Category Archives: Writing

Question 2: If you could erase a horrible experience from your past…

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So, I’m starting a blog series where I answer random questions. It’s like those questionnaires I love so much, except with actual writing instead of fill-in-the-blanks. Feel free to play along at home by answering the question in the comments or by submitting a question.  Hopefully this is fun! Question 1 can be found here.

You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

Ok, so my life has been pretty average. There have been awful, awful things but I know how blessed I am.

That being said, I refuse to fall into the “I wouldn’t change anything because each experience has come together to shape who I am as a person” cliche, because, while it may be true, it is absolutely no fun and not in the spirt of  the game.

*Trigger Warning: Bullying*

I think the memory I’d most want to erase would be from my 6th grade year. I know, I know, middle school drama! But there were these two horrid boys who would bully me so badly that I actually became afraid to go anywhere without a friend. That’s the kind of memory I could live without.

Ultimately, one moved away and I punched the other one in the face, so things worked out alright. But it was a rather harrowing time for little me and whatever “growth” I experienced, I would willing exchange for never having to think about that part of my life again.

 

 

 

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Waiting

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I have little patience. Concentration is a challenge, and waiting rooms are nothing short of torture.  I pace when I’m thinking, I doodle in class, and I tap my foot when it takes too long for someone to come to the point. Inactivity is my Kryptonite. I share the “I want it NOW!” attitude of much of my generation.

Every once in a while, though, I’ll find something worth waiting for. In such cases, my patience is endless. I’ll keep waiting for something I should have given up long ago.

Right now, I’m in one of my waiting periods. I’ve found something that I want desperately. So I wait. And I’ll admit there’s a part of me that wants to burst into action, to do something. But it’s one of those cases where action would case more harm than good.

It’s so hard! There’s a little voice screaming at me, telling me that inactivity is passivity. A wiser, calmer voice reminds me of all the times I acted when I should have just sat down. It plays memory after memory of me running my mouth, doing the wrong thing, or causing damage that could have been avoided if I’d just given myself time to let emotion cool.  I’m such a passionate person that I tend to regret what I say in the heat of the moment.

And it’s not as though I’ve done nothing. If this whole situation were chess, I’ve done the equivalent of placing my opponent’s king in check. Now I just have to wait for their next move, and that’s the difficult part.

September was an emotional month, and so far, October seems to be following suit. To lighten the mood, here are my (unedited) journal entries from the past two days:

Oct. 1, 2012

OMG! It’s OCTOBER!!!! How????? I don’t even know…. So you can see, I am a deep individual.

Oct. 2, 2012

I’m shrouded in a cloud of apathy. Bleh.

 

I know, right? My journal is the most unintelligent piece of writing I have ever had the misfortune of reading (or writing, for that matter!). But I have a theory that if I get out all my bad writing in my journal, then my writings here and for school will be nothing short of literary gems.

Yep.  See you soon.

High School

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This is going to be a life blog. I do not apologize.*

This summer, I began asking myself what I wanted to remember about high school. Those of you who have been here a while or who know me IRL are aware of the fact that I’ve never attended a “normal” high school. For my freshman and sophomore years, I went to a cooperative school. But last year (my junior year), I began taking all my classes at a local community college. So, this year is both my senior year of high school and my sophomore year in college. I guess you could say that I haven’t had the most typical of high school experiences.

I mean, I have attempted to “experience” all the things kids my age experience (No, Mom, that doesn’t mean sex, drugs, and alcohol…). I’ve played sports for my local school, gone to dances (ok, one dance),and  cheered at homecoming games. The cool thing, though, is that I am in the unique position of shaping what my personal experience looks like.

For me, high school will remind me of seeing my first Broadway show (“Memphis”) or the time I went to a six hour concert showcasing local artists or being able to intern for credit at my college’s theater department. I’ll think of meeting the Vlogbrothers and Tom Milsom and Raven Zoe. I’ll laugh at the memory of the time I went for a walk in the snow at midnight, dressed in footie pajamas and a kola hat, with two of my best friend or staying up all night to marathon Doctor Who or Buffy. High school will be where I broke a boy’s heart for the first time and where another boy kept breaking mine. It will be the time of my life where I left the country for the first time, pushed myself to actually make friends, and discovered a love for Nutella.

