moving lyrics, the guitar chords, or the bass line, a song encompasses multiple areas for an awakening, and each seemingly miniscule aspect of that song has the ultimate power to transform the previously unfathomable into an indescribable explanation of understanding.
There is absolutely nothing in this world like listening to harmonies resonate in the air, or driving beneath an incredibly starry sky with the windows down while your favorite song by your favorite artist escapes the radio. Music has the beautiful ability to articulate any given feeling, and those that write the music are subject to an intense and passionate connection to the words trailing from their mouths in sync with the guitars in the background. There is a desire and drive behind great music just as there is a desire and a drive behind those that fall in love with it and can truly appreciate everything music entails. There are songs of love and lust and hate and pain and firsts and lasts and hopes and failures; there are songs for the young and the old and the in-between; there are songs that induce tears or smiles, and there are songs that can color the world.

Memories;

2008-04-03T18:14:00.000-07:00

My mind is home to thousands of sporadic and sensational memories that flood my heart with various emotions. I can remember specific instances extremely intricately and with meticulous detail, yet there remains constant hesitation and uncertainty that these memories are of precedents in my life that ever occurred; and instead, I feel as though they might be false in their entirety. Perhaps my mind simply compiled a range of images derived from sources such as movies, books or songs in order to formulate some childhood memories in my temporal cortex. Perhaps my recollection of years past is completely and inordinately unjust. These thoughts haunt my existence. I have to believe in these memories because they are all that I have. I accept them because I have nothing else to base myself on. They make up my being just as much as the way I present myself now. In theory, they are how I came to be this way. And if these memories I hold to be true are in fact misleading in any way, my current presence in this world has been tainted. In essence, I could be a very minimal aspect of who I was intended to be from the beginning. Perhaps memories are overrated, and we are supposed to make the most of the present in order to create an ideal future. But that must be incorrect because the present eventually transforms into the past, and the future will inevitably become the present.
I think I will just stick to what my heart can handle.

Thoughts;

2008-03-28T22:13:00.000-07:00

"The sun itself sees not 'til heaven clears;"
I want to know what it feels like to believe in something so passionately that it has the power to take over my entire being. I want to feel the waves crash beneath my feet, leaving me with certainty. And I want to experience a love that most can only dream of.
I want so many seemingly unobtainable things, yet these desires are some of the only mechanisms propelling me forward through a world filled with an unfathomable amount of pessimism and atrophy. Perhaps our inmost aspirations are the fuel behind our actions. The longing to succeed and make every individual wish eventually come true is over powering to the point of actually working. We trick ourselves into believing that there will always be positive results simply to keep us going through life.
There is so much mystery and wonder in the world, and so few of us take the time to explore the possibilities life provides. The simple sight of watching a dolphin jump from the water, in an attempt to feel the sun on its skin and let the crisp air fill its lungs, is enough to make me feel alive beyond the conceptual realm of the living. It makes me feel alive in the sense of existing beyond breathing and thinking. It gives me hope that perhaps death isn't the end; our souls have to continue on while our bodies are left behind. The human heart has too many secrets to let death be the final word, and instead, they are hidden in the wind and the trees and the ocean. Our mannerisms are present in every person we have come into contact with, and we have left behind bits and pieces of ourselves simultaneously. We live through nature in this respect. We allow ourselves to float on, always a lasting collection of memories. And that is beautiful in and of itself.

Beating Hearts Baby;

2008-03-23T13:37:00.000-07:00

There is a boy that makes my heart beat abnormally fast. One who leaves me short of breath and at a loss for words, nervous and confident at the same time. One who brings out the best in me, and one who puts up with my antics.
There is a boy I would spend all of my time with had I the choice. A boy that makes just as many strange faces as I do, and laughs at the right time.
There is a boy who kisses my nose, holds my hand, and scratches my back, all without request. One who listens to what I have to say, looks into my eyes, and learns from my mannerisms.
This boy makes me laugh, smile, sing, and dance. This boy couldn't be sweeter if he tried. This boy entered my life on a whim, by complete chance. Probability was on our side.
This boy is beyond intelligent, adorable by far, and just crazy enough to be okay.
This boy is all mine. <3

Numb;

2008-03-18T21:08:00.000-07:00

The most powerful feelings are those that cannot be formed into the right words or phrases. Instead, these feelings lie deep within the self to contemplate, convert and eventually cope with. Those that fall victim to trying to manifest some unconventional way to describe such feelings and thoughts are, in essence, attempting the impossible. Through tragedy and triumph, our emotions cascade themselves along a blank canvas of new ideas and experiences, all the while leaving us to peril with the unfortunate knowledge of no escape.

