I have this weird little quirk.

Well, I have many quirks, but there is one in particular that's been on my mind lately.

I am fundamentally inept at letting the people who are important to me know how important they really are. I think it has something to do with not wanting to come off too enthusiastic, or being afraid that these feelings wont be reciprocated, of not knowing how to show it, or of just coming across as "emotional".

Because, the people who are most important to me are the obvious ones, but they are also some of the people you would never guess. People I don't talk to everyday, or don't know the best. These people may never realize how much they mean to me, and that's a shame.

But that doesn't mean that they stop being important, and that doesn't mean that I don't wish everyday that I could come up with a way of letting them know.

Freeze

Every now and then, only not as frequently as that phrasing makes it sound, I will have a moment - an instence - of pure contentment. A moment where I think, if I could just freeze time, if I could just live and re-live this moment for the rest of existence, I would be happy. I remember the first time I had this thought, at least the first time in my semi-adult existence, and I remember most of them that have happened since. They're all different. Some seem a little silly, others, idyllic. Almost all naive. But I can still remember the ways these moments made me feel, the assurance, the relief they offered.

It's funny to think how, if I had had my way, I could be stuck under a tree in the rain, or staring contentedly at someone I used to know so well, or looking up at a set of bright stadium lights.

But living in any one of these would have meant missing out on every other moment that followed. It would mean I would be perpetually 16 and happy, or 17 and confident, or anything else that I have been. But it would also mean being nothing that I am.

Because I can't be anything other than the product of my troubles, finding refuge in the light of my days. I don't know how. And I'm okay with that.

More than okay.

Seasons

I was once told that there is a seasonality to life beyond the changing of the natural world around us - in our attitudes, relationships, and thoughts. Lately, this has been proving itself true in my life. The easiest way for me to describe the past couple weeks of my life is as being hot and cold. One minute I'm excelling, the next I'm stressing. One day I'm everyone's friend, the next I'm feeling like no one cares.

Each morning I wake up at 7 to get ready for class, and everyday while I'm riding the bus I have this moment where I catch a glimpse of  the sun really beginning to start to poke through the morning fog with some force, and I have this momentum inside of me to live and be happy doing it. And then, bit by bit  through out the day, little pieces of that fall away and are replaced by  the obstacles that cross my path, and by the end of the day sleep feels like my closest friend. And it's exhausting.

It seems like consistency is the hardest thing to find in life.

Dear Slimfast,

How can you taste so decent, yet smell so ridiculously gross?

I don't get it.

Coping

Yesterday, I found out that someone I went to high school with killed himself. I was never super close with him, but he was always in my classes and was in general a pretty cool, talented guy. Although, to be honest, I haven't paid him much thought in a while.

But now, he's all I can think about. How long he's wanted to do it. How he did it. What things would have been like if we had been close in high school. What his friends and family must feel. How I would feel. What I would do if it were someone really close to me.

And it's messing me up.

For some reasons that I don't understand, and for some that I don't feel like talking about here.

But it's hanging over me.

Cell

I’m trapped by your lock and key

That you’ve hidden within me

Somewhere where my hands can’t reach

In a cavity my nails can’t carve out

Sitting there, existing

Beating, with your pulse

That traps me

More than metal, more than iron

It breathes as you breathe

It beats as you beat;

You’re locked with it

Locked with me

Distanced by the flesh and blood and bone

That I can’t remove

That you can’t escape

Because your trap for me

Is my trap for you

So now we exist

Solitarily jailed

Together.

Don't Breathe.

I've got you here
in my lungs
compressed and rebelling
the repression of my ribs
of my bones
and the things that know
what you're doing here
but can't let it out
can't let you out -
to swallow me whole
to keep me in your lungs
the prisoner to you that I'm already becoming
the words and the thoughts that are already shoving -
now in my eyes
who have learned how to see you differently
jailed by my skull
by my bones
while you have learned
to consume me like I consumed you.
heavy and whole
fogging up our insides
and waiting
praying
for both of us to breathe

Musica

  Here's what I can't get out of my head at the moment.

Real World

Something people say a lot to me when I mention all the trials and tribulations I've been going through in the last couple of weeks is "welcome to the real world".

I have a problem with this phrase for a couple of reasons. Namely, to say that I am now in the real world would imply that I was previously in an un-real world. As far as I can tell, the last 19 years haven't been spent asleep or in some alternate universe. Unless this is some Inception style plot twist in my life, (in which case the real world really doesn't matter because I must still be asleep) this most definitely is a word just as real as it was last year, or five years ago. More sheltered, maybe. But just as real.

And, secondly, it's a phrase that people say at every major milestone. High school, college, marriage. Seriously, how many real worlds are there?

So, what has changed? When I think about how to categorize a life I can't help but thinking about Alexander Pope. Pope was a writer who lived in the 18th century, and pretty much the only way you would know who he is if you are an English major. Pope wrote about this concept called "the chain of being" as a way of talking about knowledge, and it's an idea that has always been kind of interesting to me.

Visualize a chain. Now imagine that each link on the chain represents a being. The bottom link belongs to rocks and dirt, the top to God. In the middle are animals, humans, and everything else. Essentially, each level on the chain has access to a certain amount of knowledge that the organism on that level can master. It can never know more than it's level allows, only speculate, and the closer a link is to God, the more it can know. So, a rock can never know more than the bottom link, and God can know all the links.

I don't think the world is real or un-real, I just think that our capacity for knowledge, experience, and opportunity changes. For us, the links on the chain are landmarks. Each period of our life allows us to only accomplish so much. But unlike Pope, we have the opportunity to move up the chain with time, link by link.

So I'm up a link.

Main Street UCI

is a project putting on my school to chronicle different views and experiences of/on the campus. Check out my submission here:
http://sites.uci.edu/mainstreetuci/2011/10/11/the-transfer/#respond

There is a fine line

between pride and embarrassment.

And I think I might be walking it.

Things are good.

Regardless of the little things that pop up in my way, like losing my wallet or getting sick, things are good. I'm falling into place piece by piece, and letting myself let go to see if others hold on. So far they are. Even though I'm behind on some things and physically feel less than perfect, I'm happy.