I have the rare privilege of being able to plan my own graduation. When I first started high school, the song at the top of this post would have seemed the most appropriate song to play at the ceremony. Everything was embarrassing. But as I found my footing, I realized that the fact I was embarrassed was good. It meant that I hadn’t allowed myself to stagnate. I was out doing things. The last thing that I want is to look back on my own life and realize that I’ve been a spectator.

I’m reaching the point where I’m in a state of perpetual nostalgia. 🙂

 

*lies. I feel awful when I life blog.

I’m Overwhelming You

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obsession

And I don’t mean to do it,

But I’m well aware I do.

It’s borderline obsession

this ambiguity over you

And I have no real reason

No way I can explain

The emotions I am feeling

Or why I act this way

It’s like my reason’s gone

I’m at sea without an oar

Where’s logic when I need it?

I can’t find it anymore.

And it appears quite funny

Maybe ironic too

That this absurd obsession

Keeps me away from you

 

Yep. Hope your lives are going well.

 

Not in Love

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I think that there’s a chance

And even admitting that makes me queasy

I mean, me: eternal pessimist

Keeper of the temple of broken dreams

And hearts to boot. It’s impossible

The math must be wrong, the calculations

Faulty. The results are mistaken.

I am not. I cannot. There’s no way at all.

I refuse to believe I’m in love.

Festina Lente

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So, I love the arts. I’m especially passionate about literary, performing, and visual arts. Literary arts are my life, and I’ve taken two terms of theater classes. I’m also volunteering with a local theater troupe. But my love for visual arts is a bit more complicated.

I was that kid in kindergarten who refused to color in class because it was “silly”. I haven’t taken a visual art class since middle school. And if you asked someone to describe me, I doubt the words “painter’, “artist” or “the next Van Gogh” would be used.

You see, unlike with theater or lit., I always considered myself bad at visual arts. I loved drawing and painting and shaping clay, but I hated to show my work to others for fear that it would fall short of some invisible standard. I wanted to be the best and I knew that I wasn’t the best at this.

Two things changed my mind, or at least, forced me to reconsider my perspective of what makes good art. The first was a painting of pumpkins I did as a make-up assignment for my middle-school art class. I had been sick and the teacher had told me to create a painting of whatever I wanted in order to get credit. So, I chose pumpkins.

Painting those pumpkins was the first time I felt like I was doing something that wasn’t too weird or bad or incomplete for others to see. And when I turned it in, I felt like da Vinci bestowing a second Mona Lisa.  Obviously it wasn’t, but it’s the first time I remember being proud of a piece of visual art.

The second was when I was doodling in my notebook one day, and my friend looked over and said, “Hey, that’s pretty cool. I wish I could draw like that.” I looked down at my doodle and then up my friend in surprise. I wasn’t working on anything spectacular. I was just drawing interesting lines over and over. And suddenly it dawned on me:

Art isn’t about perfection

In fact, one dictionary defines art simply as a work produced by skill and imagination.

What I was doing was legitimate art, even if it wasn’t likely you’d find in a museum.

My teacher has an expression she likes to use. “Festina lente”, or hurry slowly. I think that one phrase sums up my whole experience with art. It’s been about letting things happen and embracing opportunities. It’s knowing that I’m headed someplace, but still taking time to smell the roses. It’s about art for art’s sake and not in order to please an imaginary critic.

There’s my 5 cents worth. Don’t spend it all at one place! 😛

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Tell me if this is a normal person thing or just a weird me thing. I’m not really sure.

Do you guys ever fall in love with an idea? I mean, hardcore, heart in your mouth, butterflies in your stomach, nervous, sweaty in love with an idea?

Does it become some kind of driving force behind your thoughts, a kind of background music to your day? Is it something that you just can’t shake, something that seems to bubble up from inside of you? And, even though it’s crazy, you find that this idea is on par with food, water, and shelter when it comes to the list of things you need to survive?

It’s not being OCD. It’s not like being on some kind of maniac trip. It’s just this all-abiding passion for one singular idea.

No? Just me? Ok.

Sigh