Moonlight Magic;

2008-02-24T13:11:00.000-08:00

This blog is a true testament to how endlessly busy I have been the past month or so. Mock trial, school, home life, yearbook, newspaper, literary magazine, breathing...I was in dire need of this week off. I finally caught up on my sleep, and the bags underneath my tired eyes are slowly disappearing. I have been wishing for some inspiration, and I think I have finally found him.
I am going to paint an entirely trite situation with my words for my own tranquility.
We went for a drive and ended up in the park, as most romantic encounters often begin. The sun roof was down, and the wind was upon us, rustling his hair in the most perfect manner. The Shins were at top volume, and my lungs burned with their words. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, slightly smiling at my performance. His hand brushed my face as he gently pushed my hair behind my ear while my heart grew weak. The stars were dancing in flawless motion, twinkling in approval of our twilight adventure.
As he opened the door for me, the crisp air filled my tired lungs, and he took my hand to guide me through nightfall. We reached the swings and a burst of excitement was evident; I absolutely adore swing sets. The freedom that arises with each push provides a sense of eternity within the soul. The higher and higher you soar, the more powerful you are. You have nothing standing in your way but the wind, which is no match for your existence. The flying is ephemeral but the feeling is infinite. He pushed me slowly, tickling me each chance he was granted and laughter penetrated the calmness of the park. But after a minute or so of playful tactics, he pulled me close and refused to let go. He explained to me how the swings represented our relationship: every time I push away, he will do everything in his power to pull me back. And then he kissed me with the stars as our witnesses.
As the night progressively mimicked the arctic, he offered his jacket which I rejected in exchange for his embrace. We continued to swing, hand in hand, heart to heart. The evening could not have reached a higher plateau of wonder.
School starts back tomorrow. Bring on the stress.

A Graduation Tribute;

2008-01-01T21:21:00.000-08:00

I by no means meet the intelligence level required to obtain the remarkable honor of valedictorian, nor was I adequate enough to fill the position of senior class vice-president, thus disqualifying me from presenting any sort of speech at or near graduation. However, I do have passions I wish to be expressed, and I do harbor opinions regarding the senior class of 2008 that I deem welcome.
While the sun may be setting on our high school days, the horizon holds secrets and ambitions that are not far from capturing in the slightest. I could attempt to flatter you with witty anecdotes about packed lunches, intense exams or the ridiculous amount of unnecessary qualms surrounding the high school realm, but I would rather discuss the importance of who we are, what we believe, and ultimately which shore the waves will surrender us to.
The most life-defining moments are frequently those that yield some form of discontent or re-evaluation, and we are all aquainted with the ways in which our high school experiences have molded our toleration for heartache and disappointment. But what is even more notable are those that have been there through each occurrence: miraculous or malicious, spectacular or sacrificing, incredible or indifferent. These are the people containing the single most impact on every aspect of our lives past, present, and future. These are the people dictating our preferences and our past-times. And these are the people penetrating our memories and flooding our hearts with all good intentions.
Who we become throughout high school is fundamentally who we are for the rest of our existence. Locations, activities, and relationships might evolve, but the back bone of the self is infinite. And the development of such a position is determined by the people that remain ambient in our lives. So I challenge you to soak up every single moment you are granted, and I urge you to thank the people that have intertwined your dreams and thoughts with your friendships because those are the people you will never forget, no matter how lost or rueful you might feel. I want you to keep those moments of enchantment deep within your heart and learn to live again. I want all of your seemingly impossible dreams to follow through even when the path you initially chose alters its course. And no matter how much you might resist, I want you to save a place for Eagle's Landing High School in all of your future endeavors; be whimsical, and practical, and love as much and as often as you can. Most ardently, though, I sincerely wish you good luck in everything you venture to do.