It's a happiness that is unassuming and maybe a little unfounded, but it is also real. I haven't felt happy like that in a while.

In the mean time, here's what I'm looking forward to:
Sleep!
Finishing Sense and Sensibility
My birthday
Hopefully spending some actual quality time with my family and best friends
Fall
Writing out some of the things in my head. I'm starting to feel inspired in a way I haven't recently, and I can't wait until I can take advantage of that. Writing makes me happier than anything.

A Recap.

I've always considered myself to be a reasonably rational, level headed, down to earth person. I feel intensely with my emotions, but always try to keep them regulated with my head. Lately though, it seems like some of my personal flaws have been coming out more. I've been more self conscious about the way I look and been putting more gravity in what people say to and about me. I've been saying all the wrong things, and my usually on point use of sarcasm has just been coming off as mean. Sometimes I just feel awkward leaving my room at all because I feel like people have no clue what I'm doing.

I'm pretty sure that a lot of this has to do with me starting over, wanting to make the absolute best of it, being terrible at making friends, and just all around feeling a little isolated from the people around me.
The worst part is, I'm sure that if I just didn't pay any attention to any of these things at all, I would feel like a part of the group by now. But it's still early, I guess.

My birthday is coming up soon. 20. It's funny, I'm so used to being the youngest person in my group of friends. This never really bothered me, though, because I always felt like we were still on the same level. Now, I'm living with a bunch of people who are more or less my age, and I'm even on the older side of things. But it doesn't feel the same. Not bad, just different.

Some people have been asking me if I feel old because my birthday is coming up. But honestly? For the past couple of years I've felt so much older than I actually am. 20 doesn't scare me. Intellectually, emotionally, I'm way past 20. But as far as experiences go, I guess I'm a little behind. Certain aspects of my life have felt stuck for a while - since high school, even. There are certain things that I just can't seem to make happen for myself. But I don't want others to make them happen for me, either. And the last thing I want is anyone to pity me.

It seems like in my life I have growing years and I have achieving years, and for some reason the two seem to be mutually exclusive. The last thing I want to do is sacrifice my success, but it feels like it has been so long since a growing year, since I've made lasting memories (with people who aren't my family) that are distinguishable - that stand out as new or exciting or worthwhile. I want that. I think I deserve it, and I think it's more than a little overdue.

I Promise this isn't about what you think it's about.

Sometimes it's hard sticking to the decisions - the promises - you make for yourself. It's enough to make me wonder why we even make commitments in the first place. Why do we decide to do anything for a longer period of time than the present? Why, after all the failed attempts at longevity, do we still make promises? What good can really come from it?

Are we motivated by some inflated sense of self righteousness? Is it the lingering notion of our eventual demise?

Why do we love?
Why do we hate?

Why is it that the promises we make always seem to cause the distinction between the two?

So often it seems like we let the logistics of human life get in the way of human life. I wish that I was one of those people who could turn off their brain for a little while and just enjoy life. But my thoughts and my promises always get in the way. And yet, for some reason, I keep making them.



*yes, I am well aware that this probably makes zero sense to anyone but me. 

Science

Believe it or not, I'm kind of liking the fact that I go to a college where my major is (in terms of the number of students who go here) rare. UCI has a great English program, but just about everyone here is majoring in some kind of science. And as far as I'm concerned that's a good thing.

Science is one of those fields that I find endlessly interesting, but have never really done too well in a formal class setting.. (Remember when I took astronomy my first year? Yeah. ) So, now that I'm at a place where just about everyone's scientific knowledge far exceeds my own, I just want to soak it up.

Seriously. I just want to listen to science people talk science talk.

If any of you still had any small, glimmering ray of hope that I'm not a complete and utter nerd, I probably just squashed it. Sorry about that.

I promise that my next post wont be about school or something that no one cares much about.

Only, you should probably take that promise with a grain of salt.

So I've been at school for a couple of days now

and I’ve been trying so, so hard to make new friends. I’m beginning to realize that the bad thing about having such a fantastic core group of friends for a long time is that you kind of forget how you got them as your friends in the first place. How do you break past the “Oh, you like food? What a coincidence because I like food too! Even if it wasn’t necessary for survival, I would still love it!” stage to the place where other people actually have some measure of interest in your life? How do you get to the place where they can ask you how your day was and actually mean it?
Then again, I’m still trying to get to the part where we talk about our mutual love of food, so I probably shouldn’t get ahead of myself.

Obviously I don’t expect to make friends in a week. I don’t really even expect to make friends in a month. I’ve been trying so hard here and I’ve met so many people - nice, kind, interesting people. I just want to feel reassured that some of these people might start to become more than just passengers on a bus or people in front of me at the Wendy’s line.

Why do I want to write?

So I can create things like this.

Maybe, one day.

I move out on Sunday,

and I don't know how to feel. In these last couple of days at home, I don't know what to do with myself. I should be getting ready, packing , but instead I find myself constantly distracted from the tasks at hand. I'm not accomplishing anything. I don't even know how to feel; sad? Excited? Instead I just end up with some blah emotion in between. When I realize I'm about 3 years behind a lot of my friends when it comes to this step, I just feel silly for thinking about it at all.

This move isn't exactly "forever", but it's definitely a step in that direction.

On 9/11

I'm trying not to think about today. On a day all will remember, some part of me just wants to forget.

Its always been apparent to me that everyone who was old enough when the attacks happened to remember them, today remembers exactly what they were doing when they heard the news. At 9, I was old enough to be cognizant of what was happening - to understand it on a certain level. Only, this understanding was on the same level as the Bogey Man or Bigfoot; it was a fear based on the anticipation of what could happen, rather than what did, and always blanketed with the promise that my parents would be there to protect me.

But now, after ten years, things are so very different. Instead of a witness to the world, I'm a participant. I'm involved. I'm responsible. Now, it could be me who is the victim of our kind's hatred. It could be me who sacrifices everything. It could be me who is left with the task of rebuilding.

