The Hopeful Beginnings of Inspiration_Week 31

Well...

That’s what I say to myself when I can’t think of any other way to express my complete disgust with, really, anything of sorts.

Black and white- the very colors my life seems to revolve around these days. My mind is full of twenty- six letters and innumerable words, but my fingers are unable to move a pen in a way that makes the ink form my thoughts onto paper.

The rain quietly knocks on my window pane and leaves behind bitter tear- stains as I observe the grey world outside my little box of a home. Behind me, Pond arches her back and curls her duster- like tail outwards. She delicately places one paw in front of the other, and leans her head in towards my outstretched hand.

Darn cat, I think. Her blue eyes look searchingly into my own, almost as if she’s questioning my sanity. I had sat at my computer, journal in one hand and pen in the other, for the majority of my Friday night, attempting to write something- anything. But I couldn’t think of one thing, not one, that was worth wasting my time writing about. I was frustrated, I was tired, and I was really not feeling this whole “collegelifeisthebomb” thing at the moment.

I observed the books strewn at random across the jean quilt that lay on my bed. In between their pages lay romance and heartache, death and life, love and loss, mystery and intrigue, curiosity and boredom. My eyes were sore from skimming over the printed words again and again in my desperate search for something similar to that of inspiration. I wanted to find things, explore, discover. I wanted an epiphany of sorts, but I was standing on the edge of a broken bridge with a spark of hope that I could still cross over to the other side. What the other side had to offer to me, I really had no idea. Maybe it offered sympathy, compassion, or just an explanation.

I needed someone to tell me something I didn’t already know.

What I really needed was a sign- not the miraculous kind, but the literal kind. The kind of sign that hangs in the window of a store and blinks neon red lights.

Letters of the Mind_Entry 1_Week 30

For thirty weeks I have been faithful to writing on this blog.

For thirty weeks I have literally felt the need to rip my hair out in frustration.

And for thirty weeks I have yet to produce something actually worth reading, and something worth sharing.

Something that I feel is a tangible and a realistic part of who I am, what I think, and why I do the things that I often do. But I can't seem to put into words every idea that has ever crossed the vast universe that is my mind- I have trouble putting into words situations, relationships, feelings, emotions, and the very essence of life itself.

I hate that more than I could ever explain with twenty- six letters and an innumerable amount of words.

Perhaps I should write about what I have learned over the course of this week? Since it is only Monday, I will backtrack to my weekend adventure in the woods.

I went hiking with two of my friends, and halfway to our destination point, we came across a lone puppy who had been separated from its owner. We dialed the phone number on the dog's tag, and got in contact with a young man by the name of "Slava". As we were about to exchange addresses to return the dog, Slava's roommate walked by and realized whose dog was with us. The roommate's name was Alex, a young hippy who wore a tie-dye shirt and a straw hat adorned with a wild flower. He thanked us for our kindness, and proceeded to take the puppy back in the general direction of the national forest's parking lot.

I'm not sure what one can learn from such a story, except that puppies are the cutest creatures known to man, and that hippies apparently have roommates whose name sounds like "saliva".

Virtues_Entry 1_week 29

Sometimes I look up at the sky and wonder about what lies ahead of me. I think about the world and the people that live in it. I think of how people fight to be independent of society and each other when, realistically, they were already born as individuals- not cloned robots. I think of how every little occurrence can later become a conspiracy or a regret or a simple memory. I think of the past and what I did and look into the future with a faint heart and a conscience that is telling me that nothing is as it should be.

My parents told me that when I first came into the world, all I did was smile. I did not cry and I did not try to fight the world. I took it all in- the doctors, the bright lights, the room, and my parents. If I had been a boy my name would have been Benjamin, but God decided to make me a girl that would one day question the reason behind her existence. Born into a Christian home with Christian values can make any child inwardly rebellious and angry at the world when it tries to shape and mold her into someone she does not want to be.

In middle school, we were assigned an art project that involved researching the meaning behind our names. My friends were christened as a “pretty flower” or “beloved” or even a “princess”. According to the dictionary, I was “son of Kenneth; prince”. Of all people, why did my name have to mean that? After that mortifying experience, I was sure that my life was some sort of sick joke.