2007-12-15T20:39:00.000-08:00

Life consistently produces doubt in my mind that reality might actually exist. I am numb. My mind is wandering, and I cannot fine one shred of a revelation or anything of the sort. I want to know what love is, but more importantly, I want to know what it feels like. I long to understand the butterflies and stuttering that employ first dates. My desire to find someone who truly comprehends my being, inside and out, has become more of a necessity. I wish my trifling search would resolve itself.

Joyez Anniversaire.

2007-12-09T20:31:00.000-08:00

The air was still. It wasn't silent, but there was a serene sense of tranquility lingering in the midst of a broken day.

I closed my eyes for one last moment of enchantment, but all was lost when the clock struck tweleve.

I'm 18 now, and it scares me.

Emancipation;

2007-11-17T21:11:00.000-08:00

Our time on Earth is so ephemeral in the grand scheme of things. What is entirely unfortunate, however, is the fact that so few take each moment granted for everything it embodies, myself included. I wish I appreciated the miniscule and was not so quick to judge situations; I wish I knew my worth and neglected my faults; Most ardently, though, I wish I could share my sentiments more openly with others.
I remember the day my father left with meticulous vigilance. I was in the kitchen with my four-year old sister watching That Darn Cat when my parents walked in. My mother had a blank look on her face, and I could see the remnants of her mascara as if she had been crying. My father's eyes were bloodshot and senseless; he seemed completely numb. And then I saw the suitcase out of the corner of my eye.
Few words were exchanged, and for a while the situation consisted entirely of sporadic glances from one person to another. Then, without a moment's notice, my mother uttered behind bated breath "your father is leaving us." It took a second to believe her because this had happened before: the threat of a packed duffle bag, arguments to see whose vocal chords would give out first, and it always ended with my father coming home. But this was different.
He was on his knees begging her to take him back, to give him one last chance. She was shaking her head in disagreement for one final round. I was at a loss of feeling, paralyzed by the prospect that I was witnessing my father's weakest and most vulnerable moment.
And then it was over. He was driving away, heart in hand, and I was without my father, left alone to consume the countless lies force fed to me for the next few years.
I have been wanting to write that down for a while now, so I could get it out of my mind. I suppose my next move is to finally move on...clarity.

No Commas...

2007-11-12T19:46:00.000-08:00

I always draw the short end of the straw.
Incidentally, the aforementioned is a metaphor at best, yet I can think of no other outcome or event in life to describe my current affiliations with love, or lack there of. It is almost as if every unstoppable force is focusing special attention on making my strive for company insatiable, and I am fed up. I am exasperated by the fact that every time I try to pursue anything involved with relationships or feelings, the notion of unrequited love presents itself.
It seems so trite to form an attraction to someone, contrive manipulations to obtain their attention, and finally capture their thoughts, thus fulfilling the initial motive of attainment. It is often said that the prospect of the 'chase' is the most exhilarating molecule involved in acquiring love, which I deem to be false in its entirety; for once a person consumes the thoughts, actions, and mannerisms of another, the 'chase' is the last thing on one's mind. Failure becomes embedded and doubt forms clouds of uncertainty, forcing the incumbent of sequestered feelings to drift away from former intentions or desires. Obstacles mount, and the final destination seems farther away than ever before. The horizon is only a pleasant place to search for answers if the sun has painted a picture of hope in the sky.
Once again I find myself in the awkward position of developed feelings that cannot be cultivated; I am never on the other side of the spectrum.

Dark Shadows;

2007-10-28T15:53:00.001-07:00

So I'm sitting here, watching Matilda, pondering life and all it entails.
Lately I have been asking the question "what am I going to do with my life?" Thus far, I haven't had a concrete, eye opening answer yet, and it is slightly disconcerting. I am ignorant to the prospect of the college I am going to attend, the career path I am going to choose, even tomorrow's events are not entirely clear to me. I have never felt so unprepared or unsure in my life. I don't know if I want to travel beyond the boundaries of Georgia and meet millions of more incredible people, or if I want to continue to develop relationships with the already fantastic people I know now: the people that have had the most monumental impact on my life, my muses.
Most importantly, though, I don't want to let myself down. I don't want to neglect which ever talent has been inadvertently bestowed upon me, but I am still in the dark as to what that may be. People are given certain fortes in order to make the world a better or more tolerable place, but until I find my place in the world, I am afraid to step out of my comfort zone and sincerely say "this is what I am meant to be doing and where I am supposed to be."
I keep returning to the teachers I have had that have helped me become a more secure person, and I want nothing more than to be able to do that for someone else. But then my mind wanders to the unmotivated, impudent children of the future and I can't help but be disappointed. I don't want to hate any more than I already do, and I wouldn't want to teach some of my peers; it would drive me out of my mind. We're lucky that there are those that sacrifice their sanity to deal with students of that nature, but I'm not sure if I have the strength or will to be one of them.
I just wish some light would be shed on the subject so I could move on.