And I would gladly and thoughtlessly do this.

But I don't think I'll ever stop fearing, questioning, trying to change this world that can hate itself so much.

So for now I don't think about, just in case someday it's all I do.

The End of Books?

Today is the last day that my local Borders will be open, and yesterday I decided to pay it a visit. Bookstores in general have always felt like an outer extension of my mind - the books, the music, the atmosphere. Bookstores are some of the few places where I can really hear myself think, and yet at the same time I can feel the presence of all those better thoughts, penned by wiser people. It inspires me.

But this was not the place I saw last night.

The place I saw last night was skeletal, dying, dead.

The bare bones of floor to ceiling bookshelves that used to always move with the flow of the room and my train of thought sat naked with nothing but the adornments of packing tape and sale stickers. The few books still for sale, less than 50 total, haphazardly stacked onto a few tables and clearanced beyond belief. I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the words in these books that, after an 80% discount, people were still so reluctant to read. If no one will read them now, when will they ever? I can't help but imagine myself in five years - experiencing all the excitement and hopefulness of publishing a book, only to find it filling the discount bins two months later.

If print books even exist in five years, that is.

It's all I can stand to see one of my favorite shops in this state, when workers come in and start ripping off baseboards, taking doors off the hinges, and adjusting sale signs. It's hard to see Border's like this - controlled by the all important dollar. Then again, it controls all of us. In the weeks after the closing sales started, the stores were filled with discount shoppers, sweeping in to take advantage of their misfortune. I was there. And you were there. And now, the building sits with a few unwanted books and a mother who wont let her son by a $3.00 book with his own money because, "books aren't worth money unless they're really special", while a new bar waits for it's turn to move in.

Say what you want about me, or borders, but books are something else. Books are people. The way they wish they were, the way the used to be, the way they fear, the way the love. And losing them is like losing a million lifetimes.

Vampires.

Over the past couple of years I've noticed that vampires have gotten a bad reputation (and yes, I mean beyond that of being soulless monsters roaming the earth for blood, chicks, and big castles with an exorbitant amount of cobwebs). Books like Twilight and the Vampire Diaries, their less than noteworthy film spin off version, and the plethora of other media forms that have jumped on the bandwagon, have become common place to scoff at - perhaps successful just as much from the haters as the true fans. Something that once induced laughter induces mockery, and just as the original Count's tale signified the issue of women's rights and the prejudices against foreigners, today they show the distinction between the heart-controlled feminine and the aloof masculine; the emotional and selfish single mindedness of youth and the cocky judgemental attitude of what ever stage can be said follows it.

But here's the rub: vampires are my favorite monster. Have been for as long as I can remember - far before these days when they pine for humanity and, dare I say it, sparkle. How did the creature that simultaneously fascinated and frightened me become a laughing stock? I think, in the end, it comes down to emotion. Beings like Dracula were created, in essence, to escape. To feel fear and then be comforted by the comparative easiness of our own life. To, for a moment, live in the extreme.

Modern day's monsters aren't the fearless scourge of society. Now they are jaded. Haunted by their intense love and their struggle for self-control. Maybe it's more realistic (or, at least as realistic as you can get once you cross over into "undead" and "soul mate" territory), but it's also less constructive. One machine of story telling with one way of thinking not only robs our imagination and it's need for extremes, but it robs ourselves.

There was a time when books and symbols stood for something. Hi, I'm a ghost and I represent unfulfilled desires and regrets. Or, hi, I'm a zombie, but you can just call me peer pressure and the struggle to be unique or alone in a world without limits. But now, the image that I and most others in my age bracket see is, hi, I'm a vampire. Let me show you that real men are moody, while I love you unrealistically and prove that my stalker-ish tendency of watching you sleep at night is perfectly normal.

They say that sex sells, but I guess now a days all it takes is the promise of love. But a single minded existence isn't much of a dynamic life. Then again, it's not much of a dynamic book, either.

Edit: This isn't meant to be a dig at anyone who like the popular vampire shows or books (I'm reading the True Blood series). This is really just my thoughts on how the usefulness of media and symbols has changed and what the possible implications of this are.

Please Help!!!

Hello everyone! My mom has entered a contest, and it would mean a lot to both of us if you would take a second to vote for her! If you do, leave a comment. As a special thank-you, I will follow you if I'm not already. If I am following you, then I will do a special shout-out to you on my blog.

Thanks in advance, and please spread the word!

Vote here!

If you like her poster, then check out the rest of my mom's art here.

The Small and Insignificant

My camera has been on the fritz lately, but here are a few pictures I've taken this summer. I'm beginning to notice that most of my favorite things to take pictures of are small, and easy to pass over. Make of that what you will, I guess. Enjoy!

The Whole Harry Potter Thing

You would have to be living under a rock to not know that the final film installment of the Harry Potter series came out this weekend, and you can bet your bottom dollar that I braved the crowds to see it at midnight. I'm certainly not the most ravenous fan out there, but a life long fan just the same, and the end of the series symbolises many of the same things for me as it does for the characters. The end of an era, of childhood.

The first book came out when I was in the third grade. I remember it vividly because my teacher told my mother that I was not a strong enough reader to read the books which, of course, just made me want to read them more. The character's ages were close to mine, and in a weird way reading about their growth towards adult hood helped me in mine. I never had to fight the forces of evil, but I did have to deal with temptation, choices, responsibility, love, sacrifice, and friendship. I'm still dealing with them. I always will be.

And it's not just me. Such a huge percentage of my entire generation has felt what I have felt. It unifies all of us people around the world who don't know each other, but share a story. It’s not just the end of a movie. It’s the end of a relationship that started when I was in third grade and continued through film to my Junior year of college. It’s saying goodbye too the people who not only live in the book, but in myself - the ones who helped me learn how to grow up, that it's okay to be ordinary, or extra ordinary, or misunderstood. Above all, these people and books taught me that each of us is fighting through life in our own terrifying way. But some of us are fighting for something more that life.

Harry Potter was the first book that I took seriously, the first time I read past words and reached something else. That was the same year that I began to think about writing. In some strange, convoluted way, Harry Potter was the start of my adult life - my career, and the only thing that has consistently made me happy, content.