Society claims that our name and our appearance is what defines our identity. Sex and drugs and alcohol and parties and lies and cheating and failure and money is what this generation has been slapped in the face until our lips are crusted over with blood and our eyes are painted black and blue.

Our generation has become numb to all of our senses. We are helpless and only have one concern: ourselves. We are unable to sympathize with the emotions of others. We do not know how to help or support them. We have forgotten how to be honest and instead fill our mouths with lies and spit repulsive words into each other’s face.

I want that to stop.

Rid yourself of hate and anger and the desire for revenge. Replace it with empathy so as to be able to give consolation rather than misery.

Learn to accept rather than to despise your body along with your flaws because there will never be another you.

Always respect yourself. Do not bother to poison your body with drugs and alcohol and profanity and sex. I am not here to tell you what you can and cannot do with your body- it is your property. But remember that you can never get another one.

Glorify the successes of others rather than your own victories. One day you will receive the reward that comes from hard work alone. No one has bragging rights. Remember that people will see your talents through your actions and will be deaf to your words.  

You will only get what you give. Remain considerate despite differing personal views and opinions because when will two people ever think alike? Humans are like snowflakes… each one has its own intricate design.

Have the courage to overcome your fears and to always follow what you know to be true. Never compromise.

Persevere despite life’s disappoints and know that there is always a lesson to be learned from your mistakes.

Always speak the truth. Lying only leads to doubt and anguish.

I am not trying to be different because I already am. If you feel like a misfit, if you feel like a nobody… know that you are somebody. Somebody that can change the world for the better.

Society can leave us feeling worthless and religion and family and friends can attempt to define who we are, but hope always remains to give us the choice to choose. To choose our own virtues as well as our own vices.

When you step out into the world, the real world, and get a taste of its bitterness, remember to always smile. Smile like a newborn that hasn’t a single clue of what is to come. Because honestly- you don’t. And besides, smiling never hurt anyone. 

Sail Away_Entry 1_Week 28

I think that, sometimes, we let the worse of us get the best of us. I know I allow that to happen too often- sometimes it's on a daily basis, and other times it only occurs once in a while. But I don't like when it comes around, because it comes in waves caused by an ocean of emotions and self- hatred. A tsunami of self- inflicted pain and guilt rages inside of me, and oftentimes I am not quite sure how to deal with it... at least in a healthy manner.

I want to be happy, loving, and kind, but I feel that I am incapable of such things because of my eating disorder, my depression, and my self-harm/ suicidal tendencies... even if I have taught myself to get through such things. It is not an impossible feat to accomplish- it is just difficult.

I'm not putting my story out there to receive pity or sympathy- I just want you, me, really anyone- to know that you will be okay. And I am not referring to the kind of "okay" that just magically occurs from doing nothing- you have to do something; you have to have the desire to heal and to persevere through whatever you are going through in order to crawl out of the hole you are in. Once you've hit rock bottom, the only way out is up- we just have to be willing to climb.

We all deal with some form or another of a storm in our life- but I encourage you to never put up the white flag of defeat. The only flag you should ever allow yourself to put up is the sail on your ship that directs you towards safety, and a happy life.

Because, sometimes, we need to know when it is time to sail away.

The Handmaid's Tale: Passage Analysis (Tone, Part 15)_Entry 1_Week 27

Margaret Atwood implies that Offred, among many others under the authoritarian rule of the regime, have been brainwashed into viewing death and escape as a dangerous concept. They are made to adapt to murder and solidarity, and are to view it as an everyday thing- a normal thing. Atwood views it as repulsive, but she also refuses to believe in hope. She believes that “faith is only a word, embroidered”, and nothing more. It is just another concept.

“I consider these things idly. Each one of them seems the same size as all the other. Not one seems preferable. Fatigue is here, in my body, in my legs and eyes. That is what gets you in the end. Faith is only a word, embroidered.

… Behind me I feel her presence, my ancestress, my double, turning in midair under the chandelier, in her costume of stars and feathers, a bird stopped in flight, a woman made into an angel, waiting to be found. By me this time. How could I have believed I was alone in here? There were always two of us. Get it over, she says. I’m tired of this melodrama, I’m tired of keeping silent. There’s no one you can protect, your life has value to no one. I want it finished.”