Lack of forte;

2007-10-24T19:15:00.000-07:00

The night was overcrowded
with clouds and suspense
The moon tried to shine on
but the expanse of haze was too thick
to prevail

It was the stars' night off
which made it even harder to
see his eyes
But in the dark distance
clarity was born

Hope was reaffirmed
and love reached a pinacle:
an unstoppable, driving force
insatiable and unquenchable

The sun made its presence known,
pretentious and unavoidable
It broke through the trees
and daylight masked the lovers

...I am not a poet.

Satire of the mind and body;

2007-10-18T19:43:00.000-07:00

To be perfectly blunt, I can sincerely say that most of the human race puts me in a state of disbelief and disgust.
I wish I had more faith in people, but they just aren't giving me any reason to put in the strength or effort required to maintain hope.
A boy at my school was beat up last week because of his sexuality. It is entirely disheartening, to say the least, and such knowledge makes me physically ill. How can someone be so sadistic? To be beaten up for any reason is uncalled for, but because of sexual preferences- it just reinstates the premeditated notion that people are idiots, and no one can be trusted.
I don't want to live in a world where gun control is a main political concern to be elected into an office because quite frankly, the fact that we are spending more time on worrying about someone's right to own a gun as opposed to someone's right to live as they please is disconcerting in my eyes.
People lie, and cheat, and steal, and go out of their way to make another's day that much more miserable either for personal enjoyment or simple lack of character. Those that are ignorant to their own nature are inconceivable and beyond help; Nothing can save us. Worries and priorities are not in the right places, and it is an on going quarrel that is going to continue to spiral down a hill of utter disappointment.
It is to the point where certain individuals feel they must take their own life to ultimately be happy. Because in their eyes, no one on earth can do complacency justice, and maybe that is true.
I wish this wasn't the case.

writer's block.

2007-10-15T20:00:00.000-07:00

Her heart refused to cease the rapid beating, and her body was no longer taking requests: it was completely absent from all brain waves and messages. One foot in front of the other, she trailed on, unsure of what she was doing the entire time. It wasn't fear, though, it was anticipation, and perhaps a bit of hesitance as to what would be the outcome of her decision.
The leaves crunched beneath her feet, but it was soothing like a soundtrack. The cool air grazed her face, causing slightly more pink to paint her cheeks, creating a fresh canvas for anyone to marvel. The sun was setting beyond the trees, leaving a legacy of colliding color to linger. And each new step made the last one seem worth the effort.
It used to be hard to imagine a reckless love story, but now she was the protagonist. As she walked along the freshly paved road, the prospect of soulmates clouded her already weary mind. What used to be so trite now seemed completely incredible and unexpected. The wind reminded her of his voice, and it kept her going, all the while making her nose red and her nerves fade.
Pride had never been her forte, but exceptions are meant to make life exciting; he was her exception. As she reached the front door, the wind was no longer blowing, and his voice became a whisper in the back of her mind, causing her to slow down to an eventual hault. The sun was gone, but the stars were coming, and so were Fear and Regret. Her strength was ephemeral.
I am at a loss for what is to come...

2007-10-07T17:46:00.001-07:00

The sun glistened on the horizon, creating a sequin covered expansion of beautiful blue water.
She was finally at peace.

Recovery;

2007-09-28T17:21:00.000-07:00

Anonymous: I know who you are, and it pains me to even begin to think you could say such horrible things about me through ambiguous comments on a journal you are by no means forced to read. As to whatever might have brought on such feelings toward me, I am unsure of, but you clearly have some underlying qualms with me as a person and as a friend, and I can't believe it is you that could actually say those things. I thought I knew you better, but it turns out you're just an avarice person with no empathy or compassion anymore, and that is overwhelmingly sad because you used to beam with ambition, and now you simply look down on everything, maintaining a negative outlook on life itself. If you are going to continue to ignore me and speak badly about me, then that is your right to do so. I will just stop trying all together. I refuse to make efforts to speak to you when I know the response will be a shrug of the shoulders and a head turn or a snide comment under your breath. Grow up.