I guess I'm just trying to say, Thank you J.K. Rowling. Thank you for happening upon a pot of gold, and thank you for sharing it with me. With us.

Me at the midnight showing. If you can't see the shirt, I combined the deathly hallows with a lightning bolt. Yeah. Clever.

One More Time For Emphasis

Things are starting to get down to the wire. It seems like most of the people who have tried to "guide" me through college have all been wrong: getting in as a transfer student is easy, figuring everything else out is the hard part. I'm going from knowing everything like the back of my hand, to knowing nothing, but I'm still trying to plan and prepare for the year like I do. I'm panicking that I'll miss sending in something, or that I'll find out I still have a ton of lower division work I have to do, or that - you know - I'll just fail at life.

Despite all of this fear and insecurity at my abilities in what people have over and over again told me is my field, (where are you now, community college teachers?) I am so excited to explore my major. UCI offers two emphasises in English, which basically means you take a couple extra classes to develop you skills in a specific area of English. The two offered are creative writing and literary journalism, and in my mind, the two are distinctly intriguing but also have their downfalls.

I feel like you can't be an English major and not consider creative writing as the end goal of your career, and I know that being in the program would push me - hard. But looking at the program's website makes me more fearful than excited. It looks intense, strict, competitive - exactly the kind of thing that I'm afraid would unleash my doubts in my ability and cause me to become a writing zombie - just going and going, praying that I get somewhere. Not to mention, coming up with a complete idea for a fiction story, even in my head, has eluded me. I can always get the beginning, but never the end.

Literary journalism is a little less clear cut, but from what I can gather it is essentially writing factual articles on a more personal and thoughtful level, existing on a different level than typical journalism. This sounds more like where my current writing style lies, but I also feel like I might find the field to restrictive to the kind of writing I want to do. Focused more on facts than on feeling, more on a story than the image -the emotion- that the story creates.

All the research that I've been attempting to do results in a frozen computer from the twenty Internet windows open, and more questions than answers. I guess I'll just have to hope that the match for both my talents and my desires finds me.

Or, you know, that my counselor is the bomb diggity.

The Fourth. And Beyond.

Fourth of July has never been a big day in my family. The ritual to the 4th (it seems like all holidays have a level of ritualism to them) seems to be just as much concerned with laziness as anything else. Sleep in, have a late breakfast, walk down to the city street fair with Lisa - which involves the purchase of Guatemalan friendship bracelets and silly junk that only seems like a good idea before you've bought it, the eating of something either a)fried or b)ice cream and making a mess of eating it, and lastly, complaining about the heat. The rest of the afternoon is usually spent enjoying the Twilight Zone Marathon (which, to my dismay, was canceled last year. Still not sure if it will be back) either with Lisa or my sister. The fireworks are enjoyed casually and without pretense with the family. The event is always viewed with a certain level of nonsense - over exaggerating the "oohs" and "ahhs", and commenting on the often unpredictable fireworks show itself. Something technical always seems to go wrong.

Despite all of this, there is always a feeling of reverence lingering in the back of my mind. Whether it's a result of the day's significance, routine drilled into my head over 19 years, or just an excuse to not feel guilty for being lazy, is hard to say. But I'm not ignorant. I know that as I grow older, and move forward or sideways or whatever direction I'm going, holiday rituals like this begin to run out. I'll have to make my own days and my own rituals, and that's not at all exciting, but it does make this weekend all the more important.

Then again, each day has just as much potential to be as important as the day before it - holiday or not. Ever sense I was little, I've subconsciously done this thing on holidays, where I say to myself, "Wow, this is (Holiday). I've waited a whole year for it and now it's here". When really, I should be saying, "Wow, today has never happened before. I've been waiting my whole life for it, and now it's here".

Today is the 2nd of July, in my 19th year. It's the only one I'll ever get, and it's here.

The first summer concert of 2011

Last night I went to a concert. The music was great, the band had tons of energy, and everyone was incredibly nice.

So, who was this uber incredible band I went to see? Oh, just a little group called...

Harry and the Potters!

I can just see your eyes rolling now. What, did the last couple of  "thoughtful" posts make you forget the fact that I am a complete and utter nerd? Well, guess what, I am.

As I'm sure you've already guessed, this band writes songs about harry potter. I first heard them when I was a freshman in high school (2005...I think?), when one of the captains on color guard started playing their songs during warm up from time to time. At that point I was already a harry potter freak, but I was also incredibly shy, so I didn't say much about it.

Time passed, the senior class graduated, and I kind of forgot about the band. Fast forward to last Sunday. I make a quick trip to the library to pick up a book for my mom, and outside the library was this little sign:

My reaction was somewhere along these lines: *points fingers, jaw drops* th-they-ha-wha?-I-whe-ohmygosh-wha-needtogoneedtogo. Yep. I'm real articulate huh? The crowd that showed up for the show was surprisingly small, but it was a blast none the less.

Perception: Friend or Foe

It seems strange to me how differently two people can percieve and remeber the same experience. Psychology constantly begs the question, what matters more - our genetics our our environment? Just like all of these factors must be considered in psychology, I'm sure there is a myriad of things that affects our memories.

But lately, I've been thinking that our vices have just as much to do with it as our social or genetic factors. I've come to decide that everyone is insecure (not too big of a surprise there..) but also that everyone is vain. Don't we spend more time thinking about ourselfs and what others think about us than anything else? Why else would we think about what we wear, what we say, do. Why else would we strive to do well, or hate ourselves? Because at the heart of it all is self importance.

So, sometimes I wonder if people (consciously or not) actually remember the past as worse than it was because they need to believe that the present is better, that they have beat what held them back in the past.. And, hey, maybe it is and maybe they have. But the fact that we all need to find growth, improvement - instead of a plateau or stagnation, is incredibly self preserving. And self preservation is tied to our genes.