(Page 292- 293)

The Handmaid's Tale: Passage Analysis (Part 10) _Entry 1_Week 26

            Offred, in the years previous to the new government, had experienced the changes made regarding the workforce and how paper money was transformed into the value of plastic cards and then the Compubank. The alterations were minor, and hardly noticeable, but they occurred for a certain reason. People were meant to be oblivious to the fact that the current government was slowly deteriorating, and a new authoritarian was rising up, leading civilization towards the society she is forced to live in at the present.

“All those women having jobs: hard to imagine, now, but thousands of them had jobs… It was considered the normal thing. Now it’s like remembering the paper money… You had to take those pieces of paper with you when you went shopping, though by the time I was nine or ten most people used plastic cards.  Not for the groceries though, that came later. It seems so primitive, totemistic even, like cowry shells. I must have used that kind of money myself… before everything went on the Compubank.

            I guess that’s how they were able to do it, in the way they did, all at once, without anyone knowing beforehand.”

Graduation Speech ( I am really hoping this is my last and final draft Lord help me)_Entry 2_Week 25

I tugged nervously on the sleeves of my shirt and clasped my hands behind my back. Don’t look them in the eye- just look above their heads. I struggled to remember what Mr. Burge had advised me to do when it came to public speaking. As I began my persuasive speech for my sophomore English class, I fumbled my words within the first paragraph. In my anger, I accidentally let a little too persuasive of a word roll off my tongue and into the listening ears of my classmates. Mr. Burge’s jaw hit the floor in shock, and by that point I had persuaded myself that it would be best to hide under a rock.

            The truth of the matter is, we have all made mistakes at one point or another in our life. Yet, despite our shortcomings, we were accepted. Our teachers and our school saw something special, something different, and something wonderful about each and every one of us. They saw the potential that some of us couldn’t see in ourselves, and they gave us the opportunity to be a part of one of the best educational and vocational programs in Northern Nevada.

We have worked hard to be where we are at now, and after four years, we are finally at the finish line of our high school career and the starting line of the rest of our lives. As a class, we have created community service projects, received hands- on experience through internships and job shadowing, and have competed in various organizations such as SkillsUSA, ProStart, HOSA, FFA, and NASA Rover. As individuals, we have endured thirteen years of emotional breakdowns, inadequate pencil stubs, crumpled up pieces of paper, and have struggled to stay awake long into the night just to finish an assignment.  

             We were considered to be the “different” kids- the ones who would rather repair an old bike than buy a new one; the ones who prefer to spend their Saturday night learning how to bake; the ones who were determined to change the future.  We were the kids who weren’t quite sure what we wanted to do, or if we could even do it, but we knew we wanted to do something. Something great.

            Life isn’t always going to be easy- and it never will go exactly as you planned. But that’s alright, and you’ll be alright. Just remember to always do what makes you happy. Remain different, remain curious, and the rest will fall in place.

I wish each and every one of you the best of luck. Not only are we the graduating class of 2014, but we are the kids who made it.

Moving_Entry 1_Week 25

Moving equates to:

1. Creating boxes out of cardboard by way of folding and the assistance of duct tape. Then place inanimate objects into box. You realize that you never really had any use for them in the first place, but are hopeful that perhaps in the new place you could find a use for said objects.

2. Stress. Enough said.

3. Anger. Refer back to stress.

4. Exhaustion. Refer back to boxes, stress, and anger.

After the entire moving process is finally over, you finally get to sleep in your new room. New wall placements, new window placements, new closet placement, and new hallway placement. You think you will be fine- it's nothing new that you haven't experienced before. Then once the lights are turned off, and you're snuggled under your covers, that is when you begin to notice things. Such as the shadow in the corner that looks like a monster out of the Scooby- Doo cartoons, or the sudden creaking of the wooden floor panel in the hallway. Your mind begins to play tricks on you, and you begin to wonder if your house or even the neighborhood might be haunted. You spend the half the night worrying and the other half trying to fall asleep.

As the insanely bright rays of the morning sun shine through your new and spotless windows, you realize that you have survived your first night.

And. It. Will. All. Be. Fine. From. Here. On.

P.S. I do not know how to feel about moving this upcoming weekend, considering the fact tarantulas and scorpions are going to be my nature- neighbors.

P.P.S. Call an ambulance in advance in the unlikely case I will have a heart- attack upon coming across a nature- neighbor.