I'm cleansing myself of contamination and starting over completely. I suppose that has to start with a reevaluation of the people in my life, even if it is not my decision.

Vacate the Premises.

2007-09-23T19:21:00.000-07:00

It can happen in a glance.
Your body grows weak, and your mind wanders into the abyss of thoughts, of dreams. You peer through a dark tunnel that seemingly goes off into the distance with no end for the trajectory you inadvertently created for yourself. But you can also make out the shadowy figure waiting at the end of the confusion: destiny.
For days she watched in silence, afraid of making any sort of advance toward passion. For weeks she grew even more dependent on the momentary gazes occurring every so often, increasingly apparent to both mind and body. Heart palpitations were rapid and enduring, and thinking was beyond standard comprehension.
They met in the parking lot at dark, just as the note suggested. He walked to her car and carefully knocked on the window. It was too late to change her mind even if she wanted to at this point. So she let him in, and he kissed her lightly on the cheek, exclaiming how happy he was, in spite of every obstacle, she was with him at the moment. She assured him that she kept her promises, even on paper, even in haste.
The sun roof was down, revealing the phenomenon that is night: millions of striking stars filled the sky with hope, while the moon remained in a stage of primordial bliss, so as to not detract from the number of stars typically shielded by the overpowering light of a full harvest moon on an October evening.
He ran his fingers through her dark hair, making her laugh with every banter-embossed quip that gracefully flowed from his clever mouth. But the jocularity ceased when lips met, and eyes closed.
It was the time of sequestered passion to unleash and take stance in the form of intense kinetic energy, and she held nothing back. As the windows proceeded to frost, the heat consumed the lovers in a need for a rift in the silence. He promised her a thousand times that he could never stop loving her, and she tried not to hear him, knowing in a few hours he would walk away, and back into reality.
And that's how things proceeded for two years. Secrecy and ambiguity were constant, and as the love grew, so did the lies. But isn't that how it always goes? Love and lies are coexistant: a parasitic relationship at best.

Reservations;

2007-09-16T18:27:00.000-07:00

One hundred times I have watched the rain race across the car window, and one hundred times I have declared a winner. It's a little hard to keep track of the rain drops, but there is always one that reaches the other side, the wind behind it all the way. Once the fascination subsides, all I can do is watch the outside world glide by. I look beyond the racing rain, and I ponder the pounding in my mind that results from looking perhaps too closely at the menial miracles.
Wisdom resides in the breeze, and as I feel it sooth my inner thoughts, memories are easily savored.

Caught in Waves of Admiration;

2007-09-12T19:02:00.000-07:00

Now I see your face before me. It could launch one thousand ships to bring your heart back to my island, as the sand beneath me slips. As I burn up in your presence, and I know now how it feels to be weakened like Achilles, with you always at my heels.
I'm missing something deep within my life, and it is killing me.
I want so much to let it out and be with him as often as I used to, but I don't think it can ever happen again. It's slightly funny how drastically things can change in an instant; I don't like that at all, either. At least when change is gradual, you are alloted time to fully understand things and emotions are not constant, and you can better cope with the repercussions.
Sudden change is like venom striking your blood stream ever so quickly, leaving you no time to contemplate the meaning of everything leading up to that one decisive moment. What you are ultimately left with are memories, and sometimes they just don't possess the ability to be truly sufficient.
Perhaps it was love; Perhaps it was uncertainty; Perhaps it was a search for meaning. Whatever the case may be, I know it was passionate. We connected on every level expected, and it was ripped from under us, not a moment's notice. I don't want to believe the world, in some vague fascination with rules, was against it because no one knew, no one knows, and no one can ever fathom our serene sense of comfort in one another's eyes. Oh, those deep eyes. I can still see his soul screaming at me, understanding me, accepting me.
His voice soothed my quarrels, and his advice provided a new found wisdom within my priorities. His touch promoted an ambiguous seizure of emotions that terrorized my heart, and left me paralyzed in a stream of thought. His love was in the stars, and I make sure to watch them from time to time just so I can remember what it felt like. We danced beneath the night sky in silence, but words were entirely too cliche for our moments of infinite bliss. So instead we watched eachother fall more and more in love as the night went on, and the music in our heads softly faded in the distance of our minds so as not to distract our thought transmission.
Telepathy was our secret weapon.
Crying won't bring him back, but maybe thinking will.