On the other side, isn't it possible to remember things better? To forget about the bad and romanticize the past? What's the first step that most people take when they encounter a problem? Pretend that it doesn't exist. Maybe it's to protect their sense of self, maybe it's because they don't want to believe that they could be anything less than happy, or maybe saying "that was me once. Wasn't I great?" is our own way of dealing with the problems of the present.

Either way, our memories can't be trusted.

Or, you know, I could just be makin' something outta nothin'. Wouldn't be the first time.

Then vs. Now

Lately I have been having this weird battle with nostalgia. Working with high school students, that phase of life is pretty much always sitting in the front of my consciousness. But the thing is, I never really associate their high school with my high school. Sure, I talk with them about my experiences, and there are tons of similarities, but high school isn't really real for me any more. It's like when I think about elementary school. When I think of it, I don't even really think about me. It's just some weird shadow that is only part me.

I was lucky to have a great high school experience, but I don't at all think of those years as the "peak" of my life. It's hard not to think back about a time when I had tons of friends and a social life, was really good at things and didn't have to work or stress about money. Now it's just the opposite, and after drifting so far away from the good things I had back then, I feel this weird unspoken drive to "win". To turn out better than the people I constantly wanted to be in high school, or at least equal. But usually, I only match them in words, not actions.

Guard contributes a lot to my perception of myself. Sure I make my money from teaching, and I will always love it, but I have also lived without guard in my life. It was so hard at first, but like anything else, I got used to it. Now, strangely, when I talk to or meet people who are still fully - even partially - apart of that world, I feel this strange sense of age. Even when these people are older than me, the fact that I have lived with out this thing that can't not consume your life makes me feel so, so - experienced, wise, old? - in comparison to them. It makes no sense, but it's proof that someone got my birthday wrong. I can't be just 19.

These thoughts all came to a head the other night, when the school I work for had a special performance, where all the girls did their own routine. Traditionally, the coaches preform too, but I didn't. a couple people came up to me, asking why and urging me to change my mind, but I just didn't want to. In high school, I would have been all for it. a year ago I would have been all for it. But now? Lately I've come to this weird acceptance that I am insignificant, and that everyone has their shot at that idealized, self centered high school experience that I had. I didn't do a routine, not because it would have been extra work, not because I was afraid to be embarrassed, but because I didn't need to. My time had come and gone, and it was my happy duty to step out of the way and let them have theirs. I felt this convoluted sense of contentment and happiness at this recognition. My only hope is that I can find it in everything. In my money stress, in my lack of social life, in the reluctant and willing choices I make.

Residual Stress

is there such a thing? I am more than willing to bet there is. School has been out for just under a week (adios community college!), but I'm still feeling the stress of finals. I keep having dreams that I am frantically trying to right an essay-but to no avail, and whenever I go out somewhere I'll get a feeling of panic and think "What am I doing??? I need to study!!!!" out of nowhere. I know that I don't have to do any of these things, but my mind begs to differ.

The only cause for this that I can think of is that I'm subconsciously mixing up my stress over things that I have to get done this week, with the things I've been worrying about over the past month. Color guard clinics and tryouts are this week, which means I've got double days Monday (yesterday), Wednesday and Friday, along with an afternoon on Thursday, and all Saturday morning. The girls have their guard class at 8 am. so on the double days I spend most of my morning with them or in transit, and then in the afternoon I have to drive back for clinics/practice. As much as I enjoy the actual practice part, the gap in between frustrates me. Either I come back home and get nothing done, or I hang around in Irvine, meaning I will definitely end up spending money that needs to be saved.

The pressing fact that my dresser needs to be organized, and I've got to figure out loan stuff doesn't exactly help, either.  But I'm slowly, very slowly, starting to get stuff done and mellow out a little.

Images

Just doing a little Sunday morning picture surfing. All of these photos make me curious of the back story behind them.

-And, no, I didn't purposely pick only lack and white photos. I guess it's just a gray kind of day.










All images found at honey&pie

Starbucks Thoughts

I wish I was good at something concrete - something useful. Like, maybe if I could build things, then people would get it. Then I wouldn't be "weird" or "unusual" or "wasting my time". Or, maybe if I was good at science or math or anything usable. Anything solid. But I'm not. Every time someone finds out that I'm and English major they ask, "What are you going to do with that?? teach?". The answer is always invariably yes, but somehow that's never good enough. Somehow my plans never match up other peoples, and I don't care - I really don't. But for some reason they all seem to.

So many people see English as a dead end major, because you're probably not going to become a famous reporter or writer, but that's not the point for me. I think that it's kind of wonderful that we can create something - learn it and perfect it, for no real tangible reason other than to share it with someone else. All because someone, somehow, thought it was important. Because for someone it was worth it.

what could be more human? Isn't that the point of everything? Isn't that life?

Projunction

Old thorns are pulling into my scalp

While my brain prays that it’s worthy of these wounds
That I’ve built for myself
That you’ve built for me
That I still think I need
 That maybe I need

While new Gravity keeps at the meat of my cheeks
Drowning me – down into a distant enemy
Of a world where I know what I want
and I don’t know you
and I don’t know truth
 and I pray I'm a fool

Where the words are all I see and breathe
And just when I grow my wings
It’s my arms that I need
 It’s my arms that I need

This place where the blood in my eyes turns everything red
Where the truthful are the week and the deaf are the blind
Where the daydreams can speak but can never be said
 Where everything exists but nothing’s a sign

And the blood is my power
And the blood is my gain
And I can’t feel love or it was all for vain
 All for the specter hiding inside of my brain

The thorns here are brittle, and my hate is my love
And the dirt under my nails is close as any glove
Thread born by a place ignored from above
 In a pathway that won’t be lit

But you still think I’m worth it.