Mounting Pressure;

2007-09-07T20:31:00.001-07:00

People expect entirely too much from me.

I feel like I constantly put in all the effort I can physically handle, yet I reap no reward whatsoever. Don't get me wrong, I am not looking for compliments or a pat on the back, but I just feel less and less appreciated, which leads me to wonder why I even bother doing anything at all. My biggest defeat might be the fact that I am a perfectionist, and I simply cannot leave it up to others to make decisions that reflect poorly on me, so I sit in quiet anguish and continue to do everything myself with little assistance from others. I'm not saying I don't receive any help at all, but in the grand scheme of things, people come up with ideas that cannot be executed in the slightest by three or four people and leave it at that: a mess for someone, me, to clean up. I wish people cared. Or maybe I wish I didn't care in the first place. I don't know what it is like to sit back, relax, and let others plan everything, but I'm sure every once in a while, it would be a nice change. I'm getting sick, and it is because I haven't slept over three hours in the past four days. I'm sneezing every five seconds, my throat is sore, and I have a constant headache, which is only worsened by the self-proclaimed braniacs in our school. It is non-stop commotion from school assignments, writing articles, memorizing music and lines and facts for tests, not to mention understanding those memorized facts in order to apply them. I want to do my best, I really do, but that seems so far from being accomplished right now.

I want to go back to the ocean on my father's boat. I want to rest beneath the sun, letting the salty atmosphere consume me, while the waves disturb the boat from its resting position because it is plain and simple comfort. I want to hear the water spash against bows and watch the dolphins jump out of the water because it reminds me that life is worth every moment we take forgranted. Being carefree at times is a necessary and uncompromising part of life, and it is seriously lacking in mine. I want everything to be alright even when it seems like it never can be again; I want to be alone for a while.

Luck vs. Life

2007-09-05T20:02:00.000-07:00

Luck is defined by circumstance.
Webster portrays luck as "good fortune; advantage or success, considered as the result of chance." But I believe to truly be considered lucky, certain requirements must be met. For one, an instance empowered by luck of any kind, whether good or bad, cannot happen too often, or the magic of rarity is lost. Overwhelmingly trite occurrences are habits, not chance. But perhaps the most rare notion on earth is that of living. Anyone and everyone has the opportunity and means to exist, but the idea of actually living one's life to its fullest and absolute potential is nearly impossible.
But is it luck that sustains living, or passion? Does devotion override coincidence? It is not 'lucky' that few are able to live a life filled with every emotion wrought out and scrolled across thousands of pages of huge hard-back books. It is complacency. Once one is truly aware of the necessities and loves of the world, and is content with the repercussions, they are permitted to experience what it is to live.
Alas, then we arrive at the question: to what ends does such living pertain to? Are regrets and fears an essential aspect of living, or are they variables deliberately placed to prevent such freedom? And if so, how is one to overcome such obstacles in order to fully live his or her own life? Is it luck that some are afraid of heights, while others notoriously climb mountains? No, it is the seperation of passion. Not everyone can love everything because then experts and prodigies would be at a loss. Existance is a mere coincidence in the mind because everyone possesses the ability to be, but very few possess the will to live. It is when we miss out on important issues that living life becomes a vague recognition of the mind. Pestering petty problems will never solve them, but moving on provides closure and serenity.
Just live and let live.

Undecided.

2007-09-04T17:48:00.000-07:00

I have lost all motivation.
The simplest task seems incredibly overwhelming, and I am making mistakes in areas that should be bullet-proof. I am not prone to perfection by any means, but nothing has ever seemed to continuously feel this warped or overrated. Perhaps I am taking on more than I can handle; we all like to think ourselves invincible when it comes to activities we enjoy, thus participating in more than it is physically possible to actually attend. Can you really have a true passion for that many things? Certain organizations or ideas will inevitably take control over your time, leaving the minuscule and secondary options to perish in the depths on one's mind. I haven't found my true niche yet, and I feel as though I should have something by now; 17 years of searching should have yielded a little more than a few mediocre talents or past times here and there. I want to know what I am meant to do and continue doing it for the rest of my life. I want to know where I stand in the world, even if I am a simple speck among millions, as weightless and insignificant as they come. I want to drive on the open road for as long as it takes for some powerful epiphany to strike at any given moment, leaving me with some serene sense of being. I want closure.
I know I am asking too much, but some answers would be ideal.