But Maybe I’m worth it


But Maybe I’m worth it


But


-Sometimes I don't even understand how these thoughts get into my brain-

Summa

My last day of school is May 20, which means that summer is so close I can hardly be expected to actually focus on the last few days of school (although, my 4 essays and presentation would beg to differ). This school year has been full of a lot of ups and downs. I quit my job, got a new job, struggled to make things work, I had a couple of fights that I wish I hadn't, and didn't have a couple that maybe I should have. I've been underestimated, over estimated, had to deal with some seriously whacked out people (more on that later), and I found out that apparently I'm way smarter than I give myself credit for. But still after all of that, when I think about what has happened to my friends this year, there is no comparison. That's probably the one thing that I dislike about the past two years - nothing happens. After all this time, I've probably met one person that I will actually talk to next year (and that's still a big "if"). I know I have so many things to be grateful for, but when every week day is the same, and every weekend is me, sitting at home, either waiting for a friend to "get back to me" on if we can do something, or getting canceled on, things don't seem quite as bright.

But summer is always better. How can it not be? Here are some reasons I'm looking forward to this summer:
1) Getting to sleep in past 6:30
2) first summer since 2008 that I am not taking summer classes.
3) The school I'm going to is on the September to June plan, and the school I go to now is on the august to may plan, which means I get an extra month of break.
5) I will finally have time to read some of the books under my bed. (all year I've been buying clearance books at borders that seemed interesting, but I never had time to read them because of all of the reading I have for my 2 lit classes)
6) I reallyyyy want to go to a concert. Soon.
7) Medieval Times with Lisa
8) Hopefully going to Shakespeare by the Sea
9) Um, hello, it's SUMMER.

So, how would you rate your school year? What are you looking forward to this summer?

The Problem

with the speed reading that is necessary to do when you're an English major, are the lyrical gems that often get disregarded, or blown right past. Like this one, from Hawthorne's Blithedale Romance:

"It is not, I apprehend, a healthy kind of mental occupation to devote ourselves too exclusively to the study of individual men and women. If the person under examination be one's self, the result is pretty certain to be diseased action of the heart, almost before we can snatch a second glance. Or if we take the freedom to put a friend under our microscope, we thereby insulate him from many of his true relations, magnify his peculiarities, inevitably tear him into parts, and of course patch him very clumsily together again. What wonder, then, should we be frightened by the aspect of a monster, which, after all,--though we can point to every feature of his deformity in the real personage,--may be said to have been created mainly by ourselves."

And to think that some people call reading a waste of time...

It Must Be Wonderful,

not having to be held accountable to anyone but yourself.

photo from we heart it

Salsa

A couple of weeks ago I went salsa dancing with my best friend. Neither of us had tried it before, but I was getting extra credit for my Spanish class, and it was free, and I had nothing else to do, and you would have to be missing a couple of wires to pass up that combination.

I was a bit nervous about how the evening would go, given it didn't get off to a very good start. We had a little bit of trouble finding the room it was in, even though the class was taking place at my school. In my defense, it was in the P.E. building, which I didn't exactly knew existed. No one takes P.E. in community college, sheesh. Then, of course, there is the ten minutes or so of awkwardly waiting for the class to get started. When ever I'm in a new situation like that, I always use that time to a) scope everyone out to see if there is anyone I know, or if anyone has a flashing neon sign over their head screaming "HELLO I'm A CREEPER" , and b) avoid eye contact. Maybe I'm rude, but there is nothing more uncomfortable than getting stuck in a conversation with someone who won't stop talking just because you happened to look at them the wrong way. Luckily, I wasn't alone, and my best friend Lisa is a good person to have with you in these kinds of situations, if you catch my drift.

The class began with the teachers splitting up the boys and the girls so they could teach each group their parts. Automatically it became clear that some of us would not be getting a partner. The girls outnumbered the boys two to one.Yet, when the time came to find a partner, one man came running up to me and asked if I could dance. Yes, that's right, I was one of the first people picked. By an old man. Apparently, I have some kind of appeal to the older crowd, because I have a history of getting hit on by the 60 and up bracket. But I couldn't turn this guy down, especially considering the lack of gentlemen in the house. So, before I knew it, I was being spun, thrown, and thankfully not dipped by a complete stranger.

That was the trend of the night, actually. Even though the teachers taught us one dance, everyone else insisted on improvising and doing their own thing. One minute you're doing a simple front to back step, the next you are being thrown across the room in a triple spin. I swear, there has to be a loony toons episode about this.

Apparently, my ineptitude got to my dance partner, and after 20 minutes or so he thanked me and moved on. After that, Lisa and I traded back in forth with a very nice guy we had met the same night. He was a pretty good dancer, but I was also about a foot and a half taller than him, making our turns a little... uncomfortable. On top of that, there was one step in the dance that required me to put my arms straight in the air while he turned me, putting his face right at my arm pit level (which by this point was working overtime). All I can say is sorry, random dance partner.

One thing that was interesting about the night is how quickly you have to become comfortable with a complete stranger. Salsa is a pretty close type of dance. You barely learn a persons name, and then boom. Personal bubble gone.

Before the night was over I was asked to dance one more time; by the best looking guy in the room. He was d r e n c h e d in sweat, but by far one of the best dancers there. That was when I thought, "Yeah. I can see why people really Like this".

College

By the end of the month, I will have made my decision. By the end of the month, my college admission confirmation is due. I envy people who have no shame or doubt about moving into a new role in life, but now more than ever I find myself conflicted. Maybe it's the unfaltering concept of the unknown that holds me back; the absolute blindness of not knowing if or where I'll be happy, or how my units will transfer. Not knowing if I'll make friends, or be forgotten by my old ones, or be constantly homesick. Not knowing if I will thrive on my own and living off of top ramen, or be constantly working, or fall to the pressure and guilt of my job.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I don't know what it is that I'm looking for. One path tantalizes me with the possibility of restoring everything that I once loved about my life - all of those cold evenings that have been lumped together in my mind as one grand memory of what contentment felt like. That feeling has so long been forgotten, that I'm not even sure if I will recognize it again, or have the courage  to chase after it, or even want it at all.

Another path offers a new start, in a new place - where the potential for happiness is great, but the potential for catastrophe is greater.Would I even be able to pull off what I've so long been searching for? Will it be what I expected? Am I even capable of experiencing the all too romanticized college experience? Or would it change me, like so many others I used to know? Will the person I've fought to become and strive to be fall away? Am I strong enough?

The final path offers beauty, and freedom. But I know that it would also allow my tendency to turn inward to become all consuming. From that point, there is no turning back.

In my head, I keep playing back something an old teacher once said: once you go, there is no coming back. Nothing you can do will change that. It is mirrored with my own precaution. Two years are gone. You don't have time to not get it right.

Even as I write this, I can hear you scoffing. I really am envious of how easy it is for you. My mind is the best thing I've got, but it can sometimes be the worst.

I really can't be expected to focus on pilgrim lit. when I'm in this frame of mind.

You Need to Know

That I am currently having a dance battle. With myself. To these songs.



Yeah. You're jealous.

Acid Rain

The rain,
a life giving seed
pregnant with possibility and destruction,
washed away every doubt or hope
that I still carried
as a reminder of
the life
that we didn't share,
but would have
of the things that were never said,
but should have
and the images that don't exist,
but could have.

An alternate reality,
we were never meant to see.
An accidental crossing,
of our fatal jealousy.

Still, with you, the life I need,
wouldn't have
the things I want,
shouldn't have
and the person I am
could never have.

The rain may be a murderer,
but it plants a greater seed.
And I could never hope to end
my true speakers greed.

I hate how

people are constantly offering to help me.

But even more, I hate it when they don't.

March 20, 2011

Favorite part of my day.

from weheartit.com

Comics

Garfield has never been my favorite comic strip, and suddenly it has become obvious why: not much actually happens. At least, not after you take the title character out. The blog Garfield minus Garfield does just that. For some reason, every time I read this website, it puts me in a frame of mind somewhere immense amusement, and confusion. What do you think?

My favorite strip minus the large orange cat:

What Are They Seeing?

It never ceases to amaze me just how far off people's split second impressions are of me. I've recognized for a long time that I'm not particularly good at first impressions, but there is a difference between a "bad" impression, and a "totally off base" impression. What's even worse, is that a lot of times people let these ideas that they have about me prevent them from actually getting to know me.

One of these inaccuracies that people almost always have about me is that I'm shy. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the most confident person - but I am definitely not shy. I value words - they carry more power than a lot of people realize - and accordingly, I like to make sure that what I say actually matters. I may not always be "successful", but there is an obvious difference between myself, and a lot of other people I have known; the kind of people are constantly talking, and somehow say nothing.

Another thing about me that usually (and understandably) comes off as shy is the fact that I'm not very good at actually starting conversations. Obviously, if I'm around my family I don't have much of a problem saying something like, "You know those little loops on the back of tennis shoes", because they all ready know everything about me, and they're kind of stuck with me. But someone I've know for five minutes? A month? Not so much.

I don't know, maybe I'm rambling here.. People are constantly telling me that I'm a complex person - and I am. But a lot of the time they use that idea to turn me into some kind of puzzle they need to figure out. I may be puzzling, but I'm not a puzzle, and I definetly am not just here to amuse you.

It just seems like no one actually cares enough to try to know the real me.

I don't know

why I ever waste time being anything but happy.

Sure

It is so incredibly easy to get lost in the community college system. But somehow, I've managed to make it to my last two months with two college acceptance letters (so far) in hand.

I love the little reminders that I'm doing the right things with my life. My grades are good, and a third teacher has commented that my writing is incredibly thoughtful. The first time someone mentioned this I was confused. Call it naivete, but I actually remember thinking, "how can you not be thoughtful when you're writing?". I still don't usually see the same things in my writing that others do, but I guess that's typical. Artists are always their own biggest critic. Not that I'm likening myself to an artist.

What I do know is the feeling that writing gives me. It's so hard to explain, but it almost feels like an outer body experience. Like I am the words. I wonder if all writers get this, or if it's just me.

Now, if I could just figure out where I'm going with life beyond this summer.

*note: And for those of you who are curious, this blog isn't exactly an accurate means of judging my writing. This is where I quickly jot down my thoughts.

I'M Not Looking For Sweet Talk

I'm looking for time.

Why I Love Borders

Last weekend I was at Borders perusing the discount section, (because I am a master bargain hunter in case you weren't aware) when I happened upon a boxed set containg four moderatly sized books. The title of this set? "Complete Education - in a Box!" The price? $19.99.

I'm glad to know that I am in the process of spending thousands of dollars and dedicating 5 years of my life to college, when I could just use my coffe money for the week and spend a couple of nights up reading.

Thanks, Borders. 

Valentine's Day is...

...not just for couples. It's for love.

I remember in high school my French teacher  told us that the only people who celebrated valentine's day in France were couples, and how surprised she was when she first came to America that it was just as much about friends and relatives. In high school, I agreed with her completely. But more and more in college I've seen this celebration of friendship fade. So many people my age don't even pay a second thought to Valentine's day - or talk about how much they hate it and write it off as being driven by corporate motives.

I can't exactly say I disagree with them. There is so much pressure surrounding v-day. If you're in a relationship, you struggle to be the perfect romantic. If you're not, you try not to notice all of the happy couples, hearts, and flowers. And everyone, no matter how content, keeps the thought in the back of their mind that maybe, just maybe, the day holds the kind of Valentine's surprise that we are all taught to wish for when we're little.

The other day at the library I saw a woman reading books about finding love and happiness, and I couldn't help but wonder if the date had anything to do with this selection. But today I'm not thinking about what isn't - I'm thinking about what is.

Do You Ever

Do you ever see where you want to be -

and at the same time see it falling away from you?

Do you ever see what you want to keep-

and then see it passed along to some other anonymous?

Do you ever see who you are-

and see no one believing it?

I keep my hope on a shelf with the acid and the fear and all the little things that eat me up-

but I keep it.

At least I keep it.

Groundhogday

I have never really understood groundhog day. Not the part about using a small animal to determine if we are in spring or winter, that part I am just fine with.

It's the shadow thing that, year after year, drives me crazy.

Think about it this way, when it's dark and cloudy out there is (obviously) a smaller amount of light. Less light means that shadows are much fainter. On the opposite side, when it is bright and sunny out there is a bigger contrast in light vs. dark, meaning that shadows would be much easier to see.