Thunderstorms

2007-09-03T14:34:00.000-07:00

The water was calm.

You could hear it whistle when it reached the shore, and then pull away just in time for the children to sink their feet into the soft sand and laugh at the molds their tiny foot prints left behind, only to be swept away with the next rise of the ocean.

The storm was approaching.

Just beyond the horizon where the sun had once glazed, a powerful force of grey clouds maneuvered their way past the setting sun and into the tides, showering the vast expansion of sand and sea shells with rain.

The lightning struck.

The waves grew thick, and the children were rushed inside. The down pour of the rain seemed to make the sea rise with fury, and it frightened the land. The palm trees swayed against their will, and the birds took refuge beneath the docks. The children watched with fascination as the storm settled, and the thunder ceased.

The water was calm.

You could hear the remaining waves crash against the shore, removing the course weather from its memory. The seaguls took flight, and the children rushed to see the remnants the storm provided: their memory was not so easily washed away. Peace was ambiant.

Postsecret.

2007-08-30T13:48:00.000-07:00

Things were simple once.

Lately, people are so wrapped up in themselves and superfluous assignments that none of them are taking the time to stop and truly comprehend what is becoming of the world, and of us. Danger signs are flashing in every direction, and I feel like I am the only one who is noticing...or maybe I am the only one who cares.

At any rate, This year has proven to be the most hectic, but that will probably yeild taking the title of the best as well. I'm sure they go hand in hand in this case.

I really want to start painting. It seems extremely soothing, and that is exactly what I need.

Wishful Thinking

2007-08-20T17:16:00.000-07:00

"If you can see the light at daybreak,

you don't care if you die at dusk.

It's so many people who never see the light at all."

Elizabeth is leaving tonight. I'm not quite sure how I feel about it. God knows I'll miss her more than life itself, and it's going to get harder each day. But I still have the times we've shared together for the past 2 and a half years. It seems so overwhelmingly trite, but all we have are memories; it is all we know.

She is my inspiration to do well. In some senses, she has been my muse. Mostly, she has been my mentor, and I can't say that enough. I love her with everything I am capable of, and letting her go is something I don't feel I am ready for, even though she is. She is ready for life to lead her out into the horizon, and she is equiped with all of the necessities. I just wish I could say the same; I hope some day I can.

A New Perspective

2007-08-20T14:15:00.000-07:00

Things are looking up.

I wish every day could be this serene.

Despite the fact that it is over 100 degrees outside, the sunsets of late have continued to redefine exquisite.

& I don't mind that anomaly either.

Ramblings;

2007-08-20T14:00:00.000-07:00

So I have finally left the world of livejournal and entered into new territory. I figured I should broaden my horizons and develop a new place where my thoughts could gather and create words across the page, or to be more accurate, the computer screen.

It's nice settling in to a new home, so to speak. Every once in a while it is time for a change, and with the new school year still in its beginning stages, I decided the time was ideal.

I'll be using this "blog spot" for numerous, intricate assignments, and most of them will seem entirely random, but that is because they are in their entirety. I write what I feel, and most of the time, it only makes sense to me...

Their love knew no bounds, it seemed. People they had never even met knew of the passion that burned between them, connecting their souls by some unstoppable force, making their minds weak at the sound of one another's heartbeat. The heartbeat signaled a life for them to spend together, and everyone thought they would be the ones who made it. Everyone, that is, except for God. He had another plan for the lovers: A mapped out destination for their love to follow, only to end in pandemonium for the latter. Survival was at its utmost importance, and the frailness of their lips left parting with such an unsatisying glaze about it, it nearly killed them both. But it wasn't loss that killed the couple; it was heartache. A heartache so unfathomable that Death itself was immeasurably rueful. Fate and Death tend to maintain mutualism, but in this case, Death disagreed and Fate was at a loss. Decisions were no longer simple, and fairness ceased to exist.