And what season is known for being dark and cloudy? Winter.
What season is known for being relatively sunny? Spring.

Yet for some reason, on groundhog day, if the groundhog does not see his shadow (like he didn't yesterday) that means that we are headed straight into spring - not winter. How does this make any sense?

Every single year this confuses me, and the ironic part is that it has nothing to do with the groundhog.

January 29, 2011

so, about an hour ago I got back from an impromptu study session at starbucks.

and they gave me a free scone.

not just any scone might I add, but a maple walnut scone.

Awesome.

Something tells me that this is directly correlated with the fact that I was wearing my amazing

new gryffindor scarf that my grandma made for me.

Life's a Beach

Sunday, January 23, 2011

"Quickie

If you want to be inspired today, pay attention to your senses and follow your gut.

Overview
Make sure that your life is beautiful today. Every aspect needs to work well with every other aspect, and your amazing energy can help to ensure it all flows. This, in turn, makes you more efficient and fulfilled."    -Yahoo horoscopes.

Quite possibly the first time my horoscope has ever actually made sense.

The Only Ring a Ding Time.

It's mid January, what is usually the one semblance of winter I ever get to see. Yet, not long after winter gets its frigged fingers gripped around the thermometer, spring comes creeping up out of the shadows.

*If you can guess where the title comes from, you win a gold star.

Bad Day

I hate that other people not doing their job falls back on me.

I hate that I have to explain to people what is going on, when I feel like I deserve an explanation too.

I hate that I feel the need to respond to every single email because I know no one else will.

I hate that this job makes me cry and it doesnt even have anything to do with the girls.

Today, my mom called me a hippie.

shirt and shoes from Salvation Army, Pants from Forever 21, Belt came attached to another purchase.

This is a Rant. But it has a point.

You cannot fake who you are. And I'm tired of people trying.

Let's face it, So Cal is full of pretenders.

So much of life is about trying out new things and experiences, finding out how they fit into our life, and allowing them to become a part of us if we so wish. But, so often I see people - friends - align themselves with a certain group or belief because of the outward effect it produces.

 It's like those rich kids from over the hill who always buy all of trendy clothes from Urban Outfitters, and wear them to make a statement or because it's "stylish" more than anything else, while I save up to afford one indulgence there because their clothes make me feel comfortable and confident and are a reflection of myself.

It's like the people who tell me they absolutely love T.S. Eliot, but only understand the words and not the meaning. They don't see all of the implications of what he is saying, the metaphor, the emotion and ache that comes from ripping a feeling out through your fingertips, and putting it into something that is creative and vague and wonderful.

It's like the people who join Greenpeace just because it means they have a cause, it's like the people who do something because they think it will get them a boyfriend or a girlfriend, it's like the people who do something just to stand out, and end up blending in.

So many things that we do are influenced by objects or desires that don't matter if there isn't happiness or honesty to go with them. Yes I shop at urban Outfitters and read Eliot and want to join the peace corps some day - but it is because failure to do these things would mean undercutting who I am and what I want from life, not the other way around. It would mean an ignorance of myself as a person. It would mean lying.

And no, I'm not saying that only rich kids shop at urban outfitters, or that I am the only one who can possibly understand Eliot, Poe, or any of those people. There are plenty of individuals dedicated to green peace, and plenty of people who stand out for the same reasons that I do all of the things I do. There is nothing wrong with doing any of this. I am just sad - worried - that so many people from my generation seem to sacrifice the right and ability to recognize who and why they are - and don't see that this true person is beautiful and good and enough. Why do so many people subscribe to someone else's aesthetic when their own is just so much more wonderful?

I am in no way exempt, no one is, but I keep it cornered to a small part of my existence. I try to.

Two Thousand and Ten: A blog post retrospective.

January: I remembered why I love Target, went of a night walk, and found a new staple for the blog playlist. I also chopped my extra long hair as I got ready for a new semester of college.

February: Spring caught up with us. This month I found myself utterly confused by the people around me and what motivates their decisions. While this discussion was originally written in the form of an essay, I decided to change the format to a vague poem to keep the situation anonymous in case the people who it was about happened to read this. Maybe some day I'll post the original, maybe I wont. I also had an amazing day.

March: I tested out my photoshop skills and experimented with poetry I had an "adventure" and confessed a "secret", resulting in two of my most visited blog posts. With spring in full swing, I was glad to enjoy more of the usual.

April: I went on a philosophical rant about cartoons that made absolutely no sense. I also took a trip and received a few hugs.

May: I wrote one of my personal favorite poems of the year, as well as one that I can't help but read (in hindsight) to the tune of a coldplay song. I also enjoyed puzzles, and told you all a little more about myself.

June: While I should have been enjoying summer, I was busy (not) enjoying two other things: work and school. On of which inspired frustration, the other - oddly enough - inspired inspired an interesting thought while on break.

July: I tried and failed at poetry slamming.

August: Back to school. I had some struggles with language, went whale watching, and found a new in-class distraction.

September: I had a couple of conflicts with friends, leaving me feeling what can only be described as disillusioned. I recounted one of the most unusual and personally shocking conflicts of the year here, against my better judgement.

October: My favorite month, when fall is in full swing. October left me dealing with even more uncertainty and making some big decisions.

November: November left me feeling the effects of some of my decisions. It also brought more worries.

December: The long fight to the end of the semester comes to an end. It's break. Finally, FINALLY, I can breathe.. At least until spring semester.

The highlighted words are links to the posts from each month that I best feel sum up what I was going through at the time. The process of writing this post has really shed light on everything I have been through in 2010. A big part of me wants to automatically write this year off as a failure, but I'm slowly proving to myself what I HAVE managed to accomplish. I feel like this year, I've really begun to actually fight for the things I want and believe. I have gotten into - even started - a lot of arguments this year not because I wanted a fight, but because I saw that something wasn't right, a double standard, or felt like I was being taken advantage of. I'm trying to think of 2010 as a building year - not necessarily one I will remember in detail, but one that will make the memorable years possible.

So from someone who's always looking to the future, here's to the past.